The vagaries of passion! Subtleties! Risks! What sacrifices are not
laid willfully upon its altar! In a little while this more than average
residence to which Cowperwood had referred was prepared solely to
effect a satisfactory method of concealment. The house was governed by
a seemingly recently-bereaved widow, and it was possible for Aileen to
call without seeming strangely out of place. In such surroundings, and
under such circumstances, it was not difficult to persuade her to give
herself wholly to her lover, governed as she was by her wild and
unreasoning affection and passion. In a way, there was a saving element
of love, for truly, above all others, she wanted this man. She had no
thought or feeling toward any other. All her mind ran toward visions of
the future, when, somehow, she and he might be together for all time.
Mrs. Cowperwood might die, or he might run away with her at thirty-five
when he had a million. Some adjustment would be made, somehow. Nature
had given her this man. She relied on him implicitly. When he told her
that he would take care of her so that nothing evil should befall, she
believed him fully. Such sins are the commonplaces of the confessional.
It is a curious fact that by some subtlety of logic in the Christian
world, it has come to be believed that there can be no love outside the
conventional process of courtship and marriage. One life, one love, is
the Christian idea, and into this sluice or mold it has been
endeavoring to compress the whole world. Pagan thought held no such
belief. A writing of divorce for trivial causes was the theory of the
elders; and in the primeval world nature apparently holds no scheme for
the unity of two beyond the temporary care of the young. That the
modern home is the most beautiful of schemes, when based upon mutual
sympathy and understanding between two, need not be questioned. And yet
this fact should not necessarily carry with it a condemnation of all
love not so fortunate as to find so happy a denouement. Life cannot be
put into any mold, and the attempt might as well be abandoned at once.
Those so fortunate as to find harmonious companionship for life should
congratulate themselves and strive to be worthy of it. Those not so
blessed, though they be written down as pariahs, have yet some
justification. And, besides, whether we will or not, theory or no
theory, the basic facts of chemistry and physics remain. Like is drawn
to like. Changes in temperament bring changes in relationship. Dogma
may bind some minds; fear, others. But there are always those in whom
the chemistry and physics of life are large, and in whom neither dogma
nor fear is operative. Society lifts its hands in horror; but from age
to age the Helens, the Messalinas, the Du Barrys, the Pompadours, the
Maintenons, and the Nell Gwyns flourish and point a freer basis of
relationship than we have yet been able to square with our lives.
These two felt unutterably bound to each other. Cowperwood, once he
came to understand her, fancied that he had found the one person with
whom he could live happily the rest of his life. She was so young, so
confident, so hopeful, so undismayed. All these months since they had
first begun to reach out to each other he had been hourly contrasting
her with his wife. As a matter of fact, his dissatisfaction, though it
may be said to have been faint up to this time, was now surely tending
to become real enough. Still, his children were pleasing to him; his
home beautiful. Lillian, phlegmatic and now thin, was still not homely.
All these years he had found her satisfactory enough; but now his
dissatisfaction with her began to increase. She was not like Aileen—not
young, not vivid, not as unschooled in the commonplaces of life. And
while ordinarily, he was not one who was inclined to be querulous,
still now on occasion, he could be. He began by asking questions
concerning his wife’s appearance—irritating little whys which are so
trivial and yet so exasperating and discouraging to a woman. Why didn’t
she get a mauve hat nearer the shade of her dress? Why didn’t she go
out more? Exercise would do her good. Why didn’t she do this, and why
didn’t she do that? He scarcely noticed that he was doing this; but she
did, and she felt the undertone—the real significance—and took umbrage.
“Oh, why—why?” she retorted, one day, curtly. “Why do you ask so many
questions? You don’t care so much for me any more; that’s why. I can
tell.”
He leaned back startled by the thrust. It had not been based on any
evidence of anything save his recent remarks; but he was not absolutely
sure. He was just the least bit sorry that he had irritated her, and he
said so.
“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied. “I don’t care. But I notice that you
don’t pay as much attention to me as you used to. It’s your business
now, first, last, and all the time. You can’t get your mind off of
that.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t suspect, then.
But after a little time, as he grew more and more in sympathy with
Aileen, he was not so disturbed as to whether his wife might suspect or
not. He began to think on occasion, as his mind followed the various
ramifications of the situation, that it would be better if she did. She
was really not of the contentious fighting sort. He now decided because
of various calculations in regard to her character that she might not
offer as much resistance to some ultimate rearrangement, as he had
originally imagined. She might even divorce him. Desire, dreams, even
in him were evoking calculations not as sound as those which ordinarily
generated in his brain.
No, as he now said to himself, the rub was not nearly so much in his
own home, as it was in the Butler family. His relations with Edward
Malia Butler had become very intimate. He was now advising with him
constantly in regard to the handling of his securities, which were
numerous. Butler held stocks in such things as the Pennsylvania Coal
Company, the Delaware and Hudson Canal, the Morris and Essex Canal, the
Reading Railroad. As the old gentleman’s mind had broadened to the
significance of the local street-railway problem in Philadelphia, he
had decided to close out his other securities at such advantageous
terms as he could, and reinvest the money in local lines. He knew that
Mollenhauer and Simpson were doing this, and they were excellent judges
of the significance of local affairs. Like Cowperwood, he had the idea
that if he controlled sufficient of the local situation in this field,
he could at last effect a joint relationship with Mollenhauer and
Simpson. Political legislation, advantageous to the combined lines,
could then be so easily secured. Franchises and necessary extensions to
existing franchises could be added. This conversion of his outstanding
stock in other fields, and the picking up of odd lots in the local
street-railway, was the business of Cowperwood. Butler, through his
sons, Owen and Callum, was also busy planning a new line and obtaining
a franchise, sacrificing, of course, great blocks of stock and actual
cash to others, in order to obtain sufficient influence to have the
necessary legislation passed. Yet it was no easy matter, seeing that
others knew what the general advantages of the situation were, and
because of this Cowperwood, who saw the great source of profit here,
was able, betimes, to serve himself—buying blocks, a part of which only
went to Butler, Mollenhauer or others. In short he was not as eager to
serve Butler, or any one else, as he was to serve himself if he could.
In this connection, the scheme which George W. Stener had brought
forward, representing actually in the background Strobik, Wycroft, and
Harmon, was an opening wedge for himself. Stener’s plan was to loan him
money out of the city treasury at two per cent., or, if he would waive
all commissions, for nothing (an agent for self-protective purposes was
absolutely necessary), and with it take over the North Pennsylvania
Company’s line on Front Street, which, because of the shortness of its
length, one mile and a half, and the brevity of the duration of its
franchise, was neither doing very well nor being rated very high.
Cowperwood in return for his manipulative skill was to have a fair
proportion of the stock—twenty per cent. Strobik and Wycroft knew the
parties from whom the bulk of the stock could be secured if engineered
properly. Their plan was then, with this borrowed treasury money, to
extend its franchise and then the line itself, and then later again, by
issuing a great block of stock and hypothecating it with a favored
bank, be able to return the principal to the city treasury and pocket
their profits from the line as earned. There was no trouble in this, in
so far as Cowperwood was concerned, except that it divided the stock
very badly among these various individuals, and left him but a
comparatively small share—for his thought and pains.
But Cowperwood was an opportunist. And by this time his financial
morality had become special and local in its character. He did not
think it was wise for any one to steal anything from anybody where the
act of taking or profiting was directly and plainly considered
stealing. That was unwise—dangerous—hence wrong. There were so many
situations wherein what one might do in the way of taking or profiting
was open to discussion and doubt. Morality varied, in his mind at
least, with conditions, if not climates. Here, in Philadelphia, the
tradition (politically, mind you—not generally) was that the city
treasurer might use the money of the city without interest so long as
he returned the principal intact. The city treasury and the city
treasurer were like a honey-laden hive and a queen bee around which the
drones—the politicians—swarmed in the hope of profit. The one
disagreeable thing in connection with this transaction with Stener was
that neither Butler, Mollenhauer nor Simpson, who were the actual
superiors of Stener and Strobik, knew anything about it. Stener and
those behind him were, through him, acting for themselves. If the
larger powers heard of this, it might alienate them. He had to think of
this. Still, if he refused to make advantageous deals with Stener or
any other man influential in local affairs, he was cutting off his nose
to spite his face, for other bankers and brokers would, and gladly. And
besides it was not at all certain that Butler, Mollenhauer, and Simpson
would ever hear.
In this connection, there was another line, which he rode on
occasionally, the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line, which he felt
was a much more interesting thing for him to think about, if he could
raise the money. It had been originally capitalized for five hundred
thousand dollars; but there had been a series of bonds to the value of
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars added for improvements, and the
company was finding great difficulty in meeting the interest. The bulk
of the stock was scattered about among small investors, and it would
require all of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to collect it and
have himself elected president or chairman of the board of directors.
Once in, however, he could vote this stock as he pleased, hypothecating
it meanwhile at his father’s bank for as much as he could get, and
issuing more stocks with which to bribe legislators in the matter of
extending the line, and in taking up other opportunities to either add
to it by purchase or supplement it by working agreements. The word
“bribe” is used here in this matter-of-fact American way, because
bribery was what was in every one’s mind in connection with the State
legislature. Terrence Relihan—the small, dark-faced Irishman, a dandy
in dress and manners—who represented the financial interests at
Harrisburg, and who had come to Cowperwood after the five million bond
deal had been printed, had told him that nothing could be done at the
capital without money, or its equivalent, negotiable securities. Each
significant legislator, if he yielded his vote or his influence, must
be looked after. If he, Cowperwood, had any scheme which he wanted
handled at any time, Relihan had intimated to him that he would be glad
to talk with him. Cowperwood had figured on this Seventeenth and
Nineteenth Street line scheme more than once, but he had never felt
quite sure that he was willing to undertake it. His obligations in
other directions were so large. But the lure was there, and he pondered
and pondered.
Stener’s scheme of loaning him money wherewith to manipulate the North
Pennsylvania line deal put this Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street dream
in a more favorable light. As it was he was constantly watching the
certificates of loan issue, for the city treasury,—buying large
quantities when the market was falling to protect it and selling
heavily, though cautiously, when he saw it rising and to do this he had
to have a great deal of free money to permit him to do it. He was
constantly fearful of some break in the market which would affect the
value of all his securities and result in the calling of his loans.
There was no storm in sight. He did not see that anything could happen
in reason; but he did not want to spread himself out too thin. As he
saw it now, therefore if he took one hundred and fifty thousand dollars
of this city money and went after this Seventeenth and Nineteenth
Street matter it would not mean that he was spreading himself out too
thin, for because of this new proposition could he not call on Stener
for more as a loan in connection with these other ventures? But if
anything should happen—well—
“Frank,” said Stener, strolling into his office one afternoon after
four o’clock when the main rush of the day’s work was over—the
relationship between Cowperwood and Stener had long since reached the
“Frank” and “George” period—“Strobik thinks he has that North
Pennsylvania deal arranged so that we can take it up if we want to. The
principal stockholder, we find, is a man by the name of Coltan—not Ike
Colton, but Ferdinand. How’s that for a name?” Stener beamed fatly and
genially.
Things had changed considerably for him since the days when he had been
fortuitously and almost indifferently made city treasurer. His method
of dressing had so much improved since he had been inducted into
office, and his manner expressed so much more good feeling, confidence,
aplomb, that he would not have recognized himself if he had been
permitted to see himself as had those who had known him before. An old,
nervous shifting of the eyes had almost ceased, and a feeling of
restfulness, which had previously been restlessness, and had sprung
from a sense of necessity, had taken its place. His large feet were
incased in good, square-toed, soft-leather shoes; his stocky chest and
fat legs were made somewhat agreeable to the eye by a well-cut suit of
brownish-gray cloth; and his neck was now surrounded by a low,
wing-point white collar and brown-silk tie. His ample chest, which
spread out a little lower in around and constantly enlarging stomach,
was ornamented by a heavy-link gold chain, and his white cuffs had
large gold cuff-buttons set with rubies of a very notable size. He was
rosy and decidedly well fed. In fact, he was doing very well indeed.
He had moved his family from a shabby two-story frame house in South
Ninth Street to a very comfortable brick one three stories in height,
and three times as large, on Spring Garden Street. His wife had a few
acquaintances—the wives of other politicians. His children were
attending the high school, a thing he had hardly hoped for in earlier
days. He was now the owner of fourteen or fifteen pieces of cheap real
estate in different portions of the city, which might eventually become
very valuable, and he was a silent partner in the South Philadelphia
Foundry Company and the American Beef and Pork Company, two
corporations on paper whose principal business was subletting contracts
secured from the city to the humble butchers and foundrymen who would
carry out orders as given and not talk too much or ask questions.
“Well, that is an odd name,” said Cowperwood, blandly. “So he has it? I
never thought that road would pay, as it was laid out. It’s too short.
It ought to run about three miles farther out into the Kensington
section.”
“You’re right,” said Stener, dully.
“Did Strobik say what Colton wants for his shares?”
“Sixty-eight, I think.”
“The current market rate. He doesn’t want much, does he? Well, George,
at that rate it will take about”—he calculated quickly on the basis of
the number of shares Cotton was holding—“one hundred and twenty
thousand to get him out alone. That isn’t all. There’s Judge Kitchen
and Joseph Zimmerman and Senator Donovan”—he was referring to the State
senator of that name. “You’ll be paying a pretty fair price for that
stud when you get it. It will cost considerable more to extend the
line. It’s too much, I think.”
Cowperwood was thinking how easy it would be to combine this line with
his dreamed-of Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line, and after a time
and with this in view he added:
“Say, George, why do you work all your schemes through Strobik and
Harmon and Wycroft? Couldn’t you and I manage some of these things for
ourselves alone instead of for three or four? It seems to me that plan
would be much more profitable to you.”
“It would, it would!” exclaimed Stener, his round eyes fixed on
Cowperwood in a rather helpless, appealing way. He liked Cowperwood and
had always been hoping that mentally as well as financially he could
get close to him. “I’ve thought of that. But these fellows have had
more experience in these matters than I have had, Frank. They’ve been
longer at the game. I don’t know as much about these things as they
do.”
Cowperwood smiled in his soul, though his face remained passive.
“Don’t worry about them, George,” he continued genially and
confidentially. “You and I together can know and do as much as they
ever could and more. I’m telling you. Take this railroad deal you’re in
on now, George; you and I could manipulate that just as well and better
than it can be done with Wycroft, Strobik, and Harmon in on it. They’re
not adding anything to the wisdom of the situation. They’re not putting
up any money. You’re doing that. All they’re doing is agreeing to see
it through the legislature and the council, and as far as the
legislature is concerned, they can’t do any more with that than any one
else could—than I could, for instance. It’s all a question of arranging
things with Relihan, anyhow, putting up a certain amount of money for
him to work with. Here in town there are other people who can reach the
council just as well as Strobik.” He was thinking (once he controlled a
road of his own) of conferring with Butler and getting him to use his
influence. It would serve to quiet Strobik and his friends. “I’m not
asking you to change your plans on this North Pennsylvania deal. You
couldn’t do that very well. But there are other things. In the future
why not let’s see if you and I can’t work some one thing together?
You’ll be much better off, and so will I. We’ve done pretty well on the
city-loan proposition so far, haven’t we?”
The truth was, they had done exceedingly well. Aside from what the
higher powers had made, Stener’s new house, his lots, his bank-account,
his good clothes, and his changed and comfortable sense of life were
largely due to Cowperwood’s successful manipulation of these city-loan
certificates. Already there had been four issues of two hundred
thousand dollars each. Cowperwood had bought and sold nearly three
million dollars’ worth of these certificates, acting one time as a
“bull” and another as a “bear.” Stener was now worth all of one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars.
“There’s a line that I know of here in the city which could be made
into a splendidly paying property,” continued Cowperwood, meditatively,
“if the right things could be done with it. Just like this North
Pennsylvania line, it isn’t long enough. The territory it serves isn’t
big enough. It ought to be extended; but if you and I could get it, it
might eventually be worked with this North Pennsylvania Company or some
other as one company. That would save officers and offices and a lot of
things. There is always money to be made out of a larger purchasing
power.”
He paused and looked out the window of his handsome little hardwood
office, speculating upon the future. The window gave nowhere save into
a back yard behind another office building which had formerly been a
residence. Some grass grew feebly there. The red wall and old-fashioned
brick fence which divided it from the next lot reminded him somehow of
his old home in New Market Street, to which his Uncle Seneca used to
come as a Cuban trader followed by his black Portuguese servitor. He
could see him now as he sat here looking at the yard.
“Well,” asked Stener, ambitiously, taking the bait, “why don’t we get
hold of that—you and me? I suppose I could fix it so far as the money
is concerned. How much would it take?”
Cowperwood smiled inwardly again.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said, after a time. “I want to look into it
more carefully. The one trouble is that I’m carrying a good deal of the
city’s money as it is. You see, I have that two hundred thousand
dollars against your city-loan deals. And this new scheme will take two
or three hundred thousand more. If that were out of the way—”
He was thinking of one of the inexplicable stock panics—those strange
American depressions which had so much to do with the temperament of
the people, and so little to do with the basic conditions of the
country. “If this North Pennsylvania deal were through and done with—”
He rubbed his chin and pulled at his handsome silky mustache.
“Don’t ask me any more about it, George,” he said, finally, as he saw
that the latter was beginning to think as to which line it might be.
“Don’t say anything at all about it. I want to get my facts exactly
right, and then I’ll talk to you. I think you and I can do this thing a
little later, when we get the North Pennsylvania scheme under way. I’m
so rushed just now I’m not sure that I want to undertake it at once;
but you keep quiet and we’ll see.” He turned toward his desk, and
Stener got up.
“I’ll make any sized deposit with you that you wish, the moment you
think you’re ready to act, Frank,” exclaimed Stener, and with the
thought that Cowperwood was not nearly as anxious to do this as he
should be, since he could always rely on him (Stener) when there was
anything really profitable in the offing. Why should not the able and
wonderful Cowperwood be allowed to make the two of them rich? “Just
notify Stires, and he’ll send you a check. Strobik thought we ought to
act pretty soon.”
“I’ll tend to it, George,” replied Cowperwood, confidently. “It will
come out all right. Leave it to me.”
Stener kicked his stout legs to straighten his trousers, and extended
his hand. He strolled out in the street thinking of this new scheme.
Certainly, if he could get in with Cowperwood right he would be a rich
man, for Cowperwood was so successful and so cautious. His new house,
this beautiful banking office, his growing fame, and his subtle
connections with Butler and others put Stener in considerable awe of
him. Another line! They would control it and the North Pennsylvania!
Why, if this went on, he might become a magnate—he really might—he,
George W. Stener, once a cheap real-estate and insurance agent. He
strolled up the street thinking, but with no more idea of the
importance of his civic duties and the nature of the social ethics
against which he was offending than if they had never existed.