But time was not a thing to be had in this emergency. With the
seventy-five thousand dollars his friends had extended to him, and
sixty thousand dollars secured from Stires, Cowperwood met the Girard
call and placed the balance, thirty-five thousand dollars, in a private
safe in his own home. He then made a final appeal to the bankers and
financiers, but they refused to help him. He did not, however,
commiserate himself in this hour. He looked out of his office window
into the little court, and sighed. What more could he do? He sent a
note to his father, asking him to call for lunch. He sent a note to his
lawyer, Harper Steger, a man of his own age whom he liked very much,
and asked him to call also. He evolved in his own mind various plans of
delay, addresses to creditors and the like, but alas! he was going to
fail. And the worst of it was that this matter of the city treasurer’s
loans was bound to become a public, and more than a public, a
political, scandal. And the charge of conniving, if not illegally, at
least morally, at the misuse of the city’s money was the one thing that
would hurt him most.
How industriously his rivals would advertise this fact! He might get on
his feet again if he failed; but it would be uphill work. And his
father! His father would be pulled down with him. It was probable that
he would be forced out of the presidency of his bank. With these
thoughts Cowperwood sat there waiting. As he did so Aileen Butler was
announced by his office-boy, and at the same time Albert Stires.
“Show in Miss Butler,” he said, getting up. “Tell Mr. Stires to wait.”
Aileen came briskly, vigorously in, her beautiful body clothed as
decoratively as ever. The street suit that she wore was of a light
golden-brown broadcloth, faceted with small, dark-red buttons. Her head
was decorated with a brownish-red shake of a type she had learned was
becoming to her, brimless and with a trailing plume, and her throat was
graced by a three-strand necklace of gold beads. Her hands were
smoothly gloved as usual, and her little feet daintily shod. There was
a look of girlish distress in her eyes, which, however, she was trying
hard to conceal.
“Honey,” she exclaimed, on seeing him, her arms extended—“what is the
trouble? I wanted so much to ask you the other night. You’re not going
to fail, are you? I heard father and Owen talking about you last
night.”
“What did they say?” he inquired, putting his arm around her and
looking quietly into her nervous eyes.
“Oh, you know, I think papa is very angry with you. He suspects. Some
one sent him an anonymous letter. He tried to get it out of me last
night, but he didn’t succeed. I denied everything. I was in here twice
this morning to see you, but you were out. I was so afraid that he
might see you first, and that you might say something.”
“Me, Aileen?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I didn’t think that. I don’t know what I
thought. Oh, honey, I’ve been so worried. You know, I didn’t sleep at
all. I thought I was stronger than that; but I was so worried about
you. You know, he put me in a strong light by his desk, where he could
see my face, and then he showed me the letter. I was so astonished for
a moment I hardly know what I said or how I looked.”
“What did you say?”
“Why, I said: ‘What a shame! It isn’t so!’ But I didn’t say it right
away. My heart was going like a trip-hammer. I’m afraid he must have
been able to tell something from my face. I could hardly get my
breath.”
“He’s a shrewd man, your father,” he commented. “He knows something
about life. Now you see how difficult these situations are. It’s a
blessing he decided to show you the letter instead of watching the
house. I suppose he felt too bad to do that. He can’t prove anything
now. But he knows. You can’t deceive him.”
“How do you know he knows?”
“I saw him yesterday.”
“Did he talk to you about it?”
“No; I saw his face. He simply looked at me.”
“Honey! I’m so sorry for him!”
“I know you are. So am I. But it can’t be helped now. We should have
thought of that in the first place.”
“But I love you so. Oh, honey, he will never forgive me. He loves me
so. He mustn’t know. I won’t admit anything. But, oh, dear!”
She put her hands tightly together on his bosom, and he looked
consolingly into her eyes. Her eyelids, were trembling, and her lips.
She was sorry for her father, herself, Cowperwood. Through her he could
sense the force of Butler’s parental affection; the volume and danger
of his rage. There were so many, many things as he saw it now
converging to make a dramatic denouement.
“Never mind,” he replied; “it can’t be helped now. Where is my strong,
determined Aileen? I thought you were going to be so brave? Aren’t you
going to be? I need to have you that way now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I think I am going to fail, dear.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes, honey. I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t see any way out just at
present. I’ve sent for my father and my lawyer. You mustn’t stay here,
sweet. Your father may come in here at any time. We must meet
somewhere—to-morrow, say—to-morrow afternoon. You remember Indian Rock,
out on the Wissahickon?”
“Yes.”
“Could you be there at four?”
“Yes.”
“Look out for who’s following. If I’m not there by four-thirty, don’t
wait. You know why. It will be because I think some one is watching.
There won’t be, though, if we work it right. And now you must run,
sweet. We can’t use Nine-thirty-one any more. I’ll have to rent another
place somewhere else.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“Aren’t you going to be strong and brave? You see, I need you to be.”
He was almost, for the first time, a little sad in his mood.
“Yes, dear, yes,” she declared, slipping her arms under his and pulling
him tight. “Oh, yes! You can depend on me. Oh, Frank, I love you so!
I’m so sorry. Oh, I do hope you don’t fail! But it doesn’t make any
difference, dear, between you and me, whatever happens, does it? We
will love each other just the same. I’ll do anything for you, honey!
I’ll do anything you say. You can trust me. They sha’n’t know anything
from me.”
She looked at his still, pale face, and a sudden strong determination
to fight for him welled up in her heart. Her love was unjust, illegal,
outlawed; but it was love, just the same, and had much of the fiery
daring of the outcast from justice.
“I love you! I love you! I love you, Frank!” she declared. He unloosed
her hands.
“Run, sweet. To-morrow at four. Don’t fail. And don’t talk. And don’t
admit anything, whatever you do.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”
He barely had time to straighten his tie, to assume a nonchalant
attitude by the window, when in hurried Stener’s chief clerk—pale,
disturbed, obviously out of key with himself.
“Mr. Cowperwood! You know that check I gave you last night? Mr. Stener
says it’s illegal, that I shouldn’t have given it to you, that he will
hold me responsible. He says I can be arrested for compounding a
felony, and that he will discharge me and have me sent to prison if I
don’t get it back. Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, I am only a young man! I’m just
really starting out in life. I’ve got my wife and little boy to look
after. You won’t let him do that to me? You’ll give me that check back,
won’t you? I can’t go back to the office without it. He says you’re
going to fail, and that you knew it, and that you haven’t any right to
it.”
Cowperwood looked at him curiously. He was surprised at the variety and
character of these emissaries of disaster. Surely, when troubles chose
to multiply they had great skill in presenting themselves in rapid
order. Stener had no right to make any such statement. The transaction
was not illegal. The man had gone wild. True, he, Cowperwood, had
received an order after these securities were bought not to buy or sell
any more city loan, but that did not invalidate previous purchases.
Stener was browbeating and frightening his poor underling, a better man
than himself, in order to get back this sixty-thousand-dollar check.
What a petty creature he was! How true it was, as somebody had
remarked, that you could not possibly measure the petty meannesses to
which a fool could stoop!
“You go back to Mr. Stener, Albert, and tell him that it can’t be done.
The certificates of loan were purchased before his order arrived, and
the records of the exchange will prove it. There is no illegality here.
I am entitled to that check and could have collected it in any
qualified court of law. The man has gone out of his head. I haven’t
failed yet. You are not in any danger of any legal proceedings; and if
you are, I’ll help defend you. I can’t give you the check back because
I haven’t it to give; and if I had, I wouldn’t. That would be allowing
a fool to make a fool of me. I’m sorry, very, but I can’t do anything
for you.”
“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!” Tears were in Stires’s eyes. “He’ll discharge me!
He’ll forfeit my sureties. I’ll be turned out into the street. I have
only a little property of my own—outside of my salary!”
He wrung his hands, and Cowperwood shook his head sadly.
“This isn’t as bad as you think, Albert. He won’t do what he says. He
can’t. It’s unfair and illegal. You can bring suit and recover your
salary. I’ll help you in that as much as I’m able. But I can’t give you
back this sixty-thousand-dollar check, because I haven’t it to give. I
couldn’t if I wanted to. It isn’t here any more. I’ve paid for the
securities I bought with it. The securities are not here. They’re in
the sinking-fund, or will be.”
He paused, wishing he had not mentioned that fact. It was a slip of the
tongue, one of the few he ever made, due to the peculiar pressure of
the situation. Stires pleaded longer. It was no use, Cowperwood told
him. Finally he went away, crestfallen, fearsome, broken. There were
tears of suffering in his eyes. Cowperwood was very sorry. And then his
father was announced.
The elder Cowperwood brought a haggard face. He and Frank had had a
long conversation the evening before, lasting until early morning, but
it had not been productive of much save uncertainty.
“Hello, father!” exclaimed Cowperwood, cheerfully, noting his father’s
gloom. He was satisfied that there was scarcely a coal of hope to be
raked out of these ashes of despair, but there was no use admitting it.
“Well?” said his father, lifting his sad eyes in a peculiar way.
“Well, it looks like stormy weather, doesn’t it? I’ve decided to call a
meeting of my creditors, father, and ask for time. There isn’t anything
else to do. I can’t realize enough on anything to make it worth while
talking about. I thought Stener might change his mind, but he’s worse
rather than better. His head bookkeeper just went out of here.”
“What did he want?” asked Henry Cowperwood.
“He wanted me to give him back a check for sixty thousand that he paid
me for some city loan I bought yesterday morning.” Frank did not
explain to his father, however, that he had hypothecated the
certificates this check had paid for, and used the check itself to
raise money enough to pay the Girard National Bank and to give himself
thirty-five thousand in cash besides.
“Well, I declare!” replied the old man. “You’d think he’d have better
sense than that. That’s a perfectly legitimate transaction. When did
you say he notified you not to buy city loan?”
“Yesterday noon.”
“He’s out of his mind,” Cowperwood, Sr., commented, laconically.
“It’s Mollenhauer and Simpson and Butler, I know. They want my
street-railway lines. Well, they won’t get them. They’ll get them
through a receivership, and after the panic’s all over. Our creditors
will have first chance at these. If they buy, they’ll buy from them. If
it weren’t for that five-hundred-thousand-dollar loan I wouldn’t think
a thing of this. My creditors would sustain me nicely. But the moment
that gets noised around!... And this election! I hypothecated those
city loan certificates because I didn’t want to get on the wrong side
of Davison. I expected to take in enough by now to take them up. They
ought to be in the sinking-fund, really.”
The old gentleman saw the point at once, and winced.
“They might cause you trouble, there, Frank.”
“It’s a technical question,” replied his son. “I might have been
intending to take them up. As a matter of fact, I will if I can before
three. I’ve been taking eight and ten days to deposit them in the past.
In a storm like this I’m entitled to move my pawns as best I can.”
Cowperwood, the father, put his hand over his mouth again. He felt very
disturbed about this. He saw no way out, however. He was at the end of
his own resources. He felt the side-whiskers on his left cheek. He
looked out of the window into the little green court. Possibly it was a
technical question, who should say. The financial relations of the city
treasury with other brokers before Frank had been very lax. Every
banker knew that. Perhaps precedent would or should govern in this
case. He could not say. Still, it was dangerous—not straight. If Frank
could get them out and deposit them it would be so much better.
“I’d take them up if I were you and I could,” he added.
“I will if I can.”
“How much money have you?”
“Oh, twenty thousand, all told. If I suspend, though, I’ll have to have
a little ready cash.”
“I have eight or ten thousand, or will have by night, I hope.”
He was thinking of some one who would give him a second mortgage on his
house.
Cowperwood looked quietly at him. There was nothing more to be said to
his father. “I’m going to make one more appeal to Stener after you
leave here,” he said. “I’m going over there with Harper Steger when he
comes. If he won’t change I’ll send out notice to my creditors, and
notify the secretary of the exchange. I want you to keep a stiff upper
lip, whatever happens. I know you will, though. I’m going into the
thing head down. If Stener had any sense—” He paused. “But what’s the
use talking about a damn fool?”
He turned to the window, thinking of how easy it would have been, if
Aileen and he had not been exposed by this anonymous note, to have
arranged all with Butler. Rather than injure the party, Butler, in
extremis, would have assisted him. Now...!
His father got up to go. He was as stiff with despair as though he were
suffering from cold.
“Well,” he said, wearily.
Cowperwood suffered intensely for him. What a shame! His father! He
felt a great surge of sorrow sweep over him but a moment later mastered
it, and settled to his quick, defiant thinking. As the old man went
out, Harper Steger was brought in. They shook hands, and at once
started for Stener’s office. But Stener had sunk in on himself like an
empty gas-bag, and no efforts were sufficient to inflate him. They went
out, finally, defeated.
“I tell you, Frank,” said Steger, “I wouldn’t worry. We can tie this
thing up legally until election and after, and that will give all this
row a chance to die down. Then you can get your people together and
talk sense to them. They’re not going to give up good properties like
this, even if Stener does go to jail.”
Steger did not know of the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of
hypothecated securities as yet. Neither did he know of Aileen Butler
and her father’s boundless rage.