The arrival of Steger with the information that no move of any kind
would be made by the sheriff until Monday morning, when Cowperwood
could present himself, eased matters. This gave him time to think—to
adjust home details at his leisure. He broke the news to his father and
mother in a consoling way and talked with his brothers and father about
getting matters immediately adjusted in connection with the smaller
houses to which they were now shortly to be compelled to move. There
was much conferring among the different members of this collapsing
organization in regard to the minor details; and what with his
conferences with Steger, his seeing personally Davison, Leigh, Avery
Stone, of Jay Cooke & Co., George Waterman (his old-time employer Henry
was dead), ex-State Treasurer Van Nostrand, who had gone out with the
last State administration, and others, he was very busy. Now that he
was really going into prison, he wanted his financial friends to get
together and see if they could get him out by appealing to the
Governor. The division of opinion among the judges of the State Supreme
Court was his excuse and strong point. He wanted Steger to follow this
up, and he spared no pains in trying to see all and sundry who might be
of use to him—Edward Tighe, of Tighe & Co., who was still in business
in Third Street; Newton Targool; Arthur Rivers; Joseph Zimmerman, the
dry-goods prince, now a millionaire; Judge Kitchen; Terrence Relihan,
the former representative of the money element at Harrisburg; and many
others.
Cowperwood wanted Relihan to approach the newspapers and see if he
could not readjust their attitude so as to work to get him out, and he
wanted Walter Leigh to head the movement of getting up a signed
petition which should contain all the important names of moneyed people
and others, asking the Governor to release him. Leigh agreed to this
heartily, as did Relihan, and many others.
And, afterwards there was really nothing else to do, unless it was to
see Aileen once more, and this, in the midst of his other complications
and obligations, seemed all but impossible at times—and yet he did
achieve that, too—so eager was he to be soothed and comforted by the
ignorant and yet all embracing volume of her love. Her eyes these days!
The eager, burning quest of him and his happiness that blazed in them.
To think that he should be tortured so—her Frank! Oh, she knew—whatever
he said, and however bravely and jauntily he talked. To think that her
love for him should have been the principal cause of his being sent to
jail, as she now believed. And the cruelty of her father! And the
smallness of his enemies—that fool Stener, for instance, whose pictures
she had seen in the papers. Actually, whenever in the presence of her
Frank, she fairly seethed in a chemic agony for him—her strong,
handsome lover—the strongest, bravest, wisest, kindest, handsomest man
in the world. Oh, didn’t she know! And Cowperwood, looking in her eyes
and realizing this reasonless, if so comforting fever for him, smiled
and was touched. Such love! That of a dog for a master; that of a
mother for a child. And how had he come to evoke it? He could not say,
but it was beautiful.
And so, now, in these last trying hours, he wished to see her much—and
did—meeting her at least four times in the month in which he had been
free, between his conviction and the final dismissal of his appeal. He
had one last opportunity of seeing her—and she him—just before his
entrance into prison this last time—on the Saturday before the Monday
of his sentence. He had not come in contact with her since the decision
of the Supreme Court had been rendered, but he had had a letter from
her sent to a private mail-box, and had made an appointment for
Saturday at a small hotel in Camden, which, being across the river, was
safer, in his judgment, than anything in Philadelphia. He was a little
uncertain as to how she would take the possibility of not seeing him
soon again after Monday, and how she would act generally once he was
where she could not confer with him as often as she chose. And in
consequence, he was anxious to talk to her. But on this occasion, as he
anticipated, and even feared, so sorry for her was he, she was not less
emphatic in her protestations than she had ever been; in fact, much
more so. When she saw him approaching in the distance, she went forward
to meet him in that direct, forceful way which only she could attempt
with him, a sort of mannish impetuosity which he both enjoyed and
admired, and slipping her arms around his neck, said: “Honey, you
needn’t tell me. I saw it in the papers the other morning. Don’t you
mind, honey. I love you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be with you yet, if it
takes a dozen years of waiting. It doesn’t make any difference to me if
it takes a hundred, only I’m so sorry for you, sweetheart. I’ll be with
you every day through this, darling, loving you with all my might.”
She caressed him while he looked at her in that quiet way which
betokened at once his self-poise and yet his interest and satisfaction
in her. He couldn’t help loving Aileen, he thought who could? She was
so passionate, vibrant, desireful. He couldn’t help admiring her
tremendously, now more than ever, because literally, in spite of all
his intellectual strength, he really could not rule her. She went at
him, even when he stood off in a calm, critical way, as if he were her
special property, her toy. She would talk to him always, and
particularly when she was excited, as if he were just a baby, her pet;
and sometimes he felt as though she would really overcome him mentally,
make him subservient to her, she was so individual, so sure of her
importance as a woman.
Now on this occasion she went babbling on as if he were broken-hearted,
in need of her greatest care and tenderness, although he really wasn’t
at all; and for the moment she actually made him feel as though he was.
“It isn’t as bad as that, Aileen,” he ventured to say, eventually; and
with a softness and tenderness almost unusual for him, even where she
was concerned, but she went on forcefully, paying no heed to him.
“Oh, yes, it is, too, honey. I know. Oh, my poor Frank! But I’ll see
you. I know how to manage, whatever happens. How often do they let
visitors come out to see the prisoners there?”
“Only once in three months, pet, so they say, but I think we can fix
that after I get there; only do you think you had better try to come
right away, Aileen? You know what the feeling now is. Hadn’t you better
wait a while? Aren’t you in danger of stirring up your father? He might
cause a lot of trouble out there if he were so minded.”
“Only once in three months!” she exclaimed, with rising emphasis, as he
began this explanation. “Oh, Frank, no! Surely not! Once in three
months! Oh, I can’t stand that! I won’t! I’ll go and see the warden
myself. He’ll let me see you. I’m sure he will, if I talk to him.”
She fairly gasped in her excitement, not willing to pause in her
tirade, but Cowperwood interposed with her, “You’re not thinking what
you’re saying, Aileen. You’re not thinking. Remember your father!
Remember your family! Your father may know the warden out there. You
don’t want it to get all over town that you’re running out there to see
me, do you? Your father might cause you trouble. Besides you don’t know
the small party politicians as I do. They gossip like a lot of old
women. You’ll have to be very careful what you do and how you do it. I
don’t want to lose you. I want to see you. But you’ll have to mind what
you’re doing. Don’t try to see me at once. I want you to, but I want to
find out how the land lies, and I want you to find out too. You won’t
lose me. I’ll be there, well enough.”
He paused as he thought of the long tier of iron cells which must be
there, one of which would be his—for how long?—and of Aileen seeing him
through the door of it or in it. At the same time he was thinking, in
spite of all his other calculations, how charming she was looking
to-day. How young she kept, and how forceful! While he was nearing his
full maturity she was a comparatively young girl, and as beautiful as
ever. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped silk in the curious
bustle style of the times, and a set of sealskin furs, including a
little sealskin cap set jauntily on top her red-gold hair.
“I know, I know,” replied Aileen, firmly. “But think of three months!
Honey, I can’t! I won’t! It’s nonsense. Three months! I know that my
father wouldn’t have to wait any three months if he wanted to see
anybody out there, nor anybody else that he wanted to ask favors for.
And I won’t, either. I’ll find some way.”
Cowperwood had to smile. You could not defeat Aileen so easily.
“But you’re not your father, honey; and you don’t want him to know.”
“I know I don’t, but they don’t need to know who I am. I can go heavily
veiled. I don’t think that the warden knows my father. He may. Anyhow,
he doesn’t know me; and he wouldn’t tell on me if he did if I talked to
him.”
Her confidence in her charms, her personality, her earthly privileges
was quite anarchistic. Cowperwood shook his head.
“Honey, you’re about the best and the worst there is when it comes to a
woman,” he observed, affectionately, pulling her head down to kiss her,
“but you’ll have to listen to me just the same. I have a lawyer,
Steger—you know him. He’s going to take up this matter with the warden
out there—is doing it today. He may be able to fix things, and he may
not. I’ll know to-morrow or Sunday, and I’ll write you. But don’t go
and do anything rash until you hear. I’m sure I can cut that visiting
limit in half, and perhaps down to once a month or once in two weeks
even. They only allow me to write one letter in three months”—Aileen
exploded again—“and I’m sure I can have that made different—some; but
don’t write me until you hear, or at least don’t sign any name or put
any address in. They open all mail and read it. If you see me or write
me you’ll have to be cautious, and you’re not the most cautious person
in the world. Now be good, will you?”
They talked much more—of his family, his court appearance Monday,
whether he would get out soon to attend any of the suits still pending,
or be pardoned. Aileen still believed in his future. She had read the
opinions of the dissenting judges in his favor, and that of the three
agreed judges against him. She was sure his day was not over in
Philadelphia, and that he would some time reestablish himself and then
take her with him somewhere else. She was sorry for Mrs. Cowperwood,
but she was convinced that she was not suited to him—that Frank needed
some one more like herself, some one with youth and beauty and
force—her, no less. She clung to him now in ecstatic embraces until it
was time to go. So far as a plan of procedure could have been adjusted
in a situation so incapable of accurate adjustment, it had been done.
She was desperately downcast at the last moment, as was he, over their
parting; but she pulled herself together with her usual force and faced
the dark future with a steady eye.