MacBirney's decision to spend the winter in town became very welcome to
Alice; the atmosphere within a wide radius of The Towers seemed too
charged with electricity for mental peace. And her husband, having
tasted for the first time the excitement of the stock markets, desired
to be near his brokers.
Fritzie, who was an authority in town affairs, made it easy for Alice to
find acceptable quarters. In general the Second Lake people cared less
and less for opening their town houses. Robert Kimberly's house, while
nominally open, never saw its master. Charles and Imogene Kimberly for
several years had spent their winters cruising and now made ready to
take Grace De Castro to the eastern Mediterranean. Arthur and Dolly
were to winter at Biarritz and join Charles and Imogene in Sicily on
their return from the Levant. Fritzie accepted Alice's invitation to
spend the season in town with her. Dora Morgan had already gone to
Paris for an indefinite stay and the Nelsons, Congress being in session,
were starting for Washington.
MacBirney came over to The Towers just before leaving with Alice for
town to see Robert Kimberly. When Kimberly asked him what was on his
mind, "I would like to know," MacBirney answered frankly, "what I can
make some money in this winter." It was the second time he had brought
the subject up and Kimberly who had once evaded his inquiries saw that
nothing was to be gained by further effort in that direction.
Kimberly regarded him gravely. "Buy standard railway shares," he
suggested, "on a four-and-a-half-per-cent average."
"But I want to do better than four-and-a-half-per-cent. It costs
something to live."
"I mean, you would have your profit in the advances. But your present
income ought to cover a very liberal scale of living," said Kimberly.
MacBirney squirmed in his chair. Kimberly would have preferred he
should sit still. "That is true," assented MacBirney, with smiling
candor, "but a poor man doesn't want to spend all his money. Isn't
there a chance," he asked, coming to the point in his mind, "to make
some money in our own stock? I have heard a rumor there would be, but I
can't run it down."
"There are always chances if you are closely enough in touch with
general conditions. Charles keeps better track of those things than I
do; suppose you talk with him."
"Charles sends me to you," protested MacBirney good naturedly.
"Our shares seem just now to be one of the speculative favorites,"
returned Kimberly. "That means, as you know, violent fluctuations."
MacBirney was impatient of hazards. "Put me next on any one of your own
plans, Mr. Kimberly, that you might feel like trusting me with," said
MacBirney, jocularly.
"I don't often have any speculative schemes of my own," returned
Kimberly. "However," he hesitated a moment; MacBirney leaned forward.
"Doane," continued Kimberly abruptly, "has a strong party interested now
in putting up the common. They profess to think that on its earnings it
should sell higher. In fact, they have sounded me about an extra
dividend. I am opposed to that--until Congress adjourns, at any rate.
But the company is making a great deal of money. I can't uncover
Doane's deal, but I can say this to you: I have agreed to help them as
much as I safely can. By that, I mean, that their speculative interests
must always come second to the investment interests of our
shareholders."
"By Jove, I wish I could get in on a movement like that, Mr. Kimberly.
With you behind it----"
"I am not behind it--only not opposed to it. For my part, I never advise
any one to speculate in our securities. I can't do it. I do business
with speculators, but I never speculate myself. You don't credit that,
do you? What I mean is this: I never take chances. If it is necessary,
for cogent reasons, to move our securities up or down, I am in a
position to do so without taking any extreme chances. That is natural,
isn't it?"
MacBirney laughed and swayed in his chair. "I'd like to be fixed that
way for just one year of my life!" he exclaimed.
"If you were you would find plenty of other things to engage your
attention."
"Well, can you do anything for me on this present deal?"
Kimberly reflected a moment. "Yes," he said finally, "if you will
operate through the brokers I name and do exactly as I say, and run the
risk of losing half the money you put up--I don't see how you could lose
more than that. But if you don't do exactly as I tell you, without
question, you might lose a great deal more. I am not supposing, of
course, that you would risk more than you could afford to lose."
"Not at all. I want to play safe."
"Place your orders to-day and to-morrow then for what common you can
carry. Hamilton will let you have what money you need--or he will get
it for you. Then forget all about your investment until I tell you to
sell. Don't question the advice, but get out promptly at that moment no
matter what you hear or what the market looks like. Can you do that?
And keep your own counsel?"
"Trust me."
"Good luck then. And if it should come bad, try not to feel incensed at
me," concluded Kimberly, rising.
"Surely not!" exclaimed MacBirney.
Kimberly smiled. "But you will, just the same. At least, that is my
experience."
"What about the winter, Mr. Kimberly--are you going in town?"
"I haven't decided."
But although Kimberly had made no decision he had made vague promises to
every one. With Charles he talked about putting his own yacht into
commission, taking Larrie from the refineries for a breathing spell and
meeting Charlie's party in February at Taormina. He discussed with
Dolly a shorter vacation, one of taking passage to Cherbourg, motoring
with Arthur and herself across France and meeting Charles at Nice,
whence all could come home together.
The Nelsons left the lake last. Lottie gave Kimberly a parting thrust
as she said good-by, delivering it in such a way that she hoped to upset
him. "So you are in love with Alice MacBirney?" she said smilingly.
Kimberly looked frankly into her clear, sensuous eyes. "What put that
into your head, Lottie?"
She laughed unsympathetically. "I'm glad you've got some one this time
that will make you do the walking--not one like the rest of us poor
creatures."
"Why do you talk about 'this time,' and 'us poor creatures'? Let me
tell you something."
"Do, so I can tell it to Alice."
"You may at any time tell Mrs. MacBirney anything I say. It is this: if
I should ever find a woman to love, I expect to do the walking. Tell
her that, will you? I respect Mrs. MacBirney very highly and admire her
very much--is that clear? But that is far from outraging her feelings by
coupling her name with mine or mine with hers. Don't do that. I will
never forgive it." She had never seen him so angry.
He realized more than once during the long winter that the slighted
woman had told him only the truth. But from her it was an impertinent
truth. And it galled him to be forced to admit to the loose-thinking
members of his own set what he felt toward Alice.
Meantime, he spent the whole winter at The Towers with Uncle John, the
tireless Francis, and his own unruly thoughts. His time went to
conferences with his city associates, infrequent inspections of the
refineries, horseback rides over the winter landscape, and to winter
sunsets watched alone from the great western windows.
In town Alice found Fritzie an admirable guide.
"I try," said Fritzie calmly, answering one of Alice's jests at her wide
acquaintance, "to move with the best. I suppose in heaven we shall
encounter all sorts. And if we don't cultivate the elect here we may
never have another chance to."
"You are far-sighted, Fritzie dear," smiled Alice. "What I can't
understand is, why you don't marry."
"I have too many rich relations. I couldn't marry anybody in their
class. I should have to pick up with some wretched millionaire and be
reduced to misery. The Lord deliver us from people that watch their
incomes--they are the limit. And it must, I have always thought, be
terrible, Alice, to live with a man that has made a million honestly.
He would be so mean. Of course, we are mean, too; but happily a good
part of our meannesses are underground--buried with our ancestors."
Fritzie's light words struck home with an unsuspected force. Alice knew
Fritzie had no thought of painting MacBirney; it was only Alice herself
who recognized her husband's portrait.
Fritzie certainly had, as she admitted, an appetite for the luxurious
and even MacBirney liked her novel extravagances. In their few resting
hours the two women talked of Second Lake. "Fritzie," said Alice one
night when they were together before the fire, "the first time I met
you, you said every one at Second Lake was contented, with two
exceptions. You were one; who was the other?"
"Robert, dear. He is the most discontented mortal alive. Isn't it all
a strange world?"
Alice, too, had thoughts that winter, but they were confused thoughts
and not always to be tolerated. She, likewise, was beginning to think
it a strange world.
MacBirney, guided by McCrea, followed the pool operations with sleepless
vigilance. They reached their height when Congress adjourned early
without disturbing the tariff. The street saw enormous gains ahead for
the crowd operating in the Kimberly stocks and with public buying
underway the upward movement in the shares took on renewed strength.
It was just at this moment of the adjournment of Congress that Kimberly
sent McCrea to MacBirney with directions to sell, and explicitly as to
how and through whom to sell. MacBirney, to McCrea's surprise, demurred
at the advice and argued that if he dropped out now he should lose the
best profits of the venture.
McCrea consented to talk to Kimberly again. Doane, the Hamilton banking
interests and their associates were still ostensibly buying and were
talking even higher prices. It did not look right to MacBirney to sell
under such circumstances but McCrea came back the very next day with one
word: "Sell." No reasons, no explanations were given, nothing
vouchsafed but a curt command.
MacBirney, doubtful and excited, consulted Alice, to whom indeed, in
serious perplexity, he often turned. Knowing nothing about the
situation, she advised him to do precisely as Kimberly directed and to
do so without loss of time. He was still stubborn. No one but himself
knew that he was carrying twice the load of stock he had any right to
assume, and battling thus between greed and prudence he reluctantly
placed the selling orders.
Just as he had gotten fairly out of it, the market, to his
mortification, advanced. A few days later it ran quite away. Huge
blocks of stock thrown into it made hardly any impression. The market,
as MacBirney had predicted, continued strong. At the end of the week he
felt sure that Kimberly had tricked him, and in spite of winning more
money than he had ever made in his life he was in bad humor. Kimberly
himself deigned no word of enlightenment. McCrea tried to explain to
MacBirney that the public had run away with the market--as it sometimes
did. But MacBirney nursed resentment.
The Nelsons came over from Washington that week--it was Holy Week--for
the opera and the week-end, and MacBirney asked his wife to entertain
them, together with Lambert, at dinner on Friday night.
Alice fought the proposal, but MacBirney could not be moved. She
endeavored to have the date changed to Easter Sunday; MacBirney was
relentless. He knew it was Good Friday and that his wife was trying to
avoid entertaining during the evening. But he thought it an opportunity
to discipline her. Alice sent out her invitations and they were
accepted. No such luck, she knew, as a declination would be hers.
Lottie, amusing herself for the winter with Lambert, was in excellent
humor. But Alice was nervous and everything went wrong. They rose from
the table to go to the opera, where Nelson had the Robert Kimberly box.
Alice seeking the retirement of an easy-chair gave her attention to the
stage and to her own thoughts. In neither did she find anything
satisfying. Mrs. Nelson, too talkative with the men, was a mild
irritation to her, and of all nights in the year this was the last on
which Alice would have wished to be at the opera. It was only one more
link in the long chain of sacrifices she wore for domestic peace, but
to-night her gyves lay heavy on her wrists. She realized that she was
hardly amiable. This box she was enjoying the seclusion of, brought
Kimberly close to her. The difference there would be within it if he
himself were present, suggested itself indolently to her in her
depression. How loath, she reflected, Kimberly would have been to drag
her out when she wished to be at home. It was not the first time that
she had compared him with her husband, but this was the first time she
was conscious of having done so. All they were enjoying was his; yet
she knew he would have been indifferent to everything except what she
preferred.
And it was not alone what he had indicated in deferring to her wishes;
it was what he often did in deferring in indifferent things to the
wishes of others that had impressed itself upon her more than any trait
in his character. How much happier she should be if her own husband
were to show a mere trace of such a disposition, she felt past even the
possibility of telling him; it seemed too useless. He could not be made
to understand.
For supper the party went with Nelson. The gayety of the others left
Alice cold. Nelson, with the art of the practised entertainer, urged
the eating and drinking, and when the party left the buzzing cafe some
of them were heated and unrestrained. At two o'clock, Alice with her
husband and Fritzie reached their apartment, and Alice, very tired, went
directly to her own rooms. MacBirney came in, somewhat out of humor.
"What's the matter with you to-night?" he demanded. Alice had dismissed
Annie and her husband sat down beside her table.
"With me? Nothing, Walter; why?"
"You acted so cattish all the evening," he complained, with an
irritating little oath.
Alice was in no mood to help him along. "How so?" she asked tying her
hair as she turned to look at him.
An inelegant exclamation annoyed her further. "You know what I mean just
as well as I do," he went on curtly. "You never opened your mouth the
whole evening. Lottie asked me what the matter was with you----"
Alice repeated but one word of the complaining sentence. "Lottie!" she
echoed. Her husband's anger grew. "If Lottie would talk less,"
continued Alice quietly, "and drink less, I should be less ashamed to be
seen with her. And perhaps I could talk more myself."
"You never did like anybody that liked me. So it is Lottie you're
jealous of?"
"No, not 'jealous of,' only ashamed of. Even at the dinner she was
scandalous, I thought."
Her husband regarded her with stubborn contempt, and it hurt. "You are
very high and mighty to-night. I wonder," he said with a scarcely
concealed sneer, "whether prosperity has turned your head."
"You need not look at me in that way, Walter, and you need not taunt
me."
"You have been abusing Lottie Nelson a good deal lately. I wish you
would stop it." He rose and stood with one hand on the table. Alice
was slipping her rings into the cup in front of her and she dropped in
the last with some spirit.
"I will stop it. And I hope you will never speak of her again. I
certainly never will entertain her again under any circumstances," she
exclaimed.
"You will entertain her the next time I tell you to."
Alice turned quite white. "Have you anything else to say to me?"
Her very restraint enraged him. "Only that if you try to ride your high
horse with me," he replied, "I will send you back to St. Louis some fine
day."
"Is that all?"
"That is all. And if you think I don't mean what I say, try it
sometime." As he spoke he pushed the chair in which he had been sitting
roughly aside.
Alice rose to her feet. "I despise your threats," she said, choking
with her own words. "I despise you. I can't tell you how I despise
you." Her heart beat rebelliously and she shook in every limb;
expressions that she would not have known for her own fell stinging from
her lips. "You have bullied me for the last time. I have stood your
abuse for five years. It will stop now. You will do the cringing and
creeping from now on. That woman never shall sit down at a table with
me again, not if you beg it of me on your knees. You are a cowardly
wretch; I know you perfectly; you never were anything else. I have paid
dearly for ever believing you a man." Her contempt burned the words she
uttered. "Now drive me one step further," she sobbed wildly, "if you
dare!"
She snapped out the light above her head with an angry twist. Another
light shone through the open door of her sleeping-room and through this
door she swiftly passed, slamming it shut and locking it sharply behind
her.
MacBirney had never seen his wife in such a state. He was surprised;
but there could be no mistake. Her blood was certainly up.