________________________________________________
_ Meanwhile, in the Butler home the family was assembling for dinner.
Mrs. Butler was sitting in rotund complacency at the foot of the
table, her gray hair combed straight back from her round, shiny
forehead. She had on a dark-gray silk dress, trimmed with
gray-and-white striped ribbon. It suited her florid temperament
admirably. Aileen had dictated her mother's choice, and had seen
that it had been properly made. Norah was refreshingly youthful
in a pale-green dress, with red-velvet cuffs and collar. She
looked young, slender, gay. Her eyes, complexion and hair were fresh
and healthy. She was trifling with a string of coral beads which
her mother had just given her.
"Oh, look, Callum," she said to her brother opposite her, who was
drumming idly on the table with his knife and fork. "Aren't they
lovely? Mama gave them to me."
"Mama does more for you than I would. You know what you'd get
from me, don't you?"
"What?"
He looked at her teasingly. For answer Norah made a face at him.
Just then Owen came in and took his place at the table. Mrs.
Butler saw Norah's grimace.
"Well, that'll win no love from your brother, ye can depend on
that," she commented.
"Lord, what a day!" observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his napkin.
"I've had my fill of work for once."
"What's the trouble?" queried his mother, feelingly.
"No real trouble, mother," he replied. "Just everything--ducks
and drakes, that's all."
"Well, ye must ate a good, hearty meal now, and that'll refresh
ye," observed his mother, genially and feelingly. "Thompson"--she
was referring to the family grocer--"brought us the last of his
beans. You must have some of those."
"Sure, beans'll fix it, whatever it is, Owen," joked Callum.
"Mother's got the answer."
"They're fine, I'd have ye know," replied Mrs. Butler, quite
unconscious of the joke.
"No doubt of it, mother," replied Callum. "Real brain-food. Let's
feed some to Norah."
"You'd better eat some yourself, smarty. My, but you're gay! I
suppose you're going out to see somebody. That's why."
"Right you are, Norah. Smart girl, you. Five or six. Ten to
fifteen minutes each. I'd call on you if you were nicer."
"You would if you got the chance," mocked Norah. "I'd have you
know I wouldn't let you. I'd feel very bad if I couldn't get
somebody better than you."
"As good as, you mean," corrected Callum.
"Children, children!" interpolated Mrs. Butler, calmly, looking
about for old John, the servant. "You'll be losin' your tempers
in a minute. Hush now. Here comes your father. Where's Aileen?"
Butler walked heavily in and took his seat.
John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among other
things, and Mrs. Butler asked him to send some one to call Aileen.
"It's gettin' colder, I'm thinkin'," said Butler, by way of
conversation, and eyeing Aileen's empty chair. She would come soon
now--his heavy problem. He had been very tactful these last two
months--avoiding any reference to Cowperwood in so far as he could
help in her presence.
"It's colder," remarked Owen, "much colder. We'll soon see real
winter now."
Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all
had been served Aileen had not yet come.
"See where Aileen is, John," observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly.
"The meal will be gettin' cold."
Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room.
"Sure she must be somewhere," commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly
perplexed. "She'll be comin', though, never mind, if she wants to.
She knows it's meal-time."
The conversation drifted from a new water-works that was being
planned to the new city hall, then nearing completion; Cowperwood's
financial and social troubles, and the state of the stock market
generally; a new gold-mine in Arizona; the departure of Mrs.
Mollenhauer the following Tuesday for Europe, with appropriate
comments by Norah and Callum; and a Christmas ball that was going
to be given for charity.
"Aileen'll be wantin' to go to that," commented Mrs. Butler.
"I'm going, you bet," put in Norah.
"Who's going to take you?" asked Callum.
"That's my affair, mister," she replied, smartly.
The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen's room
to see why she had not come down to dinner. Butler entered his
den, wishing so much that he could take his wife into his confidence
concerning all that was worrying him. On his desk, as he sat down
and turned up the light, he saw the note. He recognized Aileen's
handwriting at once. What could she mean by writing him? A sense
of the untoward came to him, and he tore it open slowly, and,
putting on his glasses, contemplated it solemnly.
So Aileen was gone. The old man stared at each word as if it had
been written in fire. She said she had not gone with Cowperwood.
It was possible, just the same, that he had run away from Philadelphia
and taken her with him. This was the last straw. This ended it.
Aileen lured away from home--to where--to what? Butler could scarcely
believe, though, that Cowperwood had tempted her to do this. He
had too much at stake; it would involve his own and Butler's families.
The papers would be certain to get it quickly. He got up, crumpling
the paper in his hand, and turned about at a noise. His wife was
coming in. He pulled himself together and shoved the letter in
his pocket.
"Aileen's not in her room," she said, curiously. "She didn't say
anything to you about going out, did she?"
"No," he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should have
to tell his wife.
"That's odd," observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. "She must have
gone out after somethin'. It's a wonder she wouldn't tell somebody."
Butler gave no sign. He dared not. "She'll be back," he said,
more in order to gain time than anything else. He was sorry to
have to pretend. Mrs. Butler went out, and he closed the door.
Then he took out the letter and read it again. The girl was crazy.
She was doing an absolutely wild, inhuman, senseless thing. Where
could she go, except to Cowperwood? She was on the verge of a
public scandal, and this would produce it. There was just one
thing to do as far as he could see. Cowperwood, if he were still
in Philadelphia, would know. He would go to him--threaten, cajole,
actually destroy him, if necessary. Aileen must come back. She
need not go to Europe, perhaps, but she must come back and behave
herself at least until Cowperwood could legitimately marry her.
That was all he could expect now. She would have to wait, and some
day perhaps he could bring himself to accept her wretched proposition.
Horrible thought! It would kill her mother, disgrace her sister.
He got up, took down his hat, put on his overcoat, and started out.
Arriving at the Cowperwood home he was shown into the reception-room.
Cowperwood at the time was in his den looking over some private
papers. When the name of Butler was announced he immediately went
down-stairs. It was characteristic of the man that the announcement
of Butler's presence created no stir in him whatsoever. So Butler
had come. That meant, of course, that Aileen had gone. Now for
a battle, not of words, but of weights of personalities. He felt
himself to be intellectually, socially, and in every other way the
more powerful man of the two. That spiritual content of him which
we call life hardened to the texture of steel. He recalled that
although he had told his wife and his father that the politicians,
of whom Butler was one, were trying to make a scapegoat of him,
Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly alienated
as a friend, and civility must prevail. He would like very much
to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts of life in
a quiet and friendly way. But this matter of Aileen had to be
adjusted now once and for all. And with that thought in his mind
he walked quickly into Butler's presence.
The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and would see
him, determined to make his contact with the financier as short
and effective as possible. He moved the least bit when he heard
Cowperwood's step, as light and springy as ever.
"Good evening, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he
saw him, extending his hand. "What can I do for you?"
"Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing," said
Butler, grimly referring to his hand. "I have no need of it.
It's my daughter I've come to talk to ye about, and I want plain
answers. Where is she?"
"You mean Aileen?" said Cowperwood, looking at him with steady,
curious, unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this to obtain
a moment for reflection. "What can I tell you about her?"
"Ye can tell me where she is, that I know. And ye can make her
come back to her home, where she belongs. It was bad fortune that
ever brought ye across my doorstep; but I'll not bandy words with
ye here. Ye'll tell me where my daughter is, and ye'll leave her
alone from now, or I'll--" The old man's fists closed like a vise,
and his chest heaved with suppressed rage. "Ye'll not be drivin'
me too far, man, if ye're wise," he added, after a time, recovering
his equanimity in part. "I want no truck with ye. I want my
daughter."
"Listen, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relishing the
situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him. "I want
to be perfectly frank with you, if you will let me. I may know
where your daughter is, and I may not. I may wish to tell you,
and I may not. She may not wish me to. But unless you wish to
talk with me in a civil way there is no need of our going on any
further. You are privileged to do what you like. Won't you come
up-stairs to my room? We can talk more comfortably there."
Butler looked at his former protege in utter astonishment. He
had never before in all his experience come up against a more
ruthless type--suave, bland, forceful, unterrified. This man
had certainly come to him as a sheep, and had turned out to be a
ravening wolf. His incarceration had not put him in the least awe.
"I'll not come up to your room," Butler said, "and ye'll not get
out of Philadelphy with her if that's what ye're plannin'. I can
see to that. Ye think ye have the upper hand of me, I see, and
ye're anxious to make something of it. Well, ye're not. It
wasn't enough that ye come to me as a beggar, cravin' the help of
me, and that I took ye in and helped ye all I could--ye had to
steal my daughter from me in the bargain. If it wasn't for the
girl's mother and her sister and her brothers--dacenter men than
ever ye'll know how to be--I'd brain ye where ye stand. Takin'
a young, innocent girl and makin' an evil woman out of her, and
ye a married man! It's a God's blessin' for ye that it's me, and
not one of me sons, that's here talkin' to ye, or ye wouldn't be
alive to say what ye'd do."
The old man was grim but impotent in his rage.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Butler," replied Cowperwood, quietly. "I'm willing
to explain, but you won't let me. I'm not planning to run away
with your daughter, nor to leave Philadelphia. You ought to know
me well enough to know that I'm not contemplating anything of that
kind; my interests are too large. You and I are practical men.
We ought to be able to talk this matter over together and reach
an understanding. I thought once of coming to you and explaining
this; but I was quite sure you wouldn't listen to me. Now that
you are here I would like to talk to you. If you will come up to
my room I will be glad to--otherwise not. Won't you come up?"
Butler saw that Cowperwood had the advantage. He might as well
go up. Otherwise it was plain he would get no information.
"Very well," he said.
Cowperwood led the way quite amicably, and, having entered his
private office, closed the door behind him.
"We ought to be able to talk this matter over and reach an
understanding," he said again, when they were in the room and he
had closed the door. "I am not as bad as you think, though I know
I appear very bad." Butler stared at him in contempt. "I love
your daughter, and she loves me. I know you are asking yourself
how I can do this while I am still married; but I assure you I can,
and that I do. I am not happily married. I had expected, if this
panic hadn't come along, to arrange with my wife for a divorce and
marry Aileen. My intentions are perfectly good. The situation
which you can complain of, of course, is the one you encountered
a few weeks ago. It was indiscreet, but it was entirely human.
Your daughter does not complain--she understands." At the mention
of his daughter in this connection Butler flushed with rage and
shame, but he controlled himself.
"And ye think because she doesn't complain that it's all right,
do ye?" he asked, sarcastically.
"From my point of view, yes; from yours no. You have one view of
life, Mr. Butler, and I have another."
"Ye're right there," put in Butler, "for once, anyhow."
"That doesn't prove that either of us is right or wrong. In my
judgment the present end justifies the means. The end I have in
view is to marry Aileen. If I can possibly pull myself out of
this financial scrape that I am in I will do so. Of course, I
would like to have your consent for that--so would Aileen; but if
we can't, we can't." (Cowperwood was thinking that while this
might not have a very soothing effect on the old contractor's
point of view, nevertheless it must make some appeal to his sense
of the possible or necessary. Aileen's present situation was quite
unsatisfactory without marriage in view. And even if he,
Cowperwood, was a convicted embezzler in the eyes of the public,
that did not make him so. He might get free and restore himself--
would certainly--and Aileen ought to be glad to marry him if she
could under the circumstances. He did not quite grasp the depth
of Butler's religious and moral prejudices.) "Lately," he went
on, "you have been doing all you can, as I understand it, to pull
me down, on account of Aileen, I suppose; but that is simply
delaying what I want to do."
"Ye'd like me to help ye do that, I suppose?" suggested Butler,
with infinite disgust and patience.
"I want to marry Aileen," Cowperwood repeated, for emphasis' sake.
"She wants to marry me. Under the circumstances, however you may
feel, you can have no real objection to my doing that, I am sure;
yet you go on fighting me--making it hard for me to do what you
really know ought to be done."
"Ye're a scoundrel," said Butler, seeing through his motives quite
clearly. "Ye're a sharper, to my way of thinkin', and it's no
child of mine I want connected with ye. I'm not sayin', seein'
that things are as they are, that if ye were a free man it wouldn't
be better that she should marry ye. It's the one dacent thing ye
could do--if ye would, which I doubt. But that's nayther here nor
there now. What can ye want with her hid away somewhere? Ye can't
marry her. Ye can't get a divorce. Ye've got your hands full
fightin' your lawsuits and kapin' yourself out of jail. She'll
only be an added expense to ye, and ye'll be wantin' all the money
ye have for other things, I'm thinkin'. Why should ye want to be
takin' her away from a dacent home and makin' something out of her
that ye'd be ashamed to marry if you could? The laist ye could do,
if ye were any kind of a man at all, and had any of that thing that
ye're plased to call love, would be to lave her at home and keep
her as respectable as possible. Mind ye, I'm not thinkin' she
isn't ten thousand times too good for ye, whatever ye've made of
her. But if ye had any sinse of dacency left, ye wouldn't let her
shame her family and break her old mother's heart, and that for
no purpose except to make her worse than she is already. What
good can ye get out of it, now? What good can ye expect to come
of it? Be hivins, if ye had any sinse at all I should think ye
could see that for yerself. Ye're only addin' to your troubles,
not takin' away from them--and she'll not thank ye for that later
on."
He stopped, rather astonished that he should have been drawn into
an argument. His contempt for this man was so great that he could
scarcely look at him, but his duty and his need was to get Aileen
back. Cowperwood looked at him as one who gives serious attention
to another. He seemed to be thinking deeply over what Butler had
said.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Butler," he said, "I did not want
Aileen to leave your home at all; and she will tell you so, if
you ever talk to her about it. I did my best to persuade her
not to, and when she insisted on going the only thing I could do
was to be sure she would be comfortable wherever she went. She
was greatly outraged to think you should have put detectives on
her trail. That, and the fact that you wanted to send her away
somewhere against her will, was the principal reasons for her
leaving. I assure you I did not want her to go. I think you
forget sometimes, Mr. Butler, that Aileen is a grown woman, and
that she has a will of her own. You think I control her to her
great disadvantage. As a matter of fact, I am very much in love
with her, and have been for three or four years; and if you know
anything about love you know that it doesn't always mean control.
I'm not doing Aileen any injustice when I say that she has had as
much influence on me as I have had on her. I love her, and that's
the cause of all the trouble. You come and insist that I shall
return your daughter to you. As a matter of fact, I don't know
whether I can or not. I don't know that she would go if I wanted
her to. She might turn on me and say that I didn't care for her
any more. That is not true, and I would not want her to feel that
way. She is greatly hurt, as I told you, by what you did to her,
and the fact that you want her to leave Philadelphia. You can do
as much to remedy that as I can. I could tell you where she is,
but I do not know that I want to. Certainly not until I know what
your attitude toward her and this whole proposition is to be."
He paused and looked calmly at the old contractor, who eyed him
grimly in return.
"What proposition are ye talkin' about?" asked Butler, interested
by the peculiar developments of this argument. In spite of himself
he was getting a slightly different angle on the whole situation.
The scene was shifting to a certain extent. Cowperwood appeared
to be reasonably sincere in the matter. His promises might all
be wrong, but perhaps he did love Aileen; and it was possible that
he did intend to get a divorce from his wife some time and marry
her. Divorce, as Butler knew, was against the rules of the Catholic
Church, which he so much revered. The laws of God and any sense
of decency commanded that Cowperwood should not desert his wife
and children and take up with another woman--not even Aileen, in
order to save her. It was a criminal thing to plan, sociologically
speaking, and showed what a villain Cowperwood inherently was;
but, nevertheless, Cowperwood was not a Catholic, his views of
life were not the same as his own, Butler's, and besides and worst
of all (no doubt due in part to Aileen's own temperament), he had
compromised her situation very materially. She might not easily
be restored to a sense of of the normal and decent, and so the
matter was worth taking into thought. Butler knew that ultimately
he could not countenance any such thing--certainly not, and keep
his faith with the Church--but he was human enough none the less
to consider it. Besides, he wanted Aileen to come back; and Aileen
from now on, he knew, would have some say as to what her future
should be.
"Well, it's simple enough," replied Cowperwood. "I should like
to have you withdraw your opposition to Aileen's remaining in
Philadelphia, for one thing; and for another, I should like you
to stop your attacks on me." Cowperwood smiled in an ingratiating
way. He hoped really to placate Butler in part by his generous
attitude throughout this procedure. "I can't make you do that,
of course, unless you want to. I merely bring it up, Mr. Butler,
because I am sure that if it hadn't been for Aileen you would not
have taken the course you have taken toward me. I understood you
received an anonymous letter, and that afternoon you called your
loan with me. Since then I have heard from one source and another
that you were strongly against me, and I merely wish to say that
I wish you wouldn't be. I am not guilty of embezzling any sixty
thousand dollars, and you know it. My intentions were of the best.
I did not think I was going to fail at the time I used those
certificates, and if it hadn't been for several other loans that
were called I would have gone on to the end of the month and put
them back in time, as I always had. I have always valued your
friendship very highly, and I am very sorry to lose it. Now I
have said all I am going to say."
Butler looked at Cowperwood with shrewd, calculating eyes. The
man had some merit, but much unconscionable evil in him. Butler
knew very well how he had taken the check, and a good many other
things in connection with it. The manner in which he had played
his cards to-night was on a par with the way he had run to him on
the night of the fire. He was just shrewd and calculating and
heartless.
"I'll make ye no promise," he said. "Tell me where my daughter
is, and I'll think the matter over. Ye have no claim on me now,
and I owe ye no good turn. But I'll think it over, anyhow."
"That's quite all right," replied Cowperwood. "That's all I can
expect. But what about Aileen? Do you expect her to leave
Philadelphia?"
"Not if she settles down and behaves herself: but there must be
an end of this between you and her. She's disgracin' her family
and ruinin' her soul in the bargain. And that's what you are doin'
with yours. It'll be time enough to talk about anything else when
you're a free man. More than that I'll not promise."
Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen's part had done her
a real service if it had not aided him especially, was convinced
that it would be a good move for her to return to her home at
once. He could not tell how his appeal to the State Supreme Court
would eventuate. His motion for a new trial which was now to be
made under the privilege of the certificate of reasonable doubt
might not be granted, in which case he would have to serve a term
in the penitentiary. If he were compelled to go to the penitentiary
she would be safer--better off in the bosom of her family. His
own hands were going to be exceedingly full for the next two months
until he knew how his appeal was coming out. And after that--well,
after that he would fight on, whatever happened.
During all the time that Cowperwood had been arguing his case in
this fashion he had been thinking how he could adjust this
compromise so as to retain the affection of Aileen and not offend
her sensibilities by urging her to return. He knew that she would
not agree to give up seeing him, and he was not willing that she
should. Unless he had a good and sufficient reason, he would be
playing a wretched part by telling Butler where she was. He did
not intend to do so until he saw exactly how to do it--the way that
would make it most acceptable to Aileen. He knew that she would
not long be happy where she was. Her flight was due in part to
Butler's intense opposition to himself and in part to his determination
to make her leave Philadelphia and behave; but this last was now
in part obviated. Butler, in spite of his words, was no longer
a stern Nemesis. He was a melting man--very anxious to find his
daughter, very willing to forgive her. He was whipped, literally
beaten, at his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the old
man's eyes. If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and
explain just how things were, he felt sure he could make her see
that it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at
least, to have the matter amicably settled. The thing to do was
to make Butler wait somewhere--here, possibly--while he went and
talked to her. When she learned how things were she would probably
acquiesce.
"The best thing that I can do under the circumstances," he said,
after a time, "would be to see Aileen in two or three days, and
ask her what she wishes to do. I can explain the matter to her,
and if she wants to go back, she can. I will promise to tell her
anything that you say."
"Two or three days!" exclaimed Butler, irritably. "Two or three
fiddlesticks! She must come home to-night. Her mother doesn't
know she's left the place yet. To-night is the time! I'll go and
fetch her meself to-night."
"No, that won't do," said Cowperwood. "I shall have to go myself.
If you wish to wait here I will see what can be done, and let you
know."
"Very well," grunted Butler, who was now walking up and down with
his hands behind his back. "But for Heaven's sake be quick about
it. There's no time to lose." He was thinking of Mrs. Butler.
Cowperwood called the servant, ordered his runabout, and told
George to see that his private office was not disturbed. Then,
as Butler strolled to and fro in this, to him, objectionable room,
Cowperwood drove rapidly away. _
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