the head of a group of men virtually controlling industrial,
financial, and political America.
GEORGE J. HALLETT, one of his associates.
L. BERGEN RIVINGTON, another.
*Politicians*.
THE GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK.
THE MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY.
HON. G. W. HUBER, U. S. Congressman, from
Doncaster County, Pennsylvania,
HON. JESSE KINZER, his successor.
SENATOR SCUDDER, the MAN'S lieutenant in the
Albany legislature,
HON. JARED SPARKS, his lieutenant in the Connecticut
legislature.
BRINLEY, commander of his lobby at
Washington.
KILGOUR, City Chamberlain of New York.
TIM HENEY, Leader of Tammany Hall.
SEELEY, an anti-Tammany Democratic
leader.
ELLISON, another.
THE POLICE-COMMISSIONER OF NEW YORK CITY.
GEORGE KAINDIAC, a U. S. Post-Office Inspector.
VENABLE, ) leaders of the Municipal
NELSON, ) Reform League.
YEATES, )
JARVIE, a Municipal Reform League
"worker."
*Lawyers*.
BROUWER LEIGHTON, District-Attorney of New
York. A Republican.
LARRY O'MARA, a member of his staff,
UHLER, another member of Leighton's
staff.
EX-JUDGE MARCUS F. STEIN, of the firm of Stein, Falconridge,
Falconridge & Perry,
corporation-lawyers.
IRWIN, a member of Stein's staff.
ANSON QUIRK, an underworld lawyer.
LUKE HUBER, a young lawyer.
*Businessmen*.
ROBERT M. DOHAN, president of the M. & N. R. R.
HENRY G. McKAY, his successor.
B. FRANK OSSERMAN, president of the East County
National Bank.
WALLACE K. FORBES, head of the firm of R. H.
Forbes & Son, manufacturers
of ready-made clothing,
ALEXANDER TITUS, financial-inquiry agent.
JAMES T. ROLLINS, the MAN'S secretary.
ATWOOD, his chief broker.
SIMPSON, his almoner.
CONOVER, one of his confidential clerks.
HERBERT CROY, manager of the Ruysdael estate.
WHITAKER, superintendent of the Forbes
factory.
THE DESK-CLERK, in the Arapahoe Apartment house.
CHARLEY, a clerk in the M. R. L. offices,
REV. PINKNEY NICHOLSON, rector of Church of St. Athanasius.
*Miscellaneous Persons*.
THE MAN'S NIECE.
CORNELIUS RUYSDAEL, a wealthy New Yorker of
good family.
MRS. RUYSDAEL, his wife.
TOMMY HALLETT, son of George J.
JOHN JAY PORCELLIS, a young man of leisure.
BETTY FORBES, daughter of Wallace K. Forbes.
MRS. HUBER, mother of Luke and wife of
G. W. Huber.
JANE HUBER, her daughter.
JAMES, the Forbes chauffeur.
MISS WESTON, a telephone operator.
BREIL, a strike-breaker.
AN I.W.W. ORGANIZER.
*Policeman*.
HUGH DONOVAN, a police-lieutenant
MITCHELL, )
ANDERSON, ) patrolmen.
GUTH, )
*Militiamen*.
CAPTAIN ANTONIO FACCIOLATI, of the New York N. G.
TERRY, first-lieutenant under Facciolati.
SCHMIDT, a sergeant.
*Citizens of the Underworld*.
A BUM.
GACE, an assassin.
A DISORDERLY WOMAN.
A WOMAN-RIOTER.
A DRUNKEN WOMAN.
REDDY RAWN, leader of an East Side "gang."
REDDY'S "GIRL."
THE KID, one of his associates,
CRAB ROTELLO. head of a rival gang.
ZANTZINGER, a gunman.
BUTCH DELLITT, another gunman.
*Other Persons*.
Women of the street, the brothel, the world.
Clothing-factory workers.
A mob.
Waiters in saloons.
Clerks and foremen in the Forbes factory.
Stenographers and typists.
Gamblers.
Other gangmen.
Other policemen.
Various minor Republican, Democratic, Reform, and Progressive
politicians.
Newspaper-reporters.
Some newspaper-editors.
A corps of strike-breakers.
Scabs.
Soldiers of the New York National Guard.
*THE SPIDER'S WEB*
*CHAPTER I*
Sec.1. Early that morning, Luke Huber stood before the Pennsylvania
Railroad Station at Americus and fancied himself a latter-day crusader
setting out to reconquer from the infidels the modern Holy City of God.
He had graduated from the Harvard Law-School in the previous June. Now
the Republican brother-in-law of one of his classmates, having been
elected District-Attorney of corruptly Democratic New York, offered a
place on his staff to Luke as soon as Huber should meet successfully the
necessary formalities. This new public-prosecutor was to "clean up" the
largest city in the country, and Luke, as his assistant, was to aid in
restoring to the metropolis the ideals of the framers of the
Constitution.
A slim young man, with a smooth face too rugged to be handsome, and gray
eyes too keen to be always dreaming, Huber stood erect, the wide collar
of his woolen overcoat turned up, for the spring lingered that year in
the valleys of Virginia, and the brim of his Alpine hat pulled over his
nose. He disregarded the group of boys waiting for the "up-train" that
would bring the Philadelphia morning newspapers to his native
Pennsylvania town, disregarded the grimy station-buildings, and looked
toward the river, where the morning mists were lifting and the cold
sunshine was creeping through to light the Susquehanna hills. He was one
of those fortunate and few human beings who are born without the
original sin of superstition, but what he saw seemed to him almost a
favorable omen. He had come down early, because he disliked to prolong
the good-bys of his mother and sister, and because he felt that even the
walk to the station was an important advance in the quest which he was
so eager to begin. When he arrived beside the railway tracks and
allowed his father, the Congressman, to see to the checking of the
baggage--a concession that Luke made to his parent's desire for some
part in the great adventure--the entire river was hidden from view by a
thick dun curtain: one could see nothing beyond the point by the shore
where the black arms of a derrick, at the Americus Sand Company's works,
were silhouetted against that curtain and stretched over a tremendous
mound of sand, as if they were the arms of some gigantic skeleton
pronouncing the benediction at a Black Mass. But now, though the fog
really rose, it appeared to Luke to be torn from above, and as the sun
mounted over distant Turkey Hill and gradually gilded the pines on the
surrounding summits, it seemed to advance up the bed of the stream,
slowly descending of its own force along the dark hillsides, until, all
at once, the river was a rushing stream of gold. Luke found himself
thinking of the veil of the Temple, and how it was rent in twain from
the top to the bottom.
His father, who was taller than Luke, but broad out of all proportion to
his height, came puffing back from the baggage-room. He held the checks
for Luke's luggage and a slip of pink paper.
"Here are your checks," he said, "and here's your pass. I forgot to
give it to you. It came last night."
Luke took the proffered paper.
"I thought," he began, "that the Interstate Commerce Commission
didn't----"
The Congressman interrupted with a deep chuckle.
"Oh, that's all right," he said. "Don't let your conscience worry you
about that. This is for a continuous ride to a terminus of the road."
"I see," said Luke; but what he saw was that his father, whom he loved
too much to hurt uselessly, had, out of kindness, strained a legal
definition. His father, he reflected, was not a man to abuse privilege
in large matters, and would be only hurt by a refusal in the present
trivial affair. Luke put the pass in the cuff of his overcoat and
silently decided to pay his fare to the conductor. The elder man, big
as he was, stamped his feet on the concrete pavement and complained of
the chill in the April air; the younger was too happy to notice the
cold.
"Train's five minutes late," remarked the Congressman as, through a
cautiously unbuttoned overcoat, he drew and snapped open a heavy watch.
"Is your time correct?" asked Luke.
"Hasn't varied three seconds a week in ten years," his father assured
him.
Neither was thinking of what was being said. The younger man was so
full of the high work ahead of him that he had already forgotten his
mother's ill-concealed tears at parting; the elder, granted political
favors rather because of his personal popularity and pliant good-nature
than for any ability at the game of vote-keeping, possessed at least the
chief virtue of the politician: he was a man of few words, and the more
truly he felt the less he spoke.
The "up-train" arrived (it was the "down-train" that Luke must take),
and the Congressman was besieged by the newsboys, who knelt about him,
striking their rolls of newspapers on the pavement the quicker to burst
the wrappers in which the journals were closely confined.
"_Press_, Mr. Huber?"
"_North American_ or _Record_?"
"_Ledger_?"
The boys bobbed up, flourishing their wares.
"Aw, I know what he wants," said an older lad, elbowing the rest.
"Here's yer _Inquirer_, Mr. Congressman."
Luke's father smiled: he had never outgrown his liking for homage from
whatever quarter; but he bought a paper from each boy, giving each a
five-cent piece and telling him to keep the change.
"You might as well take the lot," he said to Luke. "You'll want
something to read on the train." He was handing all the papers to Luke,
when his eyes were caught by a large headline on the first page of one
of them. "Hello!" he commented, his lips immediately pursing themselves
as if to whistle. As Luke took its fellows, the Congressman folded this
paper with the sudden skill of the confirmed newspaper-reader, who can
handle a journal in the open air as neatly as a trained yachtsman can
reef a top-sail before an undesirable wind. "I see the Big Man's been
giving some more testimony to that committee of the legislature up at
Albany."
For the past few weeks, Luke had been too busy preparing for his
bar-examinations to keep track of current events.
"Who's the Big Man?" he asked.
The elder Huber raised his thick brows.
"You know," said he, and he mentioned the name of one of the richest men
in America; not a man that had made his wealth even through the building
of a great industry, but one that had, by "editing" money and
combinations of money much in that manner in which a news-desk
copy-reader edits the reporters' "copy," made himself a member of the
triumvirate--rumor said made the triumvirate and made himself its
head--which had for years controlled alike the labor and capital of the
country.
"What's he been saying?" asked Luke.
"He's been answering questions about campaign contributions."
"To the Democrats?"
"Well, no." The Congressman was reluctant. "It seems it was to the
Republicans."
Luke colored.
"Of course," he said, "I always knew those fellows had no real political
convictions, and of course any party is bound to have some bad lots
among its small fry, but I do wish our National Committee would kick out
of the ranks the men that take money from such people."
The father did not like this. Luke had been a great deal away from him,
first at boarding-school and then at college and the law-school, so that
the two had not seen much of each other for many years; but since the
younger had come home this last time, he had given frequent expression
to sentiments of the present sort, and the Congressman, although he
disliked argument as keenly as most Congressmen, felt that now it was
his duty to protest.
"My boy," he said, "you won't go far if you go about talking that way.
This contribution went to the fund that elected your District-Attorney
Leighton."
"I don't believe it!"
"That's the testimony."
"I don't believe it. This man's swearing to that so as to hurt the
party in New York."
"This man?" Luke's father repeated the phrase interrogatively. His
usual taciturnity fell from him. "Why do you say that? How do you know
it? Why should he want to hurt the party? As a matter of fact, what do
you know about 'this man,' anyhow? Nothing but a lot of unfounded
gossip printed in papers that want him to come over to their side. Why
shouldn't he help our party? I do know something about him. I've never
met him, but I know the whole story of his career--know it
intimately--and I tell you that his is the greatest intellect in America
to-day, and he has used his intellect, and the wealth it got him, to
help--not only once, but again and again--to help and to save--yes,
save, the party and the prosperity of the nation. I tell you----"
He did not tell any more. The down-train had been rumbling over the
last span of the river-bridge when he began talking; and now it rolled
before the station.
Luke took his suitcase in one hand and extended the other in farewell.
Unexpectedly he felt a lump in his throat.
"Good-by," he said.
His father gripped the hand. His habitual inarticulateness redescended
upon him. "You've--I know you're all right, Luke. Don't forget to
write once a week: your mother worries."
"I won't forget."
They stood, hands clasped.
Close by, the "train-crier" was calling in a high, nasal voice:
"Train for Mountwille, Doncaster, Downington, Philadelphy, _and_ Noo
York! First stop Mountwille!"
"And, Luke----"
"Yes, father?"
"Don't make charges when you don't know facts."
"Perhaps I have a weakness that way," Luke smiled.
His smile conjured another.
"That's right; now you're showing the proper spirit." With his free
hand, the elder man patted the younger's shoulder. "Stick to your books
and stick to Leighton. Gratitude is the best virtue--and the rarest."
Luke nodded.
"Now, get aboard," concluded his counselor. "Got your pass?--and the
checks?--I'll be running over occasionally, I dare say.--And let me know
if I can do anything for you."
Luke clambered into the smoking-car. He took a seat on the side near
the station and waved his hand to his father as the engine began to
snort. He paid his fare to the conductor, and, when Americus was well
behind him, he opened the window, tore the pink pass into a dozen small
pieces and let the clean April breeze carry them away.
At Doncaster he changed to the Pullman car that was there attached to
the train; he again carefully chose his seat, this time selecting one on
the side from which he could the better enjoy his first view of New
York. He had always liked this view when it came to him on his returns
to Boston after his vacations; it wakened in him the dreams of the day
which should light him into the city, there to work for its salvation
and the nation's. His youthful dreams were still with him, and, since
the moment when the sun had rent the Susquehanna mists, he was looking
forward to that sight of the southernmost walls of New York towering
like the ramparts of a mighty fortress above the crowded waters of the
Jersey City ferry. Then, indeed, with the battle yet to be fought, he
would feel as the crusaders must have felt at their first sight of
Jerusalem.
But Luke's train was late, and by the time that it reached the point
from which the city should have been visible, the mists had again
descended. They had deepened. All that Luke, with straining eyes,
could see were a few spectral turrets, distorted and ugly in the
thickened atmosphere, swaying overhead upon waves of yellow fog.
Sec.2. Jack Porcellis, with his mother's motor, met Luke. They were
driven to the apartment-house in Thirty-ninth Street where, upon Jack's
advice, Huber had written to engage two small rooms and bath. It was
Jack Porcellis (his real name was John Jay Porcellis) who had
District-Attorney Leighton for a brother-in-law and had induced that
official to give Luke a place on the staff of the public prosecutor.
Porcellis was considerably taller than Huber and very considerably
thinner. He was a quiet member of an old Knickerbocker family, who was
at home in every sort of society, had gone to law-school as an
intellectual diversion and now spent most of his time traveling, always
well within his income, through whatever lands chanced to attract his
continually changing fancy.
"I hope you'll be comfortable here," he said, when they had been lifted
to the fifth floor of the house, which was dry and hot from the steam
radiators and smelled as all steam-heated houses smell. The elevator-boy
was unlocking the door to Luke's apartments while Porcellis spoke. He
stood aside as the two men entered.
"I think I'll make out very well," said Luke. He handed the boy a tip
and dismissed him. "It's not so big as our rooms in Ware Hall, but then
there were two of us there."
The quarters were indeed small. The parlor was almost diminutive, and
the bedroom, which opened from it, was an alcove; the front window gave
upon the busy street, with a bit of Broadway to the right, and the
bathroom, in American fashion, was as large as the parlor.
"I did the best I could for you," Porcellis explained: he failed to
account for his friend's tone by the fact that Luke was fresh from the
spaciousness of a small town.
Huber softened.
"I didn't mean to criticise, Jack. I'm sure this will do splendidly.
After all, I'm in New York for hard work."
"I know you are." Porcellis smiled faintly. "You were never anywhere
for anything else. Well, you'll probably get over that before you've
quite spoiled yourself for everything. It's a way New York has."