Enter Hosmer Hand
It is needless to say that the solemn rage of Hand, to say nothing of
the pathetic anger of Haguenin, coupled with the wrath of Redmond
Purdy, who related to all his sad story, and of young MacDonald and his
associates of the Chicago General Company, constituted an atmosphere
highly charged with possibilities and potent for dramatic results. The
most serious element in this at present was Hosmer Hand, who, being
exceedingly wealthy and a director in a number of the principal
mercantile and financial institutions of the city, was in a position to
do Cowperwood some real financial harm. Hand had been extremely fond
of his young wife. Being a man of but few experiences with women, it
astonished and enraged him that a man like Cowperwood should dare to
venture on his preserves in this reckless way, should take his dignity
so lightly. He burned now with a hot, slow fire of revenge.
Those who know anything concerning the financial world and its great
adventures know how precious is that reputation for probity,
solidarity, and conservatism on which so many of the successful
enterprises of the world are based. If men are not absolutely honest
themselves they at least wish for and have faith in the honesty of
others. No set of men know more about each other, garner more
carefully all the straws of rumor which may affect the financial and
social well being of an individual one way or another, keep a tighter
mouth concerning their own affairs and a sharper eye on that of their
neighbors. Cowperwood's credit had hitherto been good because it was
known that he had a "soft thing" in the Chicago street-railway field,
that he paid his interest charges promptly, that he had organized the
group of men who now, under him, controlled the Chicago Trust Company
and the North and West Chicago Street Railways, and that the Lake City
Bank, of which Addison was still president, considered his collateral
sound. Nevertheless, even previous to this time there had been a
protesting element in the shape of Schryhart, Simms, and others of
considerable import in the Douglas Trust, who had lost no chance to say
to one and all that Cowperwood was an interloper, and that his course
was marked by political and social trickery and chicanery, if not by
financial dishonesty. As a matter of fact, Schryhart, who had once
been a director of the Lake City National along with Hand, Arneel, and
others, had resigned and withdrawn all his deposits sometime before
because he found, as he declared, that Addison was favoring Cowperwood
and the Chicago Trust Company with loans, when there was no need of so
doing--when it was not essentially advantageous for the bank so to do.
Both Arneel and Hand, having at this time no personal quarrel with
Cowperwood on any score, had considered this protest as biased.
Addison had maintained that the loans were neither unduly large nor out
of proportion to the general loans of the bank. The collateral offered
was excellent. "I don't want to quarrel with Schryhart," Addison had
protested at the time; "but I am afraid his charge is unfair. He is
trying to vent a private grudge through the Lake National. That is not
the way nor this the place to do it."
Both Hand and Arneel, sober men both, agreed with this--admiring
Addison--and so the case stood. Schryhart, however, frequently
intimated to them both that Cowperwood was merely building up the
Chicago Trust Company at the expense of the Lake City National, in
order to make the former strong enough to do without any aid, at which
time Addison would resign and the Lake City would be allowed to shift
for itself. Hand had never acted on this suggestion but he had thought.
It was not until the incidents relating to Cowperwood and Mrs. Hand had
come to light that things financial and otherwise began to darken up.
Hand, being greatly hurt in his pride, contemplated only severe
reprisal. Meeting Schryhart at a directors' meeting one day not long
after his difficulty had come upon him, he remarked:
"I thought a few years ago, Norman, when you talked to me about this
man Cowperwood that you were merely jealous--a dissatisfied business
rival. Recently a few things have come to my notice which cause me to
think differently. It is very plain to me now that the man is
thoroughly bad--from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.
It's a pity the city has to endure him."
"So you're just beginning to find that out, are you, Hosmer?" answered
Schryhart. "Well, I'll not say I told you so. Perhaps you'll agree
with me now that the responsible people of Chicago ought to do
something about it."
Hand, a very heavy, taciturn man, merely looked at him. "I'll be ready
enough to do," he said, "when I see how and what's to be done."
A little later Schryhart, meeting Duane Kingsland, learned the true
source of Hand's feeling against Cowperwood, and was not slow in
transferring this titbit to Merrill, Simms, and others. Merrill, who,
though Cowperwood had refused to extend his La Salle Street tunnel loop
about State Street and his store, had hitherto always liked him after a
fashion--remotely admired his courage and daring--was now appropriately
shocked.
"Why, Anson," observed Schryhart, "the man is no good. He has the
heart of a hyena and the friendliness of a scorpion. You heard how he
treated Hand, didn't you?"
"No," replied Merrill, "I didn't."
"Well, it's this way, so I hear." And Schryhart leaned over and
confidentially communicated considerable information into Mr. Merrill's
left ear.
The latter raised his eyebrows. "Indeed!" he said.
"And the way he came to meet her," added Schryhart, contemptuously,
"was this. He went to Hand originally to borrow two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars on West Chicago Street Railway. Angry? The word is no
name for it."
"You don't say so," commented Merrill, dryly, though privately
interested and fascinated, for Mrs. Hand had always seemed very
attractive to him. "I don't wonder."
He recalled that his own wife had recently insisted on inviting
Cowperwood once.
Similarly Hand, meeting Arneel not so long afterward, confided to him
that Cowperwood was trying to repudiate a sacred agreement. Arneel was
grieved and surprised. It was enough for him to know that Hand had
been seriously injured. Between the two of them they now decided to
indicate to Addison, as president of the Lake City Bank, that all
relations with Cowperwood and the Chicago Trust Company must cease.
The result of this was, not long after, that Addison, very suave and
gracious, agreed to give Cowperwood due warning that all his loans
would have to be taken care of and then resigned--to become, seven
months later, president of the Chicago Trust Company. This desertion
created a great stir at the time, astonishing the very men who had
suspected that it might come to pass. The papers were full of it.
"Well, let him go," observed Arneel to Hand, sourly, on the day that
Addison notified the board of directors of the Lake City of his
contemplated resignation. "If he wants to sever his connection with a
bank like this to go with a man like that, it's his own lookout. He
may live to regret it."
It so happened that by now another election was pending Chicago, and
Hand, along with Schryhart and Arneel--who joined their forces because
of his friendship for Hand--decided to try to fight Cowperwood through
this means.
Hosmer Hand, feeling that he had the burden of a great duty upon him,
was not slow in acting. He was always, when aroused, a determined and
able fighter. Needing an able lieutenant in the impending political
conflict, he finally bethought himself of a man who had recently come
to figure somewhat conspicuously in Chicago politics--one Patrick
Gilgan, the same Patrick Gilgan of Cowperwood's old Hyde Park gas-war
days. Mr. Gilgan was now a comparatively well-to-do man. Owing to a
genial capacity for mixing with people, a close mouth, and absolutely
no understanding of, and consequently no conscience in matters of large
public import (in so far as they related to the so-called rights of the
mass), he was a fit individual to succeed politically. His saloon was
the finest in all Wentworth Avenue. It fairly glittered with the newly
introduced incandescent lamp reflected in a perfect world of beveled
and faceted mirrors. His ward, or district, was full of low,
rain-beaten cottages crowded together along half-made streets; but
Patrick Gilgan was now a state senator, slated for Congress at the next
Congressional election, and a possible successor of the Hon. John J.
McKenty as dictator of the city, if only the Republican party should
come into power. (Hyde Park, before it had been annexed to the city,
had always been Republican, and since then, although the larger city
was normally Democratic, Gilgan could not conveniently change.) Hearing
from the political discussion which preceded the election that Gilgan
was by far the most powerful politician on the South Side, Hand sent
for him. Personally, Hand had far less sympathy with the polite
moralistic efforts of men like Haguenin, Hyssop, and others, who were
content to preach morality and strive to win by the efforts of the unco
good, than he had with the cold political logic of a man like
Cowperwood himself. If Cowperwood could work through McKenty to such a
powerful end, he, Hand, could find some one else who could be made as
powerful as McKenty.
"Mr. Gilgan," said Hand, when the Irishman came in, medium tall, beefy,
with shrewd, twinkling gray eyes and hairy hands, "you don't know me--"
"I know of you well enough," smiled the Irishman, with a soft brogue.
"You don't need an introduction to talk to me."
"Very good," replied Hand, extending his hand. "I know of you, too.
Then we can talk. It's the political situation here in Chicago I'd
like to discuss with you. I'm not a politician myself, but I take some
interest in what's going on. I want to know what you think will be the
probable outcome of the present situation here in the city."
Gilgan, having no reason for laying his private political convictions
bare to any one whose motive he did not know, merely replied: "Oh, I
think the Republicans may have a pretty good show. They have all but
one or two of the papers with them, I see. I don't know much outside
of what I read and hear people talk."
Mr. Hand knew that Gilgan was sparring, and was glad to find his man
canny and calculating.
"I haven't asked you to come here just to be talking over politics in
general, as you may imagine, Mr. Gilgan. I want to put a particular
problem before you. Do you happen to know either Mr. McKenty or Mr.
Cowperwood?"
"I never met either of them to talk to," replied Gilgan. "I know Mr.
McKenty by sight, and I've seen Mr. Cowperwood once." He said no more.
"Well," said Mr. Hand, "suppose a group of influential men here in
Chicago were to get together and guarantee sufficient funds for a
city-wide campaign; now, if you had the complete support of the
newspapers and the Republican organization in the bargain, could you
organize the opposition here so that the Democratic party could be
beaten this fall? I'm not talking about the mayor merely and the
principal city officers, but the council, too--the aldermen. I want to
fix things so that the McKenty-Cowperwood crowd couldn't get an
alderman or a city official to sell out, once they are elected. I want
the Democratic party beaten so thoroughly that there won't be any
question in anybody's mind as to the fact that it has been done. There
will be plenty of money forthcoming if you can prove to me, or, rather,
to the group of men I am thinking of, that the thing can be done."
Mr. Gilgan blinked his eyes solemnly. He rubbed his knees, put his
thumbs in the armholes of his vest, took out a cigar, lit it, and gazed
poetically at the ceiling. He was thinking very, very hard. Mr.
Cowperwood and Mr. McKenty, as he knew, were very powerful men. He had
always managed to down the McKenty opposition in his ward, and several
others adjacent to it, and in the Eighteenth Senatorial District, which
he represented. But to be called upon to defeat him in Chicago, that
was different. Still, the thought of a large amount of cash to be
distributed through him, and the chance of wresting the city leadership
from McKenty by the aid of the so-called moral forces of the city, was
very inspiring. Mr. Gilgan was a good politician. He loved to scheme
and plot and make deals--as much for the fun of it as anything else.
Just now he drew a solemn face, which, however, concealed a very light
heart.
"I have heard," went on Hand, "that you have built up a strong
organization in your ward and district."
"I've managed to hold me own," suggested Gilgan, archly. "But this
winning all over Chicago," he went on, after a moment, "now, that's a
pretty large order. There are thirty-one wards in Chicago this
election, and all but eight of them are nominally Democratic. I know
most of the men that are in them now, and some of them are pretty
shrewd men, too. This man Dowling in council is nobody's fool, let me
tell you that. Then there's Duvanicki and Ungerich and Tiernan and
Kerrigan--all good men." He mentioned four of the most powerful and
crooked aldermen in the city. "You see, Mr. Hand, the way things are
now the Democrats have the offices, and the small jobs to give out.
That gives them plenty of political workers to begin with. Then they
have the privilege of collecting money from those in office to help
elect themselves. That's another great privilege." He smiled. "Then
this man Cowperwood employs all of ten thousand men at present, and any
ward boss that's favorable to him can send a man out of work to him and
he'll find a place for him. That's a gre-a-eat help in building up a
party following. Then there's the money a man like Cowperwood and
others can contribute at election time. Say what you will, Mr. Hand,
but it's the two, and five, and ten dollar bills paid out at the last
moment over the saloon bars and at the polling-places that do the work.
Give me enough money"--and at this noble thought Mr. Gilgan
straightened up and slapped one fist lightly in the other, adjusting at
the same time his half-burned cigar so that it should not burn his
hand--"and I can carry every ward in Chicago, bar none. If I have
money enough," he repeated, emphasizing the last two words. He put his
cigar back in his mouth, blinked his eyes defiantly, and leaned back in
his chair.
"Very good," commented Hand, simply; "but how much money?"
"Ah, that's another question," replied Gilgan, straightening up once
more. "Some wards require more than others. Counting out the eight
that are normally Republican as safe, you would have to carry eighteen
others to have a majority in council. I don't see how anything under
ten to fifteen thousand dollars to a ward would be safe to go on. I
should say three hundred thousand dollars would be safer, and that
wouldn't be any too much by any means."
Mr. Gilgan restored his cigar and puffed heavily the while he leaned
back and lifted his eyes once more.
"And how would that money be distributed exactly?" inquired Mr. Hand.
"Oh, well, it's never wise to look into such matters too closely,"
commented Mr. Gilgan, comfortably. "There's such a thing as cutting
your cloth too close in politics. There are ward captains, leaders,
block captains, workers. They all have to have money to do with--to
work up sentiment--and you can't be too inquiring as to just how they
do it. It's spent in saloons, and buying coal for mother, and getting
Johnnie a new suit here and there. Then there are torch-light
processions and club-rooms and jobs to look after. Sure, there's plenty
of places for it. Some men may have to be brought into these wards to
live--kept in boarding-houses for a week or ten days." He waved a hand
deprecatingly.
Mr. Hand, who had never busied himself with the minutiae of politics,
opened his eyes slightly. This colonizing idea was a little liberal,
he thought.
"Who distributes this money?" he asked, finally.
"Nominally, the Republican County Committee, if it's in charge;
actually, the man or men who are leading the fight. In the case of the
Democratic party it's John J. McKenty, and don't you forget it. In my
district it's me, and no one else."
Mr. Hand, slow, solid, almost obtuse at times, meditated under lowering
brows. He had always been associated with a more or less silk-stocking
crew who were unused to the rough usage of back-room saloon politics,
yet every one suspected vaguely, of course, at times that ballot-boxes
were stuffed and ward lodging-houses colonized. Every one (at least
every one of any worldly intelligence) knew that political capital was
collected from office-seekers, office-holders, beneficiaries of all
sorts and conditions under the reigning city administration. Mr. Hand
had himself contributed to the Republican party for favors received or
about to be. As a man who had been compelled to handle large affairs
in a large way he was not inclined to quarrel with this. Three hundred
thousand dollars was a large sum, and he was not inclined to subscribe
it alone, but fancied that at his recommendation and with his advice it
could be raised. Was Gilgan the man to fight Cowperwood? He looked him
over and decided--other things being equal--that he was. And forthwith
the bargain was struck. Gilgan, as a Republican central
committeeman--chairman, possibly--was to visit every ward, connect up
with every available Republican force, pick strong, suitable
anti-Cowperwood candidates, and try to elect them, while he, Hand,
organized the money element and collected the necessary cash. Gilgan
was to be given money personally. He was to have the undivided if
secret support of all the high Republican elements in the city. His
business was to win at almost any cost. And as a reward he was to have
the Republican support for Congress, or, failing that, the practical
Republican leadership in city and county.
"Anyhow," said Hand, after Mr. Gilgan finally took his departure,
"things won't be so easy for Mr. Cowperwood in the future as they were
in the past. And when it comes to getting his franchises renewed, if
I'm alive, we'll see whether he will or not."
The heavy financier actually growled a low growl as he spoke out loud
to himself. He felt a boundless rancor toward the man who had, as he
supposed, alienated the affections of his smart young wife.