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      The Deluge, by David Graham Phillips
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Deluge, by David Graham Phillips

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Title: The Deluge

Author: David Graham Phillips

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</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE DELUGE
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By David Graham Phillips
    </h2>
    <h4>
      Author of The Cost, The Plum Tree, The Social Secretary, etc.
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      Illustrations (not available here) By George Gibbs
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MR. BLACKLOCK <br /><br />
        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;IN THOSE DAYS AROSE KINGS
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CAME A WOMAN
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A CANDIDATE FOR
        &ldquo;RESPECTABILITY&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;DANGER
        SIGNALS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF
        &ldquo;GENTLEMEN&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BLACKLOCK
        GOES INTO TRAINING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ON
        THE TRAIL OF LANGDON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LANGDON
        AT HOME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TWO
        &ldquo;PILLARS OF SOCIETY&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WHEN
        A MAN IS NOT A MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ANITA
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"UNTIL
        TO-MORROW&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FRESH
        AIR IN A GREENHOUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SOME
        STRANGE LAPSES OF A LOVER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TRAPPED
        AND TRIMMED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
        GENTEEL &ldquo;HOLD-UP&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ANITA
        BEGINS TO BE HERSELF <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
        WINDFALL FROM &ldquo;GENTLEMAN JOE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX.
        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A BREATHING SPELL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0021">
        XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MOST UNLADYLIKE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0022">
        XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MOST UNGENTLEMANLY <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"SHE HAS CHOSEN!&rdquo; <br /><br />
        <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BLACKLOCK ATTENDS FAMILY
        PRAYERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"MY
        WIFE MUST!&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        WEAK STRAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
        CONSPIRACY AGAINST ANITA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII.
        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BLACKLOCK SEES A LIGHT <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A HOUSEWARMING <br /><br />
        <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BLACKLOCK OPENS FIRE
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ANITA'S
        SECRET <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LANGDON
        COMES TO THE SURFACE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MRS.
        LANGDON MAKES A CALL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"MY
        RIGHT EYE OFFENDS ME&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"WILD
        WEEK&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"BLACK
        MATT'S&rdquo; TRIUMPH <br /><br />
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      I. MR. BLACKLOCK
    </h2>
    <p>
      When Napoleon was about to crown himself&mdash;so I have somewhere read&mdash;they
      submitted to him the royal genealogy they had faked up for him. He
      crumpled the parchment and flung it in the face of the chief herald, or
      whoever it was. &ldquo;My line,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;dates from Montenotte.&rdquo; And so I say,
      my line dates from the campaign that completed and established my fame&mdash;from
      &ldquo;Wild Week.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I shall not pause to recite the details of the obscurity from which I
      emerged. It would be an interesting, a romantic story; but it is a
      familiar story, also, in this land which Lincoln so finely and so fully
      described when he said: &ldquo;The republic is opportunity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      One fact only: <i>I did not take the name Blacklock</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was born Blacklock, and christened Matthew; and my hair's being very
      black and growing so that a lock of it often falls down the middle of my
      forehead is a coincidence. The malicious and insinuating story that I used
      to go under another name arose, no doubt, from my having been a bootblack
      in my early days, and having let my customers shorten my name into Matt
      Black. But, as soon as I graduated from manual labor, I resumed my
      rightful name and have borne it&mdash;I think I may say without vanity&mdash;in
      honor to honor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some one has written: &ldquo;It was a great day for fools when modesty was made
      a virtue.&rdquo; I heartily subscribe to that. Life means action; action means
      self-assertion; self-assertion rouses all the small, colorless people to
      the only sort of action of which they are capable&mdash;to sneering at the
      doer as egotistical, vain, conceited, bumptious and the like. So be it! I
      have an individuality, aggressive, restless and, like all such
      individualities, necessarily in the lime-light; I have from the beginning
      lost no opportunity to impress that individuality upon my time. Let those
      who have nothing to advertise, and those less courageous and less
      successful than I at advertisement, jeer and spit. I ignore them. I make
      no apologies for egotism. I think, when my readers have finished, they
      will demand none. They will see that I had work to do, and that I did it
      in the only way an intelligent man ever tries to do his work&mdash;his own
      way, the way natural to him!
    </p>
    <p>
      Wild Week! Its cyclones, rising fury on fury to that historic climax of
      chaos, sing their mad song in my ears again as I write. But I shall by no
      means confine my narrative to business and finance. Take a cross-section
      of life anywhere, and you have a tangled interweaving of the action and
      reaction of men upon men, of women upon women, of men and women upon one
      another. And this shall be a cross-section out of the very heart of our
      life to-day, with its big and bold energies and passions&mdash;the
      swiftest and intensest life ever lived by the human race.
    </p>
    <p>
      To begin:
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      II. IN THOSE DAYS AROSE KINGS
    </h2>
    <p>
      Imagine yourself back two years and a half before Wild Week, back at the
      time when the kings of finance had just completed their apparently final
      conquest of the industries of the country, when they were seating
      themselves upon thrones encircled by vast armies of capital and brains,
      when all the governments of the nation&mdash;national, state and city&mdash;were
      prostrate under their iron heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      You may remember that I was a not inconspicuous figure then. Of all their
      financial agents, I was the best-known, the most trusted by them, the most
      believed in by the people. I had a magnificent suite of offices in the
      building that dominates Wall and Broad Streets. Boston claimed me also,
      and Chicago; and in Philadelphia, New Orleans, St. Louis, San Francisco,
      in the towns and rural districts tributary to the cities, thousands spoke
      of Blacklock as their trusted adviser in matters of finance. My enemies&mdash;and
      I had them, numerous and venomous enough to prove me a man worth while&mdash;my
      enemies spoke of me as the &ldquo;biggest bucket-shop gambler in the world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Gambler I was&mdash;like all the other manipulators of the markets. But
      &ldquo;bucket-shop&rdquo; I never kept. As the kings of finance were the
      representatives of the great merchants, manufacturers and investors, so
      was I the representative of the masses, of those who wished their small
      savings properly invested. The power of the big fellows was founded upon
      wealth and the brains wealth buys or bullies or seduces into its service;
      my power was founded upon the hearts and homes of the people, upon faith
      in my frank honesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      How had I built up my power? By recognizing the possibilities of
      publicity, the chance which the broadcast sowing of newspapers and
      magazines put within the reach of the individual man to impress himself
      upon the whole country, upon the whole civilized world. The kings of
      finance relied upon the assiduity and dexterity of sundry paid agents,
      operating through the stealthy, clumsy, old-fashioned channels for the
      exercise of power. I relied only upon myself; I had to trust to no
      fallible, perhaps traitorous, understrappers; through the megaphone of the
      press I spoke directly to the people.
    </p>
    <p>
      My enemies charge that I always have been unscrupulous and dishonest. So?
      Then how have I lived and thrived all these years in the glare and blare
      of publicity?
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true, I have used the &ldquo;methods of the charlatan&rdquo; in bringing myself
      into wide public notice. The just way to put it would be that I have used
      for honest purposes the methods of publicity that charlatans have shrewdly
      appropriated, because by those means the public can be most widely and
      most quickly reached. Does good become evil because hypocrites use it as a
      cloak? It is also true that I have been &ldquo;undignified.&rdquo; Let the stupid
      cover their stupidity with &ldquo;dignity.&rdquo; Let the swindler hide his schemings
      under &ldquo;dignity.&rdquo; I am a man of the people, not afraid to be seen as the
      human being that I am. I laugh when I feel like it. I have no sense of jar
      when people call me &ldquo;Matt.&rdquo; I have a good time, and I shall stay young as
      long as I stay alive. Wealth hasn't made me a solemn ass, fenced in and
      unapproachable. The custom of receiving obedience and flattery and
      admiration has not made me a turkey-cock. Life is a joke; and when the
      joke's on me, I laugh as heartily as when it's on the other fellow.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is half-past three o'clock on a May afternoon; a dismal, dreary rain is
      being whirled through the streets by as nasty a wind as ever blew out of
      the east. You are in the private office of that &ldquo;king of kings,&rdquo; Henry J.
      Roebuck, philanthropist, eminent churchman, leading citizen and&mdash;in
      business&mdash;as corrupt a creature as ever used the domino of
      respectability. That office is on the twelfth floor of the Power Trust
      Building&mdash;and the Power Trust is Roebuck, and Roebuck is the Power
      Trust. He is seated at his desk and, thinking I do not see him, is looking
      at me with an expression of benevolent and melancholy pity&mdash;the look
      with which he always regarded any one whom the Roebuck God Almighty had
      commanded Roebuck to destroy. He and his God were in constant
      communication; his God never did anything except for his benefit, he never
      did anything except on the direct counsel or command of his God. Just now
      his God is commanding him to destroy me, his confidential agent in shaping
      many a vast industrial enterprise and in inducing the public to buy by the
      million its bonds and stocks.
    </p>
    <p>
      I invited the angry frown of the Roebuck God by saying: &ldquo;And I bought in
      the Manasquale mines on my own account.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On your own account!&rdquo; said Roebuck. Then he hastily effaced his
      involuntary air of the engineer startled by sight of an unexpected red
      light.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied I, as calm as if I were not realizing the tremendous
      significance of what I had announced. &ldquo;I look to you to let me participate
      on equal terms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That is, I had decided that the time had come for me to take my place
      among the kings of finance. I had decided to promote myself from agent to
      principal, from prime minister to king&mdash;I must, myself, promote
      myself, for in this world all promotion that is solid comes from within.
      And in furtherance of my object I had bought this group of mines, control
      of which was vital to the Roebuck-Langdon-Melville combine for a monopoly
      of the coal of the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did not Mr. Langdon commission you to buy them for him and his friends?&rdquo;
       inquired Roebuck, in that slow, placid tone which yet, for the attentive
      ear, had a note in it like the scream of a jaguar that comes home and
      finds its cub gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I couldn't get them for him,&rdquo; I explained. &ldquo;The owners wouldn't sell
      until I engaged that the National Coal and Railway Company was not to have
      them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I see,&rdquo; said Roebuck, sinking back relieved. &ldquo;We must get Browne to
      draw up some sort of perpetual, irrevocable power of attorney to us for
      you to sign.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I won't sign it,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck took up a sheet of paper and began to fold it upon itself with
      great care to get the edges straight. He had grasped my meaning; he was
      deliberating.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For four years now,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;you people have been promising to take
      me in as a principal in some one of your deals&mdash;to give me
      recognition by making me president, or chairman of an executive or finance
      committee. I am an impatient man, Mr. Roebuck. Life is short, and I have
      much to do. So I have bought the Manasquale mines&mdash;and I shall hold
      them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck continued to fold the paper upon itself until he had reduced it to
      a short, thick strip. This he slowly twisted between his cruel fingers
      until it was in two pieces. He dropped them, one at a time, into the
      waste-basket, then smiled benevolently at me. &ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; he said.
      &ldquo;You shall have what you want. You have seemed such a mere boy to me that,
      in spite of your giving again and again proof of what you are, I have been
      putting you off. Then, too&mdash;&rdquo; He halted, and his look was that of one
      surveying delicate ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The bucket-shop?&rdquo; suggested I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; said he gratefully. &ldquo;Your brokerage business has been
      invaluable to us. But&mdash;well, I needn't tell you how people&mdash;the
      men of standing&mdash;look on that sort of thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never have paid any attention to pompous pretenses,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;and I
      never shall. My brokerage business must go on, and my daily letters to
      investors. By advertising I rose; by advertising I am a power that even
      you recognize; by advertising alone can I keep that power.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You forget that in the new circumstances, you won't need that sort of
      power. Adapt yourself to your new surroundings. Overalls for the trench; a
      business suit for the office.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall keep to my overalls for the present,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;They're more
      comfortable, and&rdquo;&mdash;here I smiled significantly at him&mdash;&ldquo;if I
      shed them, I might have to go naked. The first principle of business is
      never to give up what you have until your grip is tight on something
      better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt you're right,&rdquo; agreed the white-haired old scoundrel, giving no
      sign that I had fathomed his motive for trying to &ldquo;hint&rdquo; me out of my
      stronghold. &ldquo;I will talk the matter over with Langdon and Melville. Rest
      assured, my boy, that you will be satisfied.&rdquo; He got up, put his arm
      affectionately round my shoulders. &ldquo;We all like you. I have a feeling
      toward you as if you were my own son. I am getting old, and I like to see
      young men about me, growing up to assume the responsibilities of the
      Lord's work whenever He shall call me to my reward.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It will seem incredible that a man of my shrewdness and experience could
      be taken in by such slimy stuff as that&mdash;I who knew Roebuck as only a
      few insiders knew him, I who had seen him at work, as devoid of heart as
      an empty spider in an empty web. Yet I was taken in to the extent that I
      thought he really purposed to recognize my services, to yield to the only
      persuasion that could affect him&mdash;force. I fancied he was actually
      about to put me where I could be of the highest usefulness to him and his
      associates, as well as to myself. As if an old man ever yielded power or
      permitted another to gain power, even though it were to his own great
      advantage. The avarice of age is not open to reason.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was with tears in my eyes that I shook hands with him, thanking him
      emotionally. It was with a high chin and a proud heart that I went back to
      my offices. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that I was about to get my
      deserts, was about to enter the charmed circle of &ldquo;high finance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That small and exclusive circle, into which I was seeing myself admitted
      without the usual arduous and unequal battle, was what may be called the
      industrial ring&mdash;a loose, yet tight, combine of about a dozen men who
      controlled in one way or another practically all the industries of the
      country. They had no formal agreements; they held no official meetings.
      They did not look upon themselves as an association. They often quarreled
      among themselves, waged bitter wars upon each other over divisions of
      power or plunder. But, in the broad sense, in the true sense, they were an
      association&mdash;a band united by a common interest, to control finance,
      commerce and therefore politics; a band united by a common purpose, to
      keep that control in as few hands as possible. Whenever there was sign of
      peril from without they flung away differences, pooled resources, marched
      in full force to put down the insurrection. For they looked on any attempt
      to interfere with them as a mutiny, as an outbreak of anarchy. This band
      persisted, but membership in it changed, changed rapidly. Now, one would
      be beaten to death and despoiled by a clique of fellows; again, weak or
      rash ones would be cut off in strenuous battle. Often, most often, some
      too-powerful or too-arrogant member would be secretly and stealthily
      assassinated by a jealous associate or by a committee of internal safety.
      Of course, I do not mean literally assassinated, but assassinated, cut
      off, destroyed, in the sense that a man whose whole life is wealth and
      power is dead when wealth and power are taken from him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Actual assassination, the crime of murder&mdash;these &ldquo;gentlemen&rdquo; rarely
      did anything which their lawyers did not advise them was legal or could be
      made legal by bribery of one kind or another. Rarely, I say&mdash;not
      never. You will see presently why I make that qualification.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had my heart set upon membership in this band&mdash;and, as I confess
      now with shame, my prejudices of self-interest had blinded me into
      regarding it and its members as great and useful and honorable &ldquo;captains
      of industry.&rdquo; Honorable in the main; for, not even my prejudice could
      blind me to the almost hair-raising atrocity of some of their doings.
      Still, morality is largely a question of environment. I had been bred in
      that environment. Even the atrocities I excused on the ground that he who
      goes forth to war must be prepared to do and to tolerate many acts the
      church would have to strain a point to bless. What was Columbus but a
      marauder, a buccaneer? Was not Drake, in law and in fact, a pirate;
      Washington a traitor to his soldier's oath of allegiance to King George? I
      had much to learn, and to unlearn. I was to find out that whenever a
      Roebuck puts his arm round you, it is invariably to get within your guard
      and nearer your fifth rib. I was to trace the ugliest deformities of that
      conscience of his, hidden away down inside him like a dwarfed, starved
      prisoner in an underground dungeon. I was to be astounded by revelations
      of Langdon, who was not a believer, like Roebuck, and so was not under the
      restraint of the feeling that he must keep some sort of conscience ledgers
      against the inspection of the angelic auditing committee in the day of
      wrath.
    </p>
    <p>
      Much to learn&mdash;and to unlearn. It makes me laugh as I recall how, on
      that May day, I looked into the first mirror I was alone with, smiled
      delighted, as an idiot with myself and said: &ldquo;Matt, you are of the kings
      now. Your crown suits you and, as you've earned it, you know how to keep
      it. Now for some fun with your subjects and your fellow sovereigns.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A little premature, that preening!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      III. CAME A WOMAN
    </h2>
    <p>
      In my suite in the Textile Building, just off the big main room with its
      blackboards and tickers, I had a small office in which I spent a good deal
      of time during Stock Exchange hours. It was there that Sam Ellersly found
      me the next day but one after my talk with Roebuck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want you to sell that Steel Common, Matt,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It'll go several points higher,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Better let me hold it and use
      my judgment on selling.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I need money&mdash;right away,&rdquo; was his answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Let me give you an order for what you need.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you, thank you,&rdquo; said he, so promptly that I knew I had done what
      he had been hoping for, probably counting on.
    </p>
    <p>
      I give this incident to show what our relations were. He was a young
      fellow of good family, to whom I had taken a liking. He was a lazy dog,
      and as out of place in business as a cat in a choir. I had been keeping
      him going for four years at that time, by giving him tips on stocks and
      protecting him against loss. This purely out of good nature and liking;
      for I hadn't the remotest idea he could ever be of use to me beyond
      helping to liven things up at a dinner or late supper, or down in the
      country, or on the yacht. In fact, his principal use to me was that he
      knew how to &ldquo;beat the box&rdquo; well enough to shake fairly good music out of
      it&mdash;and I am so fond of music that I can fill in with my imagination
      when the performer isn't too bad.
    </p>
    <p>
      They have charged that I deliberately ruined him. Ruined! The first time I
      gave him a tip&mdash;and that was the second or third time I ever saw him&mdash;he
      burst into tears and said: &ldquo;You've saved my life, Blacklock. I'll never
      tell you how much this windfall means to me now.&rdquo; Nor did I with deep and
      dark design keep him along on the ragged edge. He kept himself there. How
      could I build up such a man with his hundred ways of wasting money,
      including throwing it away on his own opinions of stocks&mdash;for he
      would gamble on his own account in the bucket-shops, though I had shown
      him that the Wall Street game is played always with marked cards, and that
      the only hope of winning is to get the confidence of the card-markers,
      unless you are big enough to become a card-marker yourself.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as he got the money from my teller that day, he was rushing away.
      I followed him to the door&mdash;that part of my suite opened out on the
      sidewalk, for the convenience of my crowds of customers. &ldquo;I'm just going
      to lunch,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Come with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked uneasily toward a smart little one-horse brougham at the curb.
      &ldquo;Sorry&mdash;but I can't,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I've my sister with me. She brought
      me down in her trap.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;bring her along. We'll go to the Savarin.&rdquo;
       And I locked his arm in mine and started toward the brougham.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was turning all kinds of colors, and was acting in a way that puzzled
      me&mdash;then. Despite all my years in New York I was ignorant of the
      elaborate social distinctions that had grown up in its Fifth Avenue
      quarter. I knew, of course, that there was a fashionable society and that
      some of the most conspicuous of those in it seemed unable to get used to
      the idea of being rich and were in a state of great agitation over their
      own importance. Important they might be, but not to me. I knew nothing of
      their careful gradations of snobbism&mdash;the people to know socially,
      the people to know in a business way, the people to know in ways religious
      and philanthropic, the people to know for the fun to be got out of them,
      the people to pride oneself on not knowing at all; the nervousness, the
      hysteria about preserving these disgusting gradations. All this, I say,
      was an undreamed-of mystery to me who gave and took liking in the
      sensible, self-respecting American fashion. So I didn't understand why
      Sam, as I almost dragged him along, was stammering: &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;but&mdash;I&mdash;she&mdash;the
      fact is, we really must get up-town.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      By this time I was where I could look into the brougham. A glance&mdash;I
      can see much at a glance, as can any man who spends every day of every
      year in an all-day fight for his purse and his life, with the blows coming
      from all sides. I can see much at a glance; I often have seen much; I
      never saw more than just then. Instantly, I made up my mind that the
      Ellerslys would lunch with me. &ldquo;You've got to eat somewhere,&rdquo; said I, in a
      tone that put an end to his attempts to manufacture excuses. &ldquo;I'll be
      delighted to have you. Don't make up any more yarns.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He slowly opened the door. &ldquo;Anita,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;Mr. Blacklock. He's invited
      us to lunch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I lifted my hat, and bowed. I kept my eyes straight upon hers. And it gave
      me more pleasure to look into them than I had ever before got out of
      looking into anybody's. I am passionately fond of flowers, and of
      children; and her face reminded me of both. Or, rather, it seemed to me
      that what I had seen, with delight and longing, incomplete in their
      freshness and beauty and charm, was now before me in the fullness. I felt
      like saying to her, &ldquo;I have heard of you often. The children and the
      flowers have told me you were coming.&rdquo; Perhaps my eyes did say it. At any
      rate, she looked as straight at me as I at her, and I noticed that she
      paled a little and shrank&mdash;yet continued to look, as if I were
      compelling her. But her voice, beautifully clear, and lingering in the
      ears like the resonance of the violin after the bow has swept its strings
      and lifted, was perfectly self-possessed, as she said to her brother:
      &ldquo;That will be delightful&mdash;if you think we have time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw that she, uncertain whether he wished to accept, was giving him a
      chance to take either course. &ldquo;He has time&mdash;nothing but time,&rdquo; said
      I. &ldquo;His engagements are always with people who want to get something out
      of him. And they can wait.&rdquo; I pretended to think he was expecting me to
      enter the trap; I got in, seated myself beside her, said to Sam: &ldquo;I've
      saved the little seat for you. Tell your man to take us to the Equitable
      Building&mdash;Nassau Street entrance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I talked a good deal during the first half of the nearly two hours we were
      together&mdash;partly because both Sam and his sister seemed under some
      sort of strain, chiefly because I was determined to make a good
      impression. I told her about myself, my horses, my house in the country,
      my yacht. I tried to show her I wasn't an ignoramus as to books and art,
      even if I hadn't been to college. She listened, while Sam sat embarrassed.
      &ldquo;You must bring your sister down to visit me,&rdquo; I said finally. &ldquo;I'll see
      that you both have the time of your lives. Make up a party of your
      friends, Sam, and come down&mdash;when shall we say? Next Sunday? You know
      you were coming anyhow. I can change the rest of the party.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sam grew as red as if he were going into apoplexy. I thought then he was
      afraid I'd blurt out something about who were in the party I was proposing
      to change. I was soon to know better.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you, Mr.&mdash;Blacklock,&rdquo; said his sister. &ldquo;But I have an
      engagement next Sunday. I have a great many engagements just now. Without
      looking at my book I couldn't say when I can go.&rdquo; This easily and
      naturally. In her set they certainly do learn thoroughly that branch of
      tact which plain people call lying.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sam gave her a grateful look, which he thought I didn't see, and which I
      didn't rightly interpret&mdash;then.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We'll fix it up later, Blacklock,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said I. And from that minute I was almost silent. It was
      something in her tone and manner that silenced me. I suddenly realized
      that I wasn't making as good an impression as I had been flattering
      myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      When a man has money and is willing to spend it, he can readily fool
      himself into imagining he gets on grandly with women. But I had better
      grounds than that for thinking myself not unattractive to them, as a rule.
      Women had liked me when I had nothing; women had liked me when they didn't
      know who I was. I felt that this woman did not like me. And yet, by the
      way she looked at me in spite of her efforts not to do so, I could tell
      that I had some sort of unusual interest for her. Why didn't she like me?
      She made me feel the reason. I didn't belong to her world. My ways and my
      looks offended her. She disliked me a good deal; she feared me a little.
      She would have felt safer if she had been gratifying her curiosity, gazing
      in at me through the bars of a cage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Where I had been feeling and showing my usual assurance, I now became ill
      at ease. I longed for them to be gone; at the same time I hated to let her
      go&mdash;for, when and how would I see her again, would I get the chance
      to remove her bad impression? It irritated me thus to be concerned about
      the sister of a man into my liking for whom there was mixed much pity and
      some contempt. But I am of the disposition that, whenever I see an
      obstacle of whatever kind, I can not restrain myself from trying to jump
      it. Here was an obstacle&mdash;a dislike. To clear it was of the smallest
      importance in the world, was a silly waste of time. Yet I felt I could not
      maintain with myself my boast that there were no obstacles I couldn't get
      over, if I turned aside from this.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sam&mdash;not without hesitation, as I recalled afterward&mdash;left me
      with her, when I sent him to bring her brougham up to the Broadway
      entrance. As she and I were standing there alone, waiting in silence, I
      turned on her suddenly, and blurted out, &ldquo;You don't like me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She reddened a little, smiled slightly. &ldquo;What a quaint remark!&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked straight at her. &ldquo;But you shall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Our eyes met. Her chin came out a little, her eyebrows lifted. Then, in
      scorn of herself as well as of me, she locked herself in behind a frozen
      haughtiness that ignored me. &ldquo;Ah, here is the carriage,&rdquo; she said. I
      followed her to the curb; she just touched my hand, just nodded her
      fascinating little head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See you Saturday, old man,&rdquo; called her brother friendlily. My lowering
      face had alarmed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That party is off,&rdquo; said I curtly. And I lifted my hat and strode away.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I had formed the habit of dismissing the disagreeable, I soon put her
      out of my mind. But she took with her my joy in the taste of things. I
      couldn't get back my former keen satisfaction in all I had done and was
      doing. The luxury, the tangible evidences of my achievement, no longer
      gave me pleasure; they seemed to add to my irritation.
    </p>
    <p>
      That's the way it is in life. We load ourselves down with toys like so
      many greedy children; then we see another toy and drop everything to be
      free to seize it; and if we can not, we're wretched.
    </p>
    <p>
      I worked myself up, or rather, down, to such a mood that when my office
      boy told me Mr. Langdon would like me to come to his office as soon as it
      was convenient, I snapped out: &ldquo;The hell he does! Tell Mr. Langdon I'll be
      glad to see him here whenever he calls.&rdquo; That was stupidity, a premature
      assertion of my right to be treated as an equal. I had always gone to
      Langdon, and to any other of the rulers of finance, whenever I had got a
      summons. For, while I was rich and powerful, I held both wealth and power,
      in a sense, on sufferance; I knew that, so long as I had no absolute
      control of any great department of industry, these rulers could destroy me
      should they decide that they needed my holdings or were not satisfied with
      my use of my power. There were a good many people who did not realize that
      property rights had ceased to exist, that property had become a revocable
      grant from the &ldquo;plutocrats.&rdquo; I was not of those misguided ones who had
      failed to discover the new fact concealed in the old form. So I used to go
      when I was summoned.
    </p>
    <p>
      But not that day. However, no sooner was my boy gone than I repented the
      imprudence, &ldquo;But what of it?&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;No matter how the thing
      turns out, I shall be able to get some advantage.&rdquo; For it was part of my
      philosophy that a proper boat with proper sails and a proper steersman can
      gain in any wind. I was surprised when Langdon appeared in my office a few
      minutes later.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was a tallish, slim man, carefully dressed, with a bored, weary look
      and a slow, bored way of talking. I had always said that if I had not been
      myself I should have wished to be Langdon. Men liked and admired him;
      women loved and ran after him. Yet he exerted not the slightest effort to
      please any one; on the contrary, he made it distinct and clear that he
      didn't care a rap what any one thought of him or, for that matter, of
      anybody or anything. He knew how to get, without sweat or snatching, all
      the good there was in whatever fate threw in his way&mdash;and he was one
      of those men into whose way fate seems to strive to put everything worth
      having. His business judgment was shrewd, but he cared nothing for the big
      game he was playing except as a game. Like myself, he was simply a
      sportsman&mdash;and, I think, that is why we liked each other. He could
      have trusted almost any one that came into contact with him; but he
      trusted nobody, and frankly warned every one not to trust him&mdash;a safe
      frankness, for his charm caused it to be forgotten or ignored. He would do
      anything to gain an object, however trivial, which chanced to attract him;
      once it was his, he would throw it aside as carelessly as an ill-fitting
      collar.
    </p>
    <p>
      His expression, as he came into my office, was one of cynical amusement,
      as if he were saying to himself: &ldquo;Our friend Blacklock has caught the
      swollen head at last.&rdquo; Not a suggestion of ill humor, of resentment at my
      impertinence&mdash;for, in the circumstances, I had been guilty of an
      impertinence. Just languid, amused patience with the frailty of a friend.
      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that you have got Textile up to eighty-five.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was the head of the Textile Trust which had been built by his
      brother-in-law and had fallen to him in the confusion following his
      brother-in-law's death. As he was just then needing some money for his
      share in the National Coal undertaking, he had directed me to push Textile
      up toward par and unload him of two or three hundred thousand shares&mdash;he,
      of course, to repurchase the shares after he had taken profits and Textile
      had dropped back to its normal fifty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll have it up to ninety-eight by the middle of next month,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;And there I think we'd better stop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop at about ninety,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;That will give me all I find I'll need
      for this Coal business. I don't want to be bothered with hunting up an
      investment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I shook my head. &ldquo;I must put it up to within a point or two of par,&rdquo; I
      declared. &ldquo;In my public letter I've been saying it would go above
      ninety-five, and I never deceive my public.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He smiled&mdash;my notion of honesty always amused him. &ldquo;As you please,&rdquo;
       he said with a shrug. Then I saw a serious look&mdash;just a fleeting
      flash of warning&mdash;behind his smiling mask; and he added carelessly:
      &ldquo;Be careful about your own personal play. I doubt if Textile can be put
      any higher.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It must have been my mood that prevented those words from making the
      impression on me they should have made. Instead of appreciating at once
      and at its full value this characteristic and amazingly friendly signal of
      caution, I showed how stupidly inattentive I was by saying: &ldquo;Something
      doing? Something new?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he had already gone further than his notion of friendship warranted.
      So he replied: &ldquo;Oh, no. Simply that everything's uncertain nowadays.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My mind had been all this time on those Manasquale mining properties. I
      now said: &ldquo;Has Roebuck told you that I had to buy those mines on my own
      account?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. He hesitated, and again he gave me a look whose meaning
      came to me only when it was too late. &ldquo;I think, Blacklock, you'd better
      turn them over to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I gave my word.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Apparently the matter didn't interest him. He began to talk of the
      performances of my little two-year-old, Beachcomber; and after twenty
      minutes or so, he drifted away. &ldquo;I envy you your enthusiasm,&rdquo; he said,
      pausing in my doorway. &ldquo;Wherever I am, I wish I were somewhere else.
      Whatever I'm doing, I wish I were doing something else. Where do you get
      all this joy of the fight? What the devil are you fighting for?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He didn't wait for a reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought over my situation steadily for several days. I went down to my
      country place. I looked everywhere among all my belongings, searching,
      searching, restless, impatient. At last I knew what ailed me&mdash;what
      the lack was that yawned so gloomily from everything I had once thought
      beautiful, had once found sufficient. I was in the midst of the splendid,
      terraced pansy beds my gardeners had just set out; I stopped short and
      slapped my thigh. &ldquo;A woman!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;That's what I need. A woman&mdash;the
      right sort of woman&mdash;a wife!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IV. A CANDIDATE FOR &ldquo;RESPECTABILITY&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      To handle this new business properly I must put myself in position to look
      the whole field over. I must get in line and in touch with
      &ldquo;respectability.&rdquo; When Sam Ellersly came in for his &ldquo;rations,&rdquo; I said:
      &ldquo;Sam, I want you to put me up at the Travelers Club.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Travelers!&rdquo; echoed he, with a blank look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Travelers,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It's about the best of the big clubs, isn't it?
      And it has as members most of the men I do business with and most of those
      I want to get into touch with.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He laughed. &ldquo;It can't be done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;I don't know. You see&mdash;the fact is&mdash;well, they're a
      lot of old fogies up there. You don't want to bother with that push, Matt.
      Take my advice. Do business with them, but avoid them socially.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want to go in there,&rdquo; I insisted. &ldquo;I have my own reasons. You put me
      up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell you, it'd be no use,&rdquo; he replied, in a tone that implied he wished
      to hear no more of the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You put me up,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;And if you do your best, I'll get in all
      right. I've got lots of friends there. And you've got three relatives in
      the committee on membership.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this he gave me a queer, sharp glance&mdash;a little fright in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I laughed. &ldquo;You see, I've been looking into it, Sam. I never take a jump
      till I've measured it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'd better wait a few years, until&mdash;&rdquo; he began, then stopped and
      turned red.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Until what?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I want you to speak frankly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you've got a lot of enemies&mdash;a lot of fellows who've lost
      money in deals you've engineered. And they'd say all sorts of things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll take care of that,&rdquo; said I, quite easy in mind. &ldquo;Mowbray Langdon's
      president, isn't he? Well, he's my closest friend.&rdquo; I spoke quite
      honestly. It shows how simple-minded I was in certain ways that I had
      never once noted the important circumstance that this &ldquo;closest friend&rdquo; had
      never invited me to his house, or anywhere where I'd meet his up-town
      associates at introducing distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sam looked surprised. &ldquo;Oh, in that case,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I'll see what can be
      done.&rdquo; But his tone was not quite cordial enough to satisfy me.
    </p>
    <p>
      To stimulate him and to give him an earnest of what I intended to do for
      him, when our little social deal had been put through, I showed him how he
      could win ten thousand dollars in the next three days. &ldquo;And you needn't
      bother about putting up margins,&rdquo; said I, as I often had before. &ldquo;I'll
      take care of that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He stammered a refusal and went out; but he came back within an hour, and,
      in a strained sort of way, accepted my tip and my offer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's sensible,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;When will you attend to the matter at the
      Travelers? I want to be warned so I can pull my own set of wires in
      concert.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll let you know,&rdquo; he answered, hanging his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      I didn't understand his queer actions then. Though I was an expert in
      finance, I hadn't yet made a study of that other game&mdash;the game of
      &ldquo;gentleman.&rdquo; And I didn't know how seriously the frauds and fakirs who
      play it take it and themselves. I attributed his confusion to a ridiculous
      mock modesty he had about accepting favors; it struck me as being
      particularly silly on this occasion, because for once he was to give as
      well as to take.
    </p>
    <p>
      He didn't call for his profits, but wrote asking me to mail him the check
      for them. I did so, putting in the envelop with it a little jog to his
      memory on the club matter. I didn't see him again for nearly a month; and
      though I searched and sent, I couldn't get his trail. On opening day at
      Morris Park, I was going along the passage behind the boxes in the grand
      stand, on my way to the paddock. I wanted to see my horse that was about
      to run for the Salmagundi Sweepstakes, and to tell my jockey that I'd give
      him fifteen thousand, instead of ten thousand, if he won&mdash;for I had
      put quite a bunch down. I was a figure at the tracks in those days. I went
      into racing on my customary generous scale. I liked horses, just as I
      liked everything that belonged out under the big sky; also I liked the
      advertising my string of thoroughbreds gave me. I was rich enough to be
      beyond the stage at which a man excites suspicion by frequenting
      race-tracks and gambling-houses; I was at the height where prodigalities
      begin to be taken as evidences of abounding superfluity, not of a
      dangerous profligacy. Jim Harkaway, who failed at playing the same game I
      played and won, said to me with a sneer one day: &ldquo;You certainly do know
      how to get a dollar's worth of notoriety out of a dollar's worth of
      advertising.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I only knew that, Jim,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I'd have been long ago where you're
      bound for. The trick is to get it back ten for one. The more <i>you</i>
      advertise yourself, the more suspicious of you people become. The more
      money I 'throw away' in advertising, the more convinced people are that I
      can afford to do it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But, as I was about to say, in one of the boxes I spied my shy friend,
      Sammy. He was looking better than I had ever seen him. Less heavy-eyed,
      less pallid and pasty, less like a man who had been shirking bed and
      keeping up on cocktails and cold baths. He was at the rear of the box,
      talking with a lady and a gentleman. As soon as I saw that lady, I knew
      what it was that had been hiding at the bottom of my mind and rankling
      there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Luckily I was alone; ever since that lunch I had been cutting loose from
      the old crowd&mdash;from all its women, and from all its men except two or
      three real friends who were good fellows straight through, in spite of
      their having made the mistake of crossing the dead line between amateur
      &ldquo;sport&rdquo; and professional. I leaned over and tapped Sammy on the shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      He glanced round, and when he saw me, looked as if I were a policeman who
      had caught him in the act.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Howdy, Sam?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It's been so long since I've seen you that I
      couldn't resist the temptation to interrupt. Hope your friends'll excuse
      me. Howdy do, Miss Ellersly?&rdquo; And I put out my hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      She took it reluctantly. She was giving me a very unpleasant look&mdash;as
      if she were seeing, not somebody, but some <i>thing</i> she didn't care to
      see, or were seeing nothing at all. I liked that look; I liked the woman
      who had it in her to give it. She made me feel that she was difficult and
      therefore worth while, and that's what all we human beings are in business
      for&mdash;to make each other feel that we're worth while.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just a moment,&rdquo; said Sam, red as a cranberry and stuttering. And he made
      a motion to come out of the box and join me. At the same time Miss Anita
      and the other fellow began to turn away.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I was not the man to be cheated in that fashion. I wanted to see <i>her</i>,
      and I compelled her to see it and to feel it. &ldquo;Don't let me take you from
      your friends,&rdquo; said I to Sammy. &ldquo;Perhaps they'd like to come with you and
      me down to look at my horse. I can give you a good tip&mdash;he's bound to
      win. I've had my boys out on the rails every morning at the trials of all
      the other possibilities. None of 'em's in it with Mowghli.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mowghli!&rdquo; said the young lady&mdash;she had begun to turn toward me as
      soon as I spoke the magic word, &ldquo;tip.&rdquo; There may be men who can resist
      that word &ldquo;tip&rdquo; at the race-track, but there never was a woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My sister has to stay here,&rdquo; said Sammy hurriedly. &ldquo;I'll go with you,
      Blacklock.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All this time he was looking as if he were doing something he ought to be
      ashamed of. I thought then he was ashamed because he, professing to be a
      gentleman, had been neglecting his debt of honor. I now know he was
      ashamed because he was responsible for his sister's being contaminated by
      contact with such a man as I! I who hadn't a dollar that wasn't honestly
      earned; I who had made a fortune by my own efforts, and was spending my
      millions like a prince; I who had taste in art and music and in
      architecture and furnishing and all the fine things of life. Above all, I
      who had been his friend and benefactor. <i>He</i> knew I was more of a
      gentleman than he could ever hope to be, he with no ability at anything
      but spending money; he a sponge and a cadger, yes, and a welcher&mdash;for
      wasn't he doing his best to welch me? But just because a lot of his
      friends, jealous of my success and angry that I refused to truckle to them
      and be like them instead of like myself, sneered at me&mdash;behind my
      back&mdash;this poor-spirited creature was daring to pretend to himself
      that I wasn't fit for the society of his sister!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mowghli!&rdquo; said Miss Ellersly. &ldquo;What a quaint name!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My trainer gave it,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I've got a second son of one of those
      broken-down English noblemen at the head of my stables. He's trying to get
      money enough together to be able to show up at Newport and take a shy at
      an heiress.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this the fellow who was fourth in our party, and who had been giving me
      a nasty, glassy stare, got as red as was Sammy. Then I noticed that he was
      an Englishman, and I all but chuckled with delight. However, I said, &ldquo;No
      offense intended,&rdquo; and clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly smile.
      &ldquo;He's a good fellow, my man Monson, and knows a lot about horses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Miss Ellersly bit her lip and colored, but I noticed also that her eyes
      were dancing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sam introduced the Englishman to me&mdash;Lord Somebody-or-other, I forget
      what, as I never saw him again. I turned like a bulldog from a toy terrier
      and was at Miss Ellersly again. &ldquo;Let me put a little something on Mowghli
      for you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You're bound to win&mdash;and I'll see that you don't
      lose. I know how you ladies hate to lose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That was a bit stiff, as I know well enough now. Indeed, my instinct would
      have told me better then, if I hadn't been so used to the sort of women
      that jump at such an offer, and if I hadn't been casting about so
      desperately and in such confusion for some way to please her. At any rate,
      I hardly deserved her sudden frozen look. &ldquo;I beg pardon,&rdquo; I stammered, and
      I think my look at her must have been very humble&mdash;for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The others in the box were staring round at us. &ldquo;Come on,&rdquo; cried Sam,
      dragging at my arm, &ldquo;let's go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Won't you come?&rdquo; I said to his sister. I shouldn't have been able to keep
      my state of mind out of my voice, if I had tried. And I didn't try.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trust the right sort of woman to see the right sort of thing in a man
      through any and all kinds of barriers of caste and manners and breeding.
      Her voice was much softer as she said: &ldquo;I think I must stay here. Thank
      you, just the same.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As soon as Sam and I were alone, I apologized. &ldquo;I hope you'll tell your
      sister I'm sorry for that break,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, that's all right,&rdquo; he answered, easy again, now that we were away
      from the others. &ldquo;You meant well&mdash;and motive's the thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Motive&mdash;hell!&rdquo; cried I in my anger at myself. &ldquo;Nobody but a man's
      God knows his motives; he doesn't even know them himself. I judge others
      by what they do, and I expect to be judged in the same way. I see I've got
      a lot to learn.&rdquo; Then I suddenly remembered the Travelers Club, and asked
      him what he'd done about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&mdash;I've been&mdash;thinking it over,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Are you <i>sure</i>
      you want to run the risk of an ugly cropper, Matt?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I turned him round so that we were facing each other. &ldquo;Do you want to do
      me that favor, or don't you?&rdquo; I demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll do whatever you say,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I'm thinking only of your
      interests.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let <i>me</i> take care of <i>them</i>,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You put me up at that
      club to-morrow. I'll send you the name of a seconder not later than noon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Up goes your name,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But don't blame me for the consequences.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And my name went up, with Mowbray Langdon's brother, Tom, as seconder.
      Every newspaper in town published the fact, most of them under big black
      headlines. &ldquo;The fun's about to begin,&rdquo; thought I, as I read. And I was
      right, though I hadn't the remotest idea how big a ball I had opened.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      V. DANGER SIGNALS
    </h2>
    <p>
      At that time I did not myself go over the bills before the legislatures of
      those states in which I had interests. I trusted that work to my lawyers&mdash;and,
      like every man who ever absolutely trusted an important division of his
      affairs to another, I was severely punished. One morning my eye happened
      to light upon a minor paragraph in a newspaper&mdash;a list of the &ldquo;small
      bills yesterday approved by the governor.&rdquo; In the list was one &ldquo;defining
      the power of sundry commissions.&rdquo; Those words seemed to me somehow to
      spell &ldquo;joker.&rdquo; But why did I call up my lawyers to ask them about it? It's
      a mystery to me. All I know is that, busy as I was, something inside me
      compelled me to drop everything else and hunt that &ldquo;joker&rdquo; down.
    </p>
    <p>
      I got Saxe&mdash;then senior partner in Browne, Saxe and Einstein&mdash;on
      the 'phone, and said: &ldquo;Just see and tell me, will you, what is the 'bill
      defining the power of sundry commissions'&mdash;the bill the governor
      signed yesterday?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; came the answer. My nerves are, and always
      have been, on the watchout for the looks and the tones and the gestures
      that are just a shade off the natural; and I feel that I do Saxe no
      injustice when I say his tone was, not a shade, but a full color, off the
      natural. So I was prepared for what he said when he returned to the
      telephone. &ldquo;I'm sorry, Mr. Blacklock, but we seem unable to lay our hands
      on that bill at this moment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; said I, in the tone that makes an employee jump as if a
      whip-lash had cut him on the calves.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had jumped all right, as his voice showed. &ldquo;It's not in our file,&rdquo; said
      he. &ldquo;It's House Bill No. 427, and it's apparently not here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The hell you say!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really can't explain,&rdquo; he pleaded, and the frightened whine confirmed
      my suspicion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I guess not,&rdquo; said I, making the words significant and suggestive. &ldquo;And
      you're in my pay to look after such matters! But you'll have to explain,
      if this turns out to be serious.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Apparently our file of bills is complete except that one,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I
      suppose it was lost in the mail, and I very stupidly didn't notice the gap
      in the numbers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stupid isn't the word I'd use,&rdquo; said I, with a laugh that wasn't of the
      kind that cheers. And I rang off and asked for the state capitol on the
      &ldquo;long distance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before I got my connection Saxe, whose office was only two blocks away,
      came flustering in. &ldquo;The boy has been discharged, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; he
      began.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What boy?&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The boy in charge of the bill file&mdash;the boy whose business it was to
      keep the file complete.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Send him to me, you damned scoundrel,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'll give him a job. What
      do you take me for, anyway? And what kind of a cowardly hound are you to
      disgrace an innocent boy as a cover for your own crooked work?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really, Mr. Blacklock, this is most extraordinary,&rdquo; he expostulated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Extraordinary? I call it criminal,&rdquo; I retorted. &ldquo;Listen to me. You look
      after the legislation calendars for me, and for Langdon, and for Roebuck,
      and for Melville, and for half a dozen others of the biggest financiers in
      the country. It's the most important work you do for us. Yet you, as
      shrewd and careful a lawyer as there is at the bar, want me to believe you
      trusted that work to a boy! If you did, you're a damn fool. If you didn't,
      you're a damn scoundrel. There's no more doubt in my mind than in yours
      which of those horns has you sticking on it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are letting your quick temper get away with you, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; he
      deprecated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop lying!&rdquo; I shouted, &ldquo;I knew you had been doing some skulduggery when
      I first heard your voice on the telephone. And if I needed any proof, the
      meek way you've taken my abuse would furnish it, and to spare.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Just then the telephone bell rang and I got the right department and asked
      the clerk to read House Bill 427. It contained five short paragraphs. The
      &ldquo;joker&rdquo; was in the third, which gave the State Canal Commission the right
      &ldquo;to institute condemnation proceedings, and to condemn, and to abolish,
      any canal not exceeding thirty miles in length and not a part of the
      connected canal system of the state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When I hung up the receiver I was so absorbed that I had forgotten Saxe
      was waiting. He made some slight sound. I wheeled on him. I needed a vent.
      If he hadn't been there I should have smashed a chair. But there was he&mdash;and
      I kicked him out of my private office and would have kicked him out
      through the anteroom into the outer hall, had he not gathered himself
      together and run like a jack-rabbit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since that day I have done my own calendar watching.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this incident I do not mean to suggest that there are not honorable men
      in the legal profession. Most of them are men of the highest honor, as are
      most business men, most persons of consequence in every department of
      life. But you don't look for character in the proprietors, servants,
      customers and hangers-on of dives. No more ought you to look for honor
      among any of the people that have to do with the big gilded dive of the
      dollarocracy. They are there to gamble, and to prostitute themselves. The
      fact that they look like gentlemen and have the manners and the language
      of gentlemen ought to deceive nobody but the callow chaps of the sort that
      believes the swell gambler is &ldquo;an honest fellow&rdquo; and a &ldquo;perfect gentleman
      otherwise,&rdquo; because he wears a dress suit in the evening and is a judge of
      books and pictures. Lawyers are the doorkeepers and the messengers of the
      big dive; and these lawyers, though they stand the highest and get the
      biggest fees, are just what you would expect human beings to be who expose
      themselves to such temptations, and yield whenever they get an
      opportunity, as eager and as compliant as a <i>cocotte</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lawyers had sold me out; I, fool that I was, had not guarded the only
      weak plate in my armor against my companions&mdash;the plate over my back,
      to shed assassin thrusts. Roebuck and Langdon between them owned the
      governor; he owned the Canal Commission; my canal, which gave me access to
      tide-water for the product of my Manasquale mines, was as good as closed.
      I no longer had the whip-hand in National Coal. The others could sell me
      out and take two-thirds of my fortune, whenever they liked&mdash;for of
      what use were my mines with no outlet now to any market, except the
      outlets the coal crowd owned?
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as I had thought the situation out in all its bearings, I realized
      that there was no escape for me now, that whatever chance to escape I
      might have had was closed by my uncovering to Saxe and kicking him. But I
      did not regret; it was worth the money it would cost me. Besides, I
      thought I saw how I could later on turn it to good account. A sensible man
      never makes fatal errors. Whatever he does is at least experience, and can
      also be used to advantage. If Napoleon hadn't been half dead at Waterloo,
      I don't doubt he would have used its disaster as a means to a greater
      victory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was I downcast by the discovery that those bandits had me apparently at
      their mercy? Not a bit. Never in my life have I been downcast over money
      matters more than a few minutes. Why should I be? Why should any man be
      who has made himself all that he is? As long as his brain is sound, his
      capital is unimpaired. When I walked into Mowbray Langdon's office, I was
      like a thoroughbred exercising on a clear frosty morning; and my smile was
      as fresh as the flower in my buttonhole. I thrust out my hand at him. &ldquo;I
      congratulate you,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      He took the proffered hand with a questioning look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On what?&rdquo; said he. It is hard to tell from his face what is going on in
      his head, but I think I guessed right when I decided that Saxe hadn't yet
      warned him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have just found out from Saxe,&rdquo; I pursued, &ldquo;about the Canal Bill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What Canal Bill?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That puzzled look was a mistake, Langdon,&rdquo; said I, laughing at him. &ldquo;When
      you don't know anything about a matter, you look merely blank. You overdid
      it; you've given yourself away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He shrugged his shoulders. &ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said he. As you please was his
      favorite expression; a stereotyped irony, for in dealing with him, things
      were never as <i>you</i> pleased, but always as <i>he</i> pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Next time you want to dig a mine under anybody,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;don't hire
      Saxe. Really I feel sorry for you&mdash;to have such a clever scheme
      messed by such an ass.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you don't mind, I'd like to know what you're talking about,&rdquo; said he,
      with his patient, bored look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you and Roebuck own the governor, I know your little law ends my
      little canal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Still I don't know what you're talking about,&rdquo; drawled he. &ldquo;You are
      always suspecting everybody of double-dealing. I gather that this is
      another instance of your infirmity. Really, Blacklock, the world isn't
      wholly made up of scoundrels.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And I will even admit that its scoundrels are
      seldom made up wholly of scoundrelism. Even Roebuck would rather do the
      decent thing, if he can do it without endangering his personal interests.
      As for you&mdash;I regard you as one of the decentest men I ever knew&mdash;outside
      of business. And even there, I believe you'd keep your word, as long as
      the other fellow kept his.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said he, bowing ironically. &ldquo;This flattery makes me suspect
      you've come to get something.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the contrary,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I want to give something. I want to give you
      my coal mines.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you'd see that our offer was fair,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;And I'm glad you
      have changed your mind about quarreling with your best friends. We can be
      useful to you, you to us. A break would be silly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's the way it looks to me,&rdquo; I assented. And I decided that my sharp
      talk to Roebuck had set them to estimating my value to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sam Ellersly,&rdquo; Langdon presently remarked, &ldquo;tells me he's campaigning
      hard for you at the Travelers. I hope you'll make it. We're rather a slow
      crowd; a few men like you might stir things up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I am always more than willing to give others credit for good sense and
      good motives. It was not vanity, but this disposition to credit others
      with sincerity and sense, that led me to believe him, both as to the Coal
      matter and as to the Travelers Club. &ldquo;Thanks, Langdon,&rdquo; I said; and that
      he might look no further for my motive, I added: &ldquo;I want to get into that
      club much as the winner of a race wants the medal that belongs to him.
      I've built myself up into a rich man, into one of the powers in finance,
      and I feel I'm entitled to recognition.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't quite follow you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I can't see that you'll be either
      better or worse for getting into the Travelers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more I shall,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;No more is the winner of the race the
      better or the worse for having the medal. But he wants it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had a queer expression. I suppose he regarded it as a joke, my
      attaching apparently so much importance to a thing he cared nothing about.
      &ldquo;You've always had that sort of thing,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;and so you don't
      appreciate it. You're like a respectable woman. She can't imagine what all
      the fuss over women keeping a good reputation is about. Well, just let her
      lose it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;you can have the rule about the waiting list suspended,
      and can move me up and get me in at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We don't do things in quite such a hurry at the Travelers,&rdquo; said he,
      laughing. &ldquo;However, we'll try to comply with your commands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His generous, cordial offer made me half ashamed of the plot I had
      underneath my submission about the coal mines&mdash;a plot to get into the
      coal combine in order to gather the means to destroy it, and perhaps
      reconstruct it with myself in control. I made up my mind that, if he
      continued to act squarely, I would alter those plans.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you don't mind,&rdquo; Langdon was going on, &ldquo;I'll make a suggestion&mdash;merely
      a suggestion. It might not be a bad idea for you to arrange to&mdash;to
      eliminate some of the&mdash;the popular features from your&mdash;brokerage
      business. There are several influential members of the Travelers who have
      a&mdash;a prejudice&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; I interposed, to spare him the necessity of saying things
      he thought I might regard as impertinent. &ldquo;They look on me as a keeper of
      a high-class bucket-shop.&rdquo; &ldquo;That's about the way they'd put it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the things they object to are, unfortunately, my 'strong hold,'&rdquo; I
      explained. &ldquo;You other big fellows gather in the big investors by simply
      announcing your projects in a dignified way. I haven't got the ear of that
      class of people. I have to send out my letters, have to advertise in all
      the cities and towns, have to catch the little fellows. You can afford to
      send out engraved invitations; I have to gather in my people with brass
      bands and megaphones. Don't forget that my people count in the totals
      bigger than yours. And what's my chief value to you? Why, when you want to
      unload, I furnish the crowd to unload on, the crowd that gives you and
      your big customers cash for your water and wind. I don't see my way to
      letting go of what I've got until I get hold of what I'm reaching for.&rdquo;
       All this with not a suspicion in my mind that he was at the same game that
      had caused Roebuck to &ldquo;hint&rdquo; that same proposal. What a &ldquo;con man&rdquo; high
      finance got when Mowbray Langdon became active down town!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's true,&rdquo; he admitted, with a great air of frankness. &ldquo;But the cry
      that you're not a financier, but a bucket-shop man, might be fatal at the
      Travelers. Of course, the sacrifice would be large for such a small
      object. Still, you might have to make it&mdash;if you really want to get
      in.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll think it over,&rdquo; said I. He thought I meant that I'd think over
      dropping my power&mdash;thought I was as big a snob as he and his friends
      of the Travelers, willing to make any sacrifice to be &ldquo;in the push.&rdquo; But,
      while Matthew Blacklock has the streak of snob in him that's natural to
      all human beings and to most animals, he is not quite insane. No, the
      thing I intended to think over was how to stay in the &ldquo;bucket-shop&rdquo;
       business, but wash myself of its odium. Bucket-shop! What snobbery! Yet
      it's human nature, too. The wholesale merchant looks down on the retailer,
      the big retailer on the little; the burglar despises the pickpocket; the
      financier, the small promoter; the man who works with his brain, the man
      who works with his hands. A silly lot we are&mdash;silly to look down,
      sillier to feel badly when we're looked down upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VI. OF &ldquo;GENTLEMEN&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      When I got back to my office and was settling in to the proofs of the
      &ldquo;Letter to Investors,&rdquo; which I published in sixty newspapers throughout
      the country and which daily reached upward of five million people, Sam
      Ellersly came in. His manner was certainly different from what it had ever
      been before; a difference so subtle that I couldn't describe it more
      nearly than to say it made me feel as if he had not until then been
      treating me as of the same class with himself. I smiled to myself and made
      an entry in my mental ledger to the credit of Mowbray Langdon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That club business is going nicely,&rdquo; said Sam. &ldquo;Langdon is enthusiastic,
      and I find you've got good friends on the committee.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I knew that well enough. Hadn't I been carrying them on my books at a good
      round loss for two years?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If it wasn't for&mdash;for some features of this business of yours,&rdquo; he
      went on, &ldquo;I'd say there wouldn't be the slightest trouble.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bucket-shop?&rdquo; said I with an easy laugh, though this nagging was
      beginning to get on my nerves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;And, you know, you advertise yourself like&mdash;like&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like everybody else, only more successfully than most,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;Everybody advertises, each one adapting his advertising to the needs of
      his enterprises, as far as he knows how.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's true enough,&rdquo; he confessed. &ldquo;But there are enterprises and
      enterprises, you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can tell 'em, Sam,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;that I never put out a statement I don't
      believe to be true, and that when any of my followers lose on one of my
      tips, I've lost on it, too. For I play my own tips&mdash;and that's more
      than can be said of any 'financier' in this town.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It'd be no use to tell 'em that,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Character's something of a
      consideration in social matters, of course. But it isn't the chief
      consideration by a long shot, and the absence of it isn't necessarily
      fatal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm the biggest single operator in the country,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;And it's my
      methods that give me success&mdash;because I know how to advertise&mdash;how
      to keep my name before the country, and how to make men say, whenever they
      hear it: 'There's a shrewd, honest fellow.' That and the people it brings
      me, in flocks, are my stock in trade. Honesty's a bluff with most of the
      big respectables; under cover of their respectability, of their 'old and
      honored names,' of their social connections, of their church-going and
      that, they do all sorts of queer work.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To hear you talk,&rdquo; put in Sam, with a grin, &ldquo;one would think you didn't
      shove off millions of dollars of suspicious stuff on the public through
      those damn clever letters of yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's where you didn't stop to think, Sam,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;When I say a
      stock's going to rise, it rises. When I stop talking about it, it may go
      on rising or it may fall. But I never advise anybody to buy except when I
      have every reason to believe it's a good thing. If they hold on too long,
      that's their own lookout.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But they invest&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You use words too carelessly,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;When I say buy, I don't mean <i>invest</i>.
      When I mean invest, I say invest.&rdquo; There I laughed. &ldquo;It's a word I don't
      often use.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that's what you call honesty!&rdquo; jeered he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's what I call honesty,&rdquo; I retorted, &ldquo;and that <i>is</i> honesty.&rdquo;
       And I thought so then.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;every man has a right to his own notion of what's honest,&rdquo; he
      said. &ldquo;But no man's got a right to complain if a fellow with a different
      notion criticizes him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None in the world,&rdquo; I assented. &ldquo;Do <i>you</i> criticize me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no, no, indeed!&rdquo; he answered, nervous, and taking seriously what I
      had intended as a joke.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a while I dragged in <i>the</i> subject. &ldquo;One thing I can and will
      do to get myself in line for that club,&rdquo; I said, like a seal on promenade.
      &ldquo;I'm sick of the crowd I travel with&mdash;the men and the women. I feel
      it's about time I settled down. I've got a fortune and establishment that
      needs a woman to set it off. I can make some woman happy. You don't happen
      to know any nice girls&mdash;the right sort, I mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not many.&rdquo; said Sam. &ldquo;You'd better go back to the country where you came
      from, and get her there. She'd be eternally grateful, and her head
      wouldn't be full of mercenary nonsense.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse me!&rdquo; exclaimed I. &ldquo;It'd turn her head. She'd go clean crazy. She'd
      plunge in up to her neck&mdash;and not being used to these waters, she'd
      make a show of herself, and probably drown, dragging me down with her, if
      possible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sam laughed. &ldquo;Keep out of marriage, Matt,&rdquo; he advised, not so obtuse to my
      real point as he wanted me to believe. &ldquo;I know the kind of girl you've got
      in mind. She'd marry you for your money, and she'd never appreciate you.
      She'd see in you only the lack of the things she's been taught to lay
      stress on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For instance?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I couldn't tell you any more than I could enable you to recognize a
      person you'd never seen by describing him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ain't I a gentleman?&rdquo; I inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed, as if the idea tickled him. &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ain't I got as proper a country place as there is a-going? Ain't my
      apartment in the Willoughby a peach? Don't I give as elegant dinners as
      you ever sat down to? Don't I dress right up to the Piccadilly latest?
      Don't I act all right&mdash;know enough to keep my feet off the table and
      my knife out of my mouth?&rdquo; All true enough; and I so crude then that I
      hadn't a suspicion what a flat contradiction of my pretensions and beliefs
      about myself the very words and phrases were.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You're right in it, Matt,&rdquo; said Sam. &ldquo;But&mdash;well&mdash;you haven't
      traveled with our crowd, and they're shy of strangers, especially as&mdash;as
      energetic a sort of stranger as you are. You're too sudden, Matt&mdash;too
      dazzling&mdash;too&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Too shiny and new?&rdquo; said I, beginning to catch his drift. &ldquo;That'll be
      looked after. What I want is you to take me round a bit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't ask you to people's houses,&rdquo; protested he, knowing I'd not
      realize what a flimsy pretense that was.
    </p>
    <p>
      While we were talking I had been thinking&mdash;working out the
      proposition along lines he had indicated to me without knowing it. &ldquo;Look
      here, Sam,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You imagine I'm trying to butt in with a lot of
      people that don't know me and don't want to know me. But that ain't my
      point of view. Those people can be useful to me. I need 'em. What do I
      care whether they want to be useful to me or not? The machine'd have run
      down and rusted out long ago if you and your friends' idea of a gentleman
      had been taken seriously by anybody who had anything to do and knew how to
      do it. In this world you've got to <i>make</i> people do what's for your
      good and their own. Your idea of a gentleman was put forward by lazy
      fakirs who were living off of what their ungentlemanly ancestors had
      annexed, and who didn't want to be disturbed. So they 'fixed' the game by
      passing these rules you and your kind are fools enough to abide by&mdash;that
      is, you are fools, unless you haven't got brains enough to get on in a
      free-and-fair-for-all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sam laughed.. &ldquo;There's a lot of truth in what you say,&rdquo; he admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;However,&rdquo; I ended, &ldquo;my plans don't call for hurry just there. When I get
      ready to go round, I'll let you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VII. BLACKLOCK GOES INTO TRAINING
    </h2>
    <p>
      This brings me to the ugliest story my enemies have concocted against me.
      No one appreciates more thoroughly than I that, to rise high, a man must
      have his own efforts seconded by the flood of vituperation that his
      enemies send to overwhelm him, and which washes him far higher than he
      could hope to lift himself. So I do not here refer to any attack on me in
      the public prints; I think of them only with amusement and gratitude. The
      story that rankles is the one these foes of mine set creeping, like a
      snake under the fallen leaves, everywhere, anywhere, unseen, without a
      trail. It has been whispered into every ear&mdash;and it is, no doubt,
      widely believed&mdash;that I deliberately put old Bromwell Ellersly &ldquo;in a
      hole,&rdquo; and there tortured him until he consented to try to compel his
      daughter to marry me.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is possible that, if I had thought of such a devilish device, I might
      have tried it&mdash;is not all fair in love? But there was no need for my
      cudgeling my brains to carry that particular fortification on my way to
      what I had fixed my will upon. <i>Bromwell Ellersly came to me of his own
      accord</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      I suppose the Ellerslys must have talked me over in the family circle.
      However this may be, my acquaintance with her father began with Sam's
      asking me to lunch with him. &ldquo;The governor has heard me talk of you so
      much,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that he is anxious to meet you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I found him a dried-up, conventional old gentleman, very proud of his
      ancestors, none of whom I had ever heard of, and very positive that a
      great deal of deference was due him&mdash;though on what grounds I could
      not then, and can not now, make out. I soon discovered that it was the
      scent of my stock-tip generosity, wafted to him by Sammy, that had put him
      hot upon my trail. I hadn't gone far into his affairs before I learned
      that he had been speculating, mortgaging, kiting notes, doing what he
      called, and thought, &ldquo;business&rdquo; on a large scale. He regarded business as
      beneath the dignity and the intellect of a &ldquo;gentleman&rdquo;&mdash;how my gorge
      does rise at that word! So he put his great mind on it only for a few
      hours now and then; he reserved the rest of his time for what he regarded
      as the proper concerns of a gentleman&mdash;attending to social &ldquo;duties,&rdquo;
       reading pretentious books, looking at the pictures and listening to the
      music decreed fashionable.
    </p>
    <p>
      They charge that I put him &ldquo;in a hole.&rdquo; In fact, I found him at the bottom
      of a deep pit he had dug for himself; and when he first met me he was,
      without having the sense to realize it, just about to go smash, with not a
      penny for his old age. As soon as I had got this fact clear of the tangle,
      I showed it to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My God, what is to become of <i>me</i>?&rdquo; he said, That was his only
      thought&mdash;not, what is to become of my wife and daughter; but, what is
      to become of &ldquo;<i>me</i>!&rdquo; I do not blame him for this. Naturally enough,
      people who have always been used to everything become, unconsciously,
      monsters of egotism and selfishness; it is natural, too, that they should
      imagine themselves liberal and generous if they give away occasionally
      something that costs them, at most, nothing more serious than the
      foregoing of some extravagant luxury or other. I recite his remark simply
      to show what manner of man he was, what sort of creature I had to deal
      with.
    </p>
    <p>
      I offered to help him, and I did help him. Is there any one, knowing
      anything of the facts of life, who will censure me when I admit that I&mdash;with
      deliberation&mdash;simply tided him over, did not make for him and present
      to him a fortune? What chance should I have had, if I had been so absurdly
      generous to a man who deserved nothing but punishment for his selfish and
      bigoted mode of life? I took away his worst burdens; but I left him more
      than he could carry without my help. And it was not until he had appealed,
      in vain to all his social friends to relieve him of the necessity of my
      aid, not until he realized that I was his only hope of escaping a sharp
      comedown from luxury to very modest comfort in a flat somewhere&mdash;not
      until then did his wife send me an invitation to dinner. And I had not so
      much as hinted that I wanted it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall never forget the smallest detail of that dinner&mdash;it was a
      purely &ldquo;family&rdquo; affair, only the Ellerslys and I. I can feel now the
      oppressive atmosphere, the look as of impending sacrilege upon the faces
      of the old servants; I can see Mrs. Ellersly trying to condescend to be
      &ldquo;gracious,&rdquo; and treating me as if I were some sort of museum freak or
      menagerie exhibit. I can see Anita. She was like a statue of snow; she
      spoke not a word; if she lifted her eyes, I failed to note it. And when I
      was leaving&mdash;I with my collar wilted from the fierce, nervous strain
      I had been enduring&mdash;Mrs. Ellersly, in that voice of hers into which
      I don't believe any shade of a real human emotion ever penetrated, said:
      &ldquo;You must come to see us, Mr. Blacklock. We are always at home after
      five.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I looked at Miss Ellersly. She was white to the lips now, and the spangles
      on her white dress seemed bits of ice glittering there. She said nothing;
      but I knew she felt my look, and that it froze the ice the more closely in
      around her heart. &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; I muttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stumbled in the hall; I almost fell down the broad steps. I stopped at
      the first bar and took three drinks in quick succession. I went on down
      the avenue, breathing like an exhausted swimmer. &ldquo;I'll give her up!&rdquo; I
      cried aloud, so upset was I.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am a man of impulse; but I have trained myself not to be a <i>creature</i>
      of impulse, at least not in matters of importance. Without that patient
      and painful schooling, I shouldn't have got where I now am; probably I'd
      still be blacking boots, or sheet-writing for some bookmaker, or clerking
      it for some broker. Before I got to my rooms, the night air and my habit
      of the &ldquo;sober second thought&rdquo; had cooled me back to rationality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want her, I need her,&rdquo; I was saying to myself. &ldquo;I am worthier of her
      than are those mincing manikins she has been bred to regard as men. She is
      for me&mdash;she belongs to me. I'll abandon her to no smirking puppet
      who'd wear her as a donkey would a diamond. Why should I do myself and her
      an injury simply because she has been too badly brought up to know her own
      interest?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And now I see all the smooth frauds, all the weak people who never have
      purposes or passions worthy of the name, all the finicky, finger-dusting
      gentry with the &ldquo;fine souls,&rdquo; who flatter themselves that their timidity
      is the squeamishness of superior sensibilities&mdash;I see all these
      feeble folk fluttering their feeble fingers in horror of me. &ldquo;The brute!&rdquo;
       they cry; &ldquo;the bounder!&rdquo; Well, I accept the names quite cheerfully. Those
      are the epithets the wishy-washy always hurl at the strong; they put me in
      the small and truly aristocratic class of men who <i>do</i>. I proudly
      avow myself no subscriber to the code that was made by the shearers to
      encourage the sheep to keep on being nice docile animals, trotting meekly
      up to be shorn or slaughtered as their masters may decide. I harm no man,
      and no woman; but neither do I pause to weep over any man or any woman who
      flings himself or herself upon my steady spear. I try to be courteous and
      considerate to all; but I do not stop when some fellow who has something
      that belongs to me shouts &ldquo;Rude!&rdquo; at me to sheer me off.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the same time, her delicate beauty, her quiet, distinctive, high-bred
      manner, had thrust it home to me that in certain respects I was ignorant
      and crude&mdash;as who would not have been, brought up as was I? I knew
      there was, somewhere between my roughness of the uncut individuality and
      the smoothness of the planed and sand-papered nonentity of her &ldquo;set,&rdquo; a
      mean, better than either, better because more efficient.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this was clear to me I sent for my trainer. He was one of those
      spare, wiry Englishmen, with skin like tanned and painted hide&mdash;brown
      except where the bones seem about to push their sharp angles through, and
      there a frosty, winter-apple red. He dressed like a Deadwood gambler, he
      talked like a stable boy; but for all that, you couldn't fail to see he
      was a gentleman born and bred. Yes, he was a gentleman, though he mixed
      profanity into his ordinary flow of conversation more liberally than did I
      when in a rage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stood up before him, threw my coat back, thrust my thumbs into my
      trousers pockets and slowly turned about like a ready-made tailor's dummy.
      &ldquo;Monson,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;what do you think of me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked me over as if I were a horse he was about to buy. &ldquo;Sound, I'd
      say,&rdquo; was his verdict. &ldquo;Good wind&mdash;uncommon good wind. A goer, and a
      stayer. Not a lump. Not a hair out of place.&rdquo; He laughed. &ldquo;Action a bit
      high perhaps&mdash;for the track. But a grand reach.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know all that,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You miss my point. Suppose you wanted to enter
      me for&mdash;say, the Society Sweepstakes&mdash;what then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Um&mdash;um,&rdquo; he muttered reflectively. &ldquo;That's different.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't I look&mdash;sort of&mdash;new&mdash;as if the varnish was still
      sticky and might come off on the ladies' dresses and on the fine
      furniture?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;that!&rdquo; said he dubiously. &ldquo;But all those kinds of things are
      matters of taste.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Out with it!&rdquo; I commanded. &ldquo;Don't be afraid. I'm not one of those damn
      fools that ask for criticism when they want only flattery, as you ought to
      know by this time. I'm aware of my good points, know how good they are
      better than anybody else in the world. And I suspect my weak points&mdash;always
      did. I've got on chiefly because I made people tell me to my face what
      they'd rather have grinned over behind my back.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's your game?&rdquo; asked Monson. &ldquo;I'm in the dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll tell you, Monson. I hired you to train horses. Now I want to hire
      you to train me, too. As it's double work, it's double pay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say on,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and say it slow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want to marry,&rdquo; I explained. &ldquo;I want to inspect all the offerings
      before I decide. You are to train me so that I can go among the herds
      that'd shy off from me if I wasn't on to their little ways.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked suspiciously at me, doubtless thinking this some new development
      of &ldquo;American humor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean it,&rdquo; I assured him. &ldquo;I'm going to train, and train hard. I've got
      no time to lose. I must be on my way down the aisle inside of three
      months. I give you a free hand. I'll do just what you say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The job's out of my line,&rdquo; he protested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know better,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I've always seen the parlor under the stable in
      you. We'll begin right away. What do you think of these clothes?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;they're not exactly noisy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But&mdash;they're far
      from silent. That waistcoat&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped and gave me another
      nervous, timid look. He found it hard to believe a man of my sort, so
      self-assured, would stand the truth from a man of his second-fiddle sort.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; I commanded. &ldquo;Speak out! Mowbray Langdon had on one twice as loud
      the other day at the track.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, perhaps you'll remember, it was only his waistcoat that was loud&mdash;not
      he himself. Now, a man of your manner and voice and&mdash;you've got a
      look out of the eyes that'd wake the dead all by itself. People can feel
      you coming before they hear you. When they feel and hear and see all
      together&mdash;it's like a brass band in scarlet uniform, with a
      seven-foot, sky-blue drum major. If your hair wasn't so black and your
      eyes so steel-blue and sharp, and your teeth so big and strong and white,
      and your jaw such a&mdash;such a&mdash;<i>jaw</i>&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see the point,&rdquo; said I. And I did. &ldquo;You'll find you won't need to tell
      me many things twice. I've got a busy day before me here; so we'll have to
      suspend this until you come to dine with me at eight&mdash;at my rooms. I
      want you to put in the time well. Go to my house in the country and then
      up to my apartment; take my valet with you; look through all my belongings&mdash;shirts,
      ties, socks, trousers, waistcoats, clothes of every kind. Throw out every
      rag you think doesn't fit in with what I want to be. How's my grammar?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was proud of it; I had been taking more or less pains with my mode of
      speech for a dozen years. &ldquo;Rather too good,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;But that's better
      than making the breaks that aren't regarded as good form.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good form!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;That's it! That's what I want! What does 'good
      form' mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He laughed. &ldquo;You can search me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I could easier tell you&mdash;anything
      else. It's what everybody recognizes on sight, and nobody knows how to
      describe. It's like the difference between a cultivated 'jimson' weed and
      a wild one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like the difference between Mowbray Langdon and me,&rdquo; I suggested
      good-naturedly. &ldquo;How about my manners?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so bad,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Not so rotten bad. But&mdash;when you're polite,
      you're a little too polite; when you're not polite, you&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Show where I came from too plainly?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Speak right out&mdash;hit
      good and hard. Am I too frank for 'good form'?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You needn't bother about that,&rdquo; he assured me. &ldquo;Say whatever comes into
      your head&mdash;only, be sure the right sort of thing comes into your
      head. Don't talk too much about yourself, for instance. It's good form to
      think about yourself all the time; it's bad form to let people see it&mdash;in
      your talk. Say as little as possible about your business and about what
      you've got. Don't be lavish with the I's and the my's.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's harder,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'm a man who has always minded his own
      business, and cared for nothing else. What could I talk about, except
      myself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Blest if I know,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;Where you want to go, the last thing
      people mind is their own business&mdash;in talk, at least. But you'll get
      on all right if you don't worry too much about it. You've got natural
      independence, and an original way of putting things, and common sense.
      Don't be afraid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Afraid!&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I never knew what it was to be afraid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your nerve'll carry you through,&rdquo; he assured me. &ldquo;Nerve'll take a man
      anywhere.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You never said a truer thing in your life,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It'll take him
      wherever he wants, and, after he's there, it'll get him whatever he
      wants.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And with that, I, thinking of my plans and of how sure I was of success,
      began to march up and down the office with my chest thrown out&mdash;until
      I caught myself at it. That stopped me, set me off in a laugh at my own
      expense, he joining in with a kind of heartiness I did not like, though I
      did not venture to check him.
    </p>
    <p>
      So ended the first lesson&mdash;the first of a long series. I soon saw
      that Monson was being most useful to me&mdash;far more useful than if he
      were a &ldquo;perfect gentleman&rdquo; with nothing of the track and stable and back
      stairs about him. Being a sort of betwixt and between, he could appreciate
      my needs as they could not have been appreciated by a fellow who had never
      lived in the rough-and-tumble I had fought my way up through. And being at
      bottom a real gentleman, and not one of those nervous, snobbish
      make-believes, he wasn't so busy trying to hide his own deficiencies from
      me that he couldn't teach me anything. He wasn't afraid of being found
      out, as Sam&mdash;or perhaps, even Langdon&mdash;would have been in the
      same circumstances. I wonder if there is another country where so many
      gentlemen and ladies are born, or another where so many of them have their
      natural gentility educated out of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIII. ON THE TRAIL OF LANGDON
    </h2>
    <p>
      I had Monson with me twice each week-day&mdash;early in the morning and
      again after business hours until bed-time. Also he spent the whole of
      every Saturday and Sunday with me. He developed astonishing dexterity as a
      teacher, and as soon as he realized that I had no false pride and was
      thoroughly in earnest, he handled me without gloves&mdash;like a boxing
      teacher who finds that his pupil has the grit of a professional. It was
      easy enough for me to grasp the theory of my new business&mdash;it was
      nothing more than &ldquo;Be natural.&rdquo; But the rub came in making myself
      naturally of the right sort. I had&mdash;as I suppose every man of
      intelligence and decent instincts has&mdash;a disposition to be friendly
      and simple. But my manner was by nature what you might call abrupt. My not
      very easy task was to learn the subtle difference between the abrupt that
      injects a tonic into social intercourse, and the abrupt that makes the
      other person shut up with a feeling of having been insulted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, there was the matter of good taste in conversation. Monson found, as
      I soon saw, that my everlasting self-assertiveness was beyond cure. As I
      said to him: &ldquo;I'm afraid you might easier succeed in reducing my chest
      measure.&rdquo; But we worked away at it, and perhaps my readers may discover
      even in this narrative, though it is necessarily egotistic, evidence of at
      least an honest effort not to be baldly boastful. Monson would have liked
      to make of me a self-deprecating sort of person&mdash;such as he was
      himself, with the result that the other fellow always got the prize and he
      got left. But I would have none of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How are people to know about you, if you don't tell 'em?&rdquo; I argued.
      &ldquo;Don't you yourself admit that men take a man at his own valuation less a
      slight discount, and that women take him at his own valuation plus an
      allowance for his supposed modesty?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cracking yourself up is vulgar, nevertheless,&rdquo; declared the Englishman.
      &ldquo;It's the chief reason why we on the other side look on you Americans as a
      lot of vulgarians&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And are in awe of our superior cleverness,&rdquo; I put in.
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, do the best you can,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Only, you really must not brag and
      swagger, and you must get out of the habit of talking louder than any one
      else.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In the matter of dress, our task was easy. I had a fancy for bright colors
      and for strong contrasts; but I know I never indulged in clashes and
      discords. It was simply that in clothes I had the same taste as in
      pictures&mdash;the taste that made me prefer Rubens to Rembrandt. We cast
      out of my wardrobe everything in the least doubtful; and I gave away my
      jeweled canes, my pins and links and buttons for shirts and waistcoats
      except plain gold and pearls. I even left off the magnificent diamond I
      had worn for years on my little finger&mdash;but I didn't give away that
      stone; I put it by for resetting into an engagement ring. However, when I
      was as quietly dressed as it was possible for a gentleman to be, he still
      studied me dubiously, when he thought I wasn't seeing him. And I recall
      that he said once: &ldquo;It's your face, Blacklock. If you could only manage to
      look less like a Spanish bull dashing into the ring, gazing joyfully about
      for somebody to gore and toss!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I can't,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And I wouldn't if I could&mdash;because that's <i>me</i>!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      One Saturday he brought a dancing master down to my country place&mdash;Dawn
      Hill, which I bought of the Dumont estate and completely remodeled. I saw
      what the man's business was the instant I looked at him. I left him in the
      hall and took Monson into my den.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not for me!&rdquo; I protested. &ldquo;There's where I draw the line.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You don't understand,&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;This fellow, this Alphonse Lynch, out
      in the hall there, isn't going to teach you dancing so that you may dance,
      but so that you shall be less awkward in strange company.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My walk suits me,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And I don't fall over furniture or trip
      people up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True enough,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But you haven't the complete control of your
      body that'll make you unconscious of it when you're suddenly shot by a
      butler into a room full of people you suspect of being unfriendly and
      critical.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Not until he used his authority as trainer-in-full-charge, did I yield. It
      may seem absurd to some for a serious man like me solemnly to caper about
      in imitation of a scraping, grimacing French-Irishman; but Monson was
      right, and I haven't in the least minded the ridicule he has brought on me
      by tattling this and the other things everywhere, since he turned against
      me. It's nothing new under the sun for the crowds of chuckleheads to laugh
      where they ought to applaud; their habit is to laugh and to applaud in the
      wrong places. There's no part of my career that I'm prouder of than the
      whole of this thorough course of education in the trifles that are yet not
      trifles. To have been ignorant is no disgrace; the disgrace comes when one
      persists in ignorance and glories in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet those who make the most pretensions in this topsy-turvy of a world
      regard it as a disgrace to have been obscure and ignorant, and pride
      themselves upon their persistence in their own kind of obscurity and
      ignorance! No wonder the few strong men do about as they please with such
      a race of nincompoopery. If they didn't grow old and tired, what would
      they not do?
    </p>
    <p>
      All this time I was giving myself&mdash;or thought I was giving myself&mdash;chiefly
      to my business, as usual. I know now that the new interests had in fact
      crowded the things down town far into the background, had impaired my
      judgment, had suspended my common sense; but I had no inkling of this
      then, The most important matter that was occupying me down town was
      pushing Textile up toward par. Langdon's doubts, little though they
      influenced me, still made enough of an impression to cause me to test the
      market. I sold for him at ninety, as he had directed; I sold in quantity
      every day. But no matter how much I unloaded, the price showed no tendency
      to break.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said I to myself, &ldquo;is a testimonial to the skill with which I
      prepared for my bull campaign.&rdquo; And that seemed to me&mdash;all
      unsuspicious as I then was&mdash;a sufficient explanation of the
      steadiness of the stock which I had worked to establish in the public
      confidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt that, if my matrimonial plans should turn out as I confidently
      expected, I should need a much larger fortune than I had&mdash;for I was
      determined that my wife should have an establishment second to none.
      Accordingly, I enlarged my original plan. I had intended to keep close to
      Langdon in that plunge; I believed I controlled the market, but I hadn't
      been in Wall Street twenty years without learning that the worst
      thunderbolts fall from cloudless skies. Without being in the least
      suspicious of Langdon, and simply acting on the general principle that
      surprise and treachery are part of the code of high finance, I had
      prepared to guard, first, against being taken in the rear by a secret
      change of plan on Langdon's part, and second, against being involved and
      overwhelmed by a sudden secret attack on him from some associate of his
      who might think he had laid himself open to successful raiding.
    </p>
    <p>
      The market is especially dangerous toward Christmas and in the spring&mdash;toward
      Christmas the big fellows often juggle the stocks to get the money for
      their big Christmas gifts and alms; toward spring the motive is, of
      course, the extra summer expenses of their families and the commencement
      gifts to colleges. It was now late in the spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      I say, I had intended to be cautious. I abandoned caution and rushed in
      boldly, feeling that the market was, in general, safe and that Textile was
      under my control&mdash;and that I was one of the kings of high finance,
      with my lucky star in the zenith. I decided to continue my bull campaign
      on my own account for two weeks after I had unloaded for Langdon, to
      continue it until the stock was at par. I had no difficulty in pushing it
      to ninety-seven, and I was not alarmed when I found myself loaded up with
      it, quoted at ninety-eight for the preferred and thirty for the common. I
      assumed that I was practically its only supporter and that it would slowly
      settle back as I slowly withdrew my support.
    </p>
    <p>
      To my surprise, the stock did not yield immediately under my efforts to
      depress it. I sold more heavily; Textile continued to show a tendency to
      rise. I sold still more heavily; it broke a point or two, then steadied
      and rose again. Instead of sending out along my secret lines for inside
      information, as I should have done, and would have done had I not been in
      a state of hypnotized judgment&mdash;I went to Langdon! I who had been
      studying those scoundrels for twenty-odd years, and dealing directly with
      and for them for ten years!
    </p>
    <p>
      He wasn't at his office; they told me there that they didn't know whether
      he was at his town house or at his place in the country&mdash;&ldquo;probably in
      the country,&rdquo; said his down-town secretary, with elaborate carelessness.
      &ldquo;He wouldn't be likely to stay away from the office or not to send for me,
      if he were in town, would he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It takes an uncommon good liar to lie to me when I'm on the alert. As I
      was determined to see Langdon, I was in so far on the alert. And I felt
      the fellow was lying. &ldquo;That's reasonable,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Call me up, if you
      hear from him. I want to see him&mdash;important, but not immediate.&rdquo; And
      I went away, having left the impression that I would make no further
      effort.
    </p>
    <p>
      Incredible though it may seem, especially to those who know how careful I
      am to guard every point and to see in every friend a possible foe, I still
      did not suspect that smooth, that profound scoundrel. I do not use these
      epithets with heat. I flatter myself I am a connoisseur of finesse and can
      look even at my own affairs with judicial impartiality. And Langdon was,
      and is now, such a past master of finesse that he compels the admiration
      even of his victims. He's like one of those fabled Damascus blades. When
      he takes a leg off, the victim forgets to suffer in his amazement at the
      cleanness of the wound, in his incredulity that the leg is no longer part
      of him. &ldquo;Langdon,&rdquo; said I to myself, &ldquo;is a sly dog. No doubt he's busy
      about some woman, and has covered his tracks.&rdquo; Yet I ought, in the
      circumstances, instantly to have suspected that I was the person he was
      dodging.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went up to his house. You, no doubt, have often seen and often admired
      its beautiful façade, so simple that it hides its own magnificence from
      all but experienced eyes, so perfect in its proportions that it hides the
      vastness of the palace of which it is the face. I have heard men say: &ldquo;I'd
      like to have a house&mdash;a moderate-sized house&mdash;one about the size
      of Mowbray Langdon's&mdash;though perhaps a little more elegant, not so
      plain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That's typical of the man. You have to look closely at him, to study him,
      before you appreciate how he has combined a thousand details of manner and
      dress into an appearance which, while it can not but impress the ordinary
      man with its distinction, suggests to all but the very observant the most
      modest plainness and simplicity. How few realize that simplicity must be
      profound, complex, studied, not to be and to appear crude and coarse. In
      those days that truth had just begun to dawn on me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Langdon isn't at home,&rdquo; said the servant.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had been at his house once before; I knew he occupied the left side&mdash;the
      whole of the second floor, so shut off that it not only had a separate
      entrance, but also could not be reached by those in the right side of the
      house without descending to the entrance hall and ascending the left
      stairway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just take my card to his private secretary, to Mr. Rathburn,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;Mr. Langdon has doubtless left a message for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The butler hesitated, yielded, showed me into the reception-room off the
      entrance hall. I waited a few seconds, then adventured the stairway to the
      left, up which he had disappeared. I entered the small salon in which
      Langdon had received me on my other visit. From the direction of an open
      door, I heard his voice&mdash;he was saying: &ldquo;I am not at home. There's no
      message.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And still I did not realize that it was I he was avoiding!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's no use now, Langdon,&rdquo; I called cheerfully. &ldquo;Beg pardon for seeming
      to intrude. I misunderstood&mdash;or didn't hear where the servant said I
      was to wait. However, no harm done. So long! I'm off.&rdquo; But I made no move
      toward the door by which I had entered; instead, I advanced a few feet
      nearer the door from which his voice had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a brief&mdash;a very brief&mdash;pause, there came in Langdon's
      voice&mdash;laughing, not a trace of annoyance: &ldquo;I might have known! Come
      in, Matt!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      IX. LANGDON AT HOME
    </h2>
    <p>
      I entered, with an amused glance at the butler, who was giving over his
      heavy countenance to a delightful exhibition of disgust and discomfiture.
      It was Langdon's sitting-room. He had had the carved antique oak interior
      of a room in an old French palace torn out and transported to New York and
      set up for him. I had made a study of that sort of thing, and at Dawn Hill
      had done something toward realizing my own ideas of the splendid. But a
      glance showed me that I was far surpassed. What I had done seemed in
      comparison like the composition of a school-boy beside an essay by
      Goldsmith or Hazlitt.
    </p>
    <p>
      And in the midst of this quiet splendor sat, or rather lounged, Langdon,
      reading the newspapers. He was dressed in a dark blue velvet house-suit
      with facings and cords of blue silk a shade or so lighter than the suit. I
      had always thought him handsome; he looked now like a god. He was smoking
      a cigarette in an oriental holder nearly a foot long; but the air of the
      room, so perfect was the ventilation, instead of being scented with
      tobacco, had the odor of some fresh, clean, slightly saline perfume.
    </p>
    <p>
      I think what was in my mind must have shown in my face, must have subtly
      flattered him, for, when I looked at him, he was giving me a look of
      genuine friendly kindliness. &ldquo;This is&mdash;perfect, Langdon,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;And I think I'm a judge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Glad you like it,&rdquo; said he, trying to dissemble his satisfaction in so
      strongly impressing me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must take me through your house sometime,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;I'm going to
      build soon. No&mdash;don't be afraid I'll imitate. I'm too vain for that.
      But I want suggestions. I'm not ashamed to go to school to a master&mdash;to
      anybody, for that matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you build?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;A town house is a nuisance. If I could
      induce my wife to take the children to the country to live, I'd dispose of
      this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's it&mdash;the wife,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you have no wife. At least&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I replied with a laugh. &ldquo;Not yet. But I'm going to have.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I interpreted his expression then as amused cynicism. But I see a
      different meaning in it now. And I can recall his tone, can find a
      strained note which then escaped me in his usual mocking drawl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To marry?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I haven't heard of that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor no one else,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Except her,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not even except her,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But I've got my eye on her&mdash;and you
      know what that means with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; drawled he. Then he added, with a curious twinkle which I
      do not now misunderstand: &ldquo;We have somewhat the same weakness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shouldn't call it a weakness,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It's the quality that makes the
      chief difference between us and the common run&mdash;the fellows that have
      no purposes beyond getting comfortably through each day&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And getting real happiness,&rdquo; he interrupted, with just a tinge of
      bitterness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We wouldn't think it happiness,&rdquo; was my answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The worse for us,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;We're under the tyranny of to-morrow&mdash;and
      happiness is impossible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I look at your bedroom?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; he assented.
    </p>
    <p>
      I pushed open the door he indicated. At first glimpse I was disappointed.
      The big room looked like a section of a hospital ward. It wasn't until I
      had taken a second and very careful look at the tiled floor, walls,
      ceiling, that I noted that those plain smooth tiles were of the very
      finest, were probably of his own designing, certainly had been imported
      from some great Dutch or German kiln. Not an inch of drapery, not a
      picture, nothing that could hold dust or germs anywhere; a square of
      sanitary matting by the bed; another square opposite an elaborate
      exercising machine. The bed was of the simplest metallic construction&mdash;but
      I noted that the metal was the finest bronze. On it was a thin, hard
      mattress. You could wash the big room down and out with the hose, without
      doing any damage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite a contrast,&rdquo; said I, glancing from the one room to the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My architect is a crank on sanitation,&rdquo; he explained, from his lounge.
    </p>
    <p>
      I noted that the windows were huge&mdash;to admit floods of light&mdash;and
      that they were hermetically sealed so that the air should be only the pure
      air supplied from the ventilating apparatus. To many people that room
      would have seemed a cheaply got together cell; to me, once I had examined
      it, it was evidently built at enormous cost and represented an
      extravagance of common-sense luxury which was more than princely or royal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly my mind reverted to my business. &ldquo;How do you account for the
      steadiness of Textile, Langdon?&rdquo; I asked, returning to the carved
      sitting-room and trying to put those surroundings out of my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't account for it,&rdquo; was his languid, uninterested reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Any of your people under the market?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It isn't to my interest to have it supported, is it?&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; I admitted. &ldquo;But why doesn't it drop?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those letters of yours may have overeducated the public in confidence,&rdquo;
       suggested he. &ldquo;Your followers have the habit of believing implicitly
      whatever you say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, but I haven't written a line about Textile for nearly a month now,&rdquo;
       I pretended to object, my vanity fairly purring with pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's the only reason I can give,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are sure none of your people is supporting the stock?&rdquo; I asked, as a
      form and not for information; for I thought I knew they weren't&mdash;I
      trusted him to have seen to that.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'd like to get my holdings back,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I can't buy until it's down.
      And I know none of my people would dare support it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      You will notice he did not say directly that he was not himself supporting
      the market; he simply so answered me that I, not suspecting him, would
      think he reassured me. There is another of those mysteries of conscience.
      Had it been necessary, Langdon would have told me the lie flat and direct,
      would have told it without a tremor of the voice or a blink of the eye,
      would have lied to me as I have heard him, and almost all the big fellows,
      lie under oath before courts and legislative committees; yet, so long as
      it was possible, he would thus lie to me with lies that were not lies. As
      if negative lies are not falser and more cowardly than positive lies,
      because securer and more deceptive.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, the price must break,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;It won't be many days before
      the public begins to realize that there isn't anybody under Textile.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No sharp break!&rdquo; he said carelessly. &ldquo;No panic!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll see to that,&rdquo; replied I, with not a shadow of a notion of the
      subtlety behind his warning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope it will break soon,&rdquo; he then said, adding in his friendliest voice
      with what I now know was malignant treachery: &ldquo;You owe it to me to bring
      it down.&rdquo; That meant that he wished me to increase my already far too
      heavy and dangerous line of shorts.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then a voice&mdash;a woman's voice&mdash;came from the salon. &ldquo;May I
      come in? Do I interrupt?&rdquo; it said, and its tone struck me as having in it
      something of plaintive appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuse me a moment, Blacklock,&rdquo; said he, rising with what was for him
      haste.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he was too late. The woman entered, searching the room with a
      piercing, suspicious gaze. At once I saw, behind that look, a jealousy
      that pounced on every object that came into its view, and studied it with
      a hope that feared and a fear that hoped. When her eyes had toured the
      room, they paused upon him, seemed to be saying: &ldquo;You've baffled me again,
      but I'm not discouraged. I shall catch you yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my dear?&rdquo; said Langdon, whom she seemed faintly to amuse. &ldquo;It's
      only Mr. Blacklock. Mr. Blacklock, my wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I bowed; she looked coldly at me, and her slight nod was more than a hint
      that she wished to be left alone with her husband.
    </p>
    <p>
      I said to him: &ldquo;Well, I'll be off. Thank you for&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One moment,&rdquo; he interrupted. Then to his wife: &ldquo;Anything special?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She flushed. &ldquo;No&mdash;nothing special. I just came to see you. But if I
      am disturbing you&mdash;as usual&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;When Blacklock and I have finished, I'll come to
      you. It won't be longer than an hour&mdash;or so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; she said almost savagely. Evidently she was one of those
      women who dare not make &ldquo;scenes&rdquo; with their husbands in private and so are
      compelled to take advantage of the presence of strangers to ease their
      minds. She was an extremely pretty woman, would have been beautiful but
      for the worn, strained, nervous look that probably came from her jealousy.
      She was small in stature; her figure was approaching that stage at which a
      woman is called &ldquo;well rounded&rdquo; by the charitable, fat by the frank and
      accurate. A few years more and she would be hunting down and destroying
      early photographs. There was in the arrangement of her hair and in the
      details of her toilet&mdash;as well as in her giving way to her tendency
      to fat&mdash;that carelessness that so many women allow themselves, once
      they are safely married to a man they care for.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Curious,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;that being married to him should make her feel
      secure enough of him to let herself go, although her instinct is warning
      her all the time that she isn't in the least sure of him. Her laziness
      must be stronger than her love&mdash;her laziness or her vanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While I was thus sizing her up, she was reluctantly leaving. She didn't
      even give me the courtesy of a bow&mdash;whether from self-absorption or
      from haughtiness I don't know; probably from both. She was a Western
      woman, and when those Western women do become perverts to New York's
      gospel of snobbishness, they are the worst snobs in the push. Langdon,
      regardless of my presence, looked after her with a faintly amused, faintly
      contemptuous expression that&mdash;well, it didn't fit in with <i>my</i>
      notion of what constitutes a gentleman. In fact, I didn't know which of
      them had come off the worse in that brief encounter in my presence. It was
      my first glimpse of a fashionable behind-the-scenes, and it made a
      profound impression upon me&mdash;an impression that has grown deeper as I
      have learned how much of the typical there was in it. Dirt looks worse in
      the midst of finery than where one naturally expects to find it&mdash;looks
      worse, and is worse.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we were seated again, Langdon, after a few reflective puffs at his
      cigarette, said: &ldquo;So you're about to marry?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But as I haven't asked her yet, I can't be quite
      sure.&rdquo; For obvious reasons I wasn't so enamored of the idea of matrimony
      as I had been a few minutes before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust you're making a sensible marriage,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;If the part that
      may be glamour should by chance rub clean away, there ought to be
      something to make one feel he wasn't wholly an ass.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very sensible,&rdquo; I replied with emphasis. &ldquo;I want the woman. I need her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He inspected the coal of his cigarette, lifting his eyebrows at it.
      Presently he said: &ldquo;And she?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know how she feels about it&mdash;as I told you,&rdquo; I replied
      curtly. In spite of myself, my eyes shifted and my skin began to burn. &ldquo;By
      the way, Langdon, what's the name of your architect?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wilder and Marcy,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;They're fairly satisfactory, if you tell 'em
      exactly what you want and watch 'em all the time. They're perfectly
      conventional and so can't distinguish between originality that's artistic
      and originality that's only bizarre. They're like most people&mdash;they
      keep to the beaten track and fight tooth and nail against being drawn out
      of it and against those who do go out of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll have a talk with Marcy this very day,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, you're in a hurry!&rdquo; He laughed. &ldquo;And you haven't asked her. You
      remind me of that Greek philosopher who was in love with Lais. They asked
      him: 'But does she love you?' And he said: 'One does not inquire of the
      fish one likes whether it likes one.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I flushed. &ldquo;You'll pardon me, Langdon,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;but I don't like that. It
      isn't my attitude at all toward&mdash;the right sort of women.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked half-quizzical, half-apologetic. &ldquo;Ah, to be sure,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I
      forgot you weren't a married man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't think I'll ever lose the belief that there's a quality in a good
      woman for a man to&mdash;to respect and look up to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I envy you,&rdquo; said he, but his eyes were mocking still. I saw he was a
      little disdainful of my rebuking <i>him</i>&mdash;and angry at me, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Woman's a subject of conversation that men ought to avoid,&rdquo; said I easily&mdash;for,
      having set myself right, I felt I could afford to smooth him down.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, good-by&mdash;good luck&mdash;or, if I may be permitted to say it
      to one so touchy, the kind of luck you're bent on having, whether it's
      good or bad.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If my luck ain't good, I'll make it good,&rdquo; said I with a laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      And so I left him, with a look in his eyes that came back to me long
      afterward when I realized the full meaning of that apparently almost
      commonplace interview.
    </p>
    <p>
      That same day I began to plunge on Textile, watching the market closely,
      that I might go more slowly should there be signs of a dangerous break&mdash;for
      no more than Langdon did I want a sudden panicky slump. The price held
      steady, however; but I, fool that I was, certain the fall must come,
      plunged on, digging the pit for my own destruction deeper and deeper.
    </p>
    <p>
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      X. TWO &ldquo;PILLARS OF SOCIETY&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      I was neither seeing nor hearing from the Ellerslys, father or son; but,
      as I knew why, I was not disquieted. I had made them temporarily easy in
      their finances just before that dinner, and they, being fatuous, incurable
      optimists, were probably imagining they would never need me again. I did
      not disturb them until Monson and I had got my education so well under way
      that even I, always severe in self-criticism and now merciless, was
      compelled to admit to myself a distinct change for the better. You know
      how it is with a boy at the &ldquo;growing age&rdquo;&mdash;how he bursts out of
      clothes and ideas of life almost as fast as they are supplied him, so
      swiftly is he transforming into a man. Well, I think it is much that way
      with us Americans all our lives; we continue on and on at the growing age.
      And if one of us puts his or her mind hard upon growth in some particular
      direction, you see almost overnight a development fledged to the last
      tail-feathers and tip of top-knot where there was nothing at all. What
      miracles can be wrought by an open mind and a keen sense of the cumulative
      power of the unwasted minute! All this apropos of a very trivial matter,
      you may be thinking. But, be careful how you judge what is trivial and
      what important in a universe built up of atoms.
    </p>
    <p>
      However&mdash;When my education seemed far enough advanced, I sent for
      Sam. He, after his footless fashion, didn't bother to acknowledge my note.
      His margin account with me was at the moment straight; I turned to his
      father. I had my cashier send him a formal, type-written letter signed
      Blacklock &amp; Co., informing him that his account was overdrawn and that
      we &ldquo;would be obliged if he would give the matter his immediate attention.&rdquo;
       The note must have reached him the following morning; but he did not come
      until, after waiting three days, &ldquo;we&rdquo; sent him a sharp demand for a check
      for the balance due us.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pleasing, aristocratic-looking figure he made as he entered my office,
      with his air of the man whose hands have never known the stains of toil,
      with his manner of having always received deferential treatment. There was
      no pretense in my curt greeting, my tone of &ldquo;despatch your business, sir,
      and be gone&rdquo;; for I was both busy and much irritated against him. &ldquo;I guess
      you want to see our cashier,&rdquo; said I, after giving him a hasty,
      absent-minded hand-shake. &ldquo;My boy out there will take you to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old do-nothing's face lost its confident, condescending expression.
      His lip quivered, and I think there were tears in his bad, dim, gray-green
      eyes. I suppose he thought his a profoundly pathetic case; no doubt he
      hadn't the remotest conception what he really was&mdash;and no doubt,
      also, there are many who would honestly take his view. As if the fact that
      he was born with all possible advantages did not make him and his plight
      inexcusable. It passes my comprehension why people of his sort, when
      suffering from the calamities they have deliberately brought upon
      themselves by laziness and self-indulgence and extravagance, should get a
      sympathy that is withheld from those of the honest human rank and file
      falling into far more real misfortunes not of their own making.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, my dear Blacklock,&rdquo; said he, cringing now as easily as he had
      condescended&mdash;how to cringe and how to condescend are taught at the
      same school, the one he had gone to all his life. &ldquo;It is you I want to
      talk with. And, first, I owe you my apologies. I know you'll make
      allowances for one who was never trained to business methods. I've always
      been like a child in those matters.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You frighten me,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;The last 'gentleman' who came throwing me off
      my guard with that plea was shrewd enough to get away with a very large
      sum of my hard-earned money. Besides&rdquo;&mdash;and I was laughing, though not
      too good-naturedly&mdash;&ldquo;I've noticed that you 'gentlemen' become vague
      about business only when the balance is against you. When it's in your
      favor, you manage to get your minds on business long enough to collect to
      the last fraction of a cent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He heartily echoed my laugh. &ldquo;I only wish I <i>were</i> clever,&rdquo; said he.
      &ldquo;However, I've come to ask your indulgence. I'd have been here before, but
      those who owe me have been putting me off. And they're of the sort of
      people whom it's impossible to press.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'd like to accommodate you further,&rdquo; said I, shedding that last little
      hint as a cliff sheds rain, &ldquo;but your account has been in an
      unsatisfactory state for nearly a month now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure you'll give me a few days longer,&rdquo; was his easy reply, as if we
      were discussing a trifle. &ldquo;By the way, you haven't been to see us yet.
      Only this morning my wife was wondering when you'd come. You quite
      captivated her, Blacklock. Can't you dine with us to-morrow night&mdash;no,
      Sunday&mdash;at eight? We're having in a few people I think you'd like to
      meet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      If any one imagines that this bald, businesslike way of putting it set my
      teeth on edge, let him dismiss the idea; my nerves had been too long
      accustomed to the feel of the harsh facts of life. It is evidence of the
      shrewdness of the old fellow at character-reading that he wasted none of
      his silk and velvet pretenses upon me, and so saved his time and mine.
      Probably he wished me to see that I need have no timidity or false shame
      in dealing with him, that when the time came to talk business I was free
      to talk it in my own straight fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Glad to come,&rdquo; said I, wishing to be rid of him, now that my point was
      gained. &ldquo;We'll let the account stand open for the present&mdash;I rather
      think your stocks are going up. Give my regards to&mdash;the ladies,
      please, especially to Miss Anita.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He winced, but thanked me graciously; gave me his soft, fine hand to shake
      and departed, as eager to be off as I to be rid of him. &ldquo;Sunday next&mdash;at
      eight,&rdquo; were his last words. &ldquo;Don't fail us&rdquo;&mdash;that in the tone of a
      king addressing some obscure person whom he had commanded to court. It may
      be that old Ellersly was wholly unconscious of his superciliousness,
      fancied he was treating me as if I were almost an equal; but I suspect he
      rather accentuated his natural manner, with the idea of impressing upon me
      that in our deal he was giving at least as much as I.
    </p>
    <p>
      I recall that I thought about him for several minutes after he was gone&mdash;philosophized
      on the folly of a man's deliberately weaving a net to entangle himself. As
      if any man was ever caught in any net not of his own weaving and setting;
      as if I myself were not just then working at the last row of meshes of a
      net in which I was to ensnare myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      My petty and inevitable success with that helpless creature added
      amazingly, ludicrously, to that dangerous elation which, as I can now see,
      had been growing in me ever since the day Roebuck yielded so readily to my
      demands as to National Coal. The whole trouble with me was that up to that
      time I had won all my victories by the plainest kind of straightaway hard
      work. I was imagining myself victor in contests of wit against wit, when,
      in fact, no one with any especial equipment of brains had ever opposed me;
      all the really strong men had been helping me because they found me
      useful. Too easy success&mdash;there is the clue to the wild folly of my
      performances in those days, a folly that seems utterly inconsistent with
      the reputation for shrewdness I had, and seemed to have earned.
    </p>
    <p>
      I can find a certain small amount of legitimate excuse for my falling
      under Langdon's spell. He had, and has, fascinations, through personal
      magnetism, which it is hardly in human nature to resist. But for my
      self-hypnotism in the case of Roebuck, I find no excuse whatever for
      myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sent for me and told me what share in National Coal they had decided to
      give me for my Manasquale mines. &ldquo;Langdon and Melville,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;think
      me too liberal; far too liberal, my boy. But I insisted&mdash;in your case
      I felt we could afford to be generous as well as just.&rdquo; All this with an
      air that was a combination of the pastor and the parent.
    </p>
    <p>
      I can't even offer the excuse of not having seen that he was a hypocrite.
      I felt his hypocrisy at once, and my first impulse was to jump for my
      breastworks. But instantly my vanity got behind me, held me in the open,
      pushed me on toward him. If you will notice, almost all &ldquo;confidence&rdquo; games
      rely for success chiefly upon enlisting a man's vanity to play the traitor
      to his judgment. So, instead of reading his liberality as plain proof of
      intended treachery, I read it as plain proof of my own greatness, and of
      the fear it had inspired in old Roebuck. Laugh <i>with</i> me if you like;
      but, before you laugh <i>at</i> me, think carefully&mdash;those of you who
      have ever put yourselves to the test on the field of action&mdash;think
      carefully whether you have never found that your head decoration which you
      thought a crown was in reality the peaked and belled cap of the fool.
    </p>
    <p>
      But my vanity was not done with me. Led on by it, I proceeded to have one
      of those ridiculous &ldquo;generous impulses&rdquo;&mdash;I persuaded myself that
      there must be some decency in this liberality, in addition to the prudence
      which I flattered myself was the chief cause. &ldquo;I have been unjust to
      Roebuck,&rdquo; I thought. &ldquo;I have been misjudging his character.&rdquo; And
      incredible though it seems, I said to him with a good deal of genuine
      emotion: &ldquo;I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Roebuck. And, instead of
      trying, I want to apologize to you. I have thought many hard things
      against you; have spoken some of them. I had better have been attending to
      my own conscience, instead of criticizing yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had often thought his face about the most repulsive, hypocrisy-glozed
      concourse of evil passions that ever fronted a fiend in the flesh. It had
      seemed to me the fitting result of a long career which, according to
      common report, was stained with murder, with rapacity and heartless
      cruelty, with the most brutal secret sensuality, and which had left in its
      wake the ruins of lives and hearts and fortunes innumerable. I had looked
      on the vast wealth he had heaped mountain high as a monument to
      devil-daring&mdash;other men had, no doubt, dreamed of doing the ferocious
      things he had done, but their weak, human hearts failed when it came to
      executing such horrible acts, and they had to be content with smaller
      fortunes, with the comparatively small fruits of their comparatively small
      infamies. He had dared all, had won; the most powerful bowed with quaking
      knees before him, and trembled lest they might, by a blundering look or
      word, excite his anger and cause him to snatch their possessions from
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus I had regarded him, accepting the universal judgment, believing the
      thousand and one stories. But as his eyes, softened by his hugely generous
      act, beamed upon me now, I was amazed that I had so misjudged him. In that
      face which I had thought frightful there was, to my hypnotized gaze, the
      look of strong, sincere&mdash;yes, holy&mdash;beauty and power&mdash;the
      look of an archangel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you, Blacklock,&rdquo; said he, in a voice that made me feel as if I were
      a little boy in the crossroads church, believing I could almost see the
      angels floating above the heads of the singers in the choir behind the
      preacher. &ldquo;Thank you. I am not surprised that you have misjudged me. God
      has given me a great work to do, and those who do His will in this wicked
      world must expect martyrdom. I should never have had the courage to do
      what I have done, what He has done through me, had He not guided my every
      step. You are not a religious man?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I try to do what's square,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But I'd prefer not to talk about
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's right! That's right!&rdquo; he approved earnestly. &ldquo;A man's religion is
      a matter between himself and his God. But I hope, Matthew, you will never
      forget that, unless you have daily, hourly communion with Almighty God,
      you will never be able to bear the great burdens, to do the great work
      fearlessly, disregarding the lies of the wicked, and, hardest of all to
      endure, the honestly-mistaken judgments of honest men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll look into it,&rdquo; said I. And I don't know to what lengths of foolish
      speech I should have gone had I not been saved by an office boy
      interrupting with a card for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, here's Walters now,&rdquo; said he. Then to the boy: &ldquo;Bring him in when I
      ring.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I rose to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, sit down, Blacklock,&rdquo; he insisted. &ldquo;You are in with us now, and you
      may learn something by seeing how I deal with the larger problems that
      face men in these large undertakings, the problems that have faced me in
      each new enterprise I have inaugurated to the glory of God.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Naturally, I accepted with enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      You would not believe what a mood I had by this time been worked into by
      my rampant and raging vanity and emotionalism and by his snake-like
      charming. &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; I said, with an energetic warmth that must have
      secretly amused him mightily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When my reorganization of the iron industry proved such a great success,
      and God rewarded my labors with large returns,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I looked
      about me to see what new work He wished me to undertake, how He wished me
      to invest His profits. And I saw the coal industry and the coal-carrying
      railroads in confusion, with waste on every side, and godless competition.
      Thousands of widows and orphans who had invested in coal railways and
      mines were getting no returns. Labor was fitfully employed, owing to
      alternations of over-production and no production at all. I saw my work
      ready for my hand. And now we are bringing order out of chaos. This man
      Walters, useful up to a certain point, has become insolent, corrupt, a
      stumbling-block in our way.&rdquo; Here he pressed the button of his electric
      bell.
    </p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XI. WHEN A MAN IS NOT A MAN
    </h2>
    <p>
      Walters entered. He was one of the great railway presidents, was
      universally regarded as a power, though I, of course, knew that he, like
      so many other presidents of railways, of individual corporations, of
      banks, of insurance companies, and high political officials in cities,
      states and the nation, was little more than a figurehead put up and used
      by the inside financial ring. As he shifted from leg to leg, holding his
      hat and trying to steady his twitching upper lip, he looked as one of his
      smallest section-bosses would have looked, if called up for a wigging.
    </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck shook hands cordially with him, responded to his nervous glance at
      me with:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Blacklock is practically in our directory.&rdquo; We all sat, then Roebuck
      began in his kindliest tone:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have decided, Walters, that we must give your place to a stronger man.
      Your gross receipts, outside of coal, have fallen rapidly and steadily for
      the past three quarters. You were put into the presidency to bring them
      up. They have shown no change beyond what might have been expected in the
      natural fluctuations of freight. We calculated on resuming dividends a
      year ago. We have barely been able to meet the interest on our bonds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, Mr. Roebuck,&rdquo; pleaded Walters, &ldquo;you doubled the bonded indebtedness
      of the road just before I took charge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The money went into improvements, into increasing your facilities, did it
      not?&rdquo; inquired Roebuck, his paw as soft as a playful tiger's.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Part of it,&rdquo; said Walters. &ldquo;But you remember the reorganizing syndicate
      got five millions, and then the contracts for the new work had to be given
      to construction companies in which directors of the road were silent
      partners. Then they are interested in the supply companies from which I
      must buy. You know what all that means, Mr. Roebuck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Roebuck, still smooth and soft. &ldquo;But if there was waste,
      you should have reported&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; demanded Walters. &ldquo;Every one of our directors, including
      yourself, Mr. Roebuck, is a stock-holder&mdash;a large stock-holder&mdash;in
      one or more of those companies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you proof of this, Walters?&rdquo; asked Roebuck, looking profoundly
      shocked. &ldquo;It's a very grave charge&mdash;a criminal charge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Proof?&rdquo; said Walters, &ldquo;You know how that is. The real books of all big
      companies are kept in the memories of the directors&mdash;and mighty
      treacherous memories they are.&rdquo; This with a nervous laugh. &ldquo;As for the
      holdings of directors in construction and supply companies&mdash;most of
      those holdings are in other names&mdash;all of them are disguised where
      the connection is direct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck shook his head sadly. &ldquo;You admit, then, that you have allowed
      millions of the road's money to be wasted, that you made no complaint, no
      effort to stop the waste; and your only defense is that you <i>suspect</i>
      the directors of fraud. And you accuse them to excuse yourself&mdash;accuse
      them with no proof. Were you in any of those companies, Walters?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, his eyes shifting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck's face grew stern. &ldquo;You bought two hundred thousand dollars of the
      last issue of government bonds, they tell me, with your two years' profits
      from the Western Railway Construction Company.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I bought no bonds,&rdquo; blustered Walters. &ldquo;What money I have I made out of
      speculating in the stock of my road&mdash;on legitimate inside
      information.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your uncle in Wilkesbarre, I meant,&rdquo; pursued Roebuck.
    </p>
    <p>
      Walters reddened, looked straight at Roebuck without speaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you still deny?&rdquo; demanded Roebuck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw everybody&mdash;<i>everybody</i>&mdash;grafting,&rdquo; said Walters
      boldly, &ldquo;and I thought I might as well take my share. It's part of the
      business.&rdquo; Then he added cynically: &ldquo;That's the way it is nowadays. The
      lower ones see the higher ones raking off, and they rake off, too&mdash;down
      to conductors and brakemen. We caught some trackwalkers in a conspiracy to
      dispose of the discarded ties and rails the other day.&rdquo; He laughed. &ldquo;We
      jailed <i>them</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you can show that any director has taken anything that did not belong
      to him, if you can show that a single contract you let to a construction
      or a supply company&mdash;except, of course, the contracts you let to
      yourself&mdash;of them I know nothing, suspect much&mdash;if you can show
      one instance of these criminal doings, Mr. Walters, I shall back you up
      with all my power in prosecution.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course I can't show it,&rdquo; cried Walters. &ldquo;If I tried, wouldn't they
      ruin and disgrace me, perhaps send me to the penitentiary? Wasn't I the
      one that passed on and signed their contracts? And wouldn't they&mdash;wouldn't
      you, Mr. Roebuck&mdash;have fired me if I had refused to sign?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excuses, excuses, Walters,&rdquo; was Roebuck's answer, with a sad,
      disappointed look, as if he had hoped Walters would make a brighter
      showing for himself. &ldquo;How many times have you yourself talked to me of
      this eternal excuse habit of men who fail? And if I expended my limited
      brain-power in looking into all the excuses and explanations, what energy
      or time would I have for constructive work? All I can do is to select a
      man for a position and to judge him by results. You were put in charge to
      produce dividends. You haven't produced them. I'm sorry, and I venture to
      hope that things are not so bad as you make out in your eagerness to
      excuse yourself. For the sake of old times, Tom, I ignore your angry
      insinuations against me. I try to be just, and to be just one must always
      be impersonal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Walters with an air of desperation, &ldquo;give me another year,
      Mr. Roebuck, and I'll produce results all right. I'll break the agreements
      and cut rates. I'll freeze out the branch roads and our minority
      stock-holders, I'll keep the books so that all the expert accountants in
      New York couldn't untangle them. I'll wink at and commit and order
      committed all the necessary crimes. I don't know why I've been so
      squeamish, when there were so many penitentiary offenses that I did
      consent to, and, for that matter, commit, without a quiver. I thought I
      ought to draw the line somewhere&mdash;and I drew it at keeping my
      personal word and at keeping the books reasonably straight. But I'll go
      the limit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I'll never forget Roebuck's expression; it was perfect, simply perfect&mdash;a
      great and good man outraged beyond endurance, but a Christian still. &ldquo;You
      have made it impossible for me to temper justice with mercy, Walters,&rdquo;
       said he. &ldquo;If it were not for the long years of association, for the
      affection for you which has grown up in me, I should hand you over to the
      fate you have earned. You tell me you have been committing crimes in my
      service. You tell me you will commit more and greater crimes. I can
      scarcely believe my own ears.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Walters laughed scornfully&mdash;the reckless laugh of a man who suddenly
      sees that he is cornered and must fight for his life. &ldquo;Rot!&rdquo; he jeered.
      &ldquo;Rot! You always have been a wonder at juggling with your conscience. But
      do you expect me to believe you think yourself innocent because you do not
      yourself execute the orders you issue&mdash;orders that can be carried out
      only by committing crimes?&rdquo; Walters was now beside himself with rage. He
      gave the reins to that high horse he had been riding ever since he was
      promoted to the presidency of the great coal road. He began to lay on whip
      and spur. &ldquo;Do you think,&rdquo; he cried to Roebuck, &ldquo;the blood of those five
      hundred men drowned in the Pequot mine is not on <i>your</i> hands&mdash;<i>your</i>
      head? You, who ordered John Wilkinson to suppress the competition the
      Pequot was giving you, ordered him in such a way that he knew the
      alternative was his own ruin? He shot himself&mdash;yet he had as good an
      excuse as you, for he, too, passed on the order until it got to the poor
      fireman&mdash;that wretched fellow they sent to the penitentiary for life?
      And as sure as there is a God in Heaven, you will some day do a long, long
      sentence in whatever hell there is, for letting that wretch rot in prison&mdash;yes,
      and for John Wilkinson's suicide, and for the lives of those five hundred
      drowned. Your pensions to the widows and orphans can't save you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I listened to this tirade astounded. Used as I was to men losing their
      heads through vanity, I could not credit my own ears and eyes when they
      reported to me this insane exhibition. I looked at Roebuck. He was wearing
      an expression of beatific patience; he would have made a fine study for a
      picture of the martyr at the stake.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I forgive you, Tom,&rdquo; he said, when Walters stopped for breath. &ldquo;Your own
      sinful heart makes you see the black of sin upon everything. I had heard
      that you were going about making loud boasts of your power over your
      employers, but I tried not to believe it. I see now that you have, indeed,
      lost your senses. Your prosperity has been too much for your good sense.&rdquo;
       He sighed mournfully. &ldquo;I shall not interfere to prevent your getting a
      position elsewhere,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;But after what you have confessed,
      after your slanders, how can I put you back in your old place out West, as
      I intended? How can I continue the interest in you and care for your
      career that I have had, in spite of all your shortcomings? I who raised
      you up from a clerk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Raised me up as you fellows always raise men up&mdash;because you find
      them clever at doing your dirty work. I was a decent, honest fellow when
      you first took notice of me and tempted me. But, by God, Mr. Roebuck, if
      I've sold out beyond hope of living decent again, I'll have my price&mdash;to
      the last cent. You've got to leave me where I am or give me a place and
      salary equally as good.&rdquo; This Walters said blusteringly, but beneath I
      could detect the beginnings of a whine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are angry, Tom,&rdquo; said Roebuck soothingly. &ldquo;I have hurt your vanity&mdash;it
      is one of the heaviest crosses I have to bear, that I must be continually
      hurting the vanity of men. Go away and&mdash;and calm down. Think the
      situation over coolly; then come and apologize to me, and I will do what I
      can to help you. As for your threats&mdash;when you are calm, you will see
      how idle they are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Walters gave a sort of groan; and though I, blinded by my prejudices in
      favor of Roebuck and of the crowd with whom my interests lay, had been
      feeling that he was an impudent and crazy ingrate, I pitied him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What proofs have I got?&rdquo; he said desperately. &ldquo;If I show up the things I
      know about, I show up myself, and everybody will say I'm lying about you
      and the others in the effort to save myself. The newspapers would denounce
      me as a treacherous liar&mdash;you fellows own or control or foozle them
      in one way and another. And if I was believed, who'd prosecute you and
      what court'd condemn you? Don't you own both political parties and make
      all the tickets, and can't you ruin any office-holders who lifted a finger
      against you? What a hell of a state of affairs!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A swifter or a weaker descent I never witnessed. My pity changed to
      contempt. &ldquo;This fellow, with his great reputation,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;is a fool
      and a knave, and a weak one at that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go away now, Tom,&rdquo; said Roebuck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When you're master of yourself again, come to see me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Master of myself!&rdquo; cried Walters bitterly. &ldquo;Who that's got anything to
      lose is master of himself in this country?&rdquo; With shoulders sagging and a
      sort of stumble in his gait, he went toward the door. He paused there to
      say: &ldquo;I've served too long, Mr. Roebuck. There's no fight in me. I thought
      there was, but there ain't. Do the best you can for me.&rdquo; And he took
      himself out of our sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      You will wonder how I was ever able to blind myself to the reality of this
      frightful scene. But please remember that in this world every thought and
      every act is a mixture of the good and the bad; and the one or the other
      shows the more prominently according to one's point of view. There
      probably isn't a criminal in any cell, anywhere, no matter what he may say
      in sniveling pretense in the hope of lighter sentence, who doesn't at the
      bottom of his heart believe his crime or crimes somehow justifiable&mdash;and
      who couldn't make out a plausible case for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      At that time I was stuffed with the arrogance of my fancied membership in
      the caste of directing financial geniuses; I was looking at everything
      from the viewpoint of the brotherhood of which Roebuck was the strongest
      brother, and of which I imagined myself a full and equal member. I did
      not, I could not, blind myself to the vivid reminders of his
      relentlessness; but I knew too well how necessary the iron hand and the
      fixed purpose are to great affairs to judge him as infuriated Walters,
      with his vanity savagely wounded, was judging him. I'd as soon have
      thought of describing General Grant as a murderer, because he ordered the
      battles in which men were killed or because he planned and led the
      campaigns in which subordinates committed rapine and pillage and
      assassination. I did not then see the radical difference&mdash;did not
      realize that while Grant's work was at the command of patriotism and
      necessity, there was no necessity whatever for Roebuck's getting rich but
      the command of his own greedy and cruel appetites.
    </p>
    <p>
      Don't misunderstand me. My morals are practical, not theoretical. Men must
      die, old customs embodied in law must be broken, the venal must be bribed
      and the weak cowed and compelled, in order that civilization may advance.
      You can't establish a railway or a great industrial system by rose-water
      morality. But I shall show, before I finish, that Roebuck and his gang of
      so-called &ldquo;organizers of industry&rdquo; bear about the same relation to
      industry that the boll weevil bears to the cotton crop.
    </p>
    <p>
      I'll withdraw this, if any one can show me that, as the result of the
      activities of those parasites, anybody anywhere is using or is able to use
      a single pound or bushel or yard more of any commodity whatsoever. I'll
      withdraw it, if I can not show that but for those parasites, bearing
      precisely the same relation to our society that the kings and nobles and
      priests bore to France before the Revolution, everybody except them would
      have more goods and more money than they have under the system that
      enables these parasites to overshadow the highways of commerce with their
      strongholds and to clog them with their toll-gates. They know little about
      producing, about manufacturing, about distributing, about any process of
      industry. Their skill is in temptation, in trickery and in terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      On that day, however, I sided&mdash;honestly, as I thought&mdash;with
      Roebuck. What I saw and heard increased my admiration of the man, my
      already profound respect for his master mind. And when, just after Walters
      went out, he leaned back in his chair and sat silent with closed eyes and
      moving lips, I&mdash;yes, I, Matt Blacklock, &ldquo;Black Matt,&rdquo; as they call me&mdash;was
      awed in the presence of this great and good man at prayer!
    </p>
    <p>
      How he and that God of his must have laughed at me! So infatuated was I
      that, clear as it is that he'd never have let me be present at such a
      scene without a strong ulterior motive, not until he himself long
      afterward made it impossible for me to deceive myself did I penetrate to
      his real purpose&mdash;that he wished to fill me with a prudent dread and
      fear of him, with a sense of the absoluteness of his power and of the
      hopelessness of trying to combat it. But at the time I thought&mdash;imbecile
      that my vanity had made me&mdash;at the time I thought he had let me be
      present because he genuinely liked, admired and trusted me!
    </p>
    <p>
      Is it not amazing that one who could fall into such colossal blunders
      should survive to tell of them? I would not have survived had not Roebuck
      and his crowd been at the same time making an even more colossal
      misestimate of me than I was making of them. My attack of vanity was
      violent, but temporary; theirs was equally violent, and chronic and
      incurable to boot.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XII. ANITA
    </h2>
    <p>
      On my first day in long trousers I may have been more ill at ease than I
      was that Sunday evening at the Ellerslys'; but I doubt it.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I came into their big drawing-room and took a look round at the
      assembled guests, I never felt more at home in my life. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I to
      myself, as Mrs. Ellersly was greeting me and as I noted the friendly
      interest in the glances of the women, &ldquo;this is where I belong. I'm
      beginning to come into my own.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I look back on it now, I can't refrain from smiling at my own
      simplicity&mdash;and snobbishness. For, so determined was I to believe
      what I was working for was worth while, that I actually fancied there were
      upon these in reality ordinary people, ordinary in looks, ordinary in
      intelligence, some subtle marks of superiority, that made them at a glance
      superior to the common run. This ecstasy of snobbishness deluded me as to
      the women only&mdash;for, as I looked at the men, I at once felt myself
      their superior. They were an inconsequential, patterned lot. I even was
      better dressed than any of them, except possibly Mowbray Langdon; and, if
      he showed to more advantage than I, it was because of his manner, which,
      as I have probably said before, is superior to that of any human being
      I've ever seen&mdash;man or woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are to take Anita in,&rdquo; said Mrs. Ellersly. With a laughable sense
      that I was doing myself proud, I crossed the room easily and took my stand
      in front of her. She shook hands with me politely enough. Langdon was
      sitting beside her; I had interrupted their conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hello, Blacklock!&rdquo; said Langdon, with a quizzical, satirical smile with
      the eyes only. &ldquo;It seems strange to see you at such peaceful pursuits.&rdquo;
       His glance traveled over me critically&mdash;and that was the beginning of
      my trouble. Presently, he rose, left me alone with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know Mr. Langdon?&rdquo; she said, obviously because she felt she must say
      something.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;We are old friends. What a tremendous swell he is&mdash;really
      a swell.&rdquo; This with enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      She made no comment. I debated with myself whether to go on talking of
      Langdon. I decided against it because all I knew of him had to do with
      matters down town&mdash;and Monson had impressed it upon me that down town
      was taboo in the drawing-room. I rummaged my brain in vain for another and
      suitable topic.
    </p>
    <p>
      She sat, and I stood&mdash;she tranquil and beautiful and cold, I every
      instant more miserably self-conscious. When the start for the dining-room
      was made I offered her my left arm, though I had carefully planned
      beforehand just what I would do. She&mdash;without hesitation and, as I
      know now, out of sympathy for me in my suffering&mdash;was taking my wrong
      arm, when it flashed on me like a blinding blow in the face that I ought
      to be on the other side of her. I got red, tripped in the far-sprawling
      train of Mrs. Langdon, tore it slightly, tried to get to the other side of
      Miss Ellersly by walking in front of her, recovered myself somehow,
      stumbled round behind her, walked on her train and finally arrived at her
      left side, conscious in every red-hot atom of me that I was making a
      spectacle of myself and that the whole company was enjoying it. I must
      have seemed to them an ignorant boor; in fact, I had been about a great
      deal among people who knew how to behave, and had I never given the matter
      of how to conduct myself on that particular occasion an instant's thought,
      I should have got on without the least trouble.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was with a sigh of profound relief that I sank upon the chair between
      Miss Ellersly and Mrs. Langdon, safe from danger of making &ldquo;breaks,&rdquo; so I
      hoped, for the rest of the evening. But within a very few minutes I
      realized that my little misadventure had unnerved me. My hands were
      trembling so that I could scarcely lift the soup spoon to my lips, and my
      throat had got so far beyond control that I had difficulty in swallowing.
      Miss Ellersly and Mrs. Langdon were each busy with the man on the other
      side of her; I was left to my own reflections, and I was not sure whether
      this made me more or less uncomfortable. To add to my torment, I grew
      angry, furiously angry, with myself. I looked up and down and across the
      big table noted all these self-satisfied people perfectly at their ease;
      and I said to myself: &ldquo;What's the matter with you, Matt? They're only men
      and women, and by no means the best specimens of the breed. You've got
      more brains than all of 'em put together, probably; is there one of the
      lot that could get a job at good wages if thrown on the world? What do you
      care what they think of you? It's a damn sight more important what you
      think of them; as it won't be many years before you'll hold everything
      they value, everything that makes them of consequence, in the hollow of
      your hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But it was of no use. When Miss Ellersly finally turned her face toward me
      to indicate that she would be graciously pleased to listen if I had
      anything to communicate, I felt as if I were slowly wilting, felt my
      throat contracting into a dry twist. What was the matter with me? Partly,
      of course, my own snobbishness, which led me to attach the same importance
      to those people that the snobbishness of the small and silly had got them
      in the way of attaching to themselves. But the chief cause of my inability
      was Monson and his lessons. I had thought I was estimating at its proper
      value what he was teaching. But so earnest and serious am I by nature, and
      so earnest and serious was he about those trivialities that he had been
      brought up to regard as the whole of life, that I had unconsciously
      absorbed his attitude; I was like a fellow who, after cramming hard for an
      examination, finds that all the questions put to him are on things he
      hasn't looked at. I had been making an ass of myself, and that evening I
      got the first instalment of my sound and just punishment. I who had prided
      myself on being ready for anything or anybody, I who had laughed
      contemptuously when I read how men and women, presented at European
      courts, made fools of themselves&mdash;I was made ridiculous by these
      people who, as I well know, had nothing to back their pretensions to
      superiority but a barefaced bluff.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps, had I thought this out at the table, I should have got back to
      myself and my normal ease; but I didn't, and that long and terrible dinner
      was one long and terrible agony of stage fright. When the ladies withdrew,
      the other men drew together, talking of people I did not know and of
      things I did not care about&mdash;I thought then that they were avoiding
      me deliberately as a flock of tame ducks avoids a wild one that some wind
      has accidentally blown down among them. I know now that my forbidding
      aspect must have been responsible for my isolations, However, I sat alone,
      sullenly resisting old Ellersly's constrained efforts to get me into the
      conversation, and angrily suspicious that Langdon was enjoying my
      discomfiture more than the cigarette he was apparently absorbed in.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old Ellersly, growing more and more nervous before my dark and sullen
      look, finally seated himself beside me. &ldquo;I hope you'll stay after the
      others have gone,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;They'll leave early, and we can have a quiet
      smoke and talk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All unstrung though I was, I yet had the desperate courage to resolve that
      I'd not leave, defeated in the eyes of the one person whose opinion I
      really cared about. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said I, in reply to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He and I did not follow the others to the drawing-room, but turned into
      the library adjoining. From where I seated myself I could see part of the
      drawing-room&mdash;saw the others leaving, saw Langdon lingering, ignoring
      the impatient glances of his wife, while he talked on and on with Miss
      Ellersly. Her face was full toward me; she was not aware that I was
      looking at her, I am sure, for she did not once lift her eyes. As I sat
      studying her, everything else was crowded out of my mind. She was indeed
      wonderful&mdash;too wonderful and fine and fragile, it seemed to me at
      that moment, for one so plain and rough as I. &ldquo;Incredible,&rdquo; thought I,
      &ldquo;that she is the child of such a pair as Ellersly and his wife&mdash;but
      again, has she any less in common with them than she'd have with any other
      pair of human creatures?&rdquo; Her slender white arms, her slender white
      shoulders, the bloom on her skin, the graceful, careless way her hair grew
      round her forehead and at the nape of her neck, the rather haughty
      expression of her small face softened into sweetness and even tenderness,
      now that she was talking at her ease with one whom she regarded as of her
      own kind&mdash;&ldquo;but he isn't!&rdquo; I protested to myself. &ldquo;Langdon&mdash;none
      of these men&mdash;none of these women, is fit to associate with her. They
      can't appreciate her. She belongs to me who can.&rdquo; And I had a mad impulse
      then and there to seize her and bear her away&mdash;home&mdash;to the home
      she could make for me out of what I would shower upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last Langdon rose. It irritated me to see her color under that
      indifferent fascinating smile of his. It irritated me to note that he held
      her hand all the time he was saying good-by, and the fact that he held it
      as if he'd as lief not be holding it hardly lessened my longing to rush in
      and knock him down. What he did was all in the way of perfect good
      manners, and would have jarred no one not supersensitive, like me&mdash;and
      like his wife. I saw that she, too, was frowning. She looked beautiful
      that evening, in spite of her too great breadth for her height&mdash;her
      stoutness was not altogether a defect when she was wearing evening dress.
      While she seemed friendly and smiling to Miss Ellersly, I saw, whether
      others saw it or not, that she quivered with apprehension at his mildly
      flirtatious ways. He acted toward any and every attractive woman as if he
      were free and were regarding her as a possibility, and didn't mind if she
      flattered herself that he regarded her as a probability.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an aimless sort of way Miss Ellersly, after the Langdons had
      disappeared, left the drawing-room by the same door. Still aimlessly
      wandering, she drifted into the library by the hall door. As I rose, she
      lifted her eyes, saw me, and drove away the frown of annoyance which came
      over her face like the faintest haze. In fact, it may have existed only in
      my imagination. She opened a large, square silver box on the table, took
      out a cigarette, lighted it and holding it, with the smoke lazily curling
      up from it, between the long slender first and second fingers of her white
      hand, stood idly turning the leaves of a magazine. I threw my cigar into
      the fireplace. The slight sound as it struck made her jump, and I saw
      that, underneath her surface of perfect calm, she was in a nervous state
      full as tense as my own.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You smoke?&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sometimes,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;It is soothing and distracting. I don't know
      how it is with others, but when I smoke, my mind is quite empty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's a nasty habit&mdash;smoking,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; said she, with the slightest lift to her tone and her
      eyebrows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Especially for a woman,&rdquo; I went on, because I could think of nothing else
      to say, and would not, at any cost, let this conversation, so hard to
      begin, die out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are one of those men who have one code for themselves and another for
      women,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm a man,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;All men have the two codes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not all,&rdquo; said she after a pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All men of decent ideas,&rdquo; said I with emphasis.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really?&rdquo; said she, in a tone that irritated me by suggesting that what I
      said was both absurd and unimportant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the first time I've ever seen a respectable woman smoke,&rdquo; I went
      on, powerless to change the subject, though conscious I was getting
      tedious. &ldquo;I've read of such things, but I didn't believe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is interesting,&rdquo; said she, her tone suggesting the reverse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've offended you by saying frankly what I think,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Of course,
      it's none of my business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; replied she carelessly. &ldquo;I'm not in the least offended.
      Prejudices always interest me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw Ellersly and his wife sitting in the drawing-room, pretending to
      talk to each other. I understood that they were leaving me alone with her
      deliberately, and I began to suspect she was in the plot. I smiled, and my
      courage and self-possession returned as summarily as they had fled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm glad of this chance to get better acquainted with you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I've
      wanted it ever since I first saw you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I put this to her directly, she dropped her eyes and murmured something
      she probably wished me to think vaguely pleasant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are the first woman I ever knew,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;with whom it was hard
      for me to get on any sort of terms. I suppose it's my fault. I don't know
      this game yet. But I'll learn it, if you'll be a little patient; and when
      I do, I think I'll be able to keep up my end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at me&mdash;just looked. I couldn't begin to guess what was
      going on in that gracefully-poised head of hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you try to be friends with me?&rdquo; said I with directness.
    </p>
    <p>
      She continued to look at me in that same steady, puzzling way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you?&rdquo; I repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no choice,&rdquo; said she slowly.
    </p>
    <p>
      I flushed. &ldquo;What does that mean?&rdquo; I demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      She threw a hurried and, it seemed to me, frightened glance toward the
      drawing-room. &ldquo;I didn't intend to offend you,&rdquo; she said in a low voice.
      &ldquo;You have been such a good friend to papa&mdash;I've no right to feel
      anything but friendship for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm glad to hear you say that,&rdquo; said I. And I was; for those words of
      hers were the first expression of appreciation and gratitude I had ever
      got from any member of that family which I was holding up from ruin. I put
      out my hand, and she laid hers in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There isn't anything I wouldn't do to earn your friendship, Miss Anita,&rdquo;
       I said, holding her hand tightly, feeling how lifeless it was, yet
      feeling, too, as if a flaming torch were being borne through me, were
      lighting a fire in every vein.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scarlet poured into her face and neck, wave on wave, until I thought
      it would never cease to come. She snatched her hand away and from her face
      streamed proud resentment. God, how I loved her at that moment!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita! Mr. Blacklock!&rdquo; came from the other room, in her mother's voice.
      &ldquo;Come in here and save us old people from boring each other to sleep.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned swiftly and went into the other room, I following. There were a
      few minutes of conversation&mdash;a monologue by her mother. Then I ceased
      to disregard Ellersly's less and less covert yawns, and rose to take
      leave. I could not look directly at Anita, but I was seeing that her eyes
      were fixed on me, as if by some compulsion, some sinister compulsion. I
      left in high spirits. &ldquo;No matter why or how she looks at you,&rdquo; said I to
      myself. &ldquo;All that is necessary is to get yourself noticed. After that, the
      rest is easy. You must keep cool enough always to remember that under this
      glamour that intoxicates you, she's a woman, just a woman, waiting for a
      man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XIII. &ldquo;UNTIL TO-MORROW&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      On the following Tuesday afternoon, toward five o'clock, I descended from
      my apartment on my way to my brougham. In the entrance hall I met Monson
      coming in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hello, you!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Slipping away to get married?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I'm only making a call,&rdquo; replied I, taking alarm instantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, is <i>that</i> all?&rdquo; said he with a sly grin. &ldquo;It must be a mighty
      serious matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm in no hurry,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Come up with me for a few minutes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As soon as we were alone in my sitting-room, I demanded: &ldquo;What's wrong
      with me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;not a thing,&rdquo; was his answer, in a tone I had a struggle
      with myself not to resent. &ldquo;I've never seen any one quite so grand&mdash;top
      hat, latest style, long coat ditto, white buckskin waistcoat,
      twenty-thousand-dollar pearl in pale blue scarf, white spats, spotless
      varnish boots just from the varnishers, cream-colored gloves. You <i>will</i>
      make a hit! My eye, I'll bet she won't be able to resist you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I began to shed my plumage. &ldquo;I thought this was the thing when you're
      calling on people you hardly know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should say you'd have to know 'em uncommon well to give 'em such a
      treat. Rather!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What shall I wear?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;You certainly told me the other day that
      this was proper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Proper&mdash;so it is&mdash;too damn proper,&rdquo; was his answer. &ldquo;That'd be
      all right for a bridegroom or a best man or an usher&mdash;or perhaps for
      a wedding guest. It wouldn't do any particular harm even to call in it, if
      the people were used to you. But&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I look dressed up?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like a fashion plate&mdash;like a tailor&mdash;like a society actor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What shall I wear?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, just throw yourself together any old way. Business suit's good
      enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I barely know these people&mdash;socially. I never called there,&rdquo; I
      objected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then don't call,&rdquo; he advised. &ldquo;Send your valet in a cab to leave a card
      at the door. Calling has gone clean out&mdash;unless a man's got something
      very especial in mind. Never show that you're eager. Keep your hand hid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They'd know I had something especial in mind if I called?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, and if you'd gone in those togs, they'd have assumed you had
      come to&mdash;to ask the old man for his daughter&mdash;or something like
      that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I lost no time in getting back into a business suit.
    </p>
    <p>
      A week passed and, just as I was within sight of my limit of patience,
      Bromwell Ellersly appeared at my office. &ldquo;I can't put my hand on the
      necessary cash, Mr. Blacklock&mdash;at least, not for a few days. Can I
      count on your further indulgence?&rdquo; This in his best exhibit of
      old-fashioned courtliness&mdash;the &ldquo;gentleman&rdquo; through and through,
      ignorant of anything useful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't let that matter worry you, Ellersly,&rdquo; said I, friendly, for I
      wanted to be on a somewhat less business-like basis with that family. &ldquo;The
      market's steady, and will go up before it goes down.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;By the way, you haven't kept your promise to call.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm a busy man,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You must make my excuses to your wife. But&mdash;in
      the evenings. Couldn't we get up a little theater-party&mdash;Mrs.
      Ellersly and your daughter and you and I&mdash;Sam, too, if he cares to
      come?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Delightful!&rdquo; cried he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whichever one of the next five evenings you say,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Let me know by
      to-morrow morning, will you?&rdquo; And we talked no more of the neglected
      margins; we understood each other. When he left he had negotiated a three
      months' loan of twenty thousand dollars.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      They were so surprised that they couldn't conceal it, when they were
      ushered into my apartment on the Wednesday evening they had fixed upon. If
      my taste in dress was somewhat too pronounced, my taste in my surroundings
      was not. I suppose the same instinct that made me like the music and the
      pictures and the books that were the products of superior minds had guided
      me right in architecture, decoration and furniture. I know I am one of
      those who are born with the instinct for the best. Once Monson got in the
      way of free criticism, he indulged himself without stint, after the
      customary human fashion; in fact, so free did he become that had I not
      feared to frighten him and so bring about the defeat of my purposes, I
      should have sat on him hard very soon after we made our bargain. As it
      was, I stood his worst impudences without flinching, and partly consoled
      myself with the amusement I got out of watching his vanity lead him on
      into thinking his knowledge the most vital matter in the world&mdash;just
      as you sometimes see a waiter or a clerk with the air of sharing the care
      of the universe with the Almighty.
    </p>
    <p>
      But even Monson could find nothing to criticize either in my apartment or
      in my country house. And, by the way, he showed his limitations by
      remarking, after he had inspected: &ldquo;I must say, Blacklock, your architects
      and decorators have done well by you.&rdquo; As if a man's surroundings were not
      the unfailing index to himself, no matter how much money he spends or how
      good architects and the like he hires. As if a man could ever buy good
      taste.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was pleased out of all proportion to its value by what Ellersly and his
      wife looked and said. But, though I watched Miss Ellersly closely, though
      I tried to draw from her some comment on my belongings&mdash;on my
      pictures, on my superb tapestries, on the beautiful carving of my
      furniture&mdash;I got nothing from her beyond that first look of surprise
      and pleasure. Her face resumed its statuelike calm, her eyes did not
      wander; her lips, like a crimson bow painted upon her clear, white skin,
      remained closed. She spoke only when she was spoken to, and then as
      briefly as possible. The dinner&mdash;and a mighty good dinner it was&mdash;would
      have been memorable for strain and silence had not Mrs. Ellersly kept up
      her incessant chatter. I can't recall a word she said, but I admired her
      for being able to talk at all. I knew she was in the same state as the
      rest of us, yet she acted perfectly at her ease; and not until I thought
      it over afterward did I realize that she had done all the talking, except
      answers to her occasional and cleverly-sprinkled direct questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellersly sat opposite me, and I was irritated, and thrown into confusion,
      too, every time I lifted my eyes, by the crushed, criminal expression of
      his face. He ate and drank hugely&mdash;and extremely bad manners it would
      have been regarded in me had I made as much noise as he, or lifted such
      quantities at a time into my mouth. But through his noisy gluttony he
      managed somehow to maintain that hang-dog air&mdash;like a thief who has
      gone through the house and, on his way out, has paused at the pantry, with
      the sack of plunder beside him, to gorge himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked at Anita several times, each time with a carefully-framed remark
      ready; each time I found her gaze on me&mdash;and I could say nothing,
      could only look away in a sort of panic. Her eyes were strangely variable.
      I have seen them of a gray, so pale that it was almost silver&mdash;like
      the steely light of the snow-line at the edge of the horizon; again, and
      they were so that evening, they shone with the deepest, softest blue, and
      made one think, as one looked at her, of a fresh violet frozen in a block
      of clear ice.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sat behind her in the box at the theater. During the first and second
      intermissions several men dropped in to speak to her mother and her&mdash;fellows
      who didn't ever come down town, but I could tell they knew who I was by
      the way they ignored me. It exasperated me to a pitch of fury, that coldly
      insolent air of theirs&mdash;a jerky nod at me without so much as a
      glance, and no notice of me when they were leaving <i>my</i> box beyond a
      faint, supercilious smile as they passed with eyes straight ahead. I knew
      what it meant, what they were thinking&mdash;that the &ldquo;Bucket-Shop King,&rdquo;
       as the newspapers had dubbed me, was trying to use old Ellersly's
      necessities as a &ldquo;jimmy&rdquo; and &ldquo;break into society.&rdquo; When the curtain went
      down for the last intermission, two young men appeared; I did not get up
      as I had before, but stuck to my seat&mdash;I had reached that point at
      which courtesy has become cowardice.
    </p>
    <p>
      They craned and strained at her round me and over me, presently gave up
      and retired, disguising their anger as contempt for the bad manners of a
      bounder. But that disturbed me not a ripple, the more as I was delighting
      in a consoling discovery. Listening and watching as she talked with these
      young men, whom she evidently knew well, I noted that she was distant and
      only politely friendly in manner habitually, that while the ice might
      thicken for me, it was there always. I knew enough about women to know
      that, if the woman who can thaw only for one man is the most difficult,
      she is also the most constant. &ldquo;Once she thaws toward me!&rdquo; I said to
      myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the young men had gone, I leaned forward until my head was close to
      hers, to her hair&mdash;fine, soft, abundant, electric hair. Like the
      infatuated fool that I was, I tore out all the pigeon-holes of my brain in
      search of something to say to her, something that would start her to
      thinking well of me. She must have felt my breath upon her neck, for she
      moved away slightly, and it seemed to me a shiver visibly passed over that
      wonderful white skin of hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      I drew back and involuntarily said, &ldquo;Beg pardon.&rdquo; I glanced at her mother
      and it was my turn to shudder. I can't hope to give an accurate impression
      of that stony, mercenary, mean face. There are looks that paint upon the
      human countenance the whole of a life, as a flash of lightning paints upon
      the blackness of the night miles on miles of landscape. That look of Mrs.
      Ellersly's&mdash;stern disapproval at her daughter, stern command that she
      be more civil, that she unbend&mdash;showed me the old woman's soul. And I
      say that no old harpy presiding over a dive is more full of the venom of
      the hideous calculations of the market for flesh and blood than is a woman
      whose life is wrapped up in wealth and show.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you wish it,&rdquo; I said, on impulse, to Miss Ellersly in a low voice, &ldquo;I
      shall never try to see you again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I could feel rather than see the blood suddenly beating in her skin, and
      there was in her voice a nervousness very like fright as she answered:
      &ldquo;I'm sure mama and I shall be glad to see you whenever you come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You?&rdquo; I persisted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, after a brief hesitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Glad?&rdquo; I persisted.
    </p>
    <p>
      She smiled&mdash;the faintest change in the perfect curve of her lips.
      &ldquo;You are very persistent, aren't you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;That is why I have always got whatever I wanted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I admire it,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, you don't,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;You think it is vulgar, and you think I am
      vulgar because I have that quality&mdash;that and some others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She did not contradict me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I <i>am</i> vulgar&mdash;from your standpoint,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;I have
      purposes and passions. And I pursue them. For instance, you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; she said tranquilly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;I made up my mind the first day I saw you that I'd
      make you like me. And&mdash;you will.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is very flattering,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;And a little terrifying. For&rdquo;&mdash;she
      faltered, then went bravely on&mdash;&ldquo;I suppose there isn't anything you'd
      stop at in order to gain your end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said I, and I compelled her to meet my gaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew a long breath, and I thought there was a sob in it&mdash;like a
      frightened child.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I repeat,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;that if you wish it, I shall never try to see
      you again. Do you wish it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&mdash;don't&mdash;know,&rdquo; she answered slowly. &ldquo;I think&mdash;not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As she spoke the last word, she lifted her eyes to mine with a look of
      forced friendliness in them that I'd rather not have seen there. I wished
      to be blind to her defects, to the stains and smutches with which her
      surroundings must have sullied her. And that friendly look seemed to me an
      unmistakable hypocrisy in obedience to her mother. However, it had the
      effect of bringing her nearer to my own earthy level, of putting me at
      ease with her; and for the few remaining minutes we talked freely, I
      indifferent whether my manners and conversation were correct. As I helped
      her into their carriage, I pressed her arm slightly, and said in a voice
      for her only, &ldquo;Until to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XIV. FRESH AIR IN A GREENHOUSE
    </h2>
    <p>
      At five the next day I rang the Ellerslys' bell, was taken through the
      drawing-room into that same library. The curtains over the double doorway
      between the two rooms were almost drawn. She presently entered from the
      hall. I admired the picture she made in the doorway&mdash;her big hat, her
      embroidered dress of white cloth, and that small, sweet, cold face of
      hers. And as I looked, I knew that nothing, nothing&mdash;no, not even her
      wish, her command&mdash;could stop me from trying to make her my own. That
      resolve must have shown in my face&mdash;it or the passion that inspired
      it&mdash;for she paused and paled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Are you afraid of me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She came forward proudly, a fine scorn in her eyes. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But
      if you knew, you might be afraid of me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am,&rdquo; I confessed. &ldquo;I am afraid of you because you inspire in me a
      feeling that is beyond my control. I've committed many follies in my life&mdash;I
      have moods in which it amuses me to defy fate. But those follies have
      always been of my own willing. You&rdquo;&mdash;I laughed&mdash;&ldquo;you are a folly
      for me. But one that compels me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled&mdash;not discouragingly&mdash;and seated herself on a tiny
      sofa in the corner, a curiously impregnable intrenchment, as I noted&mdash;for
      my impulse was to carry her by storm. I was astonished at my own audacity;
      I was wondering where my fear of her had gone, my awe of her superior
      fineness and breeding. &ldquo;Mama will be down in a few minutes,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't come to see your mother,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;I came to see you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She flushed, then froze&mdash;and I thought I had once more &ldquo;got upon&rdquo; her
      nerves with my rude directness. How eagerly sensitive our nerves are to
      bad impressions of one we don't like, and how coarsely insensible to bad
      impressions of one we do like!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see I've offended again, as usual,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You attach so much
      importance to petty little dancing-master tricks and caperings. You live&mdash;always
      have lived&mdash;in an artificial atmosphere. Real things act on you like
      fresh air on a hothouse flower.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are&mdash;fresh air?&rdquo; she inquired, with laughing sarcasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am that,&rdquo; retorted I. &ldquo;And good for you&mdash;as you'll find when you
      get used to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I heard voices in the next room&mdash;her mother's and some man's. We
      waited until it was evident we were not to be disturbed. As I realized
      that fact and surmised its meaning, I looked triumphantly at her. She drew
      further back into her corner, and the almost stern firmness of her contour
      told me she had set her teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see you are nerving yourself,&rdquo; said I with a laugh. &ldquo;You are perfectly
      certain I am going to propose to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She flamed scarlet and half-started up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your mother&mdash;in the next room&mdash;expects it, too,&rdquo; I went on,
      laughing even more disagreeably. &ldquo;Your parents need money&mdash;they have
      decided to sell you, their only large income-producing asset. And I am
      willing to buy. What do you say?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was blocking her way out of the room. She was standing, her breath
      coming fast, her eyes blazing. &ldquo;You are&mdash;<i>frightful</i>!&rdquo; she
      exclaimed in a low voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I am frank, because I am honest? Because I want to put things on
      a sound basis? I suppose, if I came lying and pretending, and let you lie
      and pretend, and let your parents and Sam lie and pretend, you would find
      me&mdash;almost tolerable. Well, I'm not that kind. When there's no
      especial reason one way or the other, I'm willing to smirk and grimace and
      dodder and drivel, like the rest of your friends, those ladies and
      gentlemen. But when there's business to be transacted, I am business-like.
      Let's not begin with your thinking you are deceiving me, and so hating me
      and despising me and trying to keep up the deception. Let's begin right.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was listening; she was no longer longing to fly from the room; she was
      curious. I knew I had scored.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In any event,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;you would have married for money. You've
      been brought up to it, like all these girls of your set. You'd be
      miserable without luxury. If you had your choice between love without
      luxury and luxury without love, it'd be as easy to foretell which you'd do
      as to foretell how a starving poet would choose between a loaf of bread
      and a volume of poems. You may love love; but you love life&mdash;your
      kind of life&mdash;better!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She lowered her head. &ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It is low and vile, but it
      is true.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your parents need money&mdash;&rdquo; I began.
    </p>
    <p>
      She stopped me with a gesture. &ldquo;Don't blame them,&rdquo; she pleaded. &ldquo;I am more
      guilty than they.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was proud of her as she made that confession. &ldquo;You have the making of a
      real woman in you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I should have wanted you even if you hadn't.
      But what I now see makes what I thought a folly of mine look more like
      wisdom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must warn you,&rdquo; she said, and now she was looking directly at me, &ldquo;I
      shall never love you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never is a long time,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;I'm old enough to be cynical about
      prophecy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall never love you,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;For many reasons you wouldn't
      understand. For one you will understand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand the 'many reasons' you say are beyond me,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;For,
      dear young lady, under this coarse exterior I assure you there's hidden a
      rather sharp outlook on human nature&mdash;and&mdash;well, nerves that
      respond to the faintest changes in you as do mine can't be altogether
      without sensitiveness. What's the other reason&mdash;<i>the</i> reason?
      That you think you love some one else?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you for saying it for me,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      You can't imagine how pleased I was at having earned her gratitude, even
      in so little a matter. &ldquo;I have thought of that,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It is of no
      consequence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you don't understand,&rdquo; she pleaded earnestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the contrary, I understand perfectly,&rdquo; I assured her. &ldquo;And the reason
      I am not disturbed is&mdash;you are here, you are not with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She lowered her head so that I had no view of her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You and he do not marry,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;because you are both poor?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because he does not care for you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;not that,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because you thought he hadn't enough for two?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A long pause, then&mdash;very faintly: &ldquo;No&mdash;not that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then it must be because he hasn't as much money as he'd like, and must
      find a girl who'll bring him&mdash;what he <i>most</i> wants.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is, while he loves you dearly, he loves money more. And he's willing
      to see you go to another man, be the wife of another man, be&mdash;everything
      to another man.&rdquo; I laughed. &ldquo;I'll take my chances against love of that
      sort.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You don't understand,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;You don't realize&mdash;there are
      many things that mean nothing to you and that mean&mdash;oh, so much to
      people brought up as we are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;What do you mean by 'we'? Nature has been bringing us
      up for a thousand thousand years. A few years of silly false training
      doesn't undo her work. If you and he had cared for each other, you
      wouldn't be here, apologizing for his selfish vanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No matter about him,&rdquo; she cried impatiently, lifting her head haughtily.
      &ldquo;The point is, I love him&mdash;and always shall. I warn you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I take you at my own risk?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her look answered &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo;&mdash;and I took her hand&mdash;&ldquo;then, we are engaged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her whole body grew tense, and her hand chilled as it lay in mine. &ldquo;Don't&mdash;please
      don't,&rdquo; I said gently. &ldquo;I'm not so bad as all that. If you will be as
      generous with me as I shall be with you, neither of us will ever regret
      this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There were tears on her cheeks as I slowly released her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall ask nothing of you that you are not ready freely to give,&rdquo; I
      said.
    </p>
    <p>
      Impulsively she stood and put out her hand, and the eyes she lifted to
      mine were shining and friendly. I caught her in my arms and kissed her&mdash;not
      once but many times. And it was not until the chill of her ice-like face
      had cooled me that I released her, drew back red and ashamed and
      stammering apologies. But her impulse of friendliness had been killed; she
      once more, as I saw only too plainly, felt for me that sense of repulsion,
      felt for herself that sense of self-degradation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I <i>can not</i> marry you!&rdquo; she muttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can&mdash;and will&mdash;and must,&rdquo; I cried, infuriated by her look.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a long silence. I could easily guess what was being fought out
      in her mind. At last she slowly drew herself up. &ldquo;I can not refuse,&rdquo; she
      said, and her eyes sparkled with defiance that had hate in it. &ldquo;You have
      the power to compel me. Use it, like the brute you refuse to let me forget
      that you are.&rdquo; She looked so young, so beautiful, so angry&mdash;and so
      tempting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I shall!&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Children have to be taught what is good for
      them. Call in your mother, and we'll tell her the news.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Instead, she went into the next room. I followed, saw Mrs. Ellersly seated
      at the tea-table in the corner farthest from the library where her
      daughter and I had been negotiating. She was reading a letter, holding her
      lorgnon up to her painted eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Won't you give us tea, mother?&rdquo; said Anita, on her surface not a trace of
      the cyclone that must still have been raging hi her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Congratulate me, Mrs. Ellersly,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Your daughter has consented to
      marry me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Instead of speaking, Mrs. Ellersly began to cry&mdash;real tears. And for
      a moment I thought there was a real heart inside of her somewhere. But
      when she spoke, that delusion vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must forgive me, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; she said in her hard, smooth,
      politic voice. &ldquo;It is the shock of realizing I'm about to lose my
      daughter.&rdquo; And I knew that her tears were from joy and relief&mdash;Anita
      had &ldquo;come up to the scratch;&rdquo; the hideous menace of &ldquo;genteel poverty&rdquo; had
      been averted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do give us tea, mama,&rdquo; said Anita. Her cold, sarcastic tone cut my nerves
      and her mother's like a razor blade. I looked sharply at her, and wondered
      whether I was not making a bargain vastly different from that my passion
      was picturing.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XV. SOME STRANGE LAPSES OF A LOVER
    </h2>
    <p>
      But before there was time for me to get a distinct impression, that ugly
      shape of cynicism had disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was a shadow I myself cast upon her,&rdquo; I assured myself; and once more
      she seemed to me like a clear, calm lake of melted snow from the
      mountains. &ldquo;I can see to the pure white sand of the very bottom,&rdquo; thought
      I. Mystery there was, but only the mystery of wonder at the apparition of
      such beauty and purity in such a world as mine. True, from time to time,
      there showed at the surface or vaguely outlined in the depths, forms
      strangely out of place in those unsullied waters. But I either refused to
      see or refused to trust my senses. I had a fixed ideal of what a woman
      should be; this girl embodied that ideal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you'd only give up your cigarettes,&rdquo; I remember saying to her when we
      were a little better acquainted, &ldquo;you'd be perfect.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She made an impatient gesture. &ldquo;Don't!&rdquo; she commanded almost angrily. &ldquo;You
      make me feel like a hypocrite. You tempt me to be a hypocrite. Why not be
      content with woman as she is&mdash;a human being? And&mdash;how could I&mdash;any
      woman not an idiot&mdash;be alive for twenty-five years without learning&mdash;a
      thing or two? Why should any man want it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because to know is to be spattered and stained,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I get enough of
      people who know, down-town. Up-town&mdash;I want a change of air. Of
      course, you think you know the world, but you haven't the remotest
      conception of what it's really like. Sometimes when I'm with you, I begin
      to feel mean and&mdash;and unclean. And the feeling grows on me until it's
      all I can do to restrain myself from rushing away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at me critically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've never had much to do with women, have you?&rdquo; she finally said
      slowly in a musing tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish that were true&mdash;almost,&rdquo; replied I, on my mettle as a man,
      and resisting not without effort the impulse to make some vague
      &ldquo;confessions&rdquo;&mdash;boastings disguised as penitential admissions&mdash;after
      the customary masculine fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      She smiled&mdash;and one of those disquieting shapes seemed to me to be
      floating lazily and repellently downward, out of sight. &ldquo;A man and a woman
      can be a great deal to each other, I believe,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;can be&mdash;married,
      and all that&mdash;and remain as strange to each other as if they had
      never met&mdash;more hopelessly strangers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's always a sort of mystery,&rdquo; I conceded. &ldquo;I suppose that's one of
      the things that keep married people interested.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shrugged her shoulders&mdash;she was in evening dress, I recall, and
      there was on her white skin that intense, transparent, bluish tinge one
      sees on the new snow when the sun comes out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mystery!&rdquo; she said impatiently. &ldquo;There's no mystery except what we
      ourselves make. It's useless&mdash;perfectly useless,&rdquo; she went on
      absently. &ldquo;You're the sort of man who, if a woman cared for him, or even
      showed friendship for him by being frank and human and natural with him,
      he'd punish her for it by&mdash;by despising her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I smiled, much as one smiles at the efforts of a precocious child to prove
      that it is a Methuselah in experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you weren't like an angel in comparison with the others I've known,&rdquo;
       said I, &ldquo;do you suppose I could care for you as I do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw my remark irritated her, and I fancied it was her vanity that was
      offended by my disbelief in her knowledge of life. I hadn't a suspicion
      that I had hurt and alienated her by slamming in her very face the door of
      friendship and frankness her honesty was forcing her to try to open for
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      In my stupidity of imagining her not human like the other women and the
      men I had known, but a creature apart and in a class apart, I stood day
      after day gaping at that very door, and wondering how I could open it, how
      penetrate even to the courtyard of that vestal citadel. So long as my
      old-fashioned belief that good women were more than human and bad women
      less than human had influenced me only to a sharper lookout in dealing
      with the one species of woman I then came in contact with, no harm to me
      resulted, but on the contrary good&mdash;whoever got into trouble through
      walking the world with sword and sword arm free? But when, under the spell
      of Anita Ellersly, I dragged the &ldquo;superhuman goodness&rdquo; part of my theory
      down out of the clouds and made it my guardian and guide&mdash;really,
      it's a miracle that I escaped from the pit into which that lunacy pitched
      me headlong. I was not content with idealizing only her; I went on to
      seeing good, and only good, in everybody! The millennium was at hand; all
      Wall Street was my friend; whatever I wanted would happen. And when
      Roebuck, with an air like a benediction from a bishop backed by a
      cathedral organ and full choir, gave me the tip to buy coal stocks, I
      canonized him on the spot. Never did a Jersey &ldquo;jay&rdquo; in Sunday clothes and
      tallowed boots respond to a bunco steerer's greeting with a gladder smile
      than mine to that pious old past-master of craft.
    </p>
    <p>
      I will say, in justice to myself, though it is also in excuse, that if I
      had known him intimately a few years earlier, I should have found it all
      but impossible to fool myself. For he had not long been in a position
      where he could keep wholly detached from the crimes committed for his
      benefit and by his order, and where he could disclaim responsibility and
      even knowledge. The great lawyers of the country have been most ingenious
      in developing corporate law in the direction of making the corporation a
      complete and secure shield between the beneficiary of a crime and its
      consequences; but before a great financier can use this shield perfectly,
      he must build up a system&mdash;he must find lieutenants with the
      necessary coolness, courage and cunning; he must teach them to understand
      his hints; he must educate them, not to point out to him the disagreeable
      things involved in his orders, but to execute unquestioningly, to efface
      completely the trail between him and them, whether or not they succeed in
      covering the roundabout and faint trail between themselves and the tools
      that nominally commit the crimes.
    </p>
    <p>
      As nearly as I can get at it, when Roebuck was luring me into National
      Coal he had not for nine years been open to attack, but had so far hedged
      himself in that, had his closest lieutenants been trapped and frightened
      into &ldquo;squealing,&rdquo; he would not have been involved; without fear of
      exposure and with a clear conscience he could&mdash;and would!&mdash;have
      joined in the denunciation of the man who had been caught, and could&mdash;and
      would!&mdash;have helped send him to the penitentiary or to the scaffold.
      With the security of an honest man and the serenity of a Christian he
      planned his colossal thefts and reaped their benefits; and whenever he was
      accused, he could have explained everything, could have got his accuser's
      sympathy and admiration. I say, could have explained; but he would not.
      Early in his career, he had learned the first principle of successful
      crime&mdash;silence. No matter what the provocation or the seeming
      advantage, he uttered only a few generous general phrases, such as &ldquo;those
      misguided men,&rdquo; or &ldquo;the Master teaches us to bear with meekness the
      calumnies of the wicked,&rdquo; or &ldquo;let him that is without sin cast the first
      stone.&rdquo; As to the crime itself&mdash;silence, and the dividends.
    </p>
    <p>
      A great man, Roebuck! I doff my hat to him. Of all the dealers in stolen
      goods under police protection, who so shrewd as he?
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilmot was the instrument he employed to put the coal industry into
      condition for &ldquo;reorganization.&rdquo; He bought control of one of the coal
      railroads and made Wilmot president of it. Wilmot, taught by twenty years
      of his service, knew what was expected of him, and proceeded to do it. He
      put in a &ldquo;loyal&rdquo; general freight agent who also needed no instructions,
      but busied himself at destroying his own and all the other coal roads by a
      system of secret rebates and rate cuttings. As the other roads, one by
      one, descended toward bankruptcy, Roebuck bought the comparatively small
      blocks of stock necessary to give him control of them. When he had power
      over enough of them to establish a partial monopoly of transportation in
      and out of the coal districts, he was ready for his lieutenant to attack
      the mining properties. Probably his orders to Wilmot were nothing more
      definite or less innocent than: &ldquo;Wilmot, my boy, don't you think you and I
      and some others of our friends ought to buy some of those mines, if they
      come on the market at a fair price? Let me know when you hear of any
      attractive investments of that sort.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That would have been quite enough to &ldquo;tip it off&rdquo; to Wilmot that the time
      had come for reaching out from control of railway to control of mine. He
      lost no time; he easily forced one mining property after another into a
      position where its owners were glad&mdash;were eager&mdash;to sell all or
      part of the wreck of it &ldquo;at a fair price&rdquo; to him and Roebuck and &ldquo;our
      friends.&rdquo; It was as the result of one of these moves that the great
      Manasquale mines were so hemmed in by ruinous freight rates, by strike
      troubles, by floods from broken machinery and mysteriously leaky dams,
      that I was able to buy them &ldquo;at a fair price&rdquo;&mdash;that is, at less than
      one-fifth their value. But at the time&mdash;and for a long time afterward&mdash;I
      did not know, on my honor did not suspect, what was the cause, the sole
      cause, of the change of the coal region from a place of peaceful industry,
      content with fair profits, to an industrial chaos with ruin impending.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once the railways and mining companies were all on the verge of
      bankruptcy, Roebuck and his &ldquo;friends&rdquo; were ready to buy, here control for
      purposes of speculation, there ownership for purposes of permanent
      investment. This is what is known as the reorganizing stage. The processes
      of high finance are very simple&mdash;first, buy the comparatively small
      holdings necessary to create confusion and disaster; second, create
      confusion and disaster, buying up more and more wreckage; third,
      reorganize; fourth, offer the new stocks and bonds to the public with a
      mighty blare of trumpets which produces a boom market; fifth, unload on
      the public, pass dividends, issue unfavorable statements, depress prices,
      buy back cheap what you have sold dear. Repeat ad infinitum, for the law
      is for the laughter of the strong, and the public is an eager ass. To keep
      up the fiction of &ldquo;respectability,&rdquo; the inside ring divides into two
      parties for its campaigns&mdash;one party to break down, the other to
      build up. One takes the profits from destruction and departs, perhaps to
      construct elsewhere; the other takes the profits from construction and
      departs, perhaps to destroy elsewhere. As their collusion is merely tacit,
      no conscience need twitch. I must add that, at the time of which I am
      writing, I did not realize the existence of this conspiracy. I knew, of
      course, that many lawless and savage things were done, that there were
      rascals among the high financiers, and that almost all financiers now and
      then did things that were more or less rascally; but I did not know, did
      not suspect, that high finance was through and through brigandage, and
      that the high financier, by long and unmolested practice of brigandage,
      had come to look on it as legitimate, lawful business, and on laws
      forbidding or hampering it as outrageous, socialistic, anarchistic,
      &ldquo;attacks upon the social order!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was sufficiently infected with the spirit of the financier, I frankly
      confess, to look on the public as a sort of cow to milk and send out to
      grass that it might get itself ready to be driven in and milked again.
      Does not the cow produce milk not for her own use but for the use of him
      who looks after her, provides her with pasturage and shelter and saves her
      from the calamities in which her lack of foresight and of other
      intelligence would involve her, were she not looked after? And is not the
      fact that the public&mdash;beg pardon, the cow&mdash;meekly and even
      cheerfully submits to the milking proof that God intended her to be the
      servant of the Roebucks&mdash;beg pardon again, of man?
    </p>
    <p>
      Plausible, isn't it?
    </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck had given me the impression that it would be six months, at least,
      before what I was in those fatuous days thinking of as &ldquo;<i>our</i>&rdquo; plan
      for &ldquo;putting the coal industry on a sound business basis&rdquo; would be ready
      for the public. So, when he sent for me shortly after I became engaged to
      Miss Ellersly, and said: &ldquo;Melville will publish the plan on the first of
      next month and will open the subscription books on the third&mdash;a
      Thursday,&rdquo; I was taken by surprise and was anything but pleased. His words
      meant that, if I wished to make a great fortune, now was the time to buy
      coal stocks, and buy heavily&mdash;for on the very day of the publication
      of the plan every coal stock would surely soar. Buy I must; not to buy was
      to throw away a fortune. Yet how could I buy when I was gambling in
      Textile up to my limit of safety, if not beyond?
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not dare confess to Roebuck what I was doing in Textile. He was
      bitterly opposed to stock gambling, denouncing it as both immoral and
      unbusinesslike. No gambling for him! When his business sagacity and
      foresight(?) informed him a certain stock was going to be worth a great
      deal more than it was then quoted at, he would buy outright in large
      quantities; when that same sagacity and foresight of the fellow who has
      himself marked the cards warned him that a stock was about to fall, he
      sold outright. But gamble&mdash;never! And I felt that, if he should learn
      that I had staked a large part of my entire fortune on a single gambling
      operation, he would straightway cut me off from his confidence, would look
      on me as too deeply tainted by my long career as a &ldquo;bucket-shop&rdquo; man to be
      worthy of full rank and power as a financier. Financiers do not gamble.
      Their only vice is grand larceny.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this was flashing through my mind while I was thanking him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to have such a long forewarning,&rdquo; I was saying. &ldquo;Can I be of
      use to you? You know my machinery is perfect&mdash;I can buy anything and
      in any quantity without starting rumors and drawing the crowd.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No thank you, Matthew,&rdquo; was his answer. &ldquo;I have all of those stocks I
      wish&mdash;at present.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Whether it is peculiar to me, I don't know&mdash;probably not&mdash;but my
      memory is so constituted that it takes an indelible and complete
      impression of whatever is sent to it by my eyes and ears; and just as by
      looking closely you can find in a photographic plate a hundred details
      that escape your glance, so on those memory plates of mine I often find
      long afterward many and many a detail that escaped me when my eyes and
      ears were taking the impression. On my memory plate of that moment in my
      interview with Roebuck, I find details so significant that my failing to
      note them at the time shows how unfit I then was to guard my interests.
      For instance, I find that just before he spoke those words declining my
      assistance and implying that he had already increased his holdings, he
      opened and closed his hands several times, finally closed and clinched
      them&mdash;a sure sign of energetic nervous action, and in that particular
      instance a sign of deception, because there was no energy in his remark
      and no reason for energy. I am not superstitious, but I believe in
      palmistry to a certain extent. Even more than the face are the hands a
      sensitive recorder of what is passing in the mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I was then too intent upon my dilemma carefully to study a man who had
      already lulled me into absolute confidence in him. I left him as soon as
      he would let me go. His last words were, &ldquo;No gambling, Matthew! No abuse
      of the opportunity God is giving us. Be content with the just profits from
      investment. I have seen gamblers come and go, many of them able men&mdash;very
      able men. But they have melted away, and where are they? And I have
      remained and have increased, blessed be God who has saved me from the
      temptations to try to reap where I had not sown! I feel that I can trust
      you. You began as a speculator, but success has steadied you, and you have
      put yourself on the firm ground where we see the solid men into whose
      hands God has given the development of the abounding resources of this
      beloved country of ours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Do you wonder that I went away with a heart full of shame for the gambling
      projects my head was planning upon the information that good man had given
      me?
    </p>
    <p>
      I shut myself in my private office for several hours of hard thinking&mdash;as
      I can now see, the first real attention I had given my business in two
      months. It soon became clear enough that my Textile plunge was a folly;
      but it was too late to retrace. The only question was, could and should I
      assume additional burdens? I looked at the National Coal problem from
      every standpoint&mdash;so I thought. And I could see no possible risk. Did
      not Roebuck's statement make it certain as sunrise that, as soon as the
      reorganization was announced, all coal stocks would rise? Yes, I should be
      risking nothing; I could with absolute safety stake my credit; to make
      contracts to buy coal stocks at present prices for future delivery was no
      more of a gamble than depositing cash in the United States Treasury.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've gone back to gambling lately, Matt,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;You've
      been on a bender, with your head afire. You must get out of this Textile
      business as soon as possible. But it's good sound sense to plunge on the
      coal stocks. In fact, your profits there would save you if by some
      mischance Textile should rise instead of fall. Acting on Roebuck's tip
      isn't gambling, it's insurance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I emerged to issue orders that soon threw into the National Coal venture
      all I had not staked on a falling market for Textiles. I was not content&mdash;as
      the pious gambling-hater, Roebuck, had begged me to be&mdash;with buying
      only what stock I could pay for; I went plunging on, contracting for many
      times the amount I could have bought outright.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next time I saw Langdon I was full of enthusiasm for Roebuck. I can
      see his smile as he listened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had no idea you were an expert on the trumpets of praise, Blacklock,&rdquo;
       said he finally. &ldquo;A very showy accomplishment,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;but rather
      dangerous, don't you think? The player may become enchanted by his own
      music.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I try to look on the bright side of things.&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;even of human
      nature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since when?&rdquo; drawled he.
    </p>
    <p>
      I laughed&mdash;a good, hearty laugh, for this shy reference to my affair
      of the heart tickled me. I enjoyed to the full only in long retrospect the
      look he gave me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As soon as a man falls in love,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;trustees should be appointed
      to take charge of his estate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You're wrong there, old man,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;I've never worked harder or
      with a clearer head than since I learned that there are&rdquo;&mdash;I
      hesitated, and ended lamely&mdash;&ldquo;other things in life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Langdon's handsome face suddenly darkened, and I thought I saw in his eyes
      a look of savage pain. &ldquo;I envy you,&rdquo; said he with an effort at his wonted
      lightness and cynicism. But that look touched my heart; I talked no more
      of my own happiness. To do so, I felt would be like bringing laughter into
      the house of grief.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XVI. TRAPPED AND TRIMMED
    </h2>
    <p>
      There are two kinds of dangerous temptations&mdash;those that tempt us,
      and those that don't. Those that don't, give us a false notion of our
      resisting power, and so make us easy victims to the others. I thought I
      knew myself pretty thoroughly, and I believed there was nothing that could
      tempt me to neglect my business. With this delusion of my strength firmly
      in mind, when Anita became a temptation to neglect business, I said to
      myself: &ldquo;To go up-town during business hours for long lunches, to spend
      the mornings selecting flowers and presents for her&mdash;these things <i>look</i>
      like neglect of business, and would be so in some men. But <i>I</i>
      couldn't neglect business. I do them because my affairs are so well
      ordered that a few hours of absence now and then make no difference&mdash;probably
      send me back fresher and clearer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When I left the office at half-past twelve on that fateful Wednesday in
      June, my business was never in better shape. Textile Common had dropped a
      point and a quarter in two days&mdash;evidently it was at last on its way
      slowly down toward where I could free myself and take profits. As for the
      Coal enterprise nothing could possibly happen to disturb it; I was all
      ready for the first of July announcement and boom. Never did I have a
      lighter heart than when I joined Anita and her friends at Sherry's. It
      seemed to me her friendliness was less perfunctory, less a matter of
      appearances. And the sun was bright, the air delicious, my health perfect.
      It took all the strength of all the straps Monson had put on my natural
      spirits to keep me from being exuberant.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had fully intended to be back at my office half an hour before the
      Exchange closed&mdash;this in addition to the obvious precaution of
      leaving orders that they were to telephone me if anything should occur
      about which they had the least doubt. But so comfortable did my vanity
      make me that I forgot to look at my watch until a quarter to three. I had
      a momentary qualm; then, reassured, I asked Anita to take a walk with me.
      Before we set out I telephoned my right-hand man and partner, Ball. As I
      had thought, everything was quiet; the Exchange was closing with Textile
      sluggish and down a quarter. Anita and I took a car to the park.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we strolled about there, it seemed to me I was making more headway with
      her than in all the times I had seen her since we became engaged. At each
      meeting I had had to begin at the beginning once more, almost as if we had
      never met; for I found that she had in the meanwhile taken on all, or
      almost all, her original reserve. It was as if she forgot me the instant I
      left her&mdash;not very flattering, that!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You accuse me of refusing to get acquainted with you,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;of
      refusing to see that you're a different person from what I imagine. But
      how about you? Why do you still stick to your first notion of me? Whatever
      I am or am not, I'm not the person you condemned on sight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You <i>have</i> changed,&rdquo; she conceded. &ldquo;The way you dress&mdash;and
      sometimes the way you act. Or, is it because I'm getting used to you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;it's&mdash;&rdquo; I began, but stopped there. Some day I would
      confess about Monson, but not yet. Also, I hoped the change wasn't
      altogether due to Monson and the dancing-master and my imitation of the
      tricks of speech and manner of the people in her set.
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not notice my abrupt halt. Indeed, I often caught her at not
      listening to me. I saw that she wasn't listening now.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You didn't hear what I said,&rdquo; I accused somewhat sharply, for I was
      irritated&mdash;as who would not have been?
    </p>
    <p>
      She started, gave me that hurried, apologetic look that was bitterer to me
      than the most savage insult would have been.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We were talking of&mdash;of changes,
      weren't we?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We were talking of <i>me</i>&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Of the subject that interests
      you not at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at me in a forlorn sort of way that softened my irritation with
      sympathy. &ldquo;I've told you how it is with me,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do my best to
      please you. I&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Damn your best!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Don't try to please <i>me</i>. Be yourself.
      I'm no slave-driver. I don't have to be conciliated. Can't you ever see
      that I'm not your tyrant? Do I treat you as any other man would feel he
      had the right to treat the girl who had engaged herself to him? Do I ever
      thrust my feelings or wishes&mdash;or&mdash;longings on you? And do you
      think repression easy for a man of my temperament?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have been very good,&rdquo; she said humbly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't you ever say that to me again,&rdquo; I half commanded, half pleaded. &ldquo;I
      won't have you always putting me in the position of a kind and indulgent
      master.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She halted and faced me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you want me, anyhow?&rdquo; she cried. Then she noticed several loungers
      on a bench staring at us and grinning; she flushed and walked on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Because I'm a fool, probably. My common sense
      tells me I can't hope to break through that shell of self-complacence
      you've been cased in by your family and your associates. Sometimes I think
      I'm mistaken in you, think there isn't any real, human blood left in your
      veins, that you're like the rest of them&mdash;a human body whose heart
      and mind have been taken out and a machine substituted&mdash;a machine
      that can say and do only a narrow little range of conventional things&mdash;like
      one of those French dolls.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mustn't blame me for that,&rdquo; she said gently. &ldquo;I realize it, too&mdash;and
      I'm ashamed of it. But&mdash;if you could know how I've been educated.
      They've treated me as the Flathead Indian women treat their babies&mdash;keep
      their skulls in a press&mdash;isn't that it?&mdash;until their heads and
      brains grow of the Flathead pattern. Only, somehow, in my case&mdash;the
      process wasn't quite complete. And so, instead of being contented like the
      other Flathead girls, I'm&mdash;almost a rebel, at times. I'm neither the
      one thing nor the other&mdash;not natural and not Flathead, not enough
      natural to grow away from Flathead, not enough Flathead to get rid of the
      natural.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I take back what I said about not knowing why I&mdash;I want you, Anita,&rdquo;
       I said. &ldquo;I do know why&mdash;and&mdash;well, as I told you before, you'll
      never regret marrying me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you won't misunderstand me,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I'll confess to you my
      instinct has been telling me that, too. I'm not so bad as you must think.
      I did bargain to sell myself, but I'd have thrown up the bargain if you
      had been as&mdash;as you seemed at first.&rdquo; For some reason&mdash;perhaps
      it was her dress, or hat&mdash;she was looking particularly girlish that
      day, and her skin was even more transparent than usual. &ldquo;You're different
      from the men I've been used to all my life,&rdquo; she went on, and&mdash;smiling
      in a friendly way&mdash;&ldquo;you often give me a terrifying sense of your
      being a&mdash;a wild man on his good behavior. But I've come to feel that
      you're generous and unselfish and that you'll be kind to me&mdash;won't
      you? And I must make a life for myself&mdash;I must&mdash;I must! Oh, I
      can't explain to you, but&mdash;&rdquo; She turned her little head toward me,
      and I was looking into those eyes that the flowers were like.
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought she meant her home life. &ldquo;You needn't tell me,&rdquo; I said, and I'll
      have to confess my voice was anything but steady. &ldquo;And, I repeat, you'll
      never regret.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She evidently feared that she had said too much, for she lapsed into
      silence, and when I tried to resume the subject of ourselves, she answered
      me with painful constraint. I respected her nervousness and soon began to
      talk of things not so personal to us. Again, my mistake of treating her as
      if she were marked &ldquo;Fragile. Handle with care.&rdquo; I know now that she, like
      all women, had the plain, tough, durable human fibre under that exterior
      of delicacy and fragility, and that my overconsideration caused her to
      exaggerate to herself her own preposterous notions of her superior
      fineness. We walked for an hour, talking&mdash;with less constraint and
      more friendliness than ever before, and when I left her I, for the first
      time, felt that I had left a good impression.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I entered my offices, I, from force of habit, mechanically went
      direct to the ticker&mdash;and dropped all in an instant from the pinnacle
      of Heaven into a boiling inferno. For the ticker was just spelling out
      these words: &ldquo;Mowbray Langdon, president of the Textile Association,
      sailed unexpectedly on the <i>Kaiser Wilhelm</i> at noon. A two per cent.
      raise of the dividend rate of Textile Common, from the present four per
      cent, to six, has been determined upon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And I had staked up to, perhaps beyond, my limit of safety that Textile
      would fall!
    </p>
    <p>
      Ball was watching narrowly for some sign that the news was as bad as he
      feared. But it cost me no effort to keep my face expressionless; I was
      like a man who has been killed by lightning and lies dead with the look on
      his face that he had just before the bolt struck him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why didn't you tell me this,&rdquo; said I to Ball, &ldquo;when I had you on the
      'phone?&rdquo; My tone was quiet enough, but the very question ought to have
      shown him that my brain was like a schooner in a cyclone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We heard it just after you rang off,&rdquo; was his reply. &ldquo;We've been trying
      to get you ever since. I've gone everywhere after Textile stock. Very few
      will sell, or even lend, and they ask&mdash;the best price was ten points
      above to-day's closing. A strong tip's out that Textiles are to be
      rocketed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ten points up already&mdash;on the mere rumor! Already ten dollars to pay
      on every share I was &ldquo;short&rdquo;&mdash;and I short more than two hundred
      thousand! I felt the claws of the fiend Ruin sink into the flesh of my
      shoulders. &ldquo;Ball doesn't know how I'm fixed,&rdquo; I remember I thought, &ldquo;and
      he mustn't know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I lit a cigar with a steady hand and waited for Joe's next words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I went to see Jenkins at once,&rdquo; he went on. Jenkins was then first
      vice-president of the Textile Trust. &ldquo;He's all cut up because the news got
      out&mdash;says Langdon and he were the only ones who knew, so he supposed&mdash;says
      the announcement wasn't to have been made for a month&mdash;not till
      Langdon returned. He has had to confirm it, though. That was the only way
      to free his crowd from suspicion of intending to rig the market.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you seen the afternoon paper?&rdquo; he asked. As he held it out to me, my
      eye caught big Textile head-lines, then flashed to some others&mdash;something
      about my going to marry Miss Ellersly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said I, and with the paper in my hand, went to my outside
      office. I kept on toward my inner office, saying over my shoulder&mdash;to
      the stenographer: &ldquo;Don't let anybody interrupt me.&rdquo; Behind the closed and
      locked door my body ventured to come to life again and my face to reflect
      as much as it could of the chaos that was heaving in me like ten thousand
      warring devils.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three months before, in the same situation, my gambler's instinct would
      probably have helped me out. For I had not been gambling in the great
      American Monte Carlo all those years without getting used to the downs as
      well as to the ups. I had not&mdash;and have not&mdash;anything of the
      business man in my composition. To me, it was wholly finance, wholly a
      game, with excitement the chief factor and the sure winning, whether the
      little ball rolled my way or not. I was the financier, the gambler and
      adventurer; and that had been my principal asset. For, the man who wins in
      the long run at any of the great games of life&mdash;and they are all
      alike&mdash;is the man with the cool head; and the only man whose head is
      cool is he who plays for the game's sake, not caring greatly whether he
      wins or loses on any one play, because he feels that if he wins to-day, he
      will lose to-morrow; if he loses to-day, he will win to-morrow. But now a
      new factor had come into the game. I spread out the paper and stared at
      the head-lines: &ldquo;Black Matt To Wed Society Belle&mdash;The Bucket-Shop
      King Will Lead Anita Ellersly To The Altar.&rdquo; I tried to read the vulgar
      article under these vulgar lines, but I could not. I was sick, sick in
      body and in mind. My &ldquo;nerve&rdquo; was gone. I was no longer the free lance; I
      had responsibilities.
    </p>
    <p>
      That thought dragged another in its train, an ugly, grinning imp that
      leered at me and sneered: &ldquo;<i>But she won't have you now</i>!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She will! She must!&rdquo; I cried aloud, starting up. And then the storm burst&mdash;I
      raged up and down the floor, shaking my clinched fists, gnashing my teeth,
      muttering all kinds of furious commands and threats&mdash;a truly
      ridiculous exhibition of impotent rage. For through it all I saw clearly
      enough that she wouldn't have me, that all these people I'd been trying to
      climb up among would kick loose my clinging hands and laugh as they
      watched me disappear. They who were none too gentle and slow in
      disengaging themselves from those of their own lifelong associates who had
      reverses of fortune&mdash;what consideration could &ldquo;Black Matt&rdquo; expect
      from them? And she&mdash;The necessity and the ability to deceive myself
      had gone, now that I could not pay the purchase price for her. The full
      hideousness of my bargain for her dropped its veil and stood naked before
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, disgusted and exhausted, I flung myself down again, and dumbly
      and helplessly inspected the ruins of my projects&mdash;or, rather, the
      ruin of the one project upon which I had my heart set. I had known I cared
      for her, but it had seemed to me she was simply one more, the latest, of
      the objects on which I was in the habit of fixing my will from time to
      time to make the game more deeply interesting. I now saw that never before
      had I really been in earnest about anything, that on winning her I had
      staked myself, and that myself was a wholly different person from what I
      had been imagining. In a word, I sat face to face with that unfathomable
      mystery of sex-affinity that every man laughs at and mocks another man for
      believing in, until he has himself felt it drawing him against will,
      against reason, and sense, and interest, over the brink of destruction
      yawning before his eyes&mdash;drawing him as the magnet-mountain drew
      Sindbad and his ship. And I say to you that those who can defy and resist
      that compulsion are not more, but less, than man or woman; and their
      fancied strength is in reality a deficiency. Looking calmly back upon my
      follies under her spell, I think the better of myself for them. It is the
      splendid follies of life that redeem it from vulgarity.
    </p>
    <p>
      But&mdash;it is not in me to despair. There never yet was an impenetrable
      siege line; to escape, it is only necessary by craft or by chance to hit
      upon the moment and the spot for the sortie. &ldquo;Ruined!&rdquo; I said aloud.
      &ldquo;Trapped and trimmed like the stupidest sucker that ever wandered into
      Wall Street! A dead one, no doubt; but I'll see to it that they don't
      enjoy my funeral.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XVII. A GENTEEL &ldquo;HOLD-UP&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      In my childhood at home, my father was often away for a week or longer,
      working or looking for work. My mother had a notion that a boy should be
      punished only by his father; so, whenever she caught me in what she
      regarded as a serious transgression, she used to say: &ldquo;You will get a good
      whipping for this, when your father comes home.&rdquo; At first I used to wait
      passively, suffering the torments of ten thrashings before the &ldquo;good
      whipping&rdquo; came to pass. But soon my mind began to employ the interval more
      profitably. I would scheme to escape execution of sentence; and, though my
      mother was a determined woman, many's the time I contrived to change her
      mind. I am not recommending to parents the system of delay in execution of
      sentence; but I must say that in my case it was responsible for an
      invaluable discipline. For example, the Textile tangle.
    </p>
    <p>
      I knew I was in all human probability doomed to go down before the Stock
      Exchange had been open an hour the next morning. All Textile stocks must
      start many points higher than they had been at the close, must go steadily
      and swiftly up. Entangled as my reserve resources were in the Coal deal, I
      should have no chance to cover my shorts on any terms less than the loss
      of all I had. At most, I could hope only to save myself from criminal
      bankruptcy.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now my early training in coolly and calmly studying how to avert
      execution of sentence came into play. There is a kind of cornered-rat,
      hit-or-miss, last-ditch fight that any creature will make in such
      circumstances as mine then were, and the inspirations of despair sometimes
      happen to be lucky. But I prefer the reasoned-out plan.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no signal of distress in my voice as I telephoned Corey,
      president of the Interstate Trust Company, to stay at his office until I
      came; there was no signal of distress in my manner as I sallied forth and
      went down to the Power Trust Building; nor did I show or suggest that I
      had heard the &ldquo;shot-at-sunrise&rdquo; sentence, as I strode into Roebuck's
      presence and greeted him. I was assuming, by way of precaution, that some
      rumor about me either had reached him or would soon reach him. I knew he
      had an eye in every secret of finance and industry, and, while I believed
      my secret was wholly my own, I had too much at stake with him to bank on
      that, when I could, as I thought, so easily reassure him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've come to suggest, Mr. Roebuck,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;that you let my house&mdash;Blacklock
      and Company&mdash;announce the Coal reorganization plan. It would give me
      a great lift, and Melville and his bank don't need prestige. My daily
      letters to the public on investments have, as you know, got me a big
      following that would help me make the flotation an even bigger success
      than it's bound to be, no matter who announces it and invites
      subscriptions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I thus proposed that I be in a jiffy caught up from the extremely
      humble level of reputed bucket-shop dealer into the highest heaven of high
      finance, that I be made the official spokesman of the financial gods, his
      expression was so ludicrous that I almost lost my gravity. I suspect, for
      a moment he thought I had gone mad. His manner, when he recovered himself
      sufficiently to speak, was certainly not unlike what it would have been
      had he found himself alone before a dangerous lunatic who was armed with a
      bomb.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know how anxious I am to help you, to further your interests,
      Matthew,&rdquo; said he wheedlingly. &ldquo;I know no man who has a brighter future.
      But&mdash;not so fast, not so fast, young man. Of course, you will appear
      as one of the reorganizing committee&mdash;but we could not afford to have
      the announcement come through any less strong and old established house
      than the National Industrial Bank.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At least, you can make me joint announcer with them,&rdquo; I urged.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;yes&mdash;possibly&mdash;we'll see,&rdquo; said he soothingly.
      &ldquo;There is plenty of time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Plenty of time,&rdquo; I assented, as if quite content. &ldquo;I only wanted to put
      the matter before you.&rdquo; And I rose to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you heard the news of Textile Common?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I carelessly. Then, all in an instant, a plan took shape in my
      mind. &ldquo;I own a good deal of the stock, and I must say, I don't like this
      raise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I'm sure it's a stock-jobbing scheme,&rdquo; replied I boldly. &ldquo;I know
      the dividend wasn't earned. I don't like that sort of thing, Mr. Roebuck.
      Not because it's unlawful&mdash;the laws are so clumsy that a practical
      man often must disregard them. But because it is tampering with the
      reputation and the stability of a great enterprise for the sake of a few
      millions of dishonest profit. I'm surprised at Langdon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope you're wrong, Matthew,&rdquo; was Roebuck's only comment. He questioned
      me no further, and I went away, confident that, when the crash came in the
      morning, if come it must, there would be no more astonished man in Wall
      Street than Henry J. Roebuck. How he must have laughed; or, rather, would
      have laughed, if his sort of human hyena expressed its emotions in the
      human way.
    </p>
    <p>
      From him, straight to my lawyers, Whitehouse and Fisher, in the Mills
      Building.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want you to send for the newspaper reporters at once,&rdquo; said I to
      Fisher, &ldquo;and tell them that in my behalf you are going to apply for an
      injunction against the Textile Trust, forbidding them to take any further
      steps toward that increase of dividend. Tell them I, as a large
      stock-holder, and representing a group of large stock-holders, purpose to
      stop the paying of unearned dividends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fisher knew how closely connected my house and the Textile Trust had been;
      but he showed, and probably felt no astonishment. He was too experienced
      in the ways of finance and financiers. It was a matter of indifference to
      him whether I was trying to assassinate my friend and ally, or was
      feinting at Langdon, to lure the public within reach so that we might,
      together, fall upon it and make a battue. Your lawyer is your true
      mercenary. Under his code honor consists in making the best possible fight
      in exchange for the biggest possible fee. He is frankly for sale to the
      highest bidder. At least so it is with those that lead the profession
      nowadays, give it what is called &ldquo;character&rdquo; and &ldquo;tone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Not without some regret did I thus arrange to attack my friend in his
      absence. &ldquo;Still,&rdquo; I reasoned, &ldquo;his blunder in trusting some leaky person
      with his secret is the cause of my peril&mdash;and I'll not have to
      justify myself to him for trying to save myself.&rdquo; What effect my
      injunction would have I could not foresee. Certainly it could not save me
      from the loss of my fortune; but, possibly, it might check the upward
      course of the stock long enough to enable me to snatch myself from ruin,
      and to cling to firm ground until the Coal deal drew me up to safety.
    </p>
    <p>
      My next call was at the Interstate Trust Company. I found Corey waiting
      for me in a most uneasy state of mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there any truth in this story about you?&rdquo; was the question he plumped
      at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What story?&rdquo; said I, and a hard fight I had to keep my confusion and
      alarm from the surface. For, apparently, my secret was out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you're on the wrong side of the Textile.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So it was out! &ldquo;Some truth,&rdquo; I admitted, since denial would have been
      useless here. &ldquo;And I've come to you for the money to tide me over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He grew white, a sickly white, and into his eyes came a horrible, drowning
      look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I owe a lot to you, Matt,&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;But I've done you a great many
      favors, haven't I?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you have Bob,&rdquo; I cordially agreed. &ldquo;But this isn't a favor. It's
      business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mustn't ask it, Blacklock,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I've loaned you more money now
      than the law allows. And I can't let you have any more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some one has been lying to you, and you've been believing him,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;When I say my request isn't a favor, but business, I mean it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't let you have any more,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;I can't!&rdquo; And down came his
      fist in a weak-violent gesture.
    </p>
    <p>
      I leaned forward and laid my hand strongly on his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In addition to the stock of this concern that I hold in my own name,&rdquo;
       said I, &ldquo;I hold five shares in the name of a man whom nobody knows that I
      even know. If you don't let me have the money, that man goes to the
      district attorney with information that lands you in the penitentiary,
      that puts your company out of business and into bankruptcy before
      to-morrow noon. I saved you three years ago, and got you this job against
      just such an emergency as this, Bob Corey. And, by God, you'll toe the
      mark!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But we haven't done anything that every bank in town doesn't do every day&mdash;doesn't
      have to do. If we didn't lend money to dummy borrowers and over-certify
      accounts, our customers would go where they could get accommodations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's true enough,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But I'm in a position for the moment where
      I need my friends&mdash;and they've got to come to time. If I don't get
      the money from you, I'll get it elsewhere&mdash;but over the cliff with
      you and your bank! The laws you've been violating may be bad for the
      practical banking business, but they're mighty good for punishing
      ingratitude and treachery.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He sat there, yellow and pinched, and shivering every now and then. He
      made no reply. He was one of those shells of men that are conspicuous as
      figureheads in every department of active life&mdash;fellows with
      well-shaped, white-haired or prematurely bald heads, and grave,
      respectable faces; they look dignified and substantial, and the soul of
      uprightness; they coin their looks into good salaries by selling
      themselves as covers for operations of the financiers. And how those
      operations, in the nude, as it were, would terrify the plodders that save
      up and deposit or invest the money the financiers gamble with on the big
      green tables!
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently I shook his arm impatiently. His eyes met mine, and I fixed
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm going to pull through,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But if I weren't, I'd see to it that
      you were protected. Come, what's your answer? Friend or traitor?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can't you give me any security&mdash;any collateral?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more than I took from you when I saved you as you were going down with
      the rest in the Dumont smash. My word&mdash;that's all. I borrow on the
      same terms you've given me before, the same you're giving four of your
      heaviest borrowers right now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He winced as I thus reminded him how minute my knowledge was of the
      workings of his bank.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't think this of you, Matt,&rdquo; he whined. &ldquo;I believed you above such
      hold-up methods.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suit my methods to the men I'm dealing with,&rdquo; was my answer. &ldquo;These
      fellows are trying to push me off the life raft. I fight with every weapon
      I can lay hands on. And I know as well as you do that, if you get into
      serious trouble through this loan, at least five men we could both name
      would have to step in and save the bank and cover up the scandal. You'll
      blackmail them, just as you've blackmailed them before, and they you.
      Blackmail's a legitimate part of the game. Nobody appreciates that better
      than you.&rdquo; It was no time for the smug hypocrisies under which we people
      down town usually conduct our business&mdash;just as the desperadoes used
      to patrol the highways disguised as peaceful merchants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Send round in the morning and get the money,&rdquo; said he, putting on a
      resigned, hopeless look.
    </p>
    <p>
      I laughed. &ldquo;I'll feel easier if I take it now,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;We'll fix up
      the notes and checks at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He reddened, but after a brief hesitation busied himself. When the papers
      were all made up and signed, and I had the certified checks in my pocket,
      I said: &ldquo;Wait here, Bob, until the National Industrial people call you up.
      I'll ask them to do it, so they can get your personal assurance that
      everything's all right. And I'll stop there until they tell me they've
      talked with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But it's too late,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You can't deposit to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've a special arrangement with them,&rdquo; I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      His face betrayed him. I saw that at no stage of that proceeding had I
      been wiser than in shutting off his last chance to evade. What scheme he
      had in mind I don't know, and can't imagine. But he had thought out
      something, probably something foolish that would have given me trouble
      without saving him. A foolish man in a tight place is as foolish as ever,
      and Corey was a foolish man&mdash;only a fool commits crimes that put him
      in the power of others. The crimes of the really big captains of industry
      and generals of finance are of the kind that puts others in their power.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Buck up, Corey,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Do you think I'm the man to shut a friend in
      the hold of a sinking ship? Tell me, who told you I was short on Textile?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of my men,&rdquo; he slowly replied, as he braced himself together.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Which one? Who?&rdquo; I persisted. For I wanted to know just how far the news
      was likely to spread.
    </p>
    <p>
      He seemed to be thinking out a lie.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The truth!&rdquo; I commanded. &ldquo;I know it couldn't have been one of your men.
      Who was it? I'll not give you away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was Tom Langdon,&rdquo; he finally said.
    </p>
    <p>
      I checked an exclamation of amazement. I had been assuming that I had been
      betrayed by some one of those tiny mischances that so often throw the best
      plans into confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tom Langdon,&rdquo; I said satirically. &ldquo;It was he that warned you against me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was a friendly act,&rdquo; said Corey. &ldquo;He and I are very intimate. And he
      doesn't know how close you and I are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suggested that you call my loans, did he?&rdquo; I went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mustn't blame him, Blacklock; really you mustn't,&rdquo; said Corey
      earnestly, for he was a pretty good friend to those he liked, as
      friendship goes in finance. &ldquo;He happened to hear. You know the Langdons
      keep a sharp watch on operations in their stock. And he dropped in to warn
      me as a friend. You'd do the same thing in the same circumstances. He
      didn't say a word about my calling your loans. I&mdash;to be frank&mdash;I
      instantly thought of it myself. I intended to do it when you came, but&rdquo;&mdash;a
      sickly smile&mdash;&ldquo;you anticipated me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; said I good-humoredly. &ldquo;I don't blame him.&rdquo; And I didn't
      then.
    </p>
    <p>
      After I had completed my business at the National Industrial, I went back
      to my office and gathered together the threads of my web of defense. Then
      I wrote and sent out to all my newspapers and all my agents a broadside
      against the management of the Textile Trust&mdash;it would be published in
      the morning, in good time for the opening of the Stock Exchange. Before
      the first quotation of Textile could be made, thousands on thousands of
      investors and speculators throughout the country would have read my
      letter, would be believing that Matthew Blacklock had detected the Textile
      Trust in a stock-jobbing swindle, and had promptly turned against it,
      preferring to keep faith with his customers and with the public. As I read
      over my pronunciamiento aloud before sending it out, I found in it a note
      of confidence that cheered me mightily. &ldquo;I'm even stronger than I
      thought,&rdquo; said I. And I felt stronger still as I went on to picture the
      thousands on thousands throughout the land rallying at my call to give
      battle.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XVIII. ANITA BEGINS TO BE HERSELF
    </h2>
    <p>
      I had asked Sam Ellersly to dine with me; so preoccupied was I that not
      until ten minutes before the hour set did he come into my mind&mdash;he or
      any of his family, even his sister. My first impulse was to send word that
      I couldn't keep the engagement. &ldquo;But I must dine somewhere,&rdquo; I reflected,
      &ldquo;and there's no reason why I shouldn't dine with him, since I've done
      everything that can be done.&rdquo; In my office suite I had a bath and
      dressing-room, with a complete wardrobe. Thus, by hurrying a little over
      my toilet, and by making my chauffeur crowd the speed limit, I was at
      Delmonico's only twenty minutes late.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sam, who had been late also, as usual, was having a cocktail and was
      ordering the dinner. I smoked a cigarette and watched him. At business or
      at anything serious his mind was all but useless; but at ordering dinner
      and things of that sort, he shone. Those small accomplishments of his had
      often moved me to a sort of pitying contempt, as if one saw a man of
      talent devoting himself to engraving the Lord's Prayer on gold dollars.
      That evening, however, as I saw how comfortable and contented he looked,
      with not a care in the world, since he was to have a good dinner and a
      good cigar afterward; as I saw how much genuine pleasure he was getting
      out of selecting the dishes and giving the waiter minute directions for
      the chef, I envied him.
    </p>
    <p>
      What Langdon had once said came back to me: &ldquo;We are under the tyranny of
      to-morrow, and happiness is impossible.&rdquo; And I thought how true that was.
      But, for the Sammys, high and low, there is no to-morrow. He was somehow
      impressing me with a sense that he was my superior. His face was weak,
      and, in a weak way, bad; but there was a certain fineness of quality in
      it, a sort of hothouse look, as if he had been sheltered all his life, and
      brought up on especially selected food. &ldquo;Men like me,&rdquo; thought I with a
      certain envy, &ldquo;rise and fall. But his sort of men have got something that
      can't be taken away, that enables them to carry off with grace, poverty or
      the degradation of being spongers and beggars.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This shows how far I had let that attack of snobbishness eat into me. I
      glanced down at my hands. No delicateness there; certainly those fingers,
      though white enough nowadays, and long enough, too, were not made for
      fancy work and parlor tricks. They would have looked in place round the
      handle of a spade or the throttle of an engine, while Sam's seemed made
      for the keyboard of a piano.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must come over to my rooms after dinner, and give me some music,&rdquo;
       said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;but I've promised to go home and play bridge.
      Mother's got a few in to dinner, and more are coming afterward, I
      believe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I'll go with you, and talk to your sister&mdash;she doesn't play.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He glanced at me in a way that made me pass my hand over my face. I
      learned at least part of the reason for my feeling at disadvantage before
      him. I had forgotten to shave; and as my beard is heavy and black, it has
      to be looked after twice a day. &ldquo;Oh, I can stop at my rooms and get my
      face into condition in a few minutes,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And put on evening dress, too,&rdquo; he suggested. &ldquo;You wouldn't want to go in
      a dinner jacket.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I can't say why this was the &ldquo;last straw,&rdquo; but it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bother!&rdquo; said I, my common sense smashing the spell of snobbishness that
      had begun to reassert itself as soon as I got into his unnatural,
      unhealthy atmosphere. &ldquo;I'll go as I am, beard and all. I only make myself
      ridiculous, trying to be a sheep. I'm a goat, and a goat I'll stay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That shut him into himself. When he re-emerged, it was to say: &ldquo;Something
      doing down town to-day, eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sharpness in his voice and in his eyes, too, made me put my mind on him
      more closely, and then I saw what I should have seen before&mdash;that he
      was moody and slightly distant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seen Tom Langdon this afternoon?&rdquo; I asked carelessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He colored. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;had lunch with him,&rdquo; was his answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      I smiled&mdash;for his benefit. &ldquo;Aha!&rdquo; thought I. &ldquo;So Tom Langdon has been
      fool enough to take this paroquet into his confidence.&rdquo; Then I said to
      him: &ldquo;Is Tom making the rounds, warning the rats to leave the sinking
      ship?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you mean, Matt?&rdquo; he demanded, as if I had accused him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked steadily at him, and I imagine my unshaven jaw did not make my
      aspect alluring.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That I'm thinking of driving the rats overboard,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;The ship's
      sound, but it would be sounder if there were fewer of them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You don't imagine anything Tom could say would change my feelings toward
      you?&rdquo; he pleaded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know, and I don't care a damn,&rdquo; replied I coolly. &ldquo;But I do know,
      before the Langdons or anybody else can have Blacklock pie, they'll have
      first to catch their Blacklock.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw Langdon had made him uneasy, despite his belief in my strength. And
      he was groping for confirmation or reassurance. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;if he
      thinks I may be going up the spout, why isn't he more upset? He probably
      hates me because I've befriended him, but no matter how much he hated me,
      wouldn't his fear of being cut off from supplies drive him almost crazy?&rdquo;
       I studied him in vain for sign of deep anxiety. Either Tom didn't tell him
      much, I decided, or he didn't believe Tom knew what he was talking about.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What did Tom say about me?&rdquo; I inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, almost nothing. We were talking chiefly of&mdash;of club matters,&rdquo; he
      answered, in a fair imitation of his usual offhand manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When does my name come up there?&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      He flushed and shifted. &ldquo;I was just about to tell you,&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;But
      perhaps you know?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Know what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That&mdash;Hasn't Tom told you? He has withdrawn&mdash;and&mdash;you'll
      have to get another second&mdash;if you think&mdash;that is&mdash;unless
      you&mdash;I suppose you'd have told me, if you'd changed your mind?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Since I had become so deeply interested in Anita, my ambition&mdash;ambition!&mdash;to
      join the Travelers had all but dropped out of my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had forgotten about it,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But, now that you remind me, I want
      my name withdrawn. It was a passing fancy. It was part and parcel of a lot
      of damn foolishness I've been indulging in for the last few months. But
      I've come to my senses&mdash;and it's 'me to the wild,' where I belong,
      Sammy, from this time on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked tremendously relieved, and a little puzzled, too. I thought I
      was reading him like an illuminated sign. &ldquo;He's eager to keep friends with
      me,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;until he's absolutely sure there's nothing more in it for
      him and his people.&rdquo; And that guess was a pretty good one. It is not to
      the discredit of my shrewdness that I didn't see it was not hope, but
      fear, that made him try to placate me. I could not have possibly known
      then what the Langdons had done. But&mdash;Sammy was saying, in his
      friendliest tone:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's the matter, old man? You're sour to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never in a better humor,&rdquo; I assured him, and as I spoke the words they
      came true. What I had been saying about the Travelers and all it
      represented&mdash;all the snobbery, and smirking, and rotten pretense&mdash;my
      final and absolute renunciation of it all&mdash;acted on me as I've seen
      religion act on the fellows that used to go up to the mourners' bench at
      the revivals. I felt as if I had suddenly emerged from the parlor of a
      dive and its stench of sickening perfumes, into the pure air of God's
      Heaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      I signed the bill, and we went afoot up the avenue. Sam, as I saw with a
      good deal of amusement, was trying to devise some subtle, tactful way of
      attaching his poor, clumsy little suction-pump to the well of my secret
      thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it, Sammy?&rdquo; said I at last. &ldquo;What do you want to know that you're
      afraid to ask me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said hastily. &ldquo;I'm only a bit worried about&mdash;about you
      and Textile. Matt,&rdquo;&mdash;this in the tone of deep emotion we reserve for
      the attempt to lure our friends into confiding that about themselves which
      will give us the opportunity to pity them, and, if necessary, to sheer off
      from them&mdash;&ldquo;Matt, I do hope you haven't been hard hit?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; said I easily. &ldquo;Dry your tears and put away your black clothes.
      Your friend, Tom Langdon, was a little premature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm afraid I've given you a false impression,&rdquo; Sam continued, with an
      overeagerness to convince me that did not attract my attention at the
      time. &ldquo;Tom merely said, 'I hear Blacklock is loaded up with Textile
      shorts,'&mdash;that was all. A careless remark. I really didn't think of
      it again until I saw you looking so black and glum.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That seemed natural enough, so I changed the subject. As we entered his
      house, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not go up to the drawing-room. Make my excuses to your mother, will
      you? I'll turn into the little smoking-room here. Tell your sister&mdash;and
      say I'm going to stop only a moment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sam had just left me when the butler came.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Ball&mdash;I think that was the name, sir&mdash;wishes to speak to
      you on the telephone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had given Ellerslys' as one of the places at which I might be found,
      should it be necessary to consult me. I followed the butler to the
      telephone closet under the main stairway. As soon as Ball made sure it was
      I, he began:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll use the code words. I've just seen Fearless, as you told me to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fearless&mdash;that was Mitchell, my spy in the employ of Tavistock, who
      was my principal rival in the business of confidential brokerage for the
      high financiers. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;What does he say?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There has been a great deal of heavy buying for a month past.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then my dread was well-founded&mdash;Textiles were to be deliberately
      rocketed. &ldquo;Who's been doing it?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He found out only this afternoon. It's been kept unusually dark. It&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who? Who?&rdquo; I demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Intrepid,&rdquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Intrepid&mdash;that is, Langdon&mdash;Mowbray Langdon!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The whole thing&mdash;was planned carefully,&rdquo; continued Ball, &ldquo;and is
      coming off according to schedule. Fearless overheard a final message
      Intrepid's brother brought from him to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So it was no mischance&mdash;it was an assassination. Mowbray Langdon had
      stabbed me in the back and fled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you hear what I said?&rdquo; asked Ball. &ldquo;Is that you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; came in a relieved tone from the other end of the wire. &ldquo;You were so
      long in answering that I thought I'd been cut off. Any instructions?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Good-by.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I heard him ring off, but I sat there for several minutes, the receiver
      still to my ear. I was muttering: &ldquo;Langdon, Langdon&mdash;why&mdash;why&mdash;why?&rdquo;
       again and again. Why had he turned against me? Why had he plotted to
      destroy me&mdash;one of those plots so frequent in Wall Street&mdash;where
      the assassin steals up, delivers the mortal blow, and steals away without
      ever being detected or even suspected? I saw the whole plot now&mdash;I
      understood Tom Langdon's activities, I recalled Mowbray Langdon's curious
      phrases and looks and tones. But&mdash;why&mdash;why&mdash;why? How was I
      in his way?
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all dark to me&mdash;pitch-dark. I returned to the smoking-room,
      lighted a cigar, sat fumbling at the new situation. I was in no worse
      plight than before&mdash;what did it matter who was attacking me? In the
      circumstances, a novice could now destroy me as easily as a Langdon.
      Still, Ball's news seemed to take away my courage. I reminded myself that
      I was used to treachery of this sort, that I deserved what I was getting
      because I had, like a fool, dropped my guard in the fight that is always
      an every-man-for-himself. But I reminded myself in vain. Langdon's smiling
      treachery made me heart-sick.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon Anita appeared&mdash;preceded and heralded by a faint rustling from
      soft and clinging skirts, that swept my nerves like a love-tune. I suppose
      for all men there is a charm, a spell, beyond expression, in the sight of
      a delicate beautiful young woman, especially if she be dressed in those
      fine fabrics that look as if only a fairy loom could have woven them; and
      when a man loves the woman who bursts upon his vision, that spell must
      overwhelm him, especially if he be such a man as was I&mdash;a product of
      life's roughest factories, hard and harsh, an elbower and a trampler, a
      hustler and a bluffer. Then, you must also consider the exact
      circumstances&mdash;I standing there, with destruction hanging over me,
      with the sense that within a few hours I should be a pariah to her, a
      masquerader stripped of his disguise and cast out from the ball where he
      had been making so merry and so free. Only a few hours more! Perhaps now
      was the last time I should ever stand so near to her! The full realization
      of all this swallowed me up as in a great, thick, black mist. And my arms
      strained to escape from my tightly-locked hands, strained to seize her, to
      snatch from her, reluctant though she might be, at least some part of the
      happiness that was to be denied me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I think my torment must have somehow penetrated to her. For she was sweet
      and friendly&mdash;and she could not have hurt me worse! If I had followed
      my impulse I should have fallen at her feet and buried my face, scorching,
      in the folds of that pale blue, faintly-shimmering robe of hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do throw away that huge, hideous cigar,&rdquo; she said, laughing. And she took
      two cigarettes from the box, put both between her lips, lit them, held one
      toward me. I looked at her face, and along her smooth, bare, outstretched
      arm, and at the pink, slender fingers holding the cigarette. I took it as
      if I were afraid the spell would be broken, should my fingers touch hers.
      Afraid&mdash;that's it! That's why I didn't pour out all that was in my
      heart. I deserved to lose her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm taking you away from the others,&rdquo; I said. We could hear the murmur of
      many voices and of music. In fancy I could see them assembled round the
      little card-tables&mdash;the well-fed bodies, the well-cared-for skins,
      the elaborate toilets, the useless jeweled hands&mdash;comfortable,
      secure, self-satisfied, idle, always idle, always playing at the imitation
      games&mdash;like their own pampered children, to be sheltered in the
      nurseries of wealth their whole lives through. And not at all in
      bitterness, but wholly in sadness, a sense of the injustice, the
      unfairness of it all&mdash;a sense that had been strong in me in my youth
      but blunted during the years of my busy prosperity&mdash;returned for a
      moment. For a moment only; my mind was soon back to realities&mdash;to her
      and me&mdash;to &ldquo;us.&rdquo; How soon it would never be &ldquo;us&rdquo; again!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They're mama's friends,&rdquo; Anita was answering. &ldquo;Oldish and tiresome. When
      you leave I shall go straight on up to bed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'd like to&mdash;to see your room&mdash;where you live,&rdquo; said I, more to
      myself than to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I sleep in a bare little box,&rdquo; she replied with a laugh. &ldquo;It's like a
      cell. A friend of ours who has the anti-germ fad insisted on it. But my
      sitting-room isn't so bad.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Langdon has the anti-germ fad,&rdquo; said I. She answered &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; after a pause,
      and in such a strained voice that I looked at her. A flush was just dying
      out of her face. &ldquo;He was the friend I spoke of,&rdquo; she went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know him very well?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We've known him&mdash;always,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I think he's one of my earliest
      recollections. His father's summer place and ours adjoin. And once&mdash;I
      guess it's the first time I remember seeing him&mdash;he was a freshman at
      Harvard, and he came along on a horse past the pony cart in which a groom
      was driving me. And I&mdash;I was very little then&mdash;I begged him to
      take me up, and he did. I thought he was the greatest, most wonderful man
      that ever lived.&rdquo; She laughed queerly. &ldquo;When I said my prayers, I used to
      imagine a god that looked like him to say them to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I echoed her laugh heartily. The idea of Mowbray Langdon as a god struck
      me as peculiarly funny, though natural enough, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Absurd, wasn't it?&rdquo; said she. But her face was grave, and she let her
      cigarette die out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I guess you know him better than that now?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;better,&rdquo; she answered, slowly and absently. &ldquo;He's&mdash;anything
      but a god!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the more fascinating on that account,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I wonder why women
      like best the really bad, dangerous sort of man, who hasn't any respect
      for them, or for anything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I said this that she might protest, at least for herself. But her answer
      was a vague, musing, &ldquo;I wonder&mdash;I wonder.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure <i>you</i> wouldn't,&rdquo; I protested earnestly, for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at me queerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can I never convince you that I'm just a woman?&rdquo; said she mockingly.
      &ldquo;Just a woman, and one a man with your ideas of women would fly from.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish you were!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Then&mdash;I'd not find it so&mdash;so
      impossible to give you up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She rose and made a slow tour of the room, halting on the rug before the
      closed fireplace a few feet from me. I sat looking at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going to give you up,&rdquo; I said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her eyes, staring into vacancy, grew larger and intenser with each long,
      deep breath she took.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't intend to say what I'm about to say&mdash;at least, not this
      evening,&rdquo; I went on, and to me it seemed to be some other than myself who
      was speaking. &ldquo;Certain things happened down town to-day that have set me
      to thinking. And&mdash;I shall do whatever I can for your brother and your
      father. But you&mdash;you are free!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She went to the table, stood there in profile to me, straight and slender
      as a sunflower stalk. She traced the silver chasings in the lid of the
      cigarette box with her forefinger; then she took a cigarette and began
      rolling it slowly and absently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Please don't scent and stain your fingers with that filthy tobacco,&rdquo; said
      I rather harshly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And only this afternoon you were saying you had become reconciled to my
      vice&mdash;that you had canonized it along with me&mdash;wasn't that your
      phrase?&rdquo; This indifferently, without turning toward me, and as if she were
      thinking of something else.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I have,&rdquo; retorted I. &ldquo;But my mood&mdash;please oblige me this once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She let the cigarette fall into the box, closed the lid gently, leaned
      against the table, folded her arms upon her bosom and looked full at me. I
      was as acutely conscious of her every movement, of the very coming and
      going of the breath at her nostrils, as a man on the operating-table is
      conscious of the slightest gesture of the surgeon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are&mdash;suffering!&rdquo; she said, and her voice was like the flow of
      oil upon a burn. &ldquo;I have never seen you like this. I didn't believe you
      capable of&mdash;of much feeling.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I could not trust myself to speak. If Bob Corey could have looked in on
      that scene, could have understood it, how amazed he would have been!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What happened down town to-day?&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;Tell me, if I may know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll tell you what I didn't think, ten minutes ago, I'd tell any human
      being,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;They've got me strapped down in the press. At ten o'clock
      in the morning&mdash;precisely at ten&mdash;they're going to put on the
      screws.&rdquo; I laughed. &ldquo;I guess they'll have me squeezed pretty dry before
      noon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shivered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So, you see,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;I don't deserve any credit for giving you up.
      I only anticipate you by about twenty-four hours. Mine's a deathbed
      repentance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'd thought of that,&rdquo; said she reflectively. Presently she added: &ldquo;Then,
      it is true.&rdquo; And I knew Sammy had given her some hint that prepared her
      for my confession.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I can't go blustering through the matrimonial market,&rdquo; replied
      I. &ldquo;I've been thrown out. I'm a beggar at the gates.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A beggar at the gates,&rdquo; she murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      I got up and stood looking down at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't <i>pity</i> me!&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;My remark was a figure of speech. I want
      no alms. I wouldn't take even you as alms. They'll probably get me down,
      and stamp the life out of me&mdash;nearly. But not quite&mdash;don't you
      lose sight of that. They can't kill me, and they can't tame me. I'll
      recover, and I'll strew the Street with their blood and broken bones.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She drew in her breath sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And a minute ago I was almost liking you!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I retreated to my chair and gave her a smile that must have been grim.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your ideas of life and of men are like a cloistered nun's,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;If
      there are any real men among your acquaintances, you may find out some day
      that they're not so much like lapdogs as they pretend&mdash;and that you
      wouldn't like them, if they were.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What&mdash;just what&mdash;happened to you down town to-day&mdash;after
      you left me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A friend of mine has been luring me into a trap&mdash;why, I can't quite
      fathom. To-day he sprang the trap and ran away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A friend of yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The man we were talking about&mdash;your ex-god&mdash;Langdon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Langdon,&rdquo; she repeated, and her tone told me that Sammy knew and had
      hinted to her more than I suspected him of knowing. And, with her arms
      still folded, she paced up and down the room. I watched her slender feet
      in pale blue slippers appear and disappear&mdash;first one, then the other&mdash;at
      the edge of her trailing skirt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently she stopped in front of me. Her eyes were gazing past me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are sure it was he?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not answer immediately, so amazed was I at her expression. I had
      been regarding her as a being above and apart, an incarnation of youth and
      innocence; with a shock it now came to me that she was experienced,
      intelligent, that she understood the whole of life, the dark as fully as
      the light, and that she was capable to live it, too. It was not a girl
      that was questioning me there; it was a woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;Langdon,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;But I've no quarrel with him. My reverse
      is nothing but the fortune of war. I assure you, when I see him again,
      I'll be as friendly as ever&mdash;only a bit less of a trusting ass, I
      fancy. We're a lot of free lances down in the Street. We fight now on one
      side, now on the other. We change sides whenever it's expedient; and under
      the code it's not necessary to give warning. To-day, before I knew he was
      the assassin, I had made my plans to try to save myself at his expense,
      though I believed him to be the best friend I had down town. No doubt he's
      got some good reason for creeping up on me in the dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are sure it was he?&rdquo; she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He, and nobody else,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;He decided to do me up&mdash;and I
      guess he'll succeed. He's not the man to lift his gun unless he's sure the
      bird will fall.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you really not care any more than you show?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;Or is your
      manner only bravado&mdash;to show off before me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't care a damn, since I'm to lose you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It'll be a godsend
      to have a hard row to hoe the next few months or years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She went back to leaning against the table, her arms folded as before. I
      saw she was thinking out something. Finally she said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have decided not to accept your release.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I sprang to my feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita!&rdquo; I cried, my arms stretched toward her.
    </p>
    <p>
      But she only looked coldly at me, folded her arms the more tightly and
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not misunderstand me. The bargain is the same as before. If you want
      me on those terms, I must&mdash;give myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      A faint smile, with no mirth in it, drifted round the corners of her
      mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An impulse,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't quite understand it myself. An impulse
      from&mdash;from&mdash;&rdquo; Her eyes and her thoughts were far away, and her
      expression was the one that made it hardest for me to believe she was a
      child of those parents of hers. &ldquo;An impulse from a sense of justice&mdash;of
      decency. I am the cause of your trouble, and I daren't be a coward and a
      cheat.&rdquo; She repeated the last words. &ldquo;A coward&mdash;a cheat! We&mdash;I&mdash;have
      taken much from you, more than you know. It must be repaid. If you still
      wish, I will&mdash;will keep to my bargain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's true, I'd not have got into the mess,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;if I'd been
      attending to business instead of dangling after you. But you're not
      responsible for that folly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She tried to speak several times, before she finally succeeded in saying:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's my fault. I mustn't shirk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I studied her, but I couldn't puzzle her out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've been thinking all along that you were simple and transparent,&rdquo; I
      said. &ldquo;Now, I see you are a mystery. What are you hiding from me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her smile was almost coquettish as she replied:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When a woman makes a mystery of herself to a man, it's for the man's
      good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I took her hand&mdash;almost timidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;do you still&mdash;dislike me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not&mdash;and shall not&mdash;love you,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;But you are&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;More endurable?&rdquo; I suggested, as she hesitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Less unendurable,&rdquo; she said with raillery. Then she added, &ldquo;Less
      unendurable than profiting by a-creeping up in the dark.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I thought I understood her better than she understood herself. And
      suddenly my passion melted in a tenderness I would have said was as
      foreign to me as rain to a desert. I noticed that she had a haggard look.
      &ldquo;You are very tired, child,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Good night. I am a different man
      from what I was when I came in here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I a different woman,&rdquo; said she, a beauty shining from her that was as
      far beyond her physical beauty as&mdash;as love is beyond passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A nobler, better woman,&rdquo; I exclaimed, kissing her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      She snatched it away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you only knew!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;It seems to me, as I realize what sort of
      woman I am, that I am almost worthy of <i>you</i>!&rdquo; And she blazed a look
      at me that left me rooted there, astounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I went down the avenue with a light heart. &ldquo;Just like a woman,&rdquo; I was
      saying to myself cheerfully, &ldquo;not to know her own mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A few blocks, and I stopped and laughed outright&mdash;at Langdon's
      treachery, at my own credulity. &ldquo;What an ass I've been making of myself!&rdquo;
       said I to myself. And I could see myself as I really had been during those
      months of social struggling&mdash;an ass, braying and gamboling in a
      lion's skin&mdash;to impress the ladies!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But not wholly to no purpose,&rdquo; I reflected, again all in a glow at
      thought of Anita.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XIX. A WINDFALL FROM &ldquo;GENTLEMAN JOE&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      I went to my rooms, purposing to go straight to bed, and get a good sleep.
      I did make a start toward undressing; then I realized that I should only
      lie awake with my brain wearing me out, spinning crazy thoughts and
      schemes hour after hour&mdash;for my imagination rarely lets it do any
      effective thinking after the lights are out and the limitations of
      material things are wiped away by the darkness. I put on a dressing-gown
      and seated myself to smoke and to read.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I was very young, new to New York, in with the Tenderloin crowd and
      up to all sorts of pranks, I once tried opium smoking. I don't think I
      ever heard of anything in those days without giving it a try. Usually, I
      believe, opium makes the smoker ill the first time or two; but it had no
      such effect on me, nor did it fill my mind with fantastic visions. On the
      contrary, it made everything around me intensely real&mdash;that is, it
      enormously stimulated my dominant characteristic of accurate observation.
      I noticed the slightest details&mdash;such things as the slight difference
      in the length of the arms of the Chinaman who kept the &ldquo;joint,&rdquo; the number
      of buttons down the front of the waist of the girl in the bunk opposite
      mine, across the dingy, little, sweet-scented room. Nothing escaped me,
      and also I was conscious of each passing second, or, rather, fraction of a
      second.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a rule, time and events, even when one is quietest, go with such a rush
      that one notes almost nothing of what is passing. The opium seemed to
      compel the kaleidoscope of life to turn more slowly; in fact, it sharpened
      my senses so that they unconsciously took impressions many times more
      quickly and easily and accurately. As I sat there that night after leaving
      Anita, forcing my mind to follow the printed lines, I found I was in
      exactly the state in which I had been during my one experiment with opium.
      It seemed to me that as many days as there had been hours must have
      elapsed since I got the news of the raised Textile dividend. Days&mdash;yes,
      weeks, even months, of thought and action seemed to have been compressed
      into those six hours&mdash;for, as I sat there, it was not yet eleven
      o'clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      And then I realized that this notion was not of the moment, but that I had
      been as if under the influence of some powerful nerve stimulant since my
      brain began to recover from the shock of that thunderbolt. Only, where
      nerve stimulants often make the mind passive and disinclined to take part
      in the drama so vividly enacting before it, this opening of my reservoirs
      of reserve nervous energy had multiplied my power to act as well as my
      power to observe. &ldquo;I wonder how long it will last,&rdquo; thought I. And it made
      me uneasy, this unnatural alertness, unaccompanied by any feverishness or
      sense of strain. &ldquo;Is this the way madness begins?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I dressed myself again and went out&mdash;went up to Joe Healey's gambling
      place in Forty-fourth Street. Most of the well-known gamblers up town, as
      well as their &ldquo;respectable&rdquo; down town fellow members of the fraternity,
      were old acquaintances of mine; Joe Healey was as close a friend as I had.
      He had great fame for squareness&mdash;and, in a sense, deserved it. With
      his fellow gamblers he was straight as a string at all times&mdash;to be
      otherwise would have meant that when he went broke he would stay broke,
      because none of the fraternity would &ldquo;stake&rdquo; him. But with his patrons&mdash;being
      regarded by them as a pariah, he acted toward them like a pariah&mdash;a
      prudent pariah. He fooled them with a frank show of gentlemanliness, of
      honesty to his own hurt; under that cover he fleeced them well, but always
      judiciously.
    </p>
    <p>
      That night, I recall, Joe's guests were several young fellows of the
      fashionable set, rich men's sons and their parasites, a few of the big
      down town operators who hadn't yet got hipped on &ldquo;respectability&rdquo;&mdash;they
      playing poker in a private room&mdash;and a couple of flush-faced,
      flush-pursed chaps from out of town, for whom one of Joe's men was dealing
      faro from what looked to my experienced and accurate eye like a &ldquo;brace&rdquo;
       box.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joe, very elegant, too elegant in fact, in evening dress, was showing a
      new piece of statuary to the oldest son of Melville, of the National
      Industrial Bank. Joe knew a little something about art&mdash;he was much
      like the art dealers who, as a matter of business, learn the difference
      between good things and bad, but in their hearts wonder and laugh at
      people willing to part with large sums of money for a little paint or
      marble or the like.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as Joe thought he had sufficiently impressed young Melville, he
      drifted him to a roulette table, left him there and joined me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come to my office,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I want to see you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He led the way down the richly-carpeted marble stairway as far as the
      landing at the turn. There, on a sort of mezzanine, he had a gorgeous
      little suite. The principal object in the sitting-room or office was a
      huge safe. He closed and locked the outside door behind us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take a seat,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You'll like the cigars in the second box on my
      desk&mdash;the long one.&rdquo; And he began turning the combination lock. &ldquo;You
      haven't dropped in on us for the past three or four months,&rdquo; he went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I, getting a great deal of pleasure out of seeing again, and
      thus intimately, his round, ruddy face&mdash;like a yachtman's, not like a
      drinker's&mdash;and his shifty, laughing brown eyes. &ldquo;The game down town
      has given me enough excitement. I haven't had to continue it up town to
      keep my hand in.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In fact, I had, as I have already said, been breaking off with my former
      friends because, while many of the most reputable and reliable financiers
      down town go in for high play occasionally at the gambling houses, it
      isn't wise for the man trying to establish himself as a strictly
      legitimate financier. I had been playing as much as ever, but only in
      games in my own rooms and at the rooms of other bankers, brokers and
      commercial leaders. The passion for high play is a craving that gnaws at a
      man all the time, and he must always be feeding it one way or another.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've noticed that you are getting too swell to patronize us fellows,&rdquo;
       said he, his shrewd smile showing that my polite excuse had not fooled
      him. &ldquo;Well, Matt, you're right&mdash;you always did have good sound sense
      and a steady eye for the main chance. I used to think the women'd ruin
      you, they were so crazy about that handsome mug and figure of yours. But
      when I saw you knew exactly when to let go, I knew nothing could stop
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      By this time he had the safe open, disclosing several compartments and a
      small, inside safe. He worked away at the second combination lock, and
      presently exposed the interior of the little safe. It was filled with a
      great roll of bills. He pried this out, brought it over to the desk and
      began wrapping it up. &ldquo;I want you to take this with you when you go,&rdquo; said
      he. &ldquo;I've made several big killings lately, and I'm going to get you to
      invest the proceeds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't take that big bundle along with me, Joe,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Besides, it
      ain't safe. Put it in the bank and send me a check.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not on your life,&rdquo; replied Healey with a laugh. &ldquo;The suckers we trimmed
      gave checks, and I turned 'em into cash as soon as the banks opened. I
      wasn't any too spry, either. Two of the damned sneaks consulted lawyers as
      soon as they sobered off, and tried to stop payment on their checks.
      They're threatening proceedings. You must take the dough away with you,
      and I don't want a receipt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Trimming suckers, eh?&rdquo; said I, not able to decide what to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Their fathers stole it from the public,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;They're drunken
      little snobs, not fit to have money. I'm doing a public service by
      relieving them of it. If I'd 'a' got more, I'd feel that much more&rdquo;&mdash;he
      vented his light, cool, sarcastic laugh&mdash;&ldquo;more patriotic.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't take it,&rdquo; said I, feeling that, in my present condition, to take
      it would be very near to betraying the confidence of my old friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They lost it in a straight game,&rdquo; he hastened to assure me. &ldquo;I haven't
      had a 'brace' box or crooked wheel for four years.&rdquo; This with a sober face
      and a twinkle in his eye. &ldquo;But even if I had helped chance to do the good
      work of teaching them to take care of their money, you'd not refuse me. Up
      town and down town, and all over the place, what's business, when you come
      to look at it sensibly, but trading in stolen goods? Do you know a man who
      could honestly earn more than ten or twenty thousand a year&mdash;good
      clean money by good clean work?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, for that matter, your money's as clean as anybody's,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But,
      you know, I'm a speculator, Joe. I have my downs&mdash;and this happens to
      be a stormy time for me. If I take your money, I mayn't be able to account
      for it or even to pay dividends on it for&mdash;maybe a year or so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's all right, old man. I'll never give it a thought till you remind me
      of it. Use it as you'd use your own. I've got to put it behind somebody's
      luck&mdash;why not yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He finished doing up the package, then he seated himself, and we both
      looked at it through the smoke of our cigars.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's just as easy to deal in big sums as in little, in large matters as
      in small, isn't it, Joe,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;once one gets in the way of it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you remember&mdash;away back there&mdash;the morning,&rdquo; he asked
      musingly&mdash;&ldquo;the last morning&mdash;you and I got up from the straw in
      the stables over at Jerome Park&mdash;the stables they let us sleep in?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And went out in the dawn to roost on the rails and spy on the speed
      trials of old Revell's horses?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; said Joe, and we looked at each other and laughed. &ldquo;We in rags&mdash;gosh,
      how chilly it was that morning! Do you remember what we talked about?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I, though I did.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was proposing to turn a crooked trick&mdash;and you wouldn't have it.
      You persuaded me to keep straight, Matt. I've never forgotten it. You kept
      me straight&mdash;showed me what a damn fool a man was to load himself
      down with a petty larceny record. You made a man of me, Matt. And then
      those good looks of yours caught the eye of that bookmaker's girl, and he
      gave you a job at writing sheet&mdash;and you worked me in with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So long ago it seemed, yet near and real, too, as I sat there, conscious
      of every sound and motion, even of the fantastic shapes taken by our
      upcurling smoke. How far I was from the &ldquo;rail bird&rdquo; of those
      happy-go-lucky years, when a meal meant quite as much to me as does a
      million now&mdash;how far from all that, yet how near, too. For was I not
      still facing life with the same careless courage, forgetting each
      yesterday in the eager excitement of each new day with its new deal? We
      went on in our reminiscences for a while; then, as Joe had a little work
      to do, I drifted out into the house, took a bite of supper with young
      Melville, had a little go at the tiger, and toward five in the clear June
      morning emerged into the broad day of the streets, with the precious
      bundle under my arms and a five hundred-dollar bill in my waistcoat
      pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give my win to me in a single bill,&rdquo; I said to the banker, &ldquo;and blow
      yourself off with the change.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Joe walked down the street with me&mdash;for companionship and a little
      air before turning in, he said, but I imagine a desire to keep his eye on
      his treasure a while longer had something to do with his taking that early
      morning stroll. We passed several of those forlorn figures that hurry
      through the slowly-awakening streets to bed or to work. Finally, there
      came by an old, old woman&mdash;a scrubwoman, I guess, on her way home
      from cleaning some office building. Beside her was a thin little boy,
      hopping along on a crutch. I stopped them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold out your hand,&rdquo; said I to the boy, and he did. I laid the five
      hundred-dollar bill in it. &ldquo;Now, shut your fingers tight over that,&rdquo; said
      I, &ldquo;and don't open them till you get home. Then tell your mother to do
      what she likes with it.&rdquo; And we left them gaping after us, speechless
      before this fairy story come true.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must be looking hard for luck to-day,&rdquo; said Joe, who understood this
      transaction where another might have thought it a showy and not very wise
      charity. &ldquo;They'll stop in at the church and pray for you, and burn a
      candle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;for God knows I need it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XX. A BREATHING SPELL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Langdon, after several years of effort, had got recognition for Textile in
      London, but that was about all. He hadn't succeeded in unloading any great
      amount of it on the English. So it was rather because I neglected nothing
      than because I was hopeful of results that I had made a point of
      telegraphing to London news of my proposed suit. The result was a little
      trading in Textiles over there and a slight decline in the price. This
      fact was telegraphed to all the financial centers on this side of the
      water, and reinforced the impression my lawyers' announcement and my own
      &ldquo;bear&rdquo; letter were making.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, this was nothing, or next to it. What could I hope to avail against
      Langdon's agents with almost unlimited capital, putting their whole energy
      under the stock to raise it? In the same newspapers that published my bear
      attack, in the same columns and under the same head-lines, were official
      denials from the Textile Trust and the figures of enormous increase of
      business as proof positive that the denials were honest. If the public had
      not been burned so many times by &ldquo;industrials,&rdquo; if it had not learned by
      bitter experience that practically none of the leaders of finance and
      industry were above lying to make or save a few dollars, if Textiles had
      not been manipulated so often, first by Dumont and since his death by his
      brother-in-law and successor, this suave and cynical Langdon, my desperate
      attack would have been without effect. As it was&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Four months before, in the same situation, had I seen Textiles stagger as
      they staggered in the first hour of business on the Stock Exchange that
      morning, I'd have sounded the charge, clapped spurs to my charger, and
      borne down upon them. But&mdash;I had my new-born yearning for
      &ldquo;respectability&rdquo;; I had my new-born squeamishness, which led me to fear
      risking Bob Corey and his bank and the money of my old friend Healey;
      finally, there was Anita&mdash;the longing for her that made me prefer a
      narrow and uncertain foothold to the bold leap that would land me either
      in wealth and power or in the bottomless abyss.
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead of continuing to sell Textiles, I covered as far as I could; and I
      bought so eagerly and so heavily that, more than Langdon's corps of
      rocketers, I was responsible for the stock's rally and start upward. When
      I say &ldquo;eagerly&rdquo; and &ldquo;heavily,&rdquo; I do not mean that I acted openly or
      without regard to common sense. I mean simply that I made no attempt to
      back up my followers in the selling campaign I had urged them into; on the
      contrary, I bought as they sold. That does not sound well, and it is no
      better than it sounds. I shall not dispute with any one who finds this
      action of mine a betrayal of my clients to save myself. All I shall say is
      that it was business, that in such extreme and dire compulsion as was
      mine, it was&mdash;and is&mdash;right under the code, the private and real
      Wall Street code.
    </p>
    <p>
      You can imagine the confused mass of transactions in which I was involved
      before the Stock Exchange had been open long. There was the stock we had
      been able to buy or get options on at various prices, between the closing
      of the Exchange the previous day and that morning's opening&mdash;stock
      from all parts of this country and in England. There was the stock I had
      been buying since the Exchange opened&mdash;buying at figures ranging from
      one-eighth above last night's closing price to fourteen points above it.
      And, on the debit side, there were the &ldquo;short&rdquo; transactions extending over
      a period of nearly two months&mdash;&ldquo;sellings&rdquo; of blocks large and small
      at a hundred different prices.
    </p>
    <p>
      An inextricable tangle, you will say, one it would be impossible for a man
      to unravel quickly and in the frantic chaos of a wild Stock Exchange day.
      Yet the influence of the mysterious state of my nerves, which I have
      described above, was so marvelous that, incredible though it seems, the
      moment the Exchange closed, I knew exactly, where I stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Like a mechanical lightning calculator, my mind threw up before me the net
      result of these selling and buying transactions. Textile Common closed
      eighteen points above the closing quotation of the previous day; if
      Langdon's brother had not been just a little indiscreet, I should have
      been as hopeless a bankrupt in reputation and in fortune as ever was
      ripped up by the bulls of Wall Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      As it was, I believed that, by keeping a bold front, I might extricate and
      free myself when the Coal reorganization was announced. The rise of Coal
      stocks would square my debts&mdash;and, as I was apparently untouched by
      the Textile flurry, so far as even Ball, my nominal partner and chief
      lieutenant, knew, I need not fear pressure from creditors that I could not
      withstand.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not breathe freely, but I could breathe.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXI. MOST UNLADYLIKE
    </h2>
    <p>
      When I saw I was to have a respite of a month or so, I went over to the
      National Industrial Bank with Healey's roll, which my tellers had counted
      and prepared for deposit. I finished my business with the receiving teller
      of the National Industrial, and dropped in on my friend Lewis, the first
      vice-president. I did not need to pretend coolness and confidence; my
      nerves were still in that curious state of tranquil exhilaration, and I
      felt master of myself and of the situation. Just as I was leaving, in came
      Tom Langdon with Sam Ellersly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tom's face was a laughable exhibit of embarrassment. Sam&mdash;really, I
      felt sorry for him. There was no reason on earth why he shouldn't be with
      Tom Langdon; yet he acted as if I had caught him &ldquo;with the goods on him.&rdquo;
       He stammered and stuttered, clasped my hand eagerly, dropped it as if it
      had stung him; he jerked out a string of hysterical nonsense, ending with
      a laugh so crazy that the sound of it disconcerted him. Drink was the
      explanation that drifted through my mind; but in fact I thought little
      about it, so full was I of other matters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When is your brother returning?&rdquo; said I to Tom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the next steamer, I believe,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;He went only for the rest
      and the bath of sea air.&rdquo; With an effort he collected himself, drew me
      aside and said: &ldquo;I owe you an apology, Mr. Blacklock. I went to the
      steamer with Mowbray to see him off, and he asked me to tell you about our
      new dividend rate&mdash;though it was not to be made public for some time.
      Anyhow, he told me to go straight to you&mdash;and I&mdash;frankly, I
      forgot it.&rdquo; Then, with the winning, candid Langdon smile, he added,
      ingenuously: &ldquo;The best excuse in the world&mdash;yet the one nobody ever
      accepts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No apology necessary,&rdquo; said I with the utmost good nature. &ldquo;I've no
      personal interest in Textile. My house deals on commission only, you know&mdash;never
      on margins for myself. I'm a banker and broker, not a gambler. Some of our
      customers were alarmed by the news of the big increase, and insisted on
      bringing suit to stop it. But I'm going to urge them now to let the matter
      drop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Tom tried to look natural, and as he is an apt pupil of his brother's, he
      succeeded fairly well. His glance, however, wouldn't fix steadily on my
      gaze, but circled round and round it like a bat at an electric light. &ldquo;To
      tell you the truth,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I'm extremely nervous as to what my brother
      will say&mdash;and do&mdash;to me, when I tell him. I hope no harm came to
      you through my forgetfulness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None in the world,&rdquo; I assured him. Then I turned on Sam. &ldquo;What are you
      doing down town to-day?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Are you on your way to see me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He flushed with angry shame, reading an insinuation into my careless
      remark, when I had not the remotest intention of reminding him that his
      customary object in coming down town was to play the parasite and the
      sponge at my expense. I ought to have guessed at once that there was some
      good reason for his recovery of his refined, high-bred, gentlemanly
      super-sensibilities; but I was not in the mood to analyze trifles, though
      my nerves were taking careful record of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I was just calling on Tom,&rdquo; he replied rather haughtily.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Melville himself came in, brushing back his white tufted burnsides
      and licking his lips and blinking his eyes&mdash;looking for all the world
      like a cat at its toilet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! ah! Blacklock!&rdquo; he exclaimed, with purring cordiality&mdash;and I
      knew he had heard of the big deposit I was making. &ldquo;Come into my office on
      your way out&mdash;nothing especial&mdash;only because it's always a
      pleasure to talk with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw that his effusive friendliness confirmed Tom Langdon's fear that I
      had escaped from his brother's toils. He stared sullenly at the carpet
      until he caught me looking at him with twinkling eyes. He made a valiant
      effort to return my smile and succeeded in twisting his face into a knot
      that seemed to hurt him as much as it amused me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, good-by, Tom,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Give my regards to your brother when he
      lands, and tell him his going away was a mistake. A man can't afford to
      trust his important business to understrappers.&rdquo; This with a face free
      from any suggestion of intending a shot at him. Then to Sam: &ldquo;See you
      to-night, old man,&rdquo; and I went away, leaving Lewis looking from one to the
      other as if he felt that there was dynamite about, but couldn't locate it.
      I stopped with Melville to talk Coal for a few minutes&mdash;at my ease,
      and the last man on earth to be suspected of hanging by the crook of one
      finger from the edge of the precipice.
    </p>
    <p>
      I rang the Ellerslys' bell at half-past nine that evening. The butler
      faced me with eyes not down, as they should have been, but on mine, and
      full of the servile insolence to which he had been prompted by what he had
      overheard in the family.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at home, sir,&rdquo; he said, though I had not spoken.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was preoccupied and not expecting that statement; neither had I skill,
      nor desire to acquire skill, in reading family barometers in the faces of
      servants. So, I was for brushing past him and entering where I felt I had
      as much right as in my own places. He barred the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beg pardon, sir. Mrs. Ellersly instructed me to say no one was at home.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I halted, but only like an oncoming bear at the prick of an arrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What the hell does this mean?&rdquo; I exclaimed, waving him aside. At that
      instant Anita appeared from the little reception-room a few feet away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;come in!&rdquo; she said cordially. &ldquo;I was expecting you. Burroughs,
      please take Mr. Blacklock's hat.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I followed her into the reception-room, thinking the butler had made some
      sort of mistake.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How did you come out?&rdquo; she asked eagerly, facing me. &ldquo;You look your
      natural self&mdash;not tired or worried&mdash;so it must have been not so
      bad as you feared.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If our friend Langdon hadn't slipped away, I might not look and feel so
      comfortable,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;His brother blundered, and there was no one to
      checkmate my moves.&rdquo; She seemed nearer to me, more in sympathy with me
      than ever before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can't tell you how glad I am!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her eyes were wide and bright, as from some great excitement, and her
      color was high. Once my attention was on it, I knew instantly that only
      some extraordinary upheaval in that household could have produced the
      fever that was blazing in her. Never had I seen her in any such mood as
      this.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If anything disagreeable should be said or done this evening here,&rdquo; she
      said, &ldquo;I want you to promise me that you'll restrain yourself, and not say
      or do any of those things that make me&mdash;that jar on me. You
      understand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am always myself,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;I can't be anybody else.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you are&mdash;several different kinds of self,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;And
      please&mdash;this evening don't be <i>that</i> kind. It's coming into your
      eyes and chin now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had lifted my head and looked round, probably much like the leader of a
      horned herd at the scent of danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is this better?&rdquo; said I, trying to look the thoughts I had no difficulty
      in getting to the fore whenever my eyes were on her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her smile rewarded me. But it disappeared, gave place to a look of nervous
      alarm, of terror even, at the rustling, or, rather, bustling, of skirts in
      the hall&mdash;there was war in the very sound, and I felt it. Mrs.
      Ellersly appeared, bearing her husband as a dejected trailer invisibly but
      firmly coupled. She acknowledged my salutation with a stiff-necked nod,
      ignored my extended hand. I saw that she wished to impress upon me that
      she was a very grand lady indeed; but, while my ideas of what constitutes
      a lady were at that time somewhat befogged by my snobbishness, she failed
      dismally. She looked just what she was&mdash;a mean, bad-tempered woman,
      in a towering rage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have forced me, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; said she, and then I knew for just
      what purpose that voice of hers was best adapted&mdash;&ldquo;to say to you what
      I should have preferred to write. Mr. Ellersly has had brought to his ears
      matters in connection with your private life that make it imperative that
      you discontinue your calls here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My private life, ma'am?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;I was not aware that I had a
      private life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita, leave us alone with Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; commanded her mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl hesitated, bent her head, and with a cowed look went slowly
      toward the door. There she paused, and, with what seemed a great effort,
      lifted her head and gazed at me. How I ever came rightly to interpret her
      look I don't know, but I said: &ldquo;Miss Ellersly, I've the right to insist
      that you stay.&rdquo; I saw she was going to obey me, and before Mrs. Ellersly
      could repeat her order I said: &ldquo;Now, madam, if any one accuses me of
      having done anything that would cause you to exclude a man from your
      house, I am ready for the liar and his lie.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I spoke I was searching the weak, bad old face of her husband for an
      explanation. Their pretense of outraged morality I rejected at once&mdash;it
      was absurd. Neither up town nor down, nor anywhere else, had I done
      anything that any one could regard as a breach of the code of a man of the
      world. Then, reasoned I, they must have found some one else to help them
      out of their financial troubles&mdash;some one who, perhaps, has made this
      insult to me the price, or part of the price, of his generosity. Who? Who
      hates me? In instant answer, up before my mind flashed a picture of Tom
      Langdon and Sam Ellersly arm in arm entering Lewis' office. Tom Langdon
      wishes to marry her; and her parents wish it, too; he is the man she was
      confessing to me about&mdash;these were my swift conclusions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We do not care to discuss the matter, sir,&rdquo; Mrs. Ellersly was replying,
      her tone indicating that it was not fit to discuss. And this was the woman
      I had hardly been able to treat civilly, so nauseating were her fawnings
      and flatterings!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; I said, ignoring her and opening my batteries full upon the old man.
      &ldquo;You are taking orders from Mowbray Langdon now. Why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I spoke, I was conscious that there had been some change in Anita. I
      looked at her. With startled eyes and lips apart, she was advancing toward
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita, leave the room!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Ellersly harshly, panic under the
      command in her tones.
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt rather than saw my advantage, and pressed it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You see what they are doing, Miss Ellersly,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      She passed her hands over her eyes, let her face appear again. In it there
      was an energy of repulsion that ought to have seemed exaggerated to me
      then, knowing really nothing of the true situation. &ldquo;I understand now!&rdquo;
       said she. &ldquo;Oh&mdash;it is&mdash;loathsome!&rdquo; And her eyes blazed upon her
      mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Loathsome,&rdquo; I echoed, dashing at my opportunity. &ldquo;If you are not merely a
      chattel and a decoy, if there is any womanhood, any self-respect in you,
      you will keep faith with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Ellersly. &ldquo;Go to your room!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had, once or twice before, heard a tone as repulsive&mdash;a female
      dive-keeper hectoring her wretched white slaves. I looked at Anita. I
      expected to see her erect, defiant. Instead, she was again wearing that
      cowed look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't judge me too harshly,&rdquo; she said pleadingly to me. &ldquo;I know what is
      right and decent&mdash;God planted that too deep in me for them to be able
      to uproot it. But&mdash;oh, they have broken my will! They have broken my
      will! They have made me a coward, a thing!&rdquo; And she hid her face in her
      hands and sobbed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Ellersly was about to speak. I could not offer better proof of my own
      strength of will than the fact that I, with a look and a gesture, put her
      down. Then I said to the girl:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must choose now! Woman or thing&mdash;which shall it be? If it is
      woman, then you have me behind you and in front of you and around you. If
      it is thing&mdash;God have mercy on you! Your self-respect, your pride are
      gone&mdash;for ever. You will be like the carpet under his feet to the man
      whose creature you become.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She came and stood by me, with her back to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you will take me with you now,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I will go. If I delay, I am
      lost. I shall not have the courage. And I am sick, sick to death of this
      life here, of this hideous wait for the highest bidder.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her voice gained strength and her manner courage as she spoke; at the end
      she was meeting her mother's gaze without flinching. My eyes had followed
      hers, and my look was taking in both her mother and her father. I had long
      since measured them, yet I could scarcely credit the confirmation of my
      judgment. Had life been smooth and comfortable for that old couple, as it
      was for most of their acquaintances and friends, they would have lived and
      died regarding themselves, and regarded, as well-bred, kindly people, of
      the finest instincts and tastes. But calamity was putting to the test the
      system on which they had molded their apparently elegant, graceful lives.
      The storm had ripped off the attractive covering; the framework, the
      reality of that system, was revealed, naked and frightful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita, go to your room!&rdquo; almost screamed the old woman, her fury tearing
      away the last shreds of her cloak of manners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your daughter is of age, madam,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;She will go where she pleases.
      And I warn you that you are deceived by the Langdons. I am not powerless,
      and&rdquo;&mdash;here I let her have a full look into my red-hot furnaces of
      wrath&mdash;&ldquo;I stop at nothing in pursuing those who oppose me&mdash;at
      nothing!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anita, staring at her mother's awful face, was shrinking and trembling as
      if before the wicked, pale-yellow eyes and quivering, outstretched
      tentacles of a devil-fish. Clinging to my arm, she let me guide her to the
      door. Her mother recovered speech. &ldquo;Anita!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;What are you
      doing? Are you mad?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think I must be out of my mind,&rdquo; said Anita. &ldquo;But, if you try to keep
      me here, I shall tell him all&mdash;<i>all</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her voice suggested that she was about to go into hysterics. I gently
      urged her forward. There was some sort of woman's wrap in the hall. I put
      it round her. Before she&mdash;or I&mdash;realized it, she was in my
      waiting electric.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Up town,&rdquo; I said to my man.
    </p>
    <p>
      She tried to get out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, what have I done! What am I doing!&rdquo; she cried, her courage oozing
      away. &ldquo;Let me out&mdash;please!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are going with me,&rdquo; said I, entering and closing the door. I saw the
      door of the Ellersly mansion opening, saw old Ellersly, bareheaded and
      distracted, scuttling down the steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go ahead&mdash;fast!&rdquo; I called to my man.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the electric was rushing up the avenue, with the bell ringing for
      crossings incessantly. She huddled away from me into the corner of the
      seat, sobbing hysterically. I knew that to touch her would be fatal&mdash;or
      to speak. So I waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXII. MOST UNGENTLEMANLY
    </h2>
    <p>
      As we neared the upper end of the park, I told my chauffeur, through the
      tube, to enter and go slowly. Whenever a lamp flashed in at us, I had a
      glimpse of her progress toward composure&mdash;now she was drying her eyes
      with the bit of lace she called a handkerchief; now her bare arms were up,
      and with graceful fingers she was arranging her hair; now she was straight
      and still, the soft, fluffy material with which her wrap was edged drawn
      close about her throat. I shifted to the opposite seat, for my nerves
      warned me that I could not long control myself, if I stayed on where her
      garments were touching me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked away from her for the pleasure of looking at her again, of
      realizing that my overwrought senses were not cheating me. Yes, there she
      was, in all the luster of that magnetic beauty I can not think of even now
      without an upblazing of the fire which is to the heart what the sun is to
      a blind man dreaming of sight. There she was on my side of the chasm that
      had separated us&mdash;alone with me&mdash;mine&mdash;mine! And my heart
      dilated with pride. But a moment later came a sense of humility. Her
      beauty intoxicated me, but her youth, her fineness, so fragile for such
      rough hands as mine, awed and humbled me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must be very gentle,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;I have promised that she shall
      never regret. God help me to keep my promise! She is mine, but only to
      preserve and protect.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And that idea of <i>responsibility in possession</i> was new to me&mdash;was
      to have far-reaching consequences. Now that I think of it, I believe it
      changed the whole course of my life.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was leaning forward, her elbow on the casement of the open window of
      the brougham, her cheek against her hand; the moonlight was glistening on
      her round, firm forearm and on her serious face. &ldquo;How far, far away from&mdash;everything
      it seems here!&rdquo; she said, her voice tuned to that soft, clear light, &ldquo;and
      how beautiful it is!&rdquo; Then, addressing the moon and the shadows of the
      trees rather than me: &ldquo;I wish I could go on and on&mdash;and never return
      to&mdash;to the world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish we could,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      My tone was low, but she started, drew back into the brougham, became an
      outline in the deep shadow. In another mood that might have angered me.
      Just then it hurt me so deeply that to remember it to-day is to feel a
      faint ache in the scar of the long-healed wound. My face was not hidden as
      was hers; so, perhaps, she saw. At any rate, her voice tried to be
      friendly as she said: &ldquo;Well&mdash;I have crossed the Rubicon. And I don't
      regret. It was silly of me to cry. I thought I had been through so much
      that I was beyond such weakness. But you will find me calm from now on,
      and reasonable.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not too reasonable, please,&rdquo; said I, with an attempt at her lightness. &ldquo;A
      reasonable woman is as trying as an unreasonable man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But we are going to be sensible with each other,&rdquo; she urged, &ldquo;like two
      friends. Aren't we?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are going to be what we are going to be,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;We'll have to take
      life as it comes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That clumsy reminder set her to thinking, stirred her vague uneasiness in
      those strange circumstances to active alarm. For presently she said, in a
      tone that was not so matter-of-course as she had tried to make it: &ldquo;We'll
      go now to my Uncle Frank's. He's a brother of my father's. I always used
      to like him best&mdash;and still do. But he married a woman mama thought&mdash;queer.
      They hadn't much, so he lives away up on the West Side&mdash;One Hundred
      and Twenty-seventh Street.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The wise plan, the only wise plan,&rdquo; said I, not so calm as she must have
      thought me, &ldquo;is to go to my partner's house and send for a minister.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not to-night,&rdquo; she replied nervously. &ldquo;Take me to Uncle Frank's, and
      to-morrow we can discuss what to do and how to do it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To-night,&rdquo; I persisted. &ldquo;We must be married to-night. No more uncertainty
      and indecision and weakness. Let us begin bravely, Anita!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To-morrow,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But not to-night. I must think it over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To-night,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;To-morrow will be full of its own problems. This
      is to-night's.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head, and I saw that the struggle between us had begun&mdash;the
      struggle against her timidity and conventionality. &ldquo;No, not tonight.&rdquo; This
      in her tone for finality.
    </p>
    <p>
      To argue with any woman in such circumstances would be dangerous; to argue
      with her would have been fatal. To reason with a woman is to flatter her
      into suspecting you of weakness and herself of strength. I told the
      chauffeur to turn about and go slowly up town. She settled back into her
      corner of the brougham. Neither of us spoke until we were passing Grant's
      Tomb. Then she started out of her secure confidence in my obedience, and
      exclaimed: &ldquo;This is not the way!&rdquo; And her voice had in it the hasty
      call-to-arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I replied, determined to push the panic into a rout. &ldquo;As I told you,
      our future shall be settled to-night.&rdquo; That in <i>my</i> tone for
      finality.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pause, then: &ldquo;It <i>has</i> been settled,&rdquo; she said, like a child that
      feels, yet denies, its impotence as it struggles in the compelling arms of
      its father. &ldquo;I thought until a few minutes ago that I really intended to
      marry you. Now I see that I didn't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Another reason why we're not going to your uncle's,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      She leaned forward so that I could see her face. &ldquo;I can not marry you,&rdquo;
       she said. &ldquo;I feel humble toward you, for having misled you. But it is
      better that you&mdash;and I&mdash;should have found out now than too
      late.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is too late&mdash;too late to go back.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would you wish to marry a woman who does not love you, who loves some one
      else, and who tells you so and refuses to marry you?&rdquo; She had tried to
      concentrate enough scorn into her voice to hide her fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And I shall. I'll not desert you, Anita, when your
      courage and strength shall fail. I will carry you on to safety.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell you I can not marry you,&rdquo; she cried, between appeal and command.
      &ldquo;There are reasons&mdash;I may not tell you. But if I might, you would&mdash;would
      take me to my uncle's. I can not marry you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is what conventionality bids you say now,&rdquo; I replied. And then I
      gathered myself together and in a tone that made me hate myself as I heard
      it, I added slowly, each word sharp and distinct: &ldquo;But what will
      conventionality bid you say to-morrow morning, as we drive down crowded
      Fifth Avenue, after a night in this brougham?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I could not see her, for she fell back into the darkness as sharply as if
      I had struck her with all my force full in the face. But I could feel the
      effect of my words upon her. I paused, not because I expected or wished an
      answer, but because I had to steady myself&mdash;myself, not my purpose;
      my purpose was inflexible. I would put through what we had begun, just as
      I would have held her and cut off her arm with my pocket-knife if we had
      been cast away alone, and I had had to do it to save her life. She was not
      competent to decide for herself. Every problem that had ever faced her had
      been decided by others for her. Who but me could decide for her now? I
      longed to plead with her, longed to let her see that I was not
      hard-hearted, was thinking of her, was acting for her sake as much as for
      my own. But I dared not. &ldquo;She would misunderstand,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;She
      would think you were weakening.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Full fifteen minutes of that frightful silence before she said: &ldquo;I will go
      where you wish.&rdquo; And she said it in a tone that makes me wince as I recall
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I called my partner's address up through the tube. Again that frightful
      silence, then she was trying to choke back the sobs. A few words I caught:
      &ldquo;They have broken my will&mdash;they have broken my will.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      My partner lived in a big, gray-stone house that stood apart and commanded
      a noble view of the Hudson and the Palisades. It was, in the main, a
      reproduction of a French château, and such changes as the architect had
      made in his model were not positively disfiguring, though amusing. There
      should have been trees and shrubbery about it, but&mdash;&ldquo;As Mrs. B.
      says,&rdquo; Joe had explained to me, &ldquo;what's the use of sinking a lot of cash
      in a house people can't see?&rdquo; So there was not a bush, not a flower.
      Inside&mdash;One day Ball took me on a tour of the art shops. &ldquo;I've got a
      dozen corners and other big bare spots to fill,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Mrs. B. hates
      to give up money, haggles over every article. I'm going to put the job
      through in business style.&rdquo; I soon discovered that I had been brought
      along to admire his &ldquo;business style,&rdquo; not to suggest. After two hours, in
      which he bought in small lots several tons of statuary, paintings, vases
      and rugs, he said, &ldquo;This is too slow.&rdquo; He pointed his stick at a crowded
      corner of the shop. &ldquo;How much for that bunch of stuff?&rdquo; he demanded. The
      proprietor gave him a figure. &ldquo;I'll close,&rdquo; said Joe, &ldquo;if you'll give
      fifteen off for cash.&rdquo; The proprietor agreed. &ldquo;Now we're done,&rdquo; said Joe
      to me. &ldquo;Let's go down town, and maybe I can pick up what I've dropped.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      You can imagine that interior. But don't picture it as notably worse than
      the interior of the average New York palace. It was, if anything, better
      than those houses, where people who deceive themselves about their lack of
      taste have taken great pains to prevent any one else from being deceived.
      One could hardly move in Joe's big rooms for the litter of gilded and
      tapestried furniture, and their crowded walls made the eyes ache.
    </p>
    <p>
      The appearance of the man who opened the door for Anita and me suggested
      that our ring had roused him from a bed where he had deposited himself
      without bothering to take off his clothes. At the sound of my voice, Ball
      peered out of his private smoking-room, at the far end of the hall. He
      started forward; then, seeing how I was accompanied, stopped with mouth
      ajar. He had on a ragged smoking-jacket, a pair of shapeless old Romeo
      slippers, his ordinary business waistcoat and trousers. He was wearing
      neither tie nor collar, and a short, black pipe was between his fingers.
      We had evidently caught the household stripped of &ldquo;lugs,&rdquo; and sunk in the
      down-at-the-heel slovenliness which it called &ldquo;comfort.&rdquo; Joe was crimson
      with confusion, and was using his free hand to stroke, alternately, his
      shiny bald head and his heavy brown mustache. He got himself together
      sufficiently, after a few seconds, to disappear into his den. When he came
      out again, pipe and ragged jacket were gone, and he rushed for us in a
      gorgeous velvet jacket with dark red facings, and a showy pair of
      slippers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Glad to see you, Mr. Blacklock&rdquo;&mdash;in his own home he always addressed
      every man as Mister, just as &ldquo;Mrs. B.&rdquo; always called him &ldquo;Mister Ball,&rdquo;
       and he called her &ldquo;Missus Ball&rdquo; before &ldquo;company.&rdquo; &ldquo;Come right into the
      front parlor. Billy, turn on the electric lights.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anita had been standing with her head down. She now looked round with
      shame and terror in those expressive blue-gray eyes of hers; her delicate
      nostrils were quivering. I hastened to introduce Ball to her. Her impulse
      to fly passed; her lifelong training in doing the conventional thing
      asserted itself. She lowered her head again, murmured an inaudible
      acknowledgment of Joe's greeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your wife is at home?&rdquo; said I. If one was at home in the evening, the
      other was also, and both were always there, unless they were at some
      theater&mdash;except on Sunday night, when they dined at Sherry's, because
      many fashionable people did it. They had no friends and few acquaintances.
      In their humbler and happy days they had had many friends, but had lost
      them when they moved away from Brooklyn and went to live, like uneasy,
      out-of-place visitors, in their grand house, pretending to be what they
      longed to be, longing to be what they pretended to be, and as discontented
      as they deserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes, Mrs. B.'s at home,&rdquo; Joe answered. &ldquo;I guess she and Alva were&mdash;about
      to go to bed.&rdquo; Alva was their one child. She had been christened Malvina,
      after Joe's mother; but when the Balls &ldquo;blossomed out&rdquo; they renamed her
      Alva, which they somehow had got the impression was &ldquo;smarter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At Joe's blundering confession that the females of the family were in no
      condition to receive, Anita said to me in a low voice: &ldquo;Let us go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I pretended not to hear. &ldquo;Rout 'em out,&rdquo; said I to Joe. &ldquo;Then, take my
      electric and bring the nearest parson. There's going to be a wedding&mdash;right
      here.&rdquo; And I looked round the long salon, with everything draped for the
      summer departure. Joe whisked the cover off one chair, his man took off
      another. &ldquo;I'll have the women-folks down in two minutes,&rdquo; he cried. Then
      to the man: &ldquo;Get a move on you, Billy. Stir 'em up in the kitchen. Do the
      best you can about supper&mdash;and put a lot of champagne on the ice.
      That's the main thing at a wedding.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anita had seated herself listlessly in one of the uncovered chairs. The
      wrap slipped back from her shoulders and&mdash;how proud I was of her! Joe
      gazed, took advantage of her not looking up to slap me on the back and to
      jerk his head in enthusiastic approval. Then he, too, disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      A wait followed, during which we could hear, through the silence, excited
      undertones from the upper floors. The words were indistinct until Joe's
      heavy voice sent down to us an angry &ldquo;No damn nonsense, I tell you.
      Allie's got to come, too. She's not such a fool as you think. Bad example&mdash;bosh!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anita started up. &ldquo;Oh&mdash;please&mdash;please!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Take me away&mdash;anywhere!
      This is dreadful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was, indeed, dreadful. If I could have had my way at just that moment,
      it would have gone hard with &ldquo;Mrs. B.&rdquo; and &ldquo;Allie&rdquo;&mdash;and heavy-voiced
      Joe, too. But I hid my feelings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's nowhere else to go,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;except the brougham.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sank into her chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes more of silence, and there was a rustling on the stairs. She
      started up, trembling, looked round, as if seeking some way of escape or
      some place to hide. Joe was in the doorway holding aside one of the
      curtains. There entered in a beribboned and beflounced tea-gown, a pretty,
      if rather ordinary, woman of forty, with a petulant baby face. She was
      trying to look reserved and severe. She hardly glanced at me before
      fastening sharp, suspicious eyes on Anita.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Ball,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;this is Miss Ellersly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Miss Ellersly!&rdquo; she exclaimed, her face changing. And she advanced and
      took both Anita's hands. &ldquo;Mr. Ball is so stupid,&rdquo; she went on, with that
      amusingly affected accent which is the &ldquo;Sunday clothes&rdquo; of speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't catch the name, my dear,&rdquo; Joe stammered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be off,&rdquo; said I, aside, to him. &ldquo;Get the nearest preacher, and hustle him
      here with his tools.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had one eye on Anita all the time, and I saw her gaze follow Joe as he
      hurried out; and her expression made my heart ache. I heard him saying in
      the hall, &ldquo;Go in, Allie. It's O K&rdquo;; heard the door slam, knew we should
      soon have some sort of minister with us.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Allie&rdquo; entered the drawing-room. I had not seen her in six years. I
      remembered her unpleasantly as a great, bony, florid child, unable to
      stand still or to sit still, or to keep her tongue still, full of aimless
      questions and giggles and silly remarks that she and her mother thought
      funny. I saw her now, grown into a handsome young woman, with enough
      beauty points for an honorable mention, if not for a prize&mdash;straight
      and strong and rounded, with a brow and a keen look out of the eyes which
      it seemed a pity should be wasted on a woman. Her mother's looks, her
      father's good sense, a personality apparently got from neither, but all
      her own, and unusual and interesting. No wonder the Balls felt toward her
      much as a pair of barn-swallows would feel if they were to hatch out an
      eaglet. These quiet, tame American parents that are always finding their
      suppressed selves, the bold, fantastic, unadmitted dreams of their youth
      startlingly confronting them in the flesh as their own children!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From what Mr. Ball said,&rdquo;&mdash;Mrs. Ball was gushing affectedly to
      Anita,&mdash;&ldquo;I got an idea that&mdash;well, really, I didn't know <i>what</i>
      to think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Anita looked as if she were about to suffocate. Allie came to the rescue.
      &ldquo;Not very complimentary to Mr. Blacklock, mother,&rdquo; said she
      good-humoredly. Then to Anita, with a simple friendliness there was no
      resisting: &ldquo;Wouldn't you like to come up to my room for a few minutes?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, thank you!&rdquo; responded Anita, after a quick, but thorough inspection
      of Alva's face, to make sure she was like her voice. I had not counted on
      this; I had been assuming that Anita would not be out of my sight until we
      were married. It was on the tip of my tongue to interfere when she looked
      at me&mdash;for permission to go!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't keep her too long,&rdquo; said I to Alva, and they were gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can't blame me&mdash;really you can't, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; Mrs. Ball
      began to plead for herself, as soon as they were safely out of hearing.
      &ldquo;After some things&mdash;mere hints, you understand&mdash;for I'm careful
      what I permit Mr. Ball to say before <i>me</i>. I think married people can
      not be too respectful of each other. I <i>never</i> tolerate <i>vulgarity</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt, Joe has made me out a very vulgar person,&rdquo; said I, forgetting
      her lack of humor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, not at all, not at all, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; she protested, in a panic
      lest she had done her husband damage with me. &ldquo;I understand, men will be
      men, though as a pure-minded woman, I'm sure I can't imagine why they
      should be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How far off is the nearest church?&rdquo; I cut in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Only two blocks&mdash;that is, the Methodist church,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;But I
      know Mr. Ball will bring an Episcopalian.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I thought you were a devoted Presbyterian,&rdquo; said I, recalling how in
      their Brooklyn days she used to insist on Joe's going twice every Sunday
      to sleep through long sermons.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked uncomfortable. &ldquo;I was reared Presbyterian,&rdquo; she explained
      confusedly, &ldquo;but you know how it is in New York. And when we came to live
      here, we got out of the habit of church-going. And all Alva's little
      friends were Episcopalians. So I drifted toward that church. I find the
      service so satisfying&mdash;so&mdash;elegant. And&mdash;one sees there the
      people one sees socially.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How is your culture class?&rdquo; I inquired, deliberately malicious, in my
      impatience and nervousness. &ldquo;And do you still take conversation lessons?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was furiously annoyed. &ldquo;Oh, those old jokes of Joe's,&rdquo; she said,
      affecting disdainful amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      In fact, they were anything but jokes. On Mondays and Thursdays she used
      to attend a class for women who, like herself, wished to be &ldquo;up-to-date on
      culture and all that sort of thing.&rdquo; They hired a teacher to cram them
      with odds and ends about art and politics and the &ldquo;latest literature,
      heavy and light.&rdquo; On Tuesdays and Fridays she had an &ldquo;indigent
      gentlewoman,&rdquo; whatever that may be, come to her to teach her how to
      converse and otherwise conduct herself according to the &ldquo;standards of
      polite society.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Joe used to give imitations of those conversation lessons that raised
      roars of laughter round the poker table, the louder because so many of the
      other men had wives with the same ambitions and the same methods of
      attaining them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Ball came back to the subject of Anita.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad you are going to settle with such a charming girl. She comes of
      such a charming family. I have never happened to meet any of them. We are
      in the West Side set, you know, while they move in the East Side set, and
      New York is so large that one almost never meets any one outside one's own
      set.&rdquo; This smooth snobbishness, said in the affected &ldquo;society&rdquo; tone, was
      as out of place in her as rouge and hair-dye in a wholesome, honest old
      grandmother.
    </p>
    <p>
      I began to pace the floor. &ldquo;Can it be,&rdquo; I fretted aloud, &ldquo;that Joe's
      racing round looking for an Episcopalian preacher, when there was a
      Methodist at hand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure he wouldn't bring anything but a Church of England priest,&rdquo; Mrs.
      Ball assured me loftily. &ldquo;Why, Miss Ellersly wouldn't think she was
      married, if she hadn't a priest of her own church.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My temper got the bit in its teeth. I stopped before her, and fixed her
      with an eye that must have had some fire in it. &ldquo;I'm not marrying a fool,
      Mrs. Ball,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You mustn't judge her by her bringing-up&mdash;by her
      family. Children have a way of bringing themselves up, in spite of damn
      fool parents.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She weakened so promptly that I was ashamed of myself. My only apology for
      getting out of patience with her is that I had seen her seldom in the last
      few years, had forgotten how matter-of-surface her affectation and
      snobbery were, and how little they interfered with her being a good mother
      and a good wife, up to the limits of her brain capacity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm sure, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; she said plaintively, &ldquo;I only wished to say
      what was pleasant and nice about your fiancée. I know she's a lovely girl.
      I've often admired her at the opera. She goes a great deal in Mrs.
      Langdon's box, and Mrs. Langdon and I are together on the board of
      managers of the Magdalene Home, and also on the board of the Hospital for
      Unfortunate Gentlefolk.&rdquo; And so on, and on.
    </p>
    <p>
      I walked up and down among those wrapped-up, ghostly chairs and tables and
      cabinets and statues many times before Joe arrived with the minister&mdash;and
      he was a Methodist, McCabe by name. You should have seen Mrs. Ball's look
      as he advanced his portly form and round face with its shaven upper lip
      into the drawing-room. She tried to be cordial, but she couldn't&mdash;her
      mind was on Anita, and the horror that would fill her when she discovered
      that she was to be married by a preacher of a sect unknown to fashionable
      circles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All I ask of you,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;is that you cut it as short as
      possible. Miss Ellersly is tired and nervous.&rdquo; This while we were shaking
      hands after Joe's introduction.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can count on me, sir,&rdquo; said McCabe, giving my hand an extra shake
      before dropping it. &ldquo;I've no doubt, from what my young neighbor here tells
      me, that your marriage is already made in your hearts and with all
      solemnity. The form is an incident&mdash;important, but only an incident.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I liked that, and I liked his unaffected way of saying it. His voice had
      more of the homely, homelike, rural twang in it than I had heard in New
      York in many a day. I mentally doubled the fee I had intended to give him.
      And now Alva and she were coming down the stairway. I was amazed at sight
      of her. Her evening dress had given place to a pretty blue street suit
      with a short skirt&mdash;white showing at her wrists, at her neck and
      through slashings in the coat over her bosom; and on her head was a hat to
      match. I looked at her feet&mdash;the slippers had been replaced by boots.
      &ldquo;And they're just right for her,&rdquo; said Alva, who was following my glance,
      &ldquo;though I'm not so tall as she.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But what amazed me most, and delighted me, was that she seemed to be
      almost in good spirits. It was evident she had formed with Joe's daughter
      one of those sudden friendships so great and so vivid that they rarely
      lived long after the passing of the heat of the emergency that bred them.
      Mrs. Ball saw it, also, and was straightway giddied into a sort of
      ecstasy. You can imagine the visions it conjured. I've no doubt she talked
      house on the east side of the park to Joe that very night, before she let
      him sleep. However, Anita's face was serious enough when we took our
      places before the minister, with his little, black-bound book open. And as
      he read in a voice that was genuinely impressive those words that no voice
      could make unimpressive, I saw her paleness blanch into pallor, saw the
      dusk creep round her eyes until they were like stars waning somberly
      before the gray face of dawn. When they closed and her head began to sway,
      I steadied her with my arm. And so we stood, I with my arm round her, she
      leaning lightly against my shoulder. Her answers were mere movements of
      the lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the end, when I kissed her cheek, she said: &ldquo;Is it over?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; McCabe answered&mdash;she was looking at him. &ldquo;And I wish you all
      happiness, Mrs. Blacklock.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At that name, her new name, she stared at him with great wondering eyes;
      then her form relaxed. I carried her to a chair. Joe came with a glass of
      champagne; she drank some of it, and it brought life back to her face, and
      some color. With a naturalness that deceived even me for the moment, she
      smiled up at Joe as she handed him the glass. &ldquo;Is it bad luck,&rdquo; she asked,
      &ldquo;for me to be the first to drink my own health?&rdquo; And she stood, looking
      tranquilly at every one&mdash;except me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I took McCabe into the hall and paid him off.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we came back, I said: &ldquo;Now we must be going.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, but surely you'll stay for supper!&rdquo; cried Joe's wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied I, in a tone that made it impossible to insist. &ldquo;We
      appreciate your kindness, but we've imposed on it enough.&rdquo; And I shook
      hands with her and with Allie and the minister, and, linking Joe's arm in
      mine, made for the door. I gave the necessary directions to my chauffeur
      while we were waiting for Anita to come down the steps. Joe's daughter was
      close beside her, and they kissed each other good-by, Alva on the verge of
      tears, Anita not suggesting any emotion of any sort. &ldquo;To-morrow&mdash;sure,&rdquo;
       Anita said to her. And she answered: &ldquo;Yes, indeed&mdash;as soon as you
      telephone me.&rdquo; And so we were off, a shower of rice rattling on the roof
      of the brougham&mdash;the slatternly man-servant had thrown it from the
      midst of the group of servants.
    </p>
    <p>
      Neither of us spoke. I watched her face without seeming to do so, and by
      the light of occasional street lamps saw her studying me furtively. At
      last she said: &ldquo;I wish to go to my uncle's now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are going home,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the house will be shut up,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and every one will be in bed.
      It's nearly midnight. Besides, they might not&mdash;&rdquo; She came to a full
      stop.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are going&mdash;home,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;To the Willoughby.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She gave me a look that was meant to scorch&mdash;and it did. But I showed
      at the surface no sign of how I was wincing and shrinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew farther into her corner, and out of its darkness came, in a low
      voice: &ldquo;How I <i>hate</i> you!&rdquo; like the whisper of a bullet.
    </p>
    <p>
      I kept silent until I had control of myself. Then, as if talking&mdash;of
      a matter that had been finally and amicably settled, I began: &ldquo;The
      apartment isn't exactly ready for us, but Joe's just about now telephoning
      my man that we are coming, and telephoning your people to send your maid
      down there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to go to my uncle's,&rdquo; she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My wife will go with me,&rdquo; said I quietly and gently. &ldquo;I am considerate of
      <i>her</i>, not of her unwise impulses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A long pause, then from her, in icy calmness: &ldquo;I am in your power just
      now. But I warn you that, if you do not take me to my uncle's, you will
      wish you had never seen me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've wished that many times already,&rdquo; said I sadly. &ldquo;I've wished it from
      the bottom of my heart this whole evening, when step by step fate has been
      forcing me on to do things that are even more hateful to me than to you.
      For they not only make me hate myself, but make you hate me, too.&rdquo; I laid
      my hand on her arm and held it there, though she tried to draw away.
      &ldquo;Anita,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I would do anything for you&mdash;live for you, die for
      you. But there's that something inside me&mdash;you've felt it; and when
      it says 'must,' I can't disobey&mdash;you know I can't. And, though you
      might break my heart, you could not break that will. It's as much my
      master as it is yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We shall see&mdash;to-morrow,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not put me to the test,&rdquo; I pleaded. Then I added what I knew to be
      true: &ldquo;But you will not. You know it would take some one stronger than
      your uncle, stronger than your parents, to swerve me from what I believe
      right for you and for me.&rdquo; I had no fear for &ldquo;to-morrow.&rdquo; The hour when
      she could defy me had passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      A long, long silence, the electric speeding southward under the arching
      trees of the West Drive. I remember it was as we skirted the lower end of
      the Mall that she said evenly: &ldquo;You have made me hate you so that it
      terrifies me. I am afraid of the consequences that must come to you and to
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And well you may be,&rdquo; I answered gently. &ldquo;For you've seen enough of me to
      get at least a hint of what I would do, if goaded to it. Hate is terrible,
      Anita, but love can be more terrible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At the Willoughby she let me help her descend from the electric, waited
      until I sent it away, walked beside me into the building. My man, Sanders,
      had evidently been listening for the elevator; the door opened without my
      ringing, and there he was, bowing low. She acknowledged his welcome with
      that regard for &ldquo;appearances&rdquo; that training had made instinctive. In the
      center of my&mdash;our&mdash;drawing-room table was a mass of fresh white
      roses. &ldquo;Where did you get 'em?&rdquo; I asked him, in an aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The elevator boy's brother, sir,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;works in the florist's
      shop just across the street, next to the church. He happened to be down
      stairs when I got your message, sir. So I was able to get a few flowers.
      I'm sorry, sir, I hadn't a little more time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've done noble,&rdquo; said I, and I shook hands with him warmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anita was greeting those flowers as if they were a friend suddenly
      appearing in a time of need. She turned now and beamed on Sanders. &ldquo;Thank
      you,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;thank you.&rdquo; And Sanders was hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anything I can do&mdash;ma'am&mdash;sir?&rdquo; asked Sanders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;except send my maid as soon as she comes,&rdquo; she replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shan't need you,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Monson is still here,&rdquo; he said, lingering. &ldquo;Shall I send him away,
      sir, or do you wish to see him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll speak to him myself in a moment,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Sanders was gone, she seated herself and absently played with the
      buttons of her glove.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I bring Monson?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;You know, he's my&mdash;factotum.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;<i>I</i> do not wish to see him,&rdquo; she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not like him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After a brief hesitation she answered, &ldquo;No.&rdquo; Not for worlds would she just
      then have admitted, even to herself, that the cause of her dislike was her
      knowledge of his habit of tattling, with suitable embroideries, his
      lessons to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I restrained a strong impulse to ask her why, for instinct told me she had
      some especial reason that somehow concerned me. I said merely: &ldquo;Then I
      shall get rid of him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not on my account,&rdquo; she replied indifferently. &ldquo;I care nothing about him
      one way or the other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He goes at the end of his month,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was now taking off her gloves. &ldquo;Before your maid comes,&rdquo; I went on,
      &ldquo;let me explain about the apartment. This room and the two leading out of
      it are yours. My own suite is on the other side of our private hall
      there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She colored high, paled. I saw that she did not intend to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stood awkwardly, waiting for something further to come into my own head.
      &ldquo;Good night,&rdquo; said I finally, as if I were taking leave of a formal
      acquaintance at the end of a formal call.
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer. I left the room, closing the door behind me. I paused
      an instant, heard the key click in the lock. And I burned in a hot flush
      of shame that she should be thinking thus basely of me&mdash;and with good
      cause. How could she know, how appreciate even if she had known? &ldquo;You've
      had to cut deep,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;But the wounds'll heal, though it may
      take long&mdash;very long.&rdquo; And I went on my way, not wholly downcast.
    </p>
    <p>
      I joined Monson in my little smoking-room. &ldquo;Congratulate you,&rdquo; he began,
      with his nasty, supercilious grin, which of late had been getting on my
      nerves severely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; I replied curtly, paying no attention to his outstretched hand.
      &ldquo;I want you to put a notice of the marriage in to-morrow morning's <i>Herald</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me the facts&mdash;clergyman's name&mdash;place, and so on,&rdquo; said
      he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unnecessary,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Just our names and the date&mdash;that's all.
      You'd better step lively. It's late, and it'll be too late if you delay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With an irritating show of deliberation he lit a fresh cigarette before
      setting out. I heard her maid come. After about an hour I went into the
      hall&mdash;no light through the transoms of her suite. I returned to my
      own part of the flat and went to bed in the spare room to which Sanders
      had moved my personal belongings. That day which began in disaster&mdash;in
      what a blaze of triumph it had ended! Anita&mdash;my wife, and under my
      roof! I slept with good conscience. I had earned sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXIII. &ldquo;SHE HAS CHOSEN!&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      Joe got to the office rather later than usual the next morning. They told
      him I was already there, but he wouldn't believe it until he had come into
      my private den and with his own eyes had seen me. &ldquo;Well, I'm jiggered!&rdquo;
       said he. &ldquo;It seems to have made less impression on you than it did on us.
      My missus and the little un wouldn't let me go to bed till after two. They
      sat on and on, questioning and discussing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I laughed&mdash;partly because I knew that Joe, like most men, was as full
      of gossip and as eager for it as a convalescent old maid, and that,
      whoever might have been the first at his house to make the break for bed,
      he was the last to leave off talking. But the chief reason for my laugh
      was that, just before he came in on me, I was almost pinching myself to
      see whether I was dreaming it all, and he had made me feel how vividly
      true it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why don't you ease down, Blacklock?&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;Everything's smooth.
      The business&mdash;at least, my end of it, and I suppose your end, too&mdash;was
      never better, never growing so fast. You could go off for a week or two,
      just as well as not. I don't know of a thing that can prevent you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he honestly thought it, so little did I let him know about the larger
      enterprises of Blacklock and Company. I could have spoken a dozen words,
      and he would have been floundering like a caught fish in a basket. There
      are men&mdash;a very few&mdash;who work more swiftly and more surely when
      they know they're on the brink of ruin; but not Joe. One glimpse of our
      real National Coal account, and all my power over him couldn't have kept
      him from showing the whole Street that Blacklock and Company was shaky.
      And whenever the Street begins to think a man is shaky, he must be strong
      indeed to escape the fate of the wolf that stumbles as it runs with the
      pack.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No holiday at present, Joe,&rdquo; was my reply to his suggestion. &ldquo;Perhaps the
      second week in July; but our marriage was so sudden that we haven't had
      the time to get ready for a trip.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;it <i>was</i> sudden, wasn't it?&rdquo; said Joe, curiosity twitching
      his nose like a dog's at scent of a rabbit. &ldquo;How <i>did</i> it happen?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I'll tell you sometime,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;I must work now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And work a-plenty there was. Before me rose a sheaf of clamorous telegrams
      from our out-of-town customers and our agents; and soon my anteroom was
      crowded with my local following, sore and shorn. I suppose a score or more
      of the habitual heavy plungers on my tips were ruined and hundreds of
      others were thousands and tens of thousands out of pocket. &ldquo;Do you want me
      to talk to these people?&rdquo; inquired Joe, with the kindly intention of
      giving me a chance to shift the unpleasant duty to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;When the place is jammed, let me know. I'll jack
      'em up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It made Joe uneasy for me even to talk of using my &ldquo;language&rdquo;&mdash;he
      would have crawled from the Battery to Harlem to keep me from using it on
      him. So he silently left me alone. My system of dealing face to face with
      the speculating and investing public had many great advantages over that
      of all the other big operators&mdash;their system of hiding behind
      cleverly-contrived screens and slaughtering the decoyed public without
      showing so much as the tip of a gun or nose that could be identified. But
      to my method there was a disadvantage that made men, who happened to have
      more hypocrisy and less nerve than I, shrink from it. When one of my tips
      miscarried, down upon me would swoop the bad losers in a body to give me a
      turbulent quarter of an hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Toward ten o'clock, my boy came in and said: &ldquo;Mr. Ball thinks it's about
      time for you to see some of these people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I went into the main room, where the tickers and blackboards were. As I
      approached through my outer office I could hear the noise the crowd was
      making&mdash;as they cursed me. If you want to rile the true inmost soul
      of the average human being, don't take his reputation or his wife; just
      cause him to lose money. There were among my speculating customers many
      with the even-tenored sporting instinct. These were bearing their losses
      with philosophy&mdash;none of them had swooped on me. Of the perhaps three
      hundred who had come to ease their anguish by tongue-lashing me, every one
      was a bad loser and was mad through and through&mdash;those who had lost a
      few hundred dollars were as infuriated as those whom my misleading tip had
      cost thousands and tens of thousands; those whom I had helped to win all
      they had in the world were more savage than those new to my following.
    </p>
    <p>
      I took my stand in the doorway, a step up from the floor of the main room.
      I looked all round until I had met each pair of angry eyes. They say I can
      give my face an expression that is anything but agreeable; such talent as
      I have in that direction I exerted then. The instant I appeared a silence
      fell; but I waited until the last pair of claws drew in. Then I said, in
      the quiet tone the army officer uses when he tells the mob that the
      machine guns will open up in two minutes by the watch: &ldquo;Gentlemen, in the
      effort to counteract my warning to the public, the Textile crowd rocketed
      the stock yesterday. Those who heeded my warning and sold got excellent
      prices. Those who did not should sell to-day. Not even the powerful
      interests behind Textile can long maintain yesterday's prices.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A wave of restlessness passed over the crowd. Many shifted their eyes from
      me and began to murmur.
    </p>
    <p>
      I raised my voice slightly as I went on: &ldquo;The speculators, the gamblers,
      are the only people who were hurt. Those who sold what they didn't have
      are paying for their folly. I have no sympathy for them. Blacklock and
      Company wishes none such in its following, and seizes every opportunity to
      weed them out. We are in business only for the bona fide investing public,
      and we are stronger with that public to-day than we have ever been.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again I looked from coward to coward of that mob, changed from three
      hundred strong to three hundred weak. Then I bowed and withdrew, leaving
      them to mutter and disperse. I felt well content with the trend of events&mdash;I
      who wished to impress the public and the financiers that I had broken with
      speculation and speculators, could I have had a better than this
      unexpected opportunity sharply to define my new course? And as Textiles,
      unsupported, fell toward the close of the day, my content rose toward my
      normal high spirits. There was no whisper in the Street that I was in
      trouble; on the contrary, the idea was gaining ground that I had really
      long ceased to be a stock gambler and deserved a much better reputation
      than I had. Reputation is a matter of diplomacy rather than of desert. In
      all my career I was never less entitled to a good reputation than in those
      June days; yet the disastrous gambling follies, yes, and worse, I then
      committed, formed the secure foundation of my reputation for conservatism
      and square dealing. From that time dates the decline of the habit the
      newspapers had of speaking of me as &ldquo;Black Matt&rdquo; or &ldquo;Matt&rdquo; Blacklock. In
      them, and therefore in the public mind, I began to figure as &ldquo;Mr.
      Blacklock, a recognized authority on finance,&rdquo; and such information as I
      gave out ceased to be described as &ldquo;tips&rdquo; and was respectfully referred to
      as &ldquo;indications.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No doubt, my marriage had something to do with this. Probably one couldn't
      borrow any great amount of money in New York directly and solely on the
      strength of a fashionable marriage; but, so all-pervading is the
      snobbishness there, one can get, by making a fashionable marriage, any
      quantity of that deferential respect from rich people which is, in some
      circumstances, easily convertible into cash and credit.
    </p>
    <p>
      I searched with a good deal of anxiety, as you may imagine, the early
      editions of the afternoon papers. The first article my eye chanced upon
      was a mere wordy elaboration of the brief and vague announcement Monson
      had put in the <i>Herald</i>. Later came an interview with old Ellersly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all mysterious,&rdquo; he had said to the reporters. &ldquo;Mr. Blacklock
      found he would have to go abroad on business soon&mdash;he didn't know
      just when. On the spur of the moment they decided to marry.&rdquo; A good enough
      story, and I confirmed it when I admitted the reporters. I read their
      estimates of my fortune and of Anita's with rather bitter amusement&mdash;she
      whose father was living from hand to mouth; I who could not have emerged
      from a forced settlement with enough to enable me to keep a trap. Still,
      when one is rich, the reputation of being rich is heavily expensive; but
      when one is poor the reputation of being rich can be made a wealth-giving
      asset.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even as I was reading these fables of my millions, there lay on the desk
      before me a statement of the exact posture of my affairs&mdash;a
      memorandum made by myself for my own eyes, and to be burned as soon as I
      mastered it. On the face of the figures the balance against me was
      appalling. My chief asset, indeed my only asset that measured up toward my
      debts, was my Coal stocks, those bought and those contracted for; and,
      while their par value far exceeded my liabilities, they had to appear in
      my memorandum at their actual market value on that day. I looked at the
      calendar&mdash;seventeen days until the reorganization scheme would be
      announced, only seventeen days!
    </p>
    <p>
      Less than three business weeks, and I should be out of the storm and
      sailing safer and smoother seas than I had ever known. &ldquo;To indulge in
      vague <i>hopes</i> is bad,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;but not to indulge in <i>a</i>
      hope, especially when one has only it between him and the pit.&rdquo; And I
      proceeded to plan on the not unwarranted assumption that my Coal hope was
      a present reality. Indeed, what alternative had I? To put it among the
      future's uncertainties was to put myself among the utterly ruined. Using
      as collateral the Coal stocks I had bought outright, I borrowed more
      money, and with it went still deeper into the Coal venture. Everything or
      nothing!&mdash;since the chances in my favor were a thousand, to
      practically none against me. Everything or nothing!&mdash;since only by
      staking everything could I possibly save anything at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      The morality of these and many of my other doings in those days will no
      doubt be condemned. By no one more severely than by myself&mdash;now that
      the necessities which then compelled me have passed. There is no subject
      on which men talk and think, more humbug than on that subject of morality.
      As a matter of fact, except in those personal relations that are governed
      by the affections, what is morality but the mandate of policy, and what is
      policy but the mandate of necessity? My criticism of Roebuck and the other
      &ldquo;high financiers&rdquo; is not upon their morality, but upon their policy, which
      is short-sighted and stupid and base. The moral difference between me and
      them is that, while I merely assert and maintain my right to live, they
      deny the right of any but themselves to live. I say I criticize them; but
      that does not mean that I sympathize with the public at large in its
      complainings against them. The public, its stupidity and cupidity, creates
      the conditions that breed and foster these men. A rotten cheese reviling
      the maggots it has bred!
    </p>
    <p>
      In those very hours when I was obeying the imperative law of
      self-preservation, was clutching at every log that floated by me
      regardless of whether it was my property or not so long as it would help
      me keep my head above water&mdash;what was going on all round me? In every
      office of the down town district&mdash;merchant, banker, broker, lawyer,
      man of commerce or finance&mdash;was not every busy brain plotting, not
      self-preservation but pillage and sack&mdash;plotting to increase the cost
      of living for the masses of men by slipping a little tax here and a little
      tax there on to everything by which men live? All along the line between
      the farm or mine or shop and the market, at every one of the toll-gates
      for the collection of <i>just</i> charges, these big financiers, backed up
      by the big lawyers and the rascally public officials, had an agent in
      charge to collect on each passing article more than was honestly due. A
      thousand subtle ways of levying, all combining to pour in upon the few the
      torrents of unjust wealth. I laugh when I read of laboring men striking
      for higher wages. Poor, ignorant fools&mdash;they almost deserve their
      fate. They had better be concerning themselves with a huge, universal
      strike at the polls for lower prices. What will it avail to get higher
      wages, as long as the masters control and recoup on the prices of all the
      things for which those wages must be spent?
    </p>
    <p>
      I lived in Wall Street, in its atmosphere of the practical morality of
      &ldquo;finance.&rdquo; On every side swindling operations, great and small; operations
      regarded as right through long-established custom; dishonest or doubtful
      operations on the way to becoming established by custom as &ldquo;respectable.&rdquo;
       No man's title to anything conceded unless he had the brains to defend it.
      There was a time when it would have been regarded as wildly preposterous
      and viciously immoral to deny property rights in human beings. There may
      come a time&mdash;who knows?&mdash;when &ldquo;high finance's&rdquo; denial of a moral
      right to property of any kind may cease to be regarded as wicked; may
      become a generally accepted canon, as our Socialist friends predict.
      However, I attempt no excuses for myself; I need them no more than a judge
      in the Dark Ages needed to apologize for ordering a witch to the stake. I
      could no more have done differently than a fish could breathe on land or a
      man under water. I did as all the others did&mdash;and I had the
      justification of necessity. Right of might being the prevailing code, when
      men set upon me with pistols, I met them with pistols, not with the
      discarded and antiquated weapons of sermon and prayer and the law.
    </p>
    <p>
      And I thought extremely well of myself and of my pistols that June
      afternoon, as I was hurrying up town the moment the day's settlement on
      'Change was finished. I had sent out my daily letter to investors, and its
      tone of confidence was genuine&mdash;I knew that hundreds of customers of
      a better class would soon be flocking in to take the places of those I had
      been compelled to teach a lesson in the vicissitudes of gambling. With a
      light heart and the physical feeling of a football player in training, I
      sped toward home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Home! For the first time since I was a squat little slip of a shaver the
      word had a personal meaning for me. Perhaps, if the only other home of
      mine had been less uninviting, I should not have looked forward with such
      high beating of the heart to that cold home Anita was making for me. No, I
      withdraw that. It is fellows like me, to whom kindly looks and unsought
      attentions are as unfamiliar as flowers to the Arctic&mdash;it is men like
      me that appreciate and treasure and warm up under the faintest show or
      shadowy suggestion of the sunshine of sentiment. I'd be a little ashamed
      to say how much money I handed out to beggars and street gamins that day.
      I had a home to go to!
    </p>
    <p>
      As my electric drew up at the Willoughby, a carriage backed to make room
      for it. I recognized the horses and the coachman and the crest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How long has Mrs. Ellersly been with my wife?&rdquo; I asked the elevator boy,
      as he was taking me up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About half an hour, sir,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But Mr. Ellersly&mdash;I took up
      his card before lunch, and he's still there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Instead of using my key, I rang the bell, and when Sanders opened, I said:
      &ldquo;Is Mrs. Blacklock in?&rdquo; in a voice loud enough to penetrate to the
      drawing-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I had hoped, Anita appeared. Her dress told me that her trunks had come&mdash;she
      had sent for her trunks! &ldquo;Mother and father are here,&rdquo; said she, without
      looking at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I followed her into the drawing-room and, for the benefit of the servants,
      Mr. and Mrs. Ellersly and I greeted each other courteously, though Mrs.
      Ellersly's eyes and mine met in a glance like the flash of steel on steel.
      &ldquo;We were just going,&rdquo; said she, and then I felt that I had arrived in the
      midst of a tempest of uncommon fury.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must stop and make <i>me</i> a visit,&rdquo; protested I, with elaborate
      politeness. To myself I was assuming that they had come to &ldquo;make up and be
      friends&rdquo;&mdash;and resume their places at the trough.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was moving toward the door, the old man in her wake. Neither of them
      offered to shake hands with me; neither made pretense of saying good-by to
      Anita, standing by the window like a pillar of ice. I had closed the
      drawing-room door behind me, as I entered. I was about to open it for them
      when I was restrained by what I saw working in the old woman's face. She
      had set her will on escaping from my loathed presence without a &ldquo;scene;&rdquo;
       but her rage at having been outgeneraled was too fractious for her will.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You scoundrel!&rdquo; she hissed, her whole body shaking and her
      carefully-cultivated appearance of the gracious evening of youth swallowed
      up in a black cyclone of hate. &ldquo;You gutter-plant! God will punish you for
      the shame you have brought upon us!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I opened the door and bowed, without a word, without even the desire to
      return insult for insult&mdash;had not Anita evidently again and finally
      rejected them and chosen me? As they passed into the private hall I rang
      for Sanders to come and let them out. When I turned back into the
      drawing-room, Anita was seated, was reading a book. I waited until I saw
      she was not going to speak. Then I said: &ldquo;What time will you have dinner?&rdquo;
       But my face must have been expressing some of the joy and gratitude that
      filled me. &ldquo;She has chosen!&rdquo; I was saying to myself over and over.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whenever you usually have it,&rdquo; she replied, without looking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At seven o'clock, then. You had better tell Sanders.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I rang for him and went into my little smoking-room. She had resisted her
      parents' final appeal to her to return to them. She had cast in her lot
      with me. &ldquo;The rest can be left to time,&rdquo; said I to myself. And, reviewing
      all that had happened, I let a wild hope send tenacious roots deep into
      me. How often ignorance is a blessing; how often knowledge would make the
      step falter and the heart quail!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXIV. BLACKLOCK ATTENDS FAMILY PRAYERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      During dinner I bore the whole burden of conversation&mdash;though burden
      I did not find it. Like most close-mouthed men, I am extremely talkative.
      Silence sets people to wondering and prying; he hides his secrets best who
      hides them at the bottom of a river of words. If my spirits are high, I
      often talk aloud to myself when there is no one convenient. And how could
      my spirits be anything but high, with her sitting there opposite me, mine,
      mine for better or for worse, through good and evil report&mdash;my wife!
    </p>
    <p>
      She was only formally responsive, reluctant and brief in answers,
      volunteering nothing. The servants waiting on us no doubt laid her manner
      to shyness; I understood it, or thought I did&mdash;but I was not
      troubled. It is as natural for me to hope as to breathe; and with my
      knowledge of character, how could I take seriously the moods and impulses
      of one whom I regarded as a childlike girl, trained to false pride and
      false ideals? &ldquo;She has chosen to stay with me,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;Actions
      count, not words or manner. A few days or weeks, and she will be herself,
      and mine.&rdquo; And I went gaily on with my efforts to interest her, to make
      her smile and forget the role she had commanded herself to play. Nor was I
      wholly unsuccessful. Again and again I thought I saw a gleam of interest
      in her eyes or the beginnings of a smile about that sweet mouth of hers. I
      was careful not to overdo my part.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as we finished dessert I said: &ldquo;You loathe cigar smoke, so I'll
      hide myself in my den. Sanders will bring you the cigarettes.&rdquo; I had
      myself telephoned for a supply of her kind early in the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      She made a polite protest for the benefit of the servants; but I was firm,
      and left her free to think things over alone in the drawing-room&mdash;&ldquo;your
      sitting-room,&rdquo; I called it, I had not finished a small cigar when there
      came a timid knock at my door. I threw away the cigar and opened. &ldquo;I
      thought it was you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'm familiar with the knocks of all the
      others. And this was new&mdash;like a summer wind tapping with a flower
      for admission at a closed window.&rdquo; And I laughed with a little raillery,
      and she smiled, colored, tried to seem cold and hostile again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I go with you to your sitting-room?&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;Perhaps the cigar
      smoke here&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she interrupted; &ldquo;I don't really mind cigars&mdash;and the
      windows are wide open. Besides, I came for only a moment&mdash;just to say&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As she cast about for words to carry her on, I drew up a chair for her.
      She looked at it uncertainly, seated herself. &ldquo;When mama was here&mdash;this
      afternoon,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;she was urging me to&mdash;to do what she
      wished. And after she had used several arguments, she said something I&mdash;I've
      been thinking it over, and it seemed I ought in fairness to tell you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She said: 'In a few days more he'&mdash;that meant you&mdash;'he will be
      ruined. He imagines the worst is over for him, when in fact they've only
      begun.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Who are 'they'? The Langdons?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think so,&rdquo; she replied with an effort. &ldquo;She did not say&mdash;I've told
      you her exact words&mdash;as far as I can.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;and why didn't you go?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She pressed her lips firmly together. Finally, with a straight look into
      my eyes, she replied: &ldquo;I shall not discuss that. You probably
      misunderstand, but that is your own affair.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You believed what she said about me, of course,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I neither believed nor disbelieved,&rdquo; she answered indifferently, as she
      rose to go. &ldquo;It does not interest me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come here,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      I waited until she reluctantly joined me at the window. I pointed to the
      steeple of the church across the way. &ldquo;You could as easily throw down that
      steeple by pushing against it with your bare hands,&rdquo; I said to her, &ldquo;as
      'they,' whoever they are, could put me down. They might take away my
      money. But if they did, they would only be giving me a lesson that would
      teach me how more easily to get it back. I am not a bundle of stock
      certificates or a bag of money. I am&mdash;here,&rdquo; and I tapped my
      forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      She forced a faint, scornful smile. She did not wish me to see her belief
      of what I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may think that is vanity,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;But you will learn, sooner or
      later, the difference between boasting and simple statement of fact. You
      will learn that I do not boast. What I said is no more a boast than for a
      man with legs to say, 'I can walk.' Because you have known only legless
      men, you exaggerate the difficulty of walking. It's as easy for me to make
      money as it is for some people to spend it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It is hardly necessary for me to say I was not insinuating anything
      against her people. But she was just then supersensitive on the subject,
      though I did not suspect it. She flushed hotly. &ldquo;You will not have any
      cause to sneer at my people on that account hereafter,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I
      settled <i>that</i> to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was not sneering at them,&rdquo; I protested. &ldquo;I wasn't even thinking of
      them. And&mdash;you must know that it's a favor to me for anybody to ask
      me to do anything that will please you&mdash;Anita!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She made a gesture of impatience. &ldquo;I see I'd better tell you why I did not
      go with them to-day. I insisted that they give back all they have taken
      from you. And when they refused, I refused to go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't care why you refused, or imagined you refused,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I am
      content with the fact that you are here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you misunderstand it,&rdquo; she answered coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't understand it, I don't misunderstand it,&rdquo; was my reply. &ldquo;I accept
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned away from the window, drifted out of the room&mdash;you, who
      love or at least have loved, can imagine how it made me feel to see <i>Her</i>
      moving about in those rooms of mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      While the surface of my mind was taken up with her, I must have been
      thinking, underneath, of the warning she had brought; for, perhaps half or
      three-quarters of an hour after she left, I was suddenly whirled out of my
      reverie at the window by a thought like a pistol thrust into my face.
      &ldquo;What if 'they' should include Roebuck!&rdquo; And just as a man begins to
      defend himself from a sudden danger before he clearly sees what the danger
      is, so I began to act before I even questioned whether my suspicion was
      plausible or absurd. I went into the hall, rang the bell, slipped a
      light-weight coat over my evening dress and put on a hat. When Sanders
      appeared, I said: &ldquo;I'm going out for a few minutes&mdash;perhaps an hour&mdash;if
      any one should ask.&rdquo; A moment later I was in a hansom and on the way to
      Roebuck's.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      When Roebuck lived near Chicago, he had a huge house, a sort of crude
      palace such as so many of our millionaires built for themselves in the
      first excitement of their new wealth&mdash;a house with porches and
      balconies and towers and minarets and all sorts of gingerbread effects to
      compel the eye of the passer-by. But when he became enormously rich, so
      rich that his name was one of the synonyms for wealth, so rich that people
      said &ldquo;rich as Roebuck&rdquo; where they used to say &ldquo;rich as Croesus,&rdquo; he cut
      away every kind of ostentation, and avoided attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      He took advantage of his having to remove to New York where his vast
      interests centered; he bought a small and commonplace and, for a rich man,
      even mean house in East Fifty-Second Street&mdash;one of a row, and an
      almost dingy looking row at that. There he had an establishment a man with
      one-fiftieth of his fortune would have felt like apologizing for. To his
      few intimates who were intimate enough to question him about his come-down
      from his Chicago splendors he explained that he was seeing with clearer
      eyes his responsibilities as a steward of the Lord, that luxury was
      sinful, that no man had a right to waste the Lord's money.
    </p>
    <p>
      The general theory about him was that advancing years had developed his
      natural closeness into the stingiest avariciousness. But my notion is he
      was impelled by the fear of exciting envy, by the fear of assassination&mdash;the
      fear that made his eyes roam restlessly whenever strangers were near him,
      and so dried up the inside of his body that his dry tongue was constantly
      sliding along his dry lips. I have seen a convict stand in the door of his
      cell and, though it was impossible that any one could be behind him, look
      nervously over his shoulder every moment or so. Roebuck had the same trick&mdash;only
      his dread, I suspect, was not the officers of the law, even of the divine
      law, but the many, many victims of his merciless execution of &ldquo;the Lord's
      will.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This state of mind is not uncommon among the very rich men, especially
      those who have come up from poverty. Those who have inherited great
      wealth, and have always been used to it, get into the habit of looking
      upon the mass of mankind as inferiors, and move about with no greater
      sense of peril than a man has in venturing among a lot of dogs with tails
      wagging. But those who were born poor and have risen under the stimulus of
      a furious envy of the comfortable and the rich, fancy that everybody who
      isn't rich has the same savage hunger that they themselves had, and is
      ready to use similar desperate methods in gratifying it. Thus, where the
      rich of the Langdon sort are supercilious, the rich of the Roebuck sort
      are nervous and often become morbid on the subject of assassination as
      they grow richer and richer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of Roebuck's house was opened for me by a maid&mdash;a
      man-servant would have been a &ldquo;sinful&rdquo; luxury, a man-servant might be the
      hireling of plotters against his life. I may add that she looked the cheap
      maid-of-all-work, and her manners were of the free and fresh sort that
      indicates a feeling that as high, or higher, wages, and less to do could
      be got elsewhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't think you can see Mr. Roebuck,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take my card to him,&rdquo; I ordered, &ldquo;and I'll wait in the parlor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Parlor's in use,&rdquo; she retorted with a sarcastic grin, which I was soon to
      understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      So I stood by the old-fashioned coat and hat rack while she went in at the
      hall door of the back parlor. Soon Roebuck himself came out, his glasses
      on his nose, a family Bible under his arm. &ldquo;Glad to see you, Matthew,&rdquo;
       said he with saintly kindliness, giving me a friendly hand. &ldquo;We are just
      about to offer up our evening prayer. Come right in.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I followed him into the back parlor. Both it and the front parlor were
      lighted; in a sort of circle extending into both rooms were all the
      Roebucks and the four servants. &ldquo;This is my friend, Matthew Blacklock,&rdquo;
       said he, and the Roebucks in the circle gravely bowed. He drew up a chair
      for me, and we seated ourselves. Amid a solemn hush, he read a chapter
      from the big Bible spread out upon his lean lap. My glance wandered from
      face to face of the Roebucks, as plainly dressed as were their servants. I
      was able to look freely, mine being the only eyes not bent upon the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the first time in my life that I had witnessed family prayers. When
      I was a boy at home, my mother had taken literally the Scriptural
      injunction to pray in secret&mdash;in a closet, I think the passage of the
      Bible said. Many times each day she used to retire to a closet under the
      stairway and spend from one to twenty minutes shut in there. But we had no
      family prayers. I was therefore deeply interested in what was going on in
      those countrified parlors of one of the richest and most powerful men in
      the world&mdash;and this right in the heart of that district of New York
      where palaces stand in rows and in blocks, and where such few churches as
      there are resemble social clubs for snubbing climbers and patronizing the
      poor.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was astonishing how much every Roebuck in that circle, even the old
      lady, looked like Roebuck himself&mdash;the same smug piety, the same
      underfed appearance that, by the way, more often indicates a starved soul
      than a starved body. One difference&mdash;where his face had the look of
      power that compels respect and, to the shrewd, reveals relentless strength
      relentlessly used, the expressions of the others were simply small and
      mean and frost-nipped. And that is the rule&mdash;the second generation of
      a plutocrat inherits, with his money, the meanness that enabled him to
      hoard it, but not the scope that enabled him to make it.
    </p>
    <p>
      So absorbed was I in the study of the influence of his terrible
      master-character upon those closest to it, that I started when he said:
      &ldquo;Let us pray.&rdquo; I followed the example of the others, and knelt. The
      audible prayer was offered up by his oldest daughter, Mrs. Wheeler, a
      widow. Roebuck punctuated each paragraph in her series of petitions with a
      loudly-whispered amen. When she prayed for &ldquo;the stranger whom Thou has led
      seemingly by chance into our little circle,&rdquo; he whispered the amen more
      fervently and repeated it. And well he might, the old robber and assassin
      by proxy! The prayer ended and, us on our feet, the servants withdrew;
      then, awkwardly, all the family except Roebuck. That is, they closed the
      doors between the two rooms and left him and me alone in the front parlor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall not detain you long, Mr. Roebuck,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;A report reached me
      this evening that sent me to you at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If possible, Matthew,&rdquo; said he, and he could not hide his uneasiness,
      &ldquo;put off business until to-morrow. My mind&mdash;yours, too, I trust&mdash;is
      not in the frame for that kind of thoughts now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is the Coal organization to be announced the first of July?&rdquo; I demanded.
      It has always been, and always shall be, my method to fight in the open.
      This, not from principle, but from expediency. Some men fight best in the
      brush; I don't. So I always begin battle by shelling the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, amazing me by his instant frankness. &ldquo;The announcement has
      been postponed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Why did he not lie to me? Why did he not put me off the scent, as he might
      easily have done, with some shrewd evasion? I suspected I owed it to my
      luck in catching him at family prayers. For I know that the general
      impression of him is erroneous; he is not merely a hypocrite before the
      world, but also a hypocrite before himself. A more profoundly, piously
      conscientious man never lived. Never was there a truer epitaph than the
      one implied in the sentence carved over his niche in the magnificent
      mausoleum he built: &ldquo;Fear naught but the Lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When will the reorganization be announced?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can not say,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Some difficulties&mdash;chiefly labor
      difficulties&mdash;have arisen. Until they are settled, nothing can be
      done. Come to me to-morrow, and we'll talk about it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is all I wished to know,&rdquo; said I, with a friendly, easy smile. &ldquo;Good
      night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was his turn to be astonished&mdash;and he showed it, where I had given
      not a sign. &ldquo;What was the report you heard?&rdquo; he asked, to detain me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you and Mowbray Langdon had conspired to ruin me,&rdquo; said I, laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      He echoed my laugh rather hollowly. &ldquo;It was hardly necessary for you to
      come to me about such a&mdash;a statement.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hardly,&rdquo; I answered dryly. Hardly, indeed! For I was seeing now all that
      I had been hiding from myself since I became infatuated with Anita and
      made marrying her my only real business in life.
    </p>
    <p>
      We faced each other, each measuring the other. And as his glance quailed
      before mine, I turned away to conceal my exultation. In a comparison of
      resources this man who had plotted to crush me was to me as giant to
      midget. But I had the joy of realizing that man to man, I was the
      stronger. He had craft, but I had daring. His vast wealth aggravated his
      natural cowardice&mdash;crafty men are invariably cowards, and their
      audacities under the compulsion of their ravenous greed are like a
      starving jackal's dashes into danger for food. My wealth belonged to me,
      not I to it; and, stripped of it, I would be like the prize-fighter
      stripped for the fight. Finally, he was old, I young. And there was the
      chief reason for his quailing. He knew that he must die long before me,
      that my turn must come, that I could dance upon his grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXV. &ldquo;MY WIFE MUST!&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      As I drove away, I was proud of myself. I had listened to my death
      sentence with a face so smiling that he must almost have believed me
      unconscious; and also, it had not even entered my head, as I listened, to
      beg for mercy. Not that there would have been the least use in begging; as
      well try to pray a statue into life, as try to soften that set will and
      purpose. Still, many a man would have weakened&mdash;and I had not
      weakened. But when I was once more in my apartment&mdash;in our apartment&mdash;perhaps
      I did show that there was a weak streak through me. I fought against the
      impulse to see her once more that night; but I fought in vain. I knocked
      at the door of her sitting-room&mdash;a timid knock, for me. No answer. I
      knocked again, more loudly&mdash;then a third time, still more loudly. The
      door opened and she stood there, like one of the angels that guarded the
      gates of Eden after the fall. Only, instead of a flaming sword, hers was
      of ice. She was in a dressing-gown or tea-gown, white and clinging and
      full of intoxicating hints and glimpses of all the beauties of her figure.
      Her face softened as she continued to look at me, and I entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;please don't turn on any more lights,&rdquo; I said, as she moved
      toward the electric buttons. &ldquo;I just came in to&mdash;to see if I could do
      anything for you.&rdquo; In fact, I had come, longing for her to do something
      for me, to show in look or tone or act some sympathy for me in my
      loneliness and trouble.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, thank you,&rdquo; she said. Her voice seemed that of a stranger who wished
      to remain a stranger. And she was evidently waiting for me to go. You will
      see what a mood I was in when I say I felt as I had not since I, a very
      small boy indeed, ran away from home; I came back through the chilly night
      to take one last glimpse of the family that would soon be realizing how
      foolishly and wickedly unappreciative they had been of such a treasure as
      I; and when I saw them sitting about the big fire in the lamp-light,
      heartlessly comfortable and unconcerned, it was all I could do to keep
      back the tears of strong self-pity&mdash;and I never saw them again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've seen Roebuck,&rdquo; said I to Anita, because I must say something, if I
      was to stay on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Roebuck?&rdquo; she inquired. Her tone reminded me that his name conveyed
      nothing to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He and I are in an enterprise together,&rdquo; I explained. &ldquo;He is the one man
      who could seriously cripple me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she said, and her indifference, forced though I thought it, wounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;your mother was right.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned full toward me, and even in the dimness I saw her quick
      sympathy&mdash;an impulsive flash instantly gone. But it had been there!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I came in here,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;to say that&mdash;Anita, it doesn't in the
      least matter. No one in this world, no one and nothing, could hurt me
      except through you. So long as I have <i>you</i>, they&mdash;the rest&mdash;all
      of them together&mdash;can't touch me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We were both silent for several minutes. Then she said, and her voice was
      like the smooth surface of the river where the boiling rapids run deep:
      &ldquo;But you <i>haven't</i> me&mdash;and never <i>shall</i> have. I've told
      you that. I warned you long ago. No doubt you will pretend, and people
      will say, that I left you because you lost your money. But it won't be
      so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was beside her instantly, was looking into her face. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
       I asked, and I did not speak gently.
    </p>
    <p>
      She gazed at me without flinching. &ldquo;And I suppose,&rdquo; she said satirically,
      &ldquo;you wonder why I&mdash;why you are repellent to me. Haven't you learned
      that, though I may have been made into a moral coward, I'm not a physical
      coward? Don't bully and threaten. It's useless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I put my hand strongly on her shoulder&mdash;taunts and jeers do not turn
      me aside. &ldquo;What did you mean?&rdquo; I repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take your hand off me,&rdquo; she commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What did you mean?&rdquo; I repeated sternly. &ldquo;Don't be afraid to answer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was very young&mdash;so the taunt stung her. &ldquo;I was about to tell
      you,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;when you began to make it impossible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I took advantage of this to extricate myself from the awkward position in
      which she had put me&mdash;I took my hand from her shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going to leave you,&rdquo; she announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You forget that you are my wife,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not your wife,&rdquo; was her answer, and if she had not looked so
      childlike, there in the moonlight all in white, I could not have held
      myself in check, so insolent was the tone and so helpless of ever being
      able to win her did she make me feel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are my wife and you will stay here with me,&rdquo; I reiterated, my brain
      on fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am my own, and I shall go where I please, and do what I please,&rdquo; was
      her contemptuous retort. &ldquo;Why won't you be reasonable? Why won't you see
      how utterly unsuited we are? I don't ask you to be a gentleman&mdash;but
      just a man, and be ashamed even to wish to detain a woman against her
      will.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I drew up a chair so close to her that to retreat, she was forced to sit
      in the broad window-seat. Then I seated myself. &ldquo;By all means, let us be
      reasonable,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Now, let me explain my position. I have heard you
      and your friends discussing the views of marriage you've just been
      expressing. Their views may be right, may be more civilized, more
      'advanced' than mine. No matter. They are not mine. I hold by the old
      standards&mdash;and you are my wife&mdash;mine. Do you understand?&rdquo; All
      this as tranquilly as if we were discussing fair weather. &ldquo;And you will
      live up to the obligation which the marriage service has put upon you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She might have been a marble statue pedestaled in that window seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You married me of your own free will&mdash;for you could have protested
      to the preacher and he would have sustained you. You tacitly put certain
      conditions on our marriage. I assented to them. I have respected them. I
      shall continue to respect them. But&mdash;when you married me, you didn't
      marry a dawdling dude chattering 'advanced ideas' with his head full of
      libertinism. You married a man. And that man is your husband.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I waited, but she made no comment&mdash;not even by gesture or movement.
      She simply sat, her hands interlaced in her lap, her eyes straight upon
      mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You say let us be reasonable,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;Well, let us be reasonable.
      There may come a time when woman can be free and independent, but that
      time is a long way off yet. The world is organized on the basis of every
      woman's having a protector&mdash;of every decent woman's having a husband,
      unless she remains in the home of some of her blood-relations. There may
      be women strong enough to set the world at defiance. But you are not one
      of them&mdash;and you know it. You have shown it to yourself again and
      again in the last forty-eight hours. Your bringing-up has kept you a child
      in real knowledge of real life, as distinguished from the life in that
      fashionable hothouse. If you tried to assert your so-called independence,
      you would be the easy prey of a scoundrel or scoundrels. When I, who have
      lived in the thick of the fight all my life, who have learned by many a
      surprise and defeat never to sleep except with the sword and gun in hand,
      and one eye open&mdash;when I have been trapped as Roebuck and Langdon
      have just trapped me&mdash;what chance would a woman like you have?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer or change expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is what I say reasonable or unreasonable?&rdquo; I asked gently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Reasonable&mdash;from <i>your</i> standpoint,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      She gazed out into the moonlight, up into the sky. And at the look in her
      face, the primeval savage in me strained to close round that slender white
      throat of hers and crush and crush until it had killed in her the thought
      of that other man which was transforming her from marble to flesh that
      glowed and blood that surged. I pushed back my chair with a sudden noise;
      by the way she trembled I gaged how tense her nerves must be. I rose and,
      in a fairly calm tone, said: &ldquo;We understand each other?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;As before.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I ignored this. &ldquo;Think it over, Anita,&rdquo; I urged&mdash;she seemed to me so
      like a sweet, spoiled child again. I longed to go straight at her about
      that other man. I stood for a moment with Tom Langdon's name on my lips,
      but I could not trust myself. I went away to my own rooms.
    </p>
    <p>
      I thrust thoughts of her from my mind. I spent the night gnawing upon the
      ropes with which Mowbray Langdon and Roebuck had bound me, hand and foot.
      I now saw they were ropes of steel&mdash;and it had long been broad day
      before I found that weak strand which is in every rope of human make.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXVI. THE WEAK STRAND
    </h2>
    <p>
      No sane creature, not even a sane bulldog, will fight simply from love of
      fighting. When a man is attacked, he may be sure he has excited either
      fear or cupidity, or both. As far as I could see, it was absurd that
      cupidity was inciting Langdon and Roebuck against me. I hadn't enough to
      tempt them. Thus, I was forced to conclude that I must possess a strength
      of which I was unaware, and which stirred even Roebuck's fears. But what
      could it be?
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides Langdon and Roebuck and me there were six principals in the
      proposed Coal combine, three of them richer and more influential in
      finance than even Langdon, all of them except possibly Dykeman, the lawyer
      or navigating officer of the combine, more formidable figures than I. Yet
      none of these men was being assailed. &ldquo;Why am I singled out?&rdquo; I asked
      myself, and I felt that if I could answer, I should find I had the means
      wholly or partly to defeat them. But I could not explain to my
      satisfaction even Langdon's activities against me. I felt that Anita was
      somehow, in part at least, the cause; but, even so, how had he succeeded
      in convincing Roebuck that I must be clipped and plucked into a
      groundling?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must have something to do with the Manasquale mines,&rdquo; I decided. &ldquo;I
      thought I had given over my control of them, but somehow I must still have
      a control that makes me too powerful for Roebuck to be at ease so long as
      I am afoot and armed.&rdquo; And I resolved to take my lawyers and search the
      whole Manasquale transaction&mdash;to explore it from attic to underneath
      the cellar flooring. &ldquo;We'll go through it,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;like ferrets through
      a ship's hold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I was finishing breakfast, Anita came in. She had evidently slept well,
      and I regarded that as ominous. At her age, a crisis means little sleep
      until a decision has been reached. I rose, but her manner warned me not to
      advance and try to shake hands with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have asked Alva to stop with me here for a few days,&rdquo; she said
      formally.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alva!&rdquo; said I, much surprised. She had not asked one of her own friends;
      she had asked a girl she had met less than two days before, and that girl
      my partner's daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She was here yesterday morning,&rdquo; Anita explained. And I now wondered how
      much Alva there was in Anita's firm stand against her parents.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why don't you take her down to our place on Long Island?&rdquo; said I, most
      carefully concealing my delight&mdash;for Alva near her meant a friend of
      mine and an advocate and example of real womanhood near her. &ldquo;Everything's
      ready for you there, and I'm going to be busy the next few days&mdash;busy
      day and night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She reflected. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she assented presently. And she gave me a
      puzzled glance she thought I did not see&mdash;as if she were wondering
      whether the enemy was not hiding new and deeper guile under an apparently
      harmless suggestion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I'll not see you again for several days,&rdquo; said I, most businesslike.
      &ldquo;If you want anything, there will be Monson out at the stables where he
      can't annoy you. Or you can get me on the 'long distance.' Good-by. Good
      luck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And I nodded carelessly and friendlily to her, and went away, enjoying the
      pleasure of having startled her into visible astonishment. &ldquo;There's a
      better game than icy hostility, you very young, young lady,&rdquo; said I to
      myself, &ldquo;and that game is friendly indifference.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alva would be with her. So she was secure for the present and my mind was
      free for &ldquo;finance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At that time the two most powerful men in finance were Galloway and
      Roebuck. In Spain I once saw a fight between a bull and a tiger&mdash;or,
      rather the beginning of a fight. They were released into a huge iron cage.
      After circling it several times in the same direction, searching for a way
      out, they came face to face. The bull tossed the tiger; the tiger clawed
      the bull. The bull roared; the tiger screamed. Each retreated to his own
      side of the cage. The bull pawed and snorted as if he could hardly wait to
      get at the tiger; the tiger crouched and quivered and glared murderously,
      as if he were going instantly to spring upon the bull. But the bull did
      not rush, neither did the tiger spring. That was the Roebuck-Galloway
      situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      How to bait Tiger Galloway to attack Bull Roebuck&mdash;that was the
      problem I must solve, and solve straightway. If I could bring about war
      between the giants, spreading confusion over the whole field of finance
      and filling all men with dread and fear, there was a chance, a bare
      chance, that in the confusion I might bear off part of my fortune.
      Certainly, conditions would result in which I could more easily get myself
      intrenched again; then, too, there would be a by no means small
      satisfaction in seeing Roebuck clawed and bitten in punishment for having
      plotted against me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mutual fear had kept these two at peace for five years, and most
      considerate and polite about each other's &ldquo;rights.&rdquo; But while our
      country's industrial territory is vast, the interests of the few great
      controllers who determine wages and prices for all are equally vast, and
      each plutocrat is tormented incessantly by jealousy and suspicion; not a
      day passes without conflicts of interest that adroit diplomacy could turn
      into ferocious warfare. And in this matter of monopolizing the coal,
      despite Roebuck's earnest assurances to Galloway that the combine was
      purely defensive, and was really concerned only with the labor question,
      Galloway, a great manufacturer, or, rather, a huge levier of the taxes of
      dividends and interest upon manufacturing enterprises, could not but be
      uneasy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before I rose that morning I had a tentative plan for stirring him to
      action. I was elaborating it on the way down town in my electric. It shows
      how badly Anita was crippling my brain, that not until I was almost at my
      office did it occur to me: &ldquo;That was a tremendous luxury Roebuck indulged
      his conscience in last night. It isn't like him to forewarn a man, even
      when he's sure he can't escape. Though his prayers were hot in his mouth,
      still, it's strange he didn't try to fool me. In fact, it's suspicious. In
      fact&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Suspicious? The instant the idea was fairly before my mind, I knew I had
      let his canting fool me once more. I entered my offices, feeling that the
      blow had already fallen; and I was surprised, but not relieved, when I
      found everything calm. &ldquo;But fall it will within an hour or so&mdash;before
      I can move to avert it,&rdquo; said I to myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      And fall it did. At eleven o'clock, just as I was setting out to make my
      first move toward heating old Galloway's heels for the war-path, Joe came
      in with the news: &ldquo;A general lockout's declared in the coal regions. The
      operators have stolen a march on the men who, so they allege, were
      secretly getting ready to strike. By night every coal road will be tied up
      and every mine shut down.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Joe knew our coal interests were heavy, but he did not dream his news
      meant that before the day was over we would be bankrupt and not able to
      pay fifteen cents on the dollar. However, he knew enough to throw him into
      a fever of fright. He watched my calmness with terror. &ldquo;Coal stocks are
      dropping like a thermometer in a cold wave,&rdquo; he said, like a fireman at a
      sleeper in a burning house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Naturally,&rdquo; said I, unruffled, apparently. &ldquo;What can we do about it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We must do something!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, we must,&rdquo; I admitted. &ldquo;For instance, we must keep cool, especially
      when two or three dozen people are watching us. Also, you must attend to
      your usual routine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;For God's sake, Matt, don't keep me
      in suspense!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go to your desk,&rdquo; I commanded. And he quieted down and went. I hadn't
      been schooling him in the fire-drill for fifteen years in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went up the street and into the great banking and brokerage house of
      Galloway and Company. I made my way through the small army of guards,
      behind which the old beast of prey was intrenched, and into his private
      den. There he sat, at a small, plain table, in the middle of the room
      without any article of furniture in it but his table and his chair. On the
      table was a small inkstand, perfectly clean, a steel pen equally clean, on
      the rest attached to it. And that was all&mdash;not a letter, not a scrap
      of paper, not a sign of work or of intention to work. It might have been
      the desk of a man who did nothing; in fact, it was the desk of a man who
      had so much to do that his only hope of escape from being overwhelmed was
      to despatch and clear away each matter the instant it was presented to
      him. Many things could be read from the powerful form, bolt upright in
      that stiff chair, and from the cynical, masterful old face. But to me the
      chief quality there revealed was that quality of qualities, decision&mdash;the
      greatest power a man can have, except only courage. And old James Galloway
      had both.
    </p>
    <p>
      He respected Roebuck; Roebuck feared him. Roebuck did have some sort of
      conscience, distorted though it was, and the dictator of savageries
      Galloway would have scorned to commit. Galloway had no professions of
      conscience&mdash;beyond such small glozing of hypocrisy as any man must
      put on if he wishes to be intrusted with the money of a public that
      associates professions of religion and appearances of respectability with
      honesty. Roebuck's passion was wealth&mdash;to see the millions heap up
      and up. Galloway had that passion, too&mdash;I have yet to meet a
      multi-millionaire who isn't avaricious and even stingy. But Galloway's
      chief passion was power&mdash;to handle men as a junk merchant handles
      rags, to plan and lead campaigns of conquest with his golden legions, and
      to distribute the spoils like an autocrat who is careless how they are
      divided, since all belongs to him, whenever he wishes to claim it.
    </p>
    <p>
      He pierced me with his blue eyes, keen as a youth's, though his face was
      seamed with scars of seventy tumultuous years. He extended toward me over
      the table his broad, stubby white hand&mdash;the hand of a builder, of a
      constructive genius. &ldquo;How are you, Blacklock?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What can I do for
      you?&rdquo; He just touched my hand before dropping it, and resumed that
      idol-like pose. But although there was only repose and deliberation in his
      manner, and not a suggestion of haste, I, like every one who came into
      that room and that presence, had a sense of an interminable procession
      behind me, a procession of men who must be seen by this master-mover, that
      they might submit important and pressing affairs to him for decision. It
      was unnecessary for him to tell any one to be brief and pointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall have to go to the wall to-day,&rdquo; said I, taking a paper from my
      pocket, &ldquo;unless you save me. Here is a statement of my assets and
      liabilities. I call to your attention my Coal holdings. I was one of the
      eight men whom Roebuck got round him for the new combine&mdash;it is a
      secret, but I assume you know all about it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He laid the paper before him, put on his nose-glasses and looked at it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you will save me,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;I will transfer to you, in a block,
      all my Coal holdings. They will be worth double my total liabilities
      within three months&mdash;as soon as the reorganization is announced. I
      leave it entirely to your sense of justice whether I shall have any part
      of them back when this storm blows over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why didn't you go to Roebuck?&rdquo; he asked without looking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because it is he that has stuck the knife into me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't know. I suspect the Manasquale properties, which I brought into
      the combine, have some value, which no one but Roebuck, and perhaps
      Langdon, knows about&mdash;and that I in some way was dangerous to them
      through that fact. They haven't given me time to look into it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A grim smile flitted over his face. &ldquo;You've been too busy getting married,
      eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It's another case of unbuckling for the wedding-feast
      and getting assassinated as a penalty. Do you wish me to explain anything
      on that list&mdash;do you want any details of the combine&mdash;of the
      Coal stocks there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not necessary,&rdquo; he replied. As I had thought, with that enormous machine
      of his for drawing in information, and with that enormous memory of his
      for details, he probably knew more about the combine and its properties
      than I did.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have heard of the lockout?&rdquo; I inquired&mdash;for I wished him to know
      I had no intention of deceiving him as to the present market value of
      those stocks.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Roebuck has been commanded by his God,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to eject the free
      American labor from the coal regions and to substitute importations of
      coolie Huns and Bohemians. Thus, the wicked American laborers will be
      chastened for trying to get higher wages and cut down a pious man's
      dividends; and the downtrodden coolies will be brought where they can
      enjoy the blessings of liberty and of the preaching of Roebuck's
      missionaries.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I laughed, though he had not smiled, but had spoken as if stating
      colorless facts. &ldquo;And righteousness and Roebuck will prevail,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      He frowned slightly, a sardonic grin breaking the straight, thin, cruel
      line of his lips. He opened his table's one shallow drawer, and took out a
      pad and a pencil. He wrote a few words on the lowest part of the top
      sheet, folded it, tore off the part he had scribbled on, returned the pad
      and pencil to the drawer, handed the scrap of paper to me. &ldquo;I will do it,&rdquo;
       he said. &ldquo;Give this to Mr. Farquhar, second door to the left. Good
      morning.&rdquo; And in that atmosphere of vast affairs speedily despatched his
      consent without argument seemed, and was, the matter-of-course.
    </p>
    <p>
      I bowed. Though he had not saved me as a favor to me, but because it
      fitted in with his plans, whatever they were, my eyes dimmed. &ldquo;I shan't
      forget this,&rdquo; said I, my voice not quite steady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; said he curtly. &ldquo;I know you.&rdquo; I saw that his mind had already
      turned me out. I said no more, and withdrew. When I left the room it was
      precisely as it had been when I entered it&mdash;except the bit of paper
      torn from the pad. But what a difference to me, to the thousands, the
      hundreds of thousands directly and indirectly interested in the Coal
      combine and its strike and its products, was represented by those few,
      almost illegible scrawlings on that scrap of paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not until I had gone over the situation with Farquhar, and we had signed
      and exchanged the necessary papers, did I begin to relax from the strain&mdash;how
      great that strain was I realized a few weeks later, when the gray appeared
      thick at my temples and there was in my crown what was, for such a shock
      as mine, a thin spot. &ldquo;I am saved!&rdquo; said I to myself, venturing a long
      breath, as I stood on the steps of Galloway's establishment, where hourly
      was transacted business vitally affecting the welfare of scores of
      millions of human beings, with James Galloway's personal interest as the
      sole guiding principle. &ldquo;Saved!&rdquo; I repeated, and not until then did it
      flash before me, &ldquo;I must have paid a frightful price. He would never have
      consented to interfere with Roebuck as soon as I asked him to do it,
      unless there had been some powerful motive. If I had had my wits about me,
      I could have made far better terms.&rdquo; Why hadn't I my wits about me?
      &ldquo;Anita&rdquo; was my instant answer to my own question. &ldquo;Anita again. I had a
      bad attack of family man's panic.&rdquo; And thus it came about that I went back
      to my own office, feeling as if I had suffered a severe defeat, instead of
      jubilant over my narrow escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joe followed me into my den. &ldquo;What luck?&rdquo; asked he, in the tone of a
      mother waylaying the doctor as he issues from the sick-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Luck?&rdquo; said I, gazing blankly at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've seen the latest quotation, haven't you?&rdquo; In his nervousness his
      temper was on a fine edge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied I indifferently. I sat down at my desk and began to busy
      myself. Then I added: &ldquo;We're out of the Coal combine. I've transferred our
      holdings. Look after these things, please.&rdquo; And I gave him the checks,
      notes and memoranda of agreement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Galloway!&rdquo; he exclaimed. And then his eye fell on the totals of the stock
      I had been carrying. &ldquo;Good God, Matt!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Ruined!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he sat down, and buried his face and cried like a child&mdash;it was
      then that I measured the full depth of the chasm I had escaped. I made no
      such exhibition of myself, but when I tried to relight my cigar my hand
      trembled so that the flame scorched my lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ruined?&rdquo; I said to Joe, easily enough. &ldquo;Not at all. We're back in the
      road, going smoothly ahead&mdash;only, at a bit less stiff a pace. Think,
      Joe, of all those poor devils down in the mining districts. They're out&mdash;clear
      out&mdash;and thousands of 'em don't know where their families will get
      bread. And though they haven't found it out yet, they've got to leave the
      place where they've lived all their lives, and their fathers before them&mdash;have
      got to go wandering about in a world that's as strange to them as the
      surface of the moon, and as bare for them as the Sahara desert.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's so,&rdquo; said Joe. &ldquo;It's hard luck.&rdquo; But I saw he was thinking only of
      himself and his narrow escape from having to give up his big house and all
      the rest of it; that, soft-hearted and generous though he was, to those
      poor chaps and their wives and children he wasn't giving a thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wall Street never does&mdash;they're too remote, too vague. It deals with
      columns of figures and slips of paper. It never thinks of those
      abstractions as standing for so many hearts and so many mouths, just as
      the bank clerk never thinks of the bits of metal he counts so swiftly as
      money with which things and men could be bought. I read somewhere once
      that Voltaire&mdash;I think it was Voltaire&mdash;asked a man what he
      would do if, by pressing a button on his table, he would be enormously
      rich and at the same time would cause the death of a person away off at
      the other side of the earth, unknown to him, and probably no more worthy
      to live, and with no greater expectation of life or of happiness than the
      average sinful, short-lived human being. I've often thought of that as
      I've watched our great &ldquo;captains of industry.&rdquo; Voltaire's dilemma is
      theirs. And they don't hesitate; they press the button. I leave the
      morality of the performance to moralists; to me, its chief feature is its
      cowardice, its sneaking, slimy cowardice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You've done a grand two hours' work,&rdquo; said Joe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grander than you think,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;I've set the tiger on to fight the
      bull.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Galloway and Roebuck?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just that,&rdquo; said I. And I laughed, started up, sat down again. &ldquo;No, I'll
      put off the pleasure,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'll let Roebuck find out, when the claws
      catch in that tough old hide of his.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXVII. A CONSPIRACY AGAINST ANITA
    </h2>
    <p>
      On about the hottest afternoon of that summer I had the yacht take me down
      the Sound to a point on the Connecticut shore within sight of Dawn Hill,
      but seven miles farther from New York. I landed at the private pier of
      Howard Forrester, the only brother of Anita's mother. As I stepped upon
      the pier I saw a fine-looking old man in the pavilion overhanging the
      water. He was dressed all in white except a sky-blue tie that harmonized
      with the color of his eyes. He was neither fat nor lean, and his smooth
      skin was protesting ruddily against the age proclaimed by his wool-white
      hair. He rose as I came toward him, and, while I was still several yards
      away, showed unmistakably that he knew who I was and that he was anything
      but glad to see me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Forrester?&rdquo; I asked
    </p>
    <p>
      He grew purple to the line of his thick white hair. &ldquo;It is, Mr.
      Blacklock,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I have the honor to wish you good day, sir.&rdquo; And
      with that he turned his back on me and gazed out toward Long Island.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have come to ask a favor of you, sir,&rdquo; said I, as polite to that
      hostile back as if I had been addressing a cordial face. And I waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      He wheeled round, looked at me from head to foot. I withstood the
      inspection calmly; when it was ended I noted that in spite of himself he
      was somewhat relaxed from the opinion of me he had formed upon what he had
      heard and read. But he said: &ldquo;I do not know you, sir, and I do not wish to
      know you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have made me painfully aware of that,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;But I have learned
      not to take snap judgments too seriously. I never go to a man unless I
      have something to say to him, and I never leave until I have said it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I perceive, sir,&rdquo; retorted he, &ldquo;you have the thick skin necessary to
      living up to that rule.&rdquo; And the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the man who
      delights to exercise a real or imaginary talent for caustic wit. Such men
      are like nettles&mdash;dangerous only to the timid touch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On the contrary,&rdquo; replied I, easy in mind now, though I did not anger him
      by showing it, &ldquo;I am most sensitive to insults&mdash;insults to myself.
      But you are not insulting <i>me</i>. You are insulting a purely imaginary,
      hearsay person who is, I venture to assure you, utterly unlike me, and who
      doubtless deserves to be insulted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His purple had now faded. In a far different tone he said: &ldquo;If your
      business in any way relates to the family into which you have married, I
      do not wish to hear it. Spare my patience and your time, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It does not,&rdquo; was my answer. &ldquo;It relates to my own family&mdash;to my
      wife and myself. As you may have heard, she is no longer a member of the
      Ellersly family. And I have come to you chiefly because I happen to know
      your sentiment toward the Ellerslys.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no sentiment toward them, sir!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;They are
      non-existent, sir&mdash;nonexistent! Your wife's mother ceased to be a
      Forrester when she married that scoundrel. Your wife is still less a
      Forrester.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;She is a Blacklock.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He winced, and it reminded me of the night of my marriage and Anita's
      expression when the preacher called her by her new name. But I held his
      gaze, and we looked each at the other fixedly for, it must have been, full
      half a minute. Then he said courteously: &ldquo;What do you wish?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I went straight to the point. My color may have been high, but my voice
      did not hesitate as I explained: &ldquo;I wish to make my wife financially
      independent. I wish to settle on her a sum of money sufficient to give her
      an income that will enable her to live as she has been accustomed. I know
      she would not take it from me. So, I have come to ask you to pretend to
      give it to her&mdash;I, of course, giving it to you to give.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again&mdash;we looked full and fixedly each at the other. &ldquo;Come to the
      house, Blacklock,&rdquo; he said at last in a tone that was the subtlest of
      compliments. And he linked his arm in mine. Halfway to the rambling stone
      house, severe in its lines, yet fine and homelike, quaintly resembling its
      owner, as a man's house always should, he paused. &ldquo;I owe you an apology,&rdquo;
       said he. &ldquo;After all my experience of this world of envy and malice, I
      should have recognized the man even in the caricatures of his enemies. And
      you brought the best possible credentials&mdash;you are well hated. To be
      well hated by the human race and by the creatures mounted on its back is a
      distinction, sir. It is the crown of the true kings of this world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We seated ourselves on the wide veranda; he had champagne and water
      brought, and cigars; and we proceeded to get acquainted&mdash;nothing
      promotes cordiality and sympathy like an initial misunderstanding. It was
      a good hour before this kind-hearted, hard-soft, typical old-fashioned New
      Englander reverted to the object of my visit. Said he: &ldquo;And now, young
      man, may I venture to ask some extremely personal questions?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the circumstances,&rdquo; replied I, &ldquo;you have the right to know everything.
      I did not come to you without first making sure what manner of man I was
      to find.&rdquo; At this he blushed, pleased as a girl at her first beau's first
      compliment. &ldquo;And you, Mr. Forrester, can not be expected to embark in the
      little adventure I propose, until you have satisfied yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;First, the why of your plan.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am in active business,&rdquo; replied I, &ldquo;and I shall be still more active.
      That means financial uncertainty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His suspicion of me started up from its doze and rubbed its eyes. &ldquo;Ah! You
      wish to insure yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was my answer, &ldquo;but not in the way you hint. It takes away a man's
      courage just when he needs it most, to feel that his family is involved in
      his venture.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you not make the settlement direct?&rdquo; he asked, partly reassured.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I wish her to feel that it is her own, that I have no right over
      it whatever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He thought about this. His eyes were keen as he said, &ldquo;Is that your real
      reason?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw I must be unreserved with him. &ldquo;Part of it,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;The rest is&mdash;she
      would not take it from me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old man smiled cynically. &ldquo;Have you tried?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I had tried and failed, she would have been on the alert for an
      indirect attempt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Try her, young man,&rdquo; said he, laughing. &ldquo;In this day there are few people
      anywhere who'd refuse any sum from anybody for anything. And a woman&mdash;and
      a New York woman&mdash;and a New York fashionable woman&mdash;and a
      daughter of old Ellersly&mdash;she'll take it as a baby takes the breast.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She would not take it,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      My tone, though I strove to keep angry protest out of it, because I needed
      him, caused him to draw back instantly. &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I
      forgot for the moment that I was talking to a man young enough still to
      have youth's delusions about women. You'll learn that they're human, that
      it's from them we men inherit our weaknesses. However, let's assume that
      she won't take it: <i>Why</i> won't she take your money? What is there
      about it that repels Ellersly's daughter, brought up in the sewers of
      fashionable New York&mdash;the sewers, sir!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She does not love me,&rdquo; I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have hurt you,&rdquo; he said quickly, in great distress at having compelled
      me to expose my secret wound.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The wound does not ache the worse,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;for my showing it&mdash;to
      <i>you</i>.&rdquo; And that was the truth. I looked over toward Dawn Hill whose
      towers could just be seen. &ldquo;We live there.&rdquo; I pointed. &ldquo;She is&mdash;like
      a guest in my house.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When I glanced at him again, his face betrayed a feeling of which I doubt
      if any one had thought him capable in many a year. &ldquo;I see that you love
      her,&rdquo; he said, gently as a mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I replied. And presently I went on: &ldquo;The idea of any one I love
      being dependent on me in a sordid way is most distasteful to me. And since
      she does not love me, does not even like me, it is doubly necessary that
      she be independent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I confess I do not quite follow you&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How can she accept anything from me? If she should finally be compelled
      by necessity to do it, what hope could I have of her ever feeling toward
      me as a wife should feel toward her husband?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this explanation of mine his eyes sparkled with anger&mdash;and I could
      not but suspect that he had at one time in his life been faced with a
      problem like mine, and had settled it the other way. My suspicion was not
      weakened when he went on to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Boyish motives again! They show you do not know women. Don't be deceived
      by their delicate exterior, by their pretenses of super-refinement. They
      affect to be what passion deludes us into thinking them. But they're clay,
      sir, just clay, and far less sensitive than we men. Don't you see, young
      man, that by making her independent you're throwing away your best chance
      of winning her? Women are like dogs&mdash;like dogs, sir! They lick the
      hand that feeds 'em&mdash;lick it, and like it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Possibly,&rdquo; said I, with no disposition to combat views based on I knew
      not what painful experience. &ldquo;But I don't care for that sort of liking&mdash;from
      a woman, or from a dog.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It's the only kind you'll get,&rdquo; retorted he, trying to control his
      agitation. &ldquo;I'm an old man. I know human nature&mdash;that's why I live
      alone. You'll take that kind of liking, or do without.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I'll do without,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give her an income, and she'll go. I see it all. You've flattered her
      vanity by showing your love for her&mdash;that's the way with women. They
      go crazy about themselves, and forget all about the man. Give her an
      income and she'll go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I doubt it,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And you would, if you knew her. But, even so, I
      shall lose her in any event. For, unless she is made independent, she'll
      certainly go with the last of the little money she has, the remnant of a
      small legacy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old man argued with me, the more vigorously, I suspect, because he
      found me resolute. When he could think of no new way of stating his case&mdash;his
      case against Anita&mdash;he said: &ldquo;You are a fool, young man&mdash;that's
      clear. I wonder such a fool was ever able to get together as much property
      as report credits you with. But&mdash;you're the kind of fool I like.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then&mdash;you'll indulge my folly?&rdquo; said I, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      He threw up his arms in a gesture of mock despair. &ldquo;If you will have it
      so,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I am curious about this niece of mine. I want to see
      her. I want to see the woman who can resist <i>you</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her mind and her heart are closed against me,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And it is my own
      fault&mdash;I closed them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Put her out of your head,&rdquo; he advised. &ldquo;No woman is worth a serious man's
      while.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have few wants, few purposes,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But those few I pursue to the
      end. Even though she were not worth while, even though I wholly lost hope,
      still I'd not give her up. I couldn't&mdash;that's my nature. But&mdash;<i>she</i>
      is worth while.&rdquo; And I could see her, slim and graceful, the curves in her
      face and figure that made my heart leap, the azure sheen upon her
      petal-like skin, the mystery of the soul luring from her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      After we had arranged the business&mdash;or, rather, arranged to have it
      arranged through our lawyers&mdash;he walked down to the pier with me. At
      the gangway he gave me another searching look from head to foot&mdash;but
      vastly different from the inspection with which our interview had begun.
      &ldquo;You are a devilish handsome young fellow,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Your pictures don't
      do you justice. And I shouldn't have believed any man could overcome in
      one brief sitting such a prejudice as I had against you. On second
      thought, I don't care to see her. She must be even below the average.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or far above it,&rdquo; I suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose I'll have to ask her over to visit me,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;A fine
      hypocrite I'll feel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can make it one of the conditions of your gift that she is not to
      thank you or speak of it,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I fear your face would betray us, if
      she ever did.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An excellent idea!&rdquo; he exclaimed. Then, as he shook hands with me in
      farewell: &ldquo;You will win her yet&mdash;if you care to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I steamed up the Sound, I was tempted to put in at Dawn Hill's harbor.
      Through my glass I could see Anita and Alva and several others, men and
      women, having tea on the lawn under a red and white awning. I could see
      her dress&mdash;a violet suit with a big violet hat to match. I knew that
      costume. Like everything she wore, it was both beautiful in itself and
      most becoming to her. I could see her face, could almost make out its
      expression&mdash;did I see, or did I imagine, a cruel contrast to what I
      always saw when she knew I was looking?
    </p>
    <p>
      I gazed until the trees hid lawn and gay awning, and that lively company
      and her. In my bitterness I was full of resentment against her, full of
      self-pity. I quite forgot, for that moment, <i>her</i> side of the story.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXVIII. BLACKLOCK SEES A LIGHT
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was next day, I think, that I met Mowbray Langdon and his brother Tom
      in the entrance of the Textile Building. Mowbray was back only a week from
      his summer abroad; but Tom I had seen and nodded to every day, often
      several times in the same day, as he went to and fro about his
      &ldquo;respectable&rdquo; dirty work for the Roebuck-Langdon clique. He was one of
      their most frequently used stool-pigeon directors in banks and insurance
      companies whose funds they staked in their big gambling operations, they
      taking almost all the profits and the depositors and policy holders taking
      almost all the risk. It had never once occurred to me to have any feeling
      of any kind about Tom, or in any way to take him into my calculations as
      to Anita. He was, to my eyes, too obviously a pale understudy of his
      powerful and fascinating brother. Whenever I thought of him as the man
      Anita fancied she loved, I put it aside instantly. &ldquo;The kind of man a
      woman <i>really</i> cares for,&rdquo; I would say to myself, &ldquo;is the measure of
      her true self. But not the kind of man she <i>imagines</i> she cares for.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Tom went on; Mowbray stopped. We shook hands, and exchanged commonplaces
      in the friendliest way&mdash;I was harboring no resentment against him,
      and I wished him to realize that his assault had bothered me no more than
      the buzzing and battering of a summer fly. &ldquo;I've been trying to get in to
      see you,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I wanted to explain about that unfortunate Textile
      deal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This, when the assault on me had burst out with fresh energy the day after
      he landed from Europe! I could scarcely believe that his vanity, his
      confidence in his own skill at underground work could so delude him.
      &ldquo;Don't bother,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;All that's ancient history.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he had thought out some lies he regarded as particularly creditable to
      his ingenuity; he was not to be deprived of the pleasure of telling them.
      So I was compelled to listen; and, being in an indulgent mood, I did not
      spoil his pleasure by letting him see or suspect my unbelief. If he could
      have looked into my mind, as I stood there in an attitude of patient
      attention, I think even his self-complacence would have been put out of
      countenance. You may admire the exploits of a &ldquo;gentleman&rdquo; cracksman or
      pickpocket, if you hear or read them with only their ingenuity put before
      you. But <i>see</i> a &ldquo;gentleman&rdquo; liar or thief at his sneaking, cowardly
      work, and admiration is impossible. As Langdon lied on, as I studied his
      cheap, vulgar exhibition of himself, he all unconscious, I thought:
      &ldquo;Beneath that very thin surface of yours, you're a poor cowardly creature&mdash;you,
      and all your fellow bandits. No; bandit is too grand a word to apply to
      this game of 'high finance.' It's really on the level with the game of the
      fellow that waits for a dark night, slips into the barn-yard, poisons the
      watch-dog, bores an auger-hole in the granary, and takes to his heels at a
      suspicious sound.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With his first full stop, I said: &ldquo;I understand perfectly, Langdon. But I
      haven't the slightest interest in crooked enterprises now. I'm clear out
      of all you fellows' stocks. I've reinvested my property so that not even a
      panic would trouble me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's good,&rdquo; he drawled. I saw he did not believe me&mdash;which was
      natural, as he knew nothing of my arrangement with Galloway and assumed I
      was laboring in heavy weather, with a bad cargo of Coal stocks and
      contracts. &ldquo;Come to lunch with me. I've got some interesting things to
      tell you about my trip.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A few months before, I should have accepted with alacrity. But I had lost
      interest in him. He had not changed; if anything, he was more dazzling
      than ever in the ways that had once dazzled me. It was I that had changed&mdash;my
      ideals, my point of view. I had no desire to feed my new-sprung contempt
      by watching him pump in vain for information to be used in his secret
      campaign against me. &ldquo;No, thanks. Another day,&rdquo; I replied, and left him
      with a curt nod. I noted that he had failed to speak of my marriage,
      though he had not seen me since. &ldquo;A sore subject with all the Langdons,&rdquo;
       thought I. &ldquo;It must be very sore, indeed, to make a man who is all
      manners, neglect them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My whole life had been a series of transformations so continuous that I
      had noted little about my advance, beyond its direction&mdash;like a man
      hurrying up a steep that keeps him bent, eyes down. But, as I turned away
      from Langdon, I caught myself in the very act of transformation. No doubt,
      the new view had long been there, its horizon expanding with every step of
      my ascent; but not until that talk with him did I see it. I looked about
      me in Wall Street; in my mind's eye I all in an instant saw my world as it
      really was. I saw the great rascals of &ldquo;high finance,&rdquo; their
      respectability stripped from them; saw them gathering in the spoils which
      their cleverly-trained agents, commercial and political and legal, filched
      with light fingers from the pockets of the crowd, saw the crowd looking up
      to these trainers and employers of pickpockets, hailing them &ldquo;captains of
      industry&rdquo;! They reaped only where and what others had sown; they touched
      industry only to plunder and to blight it; they organized it only that its
      profits might go to those who did not toil and who despised those who did.
      &ldquo;Have I gone mad in the midst of sane men?&rdquo; I asked myself. &ldquo;Or have I
      been mad, and have I suddenly become sane in a lunatic world?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I did not linger on that problem. For me action remained the essential of
      life, whether I was sane or insane. I resolved then and there to map a new
      course. By toiling like a sailor at the pump of a sinking ship, I had
      taken advantage to the uttermost of the respite Galloway's help had given
      me. My property was no longer in more or less insecure speculative
      &ldquo;securities,&rdquo; but was, as I had told Langdon, in forms that would
      withstand the worst shocks. The attacks of my enemies, directed partly at
      my fortune, or, rather, at the stocks in which they imagined it was still
      invested, and partly at my personal character, were doing me good instead
      of harm. Hatred always forgets that its shafts, falling round its intended
      victim, spring up as legions of supporters for him. My business was
      growing rapidly; my daily letter to investors was read by hundreds of
      thousands where tens of thousands had read it before the Roebuck-Langdon
      clique began to make me famous by trying to make me infamous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am strong and secure,&rdquo; said I to myself as I strode through the
      wonderful canyon of Broadway, whose walls are those mighty palaces of
      finance and commerce from which business men have been ousted by cormorant
      &ldquo;captains of industry.&rdquo; I must <i>use</i> my strength. How could I better
      use it than by fluttering these vultures on their roosts, and perhaps
      bringing down a bird or two?
    </p>
    <p>
      I decided, however, that it was better to wait until they had stopped
      rattling their beaks and claws on my shell in futile attack. &ldquo;Meanwhile,&rdquo;
       I reasoned carefully, &ldquo;I can be getting good and ready.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Their first new move, after my little talk with Langdon, was intended as a
      mortal blow to my credit Melville requested me to withdraw mine and
      Blacklock and Company's accounts from the National Industrial Bank; and
      the fact that this huge and powerful institution had thus branded me was
      slyly given to the financial reporters of the newspapers. Far and wide it
      was published; and the public was expected to believe that this was one
      more and drastic measure in the &ldquo;campaign of the honorable men of finance
      to clean the Augean Stables of Wall Street.&rdquo; My daily letter to investors
      next morning led off with this paragraph&mdash;the first notice I had
      taken publicly of their attacks on me:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the effort to discredit the only remaining uncontrolled source of
      financial truth, the big bandits have ordered my accounts out of their
      chief gambling-house. I have transferred the accounts to the Discount and
      Deposit National, where Leonidas Thornley stands guard against the new
      order that seeks to make business a synonym for crime.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thornley was of the type that was dominant in our commercial life before
      the &ldquo;financiers&rdquo; came&mdash;just as song birds were common in our trees
      until the noisy, brawling, thieving sparrows drove them out. His oldest
      son was about to marry Joe's daughter&mdash;Alva. Many a Sunday I have
      spent at his place near Morristown&mdash;a charming combination of city
      comfort with farm freedom and fresh air. I remember, one Sunday, saying to
      him, after he had seen his wife and daughters off to church: &ldquo;Why haven't
      you got rich? Why haven't you looked out for establishing these boys and
      girls of yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't want my girls to be sought for money,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I don't want my
      boys to rely on money. Perhaps I've seen too much of wealth, and have come
      to have a prejudice against it. Then, too, I've never had the chance to
      get rich.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I showed that I thought that he was simply jesting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean it,&rdquo; said he, looking at me with eyes as straight as a
      well-brought-up girl's. &ldquo;How could my mind be judicial if I were
      personally interested in the enterprises people look to me for advice
      about?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And not only did he keep himself clear and his mind judicial but also he
      was, like all really good people, exceedingly slow to believe others
      guilty of the things he would as soon have thought of doing as he would
      have thought of slipping into the teller's cage during the lunch hour and
      pocketing a package of bank-notes. He gave me his motto&mdash;a curious
      one: &ldquo;Believe in everybody; trust in nobody.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Only a thief wishes to be trusted,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;and only a fool
      trusts. I let no one trust me; I trust no one. But I believe evil of no
      man. Even when he has been convicted, I see the mitigating circumstances.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      How Thornley did stand by me! And for no reason except that it was as
      necessary for him to be fair and just as to breathe. I shall not say he
      resisted the attempts to compel him to desert me&mdash;they simply made no
      impression on him. I remember, when Roebuck himself, a large stock-holder
      in the bank, left cover far enough personally to urge him to throw me
      over, he replied steadfastly:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If Mr. Blacklock is guilty of circulating false stories against
      commercial enterprises, as his enemies allege, the penal code can be used
      to stop him. But as long as I stay at the head of this bank, no man shall
      use it for personal vengeance. It is a chartered public institution, and
      all have equal rights to its facilities. I would lend money to my worst
      enemy, if he came for it with the proper security. I would refuse my best
      friend, if he could not give security. The funds of a bank are a trust
      fund, and my duty is to see that they are employed to the best advantage.
      If you wish other principles to prevail here, you must get another
      president.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That settled it. No one appreciated more keenly than did Roebuck that
      character is as indispensable in its place as is craft where the situation
      demands craft&mdash;and is far harder to get.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall not relate in detail that campaign against me. It failed not so
      much because I was strong as because it was weak. Perhaps, if Roebuck and
      Langdon could have directed it in person, or had had the time to advise
      with their agents before and after each move, it might have succeeded.
      They would not have let exaggeration dominate it and venom show upon its
      surface; they would not have neglected to follow up advantages, would not
      have persisted in lines of attack that created public sympathy for me.
      They would not have so crudely exploited my unconventional marriage and my
      financial relations with old Ellersly. But they dared not go near the
      battle-field; they had to trust to agents whom their orders and
      suggestions reached by the most roundabout ways; and they were busier with
      their enterprises that involved immediate and great gain or loss of money.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Galloway died, they learned that the Coal stocks with which they
      thought I was loaded down were part of his estate. They satisfied
      themselves that I was in fact as impregnable as I had warned Langdon. They
      reversed tactics; Roebuck tried to make it up with me. &ldquo;If he wants to see
      me,&rdquo; was my invariable answer to the intimations of his emissaries, &ldquo;let
      him come to my office, just as I would go to his, if I wished to see him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a big man&mdash;a dangerous big man,&rdquo; cautioned Joe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Big&mdash;yes. But strong only against his own kind,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;One
      mouse can make a whole herd of elephants squeal for mercy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It isn't prudent, it isn't prudent,&rdquo; persisted Joe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;Thank God, I'm at last in the position I've been
      toiling to achieve. I don't have to be prudent. I can say and do what I
      please, without fear of the consequences. I can freely indulge in the
      luxury of being a man. That's costly, Joe, but it's worth all it could
      cost.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Joe didn't understand me&mdash;he rarely did. &ldquo;I'm a hen. You're an
      eagle,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXIX. A HOUSEWARMING
    </h2>
    <p>
      Joe's daughter, staying on and on at Dawn Hill, was chief lieutenant, if
      not principal, in my conspiracy to drift Anita day by day further and
      further into the routine of the new life. Yet neither of us had shown by
      word or look that a thorough understanding existed between us. My part was
      to be unobtrusive, friendly, neither indifferent nor eager, and I held to
      it by taking care never to be left alone with Anita; Alva's part was to be
      herself&mdash;simple and natural and sensible, full of life and laughter,
      mocking at those moods that betray us into the absurdity of taking
      ourselves too seriously.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was getting ready a new house in town as a surprise to Anita, and I took
      Alva into my plot. &ldquo;I wish Anita's part of the house to be exactly to her
      liking,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Can't you set her to dreaming aloud what kind of place
      she would like to live in, what she would like to open her eyes on in the
      morning, what surroundings she'd like to dress in and read in, and all
      that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Alva had no difficulty in carrying out the suggestions. And by harassing
      Westlake incessantly, I succeeded in realizing her report of Anita's dream
      to the exact shade of the draperies and the silk that covered the walls.
      By pushing the work, I got the house done just as Alva was warning me that
      she could not remain longer at Dawn Hill, but must go home and get ready
      for her wedding. When I went down to arrange with her the last details of
      the surprise, who should meet me at the station but Anita herself? I took
      one glance at her serious face and, much disquieted, seated myself beside
      her in the little trap. Instead of following the usual route to the house,
      she turned her horse into the bay-shore road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Several days ago,&rdquo; she began, as the bend hid the station, &ldquo;I got a
      letter from some lawyers, saying that an uncle of mine had given me a
      large sum of money&mdash;a very large sum. I have been inquiring about it,
      and find it is mine absolutely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I braced myself against the worst. &ldquo;She is about to tell me that she is
      leaving,&rdquo; thought I. But I managed to say: &ldquo;I'm glad to hear of your
      luck,&rdquo; though I fear my tone was not especially joyous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;I am in a position to pay back to you, I think, what
      my father and Sam took from you. It won't be enough, I'm afraid, to pay
      what you lost indirectly. But I have told the lawyers to make it all over
      to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I could have laughed aloud. It was too ridiculous, this situation into
      which I had got myself. I did not know what to say. I could hardly keep
      out of my face how foolish this collapse of my crafty conspiracy made me
      feel. And then the full meaning of what she was doing came over me&mdash;the
      revelation of her character. I trusted myself to steal a glance at her;
      and for the first time I didn't see the thrilling azure sheen over her
      smooth white skin, though all her beauty was before me, as dazzling as
      when it compelled me to resolve to win her. No; I saw her, herself&mdash;the
      woman within. I had known from the outset that there was an altar of love
      within my temple of passion. I think that was my first real visit to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita!&rdquo; I said unsteadily. &ldquo;Anita!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The color flamed in her cheeks; we were silent for a long time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&mdash;your people owe me nothing&rdquo; I at length found voice to say.
      &ldquo;Even if they did, I couldn't and wouldn't take <i>your</i> money. But,
      believe me, they owe me nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can not mislead me,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;When they asked me to become
      engaged to you, they told me about it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had forgotten. The whole repulsive, rotten business came back to me.
      And, changed man that I had become in the last six months, I saw myself as
      I had been. I felt that she was looking at me, was reading the degrading
      confession in my telltale features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will tell you the whole truth,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I did use your father's and
      your brother's debts to me as a means of getting <i>to</i> you. But,
      before God, Anita, I swear I was honest with you when I said to you I
      never hoped or wished to win you in that way!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe you,&rdquo; she replied, and her tone and expression made my heart
      leap with indescribable joy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Love is sometimes most unwise in his use of the reins he puts on passion.
      Instead of acting as impulse commanded, I said clumsily, &ldquo;And I am very
      different to-day from what I was last spring.&rdquo; It never occurred to me how
      she might interpret those words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; she replied. She waited several seconds before adding: &ldquo;I, too,
      have changed. I see that I was far more guilty than you. There is no
      excuse for me. I was badly brought up, as you used to say, but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;no,&rdquo; I began to protest.
    </p>
    <p>
      She cut me short with a sad: &ldquo;You need not be polite and spare my
      feelings. Let's not talk of it. Let us go back to the object I had in
      coming for you to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You owe me nothing,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Your brother and your father settled
      long ago. I lost nothing through them. And I've learned that if I had
      never known you, Roebuck and Langdon would still have attacked me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What my uncle gave me has been transferred to you,&rdquo; said she, woman
      fashion, not hearing what she did not care to heed. &ldquo;I can't make you
      accept it; but there it is, and there it stays.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can not take it,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;If you insist on leaving it in my name, I
      shall simply return it to your uncle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wrote him what I had done,&rdquo; she rejoined. &ldquo;His answer came yesterday.
      He approves it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Approves it!&rdquo; I exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not know how eccentric he is,&rdquo; she explained, naturally
      misunderstanding my astonishment. She took a letter from her bosom and
      handed it to me. I read:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;DEAR MADAM: It was yours to do with as you pleased. If you ever find
      yourself in the mood to visit, Gull House is open to you, provided you
      bring no maid. I will not have female servants about.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yours truly,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;HOWARD FORRESTER.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will consent now, will you not?&rdquo; she asked, as I lifted my eyes from
      this characteristic note.
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw that her peace of mind was at stake. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I consent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She gave a great sigh as at the laying down of a heavy burden. &ldquo;Thank
      you,&rdquo; was all she said, but she put a world of meaning into the words. She
      took the first homeward turning. We were nearly at the house before I
      found words that would pave the way toward expressing my thoughts&mdash;my
      longings and hopes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You say you have forgiven me,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Then we can be&mdash;friends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She was silent, and I took her somber expression to mean that she feared I
      was hiding some subtlety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean just what I say, Anita,&rdquo; I hastened to explain. &ldquo;Friends&mdash;simply
      friends.&rdquo; And my manner fitted my words.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked strangely at me. &ldquo;You would be content with that?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      I answered what I thought would please her. &ldquo;Let us make the best of our
      bad bargain,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You can trust me now, don't you think you can?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She nodded without speaking; we were at the door, and the servants were
      hastening out to receive us. Always the servants between us. Servants
      indoors, servants outdoors; morning, noon and night, from waking to
      sleeping, these servants to whom we are slaves. As those interrupting
      servants sent us each a separate way, her to her maid, me to my valet, I
      was depressed with the chill that the opportunity that has not been seen
      leaves behind it as it departs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said I to myself by way of consolation, as I was dressing for
      dinner, &ldquo;she is certainly softening toward you, and when she sees the new
      house you will be still better friends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      But, when the great day came, I was not so sure. Alva went for a &ldquo;private
      view&rdquo; with young Thornley; out of her enthusiasm she telephoned me from
      the very midst of the surroundings she found &ldquo;<i>so</i> wonderful and <i>so</i>
      beautiful&rdquo;&mdash;thus she assured me, and her voice made it impossible to
      doubt. And, the evening before the great day, I, going for a final look
      round, could find no flaw serious enough to justify the sinking feeling
      that came over me every time I thought of what Anita would think when she
      saw my efforts to realize her dream. I set out for &ldquo;home&rdquo; half a dozen
      times at least, that afternoon, before I pulled myself together, called
      myself an ass, and, with a pause at Delmonico's for a drink, which I
      ordered and then rejected, finally pushed myself in at the door. What, a
      state my nerves were in!
    </p>
    <p>
      Alva had departed; Anita was waiting for me in her sitting-room. When she
      heard me in the hall, just outside, she stood in the doorway. &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo;
       she said to me, who did not dare so much as a glance at her.
    </p>
    <p>
      I entered. I must have looked as I felt&mdash;like a boy, summoned before
      the teacher to be whipped in presence of the entire school. Then I was
      conscious that she had my hand&mdash;how she had got it, I don't know&mdash;and
      that she was murmuring, with tears of happiness in her voice: &ldquo;Oh, I can't
      <i>say</i> it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Glad you like your own taste,&rdquo; said I awkwardly. &ldquo;You know, Alva told
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But it's one thing to dream, and a very different thing to do,&rdquo; she
      answered. Then, with smiling reproach: &ldquo;And I've been thinking all summer
      that you were ruined! I've been expecting to hear every day that you had
      had to give up the fight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;that passed long ago,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you never told me,&rdquo; she reminded me. &ldquo;And I'm glad you didn't,&rdquo; she
      added. &ldquo;Not knowing saved me from doing something very foolish.&rdquo; She
      reddened a little, smiled a great deal, dazzlingly, was altogether
      different from the ice-locked Anita of a short time before, different as
      June from January. And her hand&mdash;so intensely alive&mdash;seemed
      extremely comfortable in mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even as my blood responded to that electric touch, I had a twinge of
      cynical bitterness. Yes, apparently I was at last getting what I had so
      long, so vainly, and, latterly, so hopelessly craved. But&mdash;<i>why</i>
      was she giving it? Why had she withheld herself until this moment of
      material happiness? &ldquo;I have to pay the rich man's price,&rdquo; thought I, with
      a sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in reaching out for some sweetness to take away this bitter taste
      in my honey that I said to her, &ldquo;When you gave me that money from your
      uncle, you did it to help me out?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She colored deeply. &ldquo;How silly you must have thought me!&rdquo; she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      I took her other hand. As I was drawing her toward me, the sudden pallor
      of her face and chill of her hands halted me once more, brought
      sickeningly before me the early days of my courtship when she had
      infuriated my pride by trying to be &ldquo;submissive.&rdquo; I looked round the room&mdash;that
      room into which I had put so much thought&mdash;and money. Money! &ldquo;The
      rich man's price!&rdquo; those delicately brocaded walls shimmered mockingly at
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;do you <i>care</i> for me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She murmured inaudibly. Evasion! thought I, and suspicion sprang on guard,
      bristling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Anita,&rdquo; I repeated sternly, &ldquo;do you care for <i>me</i>?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am your wife,&rdquo; she replied, her head drooping still lower. And
      hesitatingly she drew away from me. That seemed confirmation of my doubt
      and I said to her satirically, &ldquo;You are willing to be my wife out of
      gratitude, to put it politely?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked straight into my eyes and answered, &ldquo;I can only say there is no
      one I like so well, and&mdash;I will give you all I have to give.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like!&rdquo; I exclaimed contemptuously, my nerves giving way altogether. &ldquo;And
      you would be my <i>wife</i>! Do you want me to <i>despise</i> you?&rdquo; I
      struck dead my poor, feeble hope that had been all but still-born. I
      rushed from the room, closing the door violently between us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was our housewarming.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXX. BLACKLOCK OPENS FIRE
    </h2>
    <p>
      For what I proceeded to do, all sorts of motives, from the highest to the
      basest, have been attributed to me. Here is the truth: I had already
      pushed the medicine of hard work to its limit. It was as powerless against
      this new development as water against a drunkard's thirst. I must find
      some new, some compelling drug&mdash;some frenzy of activity that would
      swallow up my self as the battle makes the soldier forget his toothache.
      This confession may chagrin many who have believed in me. My enemies will
      hasten to say: &ldquo;Aha, his motive was even more selfish and petty than we
      alleged.&rdquo; But those who look at human nature honestly, and from the
      inside, will understand how I can concede that a selfish reason moved me
      to draw my sword, and still can claim a higher motive. In such straits as
      were mine, some men of my all-or-none temperament debauch themselves;
      others thresh about blindly, reckless whether they strike innocent or
      guilty. I did neither.
    </p>
    <p>
      Probably many will recall that long before the &ldquo;securities&rdquo; of the
      reorganized coal combine were issued, I had in my daily letter to
      investors been preparing the public to give them a fitting reception. A
      few days after my whole being burst into flames of resentment against
      Anita, out came the new array of new stocks and bonds. Roebuck and Langdon
      arranged with the under writers for a &ldquo;fake&rdquo; four times over-subscription,
      indorsed by the two greatest banking houses in the Street. Despite this
      often-tried and always-good trick, the public refused to buy. I felt I had
      not been overestimating my power. But I made no move until the
      &ldquo;securities&rdquo; began to go up, and the financial reporters&mdash;under the
      influence where not actually in the pay of the Roebuck-Langdon clique&mdash;shouted
      that, &ldquo;in spite of the malicious attacks from the gambling element, the
      new securities are being absorbed by the public at prices approximating
      their value.&rdquo; Then&mdash;But I shall quote my investors' letter the
      following morning:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At half-past nine yesterday&mdash;nine-twenty-eight, to be exact&mdash;President
      Melville, of the National Industrial Bank, loaned six hundred thousand
      dollars. He loaned it to Bill Van Nest, an ex-gambler and proprietor of
      pool rooms, now silent partner in Hoe &amp; Wittekind, brokers, on the New
      York Stock Exchange, and also in Filbert &amp; Jonas, curb brokers. He
      loaned it to Van Nest without security.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Van Nest used the money yesterday to push up the price of the new coal
      securities by 'wash sales'&mdash;which means, by making false purchases
      and sales of the stock in order to give the public the impression of eager
      buying. Van Nest sold to himself and bought from himself 347,060 of the
      352,681 shares traded in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Melville, in addition to being president of one of the largest banks in
      the world, is a director in no less than seventy-three great industrial
      enterprises, including railways, telegraph companies, <i>savings-banks and
      life-insurance companies</i>. Bill Van Nest has done time in the Nevada
      State Penitentiary for horse-stealing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      That was all. And it was enough&mdash;quite enough. I was a national
      figure, as much so as if I had tried to assassinate the president. Indeed,
      I had exploded a bomb under a greater than the president&mdash;under the
      chiefs of the real government of the United States, the government that
      levied daily upon every citizen, and that had state and national and the
      principal municipal governments in its strong box.
    </p>
    <p>
      I confess I was as much astounded at the effect of my bomb as old Melville
      must have been. I felt that I had been obscure, as I looked at the
      newspapers, with Matthew Blacklock appropriating almost the entire front
      page of each. I was the isolated, the conspicuous figure, standing alone
      upon the steps of the temple of Mammon, where mankind daily and devoutly
      comes to offer worship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not that the newspapers praised me. I recall none that spoke well of me.
      The nearest approach to praise was the &ldquo;Blacklock squeals on the Wall
      Street gang&rdquo; in one of the sensational penny sheets that strengthen the
      plutocracy by lying about it. Some of the papers insinuated that I had
      gone mad; others that I had been bought up by a rival gang to the
      Roebuck-Langdon clique; still others thought I was simply hunting
      notoriety. All were inclined to accept as a sufficient denial of my
      charges Melville's dignified refusal &ldquo;to notice any attack from a quarter
      so discredited.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As my electric whirled into Wall Street, I saw the crowd in front of the
      Textile Building, a dozen policemen keeping it in order. I descended amid
      cheers, and entered my offices through a mob struggling to shake hands
      with me&mdash;and, in my ignorance of mob mind, I was delighted and
      inspired! Just why a man who knows men, knows how wishy-washy they are as
      individuals, should be influenced by a demonstration from a mass of them,
      is hard to understand. But the fact is indisputable. They fooled me then;
      they could fool me again, in spite of all I have been through. There
      probably wasn't one in that mob for whose opinion I would have had the
      slightest respect had he come to me alone; yet as I listened to those
      shallow cheers and those worthless assurances of &ldquo;the people are behind
      you, Blacklock,&rdquo; I felt that I was a man with a mission!
    </p>
    <p>
      Our main office was full, literally full, of newspaper men&mdash;reporters
      from morning papers, from afternoon papers, from out-of-town and foreign
      papers. I pushed through them, saying as I went: &ldquo;My letter speaks for me,
      gentlemen, and will continue to speak for me. I have nothing to say except
      through it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the public&mdash;&rdquo; urged one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It doesn't interest me,&rdquo; said I, on my guard against the temptation to
      cant. &ldquo;I am a banker and investment broker. I am interested only in my
      customers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And I shut myself in, giving strict orders to Joe that there was to be no
      talking about me or my campaign. &ldquo;I don't purpose to let the newspapers
      make us cheap and notorious,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;We must profit by the warning in
      the fate of all the other fellows who have sprung into notice by attacking
      these bandits.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The first news I got was that Bill Van Nest had disappeared. As soon as
      the Stock Exchange opened, National Coal became the feature. But, instead
      of &ldquo;wash sales,&rdquo; Roebuck, Langdon and Melville were themselves, through
      various brokers, buying the stocks in large quantities to keep the prices
      up. My next letter was as brief as my first philippic:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bill Van Nest is at the Hotel Frankfort, Newark, under the name of Thomas
      Lowry. He was in telephonic communication with President Melville, of the
      National Industrial Bank, twice yesterday.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The underwriters of the National Coal Company's new issues, frightened by
      yesterday's exposure, have compelled Mr. Roebuck, Mr. Mowbray Langdon and
      Mr. Melville themselves to buy. So, yesterday, those three gentlemen
      bought with real money, with their own money, large quantities of stocks
      which are worth less than half what they paid for them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They will continue to buy these stocks so long as the public holds aloof.
      They dare not let the prices slump. They hope that this storm will blow
      over, and that then the investing public will forget and will relieve them
      of their load.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had added: &ldquo;But this storm won't blow over. It will become a cyclone.&rdquo; I
      struck that out. &ldquo;No prophecy,&rdquo; said I to myself. &ldquo;Your rule, iron-clad,
      must be&mdash;facts, always facts; only facts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The gambling section of the public took my hint and rushed into the
      market; the burden of protecting the underwriters was doubled, and more
      and more of the hoarded loot was disgorged. That must have been a costly
      day&mdash;for, ten minutes after the Stock Exchange closed, Roebuck sent
      for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My compliments to him,&rdquo; said I to his messenger, &ldquo;but I am too busy. I'll
      be glad to see him here, however.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know he dares not come to you,&rdquo; said the messenger, Schilling,
      president of the National Manufactured Food Company, sometimes called the
      Poison Trust. &ldquo;If he did, and it were to get out, there'd be a panic.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Probably,&rdquo; replied I with a shrug. &ldquo;That's no affair of mine. I'm not
      responsible for the rotten conditions which these so-called financiers
      have produced, and I shall not be disturbed by the crash which must come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Schilling gave me a genuine look of mingled pity and admiration. &ldquo;I
      suppose you know what you're about,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but I think you're making a
      mistake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks, Ned,&rdquo; said I&mdash;he had been my head clerk a few years before,
      and I had got him the chance with Roebuck which he had improved so well.
      &ldquo;I'm going to have some fun. Can't live but once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know some people,&rdquo; said he significantly, &ldquo;who would go to <i>any</i>
      lengths to get an enemy out of the way.&rdquo; He had lived close enough to
      Roebuck to peer into the black shadows of that satanic mind, and dimly to
      see the dread shapes that lurked there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm the safest man on Manhattan Island for the present,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You remember Woodrow? I've always believed that he was murdered, and that
      the pistol they found beside him was a 'plant.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'd kill me yourself, if you got the orders, wouldn't you?&rdquo; said I
      good-humoredly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not personally,&rdquo; replied he in the same spirit, yet serious, too, at
      bottom. &ldquo;Inspector Bradlaugh was telling me, the other night, that there
      were easily a thousand men in the slums of the East Side who could be
      hired to kill a man for five hundred dollars.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I suppose Schilling, as the directing spirit of a corporation that hid
      poison by the hogshead in low-priced foods of various kinds, was
      responsible for hundreds of deaths annually, and for misery of sickness
      beyond calculation among the poor of the tenements and cheap
      boarding-houses. Yet a better husband, father and friend never lived. He,
      personally, wouldn't have harmed a fly; but he was a wholesale poisoner
      for dividends.
    </p>
    <p>
      Murder for dividends. Poison for dividends. Starve and freeze and maim for
      dividends. Drive parents to suicide, and sons and daughters to crime and
      prostitution&mdash;for dividends. Not fair competition, in which the
      stronger and better would survive, but cheating and swindling, lying and
      pilfering and bribing, so that the honest and the decent go down before
      the dishonest and the depraved. And the custom of doing these things so
      &ldquo;respectable,&rdquo; the applause for &ldquo;success&rdquo; so undiscriminating, and men so
      unthinking in the rush of business activity, that criticism is regarded as
      a mixture of envy and idealism. And it usually is, I must admit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Schilling lingered. &ldquo;I hope you won't blame me for lining up against you,
      Matt,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I don't want to, but I've got to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know what'd become of me if I didn't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You might become an honest man and get self-respect,&rdquo; I suggested with
      friendly satire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That's all very well for you to say,&rdquo; was his laughing retort. &ldquo;You've
      made yourself tight and tidy for the blow. But I've a family, and a damned
      expensive one, too. And if I didn't stand by this gang, they'd take
      everything I've got away from me. No, Matt, each of us to his own game.
      What <i>is</i> your game, anyhow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fun&mdash;just fun. Playing the pipe to see the big fellows dance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he didn't believe it. And no one has believed it&mdash;not even my
      most devoted followers. To this day Joe Ball more than half suspects that
      my real objective was huge personal gain. That any rich man should do
      anything except for the purpose of growing richer seems incredible. That
      any rich man should retain or regain the sympathies and viewpoint of the
      class from which he sprang, and should become a &ldquo;traitor&rdquo; to the class to
      which he belongs, seems preposterous. I confess I don't fully understand
      my own case. Who ever does?
    </p>
    <p>
      My &ldquo;daily letters&rdquo; had now ceased to be advertisements, had become news,
      sought by all the newspapers of this country and of the big cities in
      Great Britain. I could have made a large saving by no longer paying my
      sixty-odd regular papers for inserting them. But I was looking too far
      ahead to blunder into that fatal mistake. Instead, I signed a year's
      contract with each of my papers, they guaranteeing to print my
      advertisements, I guaranteeing to protect them against loss on libel
      suits. I organized a dummy news bureau, and through it got contracts with
      the telegraph companies. Thus insured against the cutting of my
      communications with the public, I was ready for the real campaign.
    </p>
    <p>
      It began with my &ldquo;History of the National Coal Company.&rdquo; I need not repeat
      that famous history here. I need recall only the main points&mdash;how I
      proved that the common stock was actually worth less than two dollars a
      share, that the bonds were worth less than twenty-five dollars in the
      hundred, that both stock and bonds were illegal; my detailed recital of
      the crimes of Roebuck, Melville and Langdon in wrecking mining properties,
      in wrecking coal railways, in ejecting American labor and substituting
      helots from eastern Europe; how they had swindled and lied and bribed; how
      they had twisted the books of the companies, how they were planning to
      unload the mass of almost worthless securities at high prices, then to get
      from under the market and let the bonds and stocks drop down to where they
      could buy them in on terms that would yield them more than two hundred and
      fifty per cent, on the actual capital invested. Less and dearer coal;
      lower wages and more ignorant laborers; enormous profits absorbed without
      mercy into a few pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the day the seventh chapter of this history appeared, the telegraph
      companies notified me that they would transmit no more of my matter. They
      feared the consequences in libel suits, explained Moseby, general manager
      of one of the companies.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I guarantee to protect you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I will give bond in any amount
      you ask.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can't take the risk, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; replied he. The twinkle in his
      eye told me why, and also that he, like every one else in the country
      except the clique, was in sympathy with me.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lawyers found an honest judge, and I got an injunction that compelled
      the companies to transmit under my contracts. I suspended the &ldquo;History&rdquo;
       for one day, and sent out in place of it an account of this attempt to
      shut me off from the public. &ldquo;Hereafter,&rdquo; said I, in the last paragraph in
      my letter, &ldquo;I shall end each day's chapter with a forecast of what the
      next day's chapter is to be. If for any reason it fails to appear, the
      public will know that somebody has been coerced by Roebuck, Melville &amp;
      Co.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXI. ANITA'S SECRET
    </h2>
    <p>
      That afternoon&mdash;or, was it the next?&mdash;I happened to go home
      early. I have never been able to keep alive anger against any one. My
      anger against Anita had long ago died away, had been succeeded by regret
      and remorse that I had let my nerves, or whatever the accursed cause was,
      whirl me into such an outburst. Not that I regretted having rejected what
      I still felt was insulting to me and degrading to her; simply that my
      manner should have been different. There was no necessity or excuse for
      violence in showing her that I would not, could not, accept from gratitude
      what only love has the right to give. And I had long been casting about
      for some way to apologize&mdash;not easy to do, when her distant manner
      toward me made it difficult for me to find even the necessary commonplaces
      to &ldquo;keep up appearances&rdquo; before the servants on the few occasions on which
      we accidentally met.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, as I was saying, I came up from the office and stretched myself on&mdash;the
      lounge in my private room adjoining the library. I had read myself into a
      doze, when a servant brought me a card. I glanced at it as it lay upon his
      extended tray. &ldquo;Gerald Monson,&rdquo; I read aloud. &ldquo;What does the damned rascal
      want?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      The servant smiled. He knew as well as I how Monson, after I dismissed him
      with a present of six months' pay, had given the newspapers the story&mdash;or,
      rather, his version of the story&mdash;of my efforts to educate myself in
      the &ldquo;arts and graces of a gentleman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Monson says he wishes to see you particular, sir,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;I'll see him,&rdquo; said I. I despised him too much to dislike him,
      and I thought he might possibly be in want. But that notion vanished the
      instant I set eyes upon him. He was obviously at the very top of the wave.
      &ldquo;Hello, Monson,&rdquo; was my greeting, in it no reminder of his treachery.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Howdy, Blacklock,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I've come on a little errand for Mrs.
      Langdon.&rdquo; Then, with that nasty grin of his: &ldquo;You know, I'm looking after
      things for her since the bust-up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I didn't&mdash;know,&rdquo; said I curtly, suppressing my instant
      curiosity. &ldquo;What does Mrs. Langdon want?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To see you&mdash;for just a few minutes&mdash;whenever it is convenient.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If Mrs. Langdon has business with me, I'll see her at my office,&rdquo; said I.
      She was one of the fashionables that had got herself into my black books
      by her treatment of Anita since the break with the Ellerslys.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She wishes to come to you here&mdash;this afternoon, if you are to be at
      home. She asked me to say that her business is important&mdash;and very
      private.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I hesitated, but I could think of no good excuse for refusing. &ldquo;I'll be
      here an hour,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Good day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He gave me no time to change my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Something&mdash;perhaps it was his curious expression as he took himself
      off&mdash;made me begin to regret. The more I thought of the matter, the
      less I thought of my having made any civil concession to a woman who had
      acted so badly toward Anita and myself. He had not been gone a quarter of
      an hour before I went to Anita in her sitting-room. Always, the instant I
      entered the outer door of her part of our house, that powerful,
      intoxicating fascination that she had for me began to take possession of
      my senses. It was in every garment she wore. It seemed to linger in any
      place where she had been, for a long time after she left it. She was at a
      small desk by the window, was writing letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I interrupt?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Monson was here a few minutes ago&mdash;from
      Mrs. Langdon. She wants to see me. I told him I would see her here. Then
      it occurred to me that perhaps I had been too good-natured. What do you
      think?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I could not see her face, but only the back of her head, and the loose
      coils of magnetic hair and the white nape of her graceful neck. As I began
      to speak, she stopped writing, her pen suspended over the sheet of paper.
      After I ended there was a long silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not see her,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I don't quite understand why I yielded.&rdquo; And
      I turned to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wait&mdash;please,&rdquo; came from her abruptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another long silence. Then I: &ldquo;If she comes here, I think the only person
      who can properly receive her is you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No&mdash;you must see her,&rdquo; said Anita at last. And she turned round in
      her chair until she was facing me. Her expression&mdash;I can not describe
      it. I can only say that it gave me a sense of impending calamity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'd rather not&mdash;much rather not,&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I particularly wish you to see her,&rdquo; she replied, and she turned back to
      her writing. I saw her pen poised as if she were about to begin; but she
      did not begin&mdash;and I felt that she would not. With my mind shadowed
      with vague dread, I left that mysterious stillness, and went back to the
      library.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not long before Mrs. Langdon was announced. There are some women to
      whom a haggard look is becoming; she is one of them. She was much thinner
      than when I last saw her; instead of her former restless, petulant,
      suspicious expression, she now looked tragically sad. &ldquo;May I trouble you
      to close the door?&rdquo; said she, when the servant had withdrawn.
    </p>
    <p>
      I closed the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've come,&rdquo; she began, without seating herself, &ldquo;to make you as unhappy,
      I fear, as I am. I've hesitated long before coming. But I am desperate.
      The one hope I have left is that you and I between us may be able to&mdash;to&mdash;that
      you and I may be able to help each other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose there are people,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;who have never known what it
      was to&mdash;really to care for some one else. They would despise me for
      clinging to a man after he has shown me that&mdash;that his love has
      ceased.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pardon me, Mrs. Langdon,&rdquo; I interrupted. &ldquo;You apparently think your
      husband and I are intimate friends. Before you go any further, I must
      disabuse you of that idea.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at me in open astonishment. &ldquo;You do not know why my husband has
      left me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Until a few minutes ago, I did not know that he had left you,&rdquo; I said.
      &ldquo;And I do not wish to know why.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her expression of astonishment changed to mockery. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she sneered.
      &ldquo;Your wife has fooled you into thinking it a one-sided affair. Well, I
      tell you, she is as much to blame as he&mdash;more. For he did love me
      when he married me; did love me until she got him under her spell again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I thought I understood. &ldquo;You have been misled, Mrs. Langdon,&rdquo; said I
      gently, pitying her as the victim of her insane jealousy. &ldquo;You have&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ask your wife,&rdquo; she interrupted angrily. &ldquo;Hereafter, you can't pretend
      ignorance. For I'll at least be revenged. She failed utterly to trap him
      into marriage when she was a poor girl, and&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before you go any further,&rdquo; said I coldly, &ldquo;let me set you right. My wife
      was at one time engaged to your husband's brother, but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tom?&rdquo; she interrupted. And her laugh made me bite my lip. &ldquo;So she told
      you that! I don't see how she dared. Why, everybody knows that she and
      Mowbray were engaged, and that he broke it off to marry me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All in an instant everything that had been confused in my affairs at home
      and down town became clear. I understood why I had been pursued
      relentlessly in Wall Street; why I had been unable to make the least
      impression on the barriers between Anita and myself. You will imagine that
      some terrible emotion at once dominated me. But this is not a romance;
      only the veracious chronicle of certain human beings. My first emotion was&mdash;relief
      that it was not Tom Langdon. &ldquo;I ought to have known she couldn't care for
      <i>him</i>,&rdquo; said I to myself. I, contending with Tom Langdon for a
      woman's love had always made me shrink. But Mowbray&mdash;that was vastly
      different. My respect for myself and for Anita rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I to Mrs. Langdon, &ldquo;my wife did not tell me, never spoke of it.
      What I said to you was purely a guess of my own. I had no interest in the
      matter&mdash;and haven't. I have absolute confidence in my wife. I feel
      ashamed that you have provoked me into saying so.&rdquo; I opened the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not going yet,&rdquo; said she angrily. &ldquo;Yesterday morning Mowbray and she
      were riding together in the Riverside Drive. Ask her groom.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What of it?&rdquo; said I. Then, as she did not rise, I rang the bell. When the
      servant came, I said: &ldquo;Please tell Mrs. Blacklock that Mrs. Langdon is in
      the library&mdash;and that I am here, and gave you the message.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As soon as the servant was gone, she said: &ldquo;No doubt she'll lie to you.
      These women that steal other women's property are usually clever at
      fooling their own silly husbands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not intend to ask her,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;To ask her would be an insult.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She made no comment beyond a scornful toss of the head. We both had our
      gaze fixed upon the door through which Anita would enter. When she finally
      did appear, I, after one glance at her, turned&mdash;it must have been
      triumphantly&mdash;upon her accuser. I had not doubted, but where is the
      faith that is not the stronger for confirmation? And confirmation there
      was in the very atmosphere round that stately, still figure. She looked
      calmly, first at Mrs. Langdon, then at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I sent for you,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;because I thought that you, rather than I,
      should request Mrs. Langdon to leave your house.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At that Mrs. Langdon was on her feet, and blazing. &ldquo;Fool!&rdquo; she flared at
      me. &ldquo;Oh, the fools women make of men!&rdquo; Then to Anita: &ldquo;You&mdash;you&mdash;But
      no, I must not permit you to drag me down to your level. Tell your husband&mdash;tell
      him that you were riding with my husband in the Riverside Drive
      yesterday.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I stepped between her and Anita. &ldquo;My wife will not answer you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I
      hope, Madam, you will spare us the necessity of a painful scene. But leave
      you must&mdash;at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked wildly round, clasped her hands, suddenly burst into tears. If
      she had but known, she could have had her own way after that, without any
      attempt from me to oppose her. For she was evidently unutterably wretched&mdash;and
      no one knew better than I the sufferings of unreturned love. But she had
      given me up; slowly, sobbing, she left the room, I opening the door for
      her and closing it behind her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I almost broke down myself,&rdquo; said I to Anita. &ldquo;Poor woman! How can you be
      so calm? You women in your relations with each other are&mdash;a mystery.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have only contempt for a woman who tries to hold a man when he wishes
      to go,&rdquo; said Anita, with quiet but energetic bitterness. &ldquo;Besides&rdquo;&mdash;she
      hesitated an instant before going on&mdash;&ldquo;Gladys deserves her fate. She
      doesn't really care for him. She's only jealous of him. She never did love
      him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; said I sharply, trying to persuade myself it was not an
      ugly suspicion in me that lifted its head and shot out that question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because he never loved her,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;The feeling a woman has for a
      man or a man for a woman, without any response, isn't love, isn't worthy
      the name of love. It's a sort of baffled covetousness. Love means
      generosity, not greediness.&rdquo; Then&mdash;&ldquo;Why do you not ask me whether
      what she said is true?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The change in her tone with that last sentence, the strange, ominous note
      in it, startled me,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; replied I, &ldquo;as I said to her, to ask my wife such a question
      would be to insult her. If you were riding with him, it was an accident.&rdquo;
       As if my rude repulse of her overtures and my keeping away from her ever
      since would not have justified her in almost anything.
    </p>
    <p>
      She flushed the dark red of shame, but her gaze held steady and
      unflinching upon mine. &ldquo;It was not altogether by accident,&rdquo; she said. And
      I think she expected me to kill her.
    </p>
    <p>
      When a man admits and respects a woman's rights where he is himself
      concerned, he either is no longer interested in her or has begun to love
      her so well that he can control the savage and selfish instincts of
      passion. If Mowbray Langdon had been there, I might have killed them both;
      but he was not there, and she, facing me without fear, was not the woman
      to be suspected of the stealthy and traitorous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was he that you meant when you warned me you cared for another man?&rdquo;
       said I, so quietly that I wondered at myself; wondered what had become of
      the &ldquo;Black Matt&rdquo; who had used his fists almost as much as his brains in
      fighting his way up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, her head down now.
    </p>
    <p>
      A long pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You wish to be free?&rdquo; I asked, and my tone must have been gentle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to free you,&rdquo; she replied slowly and deliberately.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a long silence. Then I said: &ldquo;I must think it all out. I once
      told you how I felt about these matters. I've greatly changed my mind
      since our talk that night in the Willoughby; but my prejudices are still
      with me. Perhaps you will not be surprised at that&mdash;you whose
      prejudices have cost me so dear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I thought she was going to speak. Instead she turned away, so that I could
      no longer see her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our marriage was a miserable mistake,&rdquo; I went on, struggling to be just
      and judicial, and to seem calm. &ldquo;I admit it now. Fortunately, we are both
      still young&mdash;you very young. Mistakes in youth are never fatal. But,
      Anita, do not blunder out of one mistake into another. You are no longer a
      child, as you were when I married you. You will be careful not to let
      judgments formed of him long ago decide you for him as they decided you
      against me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to be free,&rdquo; she said, each word coming with an effort, &ldquo;as much
      on your account as on my own.&rdquo; Then, and it seemed to me merely a truly
      feminine attempt to shirk responsibility, she added, &ldquo;I am glad my going
      will be a relief to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, it will be a relief,&rdquo; I confessed. &ldquo;Our situation has become
      intolerable.&rdquo; I had reached my limit of self-control. I put out my hand.
      &ldquo;Good-by,&rdquo; I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      If she had wept, it might have modified my conviction that everything was
      at an end between us. But she did not weep. &ldquo;Can you ever forgive me?&rdquo; she
      asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let's not talk of forgiveness,&rdquo; said I, and I fear my voice and manner
      were gruff, as I strove not to break down. &ldquo;Let's try to forget.&rdquo; And I
      touched her hand and hastened away.
    </p>
    <p>
      When two human beings set out to misunderstand each other, how fast and
      far they go! How shut-in we are from each other, with only halting means
      of communication that break down under the slightest strain!
    </p>
    <p>
      As I was leaving the house next morning, I gave Sanders this note for her:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have gone to live at the Downtown Hotel. When you have decided what
      course to take, let me know. If my 'rights' ever had any substance, they
      have starved away to such weak things that they collapse even as I try to
      set them up. I hope your freedom will give you happiness, and me peace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are ill, sir?&rdquo; asked my old servant, my old friend, as he took the
      note.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stay with her, Sanders, as long as she wishes,&rdquo; said I, ignoring his
      question. &ldquo;Then come to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His look made me shake hands with him. As I did it, we both remembered the
      last time we had shaken hands&mdash;when he had the roses for my
      home-coming with my bride. It seemed to me I could smell those roses.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXII. LANGDON COMES TO THE SURFACE
    </h2>
    <p>
      I shall not estimate the vast sums it cost the Roebuck-Langdon clique to
      maintain the prices of National Coal, and so give plausibility to the
      fiction that the public was buying eagerly. In the third week of my
      campaign, Melville was so deeply involved that he had to let the two
      others take the whole burden upon themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the fourth week, Langdon came to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interval between his card and himself gave me a chance to recover from
      my amazement. When he entered he found me busily writing. Though I had
      nerved myself, it was several seconds before I ventured to look at him.
      There he stood, probably as handsome, as fascinating as ever, certainly as
      self-assured. But I could now, beneath that manner I had once envied, see
      the puny soul, with its brassy glitter of the vanity of luxury and show. I
      had been somewhat afraid of myself&mdash;afraid the sight of him would
      stir up in me a tempest of jealousy and hate; as I looked, I realized that
      I did not know my own nature. &ldquo;She does not love this man,&rdquo; I thought. &ldquo;If
      she did or could, she would not be the woman I love. He deceived her
      inexperience as he deceived mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What can I do for you?&rdquo; said I to him politely, much as if he were a
      stranger making an untimely interruption.
    </p>
    <p>
      My look had disconcerted him; my tone threw him into confusion. &ldquo;You keep
      out of the way, now that you've become famous,&rdquo; he began, with a halting
      but heroic attempt at his customary easy superiority. &ldquo;Are you living up
      in Connecticut, too? Sam Ellersly tells me your wife is stopping there
      with old Howard Forrester. Sam wants me to use my good offices in making
      it up between you two and her family.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was completely taken aback by this cool ignoring of the real situation
      between him and me. Impudence or ignorance?&mdash;I could not decide. It
      seemed impossible that Anita had not told him; yet it seemed impossible,
      too, that he would come to me if she had told him. &ldquo;Have you any <i>business</i>
      with me?&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      His eyelids twitched nervously, and he adjusted his lips several times
      before he was able to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You and your wife don't care to make it up with the Ellerslys? I fancied
      so, and told Sam you'd simply think me meddlesome. The other matter is the
      Travelers Club. I've smoothed things out there. I'm going to put you up
      and rush you through.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, thanks,&rdquo; said I. It seemed incredible to me that I had ever cared
      about that club and the things it represented, as I could remember I
      undoubtedly did care. It was like looking at an outgrown toy and trying to
      feel again the emotions it once excited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I assure you, Matt, there won't be the slightest difficulty.&rdquo; His manner
      was that of a man playing the trump card in a desperate game&mdash;he
      feels it can not lose, yet the stake is so big that he can not but be a
      little nervous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not care to join the Travelers Club,&rdquo; said I, rising. &ldquo;I must ask
      you to excuse me. I am exceedingly busy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A flush appeared in his cheeks and deepened and spread until his whole
      body must have been afire. He seated himself. &ldquo;You know what I've come
      for,&rdquo; he said sullenly, and humbly, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      All his life he had been enthroned upon his wealth. Without realizing it,
      he had claimed and had received deference solely because he was rich. He
      had thought himself, in his own person, most superior; now, he found that
      like a silly child he had been standing on a chair and crying: &ldquo;See how
      tall I am.&rdquo; And the airs, the cynicism, the graceful condescension, which
      had been so becoming to him, were now as out of place as crown and robes
      on a king taking a swimming lesson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are your terms, Blacklock? Don't be too hard on an old friend,&rdquo; said
      he, trying to carry off his frank plea for mercy with a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      I should have thought he would cut his throat and jump off the Battery
      wall before he would get on his knees to any man for any reason. And he
      was doing it for mere money&mdash;to try to save, not his fortune, but
      only an imperiled part of it. &ldquo;If Anita could see him now!&rdquo; I thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      To him I said, the more coldly because I did not wish to add to his
      humiliation by showing him that I pitied him: &ldquo;I can only repeat, Mr.
      Langdon, you will have to excuse me. I have given you all the time I can
      spare.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His eyes were shifting and his hands trembling as he said: &ldquo;I will
      transfer control of the Coal combine to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His tones, shameful as the offer they carried, made me ashamed for him.
      For money&mdash;just for money! And I had thought him a man. If he had
      been a self-deceiving hypocrite like Roebuck, or a frank believer in the
      right of might, like Updegraff, I might possibly, in the circumstances,
      have tried to release him from my net. But he had never for an instant
      deceived himself as to the real nature of the enterprises he plotted,
      promoted and profited by; he thought it &ldquo;smart&rdquo; to be bad, and he
      delighted in making the most cynical epigrams on the black deeds of
      himself and his associates.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Better sell out to Roebuck,&rdquo; I suggested. &ldquo;I control all the Coal stock I
      need.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't care to have anything further to do with Roebuck,&rdquo; Langdon
      answered. &ldquo;I've broken with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When a man lies to me,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;he gives me the chance to see just how
      much of a fool he thinks I am, and also the chance to see just how much of
      a fool he is. I hesitate to think so poorly of you as your attempt to fool
      me seems to compel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he was unconvinced. &ldquo;I've found he intends to abandon the ship and
      leave me to go down with it,&rdquo; he persisted. &ldquo;He believes he can escape and
      denounce me as the arch rascal who planned the combine, and can convince
      people that I foozled him into it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ingenious; but I happened to know that it was false. &ldquo;Pardon me, Mr.
      Langdon,&rdquo; said I with stiff courtesy. &ldquo;I repeat, I can do nothing for you.
      Good morning.&rdquo; And I went at my work as if he were already gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had I been vindictive, I would have led him on to humiliate himself more
      deeply, if greater depths of humiliation there are than those to which he
      voluntarily descended. But I wished to spare him; I let him see the
      uselessness of his mission. He looked at me in silence&mdash;the look of
      hate that can come only from a creature weak as well as wicked. I think it
      was all his keen sense of humor could do to save him from a melodramatic
      outbreak. He slipped into his habitual pose, rose and withdrew without
      another word. All this fright and groveling and treachery for plunder, the
      loss of which would not impair his fortune&mdash;plunder he had stolen
      with many a jest and gibe at his helpless victims. Like most of our
      debonair dollar chasers, he was a good sportsman only when the game was
      with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      That afternoon he threw his Coal holdings on the market in great blocks.
      His treachery took Roebuck completely by surprise&mdash;for Roebuck
      believed in this fair-weather &ldquo;gentleman,&rdquo; foul-weather coward, and
      neglected to allow for that quicksand that is always under the foundation
      of the man who has inherited, not earned, his wealth. But for the
      blundering credulity of rascals, would honest men ever get their dues?
      Roebuck's brokers had bought many thousands of Langdon's shares at the
      high artificial price before Roebuck grasped the situation&mdash;that it
      was not my followers recklessly gambling to break the prices, but Langdon
      unloading on his &ldquo;pal.&rdquo; As soon as he saw, he abruptly withdrew from the
      market. When the Stock Exchange closed, National Coal securities were
      offered at prices ranging from eleven for the bonds to two for the common
      and three for the preferred&mdash;offered, and no takers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, you've done it,&rdquo; said Joe, coming with the news that Thornley, of
      the Discount and Deposit Bank, had been appointed receiver.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've made a beginning,&rdquo; replied I. And the last sentence of my next
      morning's &ldquo;letter&rdquo; was:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To-morrow the first chapter of the History of the Industrial National
      Bank.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have felt for two years,&rdquo; said Roebuck to Schilling, who repeated it to
      me soon afterward, &ldquo;that Blacklock was about the most dangerous fellow in
      the country. The first time I set eyes on him, I saw he was a born
      iconoclast. And I've known for a year that some day he would use that
      engine of publicity of his to cannonade the foundations of society.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He knew me better than I knew myself,&rdquo; was my comment to Schilling. And I
      meant it&mdash;for I had not finished the demolition of the Coal combine
      when I began to realize that, whatever I might have thought of my own
      ambitions, I could never have tamed myself or been tamed into a devotee of
      dollars and of respectability. I simply had been keeping quiet until my
      tools were sharp and fate spun my opportunity within reach. But I must, in
      fairness, add, it was lucky for me that, when the hour struck, Roebuck was
      not twenty years younger and one-twentieth as rich. It's a heavy enough
      handicap, under the best of circumstances, to go to war burdened with
      years; add the burden of a monster fortune, and it isn't in human nature
      to fight well. Youth and a light knapsack!
    </p>
    <p>
      But&mdash;to my fight on the big bank.
    </p>
    <p>
      Until I opened fire, the public thought, in a general way, that a bank was
      an institution like Thornley's Discount and Deposit National&mdash;a place
      for the safe-keeping of money and for accommodating business men with
      loans to be used in carrying on and extending legitimate and useful
      enterprises. And there were many such banks. But the real object of the
      banking business, as exploited by the big bandits who controlled it and
      all industry, was to draw into a mass the money of the country that they
      might use it to manipulate the markets, to wreck and reorganize industries
      and wreck them again, to work off inflated bonds and stocks upon the
      public at inflated prices, to fight among themselves for rights to
      despoil, making the people pay the war budgets&mdash;in a word, to finance
      the thousand and one schemes whereby they and their friends and relatives,
      who neither produce nor help to produce, appropriate the bulk of all that
      is produced.
    </p>
    <p>
      And before I finished with the National Industrial Bank, I had shown that
      it and several similar institutions in the big cities throughout the
      country were, in fact, so many dens to which rich and poor were lured for
      spoliation. I then took up the Universal Life, as a type. I showed how
      insuring was, with the companies controlled by the bandits, simply the
      decoy; that the real object was the same as the real object of the big
      bandit banks. When I had finished my series on the Universal Life I had
      named and pilloried Roebuck, Langdon, Melville, Wainwright, Updegraff, Van
      Steen, Epstein&mdash;the seven men of enormous wealth, leaders of the
      seven cliques that had the political and industrial United States at their
      mercy, and were plucking the people through an ever-increasing army of
      agents. The agents kept some of the feathers&mdash;&ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; could
      afford to pay liberally. But the bulk of the feather crop was passed on to
      &ldquo;The Seven.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I shall answer in a paragraph the principal charges that were made against
      me. They say I bribed employees on the telegraph companies, and so got
      possession of incriminating telegrams that had been sent by &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; in
      the course of their worst campaigns. I admit the charge. They say I bribed
      some of their confidential men to give me transcripts and photographs of
      secret ledgers and reports. I admit the charge. They say I bought
      translations of stenographic notes taken by eavesdroppers on certain
      important secret meetings. I admit the charge. But what was the chief
      element in my success in thus getting proofs of their crimes? Not the
      bribery, but the hatred that all the servants of such men have for them. I
      tempted no one to betray them. <i>Every item, of information I got was
      offered to me</i>. And I shall add these facts:
    </p>
    <p>
      First, in not a single case did they suspect and discharge the &ldquo;guilty&rdquo;
       persons.
    </p>
    <p>
      Second, I have to-day as good means of access to their secrets as I ever
      had&mdash;and, if they discharged all who now serve them, I should be able
      soon to reestablish my lines; men of their stripe can not hope to be
      served faithfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      Third, I had offers from all but three of &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; to &ldquo;peach&rdquo; on the
      others in return for immunity. There may be honor among some thieves, but
      not among &ldquo;respectable&rdquo; thieves. Hypocrisy and honor will be found in the
      same character when the sun shines at night&mdash;not before.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      It was the sardonic humor of fate that Langdon, for all his desire to keep
      out of my way, should have compelled me to center my fire upon him; that
      I, who wished to spare him, if possible, should have been compelled to
      make of him my first &ldquo;awful example.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had decided to concentrate upon Roebuck, because he was the richest and
      most powerful of &ldquo;The Seven.&rdquo; For, in my pictures of the three main phases
      of &ldquo;finance&rdquo;&mdash;the industrial, the life-insurance and the banking&mdash;he,
      as arch plotter in every kind of respectable skulduggery, was necessarily
      in the foreground. My original intention was to demolish the Power Trust&mdash;or,
      at least, to compel him to buy back all of its stock which he had worked
      off on the public. I had collected many interesting facts about it, facts
      typical of the conditions that &ldquo;finance&rdquo; has established in so many of our
      industries.
    </p>
    <p>
      For instance, I was prepared to show that the actual earnings of the Power
      Trust were two and a half times what its reports to stock-holders alleged;
      that the concealed profits were diverted into the pockets of Roebuck, his
      sons, eleven other relatives and four of &ldquo;The Seven,&rdquo; the lion's share
      going, of course, to the lion. Like almost all the great industrial
      enterprises, too strong for the law and too remote for the supervision of
      their stock-holders, it gathered in enormous revenues to disburse them
      chiefly in salaries and commissions and rake-offs on contracts to
      favorites. I had proof that in one year it had &ldquo;written off&rdquo; twelve
      millions of profit and loss, ten millions of which had found its way to
      Roebuck's pocket. That pocket! That &ldquo;treasury of the Lord&rdquo;!
    </p>
    <p>
      Dishonest? Roebuck and most of the other leaders of the various gangs,
      comprising, with all their ramifications, the principal figures in
      religious, philanthropic, fashionable society, did not for an instant
      think their doings dishonest. They had no sense of trusteeship for this
      money intrusted to them as captains of industry bankers, life-insurance
      directors. They felt that it was theirs to do with as they pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      And they felt that their superiority in rank and in brains entitled them
      to whatever remuneration they could assign to themselves without rousing
      the wrath of a public too envious to admit the just claims of the &ldquo;upper
      classes.&rdquo; They convinced themselves that without them crops would cease to
      grow, sellers and buyers would be unable to find their way to market,
      barbarism would spread its rank and choking weeds over the whole garden of
      civilization. And, so brainless is the parrot public, they have succeeded
      in creating a very widespread conviction that their own high opinion of
      their services is not too high, and that some dire calamity would come if
      they were swept from between producer and consumer! True, thieves are
      found only where there is property; but who but a chucklebrain would think
      the thieves made the property?
    </p>
    <p>
      Roebuck was the keystone of the arch that sustained the structure of
      chicane. To dislodge him was the direct way to collapse it. I was about to
      set to work when Langdon, feeling that he ought to have a large supply of
      cash in the troublous times I was creating, increased the capital stock of
      his already enormously overcapitalized Textile Trust and offered the new
      issue to the public. As the Textile Trust was even better bulwarked,
      politically, than the Power Trust, it was easily able to declare tempting
      dividends out of its lootings. So the new stock could not be attacked in
      the one way that would make the public instantly shun it&mdash;I could not
      truthfully charge that it would not pay the promised dividends. Yet attack
      I must&mdash;for that issue was, in effect, a bold challenge of my charges
      against &ldquo;The Seven.&rdquo; From all parts of the country inquiries poured in
      upon me: &ldquo;What do you think of the new Textile issue? Shall we invest? Is
      the Textile Company sound?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had no choice. I must turn aside from Roebuck; I must first show that,
      while Textile was, in a sense, sound just at that time, it had been
      unsound, and would be unsound again as soon as Langdon had gathered in a
      sufficient number of lambs to make a battue worth the while of a man
      dealing in nothing less than seven figures. I proceeded to do so.
    </p>
    <p>
      The market yielded slowly. Under my first day's attack Textile preferred
      fell six points, Textile common three. While I was in the midst of
      dictating my letter for the second day's attack, I suddenly came to a full
      stop. I found across my way this thought: &ldquo;Isn't it strange that Langdon,
      after humbling himself to you, should make this bold challenge? It's a
      trap!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more at present,&rdquo; said I, to my stenographer. &ldquo;And don't write out
      what I've already dictated.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I shut myself in and busied myself at the telephone. Half an hour after I
      set my secret machinery in motion, a messenger brought me an envelop, the
      address type-written. It contained a sheet of paper on which appeared, in
      type-writing; these words, and nothing more:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;He is heavily short of Textiles.&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      It was indeed a trap. The new issue was a blind. He had challenged me to
      attack his stock, and as soon as I did, he had begun secretly to sell it
      for a fall. I worked at this new situation until midnight, trying to get
      together the proofs. At that hour&mdash;for I could delay no longer, and
      my proofs were not quite complete&mdash;I sent my newspapers two
      sentences:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  &ldquo;To-morrow I shall make a disclosure that will
  send Textiles up. Do not sell Textiles!&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXIII. MRS. LANGDON MAKES A CALL.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Next day Langdon's stocks wavered, going up a little, going down a little,
      closing at practically the same figures at which they had opened. Then I
      sprang my sensation&mdash;that Langdon and his particular clique, though
      they controlled the Textile Trust, did not own so much as one-fiftieth of
      its voting stock. True &ldquo;captains of industry&rdquo; that they were, they made
      their profits not out of dividends, but out of side schemes that absorbed
      about two-thirds of the earnings of the Trust, and out of gambling in its
      bonds and stocks. I said in conclusion:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The largest owner of the stock is Walter G. Edmunds, of Chicago&mdash;an
      honest man. Send your voting proxies to him, and he can take the Textile
      Company away from those now plundering it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the annual election of the Trust was only six weeks away, Langdon and
      his clique were in a panic. They rushed into the market and bought
      frantically, the public bidding against them. Langdon himself went to
      Chicago to reason with Edmunds&mdash;that is, to try to find out at what
      figure he could be bought. And so on, day after day, I faithfully
      reporting to the public the main occurrences behind the scenes. The
      Langdon attempt to regain control by purchases of stock failed. He and his
      allies made what must have been to them appalling sacrifices; but even at
      the high prices they offered, comparatively little of the stock appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've caught them,&rdquo; said I to Joe&mdash;the first time, and the last,
      during that campaign that I indulged in a boast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If Edmunds sticks to you,&rdquo; replied cautious Joe.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Edmunds did not. I do not know at what price he sold himself. Probably
      it was pitifully small; cupidity usually snatches the instant bait tickles
      its nose. But I do know that my faith in human nature got its severest
      shock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are down this morning,&rdquo; said Thornley, when I looked in on him at his
      bank. &ldquo;I don't think I ever before saw you show that you were in low
      spirits.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've found out a man with whom I'd have trusted my life,&rdquo; said I.
      &ldquo;Sometimes I think all men are dishonest. I've tried to be an optimist
      like you, and have told myself that most men must be honest or ninety-five
      per cent. of the business couldn't be done on credit as it is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thornley smiled, like an old man at the enthusiasm of a youngster. &ldquo;That
      proves nothing as to honesty,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It simply shows that men can be
      counted on to do what it is to their plain interest to do. The truth is&mdash;and
      a fine truth, too&mdash;most men wish and try to be honest. Give 'em a
      chance to resist their own weaknesses. Don't trust them. Trust&mdash;that's
      the making of false friends and the filling of jails.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And palaces,&rdquo; I added.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And palaces,&rdquo; assented he. &ldquo;Every vast fortune is a monument to the
      credulity of man. Instead of getting after these heavy-laden rascals,
      Matthew, you'd better have turned your attention to the public that has
      made rascals of them by leaving its property unguarded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Fortunately, Edmunds had held out, or, rather, Langdon had delayed
      approaching him, long enough for me to gain my main point. The uproar over
      the Textile Trust had become so great that the national Department of
      Commerce dared not refuse an investigation; and I straightway began to
      spread out in my daily letters the facts of the Trust's enormous earnings
      and of the shameful sources of those earnings. Thanks to Langdon's
      political pull, the president appointed as investigator one of those
      rascals who carefully build themselves good reputations to enable them to
      charge higher prices for dirty work. But, with my facts before the people,
      whitewash was impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was expecting emissaries from Langdon, for I knew he must now be
      actually in straits. Even the Universal Life didn't dare lend him money;
      and was trying to call in the millions it had loaned him. But I was
      astounded when my private door opened and Mrs. Langdon ushered herself in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't blame your boy, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; cried she gaily, exasperatingly
      confident that I was as delighted with her as she was with herself. &ldquo;I
      told him you were expecting me and didn't give him a chance to stop me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I assumed she had come to give me wholly undeserved thanks for revenging
      her upon her recreant husband. I tried to look civil and courteous, but I
      felt that my face was darkening&mdash;her very presence forced forward
      things I had been keeping in the far background of my mind, &ldquo;How can I be
      of service to you, Madam?&rdquo; said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I bring you good news,&rdquo; she replied&mdash;and I noted that she no longer
      looked haggard and wretched, that her beauty was once more smiling with a
      certain girlishness, like a young widow's when she finds her consolation.
      &ldquo;Mowbray and I have made it up,&rdquo; she explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      I simply listened, probably looking as grim as I felt.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I knew you would be interested,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;Indeed, it means almost as
      much to you as to me. It brings peace to <i>two</i> families.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Still I did not relax.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; she continued, a little uneasy, &ldquo;I came to you immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I continued to listen, as if I were waiting for her to finish and depart.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you want, I'll go to Anita.&rdquo; Natural feminine tact would have saved
      her from this rawness; but, convinced that she was a &ldquo;great lady&rdquo; by the
      flattery of servants and shopkeepers and sensational newspapers and social
      climbers, she had discarded tact as worthy only of the lowly and of the
      aspiring before they &ldquo;arrive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are too kind,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Mrs. Blacklock and I feel competent to take
      care of our own affairs.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Please, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; she said, realizing that she had blundered,
      &ldquo;don't take my directness the wrong way. Life is too short for pose and
      pretense about the few things that really matter. Why shouldn't we be
      frank with each other?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust you will excuse me,&rdquo; said I, moving toward the door&mdash;I had
      not seated myself when she did. &ldquo;I think I have made it clear that we have
      nothing to discuss.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have the reputation of being generous and too big for hatred. That is
      why I have come to you,&rdquo; said she, her expression confirming my suspicion
      of the real and only reason for her visit. &ldquo;Mowbray and I are completely
      reconciled&mdash;<i>completely</i>, you understand. And I want you to be
      generous, and not keep on with this attack. I am involved even more than
      he. He has used up his fortune in defending mine. Now, you are simply
      trying to ruin me&mdash;not him, but <i>me</i>. The president is a friend
      of Mowbray's, and he'll call off this horrid investigation, and
      everything'll be all right, if you'll only stop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who sent you here?&rdquo; I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I came of my own accord,&rdquo; she protested. Then, realizing from the sound
      of her voice that she could not have convinced me with a tone so
      unconvincing, she hedged with: &ldquo;It was my own suggestion, really it was.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your husband permitted <i>you</i> to come&mdash;and to <i>me</i>?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She flushed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you have accepted his overtures when you knew he made them only
      because he needed your money?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She hung her head. &ldquo;I love him,&rdquo; she said simply. Then she looked straight
      at me and I liked her expression. &ldquo;A woman has no false pride when love is
      at stake,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We leave that to you men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Love!&rdquo; I retorted, rather satirically, I imagine. &ldquo;How much had your own
      imperiled fortune to do with your being so forgiving?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Something,&rdquo; she admitted. &ldquo;You must remember I have children. I must
      think of their future. I don't want them to be poor. I want them to have
      the station they were born to.&rdquo; She went to one of the windows overlooking
      the street. &ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stood beside her. The window was not far above the street level. Just
      below us was a handsome victoria, coachman, harness, horses, all most
      proper, a footman rigid at the step. A crowd had gathered round&mdash;in
      those stirring days when I was the chief subject of conversation wherever
      men were interested in money&mdash;and where are they not?&mdash;there was
      almost always a crowd before my offices. In the carriage sat two children,
      a boy and a girl, hardly more than babies. They were gorgeously
      overdressed, after the vulgar fashion of aristocrats and apers of
      aristocracy. They sat stiffly, like little scions of royalty, with that
      expression of complacent superiority which one so often sees on the faces
      of the little children of the very rich&mdash;and some not so little, too.
      The thronging loungers, most of them either immigrant peasants from
      European caste countries or the un-disinfected sons of peasants, were
      gaping in true New York &ldquo;lower class&rdquo; awe; the children were literally
      swelling with delighted vanity. If they had been pampered pet dogs, one
      would have laughed. As they were human beings, it filled me with sadness
      and pity. What ignorance, what stupidity to bring up children thus in
      democratic America&mdash;democratic to-day, inevitably more democratic
      to-morrow! What a turning away from the light! What a crime against the
      children!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For their sake, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; she pleaded, her mother love wholly
      hiding from her the features of the spectacle that for me shrieked like
      scarlet against a white background.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your husband has deceived you about your fortune, Mrs. Langdon,&rdquo; I said
      gently, for there is to me something pathetic in ignorance and I was not
      blaming her for her folly and her crime against her children. &ldquo;You can
      tell him what I am about to say, or not, as you please. But my advice is
      that you keep it to yourself. Even if the present situation develops as
      seems probable, develops as Mr. Langdon fears, you will not be left
      without a fortune&mdash;a very large fortune, most people would think. But
      Mr. Langdon will have little or nothing&mdash;indeed, I think he is
      practically dependent on you now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What I have is his,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is generous,&rdquo; replied I, not especially impressed by a sentiment,
      the very uttering of which raised a strong doubt of its truth. &ldquo;But is it
      prudent? You wish to keep him&mdash;securely. Don't tempt him by a
      generosity he would only abuse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She thought it over. &ldquo;The idea of holding a man in that way is repellent
      to me,&rdquo; said she, now obviously posing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If the man happens to be one that can be held in no other way,&rdquo; said I,
      moving significantly toward the door, &ldquo;one must overcome one's repugnance&mdash;or
      be despoiled and abandoned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said, giving me her hand. &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;more than I
      can say.&rdquo; She had forgotten entirely that she came to plead for her
      husband. &ldquo;And I hope you will soon be as happy as I am.&rdquo; That last in New
      York's funniest &ldquo;great lady&rdquo; style.
    </p>
    <p>
      I bowed, and when there was the closed door between us, I laughed, not at
      all pleasantly. &ldquo;This New York!&rdquo; I said aloud. &ldquo;This New York that dabbles
      its slime of sordidness and snobbishness on every flower in the garden of
      human nature. New York that destroys pride and substitutes vanity for it.
      New York with its petty, mischievous class-makers, the pattern for the
      rich and the 'smarties' throughout the country. These 'cut-out' minds and
      hearts, the best of them incapable of growth and calloused wherever the
      scissors of conventionality have snipped.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I took from my pocket the picture of Anita I always carried. &ldquo;Are <i>you</i>
      like that?&rdquo; I demanded of it. And it seemed to answer: &ldquo;Yes,&mdash;I am.&rdquo;
       Did I tear the picture up? No. I kissed it as if it were the magnetic
      reality. &ldquo;I don't care what you are!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;I want you! I want you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fool!&rdquo; you are saying. Precisely what I called myself. And you? Is it the
      one you <i>ought</i> to love that you give your heart to? Is it the one
      that understands you and sympathizes with you? Or is it the one whose
      presence gives you visions of paradise and whose absence blots out the
      light?
    </p>
    <p>
      I loved her. Yet I will say this much for myself: I still would not have
      taken her on any terms that did not make her really mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXIV. &ldquo;MY RIGHT EYE OFFENDS ME&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      Now that Updegraff is dead, I am free to tell of our relations.
    </p>
    <p>
      My acquaintance with him was more casual than with any other of &ldquo;The
      Seven.&rdquo; From the outset of my career I made it a rule never to deal with
      understrappers, always to get in touch with the man who had the final say.
      Thus, as the years went by, I grew into intimacy with the great men of
      finance where many with better natural facilities for knowing them
      remained in an outer circle. But with Updegraff, interested only in
      enterprises west of the Mississippi and keeping Denver as his legal
      residence and exploiting himself as a Western man who hated Wall Street, I
      had a mere bowing acquaintance. This was unimportant, however, as each
      knew the other well by reputation. Our common intimacies made us intimates
      for all practical purposes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our connection was established soon after the development of my campaign
      against the Textile Trust had shown that I was after a big bag of the
      biggest game. We happened to have the same secret broker; and I suppose it
      was in his crafty brain that the idea of bringing us together was born. Be
      that as it may, he by gradual stages intimated to me that Updegraff would
      convey me secrets of &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; in exchange for a guarantee that I would
      not attack his interests. I do not know what his motive in this treachery
      was&mdash;probably a desire to curb the power of his associates in
      industrial despotism.
    </p>
    <p>
      Each of &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; hated and feared and suspected the other six with far
      more than the ordinary and proverbial rich man's jealous dislike of other
      rich men. There was not one of them that did not bear the ever-smarting
      scars of vicious wounds, front and back, received from his fellows; there
      was not one that did not cherish the hope of overthrowing the rule of
      Seven and establishing the rule of One. At any rate, I accepted
      Updegraff's proposition; henceforth, though he stopped speaking to me when
      we happened to meet, as did all the other big bandits and most of their
      parasites and procurers, he kept me informed of every act &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo;
       resolved upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus I knew all about their &ldquo;gentlemen's agreement&rdquo; to support the stock
      market, and that they had made Tavistock their agent for resisting any and
      all attempts to lower prices, and had given him practically unlimited
      funds to draw upon as he needed. I had Tavistock sounded on every side,
      but found no weak spot. There was no rascality he would not perpetrate for
      whoever employed him; but to his employer he was as loyal as a woman to a
      bad man. And for a time it looked as if &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; had checkmated me.
      Those outsiders who had invested heavily in the great enterprises through
      which &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; ruled were disposing of their holdings&mdash;cautiously,
      through fear of breaking the market. Money would pile up in the banks&mdash;money
      paid out by &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; for their bonds and stocks, of which the people
      had become deeply suspicious. Then these deposits would be withdrawn&mdash;and
      I knew they were going into real estate investments, because news of booms
      in real estate and in building was coming in from everywhere. But prices
      on the Stock Exchange continued to advance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They are too strong for you,&rdquo; said Joe. &ldquo;They will hold the market up
      until the public loses faith in you. Then they will sell out at top-notch
      prices as the people rush in to buy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I might have wavered had I not been seeing Tavistock every day. He
      continued to wear his devil-may-care air; but I observed that he was aging
      swiftly&mdash;and I knew what that meant. Fighting all day to prevent
      breaks in the crucial stocks; planning most of the night how to prevent
      breaks the next day; watching the reserve resources of &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; melt
      away. Those reserves were vast; also, &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; controlled the United
      States Treasury, and were using its resources as their own; they were
      buying securities that would be almost worthless if they lost, but if they
      won, would be rebought by the public at the old swindling prices, when
      &ldquo;confidence&rdquo; was restored. But there was I, cannonading incessantly from
      my impregnable position; as fast as they repaired breaches in their walls,
      my big guns of publicity tore new breaches. No wonder Tavistock had
      thinner hair and wrinkles and a drawn look about the eyes, nose and mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the battle thus raging all along the line, on the one side &ldquo;The
      Seven&rdquo; and their armies of money and mercenaries and impressed slaves, on
      the other side the public, I in command, you will say that my yearning for
      distraction must have been gratified. If the road from his cell were long
      enough, the condemned man would be fretting less about the gallows than
      about the tight shoe that was making him limp and wince at every step.
      Besides, in human affairs it is the personal, always the personal. I soon
      got used to the crowds, to the big head-lines in the newspapers, to the
      routine of cannonade and reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the old thorn, pressing persistently&mdash;I could not get used to
      that. In the midst of the adulation, of the blares upon the trumpets of
      fame that saluted my waking and were wafted to me as I fell asleep at
      night&mdash;in the midst of all the turmoil, I was often in a great and
      brooding silence, longing for her, now with the imperious energy of
      passion, and now with the sad ache of love. What was she doing? What was
      she thinking? Now that Langdon had again played her false for the old
      price, with what eyes was she looking into the future?
    </p>
    <p>
      Alva, settled in a West Side apartment not far from the ancestral white
      elephant, telephoned, asking me to come. I went, because she could and
      would give me news of Anita. But as I entered her little drawing-room, I
      said: &ldquo;It was curiosity that brought me. I wished to see how you were
      installed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Isn't it nice and small?&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;Billy and I haven't the slightest
      difficulty in finding each other&mdash;as people so often have in the big
      houses.&rdquo; And it was Billy this and Billy that, and what Billy said and
      thought and felt&mdash;and before they were married, she had called him
      William, and had declared &ldquo;Billy&rdquo; to be the most offensive combination of
      letters that ever fell from human lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I needn't ask if <i>you</i> are happy,&rdquo; said I presently, with a dismal
      failure at looking cheerful. &ldquo;I can't stay but a moment,&rdquo; I added, and if
      I had obeyed my feelings, I'd have risen up and taken myself and my pain
      away from surroundings as hateful to me as a summer sunrise in a
      death-chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed, in some confusion. &ldquo;Then excuse me.&rdquo; And she hastened
      from the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought she had gone to order, or perhaps to bring, the tea. The long
      minutes dragged away until ten had passed. Hearing a rustling in the hall,
      I rose, intending to take leave the instant she appeared. The rustling
      stopped just outside. I waited a few seconds, cried, &ldquo;Well, I'm off. Next
      time I want to be alone, I'll know where to come,&rdquo; and advanced to the
      door. It was not Alva hesitating there; it was Anita.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said I coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      If there had been room to pass I should have gone. What devil possessed
      me? Certainly in all our relations I had found her direct and frank, if
      anything, too frank. Doubtless it was the influence of my associations
      down town, where for so many months I had been dealing with the
      &ldquo;short-card&rdquo; crowd of high finance, who would hardly play the game
      straight even when that was the easy way to win. My long, steady stretch
      in that stealthy and sinuous company had put me in the state of mind in
      which it is impossible to credit any human being with a motive that is
      decent or an action that is not a dead-fall. Thus the obvious
      transformation in her made no impression on me. Her haughtiness, her
      coldness, were gone, and with them had gone all that had been least like
      her natural self, most like the repellent conventional pattern to which
      her mother and her associates had molded her. But I was saying to myself:
      &ldquo;A trap! Langdon has gone back to his wife. She turns to me.&rdquo; And I loved
      her and hated her. &ldquo;Never,&rdquo; thought I, &ldquo;has she shown so poor an opinion
      of me as now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My uncle told me day before yesterday that it was not he but you,&rdquo; she
      said, lifting her eyes to mine. It is inconceivable to me now that I could
      have misread their honest story; yet I did.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had no idea your uncle's notion of honor was also eccentric,&rdquo; said I,
      with a satirical smile that made the blood rush to her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is unjust to him,&rdquo; she replied earnestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He says he made you no promise of secrecy. And he confessed to me only
      because he wished to convince me that he had good reason for his high
      opinion of you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo; said I ironically. &ldquo;And no doubt he found you open wide to
      conviction&mdash;<i>now</i>.&rdquo; This a subtlety to let her know that I
      understood why she was seeking me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered, lowering her eyes. &ldquo;I knew&mdash;better than he.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      For an instant this, spoken in a voice I had long given up hope of ever
      hearing from her, staggered my cynical conviction. But&mdash;&ldquo;Possibly she
      thinks she is sincere,&rdquo; reasoned my head with my heart; &ldquo;even the
      sincerest women, brought up as was she, always have the calculator
      underneath; they deny it, they don't know it often, but there it is; with
      them, calculation is as involuntary and automatic as their pulse.&rdquo; So, I
      said to her, mockingly: &ldquo;Doubtless your opinion of me has been improving
      steadily ever since you heard that Mrs. Langdon had recovered her
      husband.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She winced, as if I had struck her. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she murmured. If she had been
      the ordinary woman, who in every crisis with man instinctively resorts to
      weakness' strongest weakness, tears, I might have a different story to
      tell. But she fought back the tears in which her eyes were swimming and
      gathered herself together. &ldquo;That is brutal,&rdquo; she said, with not a touch of
      haughtiness, but not humbly, either. &ldquo;But I deserve it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was a time,&rdquo; I went on, swept in a swift current of cold rage,
      &ldquo;there was a time when I would have taken you on almost any terms. A man
      never makes a complete fool of himself about a woman but once in his life,
      they say. I have done my stretch&mdash;and it is over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sighed wearily. &ldquo;Langdon came to see me soon after I left your house,
      and went to my uncle,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I will tell you what happened.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not wish to hear,&rdquo; replied I, adding pointedly, &ldquo;I have been waiting
      ever since you left for news of your plans.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She grew white, and my heart smote me. She came into the room and seated
      herself. &ldquo;Won't you stop, please, for a moment longer?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I hope
      that, at, least, we can part without bitterness. I understand now that
      everything is over between us. A woman's vanity makes her belief that a
      man cares for her die hard. I am convinced now&mdash;I assure you, I am. I
      shall trouble you no more about the past. But I have the right to ask you
      to hear me when I say that Langdon came, and that I myself sent him away;
      sent him back to his wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Touching self-sacrifice,&rdquo; said I ironically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I can not claim any credit. I sent him away only
      because you and Alva had taught me how to judge him better. I do not
      despise him as do you; I know too well what has made him what he is. But I
      had to send him away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My comment was an incredulous look and shrug. &ldquo;I must be going,&rdquo; I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not believe me?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In my place, would you believe?&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;You say I have taught you.
      Well, you have taught me, too&mdash;for instance, that the years you've
      spent on your knees in the musty temple of conventionality before false
      gods have made you&mdash;fit only for the Langdon sort of thing. You can't
      learn how to stand erect, and your eyes can not bear the light.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; she said slowly, hesitatingly, &ldquo;that your faith in me died
      just when I might, perhaps, have justified it. Ours has been a pitiful
      series of misunderstandings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A trap! A trap!&rdquo; I was warning myself. &ldquo;You've been a fool long enough,
      Blacklock.&rdquo; And aloud I said: &ldquo;Well, Anita, the series is ended now.
      There's no longer any occasion for our lying or posing to each other. Any
      arrangements your uncle's lawyers suggest will be made.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I was bowing, to leave without shaking hands with her. But she would not
      have it so. &ldquo;Please!&rdquo; she said, stretching out her long, slender arm and
      offering me her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      What a devil possessed me that day! With every atom of me longing for her,
      I yet was able to take her hand and say, with a smile, that was, I doubt
      not, as mocking as my tone: &ldquo;By all means let us be friends. And I trust
      you will not think me discourteous if I say that I shall feel safer in our
      friendship when we are both on neutral ground.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As I was turning away, her look, my own heart, made me turn again. I
      caught her by the shoulders. I gazed into her eyes. &ldquo;If I could only trust
      you, could only believe you!&rdquo; I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cared for me when I wasn't worth it,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Now that I am more
      like what you once imagined me, you do not care.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Up between us rose Langdon's face&mdash;cynical, mocking, contemptuous.
      &ldquo;Your heart is <i>his</i>! You told me so! Don't <i>lie</i> to me!&rdquo; I
      exclaimed. And before she could reply, I was gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out from under the spell of her presence, back among the tricksters and
      assassins, the traps and ambushes of Wall Street, I believed again;
      believed firmly the promptings of the devil that possessed me. &ldquo;She would
      have given you a brief fool's paradise,&rdquo; said that devil. &ldquo;Then what a
      hideous awakening!&rdquo; And I cursed the day when New York's insidious
      snobbishness had tempted my vanity into starting me on that degrading
      chase after &ldquo;respectability.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If she does not move to free herself soon,&rdquo; said I to myself, &ldquo;I will put
      my own lawyer to work. My right eye offends me. I will pluck it out.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
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      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXV. &ldquo;WILD WEEK&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; made their fatal move on treacherous Updegraff's treacherous
      advice, I suspect. But they would not have adopted his suggestion had it
      not been so exactly congenial to their own temper of arrogance and tyranny
      and contempt for the people who meekly, year after year, presented
      themselves for the shearing with fatuous bleats of enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Seven,&rdquo; of course, controlled directly, or indirectly, all but a few
      of the newspapers with which I had advertising contracts. They also
      controlled the main sources through which the press was supplied with news&mdash;and
      often and well they had used this control, and surprisingly cautious had
      they been not so to abuse it that the editors and the public would become
      suspicious. When my war was at its height, when I was beginning to
      congratulate myself that the huge magazines of &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; were empty
      almost to the point at which they must sue for peace on my own terms, all
      in four days forty-three of my sixty-seven newspapers&mdash;and they the
      most important&mdash;notified me that they would no longer carry out their
      contracts to publish my daily letter. They gave as their reason, not the
      real one, fear of &ldquo;The Seven,&rdquo; but fear that I would involve them in
      ruinous libel suits. I who had <i>legal</i> proof for every statement I
      made; I who was always careful to understate! Next, one press association
      after another ceased to send out my letter as news, though they had been
      doing so regularly for months. The public had grown tired of the
      &ldquo;sensation,&rdquo; they said.
    </p>
    <p>
      I countered with a telegram to one or more newspapers in every city and
      large town in the United States:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'The Seven' are trying to cut the wires between the truth and the public.
      If you wish my daily letter, telegraph me direct and I will send it at my
      expense.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The response should have warned &ldquo;The Seven.&rdquo; But it did not. Under their
      orders the telegraph companies refused to transmit the letter. I got an
      injunction. It was obeyed in typical, corrupt corporation fashion&mdash;they
      sent my matter, but so garbled that it was unintelligible. I appealed to
      the courts. In vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      To me, it was clear as sun in cloudless noonday sky that there could be
      but one result of this insolent and despotic denial of my rights and the
      rights of the people, this public confession of the truth of my charges. I
      turned everything salable or mortgageable into cash, locked the cash up in
      my private vaults, and waited for the cataclysm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thursday&mdash;Friday&mdash;Saturday. Apparently all was tranquil;
      apparently the people accepted the Wall Street theory that I was an
      &ldquo;exploded sensation.&rdquo; &ldquo;The Seven&rdquo; began to preen themselves; the strain
      upon them to maintain prices, if no less than for three months past, was
      not notably greater; the crisis would pass, I and my exposures would be
      forgotten, the routine of reaping the harvests and leaving only the
      gleanings for the sowers would soon be placidly resumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunday. Roebuck, taken ill as he was passing the basket in the church of
      which he was the shining light, died at midnight&mdash;a beautiful,
      peaceful death, they say, with his daughter reading the Bible aloud, and
      his lips moving in prayer. Some hold that, had he lived, the tranquillity
      would have continued; but this is the view of those who can not realize
      that the tide of affairs is no more controlled by the &ldquo;great men&rdquo; than is
      the river led down to the sea by its surface flotsam, by which we measure
      the speed and direction of its current. Under that terrific tension, which
      to the shallow seemed a calm, something had to give way. If the dam had
      not yielded where Roebuck stood guard, it must have yielded somewhere
      else, or might have gone all in one grand crash.
    </p>
    <p>
      Monday. You know the story of the artist and his Statue of Grief&mdash;how
      he molded the features a hundred times, always failing, always getting an
      anti-climax, until at last in despair he gave up the impossible and
      finished the statue with a veil over the face. I have tried again and
      again to assemble words that would give some not too inadequate impression
      of that tremendous week in which, with a succession of explosions, each
      like the crack of doom, the financial structure that housed eighty
      millions of people burst, collapsed, was engulfed. I can not. I must leave
      it to your memory or your imagination.
    </p>
    <p>
      For years the financial leaders, crazed by the excess of power which the
      people had in ignorance and over-confidence and slovenly good-nature
      permitted them to acquire, had been tearing out the honest foundations on
      which alone so vast a structure can hope to rest solid and secure. They
      had been substituting rotten beams painted to look like stone and iron.
      The crash had to come; the sooner, the better&mdash;when a thing is wrong,
      each day's delay compounds the cost of righting it. So, with all the
      horrors of &ldquo;Wild Week&rdquo; in mind, all its physical and mental suffering, all
      its ruin and rioting and bloodshed, I still can insist that I am justly
      proud of my share in bringing it about. The blame and the shame are wholly
      upon those who made &ldquo;Wild Week&rdquo; necessary and inevitable.
    </p>
    <p>
      In catastrophes, the cry is &ldquo;Each for himself!&rdquo; But in a cataclysm, the
      obvious wise selfishness is generosity, and the cry is, &ldquo;Stand together,
      for, singly, we perish.&rdquo; This was a cataclysm. No one could save himself,
      except the few who, taking my often-urged advice and following my example,
      had entered the ark of ready money. Farmer and artisan and professional
      man and laborer owed merchant; merchant owed banker; banker owed
      depositor. No one could pay because no one could get what was due him or
      could realize upon his property. The endless chain of credit that binds
      together the whole of modern society had snapped in a thousand places. It
      must be repaired, instantly and securely. But how&mdash;and by whom?
    </p>
    <p>
      I issued a clear statement of the situation; I showed in minute detail how
      the people standing together under the leadership of the honest men of
      property could easily force the big bandits to consent to an honest, just,
      rock-founded, iron-built reconstruction. My statement appeared in all the
      morning papers throughout the land. Turn back to it; read it. You will say
      that I was right. Well&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Toward two o'clock Inspector Crawford came into my private office,
      escorted by Joe. I saw in Joe's seamed, green-gray face that some new
      danger had arisen. &ldquo;You've got to get out of this,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;The mob in
      front of our place fills the three streets. It's made up of crowds turned
      away from the suspended banks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I remembered the sullen faces and the hisses as I entered the office that
      morning earlier than usual. My windows were closed to keep out the street
      noises; but now that my mind was up from the work in which I had been
      absorbed, I could hear the sounds of many voices, even through the thick
      plate glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We've got two hundred policemen here,&rdquo; said the inspector. &ldquo;Five hundred
      more are on the way. But&mdash;really, Mr. Blacklock, unless we can get
      you away, there'll be serious trouble. Those damn newspapers! Every one of
      them denounced you this morning, and the people are in a fury against
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I went toward the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold on, Matt!&rdquo; cried Joe, springing at me and seizing me, &ldquo;Where are you
      going?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To tell them what I think of them,&rdquo; replied I, sweeping him aside. For my
      blood was up, and I was enraged against the poor cowardly fools.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For God's sake don't show yourself!&rdquo; he begged. &ldquo;If you don't care for
      your own life, think of the rest of us. We've fixed a route through
      buildings and under streets up to Broadway. Your electric is waiting for
      you there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It won't do,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I'll face 'em&mdash;it's the only way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I went to the window, and was about to throw up one of the sunblinds for a
      look at them; Crawford stopped me. &ldquo;They'll stone the building and then
      storm it,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You must go at once, by the route we've arranged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Even if you tell them I'm gone, they won't believe it,&rdquo; replied I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can look out for that,&rdquo; said Joe, eager to save me, and caring nothing
      about consequences to himself. But I had unsettled the inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Send for my electric to come down here,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'll go out alone and
      get in it and drive away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That'll never do!&rdquo; cried Joe.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the inspector said: &ldquo;You're right, Mr. Blacklock. It's a bare chance.
      You may take 'em by surprise. Again, some fellow may yell and throw a
      stone and&mdash;&rdquo; He did not need to finish.
    </p>
    <p>
      Joe looked wildly at me. &ldquo;You mustn't do it, Matt!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;You'll
      precipitate a riot, Crawford, if you permit this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But the inspector was telephoning for my electric. Then he went into the
      adjoining room, where he commanded a view of the entrance. Silence between
      Joe and me until he returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The electric is coming down the street,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      I rose. &ldquo;Good,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I'm ready.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wait until the other police get here,&rdquo; advised Crawford.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If the mob is in the temper you describe,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;the less that's done
      to irritate it the better. I must go out as if I hadn't a suspicion of
      danger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The inspector eyed me with an expression that was highly flattering to my
      vanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll go with you,&rdquo; said Joe, starting up from his stupor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;You and the other fellows can take the underground
      route, if it's necessary.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It won't be necessary,&rdquo; put in the inspector. &ldquo;As soon as I'm rid of you
      and have my additional force, I'll clear the streets.&rdquo; He went to the
      door. &ldquo;Wait, Mr. Blacklock, until I've had time to get out to my men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps ten seconds after he disappeared, I, without further words, put on
      my hat, lit a cigar, shook Joe's wet, trembling hand, left in it my
      private keys and the memorandum of the combination of my private vault.
      Then I sallied forth.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had always had a ravenous appetite for excitement, and I had been in
      many a tight place; but for the first time there seemed to me to be an
      equilibrium between my internal energy and the outside situation. As I
      stepped from my street door and glanced about me, I had no feeling of
      danger. The whole situation seemed so simple. There stood the electric,
      just across the narrow stretch of sidewalk; there were the two hundred
      police, under Crawford's orders, scattered everywhere through the crowd,
      and good-naturedly jostling and pushing to create distraction. Without
      haste, I got into my machine. I calmly met the gaze of those thousands,
      quiet as so many barrels of gunpowder before the explosion. The chauffeur
      turned the machine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go slow,&rdquo; I called to him. &ldquo;You might hurt somebody.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But he had his orders from the inspector. He suddenly darted ahead at full
      speed. The mob scattered in every direction, and we were in Broadway,
      bound up town full-tilt, before I or the mob realized what he was about.
    </p>
    <p>
      I called to him to slow down. He paid not the slightest attention. I
      leaned from the window and looked up at him. It was not my chauffeur; it
      was a man who had the unmistakable but indescribable marks of the
      plain-clothes policeman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; I shouted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll find out when we arrive,&rdquo; he shouted back, grinning.
    </p>
    <p>
      I settled myself and waited&mdash;what else was there to do? Soon I
      guessed we were headed for the pier off which my yacht was anchored. As we
      dashed on to it, I saw that it was filled with police, both in uniform and
      in plain clothes. I descended. A detective sergeant stepped up to me. &ldquo;We
      are here to help you to your yacht,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;You wouldn't be safe
      anywhere in New York&mdash;no more would the place that harbored you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had both common sense and force on his side. I got into the launch.
      Four detective sergeants accompanied me and went aboard with me. &ldquo;Go
      ahead,&rdquo; said one of them to my captain. He looked at me for orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are in the hands of our guests,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Let them have their way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We steamed down the bay and out to sea.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      From Maine to Texas the cry rose and swelled:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Blacklock is responsible! What does it matter whether he lied or told the
      truth? See the results of his crusade! He ought to be pilloried! He ought
      to be killed! He is the enemy of the human race. He has almost plunged the
      whole civilized world into bankruptcy and civil war.&rdquo; And they turned
      eagerly to the very autocrats who had been oppressing them. &ldquo;You have the
      genius for finance and industry. Save us!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      If you did not know, you could guess how those patriots with the &ldquo;genius
      for finance and industry&rdquo; responded. When they had done, when their
      program was in effect, Langdon, Melville and Updegraff were the three
      richest men in the country, and as powerful as Octavius, Antony and
      Lepidus after Philippi. They had saddled upon the reorganized finance and
      industry of the nation heavier taxes than ever, and a vaster and more
      expensive and more luxurious army of their parasites.
    </p>
    <p>
      The people had risen for financial and industrial freedom; they had paid
      its fearful price; then, in senseless panic and terror, they flung it
      away. I have read that one of the inscriptions on Apollo's temple at
      Delphi was, &ldquo;Man, the fool of the farce.&rdquo; Truly, the gods must have
      created us for their amusement; and when Olympus palls, they ring up the
      curtain on some such screaming comedy as was that. It &ldquo;makes the fancy
      chuckle, while the heart doth ache.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      XXXVI. &ldquo;BLACK MATT'S&rdquo; TRIUMPH
    </h2>
    <p>
      My enemies caused it to be widely believed that &ldquo;Wild Week&rdquo; was my
      deliberate contrivance for the sole purpose of enriching myself. Thus they
      got me a reputation for almost superhuman daring, for satanic astuteness
      at cold-blooded calculation. I do not deserve the admiration and respect
      that my success-worshiping fellow countrymen lay at my feet. True, I did
      greatly enrich myself; but <i>not until the Monday after Wild Week</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not until I had pondered on men and events with the assistance of the
      newspapers my detective protectors and jailers permitted to be brought
      aboard&mdash;not until the last hope of turning Wild Week to the immediate
      public advantage had sputtered out like a lost man's last match, did I
      think of benefiting myself, of seizing the opportunity to strengthen
      myself for the future. On Monday morning, I said to Sergeant Mulholland:
      &ldquo;I want to go ashore at once and send some telegrams.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The sergeant is one of the detective bureau's &ldquo;dress-suit men.&rdquo; He is by
      nature phlegmatic and cynical. His experience has put over that a veneer
      of weary politeness. We had become great friends during our enforced
      inseparable companionship. For Joe, who looked on me somewhat as a mother
      looks on a brilliant but erratic son, had, as I soon discovered,
      elaborated a wonderful program for me. It included a watch on me day and
      night, lest, through rage or despondency, I should try to do violence to
      myself. A fine character, that Joe! But, to return, Mulholland answered my
      request for shore-leave with a soothing smile. &ldquo;Can't do it, Mr.
      Blacklock,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Our orders are positive. But when we put in at New
      London and send ashore for further instructions, and for the papers, you
      can send in your messages.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; said I. And I gave him a cipher telegram to Joe&mdash;an
      order to invest my store of cash, which meant practically my whole
      fortune, in the gilt-edged securities that were to be had for cash at a
      small fraction of their value.
    </p>
    <p>
      This on the Monday after Wild Week, please note. I would have helped the
      people to deliver themselves from the bondage of the bandits. They would
      not have it. I would even have sacrificed my all in trying to save them in
      spite of themselves. But what is one sane man against a stampeded
      multitude of maniacs? For confirmation of my disinterestedness, I point to
      all those weeks and months during which I waged costly warfare on &ldquo;The
      Seven,&rdquo; who would gladly have given me more than I now have, could I have
      been bribed to desist. But, when I was compelled to admit that I had
      overestimated my fellow men, that the people wear the yoke because they
      have not yet become intelligent and competent enough to be free, then and
      not until then did I abandon the hopeless struggle.
    </p>
    <p>
      And I did not go over to the bandits; I simply resumed my own neglected
      personal affairs and made Wild Week at least a personal triumph.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is nothing of the spectacular in my make-up. I have no belief in the
      value of martyrs and martyrdom. Causes are not won&mdash;and in my humble
      opinion never have been won&mdash;in the graveyards. Alive and afoot and
      armed, and true to my cause, I am the dreaded menace to systematic and
      respectable robbery. What possible good could have come of mobs killing me
      and the bandits dividing my estate?
    </p>
    <p>
      But why should I seek to justify myself? I care not a rap for the opinion
      of my fellow men. They sought my life when they should have been hailing
      me as a deliverer; now, they look up to me because they falsely believe me
      guilty of an infamy.
    </p>
    <p>
      My guards expected to be recalled on Tuesday. But Melville heard what
      Crawford had done about me, and straightway used his influence to have me
      detained until the new grip of the old gang was secure. Saturday afternoon
      we put in at Newport for the daily communication with the shore. When the
      launch returned, Mulholland brought the papers to me, lounging aft in a
      mass of cushions under the awning. &ldquo;We are going ashore,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;The
      order has come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I had a sudden sense of loneliness. &ldquo;I'll take you down to New York,&rdquo; said
      I. &ldquo;I prefer to land my guests where I shipped them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As we steamed slowly westward I read the papers. The country was rapidly
      readjusting itself, was returning to the conditions before the upheaval.
      The &ldquo;financiers&rdquo;&mdash;the same old gang, except for a few of the weaker
      brethren ruined and a few strong outsiders, who had slipped in during the
      confusion&mdash;were employing all the old, familiar devices for deceiving
      and robbing the people. The upset milking-stool was righted, and the
      milker was seated again and busy, the good old cow standing without so
      much as shake of horn or switch of tail. &ldquo;Mulholland,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;what do
      you think of this business of living?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll tell you, Mr. Blacklock,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I used to fuss and fret a good
      deal about it. But I don't any more. I've got a house up in the Bronx, and
      a bit of land round it. And there's Mrs. Mulholland and four little
      Mulhollands and me&mdash;that's my country and my party and my religion.
      The rest is off my beat, and I don't give a damn for it. I don't care
      which fakir gets to be president, or which swindler gets to be rich.
      Everything works out somehow, and the best any man can do is to mind his
      own business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mulholland&mdash;Mrs. Mulholland&mdash;four little Mulhollands,&rdquo; said I
      reflectively. &ldquo;That's about as much as one man could attend to properly.
      And&mdash;you are 'on the level,' aren't you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some say honesty's the best policy,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;Some say it isn't. I
      don't know, and I don't care, whether it is or it isn't. It's <i>my</i>
      policy. And we six seem to have got along on it so far.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I sent my &ldquo;guests&rdquo; ashore the next morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I'll stay aboard,&rdquo; said I to Mulholland, as he stood aside for me to
      precede him down the gangway from the launch. I went into the watch-pocket
      of my trousers and drew out the folded two one-thousand-dollar bills I
      always carried&mdash;it was a habit formed in my youthful, gambling days.
      I handed him one of the bills. He hesitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For the four little Mulhollands,&rdquo; I urged.
    </p>
    <p>
      He put it in his pocket. I watched him and his men depart with a heavy
      heart. I felt alone, horribly alone, without a tie or an interest. Some of
      the morning papers spoke respectfully of me as one of the strong men who
      had ridden the flood and had been landed by it on the heights of wealth
      and power. Admiration and envy lurked even in sneers at my &ldquo;unscrupulous
      plotting.&rdquo; Since I had wealth, plenty of wealth, I did not need character.
      Of what use was character in such a world except as a commodity to
      exchange for wealth?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Any orders, sir?&rdquo; interrupted my captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked round that vast and vivid scene of sea and land activities. I
      looked along the city's titanic sky-line&mdash;the mighty fortresses of
      trade and commerce piercing the heavens and flinging to the wind their
      black banners of defiance. I felt that I was under the walls of hell
      itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To get away from this,&rdquo; replied I to the waiting captain. &ldquo;Go back down
      the Sound&mdash;to Dawn Hill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Yes, I would go to the peaceful, soothing country, to my dogs and horses
      and those faithful servants bound to me by our common love for the same
      animals. &ldquo;Men to cross swords with, to amuse oneself with,&rdquo; I mused; &ldquo;but
      dogs and horses to live with.&rdquo; I pictured myself at the kennels&mdash;the
      joyful uproar the instant instinct warned the dogs of my coming; how they
      would leap and bark and tremble in a very ecstasy of delight as I stood
      among them; how jealous all the others would be, as I selected one to
      caress.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Send her ahead as fast as she'll go,&rdquo; I called to the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the <i>Albatross</i> steamed into the little harbor, I saw Mowbray
      Langdon's <i>Indolence</i> at anchor. I glanced toward Steuben Point&mdash;where
      his cousins, the Vivians, lived&mdash;and thought I recognized his launch
      at their pier. We saluted the <i>Indolence</i>; the <i>Indolence</i>
      saluted us. My launch was piped away and took me ashore. I strolled along
      the path that wound round the base of the hill toward the kennels. At the
      crossing of the path down from the house, I paused and lingered on the
      glimpse of one of the corner towers of the great showy palace. I was
      muttering something&mdash;I listened to myself. It was: &ldquo;Mulholland, Mrs.
      Mulholland and the four little Mulhollands.&rdquo; And I felt like laughing
      aloud, such a joke was it that I should be envying a policeman his potato
      patch and his fat wife and his four brats, and that he should be in a
      position to pity me.
    </p>
    <p>
      You may be imagining that, through all, Anita had been dominating my mind.
      That is the way it is in the romances; but not in life. No doubt there are
      men who brood upon the impossible, and moon and maunder away their lives
      over the grave of a dead love; no doubt there are people who will say
      that, because I did not shoot Langdon or her, or myself, or fly to a
      desert or pose in the crowded places of the world as the last scene of a
      tragedy, I therefore cared little about her. I offer them this suggestion:
      A man strong enough to give a love worth a woman's while is strong enough
      to live on without her when he finds he may not live with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I stood there that summer day, looking toward the crest of the hill, at
      the mocking mausoleum of my dead dream, I realized what the incessant
      battle of the Street had meant to me. &ldquo;There is peace for me only in the
      storm,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But, thank God, there is peace for me somewhere.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Through the foliage I had glimpses of some one coming slowly down the
      zigzag path. Presently, at one of the turnings half-way up the hill,
      appeared Mowbray Langdon. &ldquo;What is he doing here,&rdquo; thought I, scarcely
      able to believe my eyes. &ldquo;Here of all places!&rdquo; And then I forgot the
      strangeness of his being at Dawn Hill in the strangeness of his
      expression. For it was apparent, even at the distance which separated us,
      that he was suffering from some great and recent blow. He looked old and
      haggard; he walked like a man who neither knows nor cares where he is
      going.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had not seen me, and my impulse was to avoid him by continuing on
      toward the kennels. I had no especial feeling against him; I had not lost
      Anita because she cared for him or he for her, but because she did not
      care for me&mdash;simply that to meet would be awkward, disagreeable for
      us both. At the slight noise of my movement to go on, he halted, glanced
      round eagerly, as if he hoped the sound had been made by some one he
      wished to see. His glance fell on me. He stopped short, was for an instant
      disconcerted; then his face lighted up with devilish joy. &ldquo;You!&rdquo; he cried.
      &ldquo;Just the man!&rdquo; And he descended more rapidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first I could make nothing of this remark. But as he drew nearer and
      nearer, and his ugly mood became more and more apparent, I felt that he
      was looking forward to provoking me into giving him a distraction from
      whatever was tormenting him. I waited. A few minutes and we were face to
      face, I outwardly calm, but my anger slowly lighting up as he deliberately
      applied to it the torch of his insolent eyes. He was wearing his old
      familiar air of cynical assurance. Evidently, with his recovered fortune,
      he had recovered his conviction of his great superiority to the rest of
      the human race&mdash;the child had climbed back on the chair that made it
      tall and had forgotten its tumble. And I was wondering again that I, so
      short a time before, had been crude enough to be fascinated and fooled by
      those tawdry posings and pretenses. For the man, as I now saw him, was
      obviously shallow and vain, a slave to those poor &ldquo;man-of-the-world&rdquo;
       passions&mdash;ostentation and cynicism and skill at vices old as mankind
      and tedious as a treadmill, the commonplace routine of the idle and
      foolish and purposeless. A clever, handsome fellow, but the more pitiful
      that he was by nature above the uses to which he prostituted himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He fought hard to keep his eyes steadily on mine; but they would waver and
      shift. Not, however, before I had found deep down in them the beginnings
      of fear. &ldquo;You see, you were mistaken,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You have nothing to say to
      me&mdash;or I to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He knew I had looked straight to the bottom of his real self, and had seen
      the coward that is in every man who has been bred to appearances only. Up
      rose his vanity, the coward's substitute for courage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think I am afraid of you?&rdquo; he sneered, bluffing and blustering like
      the school bully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't in the least care whether you are or not,&rdquo; replied I. &ldquo;What are
      you doing here, anyhow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was as if I had thrown off the cover of a furnace. &ldquo;I came to get the
      woman I love,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You stole her from me! You tricked me! But, by
      God, Blacklock, I'll never pause until I get her back and punish you!&rdquo; He
      was brave enough now, drunk with the fumes from his brave words. &ldquo;All my
      life,&rdquo; he raged arrogantly on, &ldquo;I've had whatever I wanted. I've let
      nothing interfere&mdash;nothing and nobody. I've been too forbearing with
      you&mdash;first, because I knew she could never care for you, and, then,
      because I rather admired your pluck and impudence. I like to see fellows
      kick their way up among us from the common people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I put my hand on his shoulder. No doubt the fiend that rose within me, as
      from the dead, looked at him from my eyes. He has great physical strength,
      but he winced under that weight and grip, and across his face flitted the
      terror that must come to any man at first sense of being in the angry
      clutch of one stronger than he. I slowly released him&mdash;I had tested
      and realized my physical superiority; to use it would be cheap and
      cowardly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You can't provoke me to descend to your level,&rdquo; said I, with the easy
      philosophy of him who clearly has the better of the argument.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was shaking from head to foot, not with terror, but with impotent rage.
      How much we owe to accident! The mere accident of my physical superiority
      had put him at hopeless disadvantage; had made him feel inferior to me as
      no victory of mental or moral superiority could possibly have done. And I
      myself felt a greater contempt for him than the discovery of his treachery
      and his shallowness had together inspired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shan't indulge in flapdoodle,&rdquo; I went on. &ldquo;I'll be frank. A year ago,
      if any man had faced me with a claim upon a woman who was married to me,
      I'd probably have dealt with him as your vanity and what you call 'honor'
      would force you to try to deal with a similar situation. But I live to
      learn, and I'm, fortunately, not afraid to follow a new light. There is
      the vanity of so-called honor; there as also the demand of justice&mdash;of
      fair play. As I have told her, so I now tell you&mdash;she is free to go.
      But I shall say one thing to you that I did not say to her. If you do not
      deal fairly with her, I shall see to it that there are ten thorns to every
      rose in that bed of roses on which you lie. You are contemptible in many
      ways&mdash;perhaps that's why women like you. But there must be some good
      in you, or possibilities of good, or you could not have won and kept her
      love.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was staring at me with a dazed expression. I rather expected him to
      show some of that amused contempt with which men of his sort always
      receive a new idea that is beyond the range of their narrow, conventional
      minds. For I did not expect him to understand why I was not only willing,
      but even eager, to relinquish a woman whom I could hold only by asserting
      a property right in her. And I do not think he did understand me, though
      his manner changed to a sort of grudging respect. He was, I believe, about
      to make some impulsive, generous speech, when we heard the quick strokes
      of iron-shod hoofs on the path from the kennels and the stables&mdash;is
      there any sound more arresting? Past us at a gallop swept a horse, on his
      back&mdash;Anita. She was not in riding-habit; the wind fluttered the
      sleeves of her blouse, blew her uncovered hair this way and that about her
      beautiful face. She sped on toward the landing, though I fancied she had
      seen us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Anita at Dawn Hill&mdash;Langdon, in a furious temper, descending from the
      house toward the landing&mdash;Anita presently, riding like mad&mdash;&ldquo;to
      overtake him,&rdquo; thought I. And I read confirmation in his triumphant eyes.
      In another mood, I suppose my fury would have been beyond my power to
      restrain it. Just then&mdash;the day grew dark for me, and I wanted to
      hide away somewhere. Heart-sick, I was ashamed for her, hated myself for
      having blundered into surprising her.
    </p>
    <p>
      She reappeared at the turn round which she had vanished. I now tooted that
      she was riding without saddle or bridle, with only a halter round the
      horse's neck&mdash;then she had seen us, had stopped and come back as soon
      as she could. She dropped from the horse, looked swiftly at me, at him, at
      me again, with intense anxiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw your yacht in the harbor only a moment ago,&rdquo; she said to me. She
      was almost panting. &ldquo;I feared you might meet him. So I came.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you see, he is quite&mdash;intact,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I must ask that you and
      he leave the place at once.&rdquo; And I went rapidly along the path toward the
      kennels.
    </p>
    <p>
      An exclamation from Langdon forced me to turn in spite of myself. He was
      half-kneeling, was holding her in his arms. At that sight, the savage in
      me shook himself free. I dashed toward them with I knew not what curses
      bursting from me. Langdon, intent upon her, did not realize until I sent
      him reeling backward to the earth and snatched her up. Her white face, her
      closed eyes, her limp form made my fury instantly collapse. In my
      confusion I thought that she was dead. I laid her gently on the grass and
      supported her head, so small, so gloriously crowned, the face so still and
      sweet and white, like the stainless entrance to a stainless shrine. How
      that horrible fear changed my whole way of looking at her, at him, at her
      and him, at everything!
    </p>
    <p>
      Her eyelids were quivering&mdash;her eyes were opening&mdash;her bosom was
      rising and falling slowly as she drew long, uncertain breaths. She
      shuddered, sat up, started up. &ldquo;Go! go!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Bring him back! Bring
      him back! Bring him&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There she recognized me. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she said, and gave a great sigh of relief.
      She leaned against a tree and looked at Langdon. &ldquo;You are still here? Then
      tell him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Langdon gazed sullenly at the ground. &ldquo;I can't,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I don't
      believe it. Besides&mdash;he has given you to me. Let us go. Let me take
      you to the Vivians.&rdquo; He threw out his arms in a wild, passionate gesture;
      he was utterly unlike himself. His emotion burst through and shattered
      pose and cynicism and hard crust of selfishness like the exploding powder
      bursting the shell. &ldquo;I can't give you up, Anita!&rdquo; he exclaimed in a tone
      of utter desperation. &ldquo;I can't! I can't!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But her gaze was all this time steadily on me, as if she feared I would
      go, should she look away. &ldquo;I will tell you myself,&rdquo; she said rapidly, to
      me. &ldquo;We&mdash;uncle Howard and I&mdash;read in the papers how they had all
      turned against you, and he brought me over here. He has been telegraphing
      for you. This morning he went to town to search for you. About an hour ago
      Langdon came. I refused to see him, as I have ever since the time I told
      you about at Alva's. He persisted, until at last I had the servant request
      him to leave the house.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But <i>now</i> there's no longer any reason for your staying, Anita,&rdquo; he
      pleaded. &ldquo;He has said you are free. Why stay when <i>you</i> would really
      no more be here than if you were to go, leaving one of your empty
      dresses?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She had not for an instant taken her gaze from me; and so strange were her
      eyes, so compelling, that I seemed unable to move or speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      But now she released me to blaze upon him&mdash;and never shall I forget
      any detail of her face or voice as she said to him: &ldquo;That is false,
      Mowbray Langdon. I told you the truth when I told you I loved him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So violent was her emotion that she had to pause for self-control. And I?
      I was overwhelmed, dazed, stunned. When she went on, she was looking at
      neither of us. &ldquo;Yes, I loved him, almost from the first&mdash;from the day
      he came to the box at the races. I was ashamed, poor creature that my
      parents had made me! I was ashamed of it. And I tried to hate him, and
      thought I did. And when he showed me that he no longer cared, my pride
      goaded me into the folly of trying to listen to you. But I loved him more
      than ever. And as you and he stand here, I am ashamed again&mdash;ashamed
      that I was ever so blind and ignorant and prejudiced as to compare him
      with&rdquo;&mdash;she looked at Langdon&mdash;&ldquo;with you. Do you believe me now&mdash;now
      that I humble myself before him here in your presence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I should have had no heart at all if I had not felt pity for him. His face
      was gray, and on it were those signs of age that strong emotion brings to
      the surface after forty. &ldquo;You could have convinced me in no other way,&rdquo; he
      replied, after a silence, and in a voice I should not have recognized.
    </p>
    <p>
      Silence again. Presently he raised his head, and with something of his old
      cynicism bowed to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have avenged much and many,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I have often had a
      presentiment that my day of wrath would come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He lifted his hat, bowed to me without looking at me, and, drawing the
      tatters of his pose still further over his wounds, moved away toward the
      landing.
    </p>
    <p>
      I, still in a stupor, watched him until he had disappeared. When I turned
      to her, she dropped her eyes. &ldquo;Uncle Howard will be back this afternoon,&rdquo;
       said she. &ldquo;If I may, I'll stay at the house until he comes to take me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A weary, half-suppressed sigh escaped from her. I knew how she must be
      reading my silence, but I was still unable to speak. She went to the
      horse, browsing near by; she stroked his muzzle. Lingeringly she twined
      her fingers in his mane, as if about to spring to his back! That reminded
      me of a thousand and one changes in her&mdash;little changes, each a
      trifle in itself, yet, taken all together, making a complete
      transformation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me help you,&rdquo; I managed to say. And I bent, and made a step of my
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      She touched her fingers to my shoulder, set her narrow, graceful foot upon
      my palm. But she did not rise. I glanced up; she was gazing wistfully down
      at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Women have to learn by experience just as do men,&rdquo; said she forlornly.
      &ldquo;Yet men will not tolerate it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      I suppose I must suddenly have looked what I was unable to put into words&mdash;for
      her eyes grew very wide, and, with a cry that was a sigh and a sob, and a
      laugh and a caress all in one, she slid into my arms and her face was
      burning against mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you remember the night at the theater,&rdquo; she murmured, &ldquo;when your lips
      almost touched my neck?&mdash;I loved you then&mdash;Black Matt&mdash;<i>Black
      Matt</i>!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And I found voice; and the horse wandered away.
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      What more?
    </p>
    <p>
      How Langdon eased his pain and soothed his vanity? Whenever an old
      Babylonian nobleman had a misfortune, he used to order all his slaves to
      be lashed, that their shrieks and moans might join his in appeasing the
      god who was punishing him. Langdon went back to Wall Street, and for
      months he made all within his power suffer; in his fury he smashed
      fortunes, lowered wages, raised prices, reveled in the blasts of a storm
      of impotent curses. But you do not care to hear about that.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for myself, what could I tell that you do not know or guess? Now that
      all men, even the rich, even the parasites of the bandits, groan under
      their tyranny and their taxes, is it strange that the resentment against
      me has disappeared, that my warnings are remembered, that I am popular? I
      might forecast what I purpose to do when the time is ripe. But I am not
      given to prophecy. I will only say that I think I shall, in due season, go
      into action again&mdash;profiting by my experience in the futility of
      trying to hasten evolution by revolution. Meanwhile&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      As I write, I can look up from the paper, and out upon the lawn, at a
      woman&mdash;what a woman!&mdash;teaching a baby to walk. And, assisting
      her, there is a boy, himself not yet an expert at walking. I doubt if
      you'd have to glance twice at that boy to know he is my son. Well&mdash;I
      have borrowed a leaf from Mulholland's philosophy. I commend it to you.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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