________________________________________________
_ Then, after several years of this secret relationship, in which
the ties of sympathy and understanding grew stronger instead of
weaker, came the storm. It burst unexpectedly and out of a clear
sky, and bore no relation to the intention or volition of any
individual. It was nothing more than a fire, a distant one--the
great Chicago fire, October 7th, 1871, which burned that city--
its vast commercial section--to the ground, and instantly and
incidentally produced a financial panic, vicious though of short
duration in various other cities in America. The fire began on
Saturday and continued apparently unabated until the following
Wednesday. It destroyed the banks, the commercial houses, the
shipping conveniences, and vast stretches of property. The heaviest
loss fell naturally upon the insurance companies, which instantly,
in many cases--the majority--closed their doors. This threw the
loss back on the manufacturers and wholesalers in other cities
who had had dealings with Chicago as well as the merchants of that
city. Again, very grievous losses were borne by the host of
eastern capitalists which had for years past partly owned, or
held heavy mortgages on, the magnificent buildings for business
purposes and residences in which Chicago was already rivaling
every city on the continent. Transportation was disturbed, and
the keen scent of Wall Street, and Third Street in Philadelphia,
and State Street in Boston, instantly perceived in the early
reports the gravity of the situation. Nothing could be done on
Saturday or Sunday after the exchange closed, for the opening
reports came too late. On Monday, however, the facts were pouring
in thick and fast; and the owners of railroad securities, government
securities, street-car securities, and, indeed, all other forms
of stocks and bonds, began to throw them on the market in order
to raise cash. The banks naturally were calling their loans, and
the result was a stock stampede which equaled the Black Friday of
Wall Street of two years before.
Cowperwood and his father were out of town at the time the fire
began. They had gone with several friends--bankers--to look at a
proposed route of extension of a local steam-railroad, on which a
loan was desired. In buggies they had driven over a good portion
of the route, and were returning to Philadelphia late Sunday evening
when the cries of newsboys hawking an "extra" reached their ears.
"Ho! Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire!"
"Ho! Extra! Extra! Chicago burning down! Extra! Extra!"
The cries were long-drawn-out, ominous, pathetic. In the dusk of
the dreary Sunday afternoon, when the city had apparently retired
to Sabbath meditation and prayer, with that tinge of the dying year
in the foliage and in the air, one caught a sense of something
grim and gloomy.
"Hey, boy," called Cowperwood, listening, seeing a shabbily clothed
misfit of a boy with a bundle of papers under his arm turning a
corner. "What's that? Chicago burning!"
He looked at his father and the other men in a significant way as
he reached for the paper, and then, glancing at the headlines,
realized the worst.
ALL CHICAGO BURNING
FIRE RAGES UNCHECKED IN COMMERCIAL SECTION SINCE
YESTERDAY EVENING. BANKS, COMMERCIAL HOUSES, PUBLIC
BUILDINGS IN RUINS. DIRECT TELEGRAPHIC COMMUNICATION
SUSPENDED SINCE THREE O'CLOCK TO-DAY. NO END TO
PROGRESS OF DISASTER IN SIGHT.
"That looks rather serious," he said, calmly, to his companions,
a cold, commanding force coming into his eyes and voice. To his
father he said a little later, "It's panic, unless the majority
of the banks and brokerage firms stand together."
He was thinking quickly, brilliantly, resourcefully of his own
outstanding obligations. His father's bank was carrying one
hundred thousand dollars' worth of his street-railway securities
at sixty, and fifty thousand dollars' worth of city loan at
seventy. His father had "up with him" over forty thousand dollars
in cash covering market manipulations in these stocks. The banking
house of Drexel & Co. was on his books as a creditor for one hundred
thousand, and that loan would be called unless they were especially
merciful, which was not likely. Jay Cooke & Co. were his creditors
for another one hundred and fifty thousand. They would want their
money. At four smaller banks and three brokerage companies he
was debtor for sums ranging from fifty thousand dollars down. The
city treasurer was involved with him to the extent of nearly five
hundred thousand dollars, and exposure of that would create a
scandal; the State treasurer for two hundred thousand. There
were small accounts, hundreds of them, ranging from one hundred
dollars up to five and ten thousand. A panic would mean not only
a withdrawal of deposits and a calling of loans, but a heavy
depression of securities. How could he realize on his securities?
--that was the question--how without selling so many points off
that his fortune would be swept away and he would be ruined?
He figured briskly the while he waved adieu to his friends, who
hurried away, struck with their own predicament.
"You had better go on out to the house, father, and I'll send some
telegrams." (The telephone had not yet been invented.) "I'll be
right out and we'll go into this thing together. It looks like
black weather to me. Don't say anything to any one until after
we have had our talk; then we can decide what to do."
Cowperwood, Sr., was already plucking at his side-whiskers in a
confused and troubled way. He was cogitating as to what might
happen to him in case his son failed, for he was deeply involved
with him. He was a little gray in his complexion now, frightened,
for he had already strained many points in his affairs to accommodate
his son. If Frank should not be able promptly on the morrow to
meet the call which the bank might have to make for one hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, the onus and scandal of the situation
would be on him.
On the other hand, his son was meditating on the tangled relation
in which he now found himself in connection with the city treasurer
and the fact that it was not possible for him to support the market
alone. Those who should have been in a position to help him were
now as bad off as himself. There were many unfavorable points in
the whole situation. Drexel & Co. had been booming railway stocks--
loaning heavily on them. Jay Cooke & Co. had been backing Northern
Pacific--were practically doing their best to build that immense
transcontinental system alone. Naturally, they were long on that
and hence in a ticklish position. At the first word they would
throw over their surest securities--government bonds, and the like
--in order to protect their more speculative holdings. The bears
would see the point. They would hammer and hammer, selling short
all along the line. But he did not dare to do that. He would be
breaking his own back quickly, and what he needed was time. If he
could only get time--three days, a week, ten days--this storm would
surely blow over.
The thing that was troubling him most was the matter of the
half-million invested with him by Stener. A fall election was
drawing near. Stener, although he had served two terms, was slated
for reelection. A scandal in connection with the city treasury
would be a very bad thing. It would end Stener's career as an
official--would very likely send him to the penitentiary. It might
wreck the Republican party's chances to win. It would certainly
involve himself as having much to do with it. If that happened,
he would have the politicians to reckon with. For, if he were
hard pressed, as he would be, and failed, the fact that he had
been trying to invade the city street-railway preserves which they
held sacred to themselves, with borrowed city money, and that this
borrowing was liable to cost them the city election, would all
come out. They would not view all that with a kindly eye. It
would be useless to say, as he could, that he had borrowed the
money at two per cent. (most of it, to save himself, had been
covered by a protective clause of that kind), or that he had merely
acted as an agent for Stener. That might go down with the
unsophisticated of the outer world, but it would never be swallowed
by the politicians. They knew better than that.
There was another phase to this situation, however, that encouraged
him, and that was his knowledge of how city politics were going
in general. It was useless for any politician, however loftly,
to take a high and mighty tone in a crisis like this. All of them,
great and small, were profiting in one way and another through
city privileges. Butler, Mollenhauer, and Simpson, he knew, made
money out of contracts--legal enough, though they might be looked
upon as rank favoritism--and also out of vast sums of money collected
in the shape of taxes--land taxes, water taxes, etc.--which were
deposited in the various banks designated by these men and others
as legal depositories for city money. The banks supposedly carried
the city's money in their vaults as a favor, without paying interest
of any kind, and then reinvested it--for whom? Cowperwood had no
complaint to make, for he was being well treated, but these men
could scarcely expect to monopolize all the city's benefits. He
did not know either Mollenhauer or Simpson personally--but he knew
they as well as Butler had made money out of his own manipulation
of city loan. Also, Butler was most friendly to him. It was not
unreasonable for him to think, in a crisis like this, that if worst
came to worst, he could make a clean breast of it to Butler and
receive aid. In case he could not get through secretly with
Stener's help, Cowperwood made up his mind that he would do this.
His first move, he decided, would be to go at once to Stener's
house and demand the loan of an additional three or four hundred
thousand dollars. Stener had always been very tractable, and in
this instance would see how important it was that his shortage of
half a million should not be made public. Then he must get as
much more as possible. But where to get it? Presidents of banks
and trust companies, large stock jobbers, and the like, would have
to be seen. Then there was a loan of one hundred thousand dollars
he was carrying for Butler. The old contractor might be induced
to leave that. He hurried to his home, secured his runabout, and
drove rapidly to Stener's.
As it turned out, however, much to his distress and confusion,
Stener was out of town--down on the Chesapeake with several friends
shooting ducks and fishing, and was not expected back for several
days. He was in the marshes back of some small town. Cowperwood
sent an urgent wire to the nearest point and then, to make assurance
doubly sure, to several other points in the same neighborhood,
asking him to return immediately. He was not at all sure, however,
that Stener would return in time and was greatly nonplussed and
uncertain for the moment as to what his next step would be. Aid
must be forthcoming from somewhere and at once.
Suddenly a helpful thought occurred to him. Butler and Mollenhauer
and Simpson were long on local street-railways. They must combine
to support the situation and protect their interests. They could
see the big bankers, Drexel & Co. and Cooke & Co., and others and
urge them to sustain the market. They could strengthen things
generally by organizing a buying ring, and under cover of their
support, if they would, he might sell enough to let him out, and
even permit him to go short and make something--a whole lot. It
was a brilliant thought, worthy of a greater situation, and its
only weakness was that it was not absolutely certain of fulfillment.
He decided to go to Butler at once, the only disturbing thought
being that he would now be compelled to reveal his own and Stener's
affairs. So reentering his runabout he drove swiftly to the Butler
home.
When he arrived there the famous contractor was at dinner. He
had not heard the calling of the extras, and of course, did not
understand as yet the significance of the fire. The servant's
announcement of Cowperwood brought him smiling to the door.
"Won't you come in and join us? We're just havin' a light supper.
Have a cup of coffee or tea, now--do."
"I can't," replied Cowperwood. "Not to-night, I'm in too much of
a hurry. I want to see you for just a few moments, and then I'll
be off again. I won't keep you very long."
"Why, if that's the case, I'll come right out." And Butler
returned to the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen, who
was also dining, had heard Cowperwood's voice, and was on the qui
vive to see him. She wondered what it was that brought him at
this time of night to see her father. She could not leave the
table at once, but hoped to before he went. Cowperwood was thinking
of her, even in the face of this impending storm, as he was of his
wife, and many other things. If his affairs came down in a heap
it would go hard with those attached to him. In this first
clouding of disaster, he could not tell how things would eventuate.
He meditated on this desperately, but he was not panic-stricken.
His naturally even-molded face was set in fine, classic lines;
his eyes were as hard as chilled steel.
"Well, now," exclaimed Butler, returning, his countenance manifesting
a decidedly comfortable relationship with the world as at present
constituted. "What's up with you to-night? Nawthin' wrong, I hope.
It's been too fine a day."
"Nothing very serious, I hope myself," replied Cowperwood, "But I
want to talk with you a few minutes, anyhow. Don't you think we
had better go up to your room?"
"I was just going to say that," replied Butler--"the cigars are
up there."
They started from the reception-room to the stairs, Butler preceding
and as the contractor mounted, Aileen came out from the dining-room
in a frou-frou of silk. Her splendid hair was drawn up from the
base of the neck and the line of the forehead into some quaint
convolutions which constituted a reddish-gold crown. Her complexion
was glowing, and her bare arms and shoulders shone white against
the dark red of her evening gown. She realized there was something
wrong.
"Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, how do you do?" she exclaimed, coming forward
and holding out her hand as her father went on upstairs. She was
delaying him deliberately in order to have a word with him and
this bold acting was for the benefit of the others.
"What's the trouble, honey?" she whispered, as soon as her father
was out of hearing. "You look worried."
"Nothing much, I hope, sweet," he said. "Chicago is burning up
and there's going to be trouble to-morrow. I have to talk to your
father."
She had time only for a sympathetic, distressed "Oh," before he
withdrew his hand and followed Butler upstairs. She squeezed his
arm, and went through the reception-room to the parlor. She sat
down, thinking, for never before had she seen Cowperwood's face
wearing such an expression of stern, disturbed calculation. It
was placid, like fine, white wax, and quite as cold; and those
deep, vague, inscrutable eyes! So Chicago was burning. What would
happen to him? Was he very much involved? He had never told her
in detail of his affairs. She would not have understood fully
any more than would have Mrs. Cowperwood. But she was worried,
nevertheless, because it was her Frank, and because she was bound
to him by what to her seemed indissoluble ties.
Literature, outside of the masters, has given us but one idea of
the mistress, the subtle, calculating siren who delights to prey
on the souls of men. The journalism and the moral pamphleteering
of the time seem to foster it with almost partisan zeal. It would
seem that a censorship of life had been established by divinity,
and the care of its execution given into the hands of the utterly
conservative. Yet there is that other form of liaison which has
nothing to do with conscious calculation. In the vast majority
of cases it is without design or guile. The average woman,
controlled by her affections and deeply in love, is no more capable
than a child of anything save sacrificial thought--the desire to
give; and so long as this state endures, she can only do this. She
may change--Hell hath no fury, etc.--but the sacrificial, yielding,
solicitous attitude is more often the outstanding characteristic
of the mistress; and it is this very attitude in contradistinction
to the grasping legality of established matrimony that has caused
so many wounds in the defenses of the latter. The temperament of
man, either male or female, cannot help falling down before and
worshiping this nonseeking, sacrificial note. It approaches vast
distinction in life. It appears to be related to that last word
in art, that largeness of spirit which is the first characteristic
of the great picture, the great building, the great sculpture, the
great decoration--namely, a giving, freely and without stint, of
itself, of beauty. Hence the significance of this particular
mood in Aileen.
All the subtleties of the present combination were troubling
Cowperwood as he followed Butler into the room upstairs.
"Sit down, sit down. You won't take a little somethin'? You never
do. I remember now. Well, have a cigar, anyhow. Now, what's
this that's troublin' you to-night?"
Voices could be heard faintly in the distance, far off toward the
thicker residential sections.
"Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Chicago burning down!"
"Just that," replied Cowperwood, hearkening to them. "Have you
heard the news?"
"No. What's that they're calling?"
"It's a big fire out in Chicago."
"Oh," replied Butler, still not gathering the significance of it.
"It's burning down the business section there, Mr. Butler," went
on Cowperwood ominously, "and I fancy it's going to disturb financial
conditions here to-morrow. That is what I have come to see you
about. How are your investments? Pretty well drawn in?"
Butler suddenly gathered from Cowperwood's expression that there
was something very wrong. He put up his large hand as he leaned
back in his big leather chair, and covered his mouth and chin
with it. Over those big knuckles, and bigger nose, thick and
cartilaginous, his large, shaggy-eyebrowed eyes gleamed. His gray,
bristly hair stood up stiffly in a short, even growth all over
his head.
"So that's it," he said. "You're expectin' trouble to-morrow.
How are your own affairs?"
"I'm in pretty good shape, I think, all told, if the money element
of this town doesn't lose its head and go wild. There has to be
a lot of common sense exercised to-morrow, or to-night, even. You
know we are facing a real panic. Mr. Butler, you may as well know
that. It may not last long, but while it does it will be bad.
Stocks are going to drop to-morrow ten or fifteen points on the
opening. The banks are going to call their loans unless some
arrangement can be made to prevent them. No one man can do that.
It will have to be a combination of men. You and Mr. Simpson and
Mr. Mollenhauer might do it--that is, you could if you could
persuade the big banking people to combine to back the market.
There is going to be a raid on local street-railways--all of them.
Unless they are sustained the bottom is going to drop out. I have
always known that you were long on those. I thought you and Mr.
Mollenhauer and some of the others might want to act. If you don't
I might as well confess that it is going to go rather hard with me.
I am not strong enough to face this thing alone."
He was meditating on how he should tell the whole truth in regard
to Stener.
"Well, now, that's pretty bad," said Butler, calmly and meditatively.
He was thinking of his own affairs. A panic was not good for him
either, but he was not in a desperate state. He could not fail.
He might lose some money, but not a vast amount--before he could
adjust things. Still he did not care to lose any money.
"How is it you're so bad off?" he asked, curiously. He was wondering
how the fact that the bottom was going to drop out of local
street-railways would affect Cowperwood so seriously. "You're not
carryin' any of them things, are you?" he added.
It was now a question of lying or telling the truth, and Cowperwood
was literally afraid to risk lying in this dilemma. If he did not
gain Butler's comprehending support he might fail, and if he failed
the truth would come out, anyhow.
"I might as well make a clean breast of this, Mr. Butler," he said,
throwing himself on the old man's sympathies and looking at him
with that brisk assurance which Butler so greatly admired. He
felt as proud of Cowperwood at times as he did of his own sons.
He felt that he had helped to put him where he was.
"The fact is that I have been buying street-railway stocks, but
not for myself exactly. I am going to do something now which I
think I ought not to do, but I cannot help myself. If I don't do
it, it will injure you and a lot of people whom I do not wish to
injure. I know you are naturally interested in the outcome of
the fall election. The truth is I have been carrying a lot of
stocks for Mr. Stener and some of his friends. I do not know that
all the money has come from the city treasury, but I think that
most of it has. I know what that means to Mr. Stener and the
Republican party and your interests in case I fail. I don't
think Mr. Stener started this of his own accord in the first
place--I think I am as much to blame as anybody--but it grew out
of other things. As you know, I handled that matter of city loan
for him and then some of his friends wanted me to invest in
street-railways for them. I have been doing that ever since.
Personally I have borrowed considerable money from Mr. Stener at
two per cent. In fact, originally the transactions were covered
in that way. Now I don't want to shift the blame on any one. It
comes back to me and I am willing to let it stay there, except that
if I fail Mr. Stener will be blamed and that will reflect on the
administration. Naturally, I don't want to fail. There is no
excuse for my doing so. Aside from this panic I have never been
in a better position in my life. But I cannot weather this storm
without assistance, and I want to know if you won't help me. If
I pull through I will give you my word that I will see that the
money which has been taken from the treasury is put back there.
Mr. Stener is out of town or I would have brought him here with me."
Cowperwood was lying out of the whole cloth in regard to bringing
Stener with him, and he had no intention of putting the money back
in the city treasury except by degrees and in such manner as suited
his convenience; but what he had said sounded well and created a
great seeming of fairness.
"How much money is it Stener has invested with you?" asked Butler.
He was a little confused by this curious development. It put
Cowperwood and Stener in an odd light.
"About five hundred thousand dollars," replied Cowperwood.
The old man straightened up. "Is it as much as that?" he said.
"Just about--a little more or a little less; I'm not sure which."
The old contractor listened solemnly to all Cowperwood had to say
on this score, thinking of the effect on the Republican party and
his own contracting interests. He liked Cowperwood, but this was
a rough thing the latter was telling him--rough, and a great deal
to ask. He was a slow-thinking and a slow-moving man, but he did
well enough when he did think. He had considerable money invested
in Philadelphia street-railway stocks--perhaps as much as eight
hundred thousand dollars. Mollenhauer had perhaps as much more.
Whether Senator Simpson had much or little he could not tell.
Cowperwood had told him in the past that he thought the Senator
had a good deal. Most of their holdings, as in the case of
Cowperwood's, were hypothecated at the various banks for loans and
these loans invested in other ways. It was not advisable or
comfortable to have these loans called, though the condition of
no one of the triumvirate was anything like as bad as that of
Cowperwood. They could see themselves through without much trouble,
though not without probable loss unless they took hurried action
to protect themselves.
He would not have thought so much of it if Cowperwood had told him
that Stener was involved, say, to the extent of seventy-five or a
hundred thousand dollars. That might be adjusted. But five hundred
thousand dollars!
"That's a lot of money," said Butler, thinking of the amazing
audacity of Stener, but failing at the moment to identify it with
the astute machinations of Cowperwood. "That's something to think
about. There's no time to lose if there's going to be a panic in
the morning. How much good will it do ye if we do support the
market?"
"A great deal," returned Cowperwood, "although of course I have to
raise money in other ways. I have that one hundred thousand
dollars of yours on deposit. Is it likely that you'll want that
right away?"
"It may be," said Butler.
"It's just as likely that I'll need it so badly that I can't give
it up without seriously injuring myself," added Cowperwood. "That's
just one of a lot of things. If you and Senator Simpson and Mr.
Mollenhauer were to get together--you're the largest holders of
street-railway stocks--and were to see Mr. Drexel and Mr. Cooke,
you could fix things so that matters would be considerably easier.
I will be all right if my loans are not called, and my loans will
not be called if the market does not slump too heavily. If it
does, all my securities are depreciated, and I can't hold out."
Old Butler got up. "This is serious business," he said. "I wish
you'd never gone in with Stener in that way. It don't look
quite right and it can't be made to. It's bad, bad business," he
added dourly. "Still, I'll do what I can. I can't promise much,
but I've always liked ye and I'll not be turning on ye now unless
I have to. But I'm sorry--very. And I'm not the only one that
has a hand in things in this town." At the same time he was
thinking it was right decent of Cowperwood to forewarn him this
way in regard to his own affairs and the city election, even though
he was saving his own neck by so doing. He meant to do what he
could.
"I don't suppose you could keep this matter of Stener and the city
treasury quiet for a day or two until I see how I come out?"
suggested Cowperwood warily.
"I can't promise that," replied Butler. "I'll have to do the best
I can. I won't lave it go any further than I can help--you can
depend on that." He was thinking how the effect of Stener's crime
could be overcome if Cowperwood failed.
"Owen!"
He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the
banister.
"Yes, father."
"Have Dan hitch up the light buggy and bring it around to the
door. And you get your hat and coat. I want you to go along with
me."
"Yes, father."
He came back.
"Sure that's a nice little storm in a teapot, now, isn't it?
Chicago begins to burn, and I have to worry here in Philadelphia.
Well, well--" Cowperwood was up now and moving to the door. "And
where are you going?"
"Back to the house. I have several people coming there to see me.
But I'll come back here later, if I may."
"Yes, yes," replied Butler. "To be sure I'll be here by midnight,
anyhow. Well, good night. I'll see you later, then, I suppose.
I'll tell you what I find out."
He went back in his room for something, and Cowperwood descended
the stair alone. From the hangings of the reception-room entryway
Aileen signaled him to draw near.
"I hope it's nothing serious, honey?" she sympathized, looking
into his solemn eyes.
It was not time for love, and he felt it.
"No," he said, almost coldly, "I think not."
"Frank, don't let this thing make you forget me for long, please.
You won't, will you? I love you so."
"No, no, I won't!" he replied earnestly, quickly and yet absently.
"I can't! Don't you know I won't?" He had started to kiss her, but
a noise disturbed him. "Sh!"
He walked to the door, and she followed him with eager, sympathetic
eyes.
What if anything should happen to her Frank? What if anything could?
What would she do? That was what was troubling her. What would,
what could she do to help him? He looked so pale--strained. _
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