________________________________________________
_ Although it was nearly eleven o'clock when he arrived at the
Calligans', Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bedroom upstairs
she was confiding to Mamie and Mrs. Calligan some of her social
experiences when the bell rang, and Mrs. Calligan went down and
opened the door to Cowperwood.
"Miss Butler is here, I believe," he said. "Will you tell her
that there is some one here from her father?" Although Aileen had
instructed that her presence here was not to be divulged even to
the members of her family the force of Cowperwood's presence and
the mention of Butler's name cost Mrs. Calligan her presence of
mind. "Wait a moment," she said; "I'll see."
She stepped back, and Cowperwood promptly stepped in, taking off
his hat with the air of one who was satisfied that Aileen was
there. "Say to her that I only want to speak to her for a few
moments," he called, as Mrs. Calligan went up-stairs, raising his
voice in the hope that Aileen might hear. She did, and came down
promptly. She was very much astonished to think that he should
come so soon, and fancied, in her vanity, that there must be great
excitement in her home. She would have greatly grieved if there
had not been.
The Calligans would have been pleased to hear, but Cowperwood was
cautious. As she came down the stairs he put his finger to his
lips in sign for silence, and said, "This is Miss Butler, I
believe."
"Yes," replied Aileen, with a secret smile. Her one desire was
to kiss him. "What's the trouble darling?" she asked, softly.
"You'll have to go back, dear, I'm afraid," whispered Cowperwood.
"You'll have everything in a turmoil if you don't. Your mother
doesn't know yet, it seems, and your father is over at my place
now, waiting for you. It may be a good deal of help to me if you
do. Let me tell you--" He went off into a complete description
of his conversation with Butler and his own views in the matter.
Aileen's expression changed from time to time as the various phases
of the matter were put before her; but, persuaded by the clearness
with which he put the matter, and by his assurance that they could
continue their relations as before uninterrupted, once this was
settled, she decided to return. In a way, her father's surrender
was a great triumph. She made her farewells to the Calligans,
saying, with a smile, that they could not do without her at home,
and that she would send for her belongings later, and returned
with Cowperwood to his own door. There he asked her to wait in
the runabout while he sent her father down.
"Well?" said Butler, turning on him when he opened the door, and
not seeing Aileen.
"You'll find her outside in my runabout," observed Cowperwood.
"You may use that if you choose. I will send my man for it."
"No, thank you; we'll walk," said Butler.
Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle, and
Butler stalked solemnly out.
He had to admit to himself that the influence of Cowperwood over
his daughter was deadly, and probably permanent. The best he
could do would be to keep her within the precincts of the home,
where she might still, possibly, be brought to her senses. He
held a very guarded conversation with her on his way home, for
fear that she would take additional offense. Argument was out of
the question.
"Ye might have talked with me once more, Aileen," he said, "before
ye left. Yer mother would be in a terrible state if she knew ye
were gone. She doesn't know yet. Ye'll have to say ye stayed
somewhere to dinner."
"I was at the Calligans," replied Aileen. "That's easy enough.
Mama won't think anything about it."
"It's a sore heart I have, Aileen. I hope ye'll think over your
ways and do better. I'll not say anythin' more now."
Aileen returned to her room, decidedly triumphant in her mood for
the moment, and things went on apparently in the Butler household
as before. But those who imagine that this defeat permanently
altered the attitude of Butler toward Cowperwood are mistaken.
In the meanwhile between the day of his temporary release and the
hearing of his appeal which was two months off, Cowperwood was
going on doing his best to repair his shattered forces. He took
up his work where he left off; but the possibility of reorganizing
his business was distinctly modified since his conviction. Because
of his action in trying to protect his largest creditors at the
time of his failure, he fancied that once he was free again, if
ever he got free, his credit, other things being equal, would be
good with those who could help him most--say, Cooke & Co., Clark
& Co., Drexel & Co., and the Girard National Bank--providing his
personal reputation had not been too badly injured by his sentence.
Fortunately for his own hopefulness of mind, he failed fully to
realize what a depressing effect a legal decision of this character,
sound or otherwise, had on the minds of even his most enthusiastic
supporters.
His best friends in the financial world were by now convinced that
his was a sinking ship. A student of finance once observed that
nothing is so sensitive as money, and the financial mind partakes
largely of the quality of the thing in which it deals. There was
no use trying to do much for a man who might be going to prison
for a term of years. Something might be done for him possibly in
connection with the governor, providing he lost his case before
the Supreme Court and was actually sentenced to prison; but that
was two months off, or more, and they could not tell what the
outcome of that would be. So Cowperwood's repeated appeals for
assistance, extension of credit, or the acceptance of some plan
he had for his general rehabilitation, were met with the kindly
evasions of those who were doubtful. They would think it over.
They would see about it. Certain things were standing in the way.
And so on, and so forth, through all the endless excuses of those
who do not care to act. In these days he went about the money
world in his customary jaunty way, greeting all those whom he
had known there many years and pretending, when asked, to be very
hopeful, to be doing very well; but they did not believe him, and
he really did not care whether they did or not. His business was
to persuade or over-persuade any one who could really be of
assistance to him, and at this task he worked untiringly, ignoring
all others.
"Why, hello, Frank," his friends would call, on seeing him. "How
are you getting on?"
"Fine! Fine!" he would reply, cheerfully. "Never better," and he
would explain in a general way how his affairs were being handled.
He conveyed much of his own optimism to all those who knew him and
were interested in his welfare, but of course there were many who
were not.
In these days also, he and Steger were constantly to be met with
in courts of law, for he was constantly being reexamined in some
petition in bankruptcy. They were heartbreaking days, but he did
not flinch. He wanted to stay in Philadelphia and fight the thing
to a finish--putting himself where he had been before the fire;
rehabilitating himself in the eyes of the public. He felt that
he could do it, too, if he were not actually sent to prison for a
long term; and even then, so naturally optimistic was his mood,
when he got out again. But, in so far as Philadelphia was concerned,
distinctly he was dreaming vain dreams.
One of the things militating against him was the continued opposition
of Butler and the politicians. Somehow--no one could have said
exactly why--the general political feeling was that the financier
and the former city treasurer would lose their appeals and eventually
be sentenced together. Stener, in spite of his original intention
to plead guilty and take his punishment without comment, had been
persuaded by some of his political friends that it would be better
for his future's sake to plead not guilty and claim that his offense
had been due to custom, rather than to admit his guilt outright
and so seem not to have had any justification whatsoever. This
he did, but he was convicted nevertheless. For the sake of
appearances, a trumped-up appeal was made which was now before the
State Supreme Court.
Then, too, due to one whisper and another, and these originating
with the girl who had written Butler and Cowperwood's wife, there
was at this time a growing volume of gossip relating to the alleged
relations of Cowperwood with Butler's daughter, Aileen. There had
been a house in Tenth Street. It had been maintained by Cowperwood
for her. No wonder Butler was so vindictive. This, indeed,
explained much. And even in the practical, financial world,
criticism was now rather against Cowperwood than his enemies. For,
was it not a fact, that at the inception of his career, he had
been befriended by Butler? And what a way to reward that friendship!
His oldest and firmest admirers wagged their heads. For they
sensed clearly that this was another illustration of that innate
"I satisfy myself" attitude which so regulated Cowperwood's conduct.
He was a strong man, surely--and a brilliant one. Never had
Third Street seen a more pyrotechnic, and yet fascinating and
financially aggressive, and at the same time, conservative person.
Yet might one not fairly tempt Nemesis by a too great daring and
egotism? Like Death, it loves a shining mark. He should not,
perhaps, have seduced Butler's daughter; unquestionably he should
not have so boldly taken that check, especially after his quarrel
and break with Stener. He was a little too aggressive. Was it not
questionable whether--with such a record--he could be restored to
his former place here? The bankers and business men who were
closest to him were decidedly dubious.
But in so far as Cowperwood and his own attitude toward life was
concerned, at this time--the feeling he had--"to satisfy myself"--
when combined with his love of beauty and love and women, still
made him ruthless and thoughtless. Even now, the beauty and
delight of a girl like Aileen Butler were far more important to
him than the good-will of fifty million people, if he could evade
the necessity of having their good-will. Previous to the Chicago
fire and the panic, his star had been so rapidly ascending that
in the helter-skelter of great and favorable events he had scarcely
taken thought of the social significance of the thing he was doing.
Youth and the joy of life were in his blood. He felt so young, so
vigorous, so like new grass looks and feels. The freshness of
spring evenings was in him, and he did not care. After the crash,
when one might have imagined he would have seen the wisdom of
relinquishing Aileen for the time being, anyhow, he did not care
to. She represented the best of the wonderful days that had gone
before. She was a link between him and the past and a still-to-be
triumphant future.
His worst anxiety was that if he were sent to the penitentiary,
or adjudged a bankrupt, or both, he would probably lose the
privilege of a seat on 'change, and that would close to him the
most distinguished avenue of his prosperity here in Philadelphia
for some time, if not forever. At present, because of his
complications, his seat had been attached as an asset, and he could
not act. Edward and Joseph, almost the only employees he could
afford, were still acting for him in a small way; but the other
members on 'change naturally suspected his brothers as his agents,
and any talk that they might raise of going into business for
themselves merely indicated to other brokers and bankers that
Cowperwood was contemplating some concealed move which would not
necessarily be advantageous to his creditors, and against the law
anyhow. Yet he must remain on 'change, whatever happened,
potentially if not actively; and so in his quick mental searchings
he hit upon the idea that in order to forfend against the event
of his being put into prison or thrown into bankruptcy, or both,
he ought to form a subsidiary silent partnership with some man who
was or would be well liked on 'change, and whom he could use as a
cat's-paw and a dummy.
Finally he hit upon a man who he thought would do. He did not
amount to much--had a small business; but he was honest, and he
liked Cowperwood. His name was Wingate--Stephen Wingate--and he
was eking out a not too robust existence in South Third Street as
a broker. He was forty-five years of age, of medium height, fairly
thick-set, not at all unprepossessing, and rather intelligent and
active, but not too forceful and pushing in spirit. He really
needed a man like Cowperwood to make him into something, if ever
he was to be made. He had a seat on 'change, and was well thought
of; respected, but not so very prosperous. In times past he had
asked small favors of Cowperwood--the use of small loans at a
moderate rate of interest, tips, and so forth; and Cowperwood,
because he liked him and felt a little sorry for him, had granted
them. Now Wingate was slowly drifting down toward a none too
successful old age, and was as tractable as such a man would
naturally be. No one for the time being would suspect him of being
a hireling of Cowperwood's, and the latter could depend on him to
execute his orders to the letter. He sent for him and had a long
conversation with him. He told him just what the situation was,
what he thought he could do for him as a partner, how much of his
business he would want for himself, and so on, and found him
agreeable.
"I'll be glad to do anything you say, Mr. Cowperwood," he assured
the latter. "I know whatever happens that you'll protect me, and
there's nobody in the world I would rather work with or have greater
respect for. This storm will all blow over, and you'll be all right.
We can try it, anyhow. If it don't work out you can see what you
want to do about it later."
And so this relationship was tentatively entered into and Cowperwood
began to act in a small way through Wingate. _
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