One morning shortly after the MacBirneys had been entertained at The
Towers John Kimberly was wheeled into his library where Charles and
Robert were waiting for him. Charles leaned against the mantel and his
brother stood at a window looking across the lake toward Cedar Point.
As Francis left the room Uncle John's eyes followed him. Presently they
wandered back with cheerful suspicion toward his nephews, and he laid
his good arm on the table as they took chairs near him.
"Well?" he said lifting his eyebrows and looking blandly from one to the
other.
"Well?" echoed Charles good-naturedly, looking from Uncle John to
Robert.
"Well?" repeated Robert with mildly assumed idiocy, looking from Charles
back again to Uncle John.
But Uncle John was not to be committed by any resort to his own tactics,
and he came back at Charles on the flank. "Get any fish?" he asked, as
if assured that Charles would make an effort to deceive him in
answering.
"We sat around for a while without doing a thing, Uncle John. Then they
began to strike and I had eight days of the best sport I ever saw on the
river,"
Uncle John buried his disappointment under a smile. "Good fishing, eh?"
"Excellent."
There was evidently no opening on this subject, and Uncle John tried
another tender spot. "Yacht go any better?"
"McAdams has done wonders with it, Uncle John. She never steamed so
well since she was launched."
"Cost a pretty penny, eh, Charlie?"
"That is what pretty pennies are for, isn't it?"
Unable to disturb his nephew's peace of mind, Uncle John launched
straight into business. "What are you going to do with those fellows?"
"You mean the MacBirney syndicate? Robert tells me he has concluded to
be liberal with them."
"He is giving too much, Charlie."
"He knows better what the stuff is worth than we do."
Uncle John smiled sceptically. "He will give them more than they are
worth, I am afraid."
Robert said nothing.
"Perhaps there is a reason for that," suggested Charles.
They waited for Robert to speak. He shifted in his chair presently and
spoke with some decision. His intonation might have been unpleasant but
that the depth and fulness of his voice redeemed it. The best note in
his utterance was its open frankness.
"Uncle John understands this matter just as well as I do," he began,
somewhat in protest.
"We have been over the ground often. These people have been an
annoyance to us; this is undeniable. McCrea has complained of them for
two years. Through a shift in the cards--this money squeeze--we have
them to-day in our hands----"
Uncle John's eyes shone and he clasped the fingers of one hand tightly
in the other. "That is what I say; trim them!" he whispered eagerly.
Robert went on, unmoved: "Let us look at that, too. He wants me to trim
them. I have steadily opposed buying them at all. But the rest of you
have overruled me. Very good. They know now that they are in our
power. They are, one and all, bushwhackers and guerillas. To my mind
there isn't a trustworthy man in the crowd--not even MacBirney.
"They have made selling agreements with McCrea again and again and left
him to hold the sack. We can't do business in that way. When we give
our word it must be good. They give their word to break it. Whenever
we make a selling agreement with such people we get beaten, invariably.
They have cut into us on the Missouri River, at St. Paul, even at
Chicago--from their Kansas plants. They make poor sugar, but it sells,
and even when it won't sell, it demoralizes the trade. Now they are on
their knees. They want us to buy to save what they've got invested. At
a receiver's sale they would get nothing. But on the other hand Lambert
might get the plants. If we tried to bid them in there would be a howl
from the Legislature, perhaps."
Uncle John was growing moody, for the prey was slipping through his
fingers. "It might be better to stand pat," he muttered.
Robert paid no attention. "What I propose, and God knows I have
explained it before, is this: These people can be trimmed, or they can
be satisfied. I say give them eleven millions--six millions cash--three
millions preferred and two millions in our common for fifty per cent of
their stock instead of sixteen millions for all of their stock."
Uncle John looked horror stricken. "It is nothing to us," exclaimed
Robert, impatiently. "I can make the whole capital back in twelve
months with McCrea to help MacBirney reorganize and run the plants. It
is a fortune for them, and we keep MacBirney and the rest of them, for
ten years at least, from scheming to start new plants. Nelson says there
are legal difficulties about buying more than half their stock. But the
voting control of all of it can be safely trusteed."
Uncle John could barely articulate: "Too much, it is too much."
"Bosh. This is a case where generosity is 'plainly indicated,' as
Hamilton says."
"Too much."
"Robert is right," asserted Charles curtly.
Uncle John threw his hand up as if to say: "If you are resolved to ruin
us, go on!"
"You will be surprised at the success of it," concluded Robert.
"MacBirney wants to come here to live, though Chicago would be the
better place for him. Let him be responsible for the Western territory.
With such an arrangement we ought to have peace out there for ten years.
If we can, it means just one hundred millions more in our pockets than
we can make in the face of this continual price cutting."
Charles rose. "Then it is settled."
Uncle John ventured a last appeal. "Make the cash five and a half
millions."
"Very good," assented Robert, who to meet precisely this objection had
raised the figure well above what he intended to pay. "As you like,
Uncle John," he said graciously. "Charles, make the cash five and a
half millions."
And Uncle John went back to his loneliness, treasuring in his heart the
half million he had saved, and encouraged by his frail triumph in the
conference over his never-quite-wholly-understood nephew.
At a luncheon next day, the decision was laid by Charles and Robert
before the Kimberly partners, by whom it was discussed and approved.
In the evening Charles, with Robert listening, laid the proposal before
MacBirney, who had been sent for and whose astonishment at the
unexpected liberality overwhelmed him.
He was promptly whirled away from The Towers in a De Castro car. And
from a simple after-dinner conference, in which he had sat down at ten
o'clock a promoter, he had risen at midnight with his brain reeling, a
millionaire.
Alice excused herself when her husband appeared at Black Rock, and
followed him upstairs. She saw how he was wrought up. In their room,
with eyes burning with the fires of success, he told her of the
stupendous change in their fortunes. With an affection that surprised
and moved Alice, who had long believed that never again could anything
from him move her, he caught her closely in his arms.
Tears filled her eyes. He wiped them away and forced a laugh. "Too
good to be true, dearie, isn't it?"
She faltered an instant. "If it will only bring us happiness, Walter."
"Alice, I'm afraid I have been harsh, at times." Her memory swept over
bitter months and wasted years, but her heart was touched. "It is all
because I worry too much over business. There will be no more worries
now--they are past and gone. And I want you to forget everything,
Allie." He embraced her fervently. "I have had a good deal of anxiety
first and last. It is over now. Great God! This is so easy here.
Everything is so easy for these people."
The telephone bell tinkled. Through a mist of tears Alice felt her
husband's kiss. She rose to answer the bell. Dolly was calling from
downstairs. "Come down both of you," she said. "Charles and Imogene are
here with Fritzie and Robert."
With Charles and Imogene had come a famous doctor from the city,
Hamilton's friend, Doctor Bryson. Alice protested she could not come
down. Dolly told her she "simply must." The controversy upset Alice
but she had at last to give way. She bathed her face in cold water and
her husband deceived her with assurances that her eyes showed no traces
of tears.
Very uncertain about them, she followed MacBirney down, taking refuge at
once in a corner with Imogene.
While the two were talking, Grace De Castro and Larrie Morgan came in,
bringing some young friends. "Aren't they the nicest couple?" exclaimed
Alice as they crossed the room.
"It is a blessing they are," said Imogene. "You see, Grace will probably
succeed to the De Castro fortune, and Larrie is likely sometime to have
the Kimberly burdens. It crushes me to think that Charles and I have no
children."
"Are you so fond of children?" Alice asked wistfully.
"Why, of course, dear; aren't you?"
"Indeed I am, too fond of them. I lost my only child, a baby girl----"
"And you never have had another?"
"No."
"If Robert would marry, we should have a family hope there," continued
Imogene. "But I am afraid he never will. How did you enjoy your
evening at The Towers?"
"We had a delightful time."
"Isn't Robert a good host? I love to see him preside. And he hasn't
given a dinner before for years."
"Why is that?"
Imogene laid her hand gently on Alice's. "It is a long story, dear, a
tragedy came into his life--into all our lives, in fact. It changed him
greatly."
Soon after the MacBirneys came down, the Nelsons arrived on the scene
and the company moved to a south room to get the breeze. Imogene talked
with Alice and MacBirney, but Kimberly joined them and listened, taking
part at intervals in the conversation.
When Imogene's attention was taken by MacBirney, Robert, asking Alice if
she got the air from the cooling windows, moved her chair to where the
breeze could be felt more perceptibly. "I hope you haven't had bad news
to-night," he said, taking a seat on a divan near her.
She understood instantly that her eyes had not escaped his scrutiny, but
concealed her annoyance as best she could. "No, indeed. But I had some
exciting news to-night."
"What was it?"
"Oh, I mayn't tell, may I? I am not supposed to know anything, am I?"
Her little uncertainty and appeal made her charmingly pretty, he
thought, as he watched her. The traces in her eyes of tears attracted
him more than anything he had seen before. Her first little air of
annoyed defiance and her effort to throw him off the track, all
interested him, and her appeal now, made in a manner that plainly said
she was aware the secret of the news was his own, pleased him.
He was in the mood of one who had made his plans, put them through
generously, and was ready for the enjoyment that might follow.
"Certainly, you are supposed to know," said he graciously. "Why not?
And you may tell if you like. At any rate, I absolve you as far as
_I'm_ concerned. I couldn't conceive you guilty of a very serious
indiscretion."
"Then I suppose you know that we are very happy, and why--don't you?"
"Perhaps; but that should be mere excitement. How about the tears?"
She frowned an impatient protest and rose. "Oh, I haven't said anything
about tears. They are going out on the porch--shall we join them?" He
got up reluctantly and followed her.
Arthur De Castro and Charles Kimberly offered chairs to Alice. They
were under a cluster of electric lamps, where she did not wish to sit
for inspection. As she hesitated Robert Kimberly spoke behind her.
"Possibly it will be pleasanter over here, Mrs. MacBirney."
He was in the shadow and had drawn a chair for her near Nelson outside
the circle of light, from which she was glad to escape. He took the
seat under the light himself. When an ice was served, the small tables
were drawn together. Alice, occupied with Nelson, who inspired by his
vis-a-vis had summoned something of his grand air, lost the conversation
of the circle until she heard Doctor Bryson, and turned with Nelson to
listen. He was thanking Mrs. De Castro for a compliment.
"I am always glad to hear anything kind of my profession." He spoke
simply and his manner Alice thought engaging. "It _is_ a high
calling--and I know of but one higher. We hear the complaint that
nowadays medicine is a savagely mercenary profession. If a measure of
truth lies in the charge I think it is due to the fact that doctors are
victims of the mercenary spirit about them. It's a part of the very air
they breathe. They can't escape it. The doctor, to begin with, must
spend one small fortune to get his degree. He must spend another to
equip himself for his work. Ten of the best years of his life go
practically to getting ready. His expense for instruments, appliances,
and new and increasingly elaborate appointments is continuous."
"But doctor," Fritzie Venable leaned forward with a grave and lengthened
face, "think of the fees!"
The doctor enjoyed the laugh. "Quite true. When you find an ambitious
doctor, unless his energy is restrained by a sense of his high
responsibility, he may be possessed of greed. If a surgeon be set too
fast on fame he will affect the spectacular and cut too much and too
freely. I admit all of this. My plea is for the conscientious doctor,
and believe me, there are many such. Nor must you forget that, at the
best, half our lives we are too young to please and half our lives too
old."
"Hamilton said the other night," observed Robert Kimberly, filling in
the pause, "that a good doctor must spend his time in killing, not his
own patients, but his own business."
"No other professional man is called on to do that," observed Bryson.
"Indeed, the saddest of all possible proofs of the difficulties of our
calling is found in the fact that the suicide rate among doctors is the
highest in the learned professions."
MacBirney expressed surprise. "I had no idea of such a thing. Had you,
Mr. Kimberly?" he asked with his sudden energy.
"I have known it, but perhaps only because I have been interested in
questions of that kind."
Dolly's attention was arrested at once by the mention of suicide. "Oh,
dear," she exclaimed, "Don't let us talk about suicide."
But Robert Kimberly could not always be shut off and this subject he
pursued with a certain firmness. Some of the family were disturbed but
no one presumed to interfere. "Suicide," he went on, "has a painful
interest for many people. Has your study of it, doctor, ever led you to
believe that it presupposes insanity?" he asked of Bryson.
"By no means."
"You conclude then that sane men and women do commit suicide?"
"Frequently, Mr. Kimberly."
Kimberly drew back in his chair. "I am glad to be supported in my own
conviction. The fact is," he went on in a humorous tone, "I am forced
either to hold in this way or conclude that I am sprung from a race of
lunatics."
"Robert," protested Dolly, "can't we talk about something else?"
Kimberly, however, persisted, and he now had, for some reason not clear
to Alice, a circle of painfully acute listeners. "The insanity theory
is in many cases a comfortable one. But I don't find it so, and I must
stick to the other and regard suicide as the worst possible solution of
any possible difficulty."
Doctor Bryson nodded assent. Kimberly spoke on with a certain
intensity. "If every act of a man's life had been a brave one," he
continued, "his suicide would be all the more the act of a coward. I
don't believe that kind of a man can commit suicide. Understand, I am
considering the act of a man--not that of a youth or of one immature."
"Well, I don't care what you are _considering_, Robert," declared Dolly
with unmistakable emphasis, "we will _talk_ about something else."