I could see that they would come together very soon.
I could see that they would come together very soon.
May began to blush under that smile, as though she knew what was in Sarah's mind. Then mother brought up May's two little boys, who went to Sarah at once. Will was away somewhere and didn't come home until supper. I thought he looked pretty old for his age. Perhaps business was poor in Jasonville. The country ages a man fast when things go hard with him. At first he was stiffish to me, taken aback by our unexpected visit, but pretty soon he thawed to Sarah, who talked with him about his boys.
After dinner Will and I went to the barn and had a long smoke. He told me that the judge had pressed father pretty hard before he died, and after his death there wasn't much saved but the store, and that was mortgaged. And the business didn't amount to anything, according to Will. The mail-order business had cut into the country trade pretty badly by that time, and country people had begun more and more to go to the city to buy their goods. Moreover, time had shown that Jasonville lay to one side of the main lines of traffic. In short, Will had to scrape the barrel to get a living out of the old store.
He asked how it had been with me, and it gave me considerable pride to tell him what I had been doing. I told him about the packing business, my sausage factory, the deal with Strauss. He opened his eyes as he smoked my good cigar.
"So you struck it rich after all, Van!"
There was something on his mind, and after a time he managed to say:—
"I hope you won't have any more hard feeling for mother and me. We all treated you pretty harsh that time; we never gave you credit for what you had in you, Van."
"I guess it would have taken a prophet to see I had anything in me more than foolishness," I laughed. "Anyhow, it was the best thing that ever happened to me, Will, and I can't be too thankful that you folks in Jasonville threw me out."
"Yes, Jasonville ain't just the place for an ambitious man," he sighed. "And, Van,—about May,—it wasn't hardly fair. She cared most for you, then, at any rate; she wouldn't marry me, not for five years."
"Don't say another word, Will. May will make the best sort of sister. She's the right kind."
So that was the way we made it up as two brothers should. And the next morning, after doing some thinking over night about how I could best help my brother and May, I followed Will over to the store. On the way I met the old judge, looking hardly a day older than when I saw him last. He eyed me hard, as if he didn't know me from the last tramp, but I stopped him and greeted him.
"So you're loose once more," he grinned. "I see they shut you up as soon as you struck Chicago." He had a good time laughing at his little joke.
"Yes," I replied, "I am out once more, judge. And,from what I hear, the Harringtons have been paying you pretty well for all the green peaches I ever took off your place."
He mumbled something, but I turned on my heel, rather proud of myself if the truth be told, being well dressed, with an air of city prosperity.
Will was in the bit of an office behind the store. The old place was as mussy and dirty as ever, with fat files of dusty old letters and accounts. The old desk where father used to make up his bills was littered with last year's mail. It was Sunday, and the musty smell of the closed store came in through the door. It all gave me the forlornest feeling I had had in years.
"This will never pay, Will," I said to my brother, who was turning the leaves of a worm-eaten day-book. "The time when the small business would pay a man anything worth while is pretty nearly over for good."
"I suppose so," he replied despondently. "But somehow we must get a living out of it."
"Let the judge have it, if he'll take it. I can find you something better."
There was a place in Dround's that Will might work into; and before long he could be of use to me in a scheme that was coming around the corner of my mind into sight. As I talked, Will's eyes brightened. Before we left the little office a new kind of look, the look of hope, had come over his face. I thought he seemed already some years younger. It takes the steps of a treadmill, downward faced, to crush the spirit in a man!
That was a happy morning. Surely, one of the joys of success is to give it away to the right ones. I remember a good many times in my life that I have had the pleasure of seeing that same look of hope, of a new spirit, come into a man's face, when I gave him his chance where he was least expecting it.
"But, Will, mind you, if you come to the city you'll no longer be your own man," I cautioned him. "Dround'll own you, or I shall. No doing what you want! To work with me is to work under me. Can you stand taking orders from your junior?"
"I guess, Van," he answered without any pride, "you have shown yourself to be the boss. I'll follow."
That night, when Will and May had left us at the junction where we were to take the Chicago train, Sarah brushed my arm with her cheek in a little intimate way she had and whispered:—
"May couldn't thank you. She feels it too much. You have made them so happy—there's a future now for them all. And I think, maybe, I can make you as good a wife as she could—perhaps better, some ways. May said so! Though May is a very nice woman, and I shall always love her."
"I guess you are both right," I replied, too happy to say much more.
A few weeks later and we were married. The Drounds gave us a pretty little wedding breakfast, to which came the few friends I had in the world and a few of the many Sarah had. If Mrs. Dround was a careless hostesssometimes, that was not the day. She was specially gracious to Will and May, who were 'most strangers. It was all just as it should be, and I felt proud of myself to be there and to have this handsome, high-bred woman for my wife.
It was Sarah's idea that all the others should leave the house first, and that then we should slip away quietly to the train by ourselves. So at the last, while I was waiting for my bride to come downstairs, Mrs. Dround and I happened to be alone. She looked pale and worn, as if the people had tired her. She ordered the servants to take away the great bunches of roses that filled every nook in the room.
"They are too sweet," she explained. "I like them—but in the next room."
Her fastidiousness surprised me, and, as always, I began to wonder about her. Suddenly she leaned forward and spoke swiftly, intently:—
"I hope you and Sarah will be happy together—really happy!"
It was an ordinary kind of thing to say, but beneath the plain words there seemed to lie something personal.
"We shall be happy, of course!" I answered lightly. "There's nothing against it in sight."
"Ah, my friend, you can't count that way! Happiness is hard to get in this world, and you pass it by at odd corners and never know it." She smiled a little sadly, and then added in a more ordinary tone: "Sarah tells me that you are to be away only a few days. Doesbusiness tempt you so much that you can't resist it even now?"
"Well, I expect to love Sarah just as much when I get back to work. Business is a man's place, as the house is a woman's. Take either out of their places for long, and something is likely to go wrong with them."
She laughed at my satisfied wisdom.
"Are you so needed over there in the office?"
"You must ask your husband that."
"He says that you are the cleverest man they have had for years. Does that make you proud?"
"Thank you!"
"Will you let the big dog Strauss eat us?" she laughed on.
"I'll tell you a few years later, madam."
"Yes," she mused, "you are right. A man, a strong man—and that's the only kind that is a man—must be at work. The sweetest love can't keep him long."
Here Sarah's voice reached us:—
"You mustn't distract him to-day of all days, Jane!"
"He can't be distracted long, my child—by anybody!"
We had taken a pleasant house on one of the broad avenues to the south beyond the smoke bank, with a bit of a garden and a few trees. When we got back from New York we found supper waiting for us, roses on the table, a bottle of wine ready to open, and on the sideboard a box of cigars.
"The hand of Jane!" remarked my wife, as sherearranged the flowers and put the roses on the mantelpiece.
"The hand of Jane?" I repeated dully. "You mean Mrs. Dround did it all?"
"Yes, of course; it reaches everywhere."
And Sarah did not look as much pleased as I expected.
AN HONORABLE MERCHANT
Mr. Dround's little weakness—An unpleasant occurrence—To the best of one's knowledge—"Kissing goes by favor," and other things—Switch-tracks and rebates—Carmichael talks—An item of charity—Our manager goes over to the enemy—I am offered his place—A little talk on the moral side—The dilemma of the righteous—What is, is good enough for me
Mr. Dround's little weakness—An unpleasant occurrence—To the best of one's knowledge—"Kissing goes by favor," and other things—Switch-tracks and rebates—Carmichael talks—An item of charity—Our manager goes over to the enemy—I am offered his place—A little talk on the moral side—The dilemma of the righteous—What is, is good enough for me
"Mr. Dround seems to be doing a good deal of talking for the benefit of his neighbors," Slocum observed one day when I was in his office.
"Oh, he likes the job of making the country over! It suits him to talk more than to sell pork."
"Did you see what he said last night?" Slocum continued.
"No, what was it? Free trade or college education?" For Mr. Henry I. Dround was long on both subjects. He had always fooled more or less with politics, having come out as a mugwump and free-trader under Cleveland. That kind of doctrine wasn't much in favor among the business men of Chicago, but Dround liked being in the minority. He was an easy, scholarly speaker, and was always ready to talk at dinners and public meetings. "It seems to me I saw something in the papers of his speaking at the Jefferson Club banquet," I went on; "butI didn't pay any attention to it. The old man is rather long on wind."
"The papers missed most of the ginger. But I was there, and it was lively. Jimmy Birdsell, Hart's man, was there, too. It was this new Civil Service Bill that the silk stockings are trying to push through the legislature. Of course, Hart and the machine are fighting it like fire. Well, your boss made the chief speech, a good little talk, about purity and business methods in government and the rest of it. Birdsell sat just across the table from me, and I could see from the way he knocked his glasses about that he was getting hot. Maybe he came there for a fight. At last he boiled over.
"'Say, Mr. Dround,' he sang out in a pause between two periods, 'how about your new switch-track over in Ada Street?'
"Dround looked toward him over his glasses for a moment, as though he hadn't heard what was said, and then he went ahead with his talk. But Birdsell was some drunk and too mad to care what he did. The men beside him couldn't keep him quiet. 'I say, Dround,' he broke out again pretty soon, 'we should like to hear what your firm does when it wants any little favors from the city? That might be to the point just now!'
"This time Dround couldn't pass it over. He took a drink of water and his hand shook. Then he said: 'I do not see that this is the proper time to introduce a personal matter, but since the gentleman seems concerned about my business honor, I am glad to set his mind at rest. To the best of my knowledge, Henry I. Dround & Co.have never asked and never accepted any favors from the city. Is that satisfactory?'
"'Come, now, Mr. Dround,' Birdsell sneered, 'that isn't generally believed, you know.'
"'I said,' your boss ripped back, 'to the best of my knowledge, your insinuation is a lie!' He leaned forward and glared at Birdsell. Well, there was a kind of awkward pause, everybody waiting to see what would come next; and then Birdsell, who must have been pretty drunk, called back: 'Ask your man John Carmichael what he does when he wants anything from the city. Ask him about your rebates, too. Then the next time you come here telling us how to be good, you'll know more.' There was a cat-and-dog time after that, some yelling to put Birdsell out, and others laughing and clapping."
Slocum paused, and then added:—
"It put Mr. Dround in a tight place."
"What of it, anyhow?" said I. "Birdsell is nothing but a yellow dog. Hart keeps him to lick his platters. Every one knows that."
"Yes, that's so. But he said what most every one believes is true."
"That kissing goes by favor, and most other things in this world, too. Well, what of it?"
Slocum leaned back in his chair and laughed. Then he said to me seriously:—
"You aren't much troubled with scruples, Van!"
"Come, what's the use of talking good? You and I know well enough that there isn't any other way of doing business, not in any city in the country. You have gotto pay for what you get, the same as elsewhere. Dround ought to know it, too, by this time, and not go 'round preaching loose—or else get out of business, which might be better!"
"You aren't much troubled with scruples, Van!"
"You aren't much troubled with scruples, Van!"
"I suppose so," Slocum replied solemnly. "But I always liked his sermons. Perhaps you and Carmichael could tone him down a bit just now."
"Oh, John don't mind his speeches, so long as he don't interfere with the business!"
We went out to lunch, and talked of other matters, and for several days I thought no more of the incident that Slocum had related. The switch-track business did not seem to me important. If the reformers wanted to get after us, or any other big firm, there were many more vulnerable points than that. Special privileges from the city we regarded as our rights. But there was the graft of railroad rates. Any fool could tell that, at the published tariff rates, there would be little business for the packers outside of Chicago. It was common knowledge that the trade was honeycombed with private agreements and rebate privileges, and that the fiercest part of the business was to get the right rate from the roads. Then there were the secret agreements between the packers, which were all illegal, but necessary to keep the trade from cutting prices all the time.
Carmichael attended to this end of the business for Dround, as he did of everything of real importance. He was a member of the firm now, and the wonder to me was that this smart Irishman could put up with Dround. It could hardly be a matter of sentiment with him. I had a warm feeling for the illiterate junior member, with a temper about an inch long, but a big, round heart open to any friend. He had bucked his way up in the world by main force, and I admired him. Besides, he had taught me how to eat, so to speak. In a word, I liked his way of doing things better than Mr. Dround's college talk.
Well, it happened that the cur Birdsell set some of the civil service reformers on the tracks of Brother Dround, and they got a smart newspaper reporter to work over the whole matter. There was a lively write-up in one of the papers, all about our switch-track over in Ada Street, with photographs and figures, and a lot more about the way the packers did business with the city. When I read the piece in the paper I took the trouble to pass by our new warehouse on my way to the office. The trackage was in, sure enough. Carmichael was just the man to have a thing done and settled by the time the public got around to talk about it!
Mr. Dround was in his office bright and early this morning, and sent for me.
"Harrington," he began, "what do you know about this talk in the papers?"
Mr. Dround seemed very nervous, not sure of himself.
"Why," I smiled, "I don't know much more than what the papers said. Mr. Carmichael, you know—"
"Yes," Mr. Dround interrupted impatiently, "Mr. Carmichael is in New York, gets back this morning; but I thought you might—" He hesitated, not wishing to admit his own ignorance. "I will send for you later when Mr. Carmichael comes in," he concluded.
So when John arrived he had us both in his office.
"You want to see me?" Carmichael asked gruffly, as if he hadn't much time that morning to waste on the senior member.
"Yes, I wish to talk over certain matters that concern us all, even though they may have no immediate bearingupon the business." Mr. Dround always talked like that when he got the least nervous.
"Well, what is it?" Carmichael asked. He had just arrived, and I suppose his letters interested him more than Mr. Dround's talk.
"You may not have seen the articles in the morning papers—about—about certain privileges which it is alleged—"
"What are the boys yapping about now?" Carmichael demanded, taking up a newspaper from the desk and thrusting his shoulders forward in an ugly fashion.
"It concerns our permit to lay that new switch-track," Mr. Dround explained.
Carmichael laid the paper down and looked at the senior member in a curious way, as if he were trying to make out just what kind of a fool he had to deal with. But as he said nothing, Mr. Dround continued:—
"Recently I had occasion to deny categorically that, so far as I knew, our firm ever made any such kind of arrangement as is here described. My word was challenged. It was a very painful situation, I need not say. Since then I have been thinking—I have been wondering whether this charge—"
He floundered pitifully, disliking to mouth the dreadful words. John helped him out brutally:—
"You wonder whether we had to grease anybody's paw about that switch-track over in Ada Street?"
Dround nodded. "The papers say so!"
"They have to print something, don't they? What harm does that do us? I wouldn't trust the wholed——n bunch of papers with a ten-dollar bill. They're a lot of blackmailers—that's what they are!"
John bit off the end of a cigar and spat it out in front of Mr. Dround.
"We are not concerned with the newspapers or their motives, Mr. Carmichael," the senior member observed with considerable dignity. "What I want is your assurance that this firm—that, so far as we are concerned, this accusation is false."
We waited for the Irishman's reply. It would be an easy matter to tell a fib and set Mr. Dround's mind at rest. But Carmichael seemed to be in a specially bad temper this morning. When he went to New York he was accustomed to enjoy himself, and it was not the right time to badger a man just off the cars. Pretty soon John said fiercely:—
"It's my business to look after such matters?"
Mr. Dround nodded.
"Don't I do it satisfactorily?"
Mr. Dround waived this point.
"Well, I guess you'll have to be content with that."
"Mr. Carmichael," the senior member leaped to his feet, "you forget yourself! You will be good enough to answer me yes or no, to my direct question. Did you or did you not pay money for this privilege?"
Carmichael's voice shook as he replied:—
"See here, Dround! If you don't know your own business enough to know the answer, I don't see why I should tell you." His temper was going with every word he said. "But if you want to know, you shall!There hasn't been such a thing as a private switch-track put down in this city since you began doing business for less than seven thousand dollars. I paid the right people ninety-five hundred dollars for ours. There, you've got it! Now what are you going to do about it?"
"I paid the right people ninety-five hundred dollars. Now what are you going to do about it?"
"I paid the right people ninety-five hundred dollars. Now what are you going to do about it?"
The big Irishman plumped his two red fists on Mr. Dround's desk and glared at him. At that moment I pitied the old gentleman heartily; he was never born to do business, at least in our day. He seemed to shrivel up under Carmichael's words.
"How, may I ask," he said at last in a low tone, "was this done without my knowledge? How does it appear on the books?"
Carmichael laughed at the simple question.
"Charity! We are a very charitable concern!"
Mr. Dround's lips trembled, and he cried out rather than spoke:—
"No, never! Better to fail! Better to go bankrupt at once!"
He was talking to himself. Then he recollected us and said with dignity:—
"That is all, Mr. Carmichael. After this I shall attend to all such matters myself. Good morning, gentlemen."
He sat down at his desk, dismissing us. Carmichael was shaking with anger.
"No!" he cried, "it isn't all! Turn me out of your office like a boy, with my orders, when it's me that have stood between you and ruin any day these ten years! What would your business be worth if it weren't for John Carmichael? Ask Harrington here. Go out and ask your bank—"
"I don't believe we need to discuss this any further—" Mr. Dround began.
"Yes, we will! Get somebody else to do your dirty business for you. For, let me tell you right here, Henry I. Dround, that I don't go broke with you, not for all your college talk and prin-ci-ples."
Mr. Dround pointed to the door. He was trembling again. I took the big Irishman by the arm and led himfrom the office. Outside the door he shook me off, and hurled himself into his own office.
That was the first wind of the storm, and the rest wasn't long in coming. Somebody told me that Carmichael had been seen with one of Strauss's lieutenants going into a law office that did some of the big packer's work. It looked as though he were making a deal with the Strauss crowd. It seemed natural enough to me that Carmichael should do this, but I was sorry for what must come. Meantime, Mr. Dround was more assiduous at business than I had ever known him to be. He came early, and instead of driving over to his club for luncheon took a bite in his office, and put in the afternoons going into all departments of the business.
In the end, the trouble came to a head in this way: in company with every large shipper at that period we made our bargain with the roads; no large firm and no railroad pretended to live up to the law in the matter of rates. The roads sold their transportation, as we sold ribs and lard—for the highest figure they could get. Before any considerable contract was entered into the thrifty shipper saw to his rate in advance. And some time later there came along from the railroad that got the business a check in the way of "adjustment." The senior member, in his new energy, discovered one of these rebates. He sent it back to the traffic manager of the road with a letter such as the roads were not in the habit of getting from their favored shippers. The second vice-president and general traffic manager of that line attended the same church the Drounds went to, andthe president of the road, also, was one of Dround's friends. I wonder what they thought when their attention was called to this little matter!
Carmichael told me what had happened with a wicked grin on his face.
"Righteous man, Henry I. Dround, all right! D——n good business man, too," he commented. "What do you think is going to happen to this concern? He's chucked away the profits of that contract!"
"You aren't planning to stay, John?" I remarked casually.
He looked at me and laughed.
"Do you want to come with me when I get out?"
I smiled, but said nothing. There was no open row between Mr. Dround and the junior member of the firm this time. But a few weeks later Mr. Dround told me what I already knew—that he and Carmichael were about to part. I advised him bluntly to make it up with the Irishman if he could,—not to part with him at any cost.
"For, Mr. Dround, you will find him fighting on the other side; Strauss will have him."
He knew as well as I what that meant to his business, but he said with new determination:—
"Mr. Carmichael and I can never do business together again."
Then he offered to take me into partnership on the same basis that Carmichael had. I suppose he expected me to jump at my chance, but the prospect was not altogether inviting.
"I ought to say, Mr. Dround," I replied hesitatingly, "that I think Carmichael was right in this rebate business, and in the other matter, too. If I had been in his place I should have done the same thing—any man would. It's against human nature to sit still and be eaten alive!"
Mr. Dround's eyes lowered, and he turned his face away from me. His spirit was somewhat daunted: perhaps he began to realize what it meant to stand out alone against the commercial system of the age. Nevertheless, he said some things, perfectly true, about the honor and integrity of his firm. As it had been handed over to him by his father, so he would keep it, please God.
"That's all right," I said a little impatiently. "That might do in times gone by. But Carmichael and I have got to live in the present. That means a fight. I would like to stay on and fight it out with you. But I can't see the use on your basis. Look!"
I pointed out of his window to a new refrigerator building that Strauss was putting up under our noses.
"That is only one: you know the others. He is growing every day. You can't expect us to sit here twiddling our thumbs and thinking of our virtue while he gets the business! Better to sell out to Strauss right here and now, while there is something to sell."
"Never!" Mr. Dround cried with unaccustomed vehemence. "Never to him!"
"Well, then, we've got our work cut out for us, and let us waste no more time talking rebates and the rest of it."
"Yet that horrid scandal about the switch-track," heresumed in his old weak way. "Nothing has done so much to hurt my position in the city as that!"
"But what are you going to do about it?" I asked in Carmichael's very words. "Those thieves over there in the council hold you up. What good does it do the public for you to refuse their price? It's like paying for the right to put up a house on your own lot—it's tough, but you had better pay and not worry."
"Mr. Harrington, I refuse to believe that in our country an honorable business cannot be conducted successfully by honorable methods."
"That depends on what you choose to call honorable methods. At any rate," I concluded in disgust, "you are likely to have a good chance to try that proposition to the bitter end, unless you take my advice and sell to your chief competitor."
He waived this aside impatiently.
"Well, then, look for the fight of your life just to survive, not to make money. I tell you, Mr. Dround, Strauss is out there waiting to eat us all up. And you have thrown him your general for a beginning."
"But I trust that I have another as good or better," he said with his usual flourish of courtesy.
We had some more talk, he urging me to stay with him, although I let him see plainly where I stood on the matter of rebates, private agreements, and all the rest of the underground machinery of business.
"If I take your offer," I said at last, "I shall use the old weapons—you must know that. There are no morals in business that I recognize except those that are writtenon the statute book. It is dog eat dog, Mr. Dround, and I don't propose to be the dog that's eaten."
Even then he did not stop urging me, salving his conscience by saying: "It saddens me to hear as young a man as you take that cynical view. It is a strange time we are coming to. I pray it may not be a worse time for the country!"
To my mind there was something childish in the use of those words "better" and "worse." Every age is a new one, and to live in any age you have got to have the fingers and toes necessary for that age. The forces which lie in us and make those triumph who do triumph in the struggle have been in men from the beginning of time. There's little use in trying to stop their sweep, or to sit and cry like Dround by the roadside, because you don't like the game. For my part, I went with the forces that are, willingly, gladly, believing in them no matter how ugly they might look. So history reads: the men who lead accept the conditions of their day. And the others follow along just the same; while the world works and changes and makes itself over according to its destiny.
THE WILL OF A WOMAN
A family scene—Sarah's ideas—We dine—Carmichael comes in—Visions of empire—Almost persuaded—Common people—The touch of mind and mind—Mr. Dround becomes ill, and we miss Big John—The garden by the lake—A bit of old marble and other things—Inspiration—Outlining a campaign—The big gamble
A family scene—Sarah's ideas—We dine—Carmichael comes in—Visions of empire—Almost persuaded—Common people—The touch of mind and mind—Mr. Dround becomes ill, and we miss Big John—The garden by the lake—A bit of old marble and other things—Inspiration—Outlining a campaign—The big gamble
After all, it was the will of a woman, perhaps of two women, that settled this business matter, for even in business—in the groping for position and money—the woman's share is large. Wherever a man's will is in play she brings her influence, soft and sure and hidden.
When I left Mr. Dround that afternoon I was not ready to put the little fortune I had made, and, what was more, my life energy, into his forlorn enterprise. Not to hurt his feelings, I asked for time to consider his offer, and went home to tell my wife about the change in our affairs, considerably puzzled what to do. We had just moved into a larger house near the lake; the place had some pretty ground around it, and a large stable. It was all that our means warranted, and a little more. But Sarah had a passion for having people about, and there was a boy now to be considered. The air was supposed to be better for him farther away from the city smoke. Sarah had been delicate and nervous ever since the childwas born, and I was glad to have her mind busy with the big new plaything.
A nurse in uniform was just coming into the gate when I arrived. It seems that little Ned had a cold, and though he looked lively enough when I went into his room, Sarah was hovering over him as if he had lung trouble.
"The doctor thought I should have a trained nurse," Sarah explained. "Of course he doesn't expect any serious results, but one should take every precaution. And Mary is so careless, and we have those people coming to dinner to-night, and are going to the theatre."
I had forgotten that we were to have guests this evening. While we were dressing, I told Sarah about the trouble between Dround and his old manager, and how they had finally parted.
"That's just what I should have expected from Mr. Dround!" my wife exclaimed approvingly. "It must have been annoying for Mr. Dround to have such a dishonest person connected with him."
"Well, that is one way of looking at it I hadn't thought of!" I laughed.
"That Carmichael man is just an Irish brute! I suppose you have to put up with such people in the packing business, but I couldn't have them in my house."
"The Carmichaels don't trouble us much," I replied, smiling to myself at Sarah's ideas of things. "And John's all right—as honest as most men. This isn't just a case of stealing somebody's wash from the back yard, you know."
"But it's just as wrong! It's dishonest!" she cried with a proud tone in her voice. She came across the room and took hold of me by the shoulders. "Van, you don't believe in bribing people and such things? Why, you're too big and strong and handsome"—she gave me a kiss—"to do such common things!"
"Well, I don't know; it depends how you call it."
But she gave me another kiss, and before we could recover from this argument there was a knock at the dressing-room door.
"My, Van! There's the first of them, and I haven't my dress hooked. You run and send Mary to me!" That rather closed the topic for the present.
There were ten of us at dinner, and we tried to keep up a chatter about the little things that Sarah had trained me to talk of when I was in company—the theatres and the opera, Mrs. Doodle's new place in the country, or old Steele's picture by the French painter. But to-night it was hard work: my thoughts would wander back to the Yards. At last the ladies left us to put on their wraps, and the men were lighting their cigars, when a servant told me that a man was waiting in the hall to see me. It was Carmichael.
"Why didn't you come right out, John?" I exclaimed. "Some of your friends are out there."
"No, thanks, Van," he growled. "I ain't got my fancy clothes on this trip, and maybe your wife wouldn't think me good enough for her friends" (which was pretty close to the truth). "But I come to see you about something important."
Sarah rustled into the hall just then.
"Van!" she said, bowing coldly to John, "we are all waiting for you."
"Better go, Harrington," Carmichael said sarcastically, reaching for his hat; "business don't count when there's a party goin' on."
"Oh, it's business!" Sarah's voice could carry a deal of scorn.
"Leave a ticket for me and I'll follow later," I replied impatiently, leading Carmichael into my library.
"Very well," Sarah answered, and swept out of the hall without a look for the Irishman.
Carmichael took a cigar, poured out a long drink of whiskey, and thrust his ungainly figure into a chair before the fire without saying a word. After a time he ripped out:—
"You aren't thinking of staying with old Dround?"
"That depends—" I began.
"Dround'll go broke inside of two years," he interrupted savagely. "His credit ain't much to boast of now, and when it gets around that I have drawn out, it won't improve."
"That's true enough," I admitted.
"The London and Chicago Company is going into the hands of receivers this week," he went on confidentially. "That was another of your tony houses managed from England! Strauss'll most likely get their plants at twenty cents on the dollar, and he'll get Dround when the time comes."
I made no remark, and after smoking for a time he leaned over toward me, saying impressively:—
"Young feller, do you reckon you can buck up against me and the Strauss crowd with that one-horse rig?"
"Young feller, do you reckon you can buck up against me and the Strauss crowd with that one-horse rig?"
"Young feller, do you reckon you can buck up against me and the Strauss crowd with that one-horse rig?"
It seemed to me highly improbable that any man could perform this feat, but I held my tongue. Carmichael should make his bid in his own way. Finally he whispered almost solemnly:—
"Want to make big money?"
And he began to bid, lowering his loud voice and beating the arm of his chair to clinch his argument. He spoke of the great revolution throughout the business world, coming consolidations, far-reaching plans that the Strauss people had had in mind for a long time, the control ofrailroads and steamship lines—all leading to one conclusion, one end—the complete mastery of food products by Strauss and his allies.
We had in more whiskey and cigars for the Irishman, who had a head like a rock. As he drank and talked, his brain was fired by a kind of rude imagination for the vast reach of what he saw. He opened himself to me without reserve, as if he already held me in his hand. The hours sped by; a carriage drove up to the house, and I knew that Sarah had returned from the theatre. But Carmichael talked on. Through his words I could see those vast industrial forces that had been shaping themselves for ages now fast rushing on toward their fulfilment. Ever since my head had been above the horizon, so to speak, I had seen straws borne on this wind. But now the mighty change was imminent; those who survived another decade would look out upon a very different world from that we had grown up with. That is what Carmichael and I saw that night, and when the door finally closed on my visitor I felt that it was settled: I should fight with the stronger army, side by side with Carmichael....
I was standing before the dead fire, thinking, when the door opened and Sarah came in, her hair loosened over her white dressing-gown. She looked strangely pale and troubled.
"Van!" she cried sharply. "What have you to do with that dishonest Carmichael? What business has he with you? He makes me afraid; and you never came to the theatre at all!"
"You're dreaming, Sal." I took her on my knee. "John just came to tell me how to make your everlasting fortune."
"But you are not to leave Mr. Dround?"
"Just that."
"Leave Mr. Dround and go with that dishonest man! What are you thinking of, Van Harrington?"
That instinct of women, which people talk about, sometimes acts like a fog: it keeps them from seeing any one thing clearly. Sarah could only see the Drounds and the piece in the paper about bribing. So we talked it over, like husband and wife, arriving nowhere in particular, and finally I said at random:—
"You would like to be rich, to have a lot of money, more than you ever thought to have—millions, maybe?"
"Would it mean all that?" she asked slowly.
I laughed at the way she took my bait.
"Millions and millions, maybe."
"Would it be dishonest, Van?"
"We don't calculate on going to prison," I joked.
"Well," she reflected, "of course you know best. I don't believe a woman should interfere in her husband's business. But the Carmichaels and the Strausses are such common people, even if they are so awfully rich. They haven't the position the Drounds have."
When it came to that I kissed her and put out the lights.
In this life few intimacies fill the full orb of a man's being. Most men of affairs whom I have known, verywisely shut down their desks before coming home, and shut therein a good slice of themselves. Perhaps they do not care to trust any one, even a wife, with their secrets. Perhaps they do not need to share those restless hours of anxiety that come to all men who go into the market to make money. The wife should mean peace and affection: that is right and proper. Nevertheless, there come times when a man must talk out his whole soul to one who understands the language of it. For he hungers to say to another what he scarcely dares say to himself, what is shut up in the dark of his thoughts. It is not advice that he needs, but sympathy—to reveal to another that web of purpose which he has woven, which is himself. Many a man who has carried burdens silently long years knows what I mean. The touch of hand to hand is much: the touch of mind with mind is more.
Not that Sarah and I failed to be good married lovers. She was my dear wife. But there are some last honesties that even a wife penetrates not—moments when the building of years is shaking in the storm; moments of loneliness, when mad thoughts arise in a sober head, and a man gropes to find what there is not even in the heart of the woman he loves.
Dround was not at the office the next morning: they telephoned from his house that he was ill. Worry, perhaps, had brought on one of his nervous attacks. Meantime, it was easy to see the effect of Carmichael's loss all over the place. Down to the girls in the mailing room, the force knew that something was wrong with the concern.You can't keep real news from spreading: people are good conductors of electricity; their thoughts leak. In any business, the trouble at the head runs all along the line to the office boys.
Later in the day there came a message from Mr. Dround asking to see me at his house before I went home. It was plain enough what he wanted of me, and I disliked the coming interview. For I should have to tell him that I had decided to desert to his enemies. There was no other way, as I saw it. And yet it seemed like ingratitude. That was what his wife would think, and I saw her looking at me, a scornful smile on her lips. However, this was no matter for sentiment. If her husband had been another sort of man,—if he had any dare in him,—it might have been worth while to try a fall with Carmichael and Strauss. But as it was, I felt no desire to follow a funeral. Maybe she would understand....
As I turned into the avenue near Dround's house there was a fresh little breeze from the lake, blowing the smoke away from the city and cooling the air after the warm day. It was quiet and peaceful on the broad avenue—a very different kind of place from the dirty Yards whence I had come. It made me feel all the more that Dround didn't belong in Packington.
I sat waiting some time for Mr. Dround, and was growing impatient when his wife came into the room.
"Mr. Dround is engaged with his doctor," she said. "Won't you step into the garden with me?"
Behind the house, hidden from a cross street by abrick wall, was a little green lawn with one old willow tree. It was a pretty, restful kind of place, hardly to be looked for so near the heart of the city. In one corner there was a stone bench and some chairs, and a table with books and tea things. Across the top of the wall one could see a line of gray where the horizon met the lake.
"Pleasant place!" I exclaimed, looking across the little garden out to the lake.
"Yes, it makes the city in summer tolerable."
Her eyes followed mine as they rested on a bit of marble, old and sculptured with yellow figures, that had been set into the wall.
"I brought that from Siena," she explained. "It was in an old wall there. It reminds me of Italy," she added, touching the marble lightly with her fingers.
Suddenly she turned to me with a swift question:—
"So you're to be our new Mr. Carmichael?"
It was not woman's mere haphazard quizzing: she demanded the truth.
"No," I replied gravely, after a moment's hesitation. "Mrs. Dround, I have come here to tell Mr. Dround that I must decline his offer. I have other—"
"You are going over to them!" she cried quickly. There was no reproach in her voice, but she gave me a keen look that read to the bottom of my mind. "You will be a tool for the Jew and the Irishman!" There was a smile on her lips and a touch of scorn in her voice. "Tell me, why?"
And I told her, as I might a man whom I trusted, justwhat the situation was—how disastrous had been the row with Carmichael, and how foolish the cause, as I thought. She listened without questions, and I went on to cover the whole matter—to tell of the large plans that our great rival undoubtedly had in view, plans which meant ultimately the consolidation of the entire business in some great corporation under his control. It was as clear to me as handwriting what he was aiming for—the entire food-products business of the country; and it would take a stronger man than Henry I. Dround to stand against him.
"So, Mrs. Dround," I concluded, "the best thing you and I can do for Mr. Dround is to advise him to retire, to sell out—"
"He would never do that," she interrupted me quietly.
"You must make him see it," I urged.
"There are some things I cannot do. You will not understand; I cannot tell you—it is not my right. Only he will go on to the bitter end."
I bowed. There was nothing further to be said, and we sat silently for a few minutes.
"But are you sure," she began again, "that that would be the best way? Is it best to run to your enemy, crying for quarter?"
"Not if you can put up a good fight!"
She drew her fingers caressingly over the outlines of the old marble.
"I think you could put up the right kind of a fight," she remarked quietly. "Suppose that you saw your way clear to go in—to fight—what would you do?"
"The first thing," I said, smiling, "would be to hit Strauss between the eyes."