During this year he took up modern history, the development of railway
intercourse in Europe and America, and pursued his studies and
experiments of the previous year with unabated ardor. He likewise
became violently interested in politics, and let off a good deal of
steam in public speaking. He also took up the cudgels for the East,
partly because his father was a New-Yorker, partly because in this
attitude he stood practically alone. Privately he thought the West
had cause for grievance in the absurd and ignorant attitude of the
East; but it was impossible for him to run with the majority, and
there certainly was much to be said for the older civilization. The
question of strikes and all the manifestations of the antagonism
between capital and labor did not engage his attention until the
following year; and when it did his sympathies were entirely with the
poor man, as he informed his father in long and impassioned letters.
In answer, Mr. Abbott invariably reminded him that as yet he knew
nothing of the rich, and advised him to suspend judgment. But although
Fessenden by this time was an intolerant democrat, wore his oldest
sweaters, and even persuaded Miss Lunt to patch his trousers, there
was something curiously aristocratic in his attitude and personality,
which his associates felt rather than analyzed. There was not a man
in the college who would have dared to emulate his utter disregard of
appearance, his indifference to comment on the streets of Turbine, the
catholicity of his acquaintance, the manner in which he ignored the
very existence of those he did not like, the recklessness with which
he thought out loud, apparently unconscious that anything could affect
his standing, popularity, and reputation, and the indefinable touch
of patronage in his most extreme democracy. And although even at that
period, when he was full of vanity, he did not swagger, still it was
noticeable that he carried himself as if the world were his. He made
enemies, but he either fought them or accepted them with philosophy,
and he had an army of disciples, who followed his imaginative flights
and his most radical theories to the bitter end.
But his fellow-men interested Fessenden less at this period than the
wonderful excursions he was making daily into the new realms of thought
and research. It was during the middle of the third year that he gave
himself up more particularly to the study of finance, the development
of banking, and political economy. He pursued these studies with a
curious sense of reviving old memories; he surprised himself at his
love of dry details--that even here his imagination saw picturesqueness
in the possibilities of concentrating vast sums of money and yet
filling the veins of a great country with a life-blood of liquid gold.
During his democratic madness he had seriously doubted whether his
conscience would permit him to be a rich man; but now, with a chastened
yet no less sincere democracy, he made up his mind that for a man of
the people to acquire millions and then use them for the amelioration
of his less-gifted fellows, to say nothing of glorifying his country,
was both wise and poetical. Having satisfied his mind on this point, he
astonished the university and Turbine by appearing at church in a suit
of clothes not only of harmoniously assorted pieces, but manifestly
made to order. He sustained the balance by looking worse than usual
during the week.
In the vacation preceding Fessenden’s fourth year the university
received, from a source which was to remain unknown to all but the
president, a large bequest for the departments of banking and finance.
The bequest was accompanied by the condition that during the ensuing
year certain eminent authorities were to be asked to lecture. Somewhat
to the surprise but greatly to the satisfaction of the faculty,
invitations to lecture were promptly accepted by the Secretary of
the Treasury, the President of the Pennsylvania Railroad, the owner
of a great department store, and three leading bank presidents. These
gentlemen did not confine themselves to generalities; they described
the practical workings of their respective systems, enriched by a
wealth of comparison with corresponding systems in other countries;
they pointed out the defects and disadvantages of both sides, and
analyzed the causes of the remarkable progress of so young a country
as the United States; they emphasized the necessity of a sleepless
alertness, and the demand for new ideas which should be bold without
recklessness and safe without conservatism. Fessenden listened with
tingling nerves and legs moving restlessly. He wrote to his father
that he regarded this timely benefaction as a direct interposition of
Providence in his behalf, and that although he certainly had to work
harder than any one in the world, he believed that he had been born
under a star of remarkable magnitude. His ambitions had revived long
since. He had in his imagination a union of steel and electricity so
madly romantic that he dared not confide even in his father. He must
make a large sum of money first, for he would trust no one with his
secret. He believed that he could make his country invincible, the
ruler, if she chose, of two hemispheres, and he looked back somewhat
patronizingly upon his old heroes. Other times, other gods! The
pendulum in him was still swinging wildly, the balance was not yet;
but the depth and tenacity of purpose, the clear creative intellect,
quick and versatile in grasp, and of an extraordinary energy; the high
enthusiasm and real capacity for the passion of patriotism were all
modelling and biding their time within the exterior made up of their
defects.
So passed the four years, with their intervals of mountain-life, when,
in spite of his ever-increasing classes, he drew renewed strength and
courage from solitude and the invigorating air of high altitudes. Hard
work told little on him, for his body was full of red mountain-blood
and clamped with magnificent muscles.
He hoped that his father would come and witness his triumphs of
Commencement Day, but he received this letter instead:
“MY DEAR BOY,--It is a matter of very great regret to me that I
cannot be with you at this time, but I will explain my absence to
your entire satisfaction when we meet. Thank God that will be almost
immediately. At a very bitter price to myself I have relentlessly
pursued a plan conceived the day after your mother’s death; and my
compensation so far has been its entire success. Will you come to
New York on Monday? It had been my intention to meet you in the
Adirondacks and tell my story there, for I dislike anything savoring
of drama, but business imperatively commands me to stay here, and I
must ask you to come to me. I have sent for _Pocahontas_. I enclose
a postal order for a hundred dollars. May I ask you not to arrive
in a sweater? New York is not Turbine. Moreover, a natural weakness
makes me wish to see you, after so many years, at the best possible
advantage.
“Your very affectionate
“FATHER.”
Fessenden pondered over this letter. It was enigmatic, and Mr. Abbott’s
brief communications were usually remarkable for their clarity. He had
made up his mind four years ago that his father was an inventor, and
denuded him of all mystery. It also occurred to him with startling
abruptness that he had never seen his father’s signature. As he stood
staring at the paper, shadowy images, impressions, chance words,
blurred pictures rose from some forgotten well in his mind, endeavored
to sharpen, to cohere; but they faded away impotently; the vital
interests of the morrow rushed in and claimed place; he shrugged his
shoulders and sent his father a telegram.