A Chicago Evening
After his first visit to the bank over which Addison presided, and an
informal dinner at the latter's home, Cowperwood had decided that he
did not care to sail under any false colors so far as Addison was
concerned. He was too influential and well connected. Besides,
Cowperwood liked him too much. Seeing that the man's leaning toward
him was strong, in reality a fascination, he made an early morning call
a day or two after he had returned from Fargo, whither he had gone at
Mr. Rambaud's suggestion, on his way back to Philadelphia, determined
to volunteer a smooth presentation of his earlier misfortunes, and
trust to Addison's interest to make him view the matter in a kindly
light. He told him the whole story of how he had been convicted of
technical embezzlement in Philadelphia and had served out his term in
the Eastern Penitentiary. He also mentioned his divorce and his
intention of marrying again.
Addison, who was the weaker man of the two and yet forceful in his own
way, admired this courageous stand on Cowperwood's part. It was a
braver thing than he himself could or would have achieved. It appealed
to his sense of the dramatic. Here was a man who apparently had been
dragged down to the very bottom of things, his face forced in the mire,
and now he was coming up again strong, hopeful, urgent. The banker
knew many highly respected men in Chicago whose early careers, as he
was well aware, would not bear too close an inspection, but nothing was
thought of that. Some of them were in society, some not, but all of
them were powerful. Why should not Cowperwood be allowed to begin all
over? He looked at him steadily, at his eyes, at his stocky body, at
his smooth, handsome, mustached face. Then he held out his hand.
"Mr. Cowperwood," he said, finally, trying to shape his words
appropriately, "I needn't say that I am pleased with this interesting
confession. It appeals to me. I'm glad you have made it to me. You
needn't say any more at any time. I decided the day I saw you walking
into that vestibule that you were an exceptional man; now I know it.
You needn't apologize to me. I haven't lived in this world fifty years
and more without having my eye-teeth cut. You're welcome to the
courtesies of this bank and of my house as long as you care to avail
yourself of them. We'll cut our cloth as circumstances dictate in the
future. I'd like to see you come to Chicago, solely because I like you
personally. If you decide to settle here I'm sure I can be of service
to you and you to me. Don't think anything more about it; I sha'n't
ever say anything one way or another. You have your own battle to
fight, and I wish you luck. You'll get all the aid from me I can
honestly give you. Just forget that you told me, and when you get your
matrimonial affairs straightened out bring your wife out to see us."
With these things completed Cowperwood took the train back to
Philadelphia.
"Aileen," he said, when these two met again--she had come to the train
to meet him--"I think the West is the answer for us. I went up to
Fargo and looked around up there, but I don't believe we want to go
that far. There's nothing but prairie-grass and Indians out in that
country. How'd you like to live in a board shanty, Aileen," he asked,
banteringly, "with nothing but fried rattlesnakes and prairie-dogs for
breakfast? Do you think you could stand that?"
"Yes," she replied, gaily, hugging his arm, for they had entered a
closed carriage; "I could stand it if you could. I'd go anywhere with
you, Frank. I'd get me a nice Indian dress with leather and beads all
over it and a feather hat like they wear, and--"
"There you go! Certainly! Pretty clothes first of all in a miner's
shack. That's the way."
"You wouldn't love me long if I didn't put pretty clothes first," she
replied, spiritedly. "Oh, I'm so glad to get you back!"
"The trouble is," he went on, "that that country up there isn't as
promising as Chicago. I think we're destined to live in Chicago. I
made an investment in Fargo, and we'll have to go up there from time to
time, but we'll eventually locate in Chicago. I don't want to go out
there alone again. It isn't pleasant for me." He squeezed her hand.
"If we can't arrange this thing at once I'll just have to introduce you
as my wife for the present."
"You haven't heard anything more from Mr. Steger?" she put in. She was
thinking of Steger's efforts to get Mrs. Cowperwood to grant him a
divorce.
"Not a word."
"Isn't it too bad?" she sighed.
"Well, don't grieve. Things might be worse."
He was thinking of his days in the penitentiary, and so was she. After
commenting on the character of Chicago he decided with her that so soon
as conditions permitted they would remove themselves to the Western
city.
It would be pointless to do more than roughly sketch the period of
three years during which the various changes which saw the complete
elimination of Cowperwood from Philadelphia and his introduction into
Chicago took place. For a time there were merely journeys to and fro,
at first more especially to Chicago, then to Fargo, where his
transported secretary, Walter Whelpley, was managing under his
direction the construction of Fargo business blocks, a short street-car
line, and a fair-ground. This interesting venture bore the title of
the Fargo Construction and Transportation Company, of which Frank A.
Cowperwood was president. His Philadelphia lawyer, Mr. Harper Steger,
was for the time being general master of contracts.
For another short period he might have been found living at the Tremont
in Chicago, avoiding for the time being, because of Aileen's company,
anything more than a nodding contact with the important men he had
first met, while he looked quietly into the matter of a Chicago
brokerage arrangement--a partnership with some established broker who,
without too much personal ambition, would bring him a knowledge of
Chicago Stock Exchange affairs, personages, and Chicago ventures. On
one occasion he took Aileen with him to Fargo, where with a haughty,
bored insouciance she surveyed the state of the growing city.
"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed, when she saw the plain, wooden, four-story
hotel, the long, unpleasing business street, with its motley collection
of frame and brick stores, the gaping stretches of houses, facing in
most directions unpaved streets. Aileen in her tailored
spick-and-spanness, her self-conscious vigor, vanity, and tendency to
over-ornament, was a strange contrast to the rugged self-effacement and
indifference to personal charm which characterized most of the men and
women of this new metropolis. "You didn't seriously think of coming
out here to live, did you?"
She was wondering where her chance for social exchange would come
in--her opportunity to shine. Suppose her Frank were to be very rich;
suppose he did make very much money--much more than he had ever had
even in the past--what good would it do her here? In Philadelphia,
before his failure, before she had been suspected of the secret liaison
with him, he had been beginning (at least) to entertain in a very
pretentious way. If she had been his wife then she might have stepped
smartly into Philadelphia society. Out here, good gracious! She turned
up her pretty nose in disgust. "What an awful place!" was her one
comment at this most stirring of Western boom towns.
When it came to Chicago, however, and its swirling, increasing life,
Aileen was much interested. Between attending to many financial
matters Cowperwood saw to it that she was not left alone. He asked her
to shop in the local stores and tell him about them; and this she did,
driving around in an open carriage, attractively arrayed, a great brown
hat emphasizing her pink-and-white complexion and red-gold hair. On
different afternoons of their stay he took her to drive over the
principal streets. When Aileen was permitted for the first time to see
the spacious beauty and richness of Prairie Avenue, the North Shore
Drive, Michigan Avenue, and the new mansions on Ashland Boulevard, set
in their grassy spaces, the spirit, aspirations, hope, tang of the
future Chicago began to work in her blood as it had in Cowperwood's.
All of these rich homes were so very new. The great people of Chicago
were all newly rich like themselves. She forgot that as yet she was
not Cowperwood's wife; she felt herself truly to be so. The streets,
set in most instances with a pleasing creamish-brown flagging, lined
with young, newly planted trees, the lawns sown to smooth green grass,
the windows of the houses trimmed with bright awnings and hung with
intricate lace, blowing in a June breeze, the roadways a gray, gritty
macadam--all these things touched her fancy. On one drive they skirted
the lake on the North Shore, and Aileen, contemplating the chalky,
bluish-green waters, the distant sails, the gulls, and then the new
bright homes, reflected that in all certitude she would some day be the
mistress of one of these splendid mansions. How haughtily she would
carry herself; how she would dress! They would have a splendid house,
much finer, no doubt, than Frank's old one in Philadelphia, with a
great ball-room and dining-room where she could give dances and
dinners, and where Frank and she would receive as the peers of these
Chicago rich people.
"Do you suppose we will ever have a house as fine as one of these,
Frank?" she asked him, longingly.
"I'll tell you what my plan is," he said. "If you like this Michigan
Avenue section we'll buy a piece of property out here now and hold it.
Just as soon as I make the right connections here and see what I am
going to do we'll build a house--something really nice--don't worry. I
want to get this divorce matter settled, and then we'll begin.
Meanwhile, if we have to come here, we'd better live rather quietly.
Don't you think so?"
It was now between five and six, that richest portion of a summer day.
It had been very warm, but was now cooling, the shade of the western
building-line shadowing the roadway, a moted, wine-like air filling the
street. As far as the eye could see were carriages, the one great
social diversion of Chicago, because there was otherwise so little
opportunity for many to show that they had means. The social forces
were not as yet clear or harmonious. Jingling harnesses of nickel,
silver, and even plated gold were the sign manual of social hope, if
not of achievement. Here sped homeward from the city--from office and
manufactory--along this one exceptional southern highway, the Via Appia
of the South Side, all the urgent aspirants to notable fortunes. Men
of wealth who had met only casually in trade here nodded to each other.
Smart daughters, society-bred sons, handsome wives came down-town in
traps, Victorias, carriages, and vehicles of the latest design to drive
home their trade-weary fathers or brothers, relatives or friends. The
air was gay with a social hope, a promise of youth and affection, and
that fine flush of material life that recreates itself in delight.
Lithe, handsome, well-bred animals, singly and in jingling pairs, paced
each other down the long, wide, grass-lined street, its fine homes
agleam with a rich, complaisant materiality.
"Oh!" exclaimed Aileen, all at once, seeing the vigorous, forceful men,
the handsome matrons, and young women and boys, the nodding and the
bowing, feeling a touch of the romance and wonder of it all. "I should
like to live in Chicago. I believe it's nicer than Philadelphia."
Cowperwood, who had fallen so low there, despite his immense capacity,
set his teeth in two even rows. His handsome mustache seemed at this
moment to have an especially defiant curl. The pair he was driving was
physically perfect, lean and nervous, with spoiled, petted faces. He
could not endure poor horse-flesh. He drove as only a horse-lover can,
his body bolt upright, his own energy and temperament animating his
animals. Aileen sat beside him, very proud, consciously erect.
"Isn't she beautiful?" some of the women observed, as they passed,
going north. "What a stunning young woman!" thought or said the men.
"Did you see her?" asked a young brother of his sister. "Never mind,
Aileen," commented Cowperwood, with that iron determination that brooks
no defeat. "We will be a part of this. Don't fret. You will have
everything you want in Chicago, and more besides."
There was tingling over his fingers, into the reins, into the horses, a
mysterious vibrating current that was his chemical product, the
off-giving of his spirit battery that made his hired horses prance like
children. They chafed and tossed their heads and snorted. Aileen was
fairly bursting with hope and vanity and longing. Oh, to be Mrs. Frank
Algernon Cowperwood here in Chicago, to have a splendid mansion, to
have her cards of invitation practically commands which might not be
ignored!
"Oh, dear!" she sighed to herself, mentally. "If only it were all
true--now."
It is thus that life at its topmost toss irks and pains. Beyond is
ever the unattainable, the lure of the infinite with its infinite ache.
"Oh, life! oh, youth! oh, hope! oh, years! Oh pain-winged fancy,
beating forth with fears."