"Why," explained Weston, "some months ago Ames tried to reach Ed.

Stolz through Ketchim, the old man's nephew, and get control of C. and

R. But friend nephew dropped the portcullis just as Ames was dashing

across the drawbridge, and J. Wilton found himself outside, looking

through the bars. First time I've ever known that to happen. Now the

boys have got hold of it on 'Change, and Ames has been getting it from

every quarter."

"Long time leaking out, seems to me," remarked Kane. "But what's Ames

going to do about it?"

"Nothing, I guess," returned Weston. "He seems to have dropped the

matter."

"I think you will find yourself mistaken," put in the Beaubien

evenly.

"Why?" queried Fitch, as all eyes turned upon the woman. "Have you

inside information?"

"None whatever," she replied. "But Mr. Ames always gets what he goes

after, and he will secure control of C. and R. eventually."

"I don't believe it!" vigorously asserted Murdock, who had been an

interested listener. "He will never oust Stolz."

"I have one thousand dollars that says he will," said the Beaubien,

calmly regarding the speaker. "William, my checkbook, please."

Murdock seemed taken back for the moment; but lost no time recovering

his poise. Drawing out his own book he wrote a check in the Beaubien's

name for the amount and sent it down the table to her.

"Mr. Fitch will hold the stakes," said the woman, handing him the two

slips of paper. "And we will set a time limit of eighteen months."

"By the way," remarked Peele, the only one of the group who had taken

no part in the preceding conversation, "I see by the evening paper

that there's been another accident in the Avon mills. Fellow named

Marcus caught in a machine and crushed all out of shape. That's the

third one down there this month. They'll force Ames to equip his mills

with safety devices if this keeps up."

"Not while the yellow metal has any influence upon the Legislature,"

returned the Beaubien with a knowing smile. "But," she added more

seriously, "that is not where the danger lies. The real source of

apprehension is in the possibility of a strike. And if war breaks out

among those Hungarians down there it will cost him more than to equip

all his mills now with safety devices."

Gannette, who had been sulking in his chair, roused up. "Speaking

of war," he growled, "has Ames, or any of you fellows, got a

finger in the muddle in South America? I've got interests down

there--concessions and the like--and by--!" He wandered off into

incoherent mutterings.

The Beaubien gave a sharp command to the butler. "William, Mr.

Gannette is leaving now. You will escort him to the door."

"Now look here, Lucile!" cried Gannette, his apoplectic face becoming

more deeply purple, and his blear eyes leering angrily upon the calm

woman. "I ain't a-goin' to stand this! What have I done? I'm as sober

as any one here, an'--" William took the heavy man gently by the arm

and persuaded him to his feet. The other guests suppressed their

smiles and remained discreetly quiet.

"But--my car--!" sputtered Gannette.

"Have Henri take him to his club, William," said the Beaubien, rising.

"Good night, Mr. Gannette. We will expect you Wednesday evening, and

we trust that we will not have to accept your excuses again."

Gannette was led soddenly out. The Beaubien quietly resumed her seat.

It was the second time the man had been dismissed from her table, and

the guests marveled that it did not mean the final loss of her favor.

But she remained inscrutable; and the conversation quickly drifted

into new channels. A few moments later William returned and made a

quiet announcement:

"Mr. Ames."

A huge presence emerged from the darkness into the light. The Beaubien

immediately rose and advanced to greet the newcomer. "What is it?" she

whispered, taking his hand.

The man smiled down into her upturned, anxious face. His only reply

was a reassuring pressure of her hand. But she comprehended, and her

face brightened.

"Gentlemen," remarked Ames, taking the vacant chair, "the President's

message is out. I have been going over it with Hood--which accounts

for my tardiness," he added, nodding pleasantly to the Beaubien.

"Quoting from our chief executive's long list of innocent platitudes,

I may say that 'private monopoly is criminally unjust, wholly

indefensible, and not to be tolerated in a Republic founded upon the

premise of equal rights to all mankind.'"

"Certainly not!" concurred Weston, holding up his glass and gazing

admiringly at the rich color of the wine.

The others laughed. "Quite my sentiments, too," murmured Fitch,

rolling his eyes upward and attempting with poor success to assume a

beatific expression.

"Furthermore," continued Ames, with mock gravity, "the interlocking of

corporation directorates must be prohibited by law; power must be

conferred upon the Interstate Commerce Commission to superintend the

financial management of railroads; holding-companies must cease to

exist; and corrective policies must be shaped, whereby so-called

'trusts' will be regulated and rendered innocuous. Are we agreed?"

"We are," said they all, in one voice.

"Carried," concluded Ames in a solemn tone. Then a burst of laughter

rose from the table; and even the inscrutable William smiled behind

his hand.

"But, seriously," said Weston, when the laughter had ceased, "I

believe we've got a President now who's going to do something, don't

you?"

"I do not," replied Ames emphatically. "As long as the human mind

remains as it is there is nothing to fear, though Congress legislate

itself blue in the face. Reform is not to be made like a garment and

forced upon the people from the outside. It is a growth from within.

Restrictive measures have not as yet, in all the history of

civilization, reformed a single criminal."

"What does Hood say?" asked Murdock.

"That we are puncture-proof," replied Ames with a light laugh.

"But what about your indictment in that cotton deal? Is Hood going to

find you law-proof there?"

"The case is settled," said Ames easily. "I went into court this

morning and plead guilty to the indictment for conspiring to corner

the cotton market two years ago. I admitted that I violated the

Sherman law. The judge promptly fined me three thousand dollars, for

which I immediately wrote a check, leaving me still the winner by some

two million seven hundred thousand dollars on the deal, to say nothing

of compound interest on the three thousand for the past two years. You

see the beneficent effect of legislation, do you not?"

"By George, Ames, you certainly were stingy not to let us in on that!"

exclaimed Kane.

"Cotton belongs to me, gentlemen," replied Ames simply. "You will have

to keep out."

"Well," remarked Fitch, glancing about the table, "suppose we get down

to the business of the evening--if agreeable to our hostess," bowing

in the direction of the Beaubien.

The latter nodded her approval of the suggestion. "Has any one

anything new to offer?" she said.

Some moments of silence followed. Then Ames spoke. "There is a little

matter," he began, "that I have been revolving for some days. Perhaps

it may interest you. It concerns the Albany post road. It occurred to

me some time ago that a franchise for a trolley line on that road

could be secured and ultimately sold for a round figure to the wealthy

residents whose estates lie along it, and who would give a million

dollars rather than have a line built there. After some preliminary

examination I got Hood to draft a bill providing for the building of

the road, and submitted it to Jacobson, Commissioner of Highways. He

reported that it would be the means of destroying the post road. I

convinced him, on the other hand, that it would be the means of lining

his purse with fifty thousand dollars. So he very naturally gave it

his endorsement. I then got in consultation with Senator Gossitch, and

had him arrange a meeting with the Governor, in Albany. I think," he

concluded, "that about five hundred thousand dollars will grease the

wheels all 'round. I've got the Governor on the hip in that Southern

Mexican deal, and he is at present eating out of my hand. I'll lay

this project on the table now, and you can take it up if you so

desire."

"The scheme seems all right," commented Weston, after a short

meditation. "But the profits are not especially large. What else have

you?"

"Well, a net profit of half a million to split up among us would at

least provide for a yachting party next summer," remarked Ames

sententiously. "And no work connected with it--in fact, the work has

been done. I shall want an additional five per cent for handling it."

An animated discussion followed; and then Fitch offered a motion that

the group definitely take up the project. The Beaubien put the vote,

and it was carried without dissent.

"What about that potato scheme you were figuring on, Ames?" asked

Fitch at this juncture. "Anything ever come of it?"

Ames's eyes twinkled. "I didn't get much encouragement from my

friends," he replied. "A perfectly feasible scheme, too."

"I don't believe it," put in Weston emphatically. "It never could be

put through."

"I have one million dollars that says it could," returned Ames calmly.

"Will you cover it?"

Weston threw up his hands in token of surrender. "Not I!" he

exclaimed, scurrying for cover.

Ames laughed. "Well," he said, "suppose we look into the scheme and

see if we don't want to handle it. It simply calls for a little

thought and work. The profits would be tremendous. Shall I explain?"

He stopped and glanced at the Beaubien for approval. She nodded, and

he went on:

"I have lately been investigating the subject of various food supplies

other than wheat and corn as possible bases for speculation, and my

attention has been drawn strongly to a very humble one, potatoes."

A general laugh followed this announcement. But Ames continued

unperturbed:

"I find that in some sections of the West potatoes are so plentiful at

times that they bring but twenty cents a bushel. My investigations

have covered a period of several months, and now I have in my

possession a large map of the United States with the potato sections,

prices, freight rates and all other necessary data indicated. The

results are interesting. My idea is to send agents into all these

sections next summer before the potatoes are turned up, and contract

for the entire crop at twenty-five cents a bushel. The agents will pay

the farmers cash, and agree to assume all expenses of digging,

packing, shipping, and so forth, allowing the farmer to take what he

needs for his own consumption. Needless to say, the potatoes will not

be removed from the fields, but will be allowed to rot in the ground.

Those that do reach the market will sell for a dollar and a half in

New York and Chicago."

"In other words," added Fitch, "you are simply figuring to corner the

market for the humble tuber, eh?"

"Precisely," said Ames.

"But--you say you have all the necessary data now?"

"All, even to the selection of a few of my agents. I can control

freight rates for what we may wish to ship. The rest of the crop will

be left to rot. The farmers will jump at such a bargain. And the

consumers will pay our price for what they must have."

"Very pretty," mused Murdock. "And how much do you figure we shall

need to round the corner?"

"A million, cash in hand," replied Ames.

"Is this anything that the women can mix into?" asked Fitch suddenly.

"You know they forced us to dump tons of our cold-storage stuff onto

the market two years ago."

"That was when I controlled wheat," said Ames, "and was all tied up.

But this is a wholly different proposition. It will be done so quietly

and thoroughly that it will all be over and the profits pocketed

before the women wake up to what we're doing. In this case there will

be nothing to store. And potatoes exposed in the field rot quickly,

you know."

The rest of the group seemed to study the idea for some moments. Then

the practical Murdock inquired of Ames if he would agree to handle the

project, provided they took it up.

"Yes," assented Ames, "on a five per cent basis. And I am ready to put

agents in the field to-morrow."

"Then, Madam Beaubien," said Fitch, "I move that we adopt the plan as

set forth by Mr. Ames, and commission him to handle it, calling upon

us equally for whatever funds he may need."

A further brief discussion ensued; and then the resolution was

unanimously adopted.

"Say, Ames," queried Weston, with a glint of mischief in his eyes,

"will any of these potatoes be shipped over the C. and R.?" A laugh

went up around the table, in which Ames himself joined. "Yes," he

said, "potatoes and cotton will both go over that road next summer,

and I shall fix the rebates."

"How about your friend Ketchim?" suggested Fitch, with a wink at

Murdock.

Ames's mouth set grimly, and the smile left his face. "Ketchim is

going to Sing Sing for that little deal," he returned in a low, cold

tone, so cold that even the Beaubien could not repress a little

shudder. "I had him on Molino, but he trumped up a new company which

absorbed Molino and satisfied everybody, so I am blocked for the

present. But, mark me, I shall strip him of every dollar, and then put

him behind the bars before I've finished!"

And no one sought to refute the man, for they knew he spoke truth.

At midnight, while the cathedral chimes in the great hall clock were

sending their trembling message through the dark house, the Beaubien

rose, and the dinner was concluded. A few moments later the guests

were spinning in their cars to their various homes or clubs--all but

Ames. As he was preparing to leave, the Beaubien laid a hand on his

arm. "Wait a moment, Wilton," she said. "I have something important to

discuss with you." She led him into the morning room, where a fire was

blazing cheerily in the grate, and drew up a chair before it for him,

then nestled on the floor at his feet.

"I sent Gannette home this evening," she began, by way of introduction.

"He was drunk. I would drop him entirely, only you said--"

"We need him," interrupted Ames. "Hold him a while longer."

"I'll soil my hands by doing it; but it is for you. Now tell me," she

went on eagerly, "what about Colombia? Have you any further news from

Wenceslas?"

"A cable to-day. Everything's all right. Don't worry. The Church is

with the Government, and they will win--although your money may be

tied up for a few years. Still, you can't lose in the end."

The woman sat for some moments gazing into the fire. Then:

"Lafelle was here again to-day."

"Hold him, too," said Ames quickly. "Looks as if I had made you a sort

of holding company, doesn't it?" he added, with a chuckle. "But we

shall have good use for these fellows."

"He gave me some very interesting news," she said; and then went on to

relate the conversation in detail. Ames laughed loudly as he

listened. "And now, Wilton," said the Beaubien, a determined look

coming into her face, "you have always said that you never forgave me

for making you let Jim Crowles off, when you had him by the throat.

Well, I'm going to give you a chance to get more than even. Jim's fat

widow is after your wife's scalp. I intend that she shall lose her own

in the chase. I've got my plans all laid, and I want your wife to meet

the lovely Mrs. Hawley-Crowles at the Fitch's next Thursday afternoon.

It will be just a formal call--mutual introductions--and, later, an

invitation from Mrs. Ames to Mrs. Hawley-Crowles. Meantime, I want you

to get Mrs. Hawley-Crowles involved in a financial way, and shear her

of every penny! Do you understand?"

Ames looked at her quizzically. Then he broke into another sharp

laugh. "My dear," said he, taking her hand, "you are charming this

evening. Added years only make you more beautiful."

"Nonsense, Will!" she deprecated, although the smile she gave him

attested her pleasure in the compliment. "Well," she continued

briskly, "if I'm so beautiful, you can't help loving me; and if you

love me, you will do what I ask."

He playfully pinched her cheek. "Why, poor old Jim Crowles! Really,

I've long since forgotten him. Do you realize that that was more than

ten years ago?"

"Please don't mention years, dear," she murmured, shuddering a little.

"Tell me, what can we do to teach this fat hussy a lesson?"

"Well," he suggested, laughing, "we might get Ketchim after her, to

sell her a wad of his worthless stocks; then when he goes down, as he

is going one of these days, we will hope that it will leave her on the

rocks of financial ruin, eh?"

"What's Ketchim promoting?" she asked. "I know nothing about him."

"Why, among other innocent novelties, a scheme bearing the sonorous

title of Simití Development Company, I am told by my brokers."

"Simití! Why--I've heard Carmen mention that name. I wonder--"

"Well, and who is Carmen?" he asked with a show of real interest.

"My little friend--the one and only honest person I've ever dealt

with, excepting, of course, present company."

"The amendment is accepted. And now where does this Carmen enter the

game?"

"Why, she's--surely you know about her!"

"If I did I should not ask." "Well, she is a little Colombian--"

"Colombian!"

"Yes. They say she's an Inca princess. Came up with the engineers who

went down there for Ketchim to examine the Molino properties. She

lived all her life in a town called Simití until she came up here."

Ames leaned over and looked steadily into the fire. "Never heard of

the place," he murmured dreamily.

"Well," said the Beaubien eagerly, "she's a--a wonderful child! I'm

different when I'm with her."

He roused from his meditations and smiled down at the woman. "Then I'd

advise you not to be with her much, for I prefer you as you are."

They sat some minutes in silence. Then the woman looked up at her

companion. "What are you thinking about so seriously?" she asked.

The man started; then drew himself up and gave a little nervous laugh.

"Of you," he replied evasively, "always."

She reached up and slapped his cheek tenderly. "You were dreaming of

your awful business deals," she said. "What have you in hand

now?--besides the revolution in Colombia, your mines, your mills, your

banks, your railroads and trolley lines, your wheat and potato

corners, your land concessions and cattle schemes, and--well, that's a

start, at least," she finished, pausing for breath.

"Another big deal," he said abruptly.

"Wheat, again?"

"No, cotton. I'm buying every bale I can find, in Europe, Asia, and

the States."

"But, Will, you've been caught in cotton before, you know. And I don't

believe you can get away with it again. Unless--"

"That's it--unless," he interrupted. "And that's just the part I have

taken care of. It's a matter of tariff. The cotton schedule will go

through as I have it outlined. I practically own the Commission. They

don't dare refuse to pass the measure. Cotton is low now. In a few

months the tariff on cotton products will be up. The new tariff-wall

sends the price of raw stuff soaring. I profit, coming and going. I

was beaten on the last deal simply because of faulty weather

prognostications. I made a bad guess. This time the weather doesn't

figure. I'll let you in, if you wish. But these other fellows have got

to stay out."

"I haven't a penny to invest, Will," she replied mournfully. "You got

me so terribly involved in this Colombian revolution."

"Oh, well," he returned easily, "I'll lend you what you need, any

amount. And you can give me your advice and suggestions from time to

time. As for your Colombian investments, haven't I guaranteed them,

practically?"

"Not in writing," she said, looking up at him with a twinkle in her

eyes.

"Bah! Well, do you want that?"

"No, certainly not," she returned, giving him a glance of admiration.

"But, to return, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles is going to be received into your

wife's set, and you are going to give her a good financial whipping?"

"Certainly, if you wish it. I'm yours to command. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles

shall go to the poor-house, if you say the word. But now, my dear,

have William order my car. And, let me see, Mrs. Ames is to meet Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles at Fitch's? Just a chance call, I take it."

"Yes, dear," murmured the Beaubien, reaching up and kissing him; "next

Thursday at three. Good night. Call me on the 'phone to-morrow."

CHAPTER 12

The Ames building, a block from the Stock Exchange, was originally

only five stories in height. But as the Ames interests grew, floor

after floor was added, until, on the day that Mrs. Hawley-Crowles

pointed it out to Carmen from the window of her limousine, it had

reached, tower and all, a height of twenty-five stories, and was

increasing at an average rate of two additional a year. It was not its

size that aroused interest, overtopped as it was by many others, but

its uniqueness; for, though a hive of humming industry, it did not

house a single business that was not either owned outright or

controlled by J. Wilton Ames, from the lowly cigar stands in the

marble corridors to the great banking house of Ames and Company on the

second floor. The haberdashers, the shoe-shining booths, the soda

fountains, and the great commercial enterprises that dwelt about them,

each and all acknowledged fealty and paid homage to the man who

brooded over them in his magnificent offices on the twenty-fifth floor

in the tower above.

It was not by any consensus of opinion among the financiers of New

York that Ames had assumed leadership, but by sheer force of what

was doubtless the most dominant character developed in recent

years by those peculiar forces which have produced the American

multimillionaire. "Mental dynamite!" was Weston's characterization

of the man. "And," he once added, when, despite his anger, he could

not but admire Ames's tactical blocking of his piratical move, which

the former's keen foresight had perceived threatened danger at

Washington, "it is not by any tacit agreement that we accept him,

but because he knows ten tricks to our one, that's all."

To look at the man, now in his forty-fifth year, meant, generally, an

expression of admiration for his unusual physique, and a wholly

erroneous appraisal of his character. His build was that of a

gladiator. He stood six-feet-four in height, with Herculean shoulders

and arms, and a pair of legs that suggested nothing so much as the

great pillars which supported the facade of the Ames building. Those

arms and legs, and those great back-muscles, had sent his college

shell to victory every year that he had sat in the boat. They had won

every game on the gridiron in which he had participated as the

greatest "center" the college ever developed. For baseball he was a

bit too massive, much to his own disappointment, but the honors he

failed to secure there he won in the field events, and in the

surreptitiously staged boxing and wrestling bouts when, hidden away in

the cellar of some secret society hall, he would crush his opponents

with an ease and a peculiar glint of satisfaction in his gray eyes

that was grimly prophetic of days to come. His mental attitude toward

contests for superiority of whatever nature did not differ essentially

from that of the Roman gladiators: he entered them to win. If he fell,

well and good; he expected "thumbs down." If he won, his opponent need

look for no exhibition of generosity on his part. When his man lay

prone before him, he stooped and cut his throat. And he would have

loathed the one who forbore to do likewise with himself.

In scholarship he might have won a place, had not the physical side of

his nature been so predominant, and his remarkable muscular strength

so great a prize to the various athletic coaches and directors. Ames

was first an animal; there was no stimulus as yet sufficiently strong

to arouse his latent spirituality. And yet his intellect was keen; and

to those studies to which he was by nature or inheritance especially

attracted, economics, banking, and all branches of finance, he brought

a power of concentration that was as stupendous as his physical

strength. His mental make-up was peculiar, in that it was the epitome

of energy--manifested at first only in brute force--and in that it was

wholly deficient in the sense of fear. Because of this his daring was

phenomenal.

Immediately upon leaving college Ames became associated with his

father in the already great banking house of Ames and Company. But the

animality of his nature soon found the confinement irksome; his

father's greater conservatism hampered his now rapidly expanding

spirit of commercialism; and after a few years in the banking house he

withdrew and set up for himself. The father, while lacking the boy's

fearlessness, had long since recognized dominant qualities in him

which he himself did not possess, and he therefore confidently

acquiesced in his son's desire, and, in addition, gave him _carte

blanche_ in the matter of funds for his speculative enterprises.

Four years later J. Wilton Ames, rich in his own name, already

becoming recognized as a power in the world of finance, with

diversified enterprises which reached into almost every country of the

globe, hastened home from a foreign land in response to a message

announcing the sudden death of his father. The devolving of his

parent's vast fortune upon himself--he was the sole heir--then

necessitated his permanent location in New York. And so, reluctantly

giving up his travels, he gathered his agents and lieutenants about

him, concentrating his interests as much as possible in the Ames

building, and settled down to the enjoyment of expanding his huge

fortune. A few months later he married, and the union amalgamated the

proud old Essex stock of Ames, whose forbears fought under the

Conqueror and were written in the Doomsday Book, to the wealthy and

aristocratic Van Heyse branch of old Amsterdam. To this union were

born a son and a daughter, twins.

The interval between his graduation from college and the death of his

father was all but unknown to the cronies of his subsequent years in

New York. Though he had spent much of it in the metropolis, he had

been self-centered and absorbed, even lonely, while laying his plans

and developing the schemes which resulted in financial preëminence.

With unlimited money at his disposal, he was unhampered in the choice

of his business clientele, and he formed it from every quarter of the

globe. Much of his time had been spent abroad, and he had become as

well known on the Paris bourse and the exchanges of Europe as in his

native land. Confident and successful from the outset; without any

trace of pride or touch of hauteur in his nature; as wholly lacking in

ethical development and in generosity as he was in fear; gradually

becoming more sociable and companionable, although still reticent of

certain periods of his past; his cunning and brutality increasing with

years; and his business sagacity and keen strategy becoming the talk

of the Street; with no need to raise his eyes beyond the low plane of

his material endeavors; he pursued his business partly for the

pleasure the game afforded him, partly for the power which his

accumulations bestowed upon him, and mostly because it served as an

adequate outlet for his tremendous, almost superhuman, driving energy.

If he betrayed and debauched ideals, it was because he was utterly

incapable of rising to them, nor felt the stimulus to make the

attempt. If he achieved no noble purpose, it was because when he

glanced at the mass of humanity about him he looked through the lenses

of self. His glance fell always first upon J. Wilton Ames--and he

never looked beyond. The world had been created for him; the cosmos

but expressed his Ego.

On the morning after his conversation with the Beaubien regarding the

social aspirations of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, the financier sat at his

rich mahogany desk on the top floor of the Ames building in earnest

discussion with his lawyer, Alonzo Hood. The top floor of the tower

was divided into eight rooms. Two of these constituted Ames's inner

_sanctum_; one was Hood's private office; and the rest were devoted

to clerks and stenographers. A telegrapher occupied an alcove

adjoining Hood's room, and handled confidential messages over

private wires to the principal cities in the country. A private

telephone connected Ames's desk with the Beaubien mansion. Private

lines ran to the Stock Exchange and to various other points

throughout the city. The telegraph and telephone companies gave his

messages preference over all others. At a word he would be placed in

almost instant communication with New Orleans, San Francisco, London,

Berlin, or Cairo. Private lines and speaking tubes ran to every room

or floor of the building where a company, firm, or individual was

doing business. At the office of the Telegraph Service up-town he

maintained messengers who carried none but his own despatches. In

the railroad yards his private car stood always in readiness; and in

the harbor his yacht was kept constantly under steam. A motor car

stood ever in waiting in the street below, close to the shaft of a

private automatic elevator, which ran through the building for his

use alone. This elevator also penetrated the restaurant in the

basement of the building, where a private room and a special waiter

were always at the man's disposal. A private room and special

attendant were maintained in the Turkish baths adjoining, and he

had his own personal suite and valet at his favorite club up-town.

This morning he was at his desk, as usual, at eight o'clock. Before

him lay the various daily reports from his mines, his mills, his

railroads, and his bank. These disposed of, there followed a quick

survey of the day's appointments, arranged for him by his chief

secretary. Then he summoned Hood. As the latter entered, Ames was

absorbed in the legend of the stock ticker.

"C. and R. closed yesterday at twenty-six," he commented. Then,

swinging back in his chair, "What's Stolz doing?"

"For one thing, he has made Miss Fagin his private stenographer,"

replied Hood.

Ames chuckled. "Now we will begin to get real information," he

remarked. "Tell Miss Fagin you will give her fifty dollars a week from

now on; but she is to deliver to you a carbon copy of every letter she

writes for Stolz. And I want those copies on my desk every morning

when I come down. Hood," he continued, abruptly turning the

conversation, "what have you dug up about Ketchim's new company?"

"Very little, sir," replied Hood with a trace of embarrassment. "His

lawyer is a fledgeling named Cass, young, but wise enough not to talk.

I called on him yesterday afternoon to have a little chat about the

old Molino company, representing that I was speaking for certain

stockholders. But he told me to bring the stockholders in and he would

talk with them personally."

Ames laughed, while the lawyer grinned sheepishly. "Is that the sort

of service you are rendering for a hundred-thousand-dollar salary?" he

bantered. "Hood, I'm ashamed of you!"

"I can't blame you; I am ashamed of myself," replied the lawyer.

"Well," continued Ames good-naturedly, "leave Ketchim to me. I've got

three men now buying small amounts of stock in his various companies.

I'll call for receiverships pretty soon, and we will see this time

that he doesn't refund the money. Now about other matters: the Albany

post trolley deal is to go through. Also the potato scheme. Work up

the details and let me have them at once. Have you got the senate bill

drawn for Gossitch?"

"It will be ready this afternoon. As it stands now, the repealing

section gives any city the right to grant saloon licenses of

indefinite length, instead of for one year."

"That's the idea. We want the bill so drawn that it will become

practically impossible to revoke a license."

"As it now reads," said Hood, "it makes a saloon license assignable.

That creates a property right that can hardly be revoked."

"Just so," returned Ames. "As I figure, it will create a value of some

twenty millions for those who own saloons in New York. A tidy sum!"

"That means for the brewers."

"And distillers, yes. And if the United States ever reaches the point

where it will have to buy the saloons in order to wipe them out, it

will face a very handsome little expenditure."

"But, Mr. Ames, a very large part of the stock of American brewing

companies is owned in Europe. How are you--"

"Nominally, it is. But for two years, and more, I have been quietly

gathering in brewing stock from abroad, and to-day I have some ten

millions in my own control, from actual purchases, options, and so

forth. I'm going to organize a holding company, when the time arrives,

and I figure that within the next year or so we will practically

control the production of beer and spirituous liquors in the United

States and Europe. The formation of that company will be a task worthy

of your genius, Hood."

"It will be a pleasure to undertake it," replied Hood with animation.

"By the way, Mr. Ames, I got in touch with Senator Mall last evening

at the club, and he assures me that the senate committee have so

changed the phraseology of the tariff bill on cotton products that the

clause you wish retained will be continued with its meaning unaltered.

In fact, the discrimination which the hosiery interests desire will be

fully observed. Your suggestion as to an ad valorem duty of fifty per

cent on hose valued at less than sixty-five cents a dozen pairs is

exceptionally clever, in view of the fact that there are none of less

than that value."

Ames laughed again. "Triumphant Republicanism," he commented. "And

right in the face of the President's message. Wire Mall that I will be

in Washington Thursday evening to advise with him further about it.

And you will go with me. Hood, we've got a fight on in regard to

the President's idea of granting permission in private suits to use

judgments and facts brought out and entered in government suits

against combinations. That idea has got to be killed! And the

regulation of security issues of railroads--preposterous! Why, the

President's crazy! If Mall and Gossitch and Wells don't oppose

that in the Senate, I'll see that they are up before the lunacy

commission--and I have some influence with that body!"

"There is nothing to fear, I think," replied Hood reassuringly. "An

important piece of business legislation like that will hardly go

through this session. And then we will have time to prepare to

frustrate it. The suggestion to place the New York Stock Exchange

under government supervision is a much more serious matter, I think."

"See here, Hood," said Ames, leaning forward and laying a hand upon

that gentleman's knee, "when that happens, we'll have either a

Socialist president or a Catholic in the White House, with Rome

twitching the string. Then I shall move to my Venezuelan estates, take

the vow of poverty, and turn monk."

"Which reminds me again that by your continued relations with Rome you

are doing much to promote just that state of affairs," returned the

lawyer sententiously.

"Undoubtedly," said Ames. "But I find the Catholic Church

convenient--indeed, necessary--for the promotion of certain plans. And

so I use it. The Colombian revolution, for example. But I shall

abruptly sever my relations with that institution some day--when I am

through with it. At present I am milking the Church to the extent of a

brimming pail every year; and as long as the udder is full and

accessible I shall continue to tap it. I tapped the Presbyterian

Church, through Borwell, last year, if you remember."

Willett, chief secretary to Ames, entered at that moment with the

morning mail, opened and sorted, and replies written to letters of

such nature as he could attend to without suggestions from his chief.

"By the way," remarked Hood when he saw the letters, "I had word from

Collins this morning that he had secured a signed statement from that

fellow Marcus, who was crushed in the Avon mills yesterday. Marcus

accepted the medical services of our physicians, and died in our

hospital. Just before he went off, his wife accepted a settlement of

one hundred dollars. Looked big to her, I guess, and was a bird in the

hand. So that matter's settled."

"That reminds me," said Ames, looking up from his mail; "we are going

to close the mills earlier this year on account of the cotton

shortage."

Hood gave a low whistle. "That spells trouble, in capital letters!" he

commented. "Four thousand hands idle for three months, I suppose. By

George! we just escaped disaster last year, you remember."

"It will be more than three months this time," commented Ames with a

knowing look. Then--"Hood, I verily believe you are a coward."

"Well, Mr. Ames," replied the latter slowly, "I certainly would

hesitate to do some of the things you do. Yet you seem to get away

with them."

"Perk up, Hood," laughed Ames. "I've got real work for you as soon as

I get control of C. and R. I'm going to put you in as president, at a

salary of one hundred thousand per annum. Then you are going to buy

the road for me for about two million dollars, and I'll reorganize and

sell to the stockholders for five millions, still retaining control.

The road is only a scrap heap, but its control is the first step

toward the amalgamation of the trolley interests of New England. Laws

are going to be violated, Hood, both in actual letter and in spirit.

But that's your end of the business. It's up to you to get around the

Interstate Commerce Commission in any way you can, and buttress this

little monopoly against competition and reform-infected legislatures.

I don't care what it costs."

"What about Crabbe?" asked Hood dubiously.

"We'll send Crabbe to the Senate," Ames coolly replied.

"You seem to forget that senators are now elected by the people, Mr.

Ames."

"I forget nothing, sir. The people are New York City, Buffalo, and

Albany. Tammany is New York. And Tammany at present is in my pocket.

Buffalo and Albany can be swept by the Catholic vote. And I have that

in the upper right hand drawer of my private file. The 'people' will

therefore elect to the Senate the man I choose. In fact, I prefer

direct election of senators over the former method, for the people are

greater fools _en masse_ than any State Legislature that ever

assembled."

He took up another letter from the pile on his desk and glanced

through it. "From Borwell," he commented. "Protests against the way

you nullified the Glaze-Bassett red-light injunction bill. Pretty

clever, that, Hood. I really didn't think it was in you."

"Invoking the referendum, you mean?" said Hood, puffing a little with

pride.

"Yes. But for that, the passage of the bill would have wiped out the

whole red-light district, and quartered the rents I now get from my

shacks down there. Now next year we will be better prepared to fight

the bill. The press will be with us then--a little cheaper and a

trifle more degraded than it is to-day."

A private messenger entered with a cablegram. Ames read it and handed

it to his lawyer. "The _Proteus_ has reached the African Gold Coast at

last," he said. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Do

you know, Hood, the _Proteus_ carried two missionaries, sent to the

frizzle-topped Zulus by Borwell and his outfit. Deutsch and Company

cable that they have arrived."

"But," said Hood in some perplexity, "the cargo of the _Proteus_ was

rum!"

"Just so," roared Ames; "that's where the joke comes in. I make it a

point that every ship of mine that carries a missionary to a foreign

field shall also carry a cargo of rum. The combination is one that the

Zulu finds simply irresistible!"

"So," commented Hood, "the Church goes down to Egypt for help!"

"Why not?" returned Ames. "I carry the missionaries free on my rum

boats. Great saving to the Board of Foreign Missions, you know."

Hood looked at the man before him in undisguised admiration of his

cunning. "And did you likewise send missionaries to China with your

opium cargoes?" he asked.

Ames chuckled. "I once sent Borwell himself to Hongkong on a boat

loaded to the rails with opium. We had insisted on his taking a needed

vacation, and so packed him off to Europe. In Bombay I cabled him to

take the _Crotus_ to Hongkong, transportation free. That was my last

consignment of opium to China, for restrictions had already fallen

upon our very Christian England, and the opium traffic was killed. I

had plans laid to corner the entire opium business in India, and I'd

have cleaned up a hundred million out of it, but for the pressure of

public sentiment. However, we're going to educate John Chinaman to

substitute whiskey for opium. But now," glancing at the great electric

wall clock, "I've wasted enough time with you. By the way, do you know

why this Government withheld recognition of the Chinese Republic?"

"No," replied Hood, standing in anticipation.

"Thirty thousand chests of opium," returned Ames laconically. "Value,

fifty million dollars."

"Well?"

"Ames and Company had advanced to the English banks of Shanghai and

Hongkong half this amount, loaned on the opium. That necessitated a

few plain words from me to the President, and a quick trip from

Washington to London afterwards to interview his most Christian

British Majesty. A very pleasant and profitable trip, Hood, very! Now

tell Willett I want him."

Hood threw his chief another look of intense admiration, and left the

room. Willett's entrance followed immediately.

"Get Lafelle here some time to-day when I have a vacant hour,"

commanded Ames. "Cable to acting-Bishop Wenceslas, of Cartagena, and

ask him if an American mining company is registered there under the

name of Simití Development Company, and what properties they have and

where located. Tell him to cable reply, and follow with detailed

letter."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "The Congregation of

the Sacred Index has laid the ban on--what's the name of the book?" He

drew out a card-index drawer and selected a card, which he tossed to

the secretary. "There it is. Get me the book at once." He seemed to

muse a while, then went on slowly. "Carlos Madero, of Mexico, is in

New York. Learn where he is staying, and arrange an interview for me.

Wire Senator Wells, Washington, that the bill for a Children's Bureau

must not be taken from the table. That's final. Wire the Sequana Coal

Company that I want their report to-morrow, without fail. Wire

Collins, at Avon, to tell the Spinners' Union I have nothing to

discuss with them. Now send Hodson in."

As Hood was chief of the Ames legal department, and Willett the chief

of his army of secretaries, so Hodson was the captain of his force of

brokers, a keen, sagacious trader, whose knowledge of the market and

whose ability in the matter of stock trading was almost uncanny.

"What's your selection for to-day, Hodson?" asked Ames, as the man

entered.

Hodson laid on his desk three lists of suggested deals on the

exchanges of New York, London, and Paris. Ames glanced over them

hurriedly, drawing his pencil through certain that did not meet his

approval, and substituting others in which for particular reasons he

wished to trade that morning. "What's your reason for thinking I ought

to buy Public Utilities?" he asked, looking up at his broker.

"They have the letting of the Hudson river tunnel contract," replied

Hodson.

Ames studied the broker's face a moment. Then his own brightened, as

he began to divine the man's reason. "By George!" he ejaculated, "you

think there's quicksand along the proposed route?"

"I know it," said Hodson calmly.

"Pick up ten thousand shares, if you can get them," returned Ames

quickly. Then--"I'm going to attend a meeting of the Council of

American Grain Exchanges at two to-day. I want you to be just outside

the door."

Hodson nodded understandingly. Ames concluded, "I guess that's all.

I'm at the bank at ten; at the Board of Trade at ten-thirty; Stock

Exchange at eleven; and lunch at Rector's at twelve sharp, returning

here immediately afterward."

Hodson again bowed, and left the office to undertake his various

commissions.

For the next half hour Ames pored over the morning's quota of letters

and messages, making frequent notes, and often turning to the

telephone at his hand. Then he summoned a stenographer and rapidly

dictated a number of replies. Finally he again called Willett.

"In my next vacant hour, following the one devoted to Lafelle, I want

to see Reverend Darius Borwell," he directed. "Also," he continued,

"wire Strunz that I want a meeting of the Brewers' Union called at the

earliest possible date. By the way, ask Lafelle if he can spend the

night with me on board the _Cossack_, and if so, notify Captain

McCall. That will save an hour in the day. Here is a bundle of

requests for charity, for contributions to hospitals, orphan asylums,

and various homes. Turn them all down, regretfully. H'm! 'Phone to the

City Assessor to come over whenever you can arrange an hour and go

over my schedule with me. By the way, tell Hood to take steps at once

to foreclose on the Bradley estate. Did you find out where Ketchim

does his banking?"

"Yes, sir," replied the secretary, "the Commercial State."

"Very well, get the president, Mr. Colson, on the wire."

A few moments later Ames had purchased from the Commercial State bank

its note against the Ketchim Realty Company for ten thousand dollars.

"I thought Ketchim would be borrowing again," he chuckled, when he had

completed the transaction. "His brains are composed of a disastrous

mixture of hypocrisy and greed. I've thrown another hook into him

now."

At nine forty-five Ames left his private office and descended in his

elevator to the banking house on the second floor. He entered the

directors' room with a determined carriage, nodding pleasantly to his

associates. Taking his seat as chairman, he promptly called the

meeting to order.

Some preliminary business occupied the first few minutes, and then

Ames announced:

"Gentlemen, when the State of New York offered the public sixty

millions of four per cent bonds last week, and I advised you to take

them at a premium of six per cent, you objected. I overruled you, and

the bank bought the bonds. Within forty-eight hours they were resold

at a premium of seven per cent, and the bank cleared six hundred

thousand. A fair two days' business. Now let me suggest that the

psychology of this transaction is worth your study. A commodity is a

drug on the market at one dollar, until somebody is willing to pay a

dollar and a half for it. Then a lot of people will want it, until

somebody else offers a bid of two. Then the price will soar, and the

number of those who covet the article and scramble for it will

increase proportionably. Take this thought home with you."

A murmur of admiration rose from the directors. "I think," said one,

"that we had better send Mr. Ames to Washington to confer with the

President in regard to the proposed currency legislation."

"That is already arranged," put in Ames. "I meet the President next

Thursday for a conference on this matter."

"And if he proves intractable?" queried another.

"Why, in that case," returned Ames with a knowing smile, "I think we

had better give him a little lesson to take out of office with

him--one that will ruin his second-term hopes--and then close our

bank."

From the bank, the Board of Trade, the Stock Exchange, and his

luncheon with Senator Gossitch, Ames returned to his office for the

private interviews which his chief secretary had arranged. Then

followed further consultations with Hood over the daily, weekly, and

monthly reports which Ames required from all the various commercial,

financial, and mining enterprises in which he was interested; further

discussions of plans and schemes; further receipt and transmission of

cable, telegraphic, and telephone messages; and meetings with his

heads of departments, his captains, lieutenants, and minor officers,

to listen to their reports and suggestions, and to deliver his quick,

decisive commands, admonitions, and advice. From eight in the morning

until, as was his wont, Ames closed his desk and entered his private

elevator at five-thirty in the evening, his office flashed with the

superenergy of the man, with his intense activity, his decisive words,

and his stupendous endeavors, materialistic, absorptive, ruthless

endeavors. If one should ask what his day really amounted to, we can

but point to these incessant endeavors and their results in augmenting

his already vast material interests and his colossal fortune, a

fortune which Hood believed ran well over a hundred millions, and

which Ames himself knew multiplied that figure by five or ten. And the

fortune was increasing at a frightful pace, for he gave nothing, but

continually drew to himself, always and ever drawing, accumulating,

amassing, and absorbing, and for himself alone.

Snapping his desk shut, he held a brief conversation over the wire

with the Beaubien, then descended to his waiting car and was driven

hastily to his yacht, the _Cossack_, where Monsignor Lafelle awaited

as his guest. It was one of the few pleasures which Ames allowed

himself during the warm months, to drop his multifarious interests and

spend the night aboard the _Cossack_, generally alone, rocking gently

on the restless billows, so typical of his own heaving spirit, as the

beautiful craft steamed noiselessly to and fro along the coast, well

beyond the roar of the huge _arena_ where human beings, formed of

dust, yet fatuously believing themselves made in the image of infinite

Spirit, strive and sweat, curse and slay, in the struggle to prove

their doubtful right to live.

CHAPTER 13

The _Cossack_, with its great turbines purring like a sleeping kitten,

and its twin screws turning lazily, almost imperceptibly in the dark

waters, moved through the frosty night like a cloud brooding over the

deep. Yet it was a cloud of tremendous potentiality, enwrapping a

spirit of energy incarnate. From far aloft its burning eye pierced a

channel of light through the murky darkness ahead. In its wake it drew

a swell of sparkling phosphorescence, which it carelessly tossed off

on either side as a Calif might throw handfuls of glittering coins to

his fawning beggars. From somewhere in the structure above, the

crackling, hissing wireless mechanism was thrusting its invisible

hands out into the night and catching the fleeting messages that were

borne on the intangible pulsations of the mysterious ether. From time

to time these messages were given form and body, and despatched to the

luxurious suite below, where, in the dazzling sheen of silver and cut

glass, spread out over richest napery, and glowing beneath a torrent

of white light, sat the gigantic being whose will directed the

movements of this floating palace.

"You see, Lafelle, I look upon religion with the eye of the

cold-blooded business man, without the slightest trace of sentimentalism.

From the business standpoint, the Protestant Church is a dead failure.

It doesn't get results that are in any way commensurate with its

investment. But your Church is a success--from the point of dollars and

cents. In fact, in the matter of forming and maintaining a monopoly, I

take off my hat to the Vatican. You fellows have got us all beaten.

Every day I learn something of value by studying your methods of

operating upon the public. And so you see why I take such pleasure in

talking with really astute churchmen like yourself."

Monsignor Lafelle studied the man without replying, uncertain just

what interpretation to put upon the remark. The Japanese servant was

clearing away the remnants of the meal, having first lighted the

cigars of the master and guest.

"Now," continued Ames, leaning back in his luxurious chair and musing

over his cigar, "the purgatory idea is one of the cleverest schemes

ever foisted upon the unthinking masses, and it has proved a veritable

Klondike. Gad! if I could think up and put over a thing like that I'd

consider myself really possessed of brains."

Lafelle's eyes twinkled. "I fear, Mr. Ames," he replied adroitly, "you

do not know your Bible."

"No, that's true. I don't suppose I ever in my life read a whole

chapter in the book. I can't swallow such stuff, Lafelle--utterly

unreasonable, wholly inconsistent with facts and natural laws, as we

know and are able to observe them. Even as a child I never had any

use for fairy-tales, or wonder-stories. I always wanted facts,

tangible, concrete, irrefutable facts, not hypotheses. The Protestant

churches hand out a mess of incoherent guesswork, based on as many

interpretations of the Bible as there are human minds sufficiently

interested to interpret it, and then wax hot and angry when

hard-headed business men like myself refuse to subscribe to it.

It's preposterous, Lafelle! If they had anything tangible to

offer, it would be different. But I go to church for the looks of

the thing, and for business reasons; and then stick pins into myself

to keep awake while I listen to pedagogical Borwell tell what he

doesn't know about God and man. Then at the close of the service I

drop a five-dollar bill into the plate for the entertainment, and

go away with the feeling that I didn't get my money's worth. From a

business point of view, a Protestant church service is worth about

twenty-five cents for the music, and five cents for the privilege of

sleeping on a soft cushion. So you see I lose four dollars and

seventy cents every time I attend. You Catholic fellows, with your

ceremonial and legerdemain, give a much better entertainment.

Besides, I like to hear your priests soak it to their cowering

flocks."

Lafelle sighed. "I shall have to class you with the incorrigibles," he

said with a rueful air. "I am sorry you take such a harsh attitude

toward us. We are really more spiritual--"

Ames interrupted with a roar of laughter. "Don't! don't!" he pleaded,

holding up a hand. "Why, Lafelle, you old fraud, I look upon your

Church as a huge business institution, a gigantic trust, as mercenary

and merciless as Steel, Oil, or Tobacco! Why, you and I are in the

same business, that of making money! And I'd like to borrow some of

your methods. You catch 'em through religion. I have to use other

methods. But the end is the same. Only, you've got it over me, for you

hurl the weight of centuries of authority upon the poor, trembling

public; and I have to beat them down with clubs of my own making.

Moreover, the law protects you in all your pious methods; while I have

to hire expensive legal talent to get around it."

"You seem to be fairly successful, even at that," retorted Lafelle.

Then, too politic to draw his host into an acrimonious argument that

might end in straining their now cordial and mutually helpful

friendship, he observed, looking at his cigar: "May I ask what you pay

for these?--for only an inexhaustible bank reserve can warrant their

like."

He had struck the right chord, and Ames softened at once. "These," he

said, tenderly regarding the thick, black weed in his fingers, "are

grown exclusively for me on my own plantation in Colombia. They cost

me about one dollar and sixty-eight cents each, laid down at my door

in New York. I searched the world over before I found the only spot

where such tobacco could be grown."

"And this wine?" continued Lafelle, lifting his glass of sparkling

champagne.

"On a little hillside, scarcely an acre in extent, in Granada, Spain,"

replied Ames. "I have my own wine press and bottling plant there."

Lafelle could not conceal his admiration for this man of luxury. "And

does your exclusiveness extend also to your tea and coffee?" he

ventured, smiling.

"It does," said Ames. "I grow tea for my table in both China and

Ceylon. And I have exclusive coffee plantations in Java and Brazil.

But I'm now negotiating for one in Colombia, for I think that, without

doubt, the finest coffee in the world is grown there, although it

never gets beyond the coast line."

"_Fortuna non deo_," murmured the churchman; "you man of chance and

destiny!"

Ames laughed genially. "My friend," said he, "I have always insisted

that I possessed but a modicum of brains; but I am a gambler. My god

is chance. With ordinary judgment and horse-sense, I take risks that

no so-called sane man would consider. The curse of the world is

fear--the chief instrument that you employ to hold the masses to your

churchly system. I was born without it. I know that as long as a

business opponent has fear to contend with, I am his master. Fear is

at the root of every ailment of mind, body, or environment. I repeat,

I know not the meaning of the word. Hence my position in the business

world. Hence, also, my freedom from the limitations of superstition,

religious or otherwise. Do you get me?"

"Yes," replied Lafelle, drawing a long sigh, "in a sense I do. But you

greatly err, my friend, in deprecating your own powerful intellect. I

know of no brain but yours that could have put South Ohio Oil from one

hundred and fifty dollars up to over two thousand a share. I had a few

shares of that stock myself. But I held until it broke."

Ames smiled knowingly. "Sorry I didn't know about it," he said. "I

could have saved you. I didn't own a dollar's worth of South Ohio. Oh,

yes," he added, as he saw Lafelle's eyes widening in surprise, "I

pushed the market up until a certain lady, whom you and I both know,

thought it unwise to go further, and then I sprung the sudden

discovery of Colombian oil fields on them; and the market crashed

like a burst balloon. The lady cleared some two millions on the rig.

No, I didn't have a drop of Colombian oil to grease the chute. It was

American nerve, that's all."

"Well!" ejaculated Lafelle. "If you had lived in the Middle Ages you'd

have been burnt for possessing a devil!"

"On the contrary," quickly amended Ames, his eyes twinkling, "I'd have

been made a Cardinal."

Both men laughed over the retort; and then Ames summoned the valet to

set in motion the great electrical pipe-organ, and to bring the

whiskey and soda.

For the next hour the two men gave themselves up to the supreme luxury

of their magnificent environment, the stimulation of their beverage

and cigars, and the soothing effect of the soft music, combined with

the gentle movement of the boat. Then Ames took his guest into the

smoking room proper, and drew up chairs before a small table, on which

were various papers and writing materials.

"Now," he began, "referring to your telephone message of this morning,

what is it that you want me to do for you? Is it the old question of

establishing a nunciature at Washington?"

Lafelle had been impatiently awaiting this moment. He therefore

plunged eagerly into his subject. "Mr. Ames," said he, "I know you to

have great influence at the Capital. In the interests of humanity, I

ask you to use that influence to prevent the passage of the

immigration bill which provides for a literacy test."

Ames smiled inwardly. There was no need of this request; for, in the

interests, not of humanity, but of his own steamship companies, he

intended that there should be no restriction imposed upon immigration.

But the Church was again playing into his hands, coming to him for

favors. And the Church always paid heavily for his support. "Well!

well!" he exclaimed with an assumption of interest, "so you ask me to

impugn my own patriotism!"

Lafelle looked perplexed. "I don't quite understand," he said.

"Why," Ames explained, "how long do you figure it will take, with

unrestricted immigration, for the Catholics to so outnumber the

Protestants in the United States as to establish their religion by law

and force it into the schools?"

Lafelle flushed. "But your Constitution provides toleration for all

religions!"

"And the Constitution is quite flexible, and wholly subject to

amendment, is it not?"

Lafelle flared out in unrestrained anger. "What a bugaboo you

Protestants make of Roman Catholicism!" he cried. "Great heavens! Why,

one would think that we Catholics were all anarchists! Are we such a

menace, such a curse to your Republican institutions? Do you ever stop

to realize what the Church has done for civilization, and for your

own country? And where, think you, would art and learning be now but

for her? Have you any adequate idea what the Church is doing

to-day for the poor, for the oppressed? Good God! You Protestants,

a thousand times more intolerant than we, treat us as if we were

Hindoo pariahs! This whole country is suffering from the delirium of

Roman Catholic-phobia! Will you drive us to armed defense?"

"There, my friend, calm yourself," soothed Ames, laying a hand on the

irate churchman's arm. "And please do not class me with the

Protestants, for I am not one of them. You Catholic fellows have made

admirable gains in the past few years, and your steady encroachments

have netted you about ninety per cent of all the political offices in

and about Washington, so you have no complaint, even if the Church

isn't in politics. H'm! So you want my help, eh?"

He stopped and drummed on the table. Meantime, his brain was working

rapidly. "By the way, Lafelle," he said, abruptly resuming the

conversation, "you know all about church laws and customs, running way

back to mediaeval times. Can't you dig up some old provision whereby I

can block a fellow who claims to own a gold mine down in Colombia? If

you can, I'll see that the President vetoes every obnoxious

immigration bill that's introduced this term."

Lafelle roused from his sulk and gulped down his wrath. Ames went on

to express his desire for vengeance upon one obscure Philip O. Ketchim,

broker, promoter, church elder, and Sunday school superintendent.

Lafelle became interested. The conversation grew more and more animated.

Hours passed.

Then at length Ames rose and rang for his valet. "My God, Lafelle, the

idea's a corker!" he cried, his eyes ablaze. "Where'd you get it?"

Lafelle laughed softly. "From a book entitled 'Confessions of a Roman

Catholic Priest,' written anonymously, but, they say, by a young

attaché of the Vatican who was insane at the time. I never learned his

name. However, he was apparently well informed on matters Colombian."

"And what do you call the law?"

"The law of _'en manos muertas'_," replied Lafelle.

"Well," exclaimed Ames, "again I take off my hat to your churchly

system! And now," he continued eagerly, "cable the Pope at once. I'll

have the operator send your code ashore by wireless, and the message

will go to Rome to-night. Tell the old man you've got influence at

work in Washington that is--well, more than strong, and that the

prospects for defeating the immigration bill are excellent."

Lafelle arose and stood for a moment looking about the room. "Before I

retire, my friend," he said, "I would like to express again the

admiration which the tasteful luxury of this smoking room has aroused

in me, and to ask, if I may, whether those stained-glass windows up

there are merely fanciful portraits?"

Ames quickly glanced up at the faces of the beautiful women portrayed

in the rectangular glass windows which lined the room just below the

ceiling. They were exquisitely painted, in vivid colors, and so set as

to be illuminated during the day by sunlight, and at night by strong

electric lamps behind them. "Why do you ask?" he inquired in wonder.

"Because," returned Lafelle, "if I mistake not, I have seen a portrait

similar to that one," pointing up at one of the windows, where a sad,

wistful face of rare loveliness looked down upon them.

Ames started slightly. "Where, may I ask?" he said in a controlled

voice.

Lafelle reflected. In his complete absorption he had not noticed the

effect of his query upon Ames. "I do not know," he replied slowly.

"London--Paris--Berlin--no, not there. And yet, it was in Europe, I am

sure. Ah, I have it! In the Royal Gallery, at Madrid."

Ames stared at him dully. "In the--Royal Gallery--at Madrid!" he

echoed in a low tone.

"Yes," continued Lafelle confidently, still studying the portrait, "I

am certain of it. But," turning abruptly upon Ames, "you may have

known the original?"

Ames had recovered his composure. "I assure you I never had that

pleasure," he said lightly. "These art windows were set in by the

designer of the yacht. Clever idea, I thought. Adds much to the

general effect, don't you think? By the way, if a portrait similar to

that one hangs in the Royal Gallery at Madrid, you might try to learn

the identity of the original for me. It's quite interesting to feel

that one may have the picture of some bewitching member of royalty

hanging in his own apartments. By all means try to learn who the lady

is--unless you know." He stopped and searched the churchman's face.

But Lafelle shook his head. "No, I do not know her. But--that picture

has haunted me from the day I first saw it in the Royal Gallery. Who

designed your yacht?"

"Crafts, of 'Storrs and Crafts,'" replied Ames. "But he died a year

ago. Storrs is gone, too. No help from that quarter."

Lafelle moved thoughtfully toward the door. The valet appeared at that

moment.

"Show Monsignor to his stateroom," commanded Ames. "Good night,

Monsignor, good night. Remember, we dock at seven-thirty, sharp."

Returning to the table, Ames sat down and rapidly composed a message

for his wireless operator to send across the dark waters to the city,

and thence to acting-Bishop Wenceslas, in Cartagena. This done, he

extinguished all the lights in the room excepting those which

illuminated the stained-glass windows above. Drawing his chair up in

front of the one which had stirred Lafelle's query, he sat before it

far into the morning, in absorbed contemplation, searching the sad

features of the beautiful face, pondering, revolving, sometimes

murmuring aloud, sometimes passing a hand across his brow, as if he

would erase from a relentless memory an impression made long since and

worn ever deeper by the recurrent thought of many years.

CHAPTER 14

Almost within the brief period of a year, the barefoot, calico-clad

Carmen had been ejected from unknown Simití and dropped into the midst

of the pyrotechnical society life of the great New World metropolis.

Only an unusual interplay of mental forces could have brought about

such an odd result. But that it was a very logical outcome of the

reaction upon one another of human ambitions, fears, lust, and greed,

operating through the types of mind among which her life had been

cast, those who have followed our story thus far can have no doubt.

The cusp of the upward-sweeping curve had been reached through the

insane eagerness of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to outdo her wealthy society

rivals in an arrogant display of dress, living, and vain, luxurious

entertaining, and the acquisition of the empty honor attaching to

social leadership. The coveted prize was now all but within the

shallow woman's grasp. Alas! she knew not that when her itching

fingers closed about it the golden bauble would crumble to ashes.

The program as outlined by the Beaubien had been faithfully followed.

Mrs. J. Wilton Ames had met Mrs. Hawley-Crowles--whom, of course, she

had long desired to know more intimately--and an interchange of calls

had ensued, succeeded by a grand reception at the Ames mansion, the

first of the social season. To this Mrs. Hawley-Crowles floated, as

upon a cloud, attired in a French gown which cost fifteen hundred

dollars, and shoes on her disproportioned feet for which she had

rejoiced to pay thirty dollars each, made as they had been from

specially selected imported leather, dyed to match her rich robe. It

was true, her pleasure had not been wholly unalloyed, for she had been

conscious of a trace of superciliousness on the part of some of the

gorgeous birds of paradise, twittering and hopping in their hampering

skirts about the Ames parlors, and pecking, with milk-fed content, at

the rare cakes and ices. But she only held her empty head the higher,

and fluttered about the more ostentatiously and clumsily, while

anticipating the effect which her charming and talented ward would

produce when she should make her bow to these same vain, haughty

devotees of the cult of gold. And she had wisely planned that Carmen's

_début_ should follow that of Kathleen Ames, that it might eclipse her

rival's in its wanton display of magnificence.

On the heels of the Ames reception surged the full flood of the

winter's social orgy. Early in November Kathleen Ames was duly

presented. The occasion was made one of such stupendous display that

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles first gasped, then shivered with apprehension,

lest she be unable to outdo it. She went home from it in a somewhat

chastened frame of mind, and sat down at her _escritoire_ to make

calculations. Could she on her meager annual income of one hundred and

fifty thousand hope to meet the Ames millions? She had already allowed

that her wardrobe would cost not less than twenty-five thousand

dollars a year, to say nothing of the additional expense of properly

dressing Carmen. But she now saw that this amount was hopelessly

inadequate. She therefore increased the figure to seventy-five

thousand. But that took half of her income. Could she maintain her

city home, entertain in the style now demanded by her social position,

and spend her summers at Newport, as she had planned? Clearly, not on

that amount. No, her income would not suffice; she would be obliged to

draw on the principal until Carmen could be married off to some

millionaire, or until her own father died. Oh? if he would only

terminate his useless existence soon!

But, in lieu of that delayed desideratum, some expedient must be

devised at once. She thought of the Beaubien. That obscure, retiring

woman was annually making her millions. A tip now and then from her, a

word of advice regarding the market, and her own limited income would

expand accordingly. She had not seen the Beaubien since becoming a

member of Holy Saints. But on that day, and again, two months later,

when the splendid altar to the late lamented and patriotic citizen,

the Honorable James Hawley-Crowles, was dedicated, she had marked the

woman, heavily veiled, sitting alone in the rear of the great church.

What had brought her there? she wondered. She had shuddered as she

thought the tall, black-robed figure typified an ominous shadow

falling athwart her own foolish existence.

But there was no doubt of Carmen's hold on the strange, tarnished

woman. And so, smothering her doubts and pocketing her pride, she

again sought the Beaubien, ostensibly in regard to Carmen's

forthcoming _début_; and then, very adroitly and off-handedly, she

brought up the subject of investments, alleging that the added burden

of the young girl now rendered it necessary to increase the rate of

interest which her securities were yielding.

The Beaubien proved herself the soul of candor and generosity. Not

only did she point out to Mrs. Hawley-Crowles how her modest income

might be quadrupled, but she even offered, in such a way as to make it

utterly impossible for that lady to take offense, to lend her whatever

amount she might need, at any time, to further Carmen's social

conquest. And during the conversation she announced that she herself

was acting on a suggestion dropped by the great financier, Ames, and

was buying certain stocks now being offered by a coming power in world

finance, Mr. Philip O. Ketchim.

Why, to be sure, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had heard of this man! Was he not

promoting a company in which her sister's husband, and the girl

herself, were interested? And if such investments were good enough for

a magnate of Ames's standing, they certainly were good enough for her.

She would see Mr. Ketchim at once. Indeed, why had she not thought of

this before! She would get Carmen to hypothecate her own interest in

this new company, if necessary. That interest of itself was worth a

fortune.

Quite true. And if Mrs. Hawley-Crowles and Carmen so desired, the

Beaubien would advance them whatever they might need on that

security alone. Or, she would take the personal notes of Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles--"For, you know, my dear," she said sweetly, "when

your father passes away you are going to be very well off, indeed, and

I can afford to discount that inevitable event somewhat, can I

not?" And she not only could, but did.

Then Mrs. Hawley-Crowles soared into the empyrean, and this

self-absorbed woman, who never in her life had earned the equivalent

of a single day's food, launched the sweet, white-souled girl of

the tropics upon the oozy waters of New York society with such

_éclat_ that the Sunday newspapers devoted a whole page, profusely

illustrated, to the gorgeous event and dilated with much extravagance

of expression upon the charms of the little Inca princess, and

upon the very important and gratifying fact that the three hundred

fashionable guests present displayed jewels to the value of not less

than ten million dollars.

The function took the form of a musicale, in which Carmen's rich

voice was first made known to the _beau monde_. The girl instantly

swept her auditors from their feet. The splendid pipe-organ, which

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had hurriedly installed for the occasion,

became a thing inspired under her deft touch. It seemed in that

garish display of worldliness to voice her soul's purity, its

wonder, its astonishment, its lament over the vacuities of this

highest type of human society, its ominous threats of thundered

denunciation on the day when her tongue should be loosed and the

present mesmeric spell broken--for she was under a spell, even

that of this new world of tinsel and material veneer.

The decrepit old Mrs. Gannette wept on Carmen's shoulder, and went

home vowing that she would be a better woman and cut out her night-cap

of Scotch-and-soda. Others crowded about the girl and showered their

fulsome praise upon her. But not so Mrs. Ames and her daughter

Kathleen. They stared at the lovely _débutante_ with wonder and

chagrin written legibly upon their bepowdered visages. And before the

close of the function Kathleen had become so angrily jealous that she

was grossly rude to Carmen when she bade her good night. For her own

feeble light had been drowned in the powerful radiance of the girl

from Simití. And from that moment the assassination of the character

of the little Inca princess was decreed.

But, what with incessant striving to adapt herself to her environment,

that she might search its farthest nook and angle; what with ceaseless

efforts to check her almost momentary impulse to cry out against the

vulgar display of modernity and the vicious inequity of privilege

which she saw on every hand; what with her purity of thought; her rare

ideals and selfless motives; her boundless love for humanity; and her

passionate desire to so live her "message" that all the world might

see and light their lamps at the torch of her burning love for God and

her fellow-men, Carmen found her days a paradox, in that they were

literally full of emptiness. After her _début_, event followed event

in the social life of the now thoroughly gay metropolis, and the poor

child found herself hustled home from one function, only to change her

attire and hurry again, weary of spirit, into the waiting car, to be

whisked off to another equally vapid. It seemed to the bewildered girl

that she would never learn what was _de rigueur_; what conventions

must be observed at one social event, but amended at another. Her

tight gowns and limb-hampering skirts typified the soul-limitation of

her tinsel, environment; her high-heeled shoes were exquisite torture;

and her corsets, which her French maid drew until the poor girl gasped

for air, seemed to her the cruellest device ever fashioned by the

vacuous, enslaved human mind. Frequently she changed her clothing

completely three and four times a day to meet her social demands.

Night became day; and she had to learn to sleep until noon. She found

no time for study; none even for reading. And conversation, such as

was indulged under the Hawley-Crowles roof, was confined to insipid

society happenings, with frequent sprinklings of racy items anent

divorce, scandal, murder, or the debauch of manhood. From this she

drew more and more aloof and became daily quieter.

It was seldom, too, that she could escape from the jaded circle of

society revelers long enough to spend a quiet hour with the Beaubien.

But when she could, she would open the reservoirs of her soul and give

full vent to her pent-up emotions. "Oh," she would often exclaim, as

she sat at the feet of the Beaubien in the quiet of the darkened music

room, and gazed into the crackling fire, "how can they--how can

they!"

Then the Beaubien would pat her soft, glowing cheek and murmur, "Wait,

dearie, wait." And the tired girl would sigh and close her eyes and

dream of the quiet of little Simití and of the dear ones there from

whom she now heard no word, and yet whom she might not seek, because

of the war which raged about her lowly birthplace.

The gay season was hardly a month advanced when Mrs. Ames angrily

admitted to herself that her own crown was in gravest danger. The

South American girl--and because of her, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles and her

blasé sister--had completely captured New York's conspicuous circle.

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles apparently did not lack for funds, but entertained

with a display of reckless disregard for expense, and a carelessness

of critical comment, that stirred the city to its depths and aroused

expressions of wonder and admiration on every hand. The newspapers

were full of her and her charming ward. Surely, if the girl's social

prestige continued to soar, the Ames family soon would be relegated to

the social "has-beens." And Mrs. Ames and her haughty daughter held

many a serious conference over their dubious prospects.

Ames himself chuckled. Night after night, when the Beaubien's dinner

guests had dispersed, he would linger to discuss the social war now in

full progress, and to exchange with her witty comments on the

successes of the combatants. One night he announced, "Lafelle is in

England; and when he returns he is coming by way of the West Indies. I

shall cable him to stop for a week at Cartagena, to see Wenceslas on a

little matter of business for me."

The Beaubien smiled her comprehension. "Mrs. Hawley-Crowles has become

nicely enmeshed in his net," she returned. "The altar to friend Jim is

a beauty. Also, I hear that she is going to finance Ketchim's mining

company in Colombia."

"Fine!" said Ames. "I learned to-day that Ketchim's engineer, Harris,

has returned to the States. Couldn't get up the Magdalena river, on

account of the fighting. There will be nothing doing there for a year

yet."

"Just as well," commented the Beaubien. Then abruptly--"By the way, I

now hold Mrs. Hawley-Crowles's notes to the amount of two hundred and

fifty thousand dollars. I want you to buy them from me and be ready to

turn the screws when I tell you."

Ames roared with laughter. "Shrewd girl!" he exclaimed, pinching her

cheek. "All right. I'll take them off your hands to-morrow. And by the

way, I must meet this Carmen."

"You let her alone," said the Beaubien quickly in a low voice.

Ames wondered vaguely what she meant.

* * * * *

The inauguration of the Grand Opera season opened to Mrs. Hawley-Crowles

another avenue for her astonishing social activities. With rare

shrewdness she had contrived to outwit Mrs. Ames and secure the center

box in the "golden horseshoe" at the Metropolitan. There, like a gaudy

garden spider in its glittering web, she sat on the opening night,

with her rapt _protégée_ at her side, and sent her insolent challenge

broadcast. Multimillionaires and their haughty, full-toileted dames were

ranged on either side of her, brewers and packers, distillers and

patent medicine concoctors, railroad magnates and Board of Trade

plungers, some under indictment, others under the shadow of death,

all under the mesmeric charm of gold. In the box at her left sat the

Ames family, with their newly arrived guests, the Dowager Duchess of

Altern and her son. Though inwardly boiling, Mrs. Ames was smiling

and affable when she exchanged calls with the gorgeous occupants of

the Hawley-Crowles box.

"So chawmed to meet you," murmured the heir of Altern, a callow youth

of twenty-three, bowing over the dainty, gloved hand of Carmen. Then,

as he adjusted his monocle and fixed his jaded eyes upon the fresh

young girl, "Bah Jove!"

The gigantic form of Ames wedged in between the young man and Carmen.

"I've heard a lot about you," he said genially, in a heavy voice that

harmonized well with his huge frame; "but we haven't had an

opportunity to get acquainted until to-night."

For some moments he stood holding her hand and looking steadily at

her. The girl gazed up at him with her trustful brown eyes alight, and

a smile playing about her mouth. "My, but you are big!" she naïvely

exclaimed.

While she chatted brightly Ames held her hand and laughed at her

frank, often witty, remarks. But then a curious, eager look came into

his face, and he became quiet and reflective. He seemed unable to take

his eyes from her. And when the girl gently drew her hand from his he

laughed again, nervously.

"I--I know something about Colombia," he said, "and speak the language

a bit. We'll have to get together often, so's I can brush up."

Then, apparently noticing Mrs. Hawley-Crowles and her sister for the

first time--"Oh, so glad to see you both! Camorso's in fine voice

to-night, eh?"

He wheeled about and stood again looking at Carmen, until she blushed

under his close gaze and turned her head away. Then he went back to

his box. But throughout the evening, whenever the girl looked in the

direction of the Ames family, she met the steady, piercing gaze of the

man's keen gray eyes. And they seemed to her like sharp steel points,

cutting into the portals of her soul.

Night after night during the long season Carmen sat in the box and

studied the operas that were produced on the boards before her

wondering gaze. Always Mrs. Hawley-Crowles was with her. And

generally, too, the young heir of Altern was there, occupying the

chair next to the girl--which was quite as the solicitous Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles had planned.

"Aw--deucedly fine show to-night, Miss Carmen," the youth ventured one

evening, as he took his accustomed place close to her.

"The music is always beautiful," the girl responded. "But the play,

like most of Grand Opera, is drawn from the darkest side of human

life. It is a sordid picture of licentiousness and cruelty. Only for

its setting in wonderful music, Grand Opera is generally such a

depiction of sex-passion, of lust and murder, that it would not be

permitted on the stage. A few years from now people will be horrified

to remember that the preceding generation reveled in such blood

scenes--just as we now speak with horror of the gladiatorial contests

in ancient Rome."

The young man regarded her uncertainly. "But--aw--Miss Carmen," he

hazarded, "we must be true to life, you know!" Having delivered

himself of this oracular statement, the youth adjusted his monocle and

settled back as if he had given finality to a weighty argument.

The girl looked at him pityingly. "You voice the cant of the modern

writer, 'true lo life.' True to the horrible, human sense of life,

that looks no higher than the lust of blood, and is satisfied with it,

I admit. True to the unreal, temporal sense of existence, that is here

to-day, and to-morrow has gone out in the agony of self-imposed

suffering and death. True to that awful, false sense of life which we

must put off if we would ever rise into the consciousness of _real_

life, I grant you. But the production of these horrors on the stage,

even in a framework of marvelous music, serves only to hold before us

the awful models from which we must turn if we would hew out a better

existence. Are you the better for seeing an exhibition of wanton

murder on the stage, even though the participants wondrously sing

their words of vengeance and passion?"

"But--aw--they serve as warnings; they show us the things we ought not

to do, don't you know."

She smiled. "The sculptor who would chisel a beautiful form, does he

set before him the misshapen body of a hunchback, in order that he may

see what not to carve?" she asked. "And we who would transform the

human sense of life into one of freedom from evil, can we build a

perfect structure with such grewsome models as this before us? You

don't see it now," she sighed; "you are in the world, and of it; and

the world is deeply under the mesmeric belief of evil as a stern

reality. But the day is coming when our musicians and authors will

turn from such base material as this to nobler themes--themes which

will excite our wonder and admiration, and stimulate the desire for

purity of thought and deed--themes that will be beacon lights, and

true guides. You don't understand. But you will, some day."

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles frowned heavily as she listened to this

conversation, and she drew a sigh of relief when Carmen, sensing the

futility of any attempt to impress her thought upon the young man,

turned to topics which he could discuss with some degree of

intelligence.

Late in the evening Ames dropped in and came directly to the

Hawley-Crowles box. He brought a huge box of imported candy and a

gorgeous bouquet of orchids, which he presented to Carmen. Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles beamed upon him like the effulgent midday sun.

"Kathleen wants you, Reggy," Ames abruptly announced to the young man,

whose lips were molding into a pout. "Little gathering up at the

house. Take my car." His huge bulk loomed over the younger man like a

mountain as he took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the

exit.

"But I wish to see the opera!" protested the youth, with a vain show

of resistance.

Ames said nothing; but his domineering personality forced the boy out

of the box and into the corridor.

"But--Uncle Wilton--!"

Ames laughed curtly. Then he took the seat which his evicted nephew

had vacated, and bent over Carmen. With a final hopeless survey of the

situation, Reginald turned and descended to the cloak room, muttering

dire but futile threats against his irresistible relative.

"Now, little girl!" Ames's manner unconsciously assumed an air of

patronage. "This is the first real opportunity I've had to talk with

you. Tell me, what do you think of New York?"

Carmen smiled up at him. "Well," she began uncertainly, "since I have

thawed out, or perhaps have become more accustomed to the cold, I have

begun to make mental notes. Already I have thousands of them. But they

are not yet classified, and so I can hardly answer your question, Mr.

Ames. But I am sure of one thing, and that is that for the first few

months I was here I was too cold to even think!"

Ames laughed. "Yes," he agreed, "the change from the tropics was

somewhat abrupt. But, aside from the climate?"

"It is like awaking from a deep sleep," answered Carmen meditatively.

"In Simití we dream our lives away. In New York all is action; loud

words; harsh commands; hurry; rush; endeavor, terrible, materialistic

endeavor! Every person I see seems to be going somewhere. He may not

know where he is going--but he is on the way. He may not know why he

is going--but he must not be stopped. He has so few years to live; and

he must pile up money before he goes. He must own an automobile; he

must do certain things which his more fortunate neighbor does, before

his little flame of life goes out and darkness falls upon him. I

sometimes think that people here are trying to get away from

themselves, but they don't know it. I think they come to the opera

because they crave any sort of diversion that will make them forget

themselves for a few moments, don't you?"

"H'm! well, I can't say," was Ames's meaningless reply, as he sat

regarding the girl curiously.

"And," she continued, as if pleased to have an auditor who at least

pretended to understand her, "the thing that now strikes me most

forcibly is the great confusion that prevails here in everything, in

your government, in your laws, in your business, in your society, and,

in particular, in your religion. Why, in that you have hundreds of

sects claiming a monopoly of truth; you have hundreds of churches,

hundreds of religious or theological beliefs, hundreds of differing

concepts of God--but you get nowhere! Why, it has come to such a pass

that, if Jesus were to appear physically on earth to-day, I am sure he

would be evicted from his own Church!"

"Well, yes, I guess that's so," commented Ames, quite at sea in such

conversation. "But we solid business men have found that religious

emotion never gets a man anywhere. It's weakening. Makes a man

effeminate, and utterly unfits him for business. I wouldn't have a man

in my employ who was a religious enthusiast."

"But Jesus was a religious enthusiast," she protested.

"I doubt if there ever was such a person," he answered dryly.

"Why, the Bible--"

"Is the most unfortunate and most misunderstood piece of literature

ever written," he interrupted. "And the Church, well, I regard it as

the greatest fraud ever perpetrated upon the human race."

"You mean that to apply to every church?"

"It fits them all."

She studied his face for a few moments. He returned her glance as

steadily. But their thoughts were running in widely divergent

channels. The conversational topic of the moment had no interest

whatsoever for the man. But this brilliant, sparkling girl--there was

something in those dark eyes, that soft voice, that brown hair--by

what anomaly did this beautiful creature come out of desolate,

mediaeval Simití?

"Mr. Ames, you do not know what religion is."

"No? Well, and what is it?"

"It is that which binds us to God."

"And that?"

"Love."

No, he knew not the meaning of the word. Or--wait--did he? His thought

broke restraint and flew wildly back--but he caught it, and rudely

forced it into its wonted channel. But, did he love his fellow-men?

Certainly not! What would that profit him in dollars and cents? Did he

love his wife? his children? The thought brought a cynical laugh to

his lips. Carmen looked up at him wonderingly. "You will have to, you

know," she said quixotically.

Then she reached out a hand and laid it on his. He looked down at it,

so soft, so white, so small, and he contrasted it with the huge, hairy

bulk of his own. This little girl was drawing him. He felt it, felt

himself yielding. He was beginning to look beyond the beautiful

features, the rare grace and charm of physical personality, which had

at first attracted only the baser qualities of his nature, and was

seeing glimpses of a spiritual something which lay back of all

that--infinitely more beautiful, unspeakably richer, divine, sacred,

untouchable.

"Of course you will attend the Charity Ball, Mr. Ames?" The thin voice

of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles jarred upon his ear like a shrill discord. Ames

turned savagely upon her. Then he quickly found himself again.

"No," he laughed harshly. "But I shall be represented by my family.

And you?" He looked at Carmen.

"Most assuredly," returned Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, taking the query to

herself. "That is, if my French dressmaker does not fail me. She is

dreadfully exasperating! What will Mrs. Ames wear, do you think?" She

arched her brows at him as she propounded this innocent question.

Ames chuckled. "I'll tell you what it is this year," he sagely

replied. "It's diamonds in the heels!" He gave a sententious nod of

his head. "I overheard Kathleen and her mother discussing plans.

And--do you want to know next season's innovation? By George! I'm a

regular spy." He stopped and laughed heartily at his own treasonable

deceit.

"Yes! yes!" whispered Mrs. Hawley-Crowles eagerly, as she drew her

chair closer. "What is it?"

"One condition," replied Ames, holding up a thick finger.

"Of course! Anything!" returned the grasping woman.

"Well, I want to get better acquainted with your charming ward," he

whispered.

"Of course; and I want you to know her better. That can be arranged

very easily. Now what's the innovation?"

"Colored wigs," said Ames, with a knowing look.

Mrs. Hawley-Crowles settled back with a smile of supreme satisfaction.

She would boldly anticipate next season at the coming Charity Ball.

Then, leaning over toward Ames, she laid her fan upon his arm. "Can't

you manage to come and see us some time, my sister and Carmen? Any

time," she added. "Just call me up a little in advance."

The blare of trumpets and the crash of drums drew their attention

again to the stage. Ames rose and bowed his departure. A business

associate in a distant box had beckoned him. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles

dismissed him reluctantly; then turned her wandering attention to the

play.

But Carmen sat shrouded in thoughts that were not stimulated by the

puppet-show before her. The tenor shrieked out his tender passion, and

the tubby soprano sank into his inadequate arms with languishing

sighs. Carmen heeded not their stage amours. She saw in the glare

before her the care-lined face of the priest of Simití; she saw the

grim features and set jaw of her beloved, black-faced Rosendo, as he

led her through the dripping jungle; she saw Anita's blind, helpless

babe; she saw the little newsboy of Cartagena; and her heart welled

with a great love for them all; and she buried her face in her hands

and wept softly.

CHAPTER 15

"Wait, my little princess, wait," the Beaubien had said, when Carmen,

her eyes flowing and her lips quivering, had again thrown herself into

that strange woman's arms and poured out her heart's surcease. "It

will not be long now. I think I see the clouds forming."

"I want to go back to Simití, to Padre Josè, to my home," wailed the

girl. "I don't understand the ways and the thoughts of these people.

They don't know God--they don't know what love is--they don't know

anything but money, and clothes, and sin, and death. When I am with

them I gasp, I choke--"

"Yes, dearest, I understand," murmured the woman softly, as she

stroked the brown head nestling upon her shoulder. "It is social

asphyxia. And many even of the 'four hundred' are suffering from the

same disease; but they would die rather than admit it. Poor, blind

fools!"

To no one could the attraction which had drawn Carmen and the Beaubien

together seem stranger, more inexplicable, than to that lone woman

herself. Yet it existed, irresistible. And both acknowledged it, nor

would have had it otherwise. To Carmen, the Beaubien was a sympathetic

confidante and a wise counselor. The girl knew nothing of the woman's

past or present life. She tried to see in her only the reality which

she sought in every individual--the reality which she felt that Jesus

must have seen clearly back of every frail mortal concept of humanity.

And in doing this, who knows?--she may have transformed the sordid,

soiled woman of the world into something more than a broken semblance

of the image of God. To the Beaubien, this rare child, the symbol of

love, of purity, had become a divine talisman, touching a dead soul

into a sense of life before unknown. If Carmen leaned upon her, she,

on the other hand, bent daily closer to the beautiful girl; opened her

slowly warming heart daily wider to her; twined her lonely arms daily

closer about the radiant creature who had come so unexpectedly into

her empty, sinful life.

"But, mother dear"--the Beaubien had long since begged Carmen always

to address her thus when they were sharing alone these hours of

confidence--"they will not listen to my message! They laugh and jest

about real things!"

"True, dearie. And yet you tell me that the Bible says wise men

laughed at the great teacher, Jesus."

"Oh, yes! And his message--oh, mother dearest, his message would have

helped them so, if they had only accepted it! It would have changed

their lives, healed their diseases, and saved them from death. And my

message"--her lip quivered--"my message is only his--it is the message

of love. But they won't let me tell it."

"Then, sweet, live it. They can not prevent that, can they?"

"I do live it. But--I am so out of place among them. They scoff at

real things. They mock all that is noble. Their talk is so coarse, so

low and degraded. They have no culture. They worship money. They don't

know what miserable failures they all are. And Mrs. Hawley-Crowles--"

The Beaubien's jaw set. "The social cormorant!" she muttered.

"--she will not let me speak of God in her house. She told me to keep

my views to myself and never voice them to her friends. And she says I

must marry either a millionaire or a foreign noble."

"Humph! And become a snobbish expatriate! Marry a decadent count, and

then shake the dust of this democratic country from your feet forever!

Go to London or Paris or Vienna, and wear tiaras and coronets, and

speak of disgraceful, boorish America in hushed whispers! The

empty-headed fool! She forgets that the tarnished name she bears was

dragged up out of the ruck of the impecunious by me when I received

Jim Crowles into my house! And that I gave him what little gloss he

was able to take on!"

"Mother dear--I would leave them--only, they need love, oh, so much!"

The Beaubien strained her to her bosom. "They need you, dearie; they

little realize how they need you! I, myself, did not know until you

came to me. There, I didn't mean to let those tears get away from

me." She laughed softly as Carmen looked up anxiously into her face.

"Now come," she went on brightly, "we must plan for the Charity

Ball."

A look of pain swept over the girl's face. The Beaubien bent and

kissed her. "Wait, dearie," she repeated. "You will not leave society

voluntarily. Keep your light burning. They can not extinguish it. They

will light their own lamps at yours--or they will thrust you from

their doors. And then," she muttered, as her teeth snapped together,

"you will come to me."

Close on the heels of the opera season followed the Charity Ball, the

Horse Show, and the Fashion Show in rapid succession, with numberless

receptions, formal parties, and nondescript social junketings

interspersed. During these fleeting hours of splash and glitter Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles trod the air with the sang-froid and exhilaration of an

expert aviator. Backed by the Beaubien millions, and with the

wonderful South American girl always at her right hand, the

worldly ambitious woman swept everything before her, cut a social

swath far wider than the glowering Mrs. Ames had ever attempted, and

marched straight to the goal of social leadership, almost without

interference. She had apparently achieved other successes, too, of

the first importance. She had secured the assistance of Ames himself

in matters pertaining to her finances; and the Beaubien was

actively coöperating with her in the social advancement of Carmen.

It is true, she gasped whenever her thought wandered to her notes

which the Beaubien held, notes which demanded every penny of her

principal as collateral. And she often meditated very soberly over

the large sums which she had put into the purchase of Simití stock,

at the whispered suggestions of Ames, and under the irresistibly

pious and persuasive eloquence of Philip O. Ketchim, now president

of that flourishing but as yet non-productive company. But then, one

day, an idea occurred to her, and she forthwith summoned Carmen into

the library.

"You see, my dear," she said, after expounding to the girl certain of

her thoughts anent the famous mine, "I do not want Mr. Ketchim to have

any claim upon you for the expense which he incurred on account of

your six months in the Elwin school. That thought, as well as others

relating to your complete protection, makes it seem advisable that you

transfer to me your share in the mine, or in the Simití company. See,

I give you a receipt for the same, showing that you have done this as

part payment for the great expense to which I have been put in

introducing you to society and in providing for your wants here. It is

merely formal, of course. And it keeps your share still in our

family, of which you are and always will be a member; but yet removes

all liability from you. Of course, you know nothing about business

matters, and so you must trust me implicitly. Which I am sure you do,

in view of what I have done for you, don't you, dear?"

Of course Carmen did; and of course she unhesitatingly transferred her

claim on La Libertad to the worthy Mrs. Hawley-Crowles. Whereupon the

good woman tenderly kissed the innocent child, and clasped a string of

rich pearls about the slender, white neck. And Carmen later told the

Beaubien, who said nothing, but frowned darkly as she repeated the

tidings over her private wire to J. Wilton Ames. But that priest of

finance only chuckled and exclaimed: "Excellent, my dear! Couldn't be

better! By the way, I had a cable from Lafelle this morning, from

Cartagena. Oh, yes, everything's all right. Good-bye." But the

Beaubien hung up the receiver with a presentiment that everything was

far from right, despite his bland assurance. And she regretted

bitterly now that she had not warned Carmen against this very thing.

The Charity Ball that season was doubtless the most brilliant function

of its kind ever held among a people who deny the impossible. The

newspapers had long vied with one another in their advertisements and

predictions; they afterward strove mightily to outdo themselves in

their vivid descriptions of the gorgeous _fête_. The decorative

effects far excelled anything ever attempted in the name of

"practical" charity. The display of gowns had never before been even

closely approximated. The scintillations from jewels whose value

mounted into millions was like the continuous flash of the electric

spark. And the huge assemblage embraced the very cream of the

nobility, the aristocracy, the rich and exclusive caste of a great

people whose Constitution is founded on the equality of men, and who

are wont to gather thus annually for a few hours to parade their

material vestments and divert their dispirited mentalities under the

guise of benefaction to a class for whom they rarely hold a loving

thought.

Again the subtle Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had planned and executed a _coup_.

Mrs. Ames had subscribed the munificent sum of twenty-five thousand

dollars to charity a week before the ball. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had

waited for this. Then she gloated as she telephoned to the various

newspaper offices that her subscription would be fifty thousand. Did

she give a new note to the Beaubien for this amount? That she

did--and she obtained the money on the condition that the little Inca

princess should lead the grand march. Of course, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles

knew that she must gracefully yield first place to the South American

girl; and yet she contrived to score a triumph in apparent defeat.

For, stung beyond endurance, Mrs. Ames and her daughter Kathleen at the

last moment refused to attend the function, alleging fatigue from a

season unusually exacting. The wily Mrs. Hawley-Crowles had

previously secured the languid young Duke of Altern as a partner for

Carmen--and then was most agreeably thwarted by Ames himself, who,

learning that his wife and daughter would not attend, abruptly

announced that he himself would lead the march with Carmen.

Why not? Was it not quite proper that the city's leading man of

finance should, in the absence of his wife and daughter, and with

their full and gratuitous permission--nay, at their urgent request, so

it was told--lead with this fair young damsel, this tropical flower,

who, as rumor had it, was doubtless a descendant of the royal dwellers

in ancient Cuzco?

"Quite proper, _O tempora, O mores_!" murmured one Amos A. Hitt,

erstwhile Presbyterian divine, explorer, and gentleman of leisure, as

he settled back in his armchair in the fashionable Weltmore apartments

and exhaled a long stream of tobacco smoke through his wide nostrils.

"And, if I can procure a ticket, I shall give myself the pleasure of

witnessing this sacred spectacle, produced under the deceptive mask of

charity," he added.

In vain the Beaubien labored with Ames when she learned of his

intention--though she said nothing to Carmen. Ames had yielded to her

previously expressed wish that he refrain from calling at the

Hawley-Crowles mansion, or attempting to force his attentions upon the

young girl. But in this matter he remained characteristically

obdurate. And thereby a little rift was started. For the angry

Beaubien, striving to shield the innocent girl, had vented her

abundant wrath upon the affable Ames, and had concluded her

denunciation with a hint of possible exposure of certain dark facts of

which she was sole custodian. Ames smiled, bowed, and courteously

kissed her hand, as he left her stormy presence; but he did not yield.

And Carmen went to the Ball.

Through the perfumed air and the garish light tore the crashing notes

of the great band. The loud hum of voices ceased, and all eyes turned

to the leaders of the grand march, as they stepped forth at one end of

the great auditorium. Then an involuntary murmur arose from the

multitude--a murmur of admiration, of astonishment, of envy. The

gigantic form of Ames stood like a towering pillar, the embodiment of

potential force, the epitome of human power, physical and mental. His

massive shoulders were thrown back as if in haughty defiance of

comment, critical or commendatory. The smile which flitted about his

strong, clean-shaven face bespoke the same caution as the gentle

uplifting of a tiger's paw--behind it lay all that was humanly

terrible, cunning, heartless, and yet, in a sense, fascinating. His

thick, brown hair, scarcely touched with gray, lay about his great

head like a lion's mane. He raised a hand and gently pushed it back

over the lofty brow. Then he bent and offered an arm to the slender

wisp of a girl at his side.

"Good God!" murmured a tall, angular man in the crowd. "Who is she?"

"I don't know, Hitt," replied the friend addressed. "But they say she

belongs to the Inca race."

The graceful girl moving by the side of her giant escort seemed like a

slender ray of light, a radiant, elfish form, transparent, intangible,

gliding softly along with a huge, black shadow. She was simply clad,

all in white. About her neck hung a string of pearls, and at her waist

she wore the rare orchids which Ames had sent her that afternoon. But

no one saw her dress. No one marked the pure simplicity of her attire.

The absence of sparkling jewels and resplendent raiment evoked no

comment. The multitude saw but her wonderful face; her big eyes,

uplifted in trustful innocence to the massive form at her side; her

rich brown hair, which glittered like string-gold in the strong light

that fell in torrents upon it.

"Hitt, she isn't human! There's a nimbus about her head!"

"I could almost believe it," whispered that gentleman, straining his

long neck as she passed before him. "God! has she fallen into Ames's

net?"

Immediately behind Carmen and Ames strode the enraptured Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles, who saw not, neither heard, and who longed for no

further taste of heaven than this stupendous triumph which she had won

for herself and the girl. Her heavy, unshapely form was squeezed into

a marvelous costume of gold brocade. A double ballet ruffle of stiff

white tulle encircled it about the hips as a drapery. The bodice was

of heavy gold net. A pleated band of pale moire, in a delicate shade

of pink, crossed the left shoulder and was caught at the waist in a

large rose bow, ambassadorial style. A double necklace of diamonds,

one bearing a great pendant of emeralds, and the other an alternation

of emeralds and diamonds, encircled her short, thick neck. A diamond

coronet fitted well around her wonderful amber-colored wig--for, true

to her determination, she had anticipated the now _passée_ Mrs. Ames

and had boldly launched the innovation of colored wigs among the smart

set. An ivory, hand-painted fan, of great value, dangled from her

thick wrist. And, as she lifted her skirts to an unnecessary height,

the gaping people caught the glitter of a row of diamonds in each

high, gilded heel.

At her side the young Duke of Altern shuffled, his long, thin body

curved like a kangaroo, and his monocle bent superciliously upon the

mass of common clay about him. "Aw, beastly crush, ye know," he

murmured from time to time to the unhearing dame at his right. And

then, as she replied not, he fell to wondering if she fully realized

who he was.

Around and across the great hall the gorgeous pageant swept. The

big-mouthed horns bellowed forth their noisy harmony. In the distant

corridors great illuminated fountains softly plashed. At the tables

beyond, sedulous, touting waiters were hurriedly extracting corks from

frosted bottle necks. The rare porcelain and cut glass shone and

glittered in rainbow tints. The revelers waxed increasingly merry and

care-free as they lightly discussed poverty over rich viands and

sparkling Burgundy. Still further beyond, the massive oak doors, with

their leaded-glass panes, shut out the dark night and the bitter

blasts of winter. And they shut out, too, another, but none the less

unreal, externalization of the mortal thought which has found

expression in a social system "too wicked for a smile."

"God, no--I'd get arrested! I can't!"

The frail, hungry woman who stood before the great doors clutched her

wretched shawl closer about her thin shoulders. Her teeth chattered as

she stood shivering in the chill wind. Then she hurried away.

At the corner of the building the cold blast almost swept her off her

feet. A man, dirty and unkempt, who had been waiting in an alley, ran

out and seized her.

"I say, Jude, ain't ye goin' in? Git arrested--ye'd spend the night in

a warm cell, an' that's better'n our bunk, ain't it?"

"I'm goin' to French Lucy's," the woman whispered hoarsely. "I'm dead

beat!"

"Huh! Ye've lost yer looks, Jude, an' ol' Lucy ain't a-goin' to take

ye in. We gotta snipe somepin quick--or starve! Look, we'll go down to

Mike's place, an' then come back here when it's out, and ye kin pinch

a string, or somepin, eh? Gawd, it's cold!"

The woman glanced back at the lights. For a moment she stood listening

to the music from within. A sob shook her, and she began to cough

violently. The man took her arm, not unkindly; and together they moved

away into the night.

* * * * *

"Well, little girl, at last we are alone. Now we can exchange

confidences." It was Ames talking. He had, late in the evening,

secured seats well hidden behind a mass of palms, and thither had led

Carmen. "What do you think of it all? Quite a show, eh? Ever see

anything like this in Simití?"

Carmen looked up at him. She thought him wonderfully handsome. She was

glad to get away for a moment from the crowd, from the confusion, and

from the unwelcome attentions of the now thoroughly smitten young Duke

of Altern.

"No," she finally made answer, "I didn't know there were such things

in the world."

Ames laughed pleasantly. How refreshing was this ingenuous girl! And

what a discovery for him! A new toy--one that would last a long time.

But he must be careful of her.

"Yes," he went on genially, "I'll wager there's millions of dollars'

worth of jewelry here to-night."

"Oh!" gasped Carmen. "And are the people going to sell it and give the

money to the poor?"

"Sell it! Ha! ha! Well, I should say not!"

"But--this is a--a charity--"

"Oh, I see. Quite so. No, it's the money derived from the sale of

tickets that goes to the poor."

"And how much is that?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"But--aren't you interested in the poor?"

"Of course, of course," he hastened to assure her, in his easy casual

tone.

For a long time the girl sat reflecting, while he studied her,

speculating eagerly on her next remark. Then it came abruptly:

"Mr. Ames, I have thought a great deal about it, and I think you

people by your charity, such as this, only make more charity

necessary. Why don't you do away with poverty altogether?"

"Do away with it? Well, that's quite impossible, you know. 'The poor

ye have always with you', eh? You see, I know my Bible."

She threw him a glance of astonishment. He was mocking her! She was

deeply serious, for charity to her meant love, and love was all in

all.

"No," she finally replied, shaking her head, "you do _not_ know your

Bible. It is the poor thought that you have always with you, the

thought of separation from good. And that thought becomes manifested

outwardly in what is called poverty."

He regarded her quizzically, while a smile played about his mouth.

"Why don't you get at the very root of the trouble, and destroy the

poverty-thought, the thought that there can be any separation from

God, who is infinite good?" she continued earnestly.

"Well, my dear girl, as for me, I don't know anything about God. As

for you, well, you are very innocent in worldly matters. Poverty, like

death, is inevitable, you know."

"You are mistaken," she said simply. "Neither is inevitable."

"Well, well," he returned brightly, "that's good news! Then there is

no such thing as 'the survival of the fittest,' and the weak needn't

necessarily sink, eh?"

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Do you consider, Mr. Ames, that

you have survived as one of the fittest?"

"H'm! Well, now--what would you say about that?"

"I should say decidedly no," was the blunt reply.

A dark shade crossed his face, and he bit his lip. People did not

generally talk thus to him. And yet--this wisp of a girl! Pshaw! She

was very amusing. And, heavens above! how beautiful, as she sat there

beside him, her head erect, and her face delicately flushed. He

reached over and took her hand. Instantly she drew it away.

"You are the kind," she went on, "who give money to the poor, and then

take it away from them again. All the money which these rich people

here to-night are giving to charity has been wrested from the poor.

And you give only a part of it back to them, at that. This Ball is

just a show, a show of dress and jewels. Why, it only sets an example

which makes others unhappy, envious, and discontented. Don't you see

that? You ought to."

"My dear little girl," he said in a patronizing tone, "don't you think

you are assuming a great deal? I'm sure I'm not half so bad as you

paint me."

Carmen smiled. "Well, the money you give away has got to come from

some source, hasn't it? And you manipulate the stock market and put

through wheat corners and all that, and catch the poor people and take

their money from them! Charity is love. But your idea of charity makes

me pity you. Up here I find a man can pile up hundreds of millions by

stifling competition, by debauching legislatures, by piracy and

legalized theft, and then give a tenth of it to found a university,

and so atone for his crimes. That is called charity. Oh, I know a lot

about such things! I've been studying and thinking a great deal since

I came to the United States."

"Have you come with a mission?" he bantered. And there was a touch of

aspersion in his voice.

"I've come with a message," she replied eagerly.

"Well," he said sharply, "let me warn and advise you: don't join the

ranks of the muck-rakers, as most ambitious reformers with messages

do. We've plenty of 'em now. I can tear down as easily as you or

anybody else. But to build something better is entirely another

matter."

"But, Mr. Ames, I've got something better!"

"Yes?" His tone spoke incredulous irony. "Well, what is it, if I may

ask?"

"Love."

"Love, eh? Well, perhaps that's so," he said, bending toward her and

again attempting to take her hand.

"I guess," she said, drawing back quickly, "you don't know what love

is, do you?"

"No," he whispered softly. "I don't really believe I do. Will you

teach me?"

"Of course I will," she said brightly. "But you'll have to live it.

And you'll have to do just as I tell you," holding up an admonitory

finger.

"I'm yours to command, little woman," he returned in mock seriousness.

"Well," she began very softly, "you must first learn that love is just

as much a principle as the Binomial Theorem in algebra. Do you know

what that is? And you must apply it just as you would apply any

principle, to everything. And, oh, it is important!"

"You sweet little thing," he murmured absently, gazing down into her

glowing face. "Who taught you such stuff? Where did you learn it? I

wonder--I wonder if you really are a daughter of the Incas."

She leaned back and laughed heartily. "Yes," she said, "I am a

princess. Of course! Don't I look like one?"

"You look like--I wonder--pshaw!" he passed his hand across his eyes.

"Yes, you certainly are a princess. And--do you know?--I wish I might

be your prince."

"Oh, you couldn't! Padre Josè has that honor." But then her bright

smile faded, and she looked off wistfully down the long corridor.

"Who is he?" demanded Ames savagely. "I'll send him a challenge

to-night!"