XV
During this year he took up modern history, the development of railway intercourse in Europe and America,and pursued his studies and experiments of the previous year with unabated ardor. He likewise became violently interested in politics, and let off a good deal of steam in public speaking. He also took up the cudgels for the East, partly because his father was a New-Yorker, partly because in this attitude he stood practically alone. Privately he thought the West had cause for grievance in the absurd and ignorant attitude of the East; but it was impossible for him to run with the majority, and there certainly was much to be said for the older civilization. The question of strikes and all the manifestations of the antagonism between capital and labor did not engage his attention until the following year; and when it did his sympathies were entirely with the poor man, as he informed his father in long and impassioned letters. In answer, Mr. Abbott invariably reminded him that as yet he knew nothing of the rich, and advised him to suspend judgment. But although Fessenden by this time was an intolerant democrat, wore his oldest sweaters, and even persuaded Miss Lunt to patch his trousers, there was something curiously aristocratic in his attitude and personality, which his associates felt rather than analyzed. There was not a man in the college who would have dared to emulate his utter disregard of appearance, his indifference to comment on the streets of Turbine, the catholicity of his acquaintance, the manner in which he ignored the very existence of those he did not like, the recklessness with which he thought out loud, apparently unconscious that anything could affect his standing, popularity, and reputation, and the indefinable touch of patronage in his most extreme democracy. And although even at that period, when he was full of vanity, he did not swagger, still it was noticeable that he carried himself as if the world were his. He made enemies, but he either fought them or acceptedthem with philosophy, and he had an army of disciples, who followed his imaginative flights and his most radical theories to the bitter end.
But his fellow-men interested Fessenden less at this period than the wonderful excursions he was making daily into the new realms of thought and research. It was during the middle of the third year that he gave himself up more particularly to the study of finance, the development of banking, and political economy. He pursued these studies with a curious sense of reviving old memories; he surprised himself at his love of dry details—that even here his imagination saw picturesqueness in the possibilities of concentrating vast sums of money and yet filling the veins of a great country with a life-blood of liquid gold. During his democratic madness he had seriously doubted whether his conscience would permit him to be a rich man; but now, with a chastened yet no less sincere democracy, he made up his mind that for a man of the people to acquire millions and then use them for the amelioration of his less-gifted fellows, to say nothing of glorifying his country, was both wise and poetical. Having satisfied his mind on this point, he astonished the university and Turbine by appearing at church in a suit of clothes not only of harmoniously assorted pieces, but manifestly made to order. He sustained the balance by looking worse than usual during the week.
In the vacation preceding Fessenden’s fourth year the university received, from a source which was to remain unknown to all but the president, a large bequest for the departments of banking and finance. The bequest was accompanied by the condition that during the ensuing year certain eminent authorities were to be asked to lecture. Somewhat to the surprise but greatly to the satisfaction of the faculty, invitations to lecture werepromptly accepted by the Secretary of the Treasury, the President of the Pennsylvania Railroad, the owner of a great department store, and three leading bank presidents. These gentlemen did not confine themselves to generalities; they described the practical workings of their respective systems, enriched by a wealth of comparison with corresponding systems in other countries; they pointed out the defects and disadvantages of both sides, and analyzed the causes of the remarkable progress of so young a country as the United States; they emphasized the necessity of a sleepless alertness, and the demand for new ideas which should be bold without recklessness and safe without conservatism. Fessenden listened with tingling nerves and legs moving restlessly. He wrote to his father that he regarded this timely benefaction as a direct interposition of Providence in his behalf, and that although he certainly had to work harder than any one in the world, he believed that he had been born under a star of remarkable magnitude. His ambitions had revived long since. He had in his imagination a union of steel and electricity so madly romantic that he dared not confide even in his father. He must make a large sum of money first, for he would trust no one with his secret. He believed that he could make his country invincible, the ruler, if she chose, of two hemispheres, and he looked back somewhat patronizingly upon his old heroes. Other times, other gods! The pendulum in him was still swinging wildly, the balance was not yet; but the depth and tenacity of purpose, the clear creative intellect, quick and versatile in grasp, and of an extraordinary energy; the high enthusiasm and real capacity for the passion of patriotism were all modelling and biding their time within the exterior made up of their defects.
So passed the four years, with their intervals of mountain-life,when, in spite of his ever-increasing classes, he drew renewed strength and courage from solitude and the invigorating air of high altitudes. Hard work told little on him, for his body was full of red mountain-blood and clamped with magnificent muscles.
He hoped that his father would come and witness his triumphs of Commencement Day, but he received this letter instead:
“My dear Boy,—It is a matter of very great regret to me that I cannot be with you at this time, but I will explain my absence to your entire satisfaction when we meet. Thank God that will be almost immediately. At a very bitter price to myself I have relentlessly pursued a plan conceived the day after your mother’s death; and my compensation so far has been its entire success. Will you come to New York on Monday? It had been my intention to meet you in the Adirondacks and tell my story there, for I dislike anything savoring of drama, but business imperatively commands me to stay here, and I must ask you to come to me. I have sent forPocahontas. I enclose a postal order for a hundred dollars. May I ask you not to arrive in a sweater? New York is not Turbine. Moreover, a natural weakness makes me wish to see you, after so many years, at the best possible advantage.“Your very affectionate“Father.”
“My dear Boy,—It is a matter of very great regret to me that I cannot be with you at this time, but I will explain my absence to your entire satisfaction when we meet. Thank God that will be almost immediately. At a very bitter price to myself I have relentlessly pursued a plan conceived the day after your mother’s death; and my compensation so far has been its entire success. Will you come to New York on Monday? It had been my intention to meet you in the Adirondacks and tell my story there, for I dislike anything savoring of drama, but business imperatively commands me to stay here, and I must ask you to come to me. I have sent forPocahontas. I enclose a postal order for a hundred dollars. May I ask you not to arrive in a sweater? New York is not Turbine. Moreover, a natural weakness makes me wish to see you, after so many years, at the best possible advantage.
“Your very affectionate“Father.”
Fessenden pondered over this letter. It was enigmatic, and Mr. Abbott’s brief communications were usually remarkable for their clarity. He had made up his mind four years ago that his father was an inventor, and denuded him of all mystery. It also occurred to him with startling abruptness that he had never seen his father’s signature. As he stood staring at the paper, shadowy images, impressions, chance words, blurred pictures rose from some forgotten well in his mind, endeavored to sharpen, to cohere; but they faded awayimpotently; the vital interests of the morrow rushed in and claimed place; he shrugged his shoulders and sent his father a telegram.