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Title: The Lever: A Novel

Author: William Dana Orcutt

Release date: March 21, 2005 [eBook #15430]
                Most recently updated: December 14, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEVER: A NOVEL ***




Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.









                               THE LEVER

                         BY WILLIAM DANA ORCUTT

AUTHOR OF "THE SPELL," "THE FLOWER OF DESTINY," "ROBERT CAVELIER," ETC.

                                 1911


"_Give me where I may stand, a lever long enough, and a fulcrum strong
enough, and I will move the world_."--ARCHIMEDES.




TO MY MOTHER

ELLEN DANA ORCUTT

"SUPREME IN THE STRENGTH OF ASSERTING THAT WHICH IS EVER WOMAN'S
CREED--JUSTICE AND RIGHT," THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED




THE LEVER




I


The girl leaned forward impulsively from the leisurely moving victoria
and looked back at the automobile which whizzed by the carriage, along
the maple-lined road leading from Washington to Chevy Chase; then she as
suddenly resumed her former position when she discovered that the young
man, who was the only occupant of the motor-car, had slowed down and was
gazing back at her.

"How impertinent!" she exclaimed, flushing, addressing herself rather
than the older woman beside her. "Of course, it couldn't be Allen; but
if it wasn't, why was he looking back at me? Did you recognize him,
Eleanor?"

"Who's impertinent?" queried Patricia, who sat between them and
exercised a ten-year-old sister's prerogative.

Mrs. Gorham was quietly amused. "Which question shall I answer first,
Alice--and who is 'Allen' supposed to be?"

It was the girl's turn to sense the situation. "How ridiculous!" she
laughed. "Of course you wouldn't know. Allen Sanford and I used to play
together when we were children in Pittsburgh. I haven't seen him since we
moved away after mamma died; but that really looked like him. I wonder if
by any chance it could be?"

"Oh, Alice, he's coming back," announced Patricia from her point of
vantage on her knees, and a moment later the same automobile, driven at
a speed at which the most conscientious of traffic guardians could not
complain, passed them slowly at the left. The young man made an effort
to conceal the fact that he was surveying the girl in the victoria, but
Alice cut short his suspense.

"It is! it is!" she cried, eagerly; and with the recognition made
certain the boy shut off his power, and, springing out of the car, was
beside her before even the discreet coachman could draw up to the curb.

"I thought I couldn't be mistaken--" he began.

"But you weren't sure," Alice finished for him. "You were trying to
remember a little girl with a pigtail down her back and horrid freckles
all over her face--now, weren't you?"

"If that's the way you really looked, I evidently wasn't as fussy about
such things then as I am now," he laughed. "All I remember is that you
were the dandiest little playmate I ever had."

The unexpected compliment caused Alice to turn quickly to Mrs. Gorham.

"This is Allen Sanford, Eleanor; and this, Allen, is my mother, sister,
and dearest friend all in one."

"And my name's Pat," added the child, refusing to be ignored and holding
out her hand cordially.

The boy was even more embarrassed by the unexpected meeting with the
second Mrs. Gorham than to find Alice developed into so lovely and
fascinating a young woman. He had always thought of Alice's step-mother,
when he had thought of her at all, as of a type entirely different from
this slender, attractive woman only a few years older than Alice
herself. There was a self-possession about Mrs. Gorham, a quiet dignity,
which made the difference in their ages seem greater than it really was;
yet, had he not known, Allen would have thought them sisters. His father
was sceptical when he heard of Gorham's second marriage: "It's bigamy,
that's what it is," were Stephen Sanford's words. "Gorham is married to
his business. Everything he touches turns into gold. Business to him is
what a great passion for a woman would be to one man, or a supreme
friendship to another; but the lever which moves Robert Gorham is
neither love nor steel; it is cold, hard cash."

All this flashed through Allen's mind in that brief moment of silence
after the introduction, but the thoughts of at least one of the two
women had been equally active. To Alice this chance meeting recalled a
time in her life sanctified by the loss of her mother, later made easier
to look back upon by the rare sympathy which had existed from the first
between herself and the sweet, tactful woman who had come into her life,
filling the aching void and awakening her to a new interest in her
surroundings. She and Allen had been "chums" in those early days, and it
gratified her to discover that the boy whom she had admired in a
childish way had become a young man so agreeable to look upon and so
little changed, except in growth, from the lad she remembered. His six
feet of height carried him to a greater altitude than of old, his
well-developed arms and shoulders showed a physical strength which his
youth had not promised, but his face wore the same frank, care-free,
irresponsible and good-natured expression which had made him beloved by
all his acquaintances and taken seriously by none.

Allen's smile returned before he found his voice, and was so infectious
that Alice, Mrs. Gorham, and Patricia were also smiling broadly.

"It's awfully good to see you again, Alice," he said, with a sincerity
which could not be doubted; "and to meet you, too, Mrs. Gorham, not
forgetting Lady Pat." And then, as if in explanation, "You see, as Alice
says, she and I were pals when we were youngsters in Pittsburgh, and I
can't realize that now she's grown up into such a--"

"Do you remember the games of baseball we used to play together?" Alice
interrupted.

"Indeed I do," he responded. "She could throw a ball overhand just like
a boy," Allen continued, turning to Mrs. Gorham lest he seem to
discriminate in his attentions.

"She can't do it now, but I can," Patricia remarked, with an air of
superiority, subsiding as Alice glanced meaningly at her.

"And once you thrashed Jim Thatcher for calling me a tomboy. Oh, I
looked upon you as a real story-book hero!"

"I suspect that's the only time on record." Allen laughed again
consciously. "That's one epithet I haven't had hurled at me enough times
to make me nervous." He looked at the horses critically. "You don't
suppose there's any chance of a runaway here to give me another
opportunity, do you?"

"How about the football games, and the races at New London?" Alice
asked.

"What do you know about those?"

"I read all about everything in the papers. Your father was so proud
that he told my father and every one about your college record; so, you
see, your friends had no difficulty in keeping posted."

"My father was proud of me?" Allen demanded, in genuine astonishment.
"Haven't you gotten things a little mixed? That doesn't sound like the
pater at all. He didn't boast any of my record in my studies, did he?"

"Father didn't say." Alice leaned forward mischievously. "Did you get
your degree _cum laude_, Allen?"

"Not exactly," he answered, frankly. "_Cum difficultate_ would be more
like it; but I got it, anyhow."

"And what have you been doing since?" Mrs. Gorham asked.

"I went abroad right after Commencement."

"To perfect yourself in the languages?"

"Well"--the boy hesitated--"that may have been the pater's intention,
but he didn't state it audibly. As a matter of fact, I perfected myself
in running an automobile more than anything else, but I had a corking
good time."

"And now what? You see how inquisitive I am," Alice said.

"And now"--he repeated it after her--"I want to go into business, and
the pater says diplomacy for mine. We've had lots of arguments over it,
until we finally compromised it just as we usually do--by my doing it
his way. So here I am in Washington, awaiting my country's call, ready
to steer the great U.S.A. through any old international complication
they can scare up. But I mustn't keep you and Mrs. Gorham here any
longer. It is just fine to see you again."

"You will come and see us at the hotel," Mrs. Gorham said, warmly
seconded by Alice. "Won't you dine with us to-morrow evening? Mr. Gorham
will be glad to hear about you from yourself."

To-morrow evening seemed far away to Allen, so he supplemented Mrs.
Gorham's invitation by a suggestion that they take a motor ride with him
the following afternoon, which brought the time of their meeting that
much nearer.

For some little time after Allen's machine had disappeared Alice and
Mrs. Gorham continued their drive in silence, and it was Patricia who
spoke first.

"Isn't he the grandest thing?" she remarked. "He's just like one of King
Arthur's knights. And he called me 'Lady Pat.'"

"You dear child," Eleanor cried, impulsively pressing the little form to
her.

"That is exactly what I ought to be," Alice said, abruptly. "Just think
how pleased father would be."

"What ought you to be that you are not, my dear?" Mrs. Gorham inquired,
surprised.

"Why, a boy like Allen just ready to start off on a business career.
That's about the only disappointment father has ever experienced, not
having a son to succeed him. You know as I do how much it would mean to
him to 'found a house,' as he calls it. I've seen him looking at Pat and
me so many times with an expression in his eyes which I understood, and
it has hurt me all through that I couldn't have been the son he longed
for. The aggravating part of it all is that nothing interests me so
much as business. I must have inherited father's love for it. I adore
listening to him when he is discussing some great problem with Mr.
Covington. It seems to me the grandest thing in the world to be able to
influence people, and to create or expand industries and actually to
accomplish results."

Mrs. Gorham understood the girl's mood and knew that it was wiser to let
her run on without interruption.

"I don't feel the same about other things," Alice continued, pausing
from time to time as she became more introspective. "I'm fond of poetry,
of course, but I can't understand how any one can be satisfied to do
nothing else but write poems; I admire art, but with my admiration for
the artist's work there's a real pity for the man because he is debarred
from the world of action. If I were a man I would have to do something
which had a physical as well as an intellectual struggle in it, with a
reward at the end to be striven for which was not expressed alone in the
praise of the world--it would have to be power itself."

"I would rather be a damosel," Patricia put in.

"You are your father's own daughter, Alice," Mrs. Gorham said, as the
girl ceased speaking. "You could not be his child and feel otherwise."

"But that makes it all the harder," Alice rebelled. "It doesn't give me
any chance to do the things I want to do. I must

'_Sigh and cry
 And still sit idly by_.'"

The drive was coming to an end, and Mrs. Gorham was unwilling to leave
the conversation at just this point. "There is another side to all this,
Alice dear, which you mustn't overlook," she said, seriously. "It is
woman's part to inspire rather than to do, and the fact that it is often
the more difficult rôle to play perhaps makes it the nobler part, after
all. The world sings of the bravery of men who go forth to battle; we
older women know that it takes no less courage to let them go and to
content ourselves in our impotency, while they are spurred on by the
excitement which is denied to us. Those of us whom experience has tested
know this, but this realization cannot yet have come to you."

Patricia sighed, deeply, "Oh, yes, mamma Eleanor; this waiting is
awful."

"You mean that we must accept the situation as best we may and
accomplish our results by proxy?" Alice queried, still rebellious.

Mrs. Gorham smiled at the girl's interpretation. "No, dear," she
insisted; "I am not willing to admit that ours is a position of
self-abnegation. We women are denied the privilege of doing, but we
mustn't be unmindful of the blessing which is given in exchange. To me
it is infinitely more satisfying to know that we are the inspiration
which urges men on to do what they could not do without us."

"Of course that's one way of putting it," Alice admitted, interested yet
not convinced; "but, just the same, I'd rather be the one to receive the
inspiration than the one to give it."

On reaching the comfortable apartment occupied by the Gorhams at the
hotel, they found that Mr. Gorham had already returned, accompanied by
his first vice-president, John Covington, and that they were engaged in
close conversation. Mrs. Gorham took Patricia with her to her room, but
Alice immediately joined the two men.

"We have nearly finished our interview, Alice," her father said,
suggestively, after a smile of greeting.

"Please let me sit here and listen," she begged. "I am so interested in
it all."

Gorham acquiesced with a shrug of his shoulders which the girl saw and
felt.

"I don't know but that we have covered the situation, anyway," he said
to Covington. "I shall see Kenmore to-morrow, and if he can be persuaded
to join us, the Consolidated Companies will be just that much
strengthened. You had better return to New York to-night to keep your
eye on the coffee situation, and I will telephone you if I need you here
after I see the Senator."

The two men offered a striking contrast in their personalities. Robert
Gorham was a large man, about fifty years of age, whose whole bearing,
when at rest, suggested the idealist rather than the man of action. His
head was large and intellectual, his chin strong, his mouth firm,
conveying at once an impression of strength and of impenetrable
depth--an inner being which defied complete analysis. Behind the
impassive exterior there was a suggestion of latent reserve force, but
it was not until some thought or word penetrated below the surface that
the real man was revealed. Then it was that the impassive face lighted
up, that the quiet gray eyes flashed fire, that the head bent forward
decisively, and the strong-willed, large-brained leader of men stood
forth.

Covington, on the other hand, ten years Gorham's junior, was slight,
though tall, and was always, in manner, speech, and dress, most
carefully adjusted. He was an organizer of men, as Gorham was the
organizer of companies. Gorham worked so quietly that his purpose
seemed to accomplish itself; Covington won his success by a pitiless
force which left flotsam in its wake. Gorham was beloved and trusted,
Covington was respected for his abilities but dreaded by his
subordinates. It had been necessary for Gorham to supplement himself
with a man who possessed the genius of taking hold of the individual
organizations assimilated by the Consolidated Companies, and
amalgamating those engaged in similar lines into perfect, economic
wholes; and Covington's rare service had proved the wisdom of Gorham's
selection.

Covington noted Alice's disappointment when her father cut short their
interview upon her entrance, though Gorham himself was entirely
oblivious to it.

"I'll tell you all about it when we meet next time," he said to her in a
low tone as he was leaving. "It is always an inspiration to me to talk
these matters over with you."

Alice smiled gratefully but started at the word he used. This man,
acknowledged by her father to be one of the cleverest in the business
world, said that she was an "inspiration" to him. Could this be
possible! This, then, was what Eleanor had meant, this was woman's
mission. But still, she insisted to herself, she would rather be the
recipient than the giver.

As Covington left the room Gorham turned to Alice. "Now I can give
myself wholly to you," he said, holding out his arms affectionately.

"Why did you stop talking with Mr. Covington as soon as I came in?"
Alice asked, reproachfully. "Was it a private matter?"

"No indeed," he laughed, patting her affectionately on the head; "it was
just plain business."

"But I wanted to hear it," she persisted.

"It would have meant nothing to you," her father answered. "If you had
been my son that would be different, but a woman's sphere is outside the
business world. Leave that to the men. Now tell me what has happened
to-day."

Alice knew her father too well to persist further. "Eleanor and I met
Allen Sanford while we were out driving this afternoon," she said.

"Did you?" he asked, with interest. "I knew he was in Washington and
should have told you. His father wrote me about him last week, and I was
planning to invite him here. How has he developed since we used to know
him?"

"Splendidly," Alice answered. "He's a big strapping fellow with the same
handsome, happy face. I should have known him anywhere. He wants to get
started in business, and his father wants him to go into the diplomatic
service."

"So Stephen wrote me." Gorham laughed quietly, turning to his wife, who
had entered a moment before with Patricia. "The boy's father is the
worst enemy he has. He has thoroughly spoiled him all his life, and now
expects him to do great things. He scores him because he has no
initiative, and the first time the youngster tries to exercise it by
expressing his preference for business instead of diplomacy, Stephen
calls him obstinate and ungrateful. Now he wants me to talk with Allen
and persuade him that his father is right."

"If you are not otherwise engaged you'll have a chance to-morrow
evening," remarked Mrs. Gorham; "we have invited him to dine with us."

"Good; I shall be glad to see the boy, and can acquit myself of my
obligation to his father at the same time. Hello, Mistress Patricia," he
added, catching the child in his arms. "What has my little tyrant been
up to?"

"Call me 'Lady Pat,'" she said, grandly. "_He_ named me that."

"Who did?" her father asked, his mind diverted from the previous
conversation.

"Mr. Sanford." Patricia rolled her eyes impressively. "Oh, he's the
grandest thing! He must be a prince in disguise."

"That isn't what his father calls him," laughed Gorham.

"What are you going to advise him?" Eleanor asked.

"I can't tell until I see him and discover how much imagination he has."

"Imagination?" his wife queried.

"Yes; is that a new idea to you? Ability never asserts itself to its
utmost unless fed by the imagination, and I don't know yet whether Allen
possesses either. Success in any line depends upon the extent of a man's
power of imagination."

"Then why don't poets make business successes? They have imaginative
ideas," argued Alice, thinking of her remarks upon this subject earlier
in the afternoon.

"True"--Gorham smiled at her earnestness--"great poets are inspired, but
rarely, if ever, do they apply those inspirations to practical purposes.
That is why they so seldom enter business, and still more rarely succeed
if they do."

His face sobered as the idea took firmer possession of him.

"I differ from the poet only in that I make use of my imaginative ideas
in solving the great business problems of the present and the future
instead of in forming rhymes and metres. To do this I must command
unlimited resources; but what does money mean except the opportunity to
gratify ideals? With this I can force my imagination to produce
utilitarian results."

This would have been Robert Gorham's exposition of his conception of the
Archimedes lever, as opposed to that which Allen Sanford had heard his
father give. To Gorham the power of the lever depended upon the strength
of the imaginative ideals, and the "cold, hard cash" was simply the
necessary fulcrum upon which the lever rested.




II


"The proposition is too gigantic for me even to comprehend."

The Hon. Mr. Kenmore, member of the United States Senate, laid down the
bulky prospectus of the "Consolidated Companies," and looked up into his
caller's genial face.

Gorham flicked the ash from his cigar and smiled good-naturedly. "That
is, perhaps, a natural statement, Mr. Kenmore," he replied,
deliberately. "I am not surprised that you find it difficult to
comprehend the vast possibilities of our enterprise; yet its success,
already established, must convince you that no good argument can be
advanced against its practicability."

"But see what it contemplates!" The Senator again took the prospectus in
his hand and opened the pages. "You propose to control the building and
the manufacturing of the world," he continued, reading aloud from the
prospectus, "and all the allied trades, to construct and deal in all
kinds of machinery, to carry on any other kinds of businesses, to
acquire patents and concessions, to erect and maintain gas and electric
works, to enter into any arrangement with any government, to promote
companies, to lend money--"

"It is summed up in that last clause," Gorham interrupted, quietly; "'to
do all such other things as are incidental or conducive to the
attainment of the above objects.' You see, I know the articles by heart.
May I ask you to glance over the names of the present stockholders?"

Gorham handed a leather-covered record-book to his companion and then
walked to the window, where he quietly smoked his cigar, looking out on
the broad avenue while the Senator scanned the names written in the
small volume. He appeared indifferent to the smothered exclamations
which escaped involuntarily from Kenmore's lips as the latter's eye
passed on from page to page, and for the time being he seemed more
deeply interested in the people passing below on the street. His
calmness was in striking contrast to the Senator's growing excitement.

"By George!" Kenmore exclaimed at length, rising and advancing toward
the window. "This list of names is even more extraordinary than your
stupendous plans."

"Does not each one explain the other?" asked Gorham.

"But how did you ever persuade such men as these to lend themselves to
any enterprise--no matter how attractive? Why, there is hardly an
omission--the leaders of the world in finance, politics, diplomacy,
literature, art, and science."

"There are many omissions, as you would discover if you examined the
list more carefully," Gorham answered; "not the least of which is the
name of the Hon. Mr. Kenmore!"

"I know, I know," the Senator replied, impatiently; "but how did you get
them?"

Gorham looked at his questioner attentively for a moment before he
answered. "The proposition itself appeals to that human instinct which
is more or less developed in us all--self-interest--"

"But that, my dear sir, is nothing more or less than--"

Gorham held up a protesting hand. "Let me save you from using so ugly a
word as you have in mind, Senator. You are fully justified in having
this thought suggest itself to you--such is the business code of morals
of to-day. Yet I consider myself an idealist, and the whole plan on
which the Consolidated Companies is based a moral one. I must have
succeeded in convincing these men, whose characters are admittedly above
reproach, or they could not have been persuaded to become associated
with our corporation."

"Idealism, monopoly, and self-interest seem ill-mated partners, Mr.
Gorham."

"Must monopoly and self-interest always be translated into selfishness
and oppression?"

"As far as I have observed they always have been," Kenmore asserted.

"Perhaps so; but must they necessarily be so exercised? Is it not
possible to control these human instincts to the extent of producing
beneficent results?"

The Senator considered. "I cannot conceive it to be even within the
bounds of possibility."

"Then, unless I can convince you to the contrary, I shall cheerfully
withdraw my proposition," Gorham replied, with decision. "You will
admit, I feel sure, that were I to eliminate self-interest the great
consolidation which we are discussing could not exist."

"Absolutely."

"Will you also admit the possibility--I do not yet say probability--of
conducting an organization such as the Consolidated Companies along
lines which might be for the public good?"

"Provided the public received the benefits of such economies as your
consolidations effected."

"Precisely--or even a part of these economies. Now, many of our
stockholders, whose names you see on that list, are in positions of
trust. Our directors have endeavored to select only those whose
reputations guarantee the honorable observance of their
responsibilities."

"Then how can they serve the Consolidated Companies?"

"Let me explain more clearly," Gorham continued. "A franchise for a
street railway expires--here in Washington, in Chicago, in London, or in
Vienna. Those who are influential in awarding the new franchise are
among our stockholders. It is to their self-interest, truly, to place
the franchise in the hands of the Consolidated Companies, but it is also
to the best interests of the public, who, after all, are most concerned,
because the Companies is equipped with men and funds to give them
greater efficiency or cheaper transportation than any smaller
organization could possibly afford to do. In awarding us the franchise,
therefore, these officials are in no way proving themselves false to
their trust."

Gorham studied the half-averted face of his companion carefully before
he proceeded. "Do you follow me?"

"Perfectly, although not wholly sympathetically," the Senator replied.

Gorham smiled at Kenmore's frankness. "Suppose a government requires a
loan of, say, fifty million pounds sterling," he continued. "Here in
this little book you will find the names of practically all the
financial heads of the governments of the world. You will also find here
the leading figures in the world of finance. What is more natural than
that the Consolidated Companies be asked to negotiate the loan, to the
distinct advantage of both parties and of the Companies itself?
Incidentally I might say that we shall eventually establish an
international bank which will further simplify details. If it is a
matter of building bridges, we have among our stockholders the officials
who will award the contracts and the engineers best fitted to execute
them. Acting as a medium for both creator and producer, and in serving
their mutual self-interest, the Consolidated Companies can easily become
the greatest patron of the arts, both fine and mechanical, that the
world has ever seen,--and all this, with profit to itself. Could
anything be simpler?"

"You are prepared to build navies and also submarines to destroy them?"

"'To do all such other things as are incidental or conducive to the
attainment of the above objects,'" quoted Gorham; "but our energies are
always exerted in constructive directions."

The Senator became absorbed in his own thoughts and was silent for
several moments.

"I don't see yet how those men were persuaded to associate themselves
with your corporation," he said, more to himself than to his companion.
"The vast business advantages which it already possesses are quite
apparent, but I cannot reconcile the conflict which must exist between
the dual capacities of your stockholders as individuals and as public
officials or officers of trust. Without intending to cast reflections
upon any name I have seen, I can scarcely resist asking myself if every
man has his price."

"I claim he has," Gorham stated.

The Senator turned upon him sharply. "Then my first impressions of the
principles of your enterprise were correct. I beg--"

"Please hear me out, Senator," Gorham urged. "I believe implicitly that
what I have just said is true, yet I venture to repeat to you that I
consider myself an idealist and an optimist. A man's 'price' has come to
be associated with money. I know this phase--what business man does not?
But beyond this, are there not far subtler influences, which in one form
or another draw every man away from the course he would naturally steer
for himself as surely as the iron deflects the magnet's needle? Ambition
influences an honorable legislator apparently to condone acts which he
knows are wrong, that he may gain a Governor's chair, from which
position he can more surely crush out the evils he has always recognized
and abhorred. I do not say that all our stockholders are influenced by
the guarantee I have given them that a franchise or a concession awarded
to the Consolidated Companies means an advantage to the people they
serve, but I have at least convinced them by word and act of my own
sincerity, and of the possibility of so conducting the Companies that
these results can be obtained. I do not even say that every public
official who co-operates with us is actuated by the highest motives in
giving the Consolidated Companies special privileges, but I do say that
he may properly be so actuated--and the public receives the benefits."

"But think of the power which this corporation must eventually possess,
and the powerlessness of any individual or organization, business or
otherwise, to oppose it."

"Why should they wish to oppose it?" Gorham continued. "As I have said,
the combinations suggested can but result in economies in production
and consequent reductions in the living expenses of the masses."

"Yet you would hardly suggest that the Consolidated Companies has been
launched as a philanthropic enterprise?"

Gorham's smile returned. "Not primarily, yet the people have already
been benefited in no small degree. It is entirely possible to conduct it
along lines which will reduce the cost of all public utilities and
necessities, and yet secure large financial returns to the Companies."

"I was thinking--" Kenmore began, and then stopped.

"Well?" Gorham encouraged, interrogatively.

"I was thinking what an easy thing it is to mistake a temptation for an
opportunity."

"Or the reverse," Gorham remarked, significantly, flushing slightly.
"Does it not all depend upon the basis on which the corporation is
administered?"

As the Senator ventured no reply, Gorham continued, with more feeling
than he had as yet displayed:

"You and I, Mr. Kenmore, are familiar with the contention made by our
great captains of industry that they are entitled to the vast fortunes
which they have amassed as a return for the benefits which the public
enjoys as a result of their energy and the risks they have taken. They
have opened up new sections of the country, provided transportation
facilities which were previously lacking, or have increased those which
already existed; they have multiplied industries which promoted increase
in population and trade, and have thus largely contributed to the
prosperity enjoyed by the communities themselves and by the country at
large."

"All of which the Consolidated Companies claims to be doing, or about
to do, upon a scale which makes similar past achievements seem
insignificant," interrupted Kenmore.

"Yes," Gorham assented, "but with a fuller appreciation that these
accomplishments are not the results alone of individual ability, but far
more of the exercise of the corporate power placed in its hands, not for
its unlimited personal gain, but intrusted to it by law for public
advantage. The law confers upon a corporate organization a power far
beyond that which any individual himself could obtain; it enables him to
make use of capital which thousands have contributed, toward whom he
stands in a relation of trust, and without whom he could not accomplish
the individual triumphs which become so magnified in his own mind, and
for which he demands so great a recompense. The Consolidated Companies
considers itself bound to use franchise privileges and corporate
organization for the equal benefit of all those who contribute of their
capital, with due regard for those public interests which corporations
are created to serve, and to rest content with a fair return upon its
own capital and a reasonable compensation for their services, on the
part of the officers of the enterprises of which it assumes the
responsibility and direction."

"How long do you think the Consolidated Companies can be run upon such
altruistic principles?"

"As long as Robert Gorham remains its president and as long as those men
whose names you have seen there remain its directors. This is my pledge.
When the Consolidated Companies, intrusted with the power, credit, and
resources of the many corporations which are and will be included in
it, but which are not agencies of its own creation and do not belong to
it, begins to take advantage of these for personal profit beyond
legitimate return upon investment and fair compensation for services
rendered, it will be guilty of a gross betrayal of trust. When it issues
securities in excess of the requirements of its business and manipulates
them for its own profit; when it makes use of its power, its funds, or
its credit in enterprises which are not for the equal benefit of all who
have contributed to its capital or in the interest of the public, which
gives it its power; when it employs its profits so as to affect the
market value of securities and then speculates in these for its own
advantage,--then it will be flagrantly abusing a power which has been
given to it in trust, and its unique position in the business world will
be destroyed."

There was another long silence, which this time was not broken until the
Senator was quite ready to speak. When the moment came the question was
asked abruptly:

"How much can you consistently tell me of any of the corporation's
transactions? I know of them, of course, by hearsay, but I should be
glad to receive more intimate information."

"Nothing, without assurances of your serious interest, provided I can
demonstrate to your satisfaction the strength of the facts I have
mentioned; everything when you care to give me these assurances."

The Senator winced. He had expected to meet a man with whose type he was
perfectly familiar, to explain to him that the private affairs of the
Hon. James Kenmore, business or otherwise, were always kept entirely
distinct from his political life, and to dismiss him with merely the
courtesy demanded by the unusually strong letters which had introduced
him. But Robert Gorham did not belong to the expected type. There were
no earmarks of the promoter about him, in spite of the fact that the
enterprise of which he stood as the head and front was in reality the
most gigantic piece of promotion engineering the world had seen. On the
contrary, Gorham was the refined man of affairs, confident in himself
and in the certainty of his strength. And as for dismissal, the Senator
realized that his caller had already made himself the dominant power.

"You wish me to subscribe for stock in this corporation to the extent of
a hundred thousand dollars?"

"I am empowered by our directors to offer you the opportunity to
subscribe for that amount."

The Senator passed over the obvious correction.

"Why am I selected by your directors rather than others of my colleagues
whose names I do not observe upon that list?"

"Because we consider your position in the United States Senate to be one
of increasing importance, and of value to the Companies," Gorham
answered, frankly.

"Why has the specific amount of my desired subscription been so
carefully stipulated?"

"Because your investment in the Consolidated Companies must be heavy
enough in its relation to your personal fortune to make the success of
the corporation a matter of real concern to you."

"Are these amounts, then, uniform in size?"

"Not at all. A hundred thousand dollars to you may be no more than five
thousand to some other stockholder, and no less, on the other hand, than
half a million to a third. In every case the amount of the subscription
is carefully considered."

"Your directors have made a preliminary estimate of my financial
standing?"

"Certainly."

Kenmore smiled incredulously. "Would it be asking too much to inquire
what the inventory, made by your experts, shows?"

"One million two hundred thousand," Gorham responded, promptly. "Except
for your unfortunate investment in the Arizona oil-wells a year ago, it
might have been half a million more--a loss which your fortunate
connection during the past three years as a special partner in the
well-known banking-house of Gilroy and Company has more than made up."

The Senator sprang excitedly to his feet. "By George! sir, by what power
or authority do you make yourself aware of my private affairs down
practically to the last penny?"

"I apologize, Senator, if I answered your question too literally,"
Gorham replied, quietly.

"But how do you know it?"

"I neglected to state that the secret-service department of the
Consolidated Companies excels in efficiency that of any government. You
can readily appreciate its importance."

"And you know with equal minuteness the financial condition of every man
on that list?"

Gorham nodded. "Yes; and of every individual, corporation, business
house, and government wherever it is of any value to us to know it."

Kenmore again relapsed into silence. He was experiencing a larger number
of new sensations during his conference than he remembered ever having
had aroused by any previous discussion. He was angry with himself for
having permitted the interview, he was incensed by the proposition
itself and the apparent unassailability of the Companies, he was annoyed
by Gorham's good manners and his complete self-control. Never once had
this man, who appeared to have his finger upon the pulse of the world,
allowed his attitude even to approach enthusiasm. He simply presented
facts, and then allowed them to tell their own story.

"You are at liberty, sir, to acquaint me with the transactions of the
Consolidated Companies," the Senator finally remarked.

"Probably a few specific cases will suffice," Gorham responded, as if
expecting to receive Kenmore's permission. "You will remember, perhaps,
the apparently insurmountable complications which arose over the placing
of the recent loan of fifty million dollars to the Chinese government,
for their currency reforms and other necessary improvements. As soon as
the Consolidated Companies assumed the responsibility of the
negotiations, all international bickerings ceased, for the Chinese,
French, German, English, and American financiers knew that the loan
would be handled to the advantage of all. I could cite, perhaps, a
hundred cases of similar importance, would time permit. As for the
present, you are aware that England is building several great men-of-war
to restore its navy to its previous supremacy. The contracts for this
work have been placed in the hands of the Consolidated Companies. Our
political strength was tested in a small way two years ago in causing a
cessation of hostilities between Austria and her neighbors. We shall be
strong enough before the war cloud gathers too heavily over England and
Germany to prevent the grievous calamity which threatens these nations.
Shall I give you other data?"

"But the Consolidated Companies separates the world into two parts--"
the Senator began.

"Precisely--into those who are stockholders and those who are not. Both
are benefited by the existence of the corporation. But is there any
question as to which is the more favored class?"

"None whatever," Kenmore replied, with decision.

"Then may I call to-morrow to learn in which class you decide to place
yourself?" Gorham asked, as he rose and slipped into his overcoat.

"No," the Senator replied, after a moment's thought. "I will send my
secretary to you to arrange the matter of taking over stock to the
amount of one hundred thousand dollars in the Consolidated
Companies--Unlimited!"




III

If punctuality is a virtue presaging business success, Allen gave
evidence, the following afternoon, of a brilliant future. Previously,
he had made no criticism of the condition in which his motor-car was
delivered to him at the garage, but this time the men found him
strangely unreasonable. The brasses had to be repolished, the hood
opened up, and the dust wiped from the long-neglected creases, and every
detail was inspected with a carefulness which created comment.

"Goin' to sell his car," one of the men remarked, sententiously, to
which sage comment his companion nodded acquiescence.

In spite of the delay thus caused, Allen shut off his power in front of
the hotel entrance at exactly the appointed hour. He bounded into the
lobby, and a few moments later was ushered into the elevator and guided
to the Gorhams' apartment.

"Why, it's Riley!" the caller exclaimed, enthusiastically, as the door
was opened for him by Mr. Gorham's aged retainer--"it's the same Riley
who used to box my ears when I tramped over his flower-beds in
Pittsburgh."

The old man regarded the visitor attentively. "Shure it's Misther Allen
Sanford, grown out iv his short pants into a fine young man, so he has."
A broad grin replaced the questioning expression on his face. "I did
box ye'er ears good, didn't I, sor? but go along wid yer, th' trouble
ye made me, ye an' Miss Alice a-traipsin' over me flower-beds." Then,
with a sigh: "Ah, sor, I remimber it as if 'twas yisterday. Miss Alice's
mother was livin' thin, God rist her soul. Thank ye, sor, f'r
remimberin' me. I'll call Mrs. Gorham an' Miss Alice."

It was the girl who appeared first, greeting Allen with frank
cordiality.

"Eleanor will be ready in a moment," she said. "Isn't this the greatest
coincidence?" she continued. "Yesterday at this time I had no idea you
were within a thousand miles, and now it seems as if we might almost be
back in Pittsburgh again, living the same childish life and playing the
same games."

"It was certainly a dandy coincidence for me," Allen agreed, "but I
don't quite follow you back to the kid games we played."

"Why, Allen!" Alice reproached him, "have you forgotten the motor rides
you and I took with wash-tubs, turned upside down, for seats, and the
remnant of your express-wagon for a steering-wheel? My! how fast we used
to go!"

"That's so!" he admitted. "I'd forgotten all about it. You used to look
great sitting on that tub."

"Freckles and all?"

"I didn't remember the freckles, either, until you spoke of them. You
were a little corker, even then."

"Even then?" Alice repeated, without intending to.

"No one has told you that you've gone backward in looks, has he?" Allen
laughed, looking straight into her face. Then he continued: "There's one
other game we played, which I haven't forgotten: Do you remember how we
used to keep house together? You were Mrs. Allen Sanford then, and we
had everything fixed up--"

Alice sobered. "I--I think I have forgotten that one," she said. "Isn't
it ridiculous what games children do play?"

"But the motor-car game has come true," he insisted, "and you'll look
just as good to me sitting in the real car, as you used to on top of
that tub. And as for the other--"

"How long Eleanor is taking!" she interrupted; "I'll run and find her."
With which she disappeared, returning almost immediately, accompanied by
Mrs. Gorham.

"I shan't be asked again, if I keep you waiting so long, shall I?"
Eleanor apologized.

"The appointed time always arrives at the same moment that Mrs. Gorham
does," Allen replied.

"So!" Eleanor was frankly surprised by the boy's gallantry. "If this is
a sample, I must agree with your father that diplomacy is your natural
field. It would be a pity to waste that in a business office."

"Don't you join the opposition, Mrs. Gorham," he said, seriously. "I'm
going to have a hard enough time with the pater as it is. Now, if
you're ready, shall we start? It isn't going to be the most sociable
arrangement in the world, with me driving the car, but we'll go slowly,
which will give us a chance to visit."

With Fort Meyer as the objective point, Allen took the road through Rock
Creek Park to Chevy Chase, feeling attracted, perhaps unconsciously,
because it was there he had renewed this acquaintance which promised to
end the _ennui_ he had experienced during the weeks he had spent in
Washington. Slowing his speed down to a point requiring the least
attention, he was able to converse with his guests. Alice had said
little since they left the hotel, but at last she found an opportunity
to free her mind.

"Eleanor wasn't serious in what she said about your going into
diplomacy, Allen. Any ability a man has in that line is just as valuable
in business."

Mrs. Gorham laughed as she turned to Alice. "Has that been troubling
you, my dear?" Then to Allen: "You touched on a very live wire when you
said what you did yesterday, Mr. Sanford. Alice thinks that a man who
chooses anything but a business career is blind to what life offers
him."

"You do too, don't you, Allen?" the girl asked.

"Why--yes," he answered. "I haven't exactly analyzed it, but I know I'd
rather go into business than into the diplomatic service."

"But you must have some reason for it," she urged.

"I have--I don't want to spend my life in other countries. Little old
New York is good enough for me. I have lots of friends there, and that's
where I'd like to settle down."

"New York is a hard place for a young man to start his career," said
Mrs. Gorham. "You will find there an absolute intolerance for the man in
the making. New York demands the finished product."

"But you don't have to start in New York," Alice added. "You could make
your success in some other city, and then come to New York if you wanted
to."

Allen became unusually thoughtful as the conversation progressed.

"Gee!" he said; "I knew that I wanted to go into business, but I didn't
realize how much there was to think over before doing it."

"But it's worth all the time and thought you can give to it," the girl
said, enthusiastically. "I can't imagine anything grander than to stand
at the threshold of the world ready to enter the battle of life, to
struggle with the obstacles and to conquer them. Think, Allen--just
think of what you have before you, while we girls never get any such
chance at all."

"Yes." Allen hesitated, carried off his feet by the intensity of the
words and the rapt expression of her face. "Yes, I guess it is grand,
though it never struck me just that way before. I say!--" he continued,
after a moment's pause, "you're an enthusiast on this business question,
aren't you?"

"Could she be Robert Gorham's daughter and not be an enthusiast?" Mrs.
Gorham asked.

"If father would only let me, I know I could make a success in
business," Alice continued. "I watch him, when he least suspects it; I
study the papers which he leaves around, and sometimes it seems as if I
just must be a boy, and get into the thick of it."

"What a funny idea!" Allen remarked. "I never thought girls cared
anything about business."

"But it's no use," she bemoaned. "I've got to be a girl whether I like
it or not; but you haven't any such handicap."

"Haven't I?--you forget the pater."

"If you felt as strongly about it as I do, you could persuade him."

"Have you--met the pater?" he asked, significantly.

Alice smiled for a moment, and then became serious again. "If you
have determination enough to succeed in business, Allen, the same
characteristic will win out with your father."

The boy did not know quite what to answer. Stephen Sanford insisted
that the only reason Allen showed a preference for business was because
he knew his father had set his heart on a different career for him. It
may have been merely an unconscious assertion of his budding manhood
which rebelled against having his life-work laid out for him without
consultation, just as his governess used to lay out his clothes. At all
events, from his very nature, Allen had not considered the matter as
seriously as he now saw Alice had done, and he was entirely unequal to
the task of holding up his end of the discussion. So, after a few
moments' silence, during which she watched him with eager expectancy, he
turned his face toward her, and grinned broadly.

"I'm mighty glad you are a girl," he said, irrelevantly; "and I'm mighty
glad you can't go into business."

Alice was disappointed on his account, but she chose to reply only to
his reference to her.

"Of course," she pouted. "You men are all alike. You're selfish and
unsympathetic. You want all the interesting things for yourselves,
and--some of you--don't even know why you want them."

"I really believe you're getting personal." Allen laughed. "Don't knock;
come right in. Now, to heap coals of fire upon your head, I'll tell you
what I'll do, Alice; I'll divide chances with you, beginning with the
first."

"Do you mean to say you haven't had even a first chance yet?"

He nodded cheerfully. "Not a single first, to say nothing of doubtful
seconds."

"Then it's because you haven't tried," she asserted.

"Of course; but that doesn't mean that some one else hasn't tried. I've
been the dutiful son, waiting for 'papa' to show him that the paternal
way is the only way; but even the pater hasn't proved a blooming success
in that line. The real trouble is that the old man is too conscientious.
Just as the President gets all worked up and just crazy to send me as
minister plenipotentiary to the Republic of Zuzu, the pater coughs
guiltily, and murmurs, 'Oh, yes; he's a good boy, if he is my son, but
he hasn't been brought up in my school,' and shows by every movement
that he knows he's passing off a gold brick. Then, of course, the whole
game is up."

"Why doesn't he take you into his own business?" Mrs. Gorham asked.

"Jealousy or judgment; can't say which."

"Do be serious, Allen," Alice insisted. "I don't believe you have any
strong feelings about it anyway. No wonder your father gets out of
patience with you if you talk to him about it as you do to us."

"Oh, he gets out of patience, all right," Allen admitted, "but it's
simply because he can't refute my arguments. He talks about what he was
doing at my age, but I tell him my record is a whole lot better than
his. He couldn't afford to go to college, while I could, and at the same
proud point in our careers I was successfully touching him for five
hundred a month, while he was with great difficulty earning a hundred
and fifty, on which he supported a family. But the pater--well, the
pater has a way of looking at things which is all his own."

"There is absolutely no use expecting to talk business with you," the
girl declared. "Father won't discuss it with me, and you won't be
serious at all, and I know Mr. Covington is really laughing at me all
the time, even though he tries to make me think that he looks upon me as
a very business-like young woman."

"Who is Mr. Covington?" Allen asked, bluntly, inwardly resenting the
fact that any one except her father was as intimate with Alice as the
words indicated.

"He's father's right-hand man in the Consolidated Companies. If you
could once see him and father at work and hear them talk you would
understand the fascination of it."

"Then you like business conversation?" The boy found it difficult to
comprehend.

"Better than anything else in the world."

Allen became really serious. "If that's the case," he said,
emphatically, "I'm going to become a man of affairs, just to give
you that pleasure."

Alice clapped her hands with delight. "What are you going to do?" she
asked.

He turned so blank a face to the expectant one he saw before him that
the seriousness could no longer be preserved. The vacuity turned into a
smile, and the smile into a broad grin.

"I guess I lose if I have to answer that question now," he admitted,
frankly; "but you keep your eye on Willie and the push-ball, and watch
the professor change him into a big roaring captain of industry. Then
you shall talk business with him as much as you like, and he won't make
you feel that he's laughing at you, as that Mr.--, what's his name,
does."

"Good for you, Allen!" the girl cried, really pleased by the clumsily
expressed compliment.

"So all is settled now except the pater, and I'm almost launched on my
career," Allen replied. "Now suppose we take up your case. What have you
been doing all these years?"

"Well," said Alice, smiling, "the history of my life is yet to be
written, but the main facts up to the present are that I have safely
passed through school and most of my other childhood diseases; that I
had my coming-out ball in New York last winter; that I am happy,
and--most important of all--that I have Eleanor."

She took Mrs. Gorham's hand affectionately in hers as she spoke, and
Allen needed nothing more to demonstrate the strength of the bond which
existed between the two. It was not the affection between mother and
daughters, or between sisters, or friends, but rather the best of all
three merged and purified by the yearning each had felt for that which
now each had found.

The conversation during the ride back to the hotel was in lighter vein,
in which Allen showed greater proficiency. Alice's interest in him was
mingled with a disappointment that the years had not made him older and
less irresponsible. She felt herself distinctly his senior, yet she also
felt a confidence in his unexpressed ability. To Mrs. Gorham the
passages-at-arms between the two children, as she would have called
them, were refreshing. She knew that each was being benefited by coming
in contact with a different nature. Alice's serious side needed the
leaven of a lighter viewpoint on life; Allen's buoyancy was already
being tempered by her ambition. This was why, when Alice asked her
later, in their apartment, "Don't you think Allen needs a little of that
'inspiration' you spoke of?" she had kissed the girl, and answered
without hesitation, "Yes, dear; and you are just the one to give it to
him."

"Then this is my chance to enter business by proxy?" Alice asked again;
and Mrs. Gorham, smiling quietly to herself, had answered, "Perhaps."




IV


After his interview with Senator Kenmore, Gorham walked rapidly down the
slight incline from the Senators' office building to the hotel, where
the clerk passed out to him a handful of letters and telegrams. In the
lobby, unseasonably crowded by the extra session of Congress, he nodded
cordially to three or four men who obviously courted recognition, and
ascended in the elevator to his apartment.

"You don't know Gorham?" queried one of the men, turning to his
friend--"wonderful man, wonderful organizer, head of the great
Consolidated Companies. Thought the Consolidated Companies a myth? Well,
well! That's a great compliment to the man and his methods. You'll know
both well enough before long. But that's characteristic of Gorham--moves
along so quietly that you think he's doing nothing; then you wake up and
find that his corporation has tucked away a big government contract you
thought you'd tied up yourself. Better keep your eye on Gorham and the
Consolidated Companies."

"There you are, daddy!" cried a welcoming voice as Gorham threw open the
door, the words being quickly followed by a rustle of skirts and an
enthusiastic embrace. "I'm so glad you're back early. You know Allen is
coming to dinner, and couldn't we all go to the theatre afterward?"

Alice released her father partially, but still held one of his hands in
each of her own. Hat, letters, and telegrams had already fallen in
confusion upon the floor, as the result of the girl's onslaught. She
caught the look, half amusement, half dismay, upon his face.

"Never mind, daddy dear," she continued, reassuringly; "I'll pick them
all up in a moment. You will go with us to the theatre, won't you?"

Gorham looked significantly at the telegrams and the letters on the
floor.

"Let me see," he said, doubtfully. "I really ought to work on these
papers after dinner. How can I do that and go with you, Puss? There's
a problem for you!--unless I could use Riley for a secretary," he
continued, jocosely. "That's the only capacity he hasn't served in.
Where is he, anyway?"

"Couldn't I help you?" she asked, quickly, without answering his
question. "You don't know how much I'd like to. And I'm sure I could,"
she added, with confidence.

"Tut, tut!" Gorham stroked the soft fair hair affectionately, but
discreetly. "Little girls shouldn't concern themselves with such
matters."

The girl released him, and, dropping on her knees, gathered up the
fallen missives. Instead of handing them to her father, she sat back and
looked up seriously into his face.

"Girls are no good, anyhow," she rebelled. "If you would only give me
the chance, I know I could help you in lots of ways, and then I'd feel
that I was worth something. I just can't stand it to sit around all the
time and have things done for me. Oh, why wasn't I a boy!"

"Come, come." Gorham raised her gently to her feet, noting the tears
in her eyes, and drew her to him. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,
dear; but business and battle are meant for men. The Amazons in ancient
history didn't change the order of things, did they? You should be proud
to be just what you are. Now give me my letters. There's some one else I
want to see, you know."

"She's waiting for you," Alice replied, simply, looking into his face
with comprehension. "She's the sweetest thing, daddy," the girl
continued. "One moment she is so wise that she seems old enough to be my
truly mother; and then again so young and sympathetic as to be just an
older sister. I can't tell you how much she does for me every day, or
how completely she understands me."

"You and I are mighty lucky to have Eleanor, Alice," Gorham replied,
feelingly. "We should both be very grateful to her, dear."

"I _am_ grateful, daddy; and I love her better every day. There's Riley;
he'll help you get ready for the theatre."

Gorham made no answer, but patted his daughter's cheek affectionately as
he turned from her to the genial face of his valet and general factotum.
The old man had been in Gorham's family for forty years, and his loyalty
to "Misther Robert" had steadily increased during the period which had
elapsed since "Old Gorham," as his original master had been known in
Pittsburgh, delivered him over to his son as a part of the house and
household effects which constituted the paternal wedding present. Now,
ten years Gorham's senior, he still adopted an attitude at once
protective and admiring, enjoying that intimacy which is the reward of
a lifelong service of loyalty.

"Miss Alice wishes me to go to the theatre to-night, Riley," Gorham
remarked as the man relieved him of his coat.

"Yis, sor; 'twill do ye good, Misther Robert--ye wid so manny grand
plans in ye'er head. 'Twill do ye good, sor."

"But I have so much to do, Riley," Gorham protested. "The more items I
cross off my daily memorandum, the more I find left there to be done."

"Yis, sor; that's right, sor--I know it's right; it's just like th'
Widow Cruse's oil jug in th' Bible, sor. But th' widow come out all
right, Misther Robert, and ye'll do th' same. I'll have ye'er things
ready f'r ye in a minnit, sor."

If Riley was in the conspiracy for the theatre-party, Gorham realized
that opposition would be futile, so he turned into his wife's room.

"I thought I heard voices in the hall," Mrs. Gorham greeted her husband,
affectionately. "You have returned early, which will give us a little
visit together before dinner-time. Has the day been satisfactory?"

Gorham did not reply at once. He held her face between his hands,
looking down into the depth of her eyes with a strength of feeling which
she could but sense. There was an expression of expectancy, an unspoken
desire that she should recognize something which as yet she had failed
to see. There was a tenseness which would have frightened her except for
the tenderness which accompanied it.

"Why do you look at me like that, Robert?"

"Because I love you, Eleanor," he replied at length. "Isn't that an
admission for a man of my age to make? I know it always, but there are
times when I must tell you so. Don't call it weakness, dear, or
sentimentality. There is a relief which I could never explain in turning
from these battles with men and with events to your companionship, which
demanded nothing from me except myself."

"Nothing except yourself?" Mrs. Gorham smiled, reassured. "What more
could one ask or give? Now that you have confessed, I must do likewise:
I simply count the moments every day until you come, but I never should
have dared to tell you for fear you would laugh at me. What would this
callous world say if it discovered that the great Robert Gorham and his
insignificant wife were really in love with each other! But I am so
thankful for it, dear. What do the years mean unless they add to one's
power to love?"

"The thankfulness is mine, Eleanor," Gorham replied; "but I shan't let
you speak of 'the years' at twenty-six. Wait until you add twenty-five
more to them and reach my dignified estate."

"It is experience which adds the years, my Robert; and this almost gives
me the right to priority."

"I know, I know," her husband replied, drawing her gently to him. "Do
you never forget it?"

"You and the dear girls have softened the past into a memory which I can
at least endure," she continued, "and you fill the present with so much
happiness that I rarely have time to look backward."

"Alice spoke just now of how much you had been to her, and it started
something moving in my own heart. That is probably what led me to speak
as I did."

"Alice is a darling," Mrs. Gorham replied, happy beyond words at the
double tribute received from father and daughter. "Just now she is
passing through what seems to her to be a crisis, and she needs
assistance from us both."

Gorham looked at her in surprise. "A crisis?" he asked.

"Yes, Robert; and the responsibility is yours: you have passed on to
her, as directly as heredity can do it, that love of business which has
made you what you are. You have been denied a son, but whether you wish
it or not your daughter naturally possesses those very business
instincts which you would have been proud to recognize in your son."

"You amaze me," Gorham replied. "Alice is forever trying to persuade me
to let her help me and all that, but I have attributed it simply to an
affectionate desire on her part to be of service to me."

"It is more than that--there is the reflection of yourself in the girl's
soul which demands expression."

"But it would be absurd for her to do anything of that kind."

"Why so? I don't mean for her to go into a business office, of course.
But could you not gratify her by explaining certain problems which she
could grasp, and then give her an opportunity to work them out herself
in some minor personal matter of which you have so many?"

"It seems ridiculous to me," Gorham said, after a moment's silence, "but
I will think it over carefully. I am disappointed, I admit, that neither
one of my children, especially Alice, should have been a son to
perpetuate my name and to continue my work; but that was not to be, and
my daughters are all that I could ask."

"They are indeed," she assented, feelingly. "I believe Alice realizes
your disappointment and actually reproaches herself, poor child, for not
being what you wished."

"Oh, no!" he protested. "I must set her right on that at once. I admit
my disappointment, but that does not lessen my appreciation of my
blessings. You and the girls are everything to me--and you have given me
more than a son in your wonderful conception--the Consolidated Companies
is your child, Eleanor, for without your suggestion of an organization
founded upon an altruistic basis I should never have thought of creating
this corporation which is now certain to be the greatest power the world
has seen."

"You give me too much credit, Robert. That was simply a chance
suggestion; it was your master mind which gave it life."

"It is yours, none the less," Gorham insisted; "and this great
corporation may be the means of giving me my son and successor, after
all."

It was Eleanor's turn to show surprise, but he did not wait for the
question which was on her lips.

"It is my hope that Alice may marry Covington," he continued, "and I see
no reason why this should not be. She is, of course, a free agent, but I
think Covington will have little difficulty in winning her. He has an
attractive personality, and I know that she already admires and respects
him. He is a man of rare ability and is my natural successor."

"There seems to be no logical obstacle," Eleanor admitted; "but her
heart is yet to be awakened."

"As far as that is concerned," Gorham said, decisively, "Alice will not
altogether disregard my wishes in the matter; and the awakening will be
all the healthier if the child is guided."

"We must never do more than guide her," Eleanor said, apprehensively.

"I don't intend to. Now tell me something of this youngster who seems to
have made quite an impression on my entire family."

Mrs. Gorham smiled as her mind reverted to the afternoon. "We had a
charming ride," she said. "Allen has an over-developed bump of humor
which encourages him to be irresponsible, but he is a likable boy and
I enjoyed him."

"Probably all he needs is a smaller allowance and a greater necessity."

"I judge he isn't likely to get either from his father. As you know, Mr.
Sanford insists on his becoming a diplomat, while he prefers to go into
business. This naturally interested Alice, and they had a most amusing
discussion about it. He really doesn't know why he prefers business, but
Alice has helped him to crystallize his ideas. In fact, she has quite
fired his ambition. I think you will enjoy your conversation with him at
dinner to-night, Robert, for he is really most ingenuous, and a bit of
advice from you will help him just now, even if he doesn't measure up to
your standard of business capacity."

"You think me a stern master, don't you, Eleanor?" Gorham pressed the
hand he held in his.

"It would be unfair to judge him by yourself. Boys of to-day are not
having the early training that fell to your lot, and their latent
ability is just that much slower in showing itself. You see so much
of the serious side of life, it will be diverting to hear the frank
expressions of one of the younger generation. I am curious to know what
you think of him."

"I couldn't take him into the Consolidated Companies," Gorham said,
flatly.

"That isn't what I mean," his wife hastened to reply. "You don't think
this a disregard of your desire not to have me refer to business?"

"No, dear; I understand, and shall be glad to talk with the boy. I hope
you also understand as clearly why I have had to take this seemingly
arbitrary position. My day is filled with problems which require nerve
and confidence in my own judgment in order to carry them through. I must
let no one influence this judgment, and even a suggested preference from
those I love might do it. More than this, my brain is clearer each day
when I can claim an evening with you and Alice, with no intruding
thoughts of business detail. Now I must send a few telegrams to clear
the way for the theatre this evening. You really want me to go with
you?"

"Alice has set her heart on it, and as for me--well, you know how little
any evening means to me unless we are together."

"Then I will send Riley to see about the seats."

"But before you do that, I have a complaint to make."

Gorham smiled at the expression on his wife's face, half serious, half
humorous.

"Who is the culprit?"

"Riley," she replied.

"Riley?" her husband repeated. "Good heavens, don't tell me that you and
Riley have been having trouble!"

"Not trouble, exactly; but really, Robert, he treats me as if I were a
child."

"No!" Gorham assumed an incredulity he did not feel. "Tell me all about
it."

"It is too absurd to speak of, but I was really annoyed with him for the
moment. He actually wouldn't let me go shopping this morning--he said I
was too tired, and absolutely refused to order a cab."

Gorham laughed. "Well, wasn't he right?"

"That isn't the question. Even a privileged servant ought not to presume
too far."

Gorham did not speak for a moment. "Do you know, Eleanor," he said at
length, "that idea regarding Riley never entered my head before. He was
the bloody tyrant of my childhood, and I would have incurred even my
much-dreaded father's wrath rather than risk a disagreement with Riley.
Actually, if he had disapproved, I question whether I should have dared
to marry you! Even now I can feel my old-time trembling coming on at the
thought of reproving him because he prevented you from overdoing. He
would consider me an ingrate for not recognizing that it was done in my
best interests, and I should positively lose caste."

Mrs. Gorham laughed in spite of her temporary chagrin in the face of
her husband's genuine discomfiture, which he tried to conceal by
the lightness of his words. She wondered at the extremes he
manifested--quiet but firm and immovable as the rock of Gibraltar in his
business dealings, unaggressive and yielding in all which had to do with
his home life. She hastened to withdraw her complaint.

"Don't worry about Riley," she laughed. "The next time I want to do
something of which he doesn't approve, I'll have it done before he
knows anything about it."

"You don't think I'm supporting Riley against you, do you?"

"No, indeed," Eleanor replied, smiling; "I understand your feelings
about him."

Gorham drew a sigh of relief. "I always want you to bring everything to
me, Eleanor--everything, no matter how slight, which worries you. You
will always do that, won't you?"

"Of course"; Mrs. Gorham looked up quickly.

"You always have, haven't you, dear?"

"Why, yes, Robert; do you doubt it?"

"Sometimes I have a feeling that there might have been something in
those sad years of yours which I could make lighter if you shared it
with me."

"You have made everything lighter and brighter," she replied,
gratefully, yet without directly answering his question.




V


Patricia would also have made complaints of Riley had she not considered
herself entirely competent to cope with the situation. The child's
disappointment at being left behind had made this a trying day for the
whole family, and Eleanor's delay in joining Alice and Allen for the
ride had been caused by her efforts to straighten matters out before
leaving Patricia alone for the afternoon with the declaration of open
warfare still in force between her and the old man. Nine times out of
ten, Patricia played the tune to which Riley danced, but this was the
tenth, and an older understanding would have heeded the signals of the
approaching storm.

"I don't say she has more iv it than other childern," Riley explained to
Mrs. Gorham; "but th' divvle is in 'em all. Go 'long wid ye'er ride,
Missus Gorham, an' lave her ter me. 'Tis th' firm hand I'll be afther
showin' her, but th' tinder wan, like I done wid her fa-ather forty year
ago. Ye lave her ter me, ma'm."

So the motor-party set out with one member of it uncertain of what might
happen during her absence; but there was no uncertainty in Patricia's
mind. She watched the departure of the car from the window, and then
slammed the door, knowing well that the noise would arouse all sorts of
apprehensions in Riley's soul. A vigorous knock soon rewarded her
efforts.

"Come in," she called, innocently.

Riley stood in the doorway, with a hand resting on each hip, astonished
into silence by the peaceful scene before him. Patricia was seated in
the middle of the bed, completely surrounded with pillows, and fanning
herself nonchalantly.

"Phwat made ye slam th' dure?" he demanded.

"Did it slam?" she asked. "It must have been the draught. There's an
awful draught around this apartment--haven't you noticed it, Riley?"

"I haven't noticed nuthin' excep' that ye are a bad little gurl."

"It's the 'divvle' in me--coming out, isn't it, Riley? That's what you
told mamma Eleanor, and you ought to know."

"Shure, I ought ter know, an' I do know."

"I thought you did." Patricia smiled sweetly. "But if a person has the
'divvle' in him, it is much better to let it get out."

"'Twud take more room than there is here ter let it all out iv ye,"
retorted the irate Riley.

"You are no gentleman, Mr. Riley, to speak to a lady like that," she
said, severely. "You may go now."

"Will ye be th' good gurl if I lave ye by yersel'?"

"How do I know if it's all out of me?"

"Shure, it oughter be," he declared, in despair. "Will ye thry?"

"Certainly, _I'll_ try." Patricia was demureness itself. "If anything
happens, it will be the 'divvle's' fault, so you mustn't hold me
responsible."

"It's ye'er own divvle, ain't it?--ye can make it do what ye want."

"_I_ don't know," protested Patricia. "I didn't even know I had a
'divvle.' It was you who discovered it; and people who discover things
have to be responsible for them, don't they?"

Riley shook his head in desperation. His arguments were exhausted, and
all that was left to him was retreat.

"I wuddent be that child's gov'ness f'r all th' money in th' world," he
muttered, as he shuffled through the hall. "An' ter think they lift her
home fr'm ch'ice. 'Twas th' lucky day f'r Miss Mary--but I wish her
here."

Finding the coast clear, Patricia moved the scene of her activity to the
reception-room. Here she undertook to put into execution the latest idea
which had struck her fancy, which was nothing less than a medieval
tournament on as elaborate a scale as the properties at hand would
permit. The hotel had not been furnished with an eye to contests of
chivalry, but chairs, turned wrong-side up and covered with
table-cloths, made richly caparisoned steeds; and Patricia's imagination
easily supplied the riders.

At first the Knights and their horses were ranged together at one end of
the room.

"You are Front-de-B[oe]uf," the child announced, laying her hand upon
the first overturned chair; "and you are Bois-Guilbert, and you
Malvoisin. We ought to have some others, but there aren't any more
table-covers."

Then she moved Front-de-B[oe]uf into the centre of the arena.

"You stay there 'til I get my shield and lance," she said, and the
war-like Knight made no protest.

Patricia next appeared with an open umbrella dexterously held in front
of her, and a heavy cane belonging to her father in her hand.
Front-de-B[oe]uf may have been intimidated by the militant figure which
approached him, but he stood his ground bravely.

"I'm the Disinherited Knight," Patricia announced to the assembled
multitude, pausing a moment to receive their enthusiastic plaudits.

"Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights!" she cried, boldly. "That means
that I'm bigger than any one else," she explained. "Love of the
Ladies--Glory to the Brave!"

With this ample notice of her intentions, the Disinherited Knight
charged Front-de-B[oe]uf with a frenzy which resulted in his utter
disgrace. The trappings were torn from his steed by the fury of the
onslaught, the horse itself was overthrown, and Patricia surveyed the
carnage with the utmost satisfaction.

"We shall meet again, I trust, where there is none to separate us," she
said, solemnly.

A truce was declared while she dragged Bois-Guilbert into the lists.

"To all brave English hearts and to the confusion of foreign tyrants,"
was the war-cry, and in a moment more Bois-Guilbert had shared the fate
of his predecessor. This time, however, the Disinherited Knight did not
escape unscathed, as the front foot of the adversary's steed made a
dismal rent in her umbrella shield.

Malvoisin alone remained, and he in turn took his stand against the
redoubtable champion. But Malvoisin, contrary to history as Patricia
knew it, proved the most stubborn adversary of the three. The heralds
had not properly cleared away the débris from the tilting-field, so when
the Disinherited Knight forced Malvoisin back, Bois-Guilbert supported
him from behind. Patricia had found the other two so yielding that she
was unprepared for this unexpected defence, and the result of her attack
was the complete demolition of the umbrella and a bad fall for herself,
in the course of which her lance struck the glass door of a bookcase
standing near.

The noise of the fall, together with the crash of glass, brought Riley
rushing to the room. Patricia recognized his indignation without need of
explanation. Forgetful of her bump, she again seized the cane, and
repeating her cry, "To the confusion of foreign tyrants," she charged
the old man with such vigor that he stepped aside with astonishing
agility, allowing her to pass him into the hall. This was all that the
now thoroughly frightened Patricia desired to accomplish. Dropping the
cane, she rushed into the bedroom, and retreated underneath the bed,
whither she well knew Riley's infirmities would not permit him to
follow.

"Come out o' there," the old man commanded, close behind her.

"It's lovely under here," the child answered; "I'd rather stay."

"Phwat in th' name o' Hiven have ye been doin'?"

"Playing tournament, Riley," came back the voice from under the bed.
"It's a splendid game. Do you want to learn it some time?"

"'Tis mesel' has sumthin' to learn ye," he retorted. "Come out o' there,
I say."

"I couldn't think of it. I'm tired."

"Well, ye oughter be--smashin' up th' furnichure, an' makin' a noise
like a wake. Wait 'til I gits hold iv ye."

"You are a foreign tyrant, Riley--I shall never yield to you."

"Furrin fiddlesticks--I'll lave th' whole mess f'r ye'er mother ter see
when she gits home, d'ye mind."

"All right, Riley; I'll wait for her here."

Again the old man retreated, his indignation increasing as he waited for
the return of the motor-party. Mrs. Gorham was given no opportunity even
to remove her wraps before she was solemnly led to the scene of the
disaster. Allen and Alice followed close behind, ignorant of the nature
of the calamity, but feeling certain by Riley's manner that it was a
serious one. They gazed for a moment at the wreck before them.

"What has happened, Riley?" Eleanor cried, anxiously.

"It looks as if a vacuum-cleaner had been at work," volunteered Allen.

The old man's emotions were so strong that he could scarcely speak.

"What has happened?" again demanded Eleanor.

"Miss Pat," was all that Riley could articulate.

"But where is she--has she been hurt?"

"No, ma'am; but she done it. She's under th' bed in ye'er room."

The entire party rushed to the bedroom, not knowing what they might
find. Mrs. Gorham knelt on the floor and raised the counterpane. There
lay the Disinherited Knight, fast asleep, exhausted from her first
jousting victories.

"Pat!" cried Eleanor, "are you all right?"

"Hello, mamma Eleanor," she answered, sweetly; "is Riley after you,
too?"




VI


Mr. Gorham studied Allen carefully during dinner. What Eleanor had told
him of the boy interested him, and his intimate knowledge of Stephen
Sanford's personality made him a more sympathetic adviser than might
otherwise have been the case. Allen, too, was distinctly attracted by
Gorham, though his eyes rested more often on the girl facing him across
the small table, who seemed even more lovely to him now, in a soft,
clinging gown of exquisite texture. His memory of Gorham had been
indistinct, but he had heard so much of him through his father and
others during these intervening years that he was prepared to see a man
who would intimidate him by his severity and awe him by the
manifestation of his greatness. In fact, associating business success
with his father's manners and methods, Allen had come to believe that
force meant noise and bluster, and that firmness stood for an
intolerance of discussion. But here, in the midst of his family, Robert
Gorham displayed a side of his nature which Stephen Sanford had never
seen; yet Allen was no less conscious of the man's power. The boy was
more quick to sense than he was to analyze, and it was not until he had
left the Gorhams, some hours later, that he was able to satisfy his
silent query as to what was reminiscent in the strength behind Gorham's
genial face and cordial bearing. The thought took him back to his
college days, and the course in ancient history which, strange to say,
he had enjoyed most of all--to the old-time Roman emperors, born to
command, and indifferent to the criticism or the commendation of the
world in which they labored, made up of the lesser men they dominated.

The conversation at the dinner-table soon turned to Allen's experiences
in Europe, and his naive manner of telling about them afforded no little
amusement.

"I like everything in London except the telephone," he explained. "It's
easy enough to blow in the hot air, but it takes a whole lot of
experience on the flute to make the proper connections with your
fingers. And to get a number--well, it's a joke, that's what it is."

"Is it really worse than our service?" asked Alice.

"Worse? Why, ours is a direct line without a switchboard compared with
theirs. I gave it up altogether after my experience trying to get Crecy
& Brown--you know them, Mr. Gorham. I dropped into the office of one of
the pater's correspondents and asked to use their telephone. One of the
clerks offered to help me out, and I let him.

"'I say, miss,' began the clerk, 'put me through to Crecy & Brown, will
you?' Then a few moments went by. 'Oh! thank you very much,' was his
reply, and he restored the receiver noisily to its position on the rack.
'They have no telephone,' he said.

"I looked at him a moment, then I said as calmly as I could, 'and yet
they say the English are slow.'

"'Do they?' he replied, good-naturedly. 'I don't think I quite follow
you.'

"'Why, they have taken that telephone out since four o'clock yesterday
afternoon. In America it would have required several days.'

"'Oh, you're joking,' he laughed; 'they couldn't have taken it out since
then, you know.'

"'But they have,' I said, boldly, making a noise like the pater. 'I
called them up myself at that time yesterday.'

"Then he rang the central office again. 'I say, miss, the gentleman is
really positive that Crecy & Brown have a telephone, you know.'

"Some more minutes passed by, and again the clerk said, 'Oh, thank you
very kindly,' and he put the receiver back.

"'They have no telephone,' he said.

"'There you are,' I cried, 'it has been taken out since four o'clock
yesterday afternoon. It's simply wonderful!'

"'You Americans are such bally jokers,' the clerk said. 'They really
couldn't have done that, you know.'

"'But they have! I still insist.'

"Then the Englishman went into a trance for a moment. 'I believe you
think they have a telephone, after all,' he declared.

"'I really do,' I admitted.

"'Well, we'll soon find out,' the clerk cried, with an awful burst of
speed, striking a bell upon his desk.

"'George,' he said to the boy, 'run around to Crecy & Brown's, will you,
and see if they have a telephone.'

"I sat there for twenty minutes, discussing the weather, the Derby
winner, and all the other favorite English subjects before the boy came
back.

"'Yes, sir,' the boy reported, 'Crecy & Brown have a telephone, sir.
Their number is 485 Gerard, sir.'

"The clerk got me the number this time, and I did fairly well. Then I
sat down.

"'Did you want to call another number?' he asked me.

"'No, not two in the same day,' I said; 'but over in America we always
pass out something to the operator when she gives us wrong information
like that--just for the good of the service.'

"'I suppose I ought to reprimand her,' the clerk admitted--'call her
down, as you would say.'

"'If you don't, I will,' I told him.

"'Oh, I had much better do it,' he replied, hastily, taking the receiver
in his hand.

"'I say, miss,' he chirped, 'that number you just gave me, 485 Gerard,
_is_ Crecy & Brown, you know, the one you said had no telephone. Rather
a good joke on you, isn't it, miss?' Then he slammed the receiver on its
hook.

"'There!' he said, 'I think that will hold her for a while, as you say
in your country!'

"Wouldn't you think that would have just mortified her to death?"

Alice laughed. "If you were ambassador to England, Allen, you could
change all that. Perhaps that's the niche for you, after all."

"What's a 'niche'?" demanded Patricia, taking advantage of the first
opportunity to join in the conversation.

"What do you think it is, dear?" Mrs. Gorham asked, smiling.

"I think an itch is an awful feeling; why do you want him to have that?"
Patricia replied, sinking into obscurity at the laugh which her
definition evoked.

Her father, who had been an interested listener thus far, came to her
rescue, and took advantage of Alice's remark to turn the conversation in
the direction he had previously determined upon.

"You haven't heard from your father recently, I judge?" he said.

"I have an idea that the pater has overlooked me," Allen replied; "he's
been so busy with other things."

"Why don't you fall in with his ambition to make a diplomat of you?"

"Well--I suppose the strongest reasons are those which I can't put into
words, Mr. Gorham, but one that seems pretty good to me is that I don't
think I'm fitted for it."

"Why not?"

"I'm too optimistic, I think, to make a good diplomat. If a man's a
gentleman, and treats me square, I'm apt to think he's all right--and,
from what I hear, in diplomacy the one who fools the others the most
times is the best fellow. Isn't that right?"

"Some people would tell you that the same thing holds true in business."

"I know; but in business there seems to be something more tangible to
work on. Of course I don't know anything about it, but I think I could
make a better show selling bonds or cotton than _ententes cordiales_."

"Have you made any effort to secure a position?"

"Not yet, Mr. Gorham. The pater would be more than peeved if I didn't
wait for him and his diplomatic expectations. But if he doesn't get busy
pretty soon, I think I'll hike it over to New York, and see what's
doing."

Gorham smiled in spite of the boy's earnestness. "Surely your father
would realize how much in earnest you are if you talked to him as you're
talking to me now."

"Father always looks upon me as a joke," Allen continued. "He made his
own way, you see, and then, because he was rich, he didn't want me to
endure the hardships which really made him what he is. He gave me plenty
of money all the way through Harvard, and ever since, in fact; yet he is
always wondering why I lack 'initiative.' He's been mighty generous, and
I appreciate it all, but don't you think it's one thing to build your
own character and economize because you have to, and another to
economize when you know you don't have to? I guess that's my complaint."

"He was very proud of what you did at college," Gorham said. "I never
used to meet him without hearing about some of your athletic triumphs."

"I suspect it is you who call them triumphs," Allen replied; "that
doesn't sound like the pater to me. Of course, some of the things I did
in college seemed worth while at the time; I tried for the football
team, and I made it--by hard work, with a hundred other fellows doing
their best to push me back on the side lines; I tried for the crew, and
I made it; I rowed two years at New London, and there was some work
about that. I'm afraid I made athletics my vocation and studies my
avocation, but I tried to do what I undertook as well as I knew how, and
some of the boys still think I'm pretty good in certain lines."

"Life is scarcely a football-field, my boy," Gorham remarked,
sententiously. "The world of business admits of no vacuum. It is the
survival of the fittest, and work is the great secret of success."

"I know what a 'vacuum' is, anyway," Patricia was recovering from her
temporary chagrin.

"Now is your chance to square yourself," said her father, turning to
her, kindly.

"I learned that at school last winter," the child continued, proudly: "a
'vacuum' is the place where the Pope lives when it is vacant."

"There, Allen," laughed Gorham, "you have no excuse for not
understanding my statement."

"Not in the least. Lady Pat has explained my whole difficulty! But,
after all, Mr. Gorham, don't you think there are some things about
business and football which are the same?" pleaded Allen, when Patricia
was again quieted, his attitude with Mr. Gorham being quite different
from the one he had affected with Alice. "I've often tried to think what
I'd do if I ever got started, and I've said to myself that when I came
up against the other fellow I'd just grit my teeth and say, 'That
confounded Eli shan't get through'; and I'm pretty certain that he'd
find something in his way before he got the contract I was after."

Gorham was distinctly interested in the boy's intensity. "Suppose I
write a line to your father and suggest that he take active steps to get
you started somewhere."

"Please don't," Allen said, quickly. "I'll write him myself at once. If
you do it, he'll think I haven't got the spunk. Perhaps I can put it
strong enough so he will realize that I'm tired of killing time running
about in my motor-car."

"I thought your father told me you had lost your license, for speeding."

The boy grinned guiltily. "'Allen Sanford, owner,' lost his license,
but 'A. Sanford, chauffeur,' is still allowed to run a car." Then
turning to Mrs. Gorham: "You didn't realize you were riding with a
chauffeur to-day, did you?"

"You had two licenses?"

"I couldn't possibly get along without them here in Washington. I guess
you don't know how wise these police guys are."

Gorham looked at the boy steadily for a moment with an amused expression
in his eye.

"I have half a mind to try it," he said, aloud.

"Taking out two licenses?" Allen asked, innocently.

"No," Gorham answered; "I was thinking of something else. Your father
will be here some day this week, Allen, and you will have a chance to
discuss the whole matter. Perhaps you can get him to agree to some
compromise. Whatever you go into, remember what one of our great
captains of industry once said--and it's as applicable to diplomacy as
it is to business--'The man who starts first gets the oyster; the second
man gets the shell.'"

"I'll settle it definitely when I see the pater," Allen said, with
determination, "and if I live through the interview I'll go for that
oyster with a flying start. Oh, I expect I'll find plenty of good
interference against me, but I can stand that. What's that story in
mythology about the hydra or something--every time they cut off its head
two more grew? That's what I'm going to be--a hydra. Every time I get
turned down I'm going to bob up twice again, and, the first thing you
know, somebody will give me a job just to get rid of me."




VII


After the theatre Mr. Gorham devoted himself to some late despatches
which required immediate attention, so Alice and Eleanor found
themselves in the apartment alone. The latter wore a more serious
expression than her face had shown earlier in the evening, and the girl
was quick to notice it.

"You are not feeling well," she said, more in the form of a statement
than as a question, looking at her anxiously. "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Gorham smiled quietly as she impulsively drew Alice to her and
kissed her.

"There's nothing the matter, dear," she answered, pleased with the
intuition which prompted the anxiety; "there was something about the
play which brought back old memories and they hurt me--that is all."

"Dear heart," was all the girl replied, yet the words brought grateful
tears to Eleanor's eyes.

"Are you tired?" she asked, suddenly, with an appeal which caused Alice
to look at her inquiringly, but she did not wait for the unnecessary
negative. "Then come into my room and let us have a little talk before
we go to bed."

As Eleanor sat down Alice threw herself on the floor at her feet, and
resting her elbows upon the convenient knees, with her face upon her
hands, she looked up expectantly.

"I love these cozy talks," she said. "There is something about this
particular hour of the night which makes anything which happens in it of
the greatest importance. How beautiful you are! I love just to look at
you--no wonder father worships you!"

"You are a sweet child, Alice," Eleanor said, stroking the soft hair
affectionately, while unfastening the loose coils until they fell over
her shoulders in masses of rippling gold. "You have no idea how much you
have done to make my life as happy as it is now. What has your father
ever told you about me?"

"Nothing, dear, except that you had suffered much before he met you, and
that it was our privilege to try to make you forget the past."

"Was that all?"

"All about you. He told me how happy you had made him, so of course I
loved you at once."

"And you never asked any questions?"

Alice looked surprised. "Why, no; if father had wished to tell me any
more he would have done so without my asking."

"I am glad," Eleanor said, simply. "It is better for me to tell you
myself."

Mrs. Gorham paused, and Alice realized that this was not the time to
interrupt. Eleanor seemed to be bracing herself as for an ordeal, yet
when she spoke the words came with perfect calmness.

"You were ten years old when your mother died," she said.

The girl's face saddened. "Yes, just Pat's age now; and the next four
years were so lonely until you came. I try never to think of them. Pat
was too young to give me any companionship, so I was virtually alone
with my governess. Father never realized my unhappiness. He was so busy
with his own matters that, young as I was, I knew that he must not have
mine to worry about."

"Those were the years in which I suffered, too," Eleanor replied,
quietly. "Perhaps that is what drew us so closely together from the
first. Four years of torture!" she continued, more to herself than to
the girl before her.

"Why do you speak of them?" Alice begged. "Why not forget them, as I
have tried to do?"

"I do try, dear, but the play to-night brought everything back to me.
How strange that we should happen on that particular one so soon after
your father and I had spoken of those years! The 'Great Divide'--God
only knows the human agony and truth those words contain!"

Eleanor controlled herself before she continued.

"It is a story which I have told only once before, and I had not thought
to take any one except your father into its sad confidences; but you
should know it, dear. My father's health broke down after mother died,
and he was ordered West in the hope of prolonging his life. I was
sixteen then, two years younger than you are now. We went to Colorado,
on a ranch which father had bought upon the recommendation of a friend.
How well I remember the first impressions I received of that glorious
country: the exhilaration of that wonderful air, the inspiration of
those towering mountains, the novelty of the strange new conditions! I
rejoiced in the largeness of everything, and it seemed to me, those
first few days, as though life amid these surroundings could but
reflect the richness with which nature itself overflowed."

Alice's eyes were fixed upon Eleanor's face with intense interest. The
girl sensed even in these preliminary words the importance of what was
to follow, and was unwilling to lose a single syllable. Eleanor caught
the interest and sympathy of the girl's face as she paused for a moment,
and it gave her strength.

"Were you quite alone there?" Alice asked.

"Practically alone--the nearest ranch was four miles from ours.
Naturally, we saw few people, the most constant visitor at this time
being a young man who owned the ranch next to ours, who, during the
year, had ridden over to see us with increasing frequency. His name was
Ralph Buckner, and he seemed to us to be a characteristic product of the
West--with his large frame, bluff manners, and frank, open countenance.
We all liked him, and the fact that he differed so much from the Eastern
men I had known perhaps caused me to show a greater interest in him than
I really felt. At all events, no girl was ever more genuinely surprised
by an offer of marriage than I was, when it came unexpectedly one day,
with that determination back of it to secure what he desired which was a
part of the man himself. I did manage to collect my senses long enough
to insist that I have time to think the matter over--for I had no idea
of marrying him; but, much to my surprise, father approved the idea from
the moment I told him of the proposal. Then it developed that Ralph had
already approached him on the subject. Father, poor dear, thought only
of my future and what he believed would be my happiness. It was so
evident that I held in my hands the solution of his most serious problem
that he never knew the misgivings I felt from the first. He could live
on at the ranch for the present, busying himself with the work which
kept him out-of-doors; then later, if he preferred, he could come and
live with us."

"Couldn't he see what a sacrifice it meant to you?" Alice asked.

"No, dear; you must remember that, in his way, Ralph was an attractive
fellow. He had been successful with his ranch; he was agreeable and
intelligent; his Western boldness, as it seemed to me, was at times
tempered with a certain gentleness hardly to be expected in a man of his
nature; and, all in all, he was a man to whom any girl could at least
give respect, and affection might come later. It meant settling down in
the West for the rest of my life, but this was inevitable, anyway. I
must forget the old friends and the old associations, and could I not do
this better with a husband's help than alone? I asked myself a thousand
questions and ended by deciding that I would marry him.

"It was a short courtship--delay was a word not found in Ralph Buckner's
vocabulary. We were married and began our life at his ranch, which, as I
say, was near enough to my father so that we could be in frequent
communication. He had been much concerned about me, having discovered
more of my homesickness for the East than I had realized, so to see me
well settled and apparently happy relieved him of a heavy load."

"But you weren't happy even at first," Alice insisted. "How could you
be?"

"I say 'apparently happy,' dear, for that was all it was. Ralph did what
he could for me in his own way, so at first it was perhaps my fault
that we were not more congenial; but his ways were not my ways, and I
kept looking for what was not there. He was well-born, but his life on
the ranch for so many years had dulled his appreciation of those finer,
innate qualities which every wife craves--he had forgotten how to be the
gentleman. Don't think that I expected the impossible, or anything
incongruous to the life we were leading; but there are little
attentions, thoughtful considerations and other things in a husband's
relation to his wife, trivial perhaps in themselves, which the wife
expects and misses if she does not receive--the more so, if she has
deluded herself into believing that the instincts for them are inborn,
and only require her suggestion to develop and bring them to fruition.
These qualities he had seemed to show before we were married, but they
proved to be only a veneer which soon wore off."

"Why do you bring this all back now ?" Alice asked, sympathetically,
seeing the lines deepen in Eleanor's face.

"I must tell it to you, dear--we have grown so close that I feel this is
all that remains between us. When you know this, we shall be sisters
indeed."

"We are that already and more," Alice urged. "Only think how near of an
age we really are."

"In years, yes; but sometimes I feel as if I had already lived
centuries."

"Will the telling of this take a few of those centuries from you?" the
girl inquired, smiling.

"I hope so; and that is one reason why I am asking you to share the
burden with me. All that I have told you so far has been unimportant
compared with what followed. Had it simply been a difference in
temperament, I have no doubt that I should have become accustomed to
the absence of these things I craved, and have adjusted my life to meet
the new conditions. But other and more serious difficulties soon arose.
With Ralph Buckner possession seemed to be enough. I have seen him
scheme for months to secure some high-bred horse or a fancy breed of
cattle, and after they became his property hardly care whether he ever
saw them again. So it was with his wife. Within six months he resumed
his fortnightly visits to Colorado Springs on alleged business, from
which he always returned worn out and ill-tempered. Until we were
married, I had no idea that his life on the ranch and his life in
Colorado Springs were so distinctly apart, but I was soon to learn it
with bitter clearness."

As the story progressed Alice could feel the increasing tenseness.
Eleanor had herself well in hand, but the occasional break in her voice
evidenced the strain.

"There was a so-called club in Colorado Springs whose members included
the wildest young men of the town and several of the younger ranchmen
who were able to stand the pace. In this Ralph was a leading spirit,
drinking and gambling with that abandon which was his dominant
characteristic. 'Buckner is a poor gambler but a good loser,' one of
them is reported to have said, but that only meant that Ralph succeeded
in concealing his real feelings until he reached home; for it was his
wife who received the full force of the reaction as his brain cleared
from the fumes of the liquor and he came to a realization of his
losses."

She paused and looked at her companion, and encouraged by Alice's rapt
attention continued:

"Our baby was born a year after we were married--"

"I never knew of that," the girl said, quietly.

"Don't," was the reply; "I can't go on if you weaken me by your
sympathy."

"Forgive me, dear Eleanor," Alice murmured.

"By that time every remnant of a tie which held us together had
disappeared. The child, however, was a real link, and for a little while
gave us something to think of besides ourselves. For a year, perhaps,
Ralph went less frequently to Colorado Springs, and I came to think that
we might possibly be able to continue our lives together for the child's
sake. But the novelty wore off from this new plaything, as it had from
the others, though it lasted longer than anything else ever had, and
then Ralph's absences from the ranch became more and more frequent and
of longer duration. I cared little for this, as it enabled me to take
Carina to my father's ranch, where I forgot for the time being the
emptiness of the home to which we must sooner or later return."

Alice glanced up tenderly. "Poor dear Eleanor," she said, softly; but
Mrs. Gorham went on without heeding:

"One day, when little Carina was three years old, we were visiting at my
father's. It was late in the afternoon, and we were playing some child's
game together when the door was suddenly thrown open and Ralph glowered
in at us, his face purple with drunken anger. Even the four-mile ride
had failed to sober him, and he leaned against the framework of the door
to steady himself. The child, startled by the sudden interruption and
terrified by the expression on her father's face, ran to me for
protection, burying her little face in my lap.

"'That's right,' he leered at her; 'that's what they teach you to do
here--make you hate your father, don't they? I'll give you a chance to
get acquainted with me.'

"Then he crossed the room and tore the child from my arms, in spite of
her shrieks of fear and our joint efforts to stop him. Even my father,
who did all he could, was helpless against the man's almost superhuman
strength. In a moment he had mounted his horse with Carina in front of
him, and was galloping at breakneck speed down the long trail which led
to our ranch. Father rushed to the barn, but I was there before him.
Between us we saddled the mare I had ridden so many times before I was
married, and I urged her forward to make up as much as possible for the
lost time. But I had not far to go--"

The recital proved too much for Eleanor, in spite of her efforts to
control herself. Her eyes filled with tears, and her body was convulsed
with emotion as she bent her head until it rested against her
companion's face.

"Don't, dear," urged Alice; "tell me the rest some other time."

"No, no!" Mrs. Gorham cried; "you must know it all, and then we need not
speak of it again. I had gone over less than half the distance when I
came upon them both lying in the trail. I never knew how it happened. He
told some one afterward that the horse stumbled. It may have been that;
it may have been anything with him in that condition. He had fallen at
the side of the trail and was conscious before I left him, but Carina
was--dead."

"Don't, don't go on--I can't stand it!" cried Alice.

Eleanor paused as if in response to Alice's appeal, but a glance at her
face showed that an emotion stronger than even the words had expressed
was holding her in its grip.

"Father was dead, too, when I returned," she said at last, her eyes
still gazing into space.

"The excitement killed him?" Alice asked, breathlessly, still further
shocked by the double tragedy.

"That and his anxiety over my unexplained absence."

"Your absence?" queried the girl, mystified by Eleanor's apparent
incoherency. "Didn't you just say that he was dead when you returned?"

Mrs. Gorham started violently. "What am I saying!" she cried,
involuntarily. In a moment she was herself again. "Yes, dear, of course
I returned; but not as soon as he expected, and the shock of it all
killed him. You understand, don't you? I was very ill, and a friend
helped me to a hospital in Denver."

"But you said you had no friends except the man you married," Alice
urged, trying to follow the narrative.

"Yes, dear, you are right," Eleanor replied somewhat confused; "but one
always finds friends when in trouble, you know. It was so with me, and
after I recovered my strength I lived on there in Denver with the small
legacy my father left me, supplemented later by a little more from the
sale of the ranch. A year after Carina's death I applied for a divorce,
on the ground of desertion. My lawyer found Ralph somewhere to serve the
summons on him, and reported him as having already become a professional
gambler and a confirmed drunkard. He made no defence at the trial, and I
have never seen him since."

"But it's all over now, Eleanor dear," Alice said, soothingly. "Daddy
and I will try to make up to you for what you have been through. You
must let us do that."

"You have done it already," Eleanor replied, feelingly, her temporary
obsession having passed. "You and darling little Patricia have become a
real part of my life, and my one prayer has been that I could do as much
for you. Your father restored my lost faith in men almost the first time
I met him in my lawyer's office in Denver."

"Yes." Alice accepted the tribute to her father as a matter of fact. "He
nearly killed himself in Pittsburgh before he gave up his business
there, and he went out West two or three times to get back his health.
And the last time he brought you back, too. I have always loved the West
for that."

Mrs. Gorham smiled as she continued: "I learned of his work from others
and from himself, and rejoiced to find a man with real ideals, in
business and in his every-day life, actually lived up to. I had no
notion of what that first chance meeting would lead to, of the home that
it would give me among my girlhood friends, filled with the love and
sympathy which my heart had always craved. Now you know the whole story,
Alice dear--now you know why the tears come sometimes to my eyes as I
press to my heart that quaint, precious little sister of yours, so near
the age Carina would have been, who softens the memory of the sweet dead
face by giving to it a living reality."

"I understand," the girl cried, throwing her arms about Eleanor's neck
and embracing her warmly. "I can't say the right thing now I am so
unstrung, but I love you even more than ever because you've let me
share it with you."

So they separated for the night--the woman's heart bleeding from the
reopening of the former wound, yet happier that her accepted confidante
had become acquainted with that part of her life which was consecrated
to a memory; the girl made older by the sudden drawing of the curtain
from one of life's daily yet unheralded tragedies.




VIII


Stephen Sanford arrived in Washington two days later. Little as the boy
realized it, his father's pride in his son was unbounded, and stood out
in marked contrast to the sterner elements in his character which had
combined in such fashion as to enable him to carve out a success among
and in competition with the sturdy, persistent business luminaries who
developed Pittsburgh from an uncouth bed of iron and coal into a great
manufacturing centre. His friends rallied him on his many indulgences to
his son, all of which he accepted in good part, with a uniform rejoinder
that, say what they liked, his son was going to be brought up a
gentleman.

Allen's boyhood was guided by private tutors, and so hemmed in with
conventions which even to his youthful mind were obviously veneers, that
it was with a positive relief that he welcomed the change from the
restraint of home to the freedom of college life. Yet the boy naturally
possessed inherent qualities which, while not leading him to drink too
deeply from the fount of wisdom, still kept him within lines which won
for him the affection of his fellows and the respect of his instructors,
even though his standing as a student was far below what the professors
thought it might have been.

During all this period his father followed his career with that same
care and insight which had characterized his own business success. He
was proud of the position which the boy took--proud of his ability to
mix well with his fellows; proud of his splendid run against Yale at New
Haven which placed the ball within striking-distance of the blue goal;
proud of his seat in the victorious eight at New London, and equally
certain that the other seven had not done their full duty when the shell
was nosed out by Yale at the finish on the succeeding year. If the boy
had missed getting his degree Stephen Sanford would have considered his
son a failure, but with the prized parchment actually secured--the first
in the history of the Sanford family--he cared little how narrow the
margin.

Yet Allen had passed through all these years without a suspicion of his
father's real feelings toward him. He was rebuked for his extravagances
each time he asked for money, yet a substantial check always accompanied
each rebuke. He was criticised for not making a better record in his
studies, and his success in other lines, it seemed to him, was always
accepted as a matter of course. He felt convinced that his father looked
upon him as a colossal failure, and he was too good-natured to quarrel
with this estimate of his abilities; yet with characteristic optimism,
he saw no reason to let this fact interfere with his every-day life and
the pleasures it offered him.

So Allen went to Europe soon after graduation and acquired further
experience in running a motor-car in England and on the Continent,
together with an increased familiarity with foreign scenery and the most
expensive hotels. On his return, he announced his desire to begin his
business career, more because that was what his classmates were doing
than because he was anxious to exchange the freedom of his present life
for the confinement of an office.

"You leave that to me," his father had answered, brusquely. "What you
don't know about business won't help you any in giving advice. You're
going into the diplomatic service."

Unfortunately for the smooth execution of Stephen Sanford's idea, the
whole country at this moment happened to be agitated over the discovery
that a member of the diplomatic corps at Washington had taken advantage
of his official position to secure plans and information, which he had
transmitted to a power unfriendly to America, but allied to the
government which he represented. The diplomat fled, ignominiously
disgraced; but as far as Allen could judge from the comment he heard,
his greatest sin was considered to be the breaking of the thirteenth
commandment, "Thou shalt not be found out."

All this prejudiced the boy unduly against diplomacy as a profession. In
his eyes the acts of this man were unsportsmanlike; and to Allen
Sanford, who looked upon a "good sport" as the noblest work of God, this
charge was the most serious in the category of crime. But his
expostulations and protests to his father were of no avail. Stephen
Sanford had made up his mind, and that was the end of it. Until he met
Alice, Allen had been more upset because his father still treated him as
a child than on account of any serious opposition to plans which he
himself had formed. He had never yet focussed himself upon any one
particular determination with sufficient strength to make his father's
objections other than an annoyance. But now, assimilating a part of the
girl's enthusiasm, and strengthened by the instant admiration which Mr.
Gorham commanded, he was determined to make a stand at this point,
taking the head of the great Consolidated Companies as his model, and
with lance in hand to charge the world just as he would have "bucked"
the Yale line. Even the undesired diplomatic position was apparently not
forthcoming; now he would not only make an effort on his own account,
but he would insist upon his right to do so. He did not know that the
real reason he had heard nothing from his father during these weeks was
because the positions which had been offered thus far appeared to the
older man too insignificant for his son to be able to accept with
dignity. As one of the Pennsylvania senators remarked, "Stephen Sanford
evidently expects his son to go to the Court of St. James."

With Allen in this mood, it was not surprising that the meeting between
father and son, immediately after Stephen Sanford arrived in Washington,
should have ended in a declaration of war. During the interview Allen
gave abundant evidence of his unfitness for anything which required
diplomacy; and his father, surprised to find in the boy a will as
unyielding as his own, and angered beyond expression by Allen's
opposition, lost all control over himself and stamped out of the house,
leaving his son behind, cast out forever from his affection, protection,
and support.

"Let the young cub starve for a while and he'll realize what his father
has done for him," he fumed. "Let him shift for himself and we'll see
how soon he'll come home to roost."

On he stamped along the street, his cane expressing upon the pavement
the anger which consumed him, but becoming less violent as he approached
the hotel where he had his appointment with Gorham. He must calm
himself, he urged, inwardly. He had acted in the only way he could, and
his old friend must not think he had been hasty or injudicial in the
position he had taken. He must be deliberate and self-possessed, as
Gorham himself would have been under the same circumstances. Then the
cane came down again on the hard pavement with a resounding blow. "Damn
Gorham!" he muttered; "damn all these smooth-mannered men who never lose
their tempers; damn everybody!"

"Come in, Stephen, come in; I'm glad to see you," Gorham greeted him as
he puffed into the apartment, almost exhausted by the double strain of
losing his self-control and his strenuous efforts to regain it. "I
didn't realize it was so warm outside. This is the most summer-like
October I have ever seen. Sit down and I'll have Riley mix you up
something cooling."

"No," commanded Sanford, "not a drop; I'm cool enough. I've been
hurrying, that's all. Haven't forgotten how fussy you are about keeping
appointments on the minute, you see."

Gorham laughed. "I must have learned the trait from you; but it doesn't
apply to an old friend like Stephen Sanford," he said. "Business is
business, of course; but you wrote me that you wanted my advice. There
are no minute appointments in friendship, Stephen. My time is yours."

"Thank you." Sanford was sparring for breath. "I haven't pestered you
much with my personal affairs, have I?"

"You couldn't 'pester' me with them, Stephen. If I can serve you I'll
be as glad to as you would be to reciprocate."

"Yes, yes." The visitor still employed monosyllables as far as possible
as his vehicle of expression, but he was mastering his emotion.

"Have you seen Allen?" Gorham asked, naturally but unfortunately.

Sanford sprang out of his chair and waved his arms wildly. "Why do you
try to stir me all up again ?" he cried. "Can't you let me get my
breath?"

Gorham looked at him amazed. "Has anything happened?" he asked.

"The young reprobate! I'll show him. I've cut him off without a penny,
Robert; do you understand--without a penny!"

"You've done what?" Gorham demanded, his face sobering.

"I'll show him that he can't make a monkey out of his father. You've
seen him, Robert. You know what an obstinate, headstrong cub he is.
Wants to go into business, does he? Thinks he knows what's good for him
better than his father does, does he? I'll show him. He can go to the
devil now--that's where he can go."

Gorham knew better than to interrupt Sanford until his tirade was spent.
He watched him pacing up and down the room; he noted the twitching of
his features, the clenched hands, and the violent color in his face.

"You're taking chances to let yourself get worked up like this,
Stephen," he said, quietly, at length. "You and I are growing older, and
our systems won't stand what they used to."

Sanford stopped abruptly. "That's what he's counting on, the ingrate.
I've spent my whole life building up those furnaces and making money so
that he might be a gentleman. Now he throws it all over, and he thinks
I'll shuffle off in one of these spells; but I'll fix him. Not a penny
of my money shall he get--not one penny."

"How has Allen disgraced himself? Has he been stealing, or is it forgery
or murder?"

"You--you," Sanford sputtered, "you dare to suggest that my boy would
disgrace himself! You--you--"

"Sit down, Stephen, and calm yourself," Gorham laughed. "No one could
think of a less heinous crime than I have suggested, judging by your own
arraignment of the boy. How can I help you unless you tell me what has
happened?"

"I'm an old fool to let you string me so, but I'm all used up."

"And the boy has been a young fool and proved himself a chip of the old
block--how is that for a guess?"

"So you're going to take sides with him, are you?"

"How can I tell until I know the circumstances ?"

"He won't do what his father tells him," Sanford explained. "That's the
situation in a nutshell."

"Good! Now you are becoming communicative. So you've cut him off because
he won't do what you tell him?"

"Yes--the young reprobate. How he ever broke into my family is more than
I can understand."

"You're sure your way is better than his, are you, Stephen?"

"Of course I am. Aren't you?"

"I don't know what your way is any more than I know Allen's, so I can
speak without prejudice. I just wanted to be sure that you had given
both sides of the question sufficient consideration to be certain of
your position. It's a serious thing to send your own son adrift,
Stephen."

"He's my son, isn't he?"

"I judge that he has proved that."

"Would you let a son of yours lead you around by the nose?"

"No; nor would I condemn a high-strung colt to the bone-yard because I
couldn't put a bridle on him the first time I tried."

"H'm!" Sanford ejaculated. "It's the women who don't have children who
always attend 'mothers' meetings.' Of course you know just how to handle
a son."

"If you hadn't thought I had some ideas, I don't suppose I should have
had the pleasure of this interview."

"Then you think he ought to be allowed to go into business?"

"This proposition seems now to have become of secondary importance. The
main issue is whether or not a boy twenty-three years old is to be
allowed to express his ideas when they differ from his father's. Allen,
apparently, has settled the matter without any advice from either of
us."

"You don't know what that boy is to me." Sanford's voice broke a little
in spite of him.

"I can imagine," Gorham replied, feelingly. "I know what he would be to
me if he were mine."

"He's all I have in the world, Robert. I've had to be father and mother
to him. I've given him the best education money could buy, I've sent him
to Europe to get that foreign finish every one talks about; and now he
won't do what my heart is set on."

"If the boy wants to go into business, why don't you make a place for
him in your own concern? That's where he ought to be--to take the
responsibilities off your shoulders, one by one, and to continue your
name."

"Put Allen in my furnaces?" Sanford demanded, his choleric attitude
beginning to return. "How can you make a gentleman in my furnaces? Do
you suppose I'd buy a twenty-thousand-dollar painting and hang it up in
the cellar? No, sir; I mean to make something out of that boy better
than his father is, and that isn't the place to do it. But in the
diplomatic service they're all gentlemen--that's why I want to put him
there."

"And if you can't have your own way you prefer to lose the boy
altogether?"

"Oh, he'll come back, the young cub. He'll see which side his bread is
buttered on. It'll be a long time before he can earn the five hundred a
month I give him for an allowance, and he knows it. He'll be back."

"I'm not so sure," Gorham said, seriously.

"You don't think--" Sanford began, showing signs of alarm.

"Would you in his place?"

"That's nothing to do with it; he's only a boy."

"Did you--in his place?"

Sanford looked up quickly. "I had more cause," he replied. "My father
was unreasonable; his isn't."

"Allen's ideas on that subject may differ from yours. Now, if you want
my advice, here it is: Go back to that boy. Tell him you're ashamed to
have lost your temper, and advise him to guard against that greatest
weakness which his father possesses. Tell him you want him to go into
the diplomatic service for a time to gratify your ambition for him, but
that if, after the trial, he prefers business you will stand right back
of him and get him started. Tell him, as you have just told me, that he
is all you have, and that he must make certain sacrifices for your sake,
that he must bear with your weaknesses and profit by your points of
strength. But, above all, make him feel that you believe in him, that
you're proud of him, and that you've been a fool to make such a
humiliating exhibition before him as you did this afternoon."

The gathering storm in Stephen Sanford's face did not deter Gorham from
finishing his remarks. He knew that his old friend had seldom, if ever,
had the truth spoken to him as unreservedly as now; but he had been
asked for his advice, and he proposed to give it.

"You--you--" Sanford choked in his rage. "So that's what you think of
me, is it? It's worth something to know that. Knuckle down to that young
cub and have him putting it over me for the rest of my life? What do you
take me for? I'll see him starve first. Why should you undertake to
advise me about my boy--"

"Chiefly because you asked it, Stephen."

"Well, I don't ask for it any more. With all your experience you're not
competent--"

"Should I have shown greater competency if my advice had agreed with
your own ideas?"

"Don't try to juggle with words, Robert. It's all off between the boy
and me, understand. I'll paddle my canoe and he can paddle his. When
he's ready to use my stroke he knows where my landing is. And now
good-day to you. 'Bear with my weaknesses, eh?' 'Humiliating
exhibition.' Good-day, I say." And without giving Gorham the opportunity
to do so he flung open the door and stamped out into the corridor to the
elevator, his cane keeping time with the tumult of thoughts which surged
through his brain.

Gorham watched the unyielding back of his friend until he turned the
corner, then he closed the door.

"Poor old Stephen," he sighed to himself. "If I had only been blessed
with that boy."




IX


Allen had ample opportunity to act the part of the hydra. When his
father left him after their stormy interview the boy utterly failed to
realize the seriousness of the situation. The "pater" had been angry
with him before,--if the truth be told, he was usually angry with
him,--so the fact that the altercation this time had been more severe
than usual was a matter simply of degree. The cutting off of his
allowance was a tangible evidence that his father was more than
ordinarily angry; but, on the other hand, Allen felt himself to be the
aggrieved party, and in a virtuous burst of righteousness he declared to
himself that he "didn't want the pater's money, anyway." He considered
it fortunate that it was still early in the month, and it did not occur
to him to consider the rather handsome balance he still possessed as too
tainted to retain; but as he looked at it the upshot of the whole matter
was that now he would be forced to go into business at once--and this
was his strongest desire since he had met Alice. So Allen "hiked it" to
New York, and spent a fortnight seeking out the opening which should
best offer him the opportunity to become a captain of industry with the
least possible delay.

In the mean time, Covington had returned to Washington to assist Gorham
in putting through a government contract for the building of the new
battleships just authorized by Congress. He found his chief gratified by
the continued advance of the Companies' interests, but still more
impressed by the personal responsibility which this success entailed.

"I repeated the cable from Brazil to you by wire," Covington remarked.

"Yes; the Consolidated Companies now controls the coffee output of the
world. With the economies which we can introduce in production and
handling there will be a saving of about twelve millions a year."

"That will be a handsome addition to the dividends already assured the
stockholders," Covington observed.

"Only a drop in the bucket compared with what is to come," Gorham
assured him. "The people can now save six millions a year on their
breakfast cup of coffee, while the Consolidated Companies may
conscientiously drop the other six into its own cup by way of
sweetening."

"You don't really mean that you are going to throw away all that
profit?" was the incredulous inquiry.

"I'm not going to 'throw away' any of it."

"I know," Covington said, quickly; "but six millions is a large sum of
money, and one million given to the public by way of lower prices, if
properly advertised, would accomplish the purpose just as well."

Gorham looked at him critically. "You're not serious, are you?"

"As serious as you are." Covington smiled understandingly. "This is man
to man now, you know; that other talk is a great card for the Companies,
as you give it. Of course it isn't necessary to give away so large a
share of the savings."

"Not necessary, but just and--good business," replied Gorham. "This is
where you and I and the others in the Companies can reap our richest
dividends: we can take the tremendous profits which we are receiving
with the gratifying knowledge that every dollar we get is clean, and
represents an equal sum saved to the people. No one of us has made an
unfair penny out of the promotion; no one of us has improperly used the
information which has come to him while negotiating our consolidations;
there is no act of ours, individually or officially, which will not
stand the fullest publicity. What other corporation can make that boast,
Covington? The most baneful influence which corporate power conveys is
that it blinds the eyes of those possessing it to all except their own
single, selfish purpose; that it dulls their hearts so that every beat
takes them farther away from humanity, and that it hardens their hands
until they can feel nothing but the gold which they clasp to their
breasts. They have thrived upon special privilege just as we are
thriving, but see the difference. In our hands this weapon, which has
previously been turned against the masses, is being made an advantage to
them and not a menace, and yet a profitable enterprise for those who
wield it. I tell you, Covington, when this double purpose can no longer
be served, the Consolidated Companies must cease to exist."

"Splendid!" exclaimed his listener, with undisguised admiration. "This
is the first time I have personally had the opportunity of listening to
that irresistible appeal which has given the Companies the most
remarkable list of stockholders in the world. But tell me--how much of
that saving are you really going to give back to the public?"

"Your jest is ill timed," Gorham replied, sternly. "I do not choose to
have even you make light of so serious a subject. Let us have no more of
it."

Covington retreated behind the inexpressive barrier of his superbly
controlled features, but the coldness of his eyes showed his resentment.

"As you wish, Mr. Gorham," he replied, as they separated, and he
directed his steps toward the hotel.

"Does he think me a fool?" he said, petulantly, to himself. "Why should
he always hold himself above the rest of us? I'm working for the
Companies just as he is, and there is no reason why he should try that
bluff with me. 'When this double purpose can no longer be served the
Consolidated Companies must cease to exist.' Bah! I can see the shearing
ahead of us as well as he can, and he won't gain anything by trying to
assume the role of the Almighty, leaving us to be the wicked partners."

He showed no evidences of his ruffled feelings when he reached the
hotel. Alice was expecting him, but she was in ignorance as to the
nature of his errand.

"We are to have our first lesson this morning," he announced.

"First lesson in what?" was the surprised inquiry.

"In business and finance," Covington enlightened her, smiling. "Your
father has given me the privilege of helping you manage your first
business enterprise. A part of one of the concerns recently assimilated
by the Consolidated Companies is a prosperous mail-order department
which we intend to continue, for a time at least. Your father's
instructions are that all the mail shall be brought to you each morning
by a stenographer, who will receive your dictation and bring the
letters back to you in the afternoon for your approval and signature.
For a time I will give you such advice as you need, and later you will
have matters entirely in your own hands as long as you wish to remain
manager of the department. How do you like the idea?"

"It is perfectly splendid," Alice cried, her eyes sparkling. "When am I
to begin ?"

"I will explain some of the details to you now," Covington answered,
drawing a package of papers from his pocket. "You must make yourself
perfectly familiar with these, and we will take the business up
seriously when you return to New York."

"Why did father do this?" the girl demanded, suddenly.

Covington was surprised. "Isn't it something you wanted?" he asked.

"More than anything else in the world, but father never seemed to
realize it. If I can only do something to help, and feel myself
accomplishing no matter how little, I shall be the happiest girl in the
world."

"Others who are not so wholly engrossed have seen what you wanted, Miss
Alice. Perhaps you have them to thank in part."

"I do thank you, Mr. Covington, and it is good of you to take all this
trouble to teach me how to do it," she said, gratefully. "I know how
valuable your time is, and how much it must interfere with your work to
gratify this desire of mine which probably seems foolish to you all."

"Such an experience is of value to any girl, but especially to you who
are in the dangerous position of being threatened with large interests
to look after; and as for me, I shall consider this as one of the
pleasantest of my daily duties."

"You and father are so good to me." Alice held out her hand impulsively,
after grasping which Covington spread out the papers on the table
preparatory to the first lesson. The girl watched him, all eagerness,
then suddenly she laughed aloud and clapped her hands.

"Won't Allen be surprised when he hears that I've gotten my position
before he has his?"

"Allen?" queried Covington, looking up from his papers.

"Yes, Allen Sanford. Do you know him, Mr. Covington? He's a friend of
mine and I'm very much interested in him." Then she paused and her face
sobered. "Perhaps I ought to let him have this chance," she mused. "He
offered to share his chances with me."

"Do you mean Stephen Sanford's son?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

Covington smiled, and for some unexplainable reason the girl did not
like his smile.

"We could hardly accept the substitution, Miss Alice. I understand that
the boy is erratic and irresponsible. His father has just disinherited
him."

"You don't mean it!" Alice cried, really concerned over this first news
of the result of Allen's interview with his father. "That must have been
yesterday. I wonder why daddy didn't tell me."

"Your father's mind is pretty full with his own affairs, Miss Alice,
without taking up Mr. Sanford's."

"But I must see Allen and help him--he will need my inspiration now more
than ever."

"Shall we begin on our first lesson?" Covington asked, watching the girl
carefully.

"Please do," she said. "I wonder if woman's part is to give inspiration
even after she is the manager of a business," she said aloud, but to
herself rather than to her companion.

"It is always woman's part to give inspiration," assented Covington.

"I must ask Eleanor," the girl said. "Please show me the papers, Mr.
Covington," she continued, turning to him with her mind at last centred
on the new proposition. "Your pupil is all attention."

       *       *       *       *       *

Alice saw Allen just before he left for New York and also immediately
after his return, and the two interviews were interesting in their
diversity. In the first, Allen made light of the trouble between his
father and himself, and was so filled with confidence as to the results
of his approaching visit to the metropolis that the girl's anxiety was
much relieved.

"The pater is all right, Alice," he said; "he just doesn't understand
me, that's all. He's done everything in the world for me and I'm more
grateful than he realizes; but I can't let him keep tying on my bib, can
I? Now I've got to show him that I'm a man too, and then he'll come
around all right. I'm going over to New York to-night and I'll tell you
all about it when I come back. I'm not afraid of being turned down.
You're a girl and you'd be mortified to death if any one turned you
down, but with us men it's different. You remember what I told your
father--and I meant it. Watch me do the hydra act until I get located,
and then--well, then I'll start a branch mail-order department and push
you off the map, Miss--Manager."

When he returned Alice welcomed him full of anticipation.

"What have you gone into?" she demanded.

The boy's eyes fell as they met hers. "Well"--he hesitated--"I haven't
gone into anything. I guess Mrs. Gorham is right about New York being a
hard place to get started in, and I can't exactly claim to be a
'finished product' yet, can I? You see, they all knew I was Stephen
Sanford's son, and they were as nice to me as could be. They asked me up
to dinner, and then I knew it was all off for getting a job. The heads
of big concerns don't ask their office-boys to their homes to meet their
families, you know. But I'm not a bit discouraged. I'm going to find
something if I have to tear a hole in the road chasing it."

A few evenings later Allen called again upon the Gorhams. It would have
been apparent even to those less observant than Alice and Eleanor that
something had happened, for the boy's face glowed with suppressed
excitement.

"I think I've found a job," he announced, scarcely waiting for the
formality of greetings. "I'm not sure, but I want to talk it over with
you."

"What is it, Allen?" cried Alice, expectantly.

"It's a whole lot better than it sounds, I'm sure. I'm afraid you'll
laugh when I tell you. It's selling books."

"A book agent!" Mrs. Gorham exclaimed.

"There! that's just what I was afraid of." Allen's expression showed
mingled distress and despair. "It really looks like a corking good
chance, yet it's a ten to one shot that I'll be laughed out of taking it
before I begin."

"Don't mind what I said." Mrs. Gorham hastened to atone for her
involuntary exclamation. "I suppose it can be a perfectly honorable
occupation, but I can't help thinking of some of the experiences my
friends have had. Tell us all about it."

"Eleanor and I would be the last ones to discourage you," Alice added.
"I think it's fine that you have gotten as far as this."

Allen's drooping spirits revived at once, and he beamed at Alice
gratefully.

"I've simply got to get more experience," he said, emphatically. "Mr.
Gorham told me that most of the best companies have no time to develop
their own material, and I've made up my mind definitely that I'm going
to do my own developing right now; and when I've polished up the
material until I can see my face in it, I'll apply again to Mr.
President, and say, 'Here I am, all developed--now will you give me a
job?'"

"Splendid !" cried Alice, clapping her hands. "Now tell us what you've
found. Where is the book-shop?"

"It isn't in a book-shop at all," Allen replied, his assurance again
beginning to wane. "It's just what Mrs. Gorham called it."

"Oh," the girl remarked--"going around from house to house?"

Allen nodded his head. "But think of the experience I'll get, Alice," he
insisted. "The directions say, 'If the man of the house is at home make
some excuse and call again'; but with my usual luck he's sure to see me
first, and then I'll go out on three legs. I suspect the material will
get polished all right. But the talk that man gave me to learn is
certainly straight from Persuasionville. Honestly, I'm tempted to buy a
set of the books myself--only tempted, mind you; and so far I've
resisted. I'd like mighty well to try it on you before I take any
chances."

Alice and Mrs. Gorham exchanged glances as Allen busied himself untying
a small package he had brought with him. In the girl's face there was
deep concern, but Eleanor found it difficult to conceal her amusement.

"There!" said Allen, triumphantly producing a thin booklet. "Here is the
brochure, as they call it, and here are the rules of the game. You take
the instructions, Mrs. Gorham, and correct me if I go wrong, and I'll
try to sell a set to Alice."

The boy endeavored to cover his consciousness with a broad grin.

"Isn't this great!" he asked.

"How did you find this chance?" Alice queried, still a little doubtful
as she seated herself in preparation for the experiment.

"Saw an advertisement in the _Star_--' Agents make one hundred to five
hundred dollars a week,' it said, and from what the man at the office
tells me there isn't any chance to lose--except, perhaps, for the fellow
who buys."

"What are the books?" inquired Mrs. Gorham.

"Travel books," Allen answered, promptly; "the _Home Travellers'
Volumes_. Great title, isn't it? Of course they're not meant for people
who really travel as you do, but for those who stay at home. You'll see
in a minute. Are you ready, Mrs. Gorham?"

"All ready," was the reply, as she held the leaflet of instructions
where she could follow.

Allen squared himself for his maiden effort.

"I have been requested, Miss Gorham, to give you this beautiful
brochure which describes the _Home Travellers' Volumes_. This is one of
the many color-plates which adorn the work." Allen skilfully held the
pamphlet so that the pictures could be seen. "These wonderful volumes
supply to those who cannot leave their homes all the pleasures,
benefits, and entertainment of travel in foreign lands. Do I turn a page
yet?" Allen appealed to Mrs. Gorham.

"Not yet," she replied. "It says, 'Here open your prospectus and turn to
the first color-plate.'"

"But I did that. You saw it, didn't you, Alice? Oh, yes, I remember. You
learn how the people get about in different countries and cities; as,
for instance, the jinrikisha in Japan." Allen turned the page.

"Did you do that hurriedly?" asked his coach.

"Do what hurriedly?"

"The directions say, 'Turn page hurriedly.'"

"I'll remember that. Now I will show you how Morocco is treated. Great
Scott! I've forgotten how many pages to turn! Here it is! Look at it
quick, Alice, before I forget the next! The author tells us that the
natives have such a hatred for Christians that they refuse to use these
splendid bridges. The Moors--"

"Wait," interrupted Mrs. Gorham. "It says here, 'Emphasize the pictures
by pointing to the bridges.'"

"All right--consider those bridges pointed to, Alice. The Moors are
intellectual mummies." Allen carefully turned two pages, and encouraged
by a nod of approval from Mrs. Gorham proceeded. "Why, Miss Gorham, if a
Moor happens to sit down upon a tack he doesn't curse or swear or rail
at fate; he simply murmurs, 'It is written,' and carefully replaces the
tack for some other Moor to sit on."

"It doesn't say that," Alice protested, laughing.

"Well, if it doesn't it ought to," insisted Allen, taking the
instruction sheet from Mrs. Gorham's hands to prevent Alice from
satisfying her curiosity. "You're not supposed to read the instructions,
you know. You are just to sit there entranced while I do this monologue
act--you're not even expected to ask questions, as any indiscretion such
as that is apt to make the agent lose his cue. Your part comes at the
end when I give you a perfectly good little piece of patient paper,
which you may spoil any old way you like so long as you sign your name
or make your mark--all of which you will discover in due time if you
follow the professor closely and learn his habits."

Alice and Eleanor were convulsed with laughter over Allen's antics, but
the boy soon sobered down and again assumed his dignified demeanor.

"Please observe, Miss Gorham, these endless aisles of arches which form
part of three miles of stables built by Mulai Ismail, the tyrant sultan.
He was a superb horseman. It is said that he was able in one graceful
movement to mount his steed, draw his sword, and neatly decapitate the
slave who held his stirrup--"

"You are reciting that, Allen," Mrs. Gorham broke in.

"I know I am. Isn't that right?"

"No; it says, 'Commit the following to memory absolutely, but appear to
read it.'"

"Oh, sorrow! After spending all that time to learn this, I have to spend
some more time learning to remember that I have remembered. Isn't it the
awful stunt!"

"You're doing beautifully," Alice encouraged, laughing; "but it's a
shame to waste it all on an audience of two. Why don't you make a
vaudeville turn out of it?"

"There you go asking questions again," protested Allen, "which is
strictly forbidden by the rules." The boy wiped the beads of
perspiration from his forehead. "Honestly, you've gotten me so rattled
that I don't know whether what comes now is 'low tone' or 'pass the next
picture and come back to it.'"

"It is 'low tone,' Allen," Mrs. Gorham prompted.

"Thank you; now watch me make a noise like an innocent cooing dove. The
idea is just this, Miss Gorham: the _Home Travellers' Volumes_ not only
enable you to see and to enjoy the familiar sights and scenes which the
average tourist meets, but hundreds--nay, thousands--of curious and
wonderful customs and things which the average tourist never gets the
chance to see. The real illusion of travel is spread about you, the
thousands of photographic reproductions carry you along comfortably and
irresistibly, and the whole wide world is at your feet. It is absolutely
essential that you should know something beyond the narrow confines of
the city or town in which you live. Successful people acknowledge this
to be a fact--and who wouldn't be a successful people? Would it not be
pleasant, my dear Miss Gorham--surely by this time I may say 'my dear
Miss Gorham'--to be able to talk with confidence and almost human
intelligence about the curious manners, customs, and costumes of foreign
lands? Why, of course it would--and how else can you obtain this ability
in so inexpensive, easy, and agreeable a way as by subscribing for a
set of the _Home Travellers' Volumes_?"

Mrs. Gorham and Alice greeted this climax with applause, but Allen
sternly checked them with upraised hand.

"No flowers, please, until after the contract is signed. I have already
learned, during my brief career as an agent, that no widows or orphan
children are fed or clothed by the empty, though well-meant, plaudits of
an enthusiastic populace. And now, my dear Miss Gorham--for you are
still very dear to me--this is the beautiful full Persian Levant
binding, hand-tooled in French gold, which I am permitted to offer you
at three times what it is worth. If you have more money than I think you
have, we will bind up a set specially for you for just that amount. If,
on the other hand, your financial resources have been overestimated here
is another binding at half the price which is exactly as good, but which
is prepared for just such an emergency. I leave it entirely to you to
say which of the three it shall be. Could any proposition be fairer or
more generous?"

"But suppose--" Alice began.

"I beg your pardon," Allen stopped her; "the patient in the
operating-chair is not allowed to suppose. Here is a little piece of
paper and an easy-flowing fountain-pen. This is where you place your
name and address for the delivery of the volumes."

"But that is a contract blank, Allen," remarked Mrs. Gorham.

"I know it is, but you have no right even to think such a thing. Alice
mustn't sign it right off or it won't be any practice. What do the
directions say?"

Mrs. Gorham turned again to the paper in her hand. "'If the prospective
customer should hesitate, withdraw the order form for a moment and
proceed.'"

"Please go on--that's as far as I've learned."

"'In the _Home Travellers' Volumes_ you have the opportunity to gain
that broader view of things which a knowledge of the world alone can
give you. Here you have all the pleasures and benefits of travel with
the trouble left out. Now I am sure you agree with me upon the great
value of travel--and agreeing on this point, you must agree with me on
the value of this great work.' Here offer the order form again and say,
'Just put your name and address down here, and in a few days you will be
off on one of these delightful journeys, and every member of your family
can enjoy it with you.'"

"There!" exclaimed Allen, proudly. "Did you ever see a surer thing than
that?"

"Are the books really valuable?" Mrs. Gorham asked.

"That really hasn't a thing to do with the proposition," replied Allen;
"it's the talk you buy, and the books are thrown in."

"But you're not going to take this up, are you, Allen?" Alice inquired,
anxiously.

"Don't you want me to? You know they say Fortune is bald on the back of
her head, and if you let her once slip past you there's nothing left to
grab hold of."

"It isn't what I want, Allen; but what could it lead to?"

"To the Consolidated Companies," he whispered, furtively. "I am bound
and determined to show your father that I am good enough to be annexed,
and to do that I've got to have some experience. Can you think of
anything which would be apt to give a fellow more experience?"

"May I make a suggestion?" Mrs. Gorham asked. "I think it is a very good
idea for Allen to undertake this, now that he has considered it
seriously. He wants to follow your advice, Alice, and do something. Here
is the first opportunity which offers, and I think he ought to embrace
it. I should be glad, however, if he would promise us to try his first
experiment on Mr. Gorham."

"Gee!" ejaculated Allen.

Alice divined Eleanor's real thought instantly. "Splendid!" she cried.
"That shall be the condition. If father falls a victim, your later
success is certain."

"And what if he doesn't?" Allen asked.

"Perhaps you'll go out on three legs," she suggested, mischievously.




X


Covington returned to New York several days before the Gorhams left
Washington. To the casual observer, who might meet him even daily, no
change would have been apparent in the smoothly working accurate human
machine which found its exercise through his personality. His face never
showed an emotion other than that which he wished to have seen there;
the mouth, that most treacherous feature, was protected by his heavy
mustache, which in turn merged its identity in the dark Vandyke beard,
into which all expression retreated at the command of its owner; his
gray eyes, cold in the metallic steelness of their shade, penetrated the
object upon which they fixed themselves, reading the characteristics of
others, but yielding nothing in return. His forehead was high,
accentuated by the thinness of his face, but suggestive of strong mental
capacity; and the straightness of his nose evidenced the strength of
will which had done much to give him his present reputation as a
business man.

But behind this impassive exterior much was happening. It was not so
great a change as it was an expansion of something which had always
existed. Covington had made his mark before Gorham discovered him. The
older man's attention had been attracted to him by the chain he had
developed of over six hundred separate retail stores, all dealing in
the same commodities and each one an individual business success. Gorham
watched him post his sentries at different street corners in the city he
was testing to determine the density of the traffic, finally selecting
the location where the crowd passed most steadily all day.

"I am never fooled by the noon-hour crowd," Covington confided to him;
"they spend all their time eating lunch. I always keep away from streets
where there are banks--after three o'clock in the afternoon you'll find
as much retail business in the morgue."

Gorham saw him rent whole buildings in order to get the particular
corner store he wanted, and then organize a real-estate business to
handle the rental of stores and offices which he could not use. He saw
him arrange his show-cases and goods in such a manner that customers
easily found what they wanted, were served promptly, and departed
satisfied, to return again. He studied Covington's system of turning
over each new store to a chief clerk to be operated on a percentage,
thus giving him all the dignity of a proprietor and stimulating him to
his maximum activity. Promotions were accomplished by transferring the
clerks from smaller to larger stores, which automatically raised their
salaries by the increased volume of business on which to draw their
percentage. Gorham listened to the instructions Covington gave them in
governing their relations with customers--original, forceful, and
sane--and then he witnessed in various stores the practical
demonstration and the results. This same genius, he reasoned naturally,
applied to a similar chain of large concerns, would enable Covington to
exercise his ability almost to an unlimited extent, and Gorham succeeded
in convincing him that it was worth while for him to join in the
development of the Consolidated Companies, turning over the retail
amalgamation to his chief subordinate. One by one the master mind
brought the varied corporations into line; one by one, with equal though
different skill, Covington completed the work which his chief had begun.
Between them they succeeded in filling the positions made necessary by
the growth of the Companies with efficient and enthusiastic
subordinates, so that each time the chain was let out to admit another
link the welding was accomplished without weakening the strength of the
whole.

Covington had never from the first sympathized with Gorham's altruistic
policies except as a means to an end, nor did he for a moment imagine
that Gorham himself had adopted them for any other reason than their
intrinsic business value. The whole scheme of the Consolidated
Companies, when first unfolded before him, appealed to his appreciation
of business cleverness, and he instinctively recognized Gorham as his
master. During the few years they had been associated in the same
corporation, Covington had seen his chief's genius demonstrated in
organization and administration as well as in conception, and he had not
been slow to take advantage of the lessons he was given such ample
opportunity to learn. He had expected this demonstration, but, with a
consummate confidence in his own ability to assimilate, he had also
counted on gradually lessening the gap between Gorham and himself. Here
it was that he had made a mistake, for during this same period the
development of the older man had been far greater than his own.
Covington to-day was, perhaps, as able a business man as Gorham had been
when the Consolidated Companies was born, but Gorham in the mean time,
by sheer display of extraordinary genius, had become an international
figure. The business relations between the two men were closer than
ever, but never once was there any question as to which was the master.
Covington would not have been Covington had he not resented this;
Covington would not have been Covington had he not succeeded in
concealing this resentment from all the world.

With the knowledge that he could not hope to share with Gorham upon
equal terms in the control of the Consolidated Companies, there came to
him a realization of the necessity of strengthening himself on every
possible side in order to be prepared to take advantage of the first
opportunity, whatever that might be or whenever it might come, to alter
the present relations. His marriage to Alice would be a step of prime
importance, but this alone was not enough. As Gorham's son-in-law he
would still be his subordinate, and Covington's nature demanded an
opportunity to stand at least on a basis of equality with his present
chief, sharing with him the arrogance of the prerogatives and the
absolute autocracy now assumed alone by Gorham in dominating the policy
of the business.

In Covington's opinion, Gorham was carrying the principles upon which
the Consolidated Companies was based beyond all reason. The corporation
had passed the experimental stage, and now possessed ample strength to
take advantage with safety of its unique position. Gorham was right, he
admitted, in his idea that public necessities ought to be reduced in
price when once controlled by the Companies. The public approval and
general confidence which this established were of distinct value, but
there was absolutely no reason for continuing to give the public so
large a share of the saving. It was not so much the amount that was
saved as the fact that a saving was actually accomplished which served
to advertise the Consolidated Companies. Gorham's real motive could be
only to strengthen his personal prestige. Several of the other directors
shared this conviction with Covington, and he made it his business to
discover just where each one stood against the time when this
information should serve him in good stead.

The executive offices of the Consolidated Companies occupied an entire
floor in one of the most spacious buildings on Broadway, yet to a casual
visitor they gave little indication of the vast power which centred
there. The rooms were substantially furnished, but everything evidenced
a restraint equal almost to the conservatism which is so distinguishing
a mark of the old-established English houses. This was an expression of
Robert Gorham's individuality, and the Companies itself reflected it in
its modest exterior appearance as in all other features, emphasizing the
one influence which held together and amalgamated into a composite unit
the many factors which necessarily formed the integral parts.

Gorham's ideas of business management were scientific, and his first
step, after absorbing a new concern, was to have the principles of
science introduced. He insisted that the workman should be supplemented
by close co-operation on the part of the management in laying out his
work for him in advance; by showing him how to eliminate unnecessary
motions; by teaching him to make every portion of his work, however
simple, a scientific performance; by studying his own individuality to
the extent of assisting him to correct methods which militated equally
against his own highest efficiency and the obtaining of the highest
efficiency of the machine he operated; by bringing him to a realization
that traditional knowledge of his specialty was a lower grade of skill
than that knowledge gained by modern scientific study.

On the other hand, he undertook to correct faults of administration as
well as inefficient methods of execution, demonstrating to each manager
the cash value to the Consolidated Companies of this close co-operation
with his workmen. It was shown that greater product was to be obtained
from workmen who performed their tasks under conditions which tended to
make them happy and contented, which gave them opportunities to advance
themselves to points marked only by their personal limitations; where
they could maintain their self-respect and with his help increase it, in
that they could hope to become the most skilful operatives in their
particular specialties, and to earn higher wages than any employer could
afford to pay under other conditions. With every machine, human or
mechanical, running each day at its maximum degree of productivity,
Gorham knew that the corporation could well afford to share its largely
increased income with those who had co-operated to secure it; and the
workmen could not begrudge their employer the augmented profits, since
they not only had received their share, but because they knew that the
increase was the result of the efforts of the management quite as much
as their own.

Throughout the offices themselves was to be found every equipment which
modern ingenuity had devised for shortening the processes of daily
routine, and of eliminating or reducing to a minimum the details which
so clog the wheels of any large enterprise unless properly systematized.
Every man exactly fitted the position in which he was placed, and the
machine moved forward with an accuracy and a force which was
irresistible. The same casual visitor would have noticed this had he
been at all observant, and could not have failed to admire the precision
which marked every business incident, however trivial.

Shortly after Covington's return to New York the Companies' offices were
honored by a visit from Mr. Andrew Harris. The caller asked that his
card be taken to Mr. Covington, and as it bore a pencilled memorandum
that his business was important and confidential, he was ushered into
the private office of the acting head of the Companies. Mr. Harris
seemed deeply interested in studying the appearance of the man he had
come to see--so much interest, in fact, that Covington resented his
scrutiny and inquired the nature of his business.

"Excuse me," Harris said, quickly; "I came to talk over the proposed
merger of the New York street railways."

"Then you doubtless wish to see Mr. Gorham," Covington replied. "That is
a matter which is wholly in his hands. He is at present in Washington,
but will be here within a week."

"Are you not at least partially familiar with the details?" Harris
inquired, apparently unmoved by the news of Mr. Gorham's absence.

"I could scarcely say that I am unfamiliar with them," Covington
admitted; "but the idea of the merger was Mr. Gorham's, and he is
naturally in closer touch."

"Do you object to talking things over with me a little?" Harris asked.
"There may be some points that I know more about than Mr. Gorham."

Covington nodded acquiescence, though somewhat in the dark as to the
object his visitor had in mind.

"In the first place," Harris began, adjusting himself in his chair, "let
me say that I am a director in the New York Street Railways Company,
which is the largest of the present organizations which are eventually
to be consolidated into the Manhattan Traction Company. The franchise,
as you doubtless know, has already been put through the Board of
Aldermen, and the only question now remaining is whether it is to be
turned over to certain gentlemen in New York who originally planned to
complete the deal, or to the Consolidated Companies."

"Mr. Gorham has, I believe, advanced to those interested very logical
arguments to show that the Consolidated Companies could engineer the
amalgamation to the distinct advantage of the various roads," Covington
suggested, as his visitor paused for a moment.

"He has," Harris admitted. "There is no doubt in anybody's mind that
what he says is right; the roads and the stockholders would be
distinctly benefited--but how about the directors? That is the question
I came here to have answered."

"It is a question which Mr. Gorham must answer."

Harris subjected him to another careful scrutiny. "Perhaps so," he said,
at length, "but I should like to get your opinion on the matter. You are
one of the directors, I understand."

"I had an idea that Mr. Gorham had already answered that question to
Mr. Brady, and that there was enough in the deal to satisfy every one."

"There is enough for every one," assented Harris, with decision; "the
only question is how it is to be divided. We all supposed that we were
to become stockholders in the Consolidated Companies, in which case we
should have gained something at both ends; but Gorham evidently changed
his mind about that, which leaves us nothing but the original rake-off."

There was something in Harris's manner which annoyed Covington, yet he
did not suggest cutting short the interview.

"Who are the parties involved?" he asked, more to say something than
because of any real interest.

"Well"--Harris became reflective--"there's Collins, who put the deal
through the Aldermen; he can't expect any more than we've already agreed
to give him. It cost him a pretty penny, but he'll double his
investment--we can leave him out. Then there's Brady at Tammany Hall;
nothing can be done without him. Gorham's idea seems to be to pay him
his price on this job, take a receipt, and cut loose from him; but if
Brady was a stockholder in the Consolidated Companies he would prove a
mighty useful one. Then there are two other directors in the New York
Street Railways Company who feel as I do--that we ought to see something
more coming to us out of this deal than just the profit on our stock."

"Is the opportunity to become stockholders in our corporation the
'something more' you have in mind?"

"Yes," Harris assented; "but it doesn't end just there. We have a little
scheme of our own in connection with this transaction which is worth
money, and we could put it through easier if we were on the inside.
More than this, it would save the Consolidated Companies something in
the long run."

"You have secured an option on some link in the chain and you're going
to hold up whoever tries to put the deal through until you get your
price," Covington stated, flatly.

"We have options on three links," Harris replied, frankly, showing no
surprise at the accuracy of the other's intuition.

"Can you make more out of it if we get the franchise?"

"Naturally, since the Consolidated Companies will have unlimited
capital. If we were stockholders in the Companies, we could afford to
make the terms easier, because there would be less trouble and expense
in putting it through."

"Does Mr. Gorham know all this ?"

Harris laughed. "Well--hardly. I haven't met Gorham, but from what Brady
tells me this isn't in his line."

"Then why do you give me the information? Frankly, I don't think it will
help you with Mr. Gorham."

"He isn't going to know anything about it."

Covington smiled at the assurance Harris displayed. "I have not
committed myself to protect you," he said.

"Quite right, quite right," assented Harris; "but I'll take my chances.
Now I'm going to tell you the rest of it. As I said, Collins got the
franchise from the Board of Aldermen. Brady is a director in the New
York Street Railways Company, so he keeps Tammany all straight for us.
Our company, being the largest, was to be used as the basis of the
consolidation, and the original small roads were to turn themselves
over to us for nine hundred and ninety-nine years, we to assume their
bonded indebtedness, and, besides this, agreeing to pay from eight to
eighteen per cent. dividends on their stock issues. After these payments
our company was to keep the surplus earnings."

"And these surplus earnings would be enough to make it worth while?"

Harris laughed. "Sure," he replied; "the bond total of the smaller
companies is about one hundred million dollars and the stock total only
four million dollars. What's eight or even eighteen per cent. on four
million dollars! In fact, the weak point is that even with the watering
we intended to give the stock after we got it, the profits would still
be so big that the public would notice."

"There should be no difficulty in fixing that," remarked Covington,
sagely, amused by the frank confidence extended to him in spite of his
warning.

"The only difficulty is in selecting the means," Harris continued. "Now,
Brady and two other directors and I have secured options on three short
lines which are essential integral parts of the system, and it was
understood, before the Consolidated Companies came into the field, that
the new company would purchase these from us at a handsome profit. In
fact, we four are a majority in the Board of Directors. When Gorham
first talked about it Brady laughed at him, for the thing seemed to be
as good as pulled off; but the more Brady thought it over, the better he
liked the idea. Our plan was to unload the stock on the dear public,
letting the new company last as long as it would, and be satisfied with
our profits; but Brady thinks that Gorham's scheme means success for
the company as well, and naturally we would prefer to have a continuing
profit rather than one which ceases when we deliver the goods. Lately
Gorham has been talking more with the other directors and with some of
the big stockholders, ignoring Brady; so I just called to make sure that
we stood in on the profit on the short lines, as originally intended."

"How much profit would there be in the short lines for you four
directors?" asked Covington, interested to see how far he could get the
man to commit himself.

"A half-million apiece."

"H'm!" Covington soliloquized. "It doesn't look quite so certain to you
since Gorham began to get next to the other directors and the big
stockholders, does it?"

"They've got to have the short lines, and whoever gets them must pay our
price."

"Yes; but in one case it goes through without any public demonstration,
and in the other it leaves a smudge on each one of the four which you
would be glad to avoid."

"Exactly," assented Harris.

"Well," Covington said, deliberately, "I don't think you can pull it
off. As a matter of fact, since you have been so confidential, I may say
that Mr. Gorham is convinced that there's something crooked, and that is
why he dropped the idea of having Brady and some of the others become
stockholders. We have to maintain a high standard in the Consolidated
Companies, as you can easily understand."

Harris looked at him sharply. "Perhaps the standard is higher among the
stockholders than on the Board of Directors," he suggested.

"I don't quite understand you," was the cold reply.

"We want some one of the directors to steer this thing through for us,"
Harris said. "That's the real milk in the cocoanut."

Covington rose from his chair. "I think it is time to terminate our
interview."

"Sit down, sit down," Harris insisted. "You and I have a mutual interest
in this matter, and we've only just touched on it."

The man's effrontery amazed Covington, but before he could answer Harris
continued:

"I understand that Mr. Gorham is somewhat particular about the men he
has around him, and you stand in pretty close. Now he probably doesn't
know yet that you have been picking up blocks of New York Street
Railways stock, and that you plan to clean up a big slice for yourself
when this merger is put through."

Covington's face preserved its calm expression, though his smile seemed
forced.

"So the object of your visit is blackmail?" he said. "You will fail in
this, as you will also fail in your effort to force Mr. Gorham's hand.
You have been misinformed--I have bought no stock."

Harris took a package of papers from his pocket and selected a single
sheet on which were written certain figures.

"I was afraid it might be a little hard to convince you that we had the
goods on you," he remarked. "Those are the numbers of the certificates
you hold, and here is the total number of shares. Pretty good-looking
list, isn't it?--and it's worth a lot of money."

"These mean nothing to me," Covington insisted. "I repeat, I do not own
a share of stock in the New York Street Railways Company."

"No, but your stool-pigeon does. Why, bless your heart, not one share of
that stock has changed hands these last twelve months without being run
down by Brady. Had to do it, you know, to make sure our deal would go
through. Brady owns that man who bought the stock for you body and soul.
Now, how does it look to you, son? Will you come with me and talk with
Brady, or shall I see the virtuous Mr. Gorham and show him what you've
been doing on the side?"

Covington's face was as impassive as ever when he turned again, looking
his companion straight in the eye.

"You won't do it?" Harris asked, surprised. "Better think--"

"I shall be very glad to see Mr. Brady with you," was the unexpected
answer.




XI


The Gorham residence was located on Riverside Drive near Grant's Tomb,
commanding a superb view of the Hudson River in both directions. The
massive stone house stood well back from the street in the midst of an
extravagant amount of land for a New York city home, and the high wall
protected a beautiful garden, in the use of which the whole family took
much pleasure during the spring and fall. Thither the Gorhams returned
after their sojourn in Washington, glad to exchange their cramped
quarters at the hotel for the home comforts which they found there.
Alice was full of her new business responsibilities and eager to assume
charge of her "department"; Mrs. Gorham, restored to her home city and
her early friends by her present marriage, looked forward to an
enjoyable "season"; Patricia and her beloved pony were reunited; and
Gorham himself, flushed with the continuing success of his gigantic
enterprise, plunged more deeply than ever into its manifold
transactions.

The remaining member of the family--for such he always considered
himself--was old Riley. Servants might come and servants might go, but
Riley the faithful was always to be found in his appointed place,
occupied by his appointed task. New York was the only home he
recognized, since, in addition to being "Misther Robert's" place of
residence, it also connected him with the one tie in life beyond his
devotion to his master and his master's family. This was an only son who
had risen by degrees to be a pressman in a local printing-office and,
which was more to the point, had become a political power in his
particular ward. Riley's interest in his son was far greater than any
reciprocal sentiment manifested by the younger man. Occasionally the
father ventured to look up his famous offspring, but was always received
with a patronizing indulgence; and when he returned to his own
insignificant duties, it was with a sense of gratitude for the reflected
greatness.

After one of these rare treats, every member of the family could read in
Riley's face the degree of cordiality with which the old man had been
received; so when, one afternoon a few weeks after their return to New
York, he lingered after giving Mrs. Gorham the evening paper in the
garden, she noted the expression of expectancy and turned from her
conversation with Alice to gratify his unspoken desire to be questioned.
As a matter of fact, Eleanor had reproached herself for complaining of
Riley to Mr. Gorham, and this was an opportunity to make amends.

"You haven't told us about your call on James last night, Riley. How did
you find him?"

"Fine, ma'm, fine," he replied, straightening up as he realized that his
opportunity had arrived. "Jimmie is th' great man, ma'm, if I do say it
as hadn't orter."

"Splendid, Riley!" exclaimed Eleanor, glancing at Alice with amusement.
"It is a fine thing to have our children do us credit. What new honor
has come to James ?"

"I don't know where he gits it, ma'm, tho' his mother was a smart
woman, but he's th' clever la-ad, ma'm; indade he is."

"Do tell us about it, Riley," Alice added, entering into Eleanor's
spirit; "we are all impatience."

"He's th' clever la-ad," Riley repeated, still rolling the sweet morsel
under his tongue. "He's th' comin' man in New York politics, I'm
thinkin'," he mused. "Mebbe he'll be an aldherman yit. Wan iv his
ancistors in th' ol' counthry was a game warden wanst--mebbe Jimmie will
be an aldherman yit."

There was no use trying to hasten the old man, and his auditors were too
familiar with his peculiarities not to give him his own time. This was
food and drink to his present craving, which during all these years he
had found so little opportunity to indulge. The successes which he had
enjoyed were won by those for whom and with whom he labored. Here was
the hope of a triumph, on the part of one of his own flesh and blood,
which must reflect its brilliancy upon himself. Suppose Jimmie should
some day become an alderman! No wonder that the old man lingered in his
narrative!

"Ye see, ma'm," Riley continued, "Jimmie is th' man th' big fellers give
th' money at 'lection time, an' it's all lift ter him where he puts it.
All that responsibility is his, ma'm, an' that makes him quite a feller
hisself. Th' other men in th' ward sorter looks up ter him, ma'm. An'
thin agin, Jimmie is th' fine speaker an' quick wid his thinkers, ma'm.
That's why I think he'll be th' great man soon."

"It's a fine thing to be given responsibility, Riley, and it's a great
thing to be trusted," Eleanor humored him; "but it is even more valuable
to be a fine speaker and quick with one's 'thinkers.' Has James had
much opportunity to show his ability as an orator?"

"He has, ma'm, as I was just a-goin' ter tell ye. Jimmie come near
makin' a mistake two years ago. Th' Republicans offered him more money
ter come over ter their side an' Jimmie done it. Thin, later, he seen
his mistake an' th' Dimocrats seen theirs, an' Jimmie come back ter his
old roost. Some iv thim who didn't know the true innards iv th'
situation blamed Jimmie, an' at a meetin' th' Dimocrats held--crocus, I
think he called it--some iv them started ter hiss Jimmie when he begun
ter spake. Th' man at th' desk, whatever title he has, thried ter stop
'em, but Jimmie was quicker than any iv 'em. He jumps up on a chair,
Jimmie does, an' waves his arms theatrical like, an' cries out good an'
sthrong, 'Don't mind 'em, Misther Moderator (that's what they call that
feller at th' desk), don't mind 'em, Misther Moderator--as another
gintleman wance said, they know not what they do.'"

"Did James know who the 'other gentleman' was?" asked Mrs. Gorham, with
difficulty suppressing a laugh.

"He may have, ma'm, but I'm not sure," Riley replied, honestly. "Me an'
th' ol' woman allus thried ter bring Jimmie up wid a knowledge iv th'
Scripters, an' I'm hopin' he did know; but I ain't shure, ma'm."

As Riley disappeared into the house Eleanor rose and, drawing Alice's
arm through her own, the two resumed their leisurely stroll about the
garden.

"I wonder if Riley has forgiven me for marrying your father," Eleanor
queried, laughingly. "He looks upon 'Mr. Robert' as his personal
property, and I really believe he has always resented my presence as an
intrusion."

"Pat is the only one who can make him stand around," Alice admitted;
"but, seriously, I think he looks upon you as a real addition to the
family. That's a proud position for you to have attained in four years."

"I hope you are right," Eleanor laughed again. "Without Riley's
approval, peace in the Gorham family would be impossible. Now tell me
what you are thinking over so seriously. I've been on the point of
asking you ever since luncheon."

Alice looked up quickly and smiled brightly.

"Am I serious?" she asked. "I didn't realize that I became thoughtful so
seldom as to have it attract attention; but, since you ask, I am
wondering how my business experiment is going to work out."

"Mr. Covington is an able instructor, and I feel sure that his pupil is
a proficient one."

"Isn't it good of him to give me so much time! He hasn't missed a
morning since we returned. Oh, it's wonderful to listen to him, he knows
so much about things; and it all seems simple enough after he explains
it. He is very patient with me, even though I know he thinks I'm awfully
stupid."

"He doesn't seem to find the task irksome," suggested Eleanor.

"That's because he thinks so much of father," the girl explained. "He
has told me a lot I never knew about dear daddy, and it makes me love
him more than ever. Mr. Covington says there isn't a man in the world
to-day equal to father; and, of course, I know he's right, but it's
pleasant to hear some one else say it."

"How do you like Mr. Covington as you become better acquainted with
him?" Eleanor asked.

"Very much," Alice replied, sincerely; "no one could help it. Next to
daddy, he's the finest man I know."

"Do you think you could become very close friends?"

The girl laughed merrily. "What a funny idea!" she exclaimed. "It takes
two to become close friends, and a man in his position could never have
a friendship with a girl my age--especially when he has this opportunity
to learn all my shortcomings. I should be very proud of a friend like
Mr. Covington."

Eleanor feared to disturb matters by further questioning. All seemed to
be progressing favorably in the direction which her husband desired,
and, as he said, Covington was undoubtedly able to handle the situation
himself. Mrs. Gorham had watched the "lessons" from the corner of her
eye, and had seen much which had evidently escaped Alice.

"I'd like to ask you a question." Mrs. Gorham looked up quickly at the
abruptness of the girl's sudden remark. "You are the only one I can go
to when I don't understand anything; but Mr. Covington told me to think
it over and keep what he said entirely to myself. He couldn't have meant
me to keep it from you, could he?"

"You are the best judge of that, dear. Has it to do with yourself?"

"Not exactly--it has to do with my property: the money my mother left
me, you know."

"Why should he interest himself in that?"

"As a surprise to daddy--to show him how rapidly I am becoming a
business woman."

"I think you had better talk it over with your father," Eleanor said,
decidedly. "He can advise you far better than Mr. Covington."

"Oh, no; that is the very thing I mustn't do. That would spoil the
whole thing. Mr. Covington knows of a stock which I could buy which will
double within two months, and father will be delighted when he sees how
cleverly I have invested the money."

"But you can't do anything with that money without your father's
permission."

"Yes, I can; Mr. Covington has looked it all up. I have full control
over it now that I am eighteen. All I have to do is to sign a paper
which he will bring me, and he will do the rest."

Mrs. Gorham was thoughtful for some moments. "Mr. Covington would
certainly take no chances with the girl's money," she mused. "I wonder
what Robert would think of it." Then aloud, "Did he tell you what the
stock was?"

"Yes; but you mustn't breathe it. You don't think I'm betraying a
confidence, do you? He was so emphatic about my thinking it over by
myself; but he couldn't have meant not to tell you, dear. It is some
stock in a street railway here in New York which he thinks he can get
hold of. Wouldn't it be fine to double my money! But I must promise not
to tell daddy how I did it--just surprise him with it."

"I don't know what to advise you, Alice," Eleanor said, doubtfully.

"It must be all right, for Mr. Covington knows," the girl insisted;
"that's why daddy has him come to teach me. But I shall think it over
very carefully, as he asked me to." Alice threw her arms impulsively
around Eleanor's neck and kissed her, laughing happily. "We business
people have to consider these problems very deeply," she said, dropping
her voice. "I will tell you in the morning what I decide."

A heavy step upon the gravel walk announced Gorham's arrival. Greeting
them affectionately, he placed one arm about the waist of each and
turned from one to the other, looking silently into their faces. "My
inspirations," he exclaimed, smiling; and as Eleanor glanced
triumphantly at Alice, the girl realized the force of the words the
elder woman had spoken in an earlier conversation. Here--in them--rested
that power which stimulated the execution of affairs of which the whole
world talked!

"I have news for you," Gorham said, turning to Alice. "Mr. Allen
Sanford, late chauffeur, is now the right arm of the Consolidated
Companies."

"Do you really mean it!" she cried, transferring her caresses to her
father. "Have you actually given him a chance? Oh, I'm so happy about
it!"

"I really mean it," Gorham replied, laughingly, amused by the girl's
enthusiasm; "and by doing so, I presume I have incurred the eternal
enmity of one Stephen Sanford."

"How did it happen, Robert?" Eleanor inquired, hardly less pleased than
Alice.

"The boy has some promising stuff in him," was the reply. "He has more
to get over than most youngsters have; but his very impulsiveness,
properly controlled, may prove an asset. The young rascal almost sold me
a set of the _Home Travellers' Volumes_, and with all his amateurishness
he showed a good deal of skill, and an unlimited amount of imagination.
I've wanted to give him a chance ever since Stephen threw him over, and
now I'm going to do it."

Alice became serious again after her first outburst. "Who is going to
teach him?" she asked.

"Experience will be his best master," Gorham replied, surprised by her
question.

"Don't you think I could help him by showing him some of the things Mr.
Covington has taught me? He needs an inspiration more than any one I
know."

"No; I do not think so, young lady," he said, shaking his finger at her
playfully. "If I am any judge of human nature, he would teach you more
along certain lines than I care to have you learn just yet."

Alice flushed. "How absurd!" she pouted. "Allen could never interest me
in that way. Why, he's only a boy. When I marry, daddy, my husband must
be a man lots older than I am, just as you are older than Eleanor. He
will have to be older, to have had time to accomplish all he must have
done, if I am to respect him; and there couldn't be love without
respect, could there? How perfectly absurd! Why, Allen is--just Allen!"

"Of course, my dear; I was only teasing you--and the man who wins you
must have accomplished a whole lot more than you demand in order to
satisfy me. So that problem is settled, and we'll wait for the Knight
Adventurous who dares attack our citadel."

Alice stooped and picked a gorgeous dahlia, upon which she fixed her
still averted gaze.

"I only wanted to do my part," she said, apologetically. "Allen is
dreadfully alone in the world, now that his father has gone back on him.
I think I am the only one who understands him."

"Your father is but joking, Alice," Eleanor reassured her. "You and
Allen are now business associates, and it will be your duty to help
each other, all for the advancement of the great Consolidated
Companies."

The girl looked up brightly. "That's right," she said; "business
associates always do that, don't they? Now I'll leave you to yourselves
until dinner-time."

With an understanding glance at Eleanor, Alice ran up the terrace steps
and into the house. Mrs. Gorham repeated to her husband the girl's
conversation and added her own interpretation of the situation,
carefully avoiding any mention of Covington's proposition, which was the
one subject upon which she would have preferred to talk.

"She is growing up too fast, Robert," she concluded. "We must make her
play more and forget the responsibilities which she insists upon
assuming."

"She's in safe hands," Gorham replied, smiling. "Keep her young as long
as you can, dear, and when she has to grow up, even to your mature
years, help her to be just such another woman as yourself. Covington
gives me glowing accounts of her progress in the little scheme which you
so cleverly suggested. He seems to think her interest is more than a
mere whim, but I can't believe it."

"She is a strange girl in some ways," Eleanor replied, "and we must
watch her carefully just at this crisis."

"I don't intend to have young Sanford step in and upset my plans,"
Gorham insisted.

"You had better go slowly, dear, and let her work out her own future,
guiding her quietly without her realizing it. Allen will have to win her
respect before you need to consider him as a possible obstacle. Their
interest in each other just now is so natural and unaffected that I
should be sorry to disturb it. Each one can be a real help to the other
without any danger of the complication which you fear."

"They are both at the inflammable age," persisted Gorham; "it is just as
well to guard against uncertainties."

Eleanor smiled. "We are all inconsistent, aren't we, dear? We were so
exasperated with Stephen Sanford because he would not allow Allen to
express his own individuality, yet we are almost ready to interfere with
the development of Alice's. All seems to be progressing exactly as you
wish it. The child's admiration for Mr. Covington is supreme, and with
Alice that is the first step. Then their daily intercourse ought to give
ample opportunity for settling the question your way. But if it proved
finally that her happiness was dependent upon her marrying Allen, or any
other one of her admirers, you would be the first to urge it--wouldn't
you, dear?"

"Of course I should," Gorham admitted; "but I can't consider any
alternative. Admiration and respect are all very well as far as they go,
but they are no guarantee when a good-looking, impulsive youngster is
concerned."

"I know, dear," Eleanor continued, quietly. "A man came into my life
once whom I admired and respected with all my strength, yet I never
loved him."

Gorham paused abruptly and looked at his wife with the same strange
expression which she occasionally noted upon his face.

"You never loved him?" he repeated.

"No, dear. He was a noble character, and he once did me a great service,
but I never loved him. With Alice my one fear is that she may mistake
respect for affection, and with her nature such an error would ruin her
life."

"Some time you must tell me about him," Gorham insisted, still reverting
to her chance remark.

Eleanor's face sobered. "Some time I will, but not now. It is all a part
of that memory I am ever trying to forget--a bright lining to that heavy
cloud. Some time, dear, but not now."

"Suppose I have a little chat with Alice before dinner," Gorham said,
changing the subject abruptly. "The child must not think that I am
neglecting her. I must make her realize how proud I am of her."

"Do," Eleanor replied. "I will follow you in a few moments." She sank
upon a convenient seat as her husband disappeared indoors. Here, half an
hour later, still communing with the early twilight as it deepened into
dusk, Alice and her father found her, when they came out from the house,
arm in arm. Who shall say what spring the words unconsciously released,
conjuring up before her unwilling mental vision a picture of the years
gone by? Who shall explain the apprehensiveness which came unbidden,
causing known certainties to be forgotten because of the disquieting
questionings which demanded an unanswerable reply.

"I have dropped my flower!" Alice exclaimed, as she searched up and down
the walk.

"There are plenty more right beside you," suggested her father,
surprised.

"I must find this very one," she insisted, with an expression on her
face which Eleanor understood. "Flowers have personalities just as we
have--and perhaps their joy in life is in giving inspiration, too."




XII


Whenever a full realization of the fact that he had actually embarked
upon a business career came to him, Allen was completely overpowered by
his sense of its importance. He blessed books and book agents, since
they had been the indirect means to this much-desired end. His chance
had come to him just when his optimism had begun to waver, with the
hydra's heads multiplying beyond belief; and he proposed to show Alice
especially, and Mr. Gorham incidentally, that he was no mere callow
youth idly waiting by the wayside. There could be no doubt whatever
regarding his intentions, but a captious critic might have suggested
that it would have been the part of wisdom to allow himself ample time
for demonstration. Rome was not built in a day, nor does history record
that youth ever acquired the experience of ripe middle age in a like
space of time; but Allen's instructors at college would have given
testimony that he was not strong in history. So it was that he bruised
his head frequently at first against the stone wall of precedent and
practice, in this particular instance made less yielding by the fact
that the vice-president of the Consolidated Companies distinctly
resented his addition to the office force.

These first busy weeks were giving Allen ample opportunity to gain
experience. The impetuosity of youth would require time before it became
tempered to the degree which would make it wholly reliable; but his
enthusiasm, his indefatigable energy, and, above all, his absolute
belief in and loyalty to the head of the Companies and the corporation
itself were elements of genuine promise. There were moments which tried
the patience, but Allen's mistakes were so much the result of
over-eagerness and consequent over-reaching that Gorham's annoyance was
always short-lived. Even the errors gave evidence that underneath the
boyish irresponsibility lay excellent material for the elder man to
mould.

"Once upon a time"--Gorham put the words in the form of a
parable--"there was a boy who was ambitious to jump a very long
distance. On the day of the contest, in order to make sure of
accomplishing his purpose, he took an extra long start, and ran so hard
that when he reached the mark from which he was to jump he had spent his
strength."

Stephen Sanford had not disappointed Gorham in the attitude he took when
he first learned that Allen had been given a position with the
Consolidated Companies. The letter which he wrote to his old friend
contained accusations of the basest treachery which one man could show
toward another: Gorham had deliberately planned to separate father and
son; he had discovered the boy's rare business qualifications and taken
advantage of them for his own personal ends. The act was in keeping with
the basis upon which his whole company was founded. Gorham's good-nature
was taxed to its utmost, but he fully realized how deeply his old friend
was wounded; and the knowledge that his own interest in Allen was in
reality a genuine service to Sanford himself served to blunt the force
of the attack.

Allen, oblivious to everything except the present opportunity to prove
himself to Alice and to be near Alice, plunged ahead until Gorham was
forced to change his words of caution into actual commands.

"You are trying to put the head of the wedge in first, my boy," the
older man told him. "You are using twenty pounds of steam to do the work
of two, and that does no credit to your judgment."

Covington was negatively antagonistic from the start in that quiet,
skilful way which kept his animosity from any specific expression. Allen
felt it, and reciprocated the feeling with an intensity not lessened by
the knowledge that Covington and Alice were thrown together almost daily
by this business arrangement which seemed to him the height of
absurdity. He did not approve of the business manners which the girl
delighted to assume with him when they chanced to meet, and he watched
for an opportunity to tell her so.

As the opportunity seemed slow in coming, with characteristic energy he
made one to order. Gorham required some important papers which he had
left at his house the night before, and the boy so arranged his arrival
that he had the pleasure of seeing Covington depart, although he himself
was unobserved. He found Alice deep in the mysterious detail of her
growing responsibility, but not at all disturbed to be discovered at her
work. The desk which had been placed in her father's library was as near
a duplicate of his in reduced size as could be found. A bunch of letters
covered one end of it, while a neatly arranged pile of checks directly
in front of her showed that the contents of her mail had proved
profitable. She told Riley to bring Allen here, and the boy stood
regarding her for a moment before she looked up.

"Don't let me disturb you, Miss--Manager," he said, loftily, as he
caught her eye. "We magnates become peeved by interruptions--I always do
myself."

Alice laughed as Allen unlocked the drawer in Gorham's desk and placed
the desired papers in his pocket.

"Isn't it fun?" she asked, merrily.

"Isn't what fun?" was the unresponsive reply. "I haven't burst any
buttons off my waistcoat watching you and Mr. Covington do the
turtle-dove act while I drag out a tabloid existence in a two by twice
hall bedroom, and stay tied down to my desk all day. Where does the fun
come in?"

The girl looked at him in complete surprise. "What in the world--" she
began.

"Oh, I mean it--every word!" he insisted. Now that he had plunged in
there was no retreating. "I say, are you going to marry him?"

"I'd be angry with you if you weren't so terribly amusing, Allen," she
replied, smiling again after the first shock of his outburst. "Truly,
you don't know how funny you are when you try to be serious. It doesn't
fit."

Allen bit his lip. "I'm a joke still, am I?" he asked, without looking
at her. "I thought it was the pater's prerogative to consider me that,
but I see he didn't get it patented."

"Is it being a 'joke' when you ask questions which you have no right to
ask?"

"If you knew how I feel inside you'd think I had a right."

The girl relented a little. "You know as well as I do that Mr. Covington
comes here simply to help me in my business education."

"Business fiddlesticks!" he interrupted, crossly. "You're not engaged to
him yet, are you?"

There was so pathetic a tone of entreaty in Allen's voice that Alice
could not deny herself the pleasure of being mischievous.

"Not to him alone," she answered, demurely.

"What do you mean?" Allen demanded, now thoroughly alarmed.

"Don't you think it is better for a girl to make a number of men
comparatively happy by being engaged to them than one man supremely
miserable by marrying him?"

He looked at her aghast. "Who are some of the others?" he asked, with
despair written on every feature. "Is Joe Whitney one of them?"

"Joe Whitney!" Alice laughed merrily. "Mercy, no! Joe is entirely
without resources. If it wasn't for his family troubles, I shouldn't
know what in the world to talk to him about."

Allen began to be suspicious. The girl's manner was far too flippant to
be genuine, but he would not for the world give her the satisfaction of
knowing that she had worried him.

"If you have so many, why can't you add me to the list?"

"You? Oh, that would never do! You would be sure to think I meant it,
and the first thing I knew you would try to make me marry you."

"Of course I should. Don't you want to be married?"

"Marriage is an institution for the blind," she laughed back at him.

"Then that's where I want to be confined."

Alice sat up very straight. "Then you had better run right along and
find your guardian," she urged. "We business women have no time for such
trifles."

"So you shirk your responsibility, do you?" Allen looked at her so
reproachfully, and spoke with such quiet firmness that she ceased her
bantering.

"What responsibility am I shirking?" she demanded.

"Me; I am the greatest responsibility you have, and you are neglecting
me shamefully."

Alice gave evidence of becoming amused again, but he gravely checked
her.

"For once I am serious, if you can be made to believe it. When we met so
accidentally in Washington--well, I was a joke then, I admit; but it's
different now. You gave me some new ideas to think about, and the more
I've thought about them the more I've seen things your way. And ever
since then I've tried hard to do what I thought would please you. But
now I'm sick of the whole thing. It may be all my fault; but, anyhow, I
wish I were well out of it."

"Why, Allen Sanford!" Her voice showed astonishment and reproach.

"I do," he insisted. "I'd give a whole lot right now if I knew that I
never had to go back to the office again."

Alice was genuinely shocked. "I can't understand you," she said,
soberly. "If you had felt this way at the beginning, I shouldn't have
been so much surprised; but now, just when you are getting to a point
where you could be useful to father and to yourself, you begin to show
the white feather."

"You mustn't say that, Alice," the boy replied, quickly, his tone
showing that she hurt him. "It isn't quitting; it's a question of
whether or not I am fitted for business--but you mustn't say that I am
showing the white feather. I shan't let even you say that."

"Father says you are making a splendid start." She tried to atone in
part for her severity. "That ought to mean a lot to you, for he is a
hard man to satisfy."

"Did he say that?" Allen replied, temporarily mollified. "That does mean
a whole lot to me; but it's all your doing, and you must take the
responsibility. Good or bad, I'm your business creation, and you must
stand by it."

"No, Allen; you mustn't put it that way. You settled the matter for
yourself when you took the stand you did with your father. Of course I'm
more than interested to see you make good, but it isn't for me to accept
either the responsibility or the credit."

"We never should have had that scrap if it hadn't been for you. I
shouldn't have had the nerve."

"Oh, don't say that," she begged.

"It was a good thing all right," he hastened to reassure her. "Except
for that, I should still be wearing pinafores, and it's as much better
for the pater as it is for me to have shed them. I'd probably like
business all right if I understood the blamed thing; but it isn't the
whole show, you know."

"Isn't the business end enough?" she asked, quietly. "It is for me. I
can't tell you how much real pleasure I'm getting out of this little
scheme father has turned over to me. It makes all the other things
which I had tired of seem more interesting."

"Business is all right, of course," he admitted. "You don't get much
idea of it just going through those letters, but the real thing is the
biggest kind of a game you ever saw. It's a finesse here and a forcing
of the opponent's hand there, but it can never be the whole game with
me."

"It ought to be. You have your chance right before you now, and you
ought not to need anything else to urge you on. Just think, you've got
to make good to justify your own position and to keep daddy from having
made a mistake."

The boy rose from the arm of the great chair on which he had been
resting and advanced to the little desk behind which Alice sat. With his
hands on the end, he leaned forward until his face was near hers,
looking straight into her eyes.

"Perhaps I don't need anything else," he said in a low, firm tone, "but
it wouldn't be honest not to tell you that the same something which I
had in mind before I started in business has been there ever since. The
game is enough in itself, of course, if that's all it can be. But don't
you see what a different proposition it is when a fellow sees a dear
girl's face ahead of him in the distance just beyond each obstacle which
he has to meet? Don't you know how much better you always play a game
when there's something up on it?"

Alice was plainly disappointed. "But you are playing for high stakes
always, Allen; there's success for the winner and failure for the
loser."

"With a big side wager in the dear girl's face just ahead," he added.
"I've got to keep that hope in my heart, Alice, to help me to make good
quickly; even though you tell me not to, I can't help it. Why, I have
done it so long that even if I knew this minute you were going to marry
that Covington person, I believe I'd keep right on--hoping to get a
chance to be your second husband."

This was too much for the girl's equilibrium, and she laughed in spite
of herself. She failed to sense the personal side of Allen's
declaration. He was developing, and this to her was only a phase.

"You are simply impossible," she replied; "but we might as well
understand each other right now. I have no idea of marrying any one.
Perhaps some day I shall change my mind if the man comes along who is
enough stronger than I am to sweep away all the objections."

"Does Mr. Covington seem likely to be that man?" Allen asked,
pertinently.

"I have no more idea of marrying him than he has of marrying me," Alice
stated, flatly. "I admire him extravagantly. He is a self-made man--"

"The good Lord must be pleased to be relieved of that responsibility,"
Allen interrupted, ill-naturedly.

"You mustn't be so prejudiced against him," she reproved him. "He is one
of the ablest business men in New York--daddy has told me that--yet, out
of respect to my father and kindness to me, he is giving me more of his
time, I know, than he can spare. I am very grateful to him."

"Well"--Allen started to take his departure--"we don't seem to have made
much progress; but, at any rate, you know where I stand. I shan't buy
any crêpe until I receive the wedding cards, and in the mean time"--he
bowed very low--"please don't overlook the fact that yours truly is your
greatest responsibility, and one which you can't shake off."

Standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs, Allen discovered a
figure militant awaiting his descent. Patricia was indignant and
excited.

"Hello, Lady Pat!" cried Allen. "What's happened?"

Patricia stamped her foot. "Alice is a naughty, naughty girl," she
cried, with tears in her eyes. "I don't love her any more."

"Tut, tut." Allen sat on the lowest step and soothed the child. "Alice
is all right."

"No, she isn't," Patricia insisted. Then she pulled away from him and
again stood very straight, immaculate in her white frock. "I've been
listening up-stairs."

"Oh, ho!" Allen shook his finger reproachfully. "Was that a nice thing
to do?"

"It was my duty," the child responded, impressively. "I always do that,
and I heard what she said; but I will make it up to you."

"That's awfully good of you, Lady Pat."

"You may kiss me." She held her face forward, with her hands still
behind her.

Allen drew her into his lap. "There's one for the lips, and one for each
eye, and one for each cheek," suiting the action to the word. Patricia
worked herself free.

"Now we're engaged," she announced. "You may marry me as soon as you
like."

Allen concealed his amusement. "I can't marry you because I've made a
vow to marry Alice, and it would never do to break a vow, would it?"

"But if the lady won't marry you, then you are released from your vow,"
Patricia explained, showing perfect familiarity with the laws of
chivalry.

"Not until she marries some one else," he corrected.

"That's all right," the child assented, cheerfully; "until then you can
be my Knight." Then she majestically untied the ribbon in her hair and
held it out to him.

"What's this for?" he inquired.

"For you--to wear always. Every knight in my _Round Table_ book has a
token from his lady-love."

"I shall wear it next my heart," Allen told her. "And now, fair Lady
Pat, good-bye."

The child made a magnificent courtesy. "Good-bye, Sir Launcelot, 'til
death asunder."




XIII


John Covington's mind had been fully occupied during the few days which
succeeded Harris's call. Inwardly he blamed himself as a bungler not to
have covered his footsteps with greater skill; outwardly he was as
unruffled and self-satisfied as ever. He called on Brady with Harris, as
he promised. He allowed them both to explain their plans with even
greater detail than Harris's previous disclosures. He listened, calmly
and unprotestingly, to their confident statements as to what they
proposed to make him, as a director in the Consolidated Companies, do
for them. Then with equal serenity he flatly declined to yield to the
pressure brought to bear upon him.

"I suppose you understand what this means to you," Brady snapped,
angered by the unexpected refusal.

"Better than you do, I feel certain."

"What will the virtuous Mr. Gorham say when he finds out that you hold
all that stock?"

"He will give your statement no credence whatever."

"But we can prove it to him."

"On the contrary, you will find yourself unable to do this."

"Didn't Harris show you that list?"

"Yes; but that was some days ago."

"You've unloaded, eh? That won't help you any. We'll find out who's got
it."

"You need not take any trouble about the matter, as I am quite ready to
give you the necessary information. Miss Gorham now holds the shares."

"Gorham's daughter?" queried Harris. "Does he know it?"

"I really don't know whether Miss Gorham has advised her father or not;
that is her affair."

"Well, we'll see that he does know it," stormed Brady; "and will also
see that he knows how you've unloaded it on her."

"You may find some difficulty," Covington replied, suavely. "The
certificates, you know, never stood in my name. I simply acted as the
young lady's agent. If you can make any capital out of that, you are at
perfect liberty to do so. Was there any other detail in connection with
this matter which you wished to discuss with me? Mr. Harris and you have
been most confidential, and I might possibly feel inclined to
reciprocate."

"You know too damned much already," retorted Brady, savagely. "I was a
fool not to put the deal through before Gorham got into the game. After
that it was too late--the stockholders would never have stood for our
extra rake-off after he put them wise."

Harris's face paled. "You don't mean that there's danger of our getting
thrown down, do you?" he queried in a tense voice. "I've put every
dollar I own and some I don't own into this pool with you."

Brady struck him familiarly on the back and laughed. "You are in hard
when you show the white feather like that. Cheer up. There's no question
of being thrown down. What do you take me for? It's only a question of
whether or not we can get all there is in it--that's what I'm worrying
about. Gorham's been getting next to Littleton and Graham all summer.
I've tried to find out just what he was up to, but he's smarter in
covering his tracks than I am to uncover 'em, even if he ain't quite so
smart in some other directions. He's been in to see me several times,
and there hasn't been a word to make me think that things ain't going
through just as we planned 'em; but if they are, what's he monkeying
round with those other fellows for? That's what I want to know. If our
friend here feels like reciprocating, as he says he does, now's his
chance."

Covington watched the two men closely. He may have enjoyed the fact that
the course of the conversation had turned, but if so he gave no evidence
of it.

"You have placed me in possession of certain information which obviously
would not assist in carrying out your plans," he remarked, suggestively.
"Now, this whole transaction, as I informed Mr. Harris, is in Mr.
Gorham's hands. Under certain conditions, I might not feel it incumbent
upon me to interfere."

"And those are?" asked Harris.

"That you forget my insignificant part in the purchase of Miss Gorham's
stock," he replied. "It is not of great concern to me, and you are
perfectly free to communicate it to Mr. Gorham if you choose; but in
view of certain things which have occurred since, I should be glad to
have the matter dropped if agreeable to you."

"That's easy enough," Brady remarked, showing signs of relief. "Is that
all?"

"Yes," Covington replied; "I am not as avaricious as you are in
exacting my pound of flesh. Now, one other thing in order to give good
measure: it may interest you to know that Mr. Gorham went over the
contract with me yesterday in detail, and he is going to accept it as it
stands, paying you the price you named."

"You saw what it stipulated, Covington? It covers everything just as we
turn it over. He can find out all in good time what three lines ain't
included, and also the price his precious Companies will have to pay for
them."

"He appeared to be perfectly satisfied," Covington continued, calmly. "I
should judge that everything was all right."

"Then he's been wastin' time," growled Brady, "and he can have all the
pink teas he wants with Littleton and Graham. We directors have the
authority, anyhow; nobody could stop us. Who the devil is Gorham to
dictate to me? He thinks he's the whole show, he does. It makes me sick
to see him swellin' around with that girl wife of his. She's a stunner
all right, and I don't blame him; but who the devil is she? Somebody's
divorced wife, ain't she, Covington? Does anybody know anything about
her? He ain't so much." He took out his watch and looked at it
mechanically. "I guess I'm gettin' old to have these nervous spells--it
ain't like me."

Covington bade them good-morning and returned to his office fairly well
satisfied. The danger of the present situation had been minimized. He
felt sure that Alice would not go out of her way to acquaint her father
with the name of the stock by which her property would be handsomely
increased, and he knew that Gorham's mind was too full of other matters
to press her for the details unless she volunteered them. But he must
be more discreet, this he realized. If the matter could be dropped here,
he would have learned a useful lesson; and then, too, the interview had
not been without a suggestion which was well worth following up. It
occurred to Covington, in view of Brady's remark, that he had been
unpardonably obtuse in neglecting to acquaint himself with the details
of Mrs. Gorham's early life. He knew vaguely that she had been the
victim of unpleasant experiences before her present marriage, but what
they were he had never learned. There might be something in them which
it would be to his advantage to know, and it could surely do no harm to
make a quiet investigation.

On the following day, Covington found himself in front of an
old-fashioned brick building standing almost significantly in the shadow
of the Tombs. He paused for a moment to wonder at the enormous gaudy
sign, "Levy & Whitcher's Law Offices," running across the front and side
of the edifice, which impressed him with a sense of its vulgarity. The
door creaked as Covington opened it and passed on into the dingy
offices--even dingier than the nature of the business done in them
required, because of the dirt-trodden floors and their unwashed windows.
He pushed his way through the bunch of process-servers, messengers, and
clerks who littered up the outer office, almost tripping over a torn
law-book on the floor, and finally found his way to the waiting-room of
Mr. Levy's private sanctum in the rear. Here he was subjected to a
careful scrutiny by the lawyer's "secretary," whose personal appearance
seemed to indicate greater familiarity with the prize ring than with
clerical labors. There may have been method in his selection, as Mr.
Levy was a gentleman whose professional life had been spent in
undertakings which a conservative insurance company might classify under
"hazardous risks."

Levy had reached a point in his career when he could afford to keep his
clients waiting. He and his partner, during the twenty-five years they
had been together, had prospered even beyond their early dreams of
avarice. It was their boast that during their partnership it had not
been necessary to open a law-book three times. There was always a way to
beat a case "on the facts," and they had learned the way. They kept no
books, and the pleasantest part of each day's business was the
five-o'clock adjournment to a neighboring saloon, where the partners had
punctiliously divided the millions which came to the firm during the
years of their successful association.

After a delay which proved more or less aggravating to Covington, he was
ushered into the presence of the "great" man. Levy endeavored to be
courteous in his reception, but Covington showed scant interest in
conventions. He plunged at once into the nature of his business, finding
Levy an interested and sympathetic listener. It was some minutes after
his caller ceased speaking that the silence was broken.

"Well," Covington said at length, coldly, "does the matter interest
you?"

"I was deliberating," the lawyer rejoined, almost as if in apology.

"Do you think you can discover anything of interest?"

Levy smiled blandly. "How can I say as yet?" he replied, conservatively.
"There are certain elements which might contain interesting and
promising details--a famous man married to a divorced woman twenty-five
years his junior. We might easily find enough so that if you cared to
push it he would prefer to make some concessions rather than suffer any
unpleasant notoriety; and she may have a past which she would do much to
keep forgotten. Yes, there are possibilities. Do you wish me to
investigate?"

"How long will it take?"

"It may require a fortnight; it may take six months."

"By that time you would know whether there was anything in it?"

"Assuredly."

"Then you may proceed. Advise me when you are ready to talk and I'll
come in again."

"There is one other matter," added Levy. "In case the affair develops,
it may be fairly expensive."

Covington looked at him curiously. "I presume so," he said. "Before we
get into it too far, I shall insist upon some understanding. I am not
your debtor yet, am I?"

"The investigation will entail some expense and time," Levy continued,
thoughtfully. "You might pay me--say, five thousand as a retainer."

"This is a business proposition, Mr. Levy," Covington reminded him,
sharply. "Thus far I have looked upon myself as a possible plaintiff in
the affair--not as a defendant. I am not obliged to proceed in the
matter, and will drop it right here if you propose to start in by trying
extortion on me."

Levy was grieved that any one should so misconstrue his motives. "This
isn't a childish play we're going into, Mr. Covington," he replied,
mildly. "Gorham is big game, and I presume you expect to gain something
out of this little affair."

"You presume too much," Covington said, shortly. "Comments are neither
asked for nor desired. If you wish to do this work for me, I will pay
you a fair price--yes, a high price--for your services, but no
blood-money. I'll pay you a thousand dollars now as a retainer; I'll pay
all reasonable expenses and four thousand dollars more in case you find
anything of interest to me. Then, if I decide to use the information
later, I'll make a trade with you at that time on the basis of what it
is worth. Do you care to accept the case on these terms?"

"The conditions are most unusual," Levy wavered.

"The case itself is an unusual one," Covington replied. "The chances are
a hundred to one that you find nothing, in which case you will have
earned your fee easily. Beyond this the odds are at least as great that
I shall make no use of what you find out, anyway, which means that I
shall have paid a large price to gratify my whim."

"There is something in what you say," admitted Levy.

"Then you will undertake it on my terms?"

"Yes; give me your check for a thousand dollars and I'll start the ball
rolling."

"My check?" queried Covington. "I have no doubt currency will be equally
acceptable."

"Thank you very much," Levy replied, genially, placing the bills
carefully within a capacious wallet against the happy hour of five
o'clock in Mulligan's conveniently located saloon.




XIV


The merger of the New York street railways, which occurred three weeks
later, was Gorham's first chance to demonstrate to the public what the
Consolidated Companies could accomplish in handling a great metropolitan
transportation problem. The further he got into it, however, the more
serious the problem became, and he had moved slowly to prevent any
possible mistake. But now he was ready to proceed without further delay
to complete his previous negotiations to secure the traction franchise
for which Collins had bribed the Aldermen, and for a part interest in
which Brady had intimidated Collins. It had been a nauseating piece of
work even to Gorham, who had become only too familiar with the
particular grade of business "morality" permeating those possessed of
opportunity and fortified by responsibility. Covington was never able to
reconcile Gorham's willingness to do business with men of this stamp,
and the apparent personal stand which he took against both their
practices and their methods.

"It is all perfectly consistent," Gorham assured him on more than one
occasion. "It is often necessary to walk through filth and slime in
order to reach high ground. It is a serious fault in our business system
that these crimes can be committed, but the Consolidated Companies is
not responsible for the system. To accomplish its own high ends, the
Companies must possess itself of certain properties. These properties
are at present in the hands of dishonest stewards, but these same
dishonest stewards are legally authorized to sell them. The Companies
buys, therefore, from those who have to sell, and its moral
responsibility begins only upon its acquisition."

The transaction, large as it was, proved not a lengthy one. The
franchise was formally made over to the Consolidated Companies, and the
controlling stock in the New York Street Railways Company changed
ownership. Properly certified checks for the franchise and for the stock
were duly delivered into Brady's hands, and the business of the
conference seemed to be completely settled to the satisfaction of all
concerned. Still, Mr. Gorham and those who had come with him showed no
disposition to depart.

"There ain't anything more, is there?" asked Brady, eager to terminate
the conference, "except to congratulate the Consolidated Companies on
acquirin' a damned valuable property."

"Only a little more," Gorham replied, quietly. "I have asked my friends,
Mr. Littleton and Mr. Graham, to be present this morning, as I found
that they, like the other and smaller stockholders, had very little
knowledge of how their affairs were being handled for them by their
directors. They have received their dividends regularly and promptly and
were satisfied."

"What in hell is this a preamble to?" Brady whispered to Harris. "My
nerves ain't quiet yet, even with the cash in my jeans."

But Gorham was still talking in the same low, quiet voice.

"These gentlemen," he was saying, "have honored the Consolidated
Companies by becoming stockholders, so I thought it might be
illuminating for them to be present at this conference, which will
serve, I believe, as well as any to demonstrate the methods which the
Consolidated Companies is obliged to meet and those which it proposes to
employ."

"I don't know that this interests me much," interrupted Brady,
ill-humoredly. "Our business is done, ain't it?"

"Not quite," Gorham continued, scarcely heeding the break. "On behalf of
the Consolidated Companies, and exercising the rights vested in me by my
Board of Directors, I have just handed to you, Mr. Brady, a certified
check for one hundred thousand dollars. Why it should go to you instead
of to Mr. Collins you probably know better than I--it is enough that you
have his authority to receive it. I happen to be aware that this check
represents fifty thousand dollars more than Mr. Collins paid to get the
franchise through the Board of Aldermen, so it is fair to assume that
the price of twelve city fathers is the same as two private citizens."

Harris found some difficulty in restraining Brady at this point, but
their joint uncertainty regarding Gorham's ultimate purpose resulted in
preserving silence.

"In addition to the check for the franchise," he continued, "I have also
handed to Mr. Brady other certified checks for some twenty million
dollars beyond the par value of the stocks of the various companies
included in the merger which has just been consummated."

"What are you kickin' about?" demanded Brady. "Ain't that the price you
agreed to?"

"It is; and I consider the properties worth the price or I should not
have agreed to it."

"The stockholders ought to be satisfied, hadn't they? They're gettin'
good returns."

"Yes, they ought to be satisfied, and I have no doubt they are."

"Then what's the point, friend--what's all this palaver?"

"I was just coming to that. There are three short lines which are not
mentioned in that contract. May I ask if there was any special reason
for their omission?"

"That's our business," snarled Brady.

"I know it is," Gorham replied, sharply, "and I'm going to ask you to
attend to it right now."

"We'll attend to it when we get good and ready." Brady squared himself
for the issue. "If you was as smart as you think you are, you'd have
thought of those three lines before you cashed up."

"I didn't overlook them," Gorham replied. "I can buy them cheaper now."

Brady was amused and showed his appreciation of the speaker's humor in
his sidelong glance at Harris.

"You think so, do you?" he calmed himself enough to reply. "I presume
you've settled on the price you're goin' to pay?"

"I have," answered Gorham; "but I'm not quite ready to quote it. The
stockholders of these small companies understood that you were
purchasing their stock to be merged with the New York Street Railways
Company, didn't they?"

"It don't make a damned bit of difference what they thought. We paid 'em
their price."

"And the stockholders of the New York Street Railways Company thought
you were buying this stock to be merged with theirs, didn't they?"

"We used our own money to buy that stock. You can't find a thing about
it that ain't straight."

"Very good. Now I'll name my price for the three lines. The Consolidated
Companies will pay you fifty thousand dollars for them."

"Fifty thousand!" gasped Brady. "Why, we paid two hundred thousand."

"Thank you. I had wondered what you did pay for them, and this
information is no doubt authentic. The stockholders made a better thing
out of it than you will."

"But we won't sell at anything like that figure."

"Oh, yes, you will if you sell at all," Gorham rejoined. "One method by
which the Consolidated Companies has succeeded is that of taking the
public into its confidence whenever there is need of it. To-morrow we
shall announce the birth of the Manhattan Traction Company, explaining
its inception and its intentions. We shall show that, although we have
paid an enormous price for the purchase of the properties, we shall
capitalize at one-half the amount originally planned by those who would
have carried through the merger if our Companies had not stepped in. We
shall announce an increase of transfer privileges and a reduction of
fares. We shall guarantee better equipment and better service. We shall
also carefully explain that one of the reasons we can do this is that
the company will be run in the interests of the public and the
stockholders instead of in the interests of a few individuals; and we
shall quote, in proof of this, that we purchased the three lines
referred to for fifty thousand dollars when it was originally planned
to have them cost the Companies something over two millions."

"They will still cost the Companies 'something over two millions,'"
shouted Brady, "and the public be damned."

"Our slogan is, 'The public be pleased,'" smiled Gorham. "The offer of
the Consolidated Companies will hold for twenty-four hours only," he
continued, rising. "The franchise, you will perhaps remember, grants
full privileges for the construction of further subway connections.
Under these circumstances, we do not urge you to accept our offer--we
merely invite your consideration. Now, gentlemen"--Gorham placed a
peculiar emphasis on the word--"I believe our business is completed. The
time limit on our offer will expire at noon to-morrow."

Covington was an interested spectator throughout the conference, and
Gorham's supreme command of the situation won from him his silent but
profound admiration. He rejoiced that this force was directed against
others rather than himself, and he realized more than ever the
importance of taking no chances of coming into conflict with this man
who swept everything before him. He had enjoyed watching the faces of
Brady and Harris as the game progressed, but his enjoyment encouraged
him to remain too long after the departure of the others. Harris was
cowed and frightened and seemed almost ready to break into tears, but
Brady assumed an attitude which fitted him singularly well. It was not
dismay, it was not chagrin--he was angry to the point of bursting. To
Brady the one sin more flagrant than all others in the category of crime
was failure, and in order to relieve his own conscience from the
pollution of having failed he saw fit to attribute the entire
responsibility to Covington.

"You damned skunk!" he cried, "you've sold us out after promisin' not
to, that's what you've done! But I'll get back at you if it costs me ten
years in Sing Sing!"

Covington for a second time went directly from Brady's office to his
own, but the former complacency was replaced by a vague apprehension. A
threat from Brady was worthy of consideration. Among the personal mail
which he found upon his desk was a plain envelope, which, for some
unknown reason, attracted his attention enough to cause him to open it
before the one which lay on top. The signature interested him even more,
particularly at the present moment, with his thoughts filled with what
had recently passed. It is a precaution of the experienced mariner to
inspect his lifeboats with especial care as he passes by a dangerous
reef. The letter read:

"_The divorce papers prove to be shockingly irregular, and there are
developments in the early life. Please call at your convenience._"

Covington crushed the paper in his hand and turned toward his desk with
a changed expression. He smiled as he looked forward into space--the
first smile which had lighted up his face for several days. Then he
brought his clenched fist down hard on the desk for no apparent reason
and muttered something to himself.




XV


As evidenced in the message received by Covington, Levy had not been
neglectful of the case which had been intrusted to him by his new
client. Without much difficulty Buckner was located in New Orleans, and
identified as the proprietor of a low dive which had become the
rendezvous for the most vicious outcasts of the city. Drink and
debauchery had long since destroyed the physical advantages he had
possessed over other men at the time of his marriage. The death of his
child, to whom he had given as much affection as his nature possessed,
the stern arraignment of the neighbor who helped him to his ranch and
later brought him the tragic news, and the consciousness of his own
responsibility in the accident, all combined to drive him almost
immediately away from the scenes which reminded him of it; and as time
passed the bitterness turned to resentment against his wife. If she had
not left the ranch that day, he argued to himself, the accident would
never have happened. She had loathed him for months before the final
separation, and he had resented the disgust which she made no effort to
conceal. There had been enough manhood left in him then to feel it and
to resent it.

When he first heard that she had instituted divorce proceedings his
anger returned, and he determined to hold her to the unwelcome bonds if
for nothing else than to know that she still suffered; but a
consultation with an attorney showed him the futility of any defence, so
he simply held this up against her as another affront to be wiped out if
the time ever came which gave him the opportunity.

But he had long since given up all hope that this time would ever come.
During the years which had elapsed he had drifted from one city to
another, each time taking a stand a degree lower than the preceding. In
New Orleans he had succeeded in getting a little better living than
heretofore, so he had settled down there with the idea of making it a
permanency.

It was a welcome break in the monotony for him to receive a call from
Levy's agent, and the fact that the visitor felt inclined to provide
liquid refreshment of a grade considerably higher than he had been able
to indulge himself in for many years did not detract from his welcome.
As the evening wore on he was quite willing--almost eager--to tell the
story of his life to this agreeable and sympathetic listener, so Levy
had been materially assisted in the preliminary investigation of his
case. Nor was the welcome any less cordial when the agent appeared for a
second time, on this occasion offering Buckner five hundred dollars in
exchange for his "time and trouble." He was given no intimation
regarding the nature of his errand; he really had little curiosity. It
was enough that it paid what was now to him a princely sum, and also
guaranteed him an attractive experience at some one else's expense.

On his arrival Levy gave Buckner a welcome which raised his self-esteem
almost to the bursting-point. A box of costly cigars and a decanter of
fine brandy close at his elbow appeared to him as the height of
hospitality, as one gentleman would extend it to another. And when he
found that his new host manifested even as deep an interest in his
previous life as his earlier friend who had provided the money, he was
prepared to reciprocate in every way that lay in his power.

With the preliminary acquaintance thus happily and firmly established,
Levy opened up for business.

"In this suit for divorce which your wife brought," he asked, "the
summons was never served on you, was it?"

"Why, yes," Buckner replied, slowly refilling his glass from the
decanter; "it was served on me by a man named Murray, at Colorado
Springs."

"Oh, dear; oh, dear!" groaned Levy, with a mixture of pathos and
incredulity, "what an unfortunate memory you have! There was no one else
in Colorado Springs who knew about it, I presume?"

"Not there," Buckner answered; "I sent the paper to a lawyer in Denver
named Jennings."

"But there was no correspondence between you?"

"Yes; there were two or three letters."

"Where is Jennings now?"

"Dead, for all I know," he responded, with a cheerfulness which came
from his comfortable environment rather than from any particular
pleasure from the possible demise of the gentleman in question. "He
moved away from Denver later, and I haven't heard of him since."

Levy was absorbed in his own thoughts for several moments, which time
was profitably employed by Buckner again to replenish his glass, and to
help himself to a fresh cigar.

"Look here, Buckner." Levy spoke so suddenly that his companion
guiltily replaced the unlighted cigar in the box. "How difficult would
it be for you to forget that you ever had a summons served on you,
provided there was enough in it to make it worth while?"

Buckner boldly placed the cigar between his lips and straightened up.

"What's the game?" he asked. "Tell me what's up, and perhaps we can make
a trade."

"I have a client who might like to see that divorce decree set aside,"
Levy began.

"Another friend of mine, eh?" Buckner laughed at his own joke. "Never
knew before I was so popular." The brandy was getting in its work.
"Every one is interested in my marriage troubles, and here's one wants
to give me back my wife!"

"Never mind that," Levy stopped him. "This client of mine isn't
interested in you or in your wife, but he evidently has a private spite
against Gorham, who married her. He may not care to push it, but, if he
does, do you see what the game is?"

"Sure I do, sure I do," Buckner answered, thickly. "Damned good
game--I'll play it with you. It would hit her hard, too, wouldn't it?"

"What do you care if it does?"

"I don't care--glad of it--that's the special reason why I'm willing to
play the game."

"All right; we'll get down to business. I'm going to draw up an
affidavit that, as far as the divorce proceedings are concerned, you
never retained any lawyer, and never were served with a summons, either
in Colorado Springs or anywhere else; that you never knew of the pending
of the action, nor that this suit was to be brought to trial. And you
are to swear to this, do you understand?"

Buckner whistled suggestively. "What's the financial proposition?"

"Five thousand dollars if I use it; five hundred if I don't."

"Suppose Jennings turns up with those letters. There's a penalty for
that, isn't there?"

"We'll take good care that Jennings doesn't turn up," Levy assured him,
"and we would be taking all the risk."

It was Buckner's turn to become absorbed, and this time it was Levy who
refilled his glass.

"It would be a lot of money," he muttered to himself, as he nervously
gulped the brandy down, "and it would hit her hard. Go ahead, Levy. Draw
up your damned paper and I'll sign it. Never knew I was so popular,
anyhow."

Levy left him for a few moments while he dictated the affidavit,
returning to his private office while the stenographer was writing out
her notes.

"I don't suppose you know anything about the personal affairs of Mrs.
Buckner-Gorham which would be of assistance to us in this case, do you?"

Buckner thought hard. Ideas came slowly to him in his present condition,
but at last he looked up with an expression which interested the lawyer.

"She thought herself too good for me," he muttered, "but there is
something I should like to have her explain," he said.

"And what is that?" Levy asked, quickly jumping at a possible clew.

"After she found me in the trail she disappeared for two weeks before
she returned to her father's ranch, and I should like to know where she
spent that time."

"Where do you think she spent it?"

"I don't know for sure, but there are people who say she was with a
prospector in his shack four or five miles from my ranch. I didn't hear
about it until afterward; but, anyhow, there was a man rode back with
her to her father's ranch who got her into the hospital in Denver after
she found her father was dead. She thinks she's better than I am, but,
just the same, I'd like to know who that man was."

Levy quickly made a few notes. "I think I may be able to assist you in
gratifying that desire," he remarked.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day after receiving the message, Covington again found himself
within Levy's dingy offices, and this time he experienced no delay in
being conducted to the sanctum in the rear, where he found the lawyer
ready to receive him with a genial smile and a cordiality which
expressed itself in the briskness with which he rubbed his hands
together.

"I think you will be well pleased with the rapid progress of our
investigations," Levy began.

"I judged so by your letter." Covington was noncommittal.

"There will be no difficulty in having the divorce decree granted to
Mrs. Buckner--now Mrs. Gorham--set aside whenever you say the word. Here
is the affidavit of Buckner himself, and the fellow is not only willing
but eager to push the case through."

Covington took the document in his hand and examined it carefully.
Then: "How would you undertake to do it?" he asked.

"It is a principle of our firm not to discuss methods with our clients.
Results are what count, and our reputation for securing these is perhaps
a sufficient guarantee that my statement is based on facts."

"Your position is undoubtedly fully justified," Covington replied, a
slight expression of amusement showing in his face. "We hardly need to
discuss that phase of it, however, as this is probably as far as I shall
ask you to go."

"Oh, Mr. Covington, you wouldn't drop a nice case like this, would you?"
Levy begged. "There is a lot of money in it for both of us."

Covington answered him, coldly: "I believe the terms of our business
arrangement were clearly understood at the beginning."

"Yes, but it is such a nice case," Levy still pleaded. "You need not
appear in it at all if you don't want to. Mr. Buckner can become the
plaintiff, and it need not cost you anything. We can make Mr. Gorham pay
all the bills."

"That's enough of that," was the sharp reply. "Now, what was it that you
found out about Mrs. Gorham's early history?"

Levy accepted the inevitable with equanimity, contenting himself with a
gesture which expressed more than words.

"I have learned that after her child's death Mrs. Gorham, then Mrs.
Buckner, disappeared for a period of two weeks, during which time she is
alleged to have lived in a prospector's shack alone with him. Do you
catch the significance?"

Covington again held out his hand, taking the second affidavit, which
he scrutinized with the same care he gave the first.

"This is merely the unconfirmed statement of a prejudiced party," he
remarked; "it is of no value unless you could prove it."

Levy smiled. "My dear Mr. Covington, we can prove anything--that is our
business."

"Well"--Covington rose--"you seem to have carried out your end of the
affair." He drew a roll of bills from his pocket. "Here is the balance
due you. If I decide to make use of these documents, I will see you
again and make a trade. Kindly give me an acknowledgment of my payment."

Levy held up a hand protestingly. "I explained before that we never give
receipts--"

"Oh, yes; it had slipped my mind," Covington acquiesced.

"I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Covington," Levy said in parting. "It
is a nice case, such a nice case."

The departing client gave no evidence that he heard the words, but after
pushing his way to the street he drew a long breath, which might have
indicated relief after sitting in the close office, or satisfaction that
he held in his possession new weapons which could easily be made useful
in case of need.




XVI


The mail-order business came to an abrupt end three months after Alice
Gorham became its head. This in no way reflected upon its management,
but it was too trifling an enterprise for the Consolidated Companies to
retain. Covington was enthusiastic in his reports to Mr. Gorham
regarding Alice's proficiency and natural ability along business lines.
This experience had been an interesting and valuable one to her, he
explained, but would it not accomplish the same purpose and be better
for Miss Gorham--still, of course, under his guidance--to take personal
charge of her own property and thus become thoroughly familiar with the
various investments?

Gorham heartily approved of Covington's suggestion, and so did Alice. To
the former it seemed to offer a natural vent for his daughter's desires;
to the girl it appeared as a real promotion. It was not necessary for
Covington to explain to his chief that the arrangement actually went
into effect several weeks before it was submitted to him for his
approval, nor did he take any credit to himself for the handsome profit
in certain street railways stock, which netted Alice thirty thousand
dollars as a result of her first investment. In fact, he modestly
cautioned his pupil to say nothing about it, on the ground that the next
investment might show a loss, and her father would be interested only
in final results.

During the weeks which succeeded the merger of the New York street
railways, Covington was more assiduous than ever in his attentions to
Alice, yet, even with Allen's jealous suggestions, the girl saw in them
nothing more than a continuation of their previous relations. His skill
in manipulating her securities increased her admiration, and the
incredible success filled her with joy. She was bursting with
enthusiasm, and longed for an opportunity to share her happiness at
least with Eleanor; but since the first confidences with her, she had
become convinced that her preceptor's restrictions included Eleanor as
well.

In spite of the care with which he selected the moment and the words,
when Covington actually declared himself it came to Alice not only as a
surprise, but as a distinct shock. At first she could not believe him
sincere, but he succeeded in convincing her on this point. He
interpreted her long silence and evident surprise as the natural
expression of a young girl face to face with the most vital problem
which ever comes to her. As a matter of fact, had Alice analyzed her
feelings, the compound would have proved to be made up in equal parts of
gratification, astonishment, and a broken idol. She was flattered that
this man should really wish to marry her, she was amazed that his
declaration did not arouse in her all those sentimental emotions which
she had associated with a moment such as this; and she instinctively
felt that he could not possibly be the great man she had considered him,
to desire what he had asked.

"I thought you and I had decided that I was to be a business woman,"
Alice said at last, questioningly.

"Only for the time being," Covington smiled, well satisfied. "That is
all right as a pastime, and you shall indulge in it as much as you like,
but Mrs. John Covington will have more of a position to live up to even
than Miss Alice Gorham."

"That's just it," she said, slowly. "It doesn't seem to me that I am
ready to assume any 'position,' as you call it. Until you and daddy gave
me this chance to do something else besides dances and theatre-parties
and all those things we girls fill our time with, I was drifting
hopelessly. This tiny bit of responsibility has been just the anchor I
needed. What I read means so much more to me, what people talk about is
of increased interest because I am just that much more conversant with
what is going on; and the dances and the theatre-parties are lots more
fun too. What you have asked, Mr. Covington, is enough to make any girl
feel proud and happy, but--I don't believe I'm ready yet to give up my
girlhood now when I am enjoying it most."

"There need be no haste in your decision," he said, graciously.

"Needn't there? Then you will give me a long time to think it over?"

"Not too long, I hope," he answered, significantly.

"But, truly," Alice's pout was exceedingly becoming, "I don't want to be
married at all. Why should I when I am so happy?"

"Isn't that an unusual position for a young girl to take?"

"Perhaps it's because I am young," she admitted, smiling. "But I see so
many--what shall I call them?--semi-detached couples, that it makes me
wonder."

"Semi-detached?" Covington queried.

"Why, yes," she explained; "you know what I mean: the only way they can
live happily together is to live apart."

"You are not very complimentary to me."

"Oh, please!" Alice interrupted quickly. "But you've noticed it, haven't
you?"

"We notice many things which do not require personal application. In the
present instance I think we possess so many interests in common that our
marriage would be considered an ideal one. It would make me very happy."

"You have been so kind," Alice said, looking at him gratefully. "You
know that I appreciate it, don't you? But I had no idea--you quite took
my breath away, you are so much older than I am, and--"

"Am I so terribly old?"

"Oh, no; I mean it is I who am so terribly young. I never felt quite so
young before. I suppose it is the surprise of it all. But you said I
might have a long time. I must talk with daddy and Eleanor, you know.
And I shall think it all over most carefully, please believe me." Alice
held out her hand cordially. "Will you excuse me now--I really must see
Eleanor."

Covington watched the girl in amazement as she hastily withdrew her hand
and fled from the room. The self-possessed young woman whom he had met
day after day had vanished, and in her place he saw the youthful
school-girl, frightened into a loss of self-control by the offer of
marriage he had just tendered her. Yet the whole episode amused him
hugely. He smiled as he thought of his wife-to-be--the future Mrs. John
Covington--running like a frightened deer from the first situation which
took her by surprise! It was not as he had pictured it, but youth is a
malady from which one's convalescence is ever speedy, and he could enjoy
it while it lasted. He found his way to the front door unguided, where
he paused for a moment and looked back, as if expecting to see the lithe
form of the girl peering over the banister; but no sound came from the
floor above, and the staircase was vacant.

"An amusing little minx," he laughed to himself, as he passed out of the
house.

Alice lost no time in seeking Eleanor, eager to pour into her
sympathetic ears the new problem which had presented itself. Instead,
she found Patricia, curled up in an easy-chair, rereading her _Knights
of the Round Table_ with renewed interest. She bent over to kiss her,
but the child drew away.

"I don't love you any more," she announced.

"You don't!" asked Alice, taken by surprise.

"No; you're so mean to Allen."

The girl laughed. "Don't be silly, Pat. Why, Allen is only a kid, like
you. Where's mamma Eleanor?"

"Lying down in her room; but he isn't a kid--he's my Knight."

"All right; you may have him," Alice answered, lightly, turning toward
the door.

"Alice!"

The older girl turned. "Well?" she interrogated.

"Is Mr. Covington a cat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allen said to me the other day, 'Listen to him purr.'"

"Allen ought to have his ears boxed."

"No, he oughtn't"--but the door had slammed, and Patricia was alone with
her Knights.

Alice tiptoed into Mrs. Gorham's room, then started to withdraw as
Eleanor appeared to be asleep, but the older woman stopped her.

"Come in, dear," she said; "I am only resting."

"Are you ill?" the girl asked, anxiously, all thought of her errand
vanishing; "you were looking very tired at breakfast."

"I did not sleep last night," she replied, rising wearily from the bed,
and pressing her hands against her temples as she sat down. "I am so
perplexed that I don't know which way to turn. I wonder if you could
advise me, Alice?"

"If only I could be of help to you!" the girl exclaimed, drawing another
chair close to Eleanor's, and taking both her hands in her own.

Eleanor made no reply for several moments. "I don't know what to do,"
she said simply at last. "I want to have my life an open book to your
father, yet in this one instance I can't see my way clear."

"Why, Eleanor!" cried the girl, surprised, "how can that be possible?"

"I don't wonder you ask; that is the question I have set myself to
answer. I saw Ralph Buckner yesterday as I was driving up Fifth Avenue,
and the sight of him filled me with apprehension."

"Your first husband--in New York?" Alice asked, surprised.

"Yes--what can he be doing here?"

"You don't know that it has anything to do with you, do you?"

"No; but I am so apprehensive that I imagine everything."

"But the past is dead, Eleanor dear. To have it recalled is of course
painful, but why should you dread it?"

Mrs. Gorham did not answer at once, and the girl was amazed to witness
the conflict of emotion which her face expressed. At last Eleanor raised
her eyes.

"The past is not wholly dead," she said, in a low voice. "That is the
unfortunate part. There is one event which happened back there in
Colorado, right after Carina was killed, which has never--can never be
explained. It is the only detail of that awful tragedy which I have not
told your father, and I could not even tell you."

"Can't you tell me enough so I can really help you, Eleanor?"

"No, not even as much as that. The appearances were all against me. I
know that nothing occurred of which I need feel ashamed, but the
circumstantial evidence is so strong that it would be beyond human
possibility to expect any one, even one as generous as your father, to
accept my unsupported statement."

"Has this to do with your first husband?"

"I fear that if he has come in possession of the facts he may intend to
use them against me."

"Then the only thing for you to do is to see father at once, and to tell
him everything yourself before that horrid man has the opportunity.
There is nothing, Eleanor, which you could tell him which he would not
accept exactly as you stated. Why, of course there isn't."

"I wish I had your confidence, dear," Eleanor sighed, "but that would be
asking too much."

"Was Mr. Buckner concerned in it?"

"No; it was another man--the only other man I ever met except your
father whom I would include among God's noblemen."

"Some one you loved, Eleanor?" the girl asked, hesitatingly.

"No, dear, not that!" she cried, hastily. "I was in no condition at that
time to love any one. It was, as I told you, right after Carina's death.
He was the friend who protected me and who helped me at that time--I
told you about it--but who would believe that it was simply an act of
humanity?"

"Father would believe it, Eleanor," the girl cried, firmly. "You must
tell him, and you must tell him now--now--he is in the library."

"Oh, I cannot!" cried Eleanor, shrinking; "Robert is so much to me that
I cannot run the risk of having even a doubt disturb the perfect
understanding that has always existed between us."

"You must, Eleanor," insisted Alice, rising and urging Mrs. Gorham to
her feet. "You must--shall I go with you?"

"No, dear," Eleanor replied. "I will go"; and with slow footsteps she
left the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

Gorham was well satisfied with the successful formation of the Manhattan
Traction Company, as he was also with the general progress of the
Consolidated Companies. Its expansion and success were phenomenal, and
it was, of a certainty, coming into its own. The volume of business had
quadrupled; its list of stockholders was nearly complete, and already
included a sufficient proportion of those who controlled the world's
pulse to make the acquisition of the others certain; its political
strength, exercised under his firm hand for peace always, even now
exceeded any similarly exerted power the world had known.

It was natural that Gorham should be filled with a certain sense of
satisfaction that his work was bearing such magnificent fruit. One by
one the necessities of life were being given to the public at a lower
cost; one by one the luxuries, which had previously been denied them,
were being brought within their reach. Wars had been prevented and
taxation reduced. Everywhere the Consolidated Companies was looked upon
as the people's friend, and those connected with it as public
benefactors. And yet--the profits were increasing so rapidly that before
long they bade fair to defy human computation!

For the first time since he began his work of forming the corporation
Gorham gave himself up to day-dreams. Sitting back in an easy-chair in
his library he watched the smoke curl upward from his cigar, and gave
his mind free rein. With the momentum now acquired, nothing could stem
the triumphal advance. The business scope had extended nearly as far as
he would let it go--he would confine it to public utilities and public
necessities. In the future, it might break beyond the confines he had
set for it, and even become the single employer of all labor, but for
his own time he would keep it within his limitations, so that he might
devote his thought and energy to the development of its political power.
Why should he not eventually succeed even in forcing a disarmament of
nations, relieving the people of their most grievous burden, and
insuring peace by the absolute control the Companies was certain to
acquire of foodstuffs and the munitions of war? Then, indeed, his life
would not have been in vain!

His day-dreams and his thoughts were interrupted by finding his wife at
his side. She had entered so quietly that he had not heard her footstep,
and he gave a gentle start when he felt her hand upon his forehead.

"Yes, dear, I am dreaming," he said, in answer to her unspoken question.
"You don't often see me this way, do you? The world never looked so
bright as it does to-day. The Consolidated Companies, the child of your
conception and my creation, has reached the zenith of its power. It may
grow larger, but even now nothing can resist it."

"The world never looked so bright as it does to-day," Eleanor repeated to
herself, sitting on the arm of his chair, thrilled by the message of
love which this man sent out to her through the pressure of his hand on
hers which he held so closely. Should she be the one to disturb the
supreme serenity of his thoughts at this moment by a suggestion of
something which perhaps was only the figment of an over-anxious brain?
Inside the battle waged, but he could not see her face, so was ignorant
of the conflict. If her hand trembled within his own he did not notice
it. She looked down at the profile so clearly outlined. What strength,
what sweetness, what contentment! To-morrow she would tell him, but not
to-day. This moment was hers, and no past memory had the right to take
it from her!




XVII


The strain under which Gorham had been working for the past five years
was beginning to show itself, and, acting upon his doctor's advice, he
decided to take a brief respite from the cares and responsibilities of
the office. He did not think it necessary to leave New York, as the
reaction was not as yet strong enough to require any radical treatment.
A fortnight spent quietly at his home in the midst of congenial
surroundings would be entirely sufficient. During this time he denied
himself to business callers, simply keeping in touch with affairs by
means of his daily reports, which formed so strong a feature of his
business system.

"They make the yesterdays into a whip of many lashes to urge to-day on
to still greater speed," Gorham once explained. "They change the
president of the Consolidated Companies from an absentee employer into
an ubiquitous superintendent."

Because of Mr. Gorham's desire for retirement, the butler endeavored to
explain the impossibility of an interview to a tall, smooth-faced young
man who presented his card one afternoon. The caller's slight figure was
clad in a black whip-cord suit, and over his arm was thrown a neatly
folded tan overcoat. His silk hat carried a broad mourning band, and his
hands were encased in black kid gloves. Gorham's would-be visitor did
not present the most cheerful appearance, but the insistence with which
he emphasized the important nature of his business succeeded in
effecting his entrance to the hallway, where he was left until the
butler could fortify himself behind the faithful Riley's invaluable
advice.

Riley looked at the printed visiting-card, gave a violent start, and
then quickly closed his hand over it. A penetrating glance disclosed the
fact that the name had conveyed no special information to his companion,
so he hastily assumed the responsibility of handling the situation, and
hurried to the hall. Giving the visitor no opportunity to speak, Riley
placed his hand gently upon his arm, and addressed him beseechingly.

"Jimmie, me la-ad," the old man said, "is it raly yersel' come ter see
ye'er ol' fa-ather? I can't belave it, indade I can't; but 'tain't this
we must be talkin' about now. I know it's th' great man ye are, but ye
wuddent queer ye'er fa-ather by comin' ter th' front dure, wud ye? Come
now, Misther Robert ain't heard about it yit, so it's all right,
Jimmie--we'll go down-stairs an' have a nice little visit. It's proud I
am ter have ye call on me, but ye mustn't come ter th' front dure,
Jimmie--ye mustn't do that."

Riley's anxiety to get his son down-stairs and into his own domain
blinded him to the straightness of Jimmie's back and the severe lines in
his face. With all the dignity at his command the visitor assumed a
position which perhaps he had learned during his career as an orator:

"You are my father, and an old man," he replied, with rare
condescension, "so I will be gentle with you. I didn't call to sec
_you_, Mr. Riley--I have important business with Mr. Gorham."

Riley drew back, indecision mingled with a father's pride that a son of
his could carry himself with such an air.

"That's phwat brought ye here, is it?--business wid Misther Robert--ye!"
he repeated. "Ah, Jimmie, I can't belave it, me la-ad. Are ye shure?"

"Is it his father who doubts the word of James Riley?" the younger man
replied, and Riley thought he discerned a touch of sorrow in the
unnatural tone of voice.

"But Misther Robert ain't doin' no business these days, Jimmie. It's th'
vacation he's havin'."

"This is personal business, Mr. Riley, and it's to his own interest to
see me. I can be of service to Mr. Gorham."

"Ye can be iv service ter Misther Robert, Jimmie?" The old man's face
beamed with pride. "Ah, Jimmie, it's proud I am iv ye! Me own la-ad iv
service ter Misther Robert! I'll spake ter him at wance."

As Riley drew back to admire his son, his eye fell upon the silk hat and
the black gloves.

"Who's dead, Jimmie?" he asked, with real concern "--why do ye wear th'
sorry rag on ye'er hat an' th' ravens on ye'er hands?"

"No one you know," James replied, carelessly flicking a speck from his
overcoat sleeve. "The city supplied them for the committee what went to
Moriarty's funeral last month."

"Oh!" Riley wavered between his relief and his sense of duty to
acquaint his son with the proper usage of the articles in question.
Discretion finally prevailed, and he went up-stairs to impress Mr.
Gorham with the importance of Jimmie's errand.

James Riley had acted upon a sudden impulse in making his call upon Mr.
Gorham. He had unexpectedly gained possession of certain information
which he felt might be of commercial value to himself, and beyond this
it offered him an opportunity to come in close contact with a famous
man. With his eye always open to the main chance, James felt that this
first meeting with Mr. Gorham, since he himself had come into his own,
might lead to something worth while.

Even Gorham was conscious of the satisfaction expressed in the old man's
voice as he opened the library door for his famous offspring and
announced "Misther James Riley," dwelling noticeably upon the prefix.

"I am glad to see you, James," Gorham greeted him cordially. "Your
father has kept me posted from time to time of your successes, and I
congratulate you both."

Praise from the president of the Consolidated Companies was nectar to
James Riley, and with an effort to appear indifferent he suffered
himself to sit down.

"Your father tells me you have personal business with me," Gorham
continued, noting the difficulty James experienced in getting under way.

The caller would not have admitted it, even to himself, but the effect
of being actually in the presence of this man of world-wide fame, and in
the midst of such palatial surroundings, was to deprive him of his usual
easy flow of words. Gorham's remark, however, as was intended, served to
relieve him, but the oratorical prelude which he had carefully rehearsed
coming up on the electric 'bus had vanished from his mind, and he
plunged, as had still another "gentleman" before him, _in medias res_.

"There's a feller in town what means to make trouble for you," he
announced, bluntly, looking up from his study of the pattern in the rug
to note the effect of his announcement upon his host.

Gorham laughed. "I have an idea that there is more than one 'feller' in
town who would be glad to do that if he found the chance."

"That may be, sir," James assented, "but this feller has come a long bit
out of his way to do it, and I don't think it's on the level, sir."

"It is very good of you to come and tell me this, James," Gorham said,
lightly; "but I presume our secret service force already have the
gentleman on their list."

"Oh, he ain't no gentleman," James corrected him, "and it ain't got
nothin' to do with business, sir, so I thought I'd call on you as a
friend and tell you what I know."

"What else can it have to do with?" queried Gorham, incredulously, yet
humoring James for his father's sake.

"With Mrs. Gorham, sir--leastwise, that's what he says."

Gorham's apathy disappeared, but his visitor observed no change in the
calmness of his expression or in the quiet tone in which he spoke.

"You surprise me, James. What sort of man is he?"

"He's a blackguard, sir, and a liar. I'd have told him so, only he was
drunk, and I thought he might leak something what would be of interest
to you. He says he used to be Mrs. Gorham's husband."

The lines deepened a little in Gorham's face. "What is his name?" he
asked.

"Buckner, sir--Ralph Buckner."

"H'm! And why do you think he intends to try to make trouble for me?"

"Well, sir, you see it's this way. This feller come to the same
boardin'-house where I live, but I didn't pay no attention to him 'til I
see him playin' pool in the saloon opposite. I'm a Tammany man, sir, and
I has to mix with all the new ones what come into my ward. I got
acquainted with him over there, and he drank awful heavy. He's quiet
enough when he's sober, but he talks free and easy like when he gets
tanked. One night he says to me, 'I'm goin' to make a lot o' money.'

"'Good!' says I, more to be agreeable than because I had any 'special
interest--'how're you goin' to do it?'

"Then he laughed, silly-like, and winked at me. I didn't say no more,
but the next night he talked again.

"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth
Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder
she shook me for that.'

"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.

"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be
long.'

"Then I laughed at him, and that made him mad.

"'That's right,' says he. 'There're people here in this town who tell me
that her divorce from me warn't reg'lar, and I may be takin' the lady
back to New Orleans with me, and a heap o' money besides.'

"0' course, all this don't mean nothin' to me, but I thought it might to
you, sir."

Mr. Gorham did not reply for so long a time that James became anxious.

"I hope I done right, sir, to come to you with this."

"Yes, James; quite right. You are evidently influenced by your loyalty
to my family," Gorham answered. "It is right that you should be, but it
shall not be forgotten. There probably is nothing in all this, but,
since Mrs. Gorham's name was mentioned, I should like to get to the
bottom of it. I shall depend upon you to keep me posted."

"I will, sir," James responded, eagerly. "I'll do that as long as he
stays in New York, but he says they're trying to get him to go back to
New Orleans."

"Who are 'they'?"

"I don't know, sir."

"That is the first thing to discover, James. I shall trust you to do
it."

Gorham rose, and James, vastly satisfied with himself, followed the
suggestion.

"I'll do it for you, sir," he said at the door. "You can depend on me
for that."

"Thank you, James; and in the mean time it will be prudent for you to
keep your information to yourself."

"Yes, sir; I'll do that, sir. Any one with a Tammany Hall education
knows how to do that, sir."

Riley was anxiously awaiting the close of the interview, and eagerly
accompanied his son to the front door. Before he opened it, the old man
turned inquiringly.

"Ain't ye goin' ter tell me phwat it's all about, Jimmie?"

"It's too delicate a situation to discuss with the servants," James
replied, freezingly. "Me and Mr. Gorham understands each other, that's
all."

Riley gazed with still greater admiration at the straight figure which
passed by him, out of the house, and up the gravel walk to the street.

"Jimmie's th' great man," he muttered to himself as he closed the
door--"he's th' great man, mixin' wid men like Misther Robert; but he
hadn't oughter wear that sorry rag an' th' ravens, wid me, his only
livin' relation, still livin'."

The bell rang almost immediately, and Riley, certain that James had
returned, hastened to throw the door open. As he did so, he discovered
Allen Sanford.

"Who's that undertaker person?" Allen demanded.

Riley straightened perceptibly. "'Tis me son James, Misther Sanford, an'
it's th' great man he is, an' no undertaker."

"I beg your pardon, Riley," Allen laughed, noting the old man's injured
dignity. "Of course I should have known; but I may want to employ an
undertaker soon, so I suppose I had it on my mind."

"Ain't ye falin' well, Misther Allen?" Riley asked, anxiously.

"Oh, I don't want him for myself," Allen laughed again. "Is Miss Alice
in?"

"How do I know 'til she tells me, sor?"

"All right; you'll have to ask her then, won't you? If she is in, tell
her that I've called to have tea with her."

Alice was in particularly high spirits. She had digested Covington's
proposal, and found that she enjoyed it. She was still waiting for a
chance to discuss it with Eleanor and her father, but she experienced an
unexpected amount of pleasure in thinking it over by herself. She had
already decided that she would take plenty of time before she gave her
answer. The sensation was so exhilarating that she was unwilling to
shorten its duration. It was all so incredible that she--little
she--should have attracted a man of Mr. Covington's calibre to the
extent that he should actually want to marry her! And now Allen had
called, giving her an outlet for this unusual buoyancy.

Her caller was not blind to the excitement which showed in Alice's face,
and the formalities were scarcely over before he asked the question
which brought a violent color to the girl's cheeks.

"So it's come, has it--just as I said it would?"

"What has come?" Alice busied herself with the teacups which the butler
had already placed on the little table in front of her, and appeared to
be mystified, though she knew well what he meant.

"That doesn't surprise me any," Allen continued, "but I really didn't
think it would set you up so much when it did strike."

"I suppose you are enjoying this monologue," she replied. "Don't mind me
if it gives you any pleasure."

"Look here, Alice"--he became desperate--"why can't we talk it over
without having to jump all these high hurdles? I know you don't care
anything about me, and you know that I can't see anything in life worth
while except you, so the situation is clear on both sides. But I can't
let that four-flusher pull the wool over your eyes without saying,
'Beware of the dog.' I shouldn't be a man if I did."

"You take advantage of our friendship," she said, severely; "but there
are limits beyond which even an old friend cannot go, and you've reached
them. Mr. Covington is a friend too; I don't admit that he is more than
this, but I shan't let you say unfair things about him any more than I
should listen to similar things about you. Come now, let's drop the
subject. How many lumps will you have?"

"Two lumps, and--no lemon, please."

"You say you wouldn't be a man if you didn't warn me," the girl went on;
"but it is because you are not that you talk as you do. You find me
agreeable, and, boy-like, think you want to marry me. Pat thinks she
wants to marry you--you are both children, and both behave the same."

Allen put his cup down on the table untasted. "Is there no way I can
convince you that I've grown up?" he demanded.

"Yes; drop all this nonsense about me, and make yourself a place in the
world as Mr. Covington has done."

"Never!" he almost shouted. "You don't know how he's made his place, or
you wouldn't say that. Do you want me to climb up by stepping all over
those who have helped me, to play double with every one I meet, to
crisscross even on the man who trusts me most, and finally try to cinch
my position by marrying his daughter? If that's your idea of being a
man, I'll tell you right now, not for mine."

Alice rose, with flaming face. "I told you that you had reached the
limit, Allen--now you have passed it. Oh! why did I let you go on! I
like you so much, and I want to see you succeed. I've tried to help you
all I could, and this is the result. Now we can't even be friends any
more, and this insane jealousy of yours will spoil your chances in the
Companies. Oh, Allen, Allen--why can't you grow up and be sensible!"

"Don't worry about me," the boy said, dejectedly. "You're probably
right, just as the pater was probably right. I'm no good anyhow. I
didn't want to go into diplomacy because there seemed to be so much in
it which was double-dealing. Now I'm in business, and I see the same
things there. It's all my fault--it must be; but I'm in wrong somehow. I
wouldn't say a word, Alice, if it were some one else, but
Covington--well, you've told me to cut that out, so I will. But don't
say we can't be friends--I couldn't stand that. You'll need me some
time, little girl, and when you do, I want to be Johnny on the spot."

Alice never found it possible to be angry with him for any extended
period. Always after his impulsive outbreaks he became so contrite that
the early displeasure was abated by his unspoken but evident desire for
forgiveness.

"Will you take back what you said about Mr. Covington?" she asked.

"I can't do that," he replied, firmly; "but I'll do my best to let you
find him out from some one else."

And the girl let him leave it there, remaining in the same position
several minutes after he had gone, wondering that she had been willing
to permit so gross a slander to stand unchallenged. When at last she
turned slowly toward the door, she started violently as something began
to untangle itself from the portières.

"It's only me," announced Patricia, ungrammatically, but none the less
undauntedly.

"What have you been doing there?" the elder sister demanded, her
momentary fright making her indignation even greater.

"Listenin'," replied the culprit, shamelessly.

"Patricia Gorham!" For Alice to use the child's full name conveyed the
absolute limit of reproach, but Patricia stood her ground fearlessly.

"I'm not ashamed--I've simply _got_ to know my future. You'll stick to
what you said, won't you, Alice?"

"You ought to be punished!"

"But you won't marry Allen, will you?" Pat pleaded, unblushingly. "You
can have Mr. Covington and I will have Allen, and we all will be happy
ever afterward."

"Oh, you--kids, that's what you both are!" Alice cried in sheer
desperation. "Between you, I can't get a moment's peace."

"He would make a lovely Knight." Patricia's face assumed an enraptured
expression. "Oh, I wish I was a damosel, with a vessel of gold between
my hands, and Allen was Sir Launcelot, and I would say, 'Wit ye well,'
and he would kneel and say his prayers to me, and--Alice, what does 'Wit
ye well' mean, anyhow?"

But Alice had fled, leaving Patricia the victrix of her bloodless
battle-field.




XVIII


James Riley's information, while causing Gorham some concern, was not
the matter which gave him the greatest anxiety during the days he passed
away from his office. The fact that Buckner was in town was not
altogether surprising, and his maudlin comments need not necessarily be
seriously considered. In addition to the commission he intrusted to
young Riley, Gorham also set in motion the wheels of his own
secret-service department, feeling confident that he would soon learn
all the facts. The conduct of the current business of the Companies,
complex as it had now become, appeared to be advancing steadily along
the lines which he himself had laid down for it, and he saw no reason to
think that his temporary absence was causing the slightest
disarrangement of the delicately adjusted machine upon which depended
the continued momentum of the business. This interested him
particularly, as he considered that the crowning point of his successful
formation of the Consolidated Companies would not be attained until his
actual contact with the business was not required.

But great enterprises do not expand themselves without the jealous
watchfulness of other competing or interested organizations, and
Gorham's daily reports contained an increasing number of references to
the efforts being made by these to harass the Consolidated Companies
with governmental interference. Senator Kenmore had by this time become
the chief spokesman of the Companies in Washington. Since his first
exhaustive examination into its affairs, his doubts as to the
possibility of conducting so mammoth a consolidation along conscientious
lines had been dissipated by the absolute straightness of the course
which Gorham steered. His influence had been exerted frequently in
behalf of the Companies, and each time the success which thus came to
the corporation carried in its wake advantages to the people, just as
Gorham had promised. The Senator had become one of Gorham's stanchest
admirers and supporters, and the president of the Consolidated Companies
in turn relied fully upon him. For several weeks Kenmore's
correspondence had suggested certain unrest in the Senate concerning
trusts and consolidations, so when Gorham received from him an urgent
summons to come to Washington at once, it left no room for doubt as to
the necessity which prompted its sending, and obliged him for the
present to abandon his idea of rest.

Gorham found Kenmore awaiting him in his office, and the Senator, with
characteristic directness, came to the point at once.

"Some one is starting up another scare on monopolies and combinations,
and is making the Consolidated Companies the target. Do you know
anything about it?"

"Does it come from New York State?" Gorham asked.

"Yes; the junior senator is at the head of it."

"He is a Tammany man."

"Yes."

"Brady made him, and now he is collecting his fee. The Consolidated
Companies hit Brady hard in the Manhattan Traction deal, you remember.
How much headway has it gained?"

"Enough to be dangerous; that's why I wrote as I did."

"It can't be dangerous while we have the people so strongly with us, but
it might become troublesome. Whom do you want me to see?"

"The President. I have made an appointment with him half an hour from
now. The Senator from New York has touched him a bit by demanding why he
is haling the other great corporations into court, and leaving the
Consolidated Companies to grow larger and stronger without opposition."

"Have you discussed the matter with the President?"

"No; I thought it best to let you present it as a whole. Come--we shall
find him ready for us."

The President received his callers in his office. He was a great
President, and as such realized, as some of his predecessors had not,
that the country of which he was the chief executive was constantly
outgrowing the legislation which had been wise at the time of its
enactment. He realized that as expansion comes conditions change, and
these changed conditions necessitate the exercise of a far-seeing and a
far-reaching judgment in administering the law in its spirit rather than
always in its letter; but the experience he had gained in the White
House had taught him the difficulties which beset his path in living up
to his convictions. Gorham had been frequently called to his councils
for advice upon various subjects, and the President was familiar with
the Consolidated Companies in conception and operation.

"We are accused of discrimination, Mr. Gorham," the President
explained, after the first greetings. "You and I have discussed the
Consolidated Companies upon various occasions; I have watched its
operations carefully, and I am free to say that my early apprehensions
have thus far proved groundless. I believe that I have acted
conscientiously in pushing the investigations and prosecutions against
those combinations which are really a menace to the country; but there
are some who disagree with me, and flaunt the Consolidated Companies in
my face as an evidence of insincerity on my part. I have asked you and
Senator Kenmore to meet me here this afternoon, to talk over the
question quite informally with the senator from New York and with the
Attorney-General."

"I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. President," Gorham replied, quietly.

"Then we are all ready for the discussion," said the President, touching
a button. "They are waiting--I will send for them."

Upon the arrival of the others, he repeated to them what he had said to
Gorham, and then, settling back in his chair, became an interested
listener, leaving Gorham and the senator from New York as the principal
disputants, with Kenmore and the Attorney-General joining in the
argument from time to time.

"Do I understand that Mr. Gorham speaks for the Administration in this
matter?" asked Senator Hunt, with some asperity.

"I speak for the Consolidated Companies, and for that alone," Gorham
replied, promptly.

"Then you will perhaps explain why your corporation, the largest trust
in existence to-day, is immune, while other trusts are being persecuted
to the extent of the Government's power."

"I am not authorized to answer any question which has to do with the
Government," Gorham continued; "but it may be that it is due to the same
reason that some of the 'other trusts' you mention are not as yet
incorporated as a part of the Consolidated Companies."

"Then they have been approached?" the Senator asked, quickly.

"Several of them have approached us; but they have thus far been
unwilling to accept the principles upon which the Consolidated Companies
is founded."

"You refer to its alleged benevolent aspect?"

"Yes, if you choose to call it that," Gorham replied, smiling. "We
prefer to call it reciprocity. If we receive favors in the form of
concessions from the people, we believe it to be not only fair, but also
sound business, to use these concessions not to bleed them, but for
their benefit."

"In other words, the Consolidated Companies is a good trust, and the
others are bad trusts?"

"Exactly."

"The Sherman Act, if I read it correctly, makes no distinction."

"But the Government does."

"And to that extent unlawfully discriminates," the Senator said,
emphatically.

"What would be the effect upon the country if the Sherman Act were
enforced literally?" Gorham asked.

"That is not for me to say."

"Perhaps the Attorney-General will give us his opinion," Gorham
persisted.

The Attorney-General had been listening to the discussion with much
interest.

"There can be but one answer to that question," he replied; "it would
produce an industrial reign of terror, and yet I am frank to say that,
from a legal standpoint, I believe Senator Hunt is correct in his
statement that the Government unlawfully discriminates in drawing any
distinction between good and bad trusts; but let me say further, that it
is my definite opinion that the Sherman Act, as it now stands, is a
menace to the country. That Act, literally interpreted, would break up
every trust into smaller corporations. It is based on a hasty inference
that great consolidations are of necessity monopolies. Even if we
disintegrated a great corporation like the Consolidated Companies, for
instance, into a large number of smaller corporations, we should not
have solved the problem. There would always be methods by which a common
understanding could be reached, and, in the disintegration, producing
concerns would lose much of the efficiency in serving the public which
has already been demonstrated by the Consolidated Companies. I have
answered your question frankly, giving you my opinion from a legal and
also from a personal standpoint."

"Was there not a time," Kenmore asked, "when the public in England was
as much afraid of the formation of business partnerships as our public
has been afraid of trusts?"

"Yes," the Attorney-General replied; "our own trust legislation is
nothing more than a modern repetition of certain laws which centuries
ago were in force in England, and were designed to prevent the formation
of co-partnerships in business."

"Yet partnerships were formed in spite of the law, were they not?"
insisted Kenmore, "and it was discovered that the prices of goods did
not go up."

"We are digressing," the senator from New York interrupted. "As I
understand it, we are concerned with the present rather than the past."

"I am glad you realize that," Gorham responded, "for it has a
considerable bearing upon the situation. In the past, the public has
been opposed to the organization of industry, and properly so, since it
has meant the secret rebates, the limiting of output, the 'fake'
independent companies, and the stealing of competitors' secrets; but
to-day there is a changed public sentiment, and perhaps I may be
pardoned if I say that I believe the Consolidated Companies has played
its part in bringing this about. The magazines have turned from
muckraking to articles instructing their readers in finance; the
anti-trust orator is speaking to empty seats; and intelligent lawmakers,
who once considered 'corporation' as a synonym for 'crime,' now
carefully distinguish between the honest and the dishonest organization.
The Administration is elected by the people to exercise the will of the
people, and it is the will of the people to-day that honest combinations
be permitted, in order to reduce the cost of the necessities of life."

"It is a conflict between a literal interpretation of the law and
industrial progress," added Senator Kenmore, "and the law as it stands
does not appeal to justice nor does it express American public
sentiment. Bigness, in commerce and industry, has now come to be
associated with progress. Production on a large scale is justified by
its economy and efficiency when brought about through the free play of
economic forces. It would be just as ridiculous to oppose the
ever-increasing demand for machinery."

"To what point is all this leading us?" asked Senator Hunt, impatiently.
"These one-sided arguments may be interesting to those who agree with
them, but my question still remains unanswered: why does not the
Government enforce the law equally against one offender as against
another, since by that law both are offenders?"

"Senator Kenmore, the Attorney-General, and I have endeavored to answer
your question to the best of our ability," Gorham replied, "and I, for
one, regret to have failed in my endeavor. We all agree, I am sure, that
the Government has a plain duty to perform, but we do not understand
that duty to be the prevention of honest and beneficial combination. The
Consolidated Companies has led the way in seeking publicity and
preserving equality, and in insuring public participation in the
benefits accruing from the combinations which it effects. If other
trusts do likewise, I have no doubt that they will be as 'immune' as you
have been pleased to call the Consolidated Companies."

"Are you prepared to deny that, in spite of this 'benevolent' aspect of
which you boast, the profits of your corporation are greater than those
of any trust in the world?"

"I have never made the comparative analysis which would be required to
answer your question," Gorham replied; "but I do say without fear of
contradiction that no organization ever gave back to the people so large
a percentage of its earnings. It may interest Senator Hunt if I outline
the principles upon which the Consolidated Companies was conceived."

Gorham's voice was a strong asset. Its low, clear tones carried without
apparent effort, and there was a firmness and sincerity in every spoken
word which always secured attentive hearing.

"The public," he said, "has long since become accustomed to mergers and
consolidations, and has naturally associated with them the strangling of
competition and the creation and enjoyment, on the part of a few, of the
conditions of monopoly. But business exploits such as these are, in a
measure, things of the past, and cannot be repeated. Great industries
can no longer hem in their rivals, or stifle and cripple them to the
extent that fields, which by natural law are free to all, become the
field of one. The people have at last risen against this, and
consolidations will only be tolerated when confidence is established
that the masses will be benefited. When the scheme of the Consolidated
Companies first became known, it was bitterly opposed by the public, who
saw in it nothing other than a new and more gigantic octopus, to feed
upon its very life-blood.

"From the very beginning, both from principle and from what I consider
to be sound business sense, I have endeavored by word and act to
convince the public that the Consolidated Companies intended to serve
its best interests, and our unprecedented success is the best evidence I
could offer that I have, at least in part, succeeded. Our stockholders
are men in high positions of trust, and they cannot continue to deliver
contracts to us unless we make good our promises to execute those
concessions to the advantage of the people. To-day, wherever the
Consolidated Companies is known, the public looks with approval upon
favors shown us by its officials, and this in itself is an asset to our
corporation of untold value. Bread, coffee, and other daily necessities
are now obtainable cheaper than ever before in the history of the world,
because the Consolidated Companies has made them so. Transportation
charges, wherever we have obtained the franchises, have been reduced
twenty per cent.; lighting costs, both gas and electric, are fifteen per
cent. cheaper in those cities which we control; government loans placed
through us are from one to two per cent. lower, thus substantially
reducing the rate of taxation. We have prevented war in at least two
instances, and thus demonstrated the possibilities of our power in
preserving universal peace. For the Government to interfere with our
work because of a technicality would result in an international
calamity."

"Are you now speaking for the Administration, Mr. Gorham?"

"Now, I am speaking as a private citizen."

"If the Attorney-General agrees with me," added the President, joining
in the discussion for the first time, "I think I may say that Mr.
Gorham's views as a private citizen are shared by the Administration; on
the other hand, I agree with the Attorney-General in the position which
he takes regarding the conflict between the legal and practical bearing
of the Sherman Act. There is only one way to solve the problem, and that
is to modify that Act so that a distinction can be made between those
consolidations which advance the country's prosperity, and those which
are operated solely for personal gain to the detriment of all except the
few directly interested. You may report back to your constituents,
Senator Hunt, that the Administration will refrain from further action
in this matter for the present, and will direct its efforts toward
securing amendments to the Sherman Act which shall make it possible to
draw a distinction between good and bad trusts, as you call them,
without discrimination."

The President rose, signifying that the conference was ended, and Gorham
left the White House in company with Senator Kenmore and the
Attorney-General. The latter wore a serious expression upon his face.

"The President took the only logical position," he remarked to his
companions; "but I tell you, gentlemen, that there is not the slightest
possibility of passing any bill through either house which can
accomplish the results we all desire."

"In another twelve months," observed Gorham, "granting that the
Companies continues to make history as it has, the people themselves
will prevent their representatives from interfering."

"Provided nothing occurs to raise a doubt as to the integrity of the
Companies' motives," added the Attorney-General, suggestively.

"How could such a doubt be raised?" Gorham was incredulous.

"By having some official in your corporation act in defiance of the
principles which you have upheld."

"We have a five-years' record to fall back upon."

"Yes; but as the Companies grows larger the risk increases."

"And the careful surveillance increases in like ratio."

"There are human limitations, Mr. Gorham," laughed the Attorney-General.




XIX


Allen Sanford, during the next few weeks, found much to think about
besides himself. His advance had been more rapid than Gorham had
expected. His position with the Companies was still the same, but his
value in his position had steadily increased. The impetuosity and
intensity which, previously uncontrolled, had made him heedless, were
now directed through a smaller vent, and gained in power. Gorham's early
belief that the boy possessed in no small degree, though undeveloped,
the business genius which had accomplished his father's great success,
was being definitely confirmed, and he rejoiced in it.

Allen had studied the business problem with which he came daily in
contact as closely as he could with the little experience which had as
yet come to him. What man of affairs does not recall how intangible was
that turning-point, in his own early business career, before which he
felt hopelessly submerged in that sea of infinite detail, vainly
struggling to gauge its currents and to escape its undertow; after which
he found himself advancing with steady strides, short at first, but
gaining in power as the lesser responsibilities merged into greater
ones!

Gorham's business training, previous to the inception of the
Consolidated Companies, had been in accord with the universal business
code, quite at variance with the idealistic basis which he himself had
now established. Allen's training had all been along Gorham's idealistic
thread. It was perhaps natural, therefore, that Allen, under these
circumstances, should look upon the transactions of the Consolidated
Companies from a different viewpoint from that which Mr. Gorham took. At
all events, some of these business acts did not seem to the boy to be in
full accord with the altruism which he had learned from his preceptor.
Allen had come to know most of the directors and some of the
stockholders, and he was convinced that the prevailing instinct which
controlled their relations to the Consolidated Companies and to its
transactions was self-interest pure and simple. There was no question
that the Companies had accomplished important reductions in the
necessities of life and in the cost of public utilities, as a result of
which the people were radically benefited; but to Allen's untrained mind
even this seemed to be a clever business policy from the exercise of
which the corporation gained more than it gave. Already there had come
to him a sense of apprehension as to what might happen if Mr. Gorham's
restraining hand should lose its present power, and the control should
fall into the hands of men such as he conceived Covington and his
sympathizers to be; and lately the boy had regarded this chance as not
altogether remote.

Gorham never allowed Allen to discuss with him the personalities of any
of the directors or stockholders with whom he came in contact. This was
partly due to his feeling that Allen was not as yet competent to form
opinions of any value, and partly to his general principle that he must
hold his own mind unprejudiced in his duty toward his associates. For
this reason, and for another which lay closer to his heart, the boy had
never expressed to him his distrust of Covington, though he had been
tempted to do so on more than one occasion. Now, however, during the
absence of his chief from the offices, Allen felt sure that a crisis was
near at hand. He knew that Covington was in constant communication with
certain of the directors, and the nature of these conferences could
perhaps be divined by the growing discontent which he saw developing
among those upon whom he knew Gorham depended as his most valued
lieutenants. He had been brooding over matters so long that this new and
tenser situation, as he saw it, made him feel it to be his duty to talk
it over with Gorham. He was none too sure that his doubts would be
shared or even accepted, and this uncertainty added to his
apprehensiveness in breaking over what he knew to be his chief's implied
commands. This was his first experience in a business office, and it
might be that what caused him anxiety was only a part of the day's work,
to be found in any similar establishment. Still, he determined to free
his mind of its ever-present burden, and he selected the time shortly
after Gorham's return from Washington.

Gorham listened to Allen's reports well into the night. The boy did most
of the talking, and Gorham absorbed with little comment the story which
he had to tell. Allen was surprised and relieved to find that he
listened to him without criticism, and it strengthened him in his own
confidence to find that the elder man treated him with a consideration
beyond that which he had previously received.

"You are quite right to come to me with this," Gorham said at length;
"but I feel that, as far as the business is concerned, you are unduly
apprehensive. I shall satisfy myself on this point on my return to the
office. Now, as to Mr. Covington: I have been aware for weeks of your
personal dislike for each other, but it is unworthy of you, Allen, to
allow this to influence you to the extent of doing him so great an
injustice."

Allen colored deeply at the criticism. "I have waited until I am certain
that it is no injustice before bringing the matter to you," he said.

"I have also been aware of another fact," Gorham continued, "which is in
itself an explanation of your present attitude. When I tell you that it
is my fondest hope that Alice shall marry Mr. Covington, you will
understand. This in itself is the strongest evidence I could give of my
confidence in him."

This was a blow far greater than any Alice had dealt him. Allen had
never lost hope that sooner or later he could convince her that he had
attained man's estate, and this he considered the only real barrier
between them. But if Mr. Gorham had set his heart upon her marriage to
Covington, he knew the case was hopeless. The older man watched him as
he struggled with himself.

"You should have no thought at present of marrying any one," he said,
kindly. "You are not mature enough yet to know your own mind. You have
done well, and I have great hopes for your future, but for the present
you must be content to solve one day's problems before taking up the
next."

"I wouldn't mind so much about Alice," the boy finally managed to blurt
out, "if it was any one except Mr. Covington."

"Have you any actual evidence that he is other than an upright, able
man, whose character entitles him to the fullest confidence and esteem?"

"No actual evidence; but I know I'm right. Please don't let him have
Alice without making sure."

Gorham placed his hand kindly upon the boy's shoulder. "Your interest in
my little girl's happiness, though prejudiced, makes me overlook this
boyish jealousy toward a man whom I respect. But you can't think that my
carefulness in so important a matter as this would be any less than your
own. Come, now, let us forget all this. Go back to your duties, my boy,
with a confidence that my judgment is better than yours."

As Allen made no reply and showed no inclination to leave, Gorham
wondered if he had still anything further to say. The boy moved
uncomfortably in his chair as the question was asked.

"Not regarding the business detail, Mr. Gorham," he replied at length.
"Oh, I am all at sea!" he burst out suddenly, his voice trembling with
emotion. "I guess business isn't in my line anyhow."

"What do you mean, Allen?" Gorham asked, completely surprised by the
boy's intensity.

"If I tell you what I really mean you will think I am ungrateful for the
chance you have given me, and, truly, that isn't it. I know you feel
that the Consolidated Companies is accomplishing a great work, and
you're right; but there's another side which I don't like at all. With
the single exception of yourself, I don't believe there is a man
connected with it who isn't in it for what he can get out of it. The
public is being benefited by certain reductions which the Companies
accomplishes, but before long I'm sure they will have to pay up for all
they have saved, with a bitter interest. Of course, my feeling this way
is simply an evidence that I don't understand things at all."

Allen had touched upon Gorham's most sensitive point. "It is a deep
disappointment to me that you feel as you do," he replied. "As you say,
it is an evidence that you don't understand things at all. The
Consolidated Companies has almost reached a point where individual
personality is merely incidental; where, in my opinion, my own services
even will not long be essential. I like to believe that my continued
connection strengthens and guides it, but no one man can now affect its
progress to any serious degree; but, my boy, loyalty to the Companies on
the part of its employees is absolutely imperative. That I must demand
of you."

Allen winced under the criticism, but he could not withdraw from his
position.

"Could not a man like Mr. Covington change the entire policy of the
Companies if he came into control?" he asked, significantly.

"No," Gorham replied, firmly. "In the first place, if he gained control,
he would have no desire to change it; in the second, my Executive
Committee is made up of men of too high principle to permit him or any
other man to operate the Companies upon other than a proper basis."

"You may not feel so sure of this after you have investigated," Allen
insisted.

"I shall never alter my opinion." Gorham was annoyed by the boy's
persistence. "It is too late to-night to discuss this phase of the
subject with you as thoroughly as we must if you are to continue with
the corporation, but in the mean time remember that the Consolidated
Companies is in the hands of men whose self-interest is coupled with a
personal gratification in the altruistic basis whose nature you have
learned from me. You are not competent to pass upon their motives, and
until you are you should not venture to criticise."

"I admitted that it is all due to my inexperience, Mr. Gorham, and I am
sorry that you are angry. I believe in you as I could never believe in
any other man, and I know that, as far as you can control it, you will
keep the Consolidated Companies within the lines you have laid down; but
I can't make myself believe that the others have the same honorable
intentions."

"Stop!" cried Gorham, seriously aroused by the boy's words. "I shall
listen to you no further. It is only my friendship for your father and
my affection for you which, keeps me from speaking harshly to you; but
be warned! You are attempting to interfere in a matter which is too
heavy for your strength. Leave it to those who understand it."

After Allen left the house Gorham sat for a long time in his library,
smoking and meditating. Yet it was not the possible internal business
complications, as suggested by the boy, which occupied his thoughts; it
was not some new gigantic transaction about to be launched on behalf of
the Companies which filled his mind, nor was it the suggested danger to
Eleanor's peace of mind. He was thinking of Allen, half blaming himself
for the forlorn expression the boy's face had worn as he left the room.
It was a courageous thing for this youngster to rush in where older and
more experienced men would not have dared, to face Robert Gorham and to
tell him that the monument he had erected rested upon a base of shifting
sand. His absurd statements regarding Covington were easily explained,
but what he had said of the business was an honest expression, even
though groundless in fact and resulting from an inexperienced
interpretation of matters far beyond his present knowledge.

Gorham contrasted in his mind the changes which these few months had
wrought in him. He remembered how lightly the boy had taken his father's
tirade which had thrown him upon his own resources, and compared this
with the depressing effect which his own criticism had produced.

"Poor boy, I'm really sorry for him," he said to himself. "With old
Stephen on one side and with me on the other, and with his fancied
devotion to Alice on top of it all, he must feel that the world is
against him." Then Gorham's face became stern again. "But he must take
on ballast," he said, firmly; "he must get over these snap-judgments and
learn to recognize that he is playing with tools too heavy for him to
handle. It will do him good--but I love the boy for his courage. It will
land him somewhere if he keeps his head."




XX


The days passed by with nothing to justify Eleanor's apprehensions
resulting from Ralph Buckner's presence in New York, so her fears
vanished, and with them the necessity of disturbing her husband's
tranquillity with this confidence which already had been so long
postponed. Gorham's sudden trip to Washington made this even more
natural. Alice had told her of Covington's proposal, and was eager to
discuss the situation from every possible standpoint. To the older woman
the girl's attitude toward Allen seemed heartless, yet, knowing her
husband's feeling in the matter, she decided that it was wiser to leave
the young people to solve their own problem. Youth is ever heartless in
its attitude toward others, and it is only by its own suffering that it
learns the lesson of consideration. Eleanor sought to impress Alice with
the importance of being sure of her own heart before making her final
decision, and encouraged her to take plenty of time. She would have
hesitated to do this, on her husband's account, except that with Allen
so hopelessly out of the running the delay could do no harm. Alice must
make no error, Eleanor kept repeating to herself, recalling with painful
vividness the result of her own mistaken act of duty.

Covington became a constant visitor at the Gorham home, assuming more
and more the prerogatives of an accepted suitor. His attentions were
assiduous and his companionship was so agreeable that Alice considered
the arrangement ideal. Each time he urged her to give him a definite
reply she begged off in such a playful, girlish fashion that Covington
mildly acquiesced, feeling that each day's association made the
situation that much more favorable to him. And this courtship, curious
as it was, proved not unpleasant to him. Much to his own surprise, he
began to find himself really fond of this young girl, who kept him
constantly on the _qui vive_ to follow her from the absurdity of girlish
conceits to the opposite extreme of mature discussion of subjects
ordinarily far beyond the grasp of her years. It whetted his interest
and possessed a decided fascination for him, he admitted to himself more
than once as he left the house to return to his own apartment, wearing a
satisfied smile of patronizing indulgence. Had it not been for the
business necessities, and the importance of actually becoming her
husband before anything occurred to disturb his relations with Gorham,
he would have preferred to have things run on indefinitely as they were.

During this time Allen found Covington's attitude toward him completely
changed. It would have hurt the older man's self-respect to admit that
the boy could in any way be looked upon as a rival; but young girls are
uncertain quantities, and it had been necessary for Alice to prove that
she was beyond this danger-point before Covington decided that Allen was
a promising youngster, after all, and, as Stephen Sanford's son,
entitled at least to being noticed.

Allen, during the same period, and perhaps because of the same
conditions, had grown to regard Covington with even more cordial
aversion. The only positive grievance he had against him was the
success he had gained with Alice; but, in an undefined way, he felt
instinctively that this man possessed every Machiavellian attribute in
the calendar of dishonor. With an effort to be just, Allen mentally made
a generous discount to offset any possible prejudice, but even then
Covington measured up shockingly bad. If Alice had insisted on a proof
of the statements he made against him to her, he would have found
himself lacking ammunition; when Gorham had asked him point-blank what
evidence he had to substantiate his accusations, he had been unable to
give any, and this, he realized, had hurt him in the eyes of his chief.

So now the boy proposed to collect evidence, with the self-acknowledged
purpose of helping Gorham and of saving Alice, entirely overlooking any
personal interest in the undertaking. Covington's first overtures came
just at this time and were coldly received; but as Allen considered the
matter, he concluded that he would learn to "purr" too, taking lessons
in this gentle art from the one man whom he acknowledged to be its past
master.

Gorham was surprised by the change in their relations as he saw it, and
the boy at once rose in his estimation. Allen had evidently taken to
heart the advice given him during their last interview, and had proved
himself big enough to rise above his jealousies and his disappointment.
Gorham, guided by Eleanor's judgment, had refrained even from expressing
to Alice his strong desire that she should marry Covington, but with
Allen already self-effaced and with Alice accepting Covington's
attentions, even though as yet uncommitted, all was progressing to his
satisfaction.

Allen's duties still took him frequently to the Gorham house, but he
saw Alice only casually, as he made no effort to force himself upon her.
She was too much engrossed with the new element which had entered her
life to concern herself particularly, but she was negatively grateful to
him for not making the present condition unpleasant. She wanted to keep
him as a friend, and told him so frankly, but that could only be so long
as he accepted things as he found them.

But any lack of enthusiasm on the part of Alice was more than made up
for by Patricia. She was living on the seventh floor of her seventh
heaven. As she saw it, Alice had acted in the friendliest way possible
in giving her a clear field with her Sir Launcelot. Allen humored her,
finding a real relief in this childish game which his little friend took
so seriously. The one drawback was the amount of intimate information
which she conveyed through the medium of her innocent prattle. Allen
could not know what was coming next, and so was powerless to head off
conversation upon subjects into which he knew he had no right to enter,
for Patricia possessed the faculty of keeping herself well informed as
to family matters. It was through this that he secured the first clew
upon which to start a real investigation, so he considered the
information Heaven-sent, and blessed the child accordingly.

The staircase, as usual, formed the trysting-place. Here Patricia
waylaid her Knight on his way down from the library, taking her position
on an upper step, which made their difference in height less apparent.
The same ceremony was enacted each time in accord with the ritual she
had taught him. After he passed her, she suddenly sprang up to her full
stature, holding her arm high above her with the palm of her hand
extended.

"Wit ye well, Sir Knight!" she cried, impressively.

Then Allen turned--he was forbidden, under pain of death, to recognize
her until he heard these mystic words--knelt on the step below her and
kissed her other hand, while the one upraised descended upon his head in
benediction.

"The Lord be with thee, Fair Lady," he replied, following his lesson.

"And with thee--I accept thy troth. Now we can have a visit."

The Arthurian lady had vanished, and Patricia was herself again, curled
up close beside him.

"Look here, Lady Pat," he said, shaking his finger at her warningly, "I
think we ought to put a stop to this--you're taking it all too
seriously."

"Of course," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Why don't we get married
right away--then it needn't be serious any longer."

"Well"--Allen would not have wounded the devoted little heart for
worlds--"one reason is that I haven't money enough."

"Did Knights have to have money?" Patricia inquired. "I never saw a suit
of armor with a money-pocket in it."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "There wasn't any money then, like ours,
and when they wanted anything they didn't have, they fought for it."

"Well, then, why don't you fight for it?"

"I'm going to--I am fighting now. I mean, Lady Pat, they don't let you
fight the way they used to."

"Is it only because you haven't money enough that we don't marry, Sir
Launcelot?"

"That is--one of the principal reasons."

"Swear that you don't love any other fair lady."

"Except Alice," Allen insisted.

"Shall you always love her?" Patricia asked, wistfully.

Allen sighed. "I'm afraid so, Lady Pat."

"Well, I don't care--I'll love you enough for both of us, so that's all
settled. Now promise that you'll sit on this very step and not move 'til
I come back."

"What for? I must run along."

"You promised," she cried, and disappeared up-stairs as fast as her
little white legs could carry her. There was nothing to do but wait, yet
Allen was not long kept in suspense. Patricia returned with equal speed,
carrying her bank in both hands.

"There!" she exclaimed, jingling the contents. "You take that and make a
lot more with it, and we shall have all the money we want."

"But I can't do that," he protested.

"Aren't you as smart as Mr. Covington?"

"What has he to do with it, Lady Pat?"

"He took Alice's money and made a whole lot more with it, and I'm going
to tell you how to do it, too."

Patricia danced before him on the hall rug, clapping her hands together
with joy and excitement. Suddenly she paused in her gyrations, and,
placing her mouth close to his ear, she whispered:

"Buy some storks from the New York Railroad."

Allen jumped to his feet as if he had been struck. "What did you say?"
he demanded, seizing the child almost roughly by the wrist; but Patricia
attributed his action to excitement and joy equal to her own, so
accepted it cheerfully.

"That is it," she repeated, firmly. "I'm sure, for I wrote it down just
as soon as I heard it. I knew I should need it some time. Storks must be
very valuable birds, because Mr. Covington told Alice not to tell; and
he made thirty--thousand--dollars for her. Now, you're smarter than Mr.
Covington, and you can make a hundred thousand. Will you?"

"I'll start right out and see what I can do." Allen tried to keep the
child from seeing his excitement. "I haven't time to stop to tell you
how naughty it is to listen. If I don't go right now the storks may all
be gone, and then of course we couldn't make any money. Good-bye, Lady
Pat--I'll try hard, but don't be disappointed if there aren't any
left--good-bye."

Allen rushed from the house and, hailing a passing taxi, ordered the
chauffeur to drive to the office, although it was now nearly six
o'clock.




XXI


With characteristic energy Gorham made good the promise given to Allen
to investigate matters at the office, and not many days after his return
to his desk he issued a call for a special meeting of the Executive
Committee. He looked upon it almost as a weakness to have permitted this
boy's unsupported statements to influence him even to this extent, but
he justified himself by the knowledge that a confirmation of the loyalty
of his associates would give him renewed strength.

The day of the meeting found every member of the committee present--a
fact which interested Gorham as an evidence of the devotion of these men
to the responsibilities which rested upon them. But the routine business
had no sooner been completed than the president became aware that the
harmony which had existed from the beginning was in danger of being
disturbed. Inquiries were made which were too significant to be
overlooked, and veiled criticism came from quarters where previously he
had believed existed absolute confidence in himself and full approval of
his methods.

"It is well to have this come to a head," Gorham remarked after several
had expressed their views. "This corporation is so gigantic that it must
fall of its own weight unless every part of its structure be sound and
effective in bearing its share of the load. There is no stability where
there is lack of harmony, and what you gentlemen have said to-day shows
beyond question that radical and immediate action is imperative to
preserve to our stockholders what we have already gained for them, and
to secure the future benefits which are assured, provided the Companies
itself can act as a unit. Now, in order that we may clearly understand
the situation, will not Mr. Litchfield state specifically the criticism
implied in his remarks?"

Litchfield rose deliberately from his seat. He was the head of certain
large gas-works which the corporation had acquired in connection with
its consolidation of the lighting interests in Philadelphia.

"Before complying with Mr. Gorham's request," he began, "I wish to say
that nothing is further from my intentions than to cast aspersions
either upon our president or his motives. During the time I have served
on this committee I have been amazed by the increasing realization which
has come to me of the marvellous success he has achieved in developing
the Consolidated Companies to the point it has reached to-day. Many of
us have contributed in a smaller or greater degree to its success, but
it has been his master mind which has anticipated the conditions and
provided the means to make the most of them. But it is also true that in
doing this Mr. Gorham has, in my opinion, deliberately neglected to
secure for the Companies as large returns as might have been gained. In
the Philadelphia Lighting Company, for example, with which I am
naturally more familiar than with any of the other ramifications of the
Consolidated Companies, Mr. Gorham has voluntarily reduced the rates
when the consumers had expressed no general discontent with the former
prices. It is true that the consolidation effected great economies in
the production, but it is entirely obvious that the profits to the
company would be greater if we were receiving the full advantage of the
economies by still selling our product at the old rates. And this case
which I have cited is, I understand, a fair sample of Mr. Gorham's
policy in all other directions. I can appreciate the desirability in the
past of giving the people the advantage in a few transactions in order
to create public confidence; but to continue to make a practice of so
doing appears to me to be unnecessary and, I may say, unbusinesslike."

After Litchfield sat down Gorham called upon several others, some of
whom expressed themselves, with more or less frankness, along the same
line.

"Then it all sums itself up in this," he said at length, after having
invited remarks from those who cared to take part in the discussion:
"Your president has been guilty of not making the most of the
opportunities which he himself has created."

This seemed to be the sense of the meeting.

"Then let me ask a few questions," continued Gorham. "Mr. Litchfield has
told us of the reduced cost of production in his plants as a result of
our consolidation. Will he not further state how great that economy is?"

"Thirty-three and one-third per cent.," was the prompt reply.

"And we have reduced the rate how much?"

"Fifteen per cent."

"How much has the business increased during the past year?"

"About twenty per cent."

"And the balance-sheet shows what as to profits?"

"About twenty-five per cent. larger than any previous year."

"In spite of the reduced rates," Gorham added, significantly.

"But they would have been larger still if the old rates had prevailed,"
Litchfield insisted.

"I cannot agree with you," Gorham said, firmly. "Your concern had been
standing still for six years when we took hold of it--the business had
even gone backward the last year--yet in two years' time, under our
administration, it shows a gross gain of thirty-three and one-third per
cent. and a net gain of twenty-five. I am enlarging on Mr. Litchfield's
case because, in a measure, it is an answer to you all, and a full
justification of the basis upon which I have rested and shall continue
to rest the operations of the Companies. It has been my pride that it
was possible to administer the affairs of this corporation in such a way
that not only could we boast that during the five years of our business
existence we had lived up to the principles on which we originally
built, but also that we have proved it a sound financial proposition.
Never before in the history of the world has any body of men associated
themselves in business with the avowed purpose of making their
organization an advantage to the people, without either failing signally
in their undertaking or proving themselves false to their
responsibilities. We have reached a point where failure is impossible;
we find ourselves receiving greater returns upon our investment than is
yielded by any other organization in existence. Can it be possible that
there is one man among us who wishes to take away from the Companies the
unique position which it has now gained?"

It was evident that Litchfield had been appointed the spokesman for the
committee, as he immediately assumed the responsibility of replying to
Gorham's remarks.

"May I not ask our president if he does not overestimate the importance
of standing up so straight that there is danger of falling over
backward? There is no difference of opinion as to the commercial value
of the great asset which he has established for the Companies, in so
completely winning the confidence of the people at large as well as
those who hold high positions of trust. We should stultify ourselves
were we to take any such stand, for the profits of the Companies are an
irrefutable argument. The question before us, then, is not one of fact,
but rather of degree. Why should we spend these further millions to gain
that which we have already secured? We should still so administer the
affairs of the Companies as to hold this great advantage, but I maintain
that we should pay no more to hold it than is absolutely necessary."

Gorham glanced around to see if any one else was disposed to add to what
Litchfield had said, but the silence which prevailed indicated more
clearly than words that the speaker had expressed the consensus of
opinion.

"I am waiting for some one to remind Mr. Litchfield that he has
overlooked, in his statement, a fact which possesses vital
significance," Gorham said at length. "The Consolidated Companies has
received from the people concessions which it has succeeded in making
immensely valuable. It has accepted these concessions in trust upon the
distinct understanding that those who gave them should receive equal
benefit. So far, this trust has been religiously observed. Every dollar
of profit which the stockholders have divided represents a like amount
paid back to those to whom it belongs. To pay them less would be not
only a breach of faith, but would be to retain that which does not
belong to us. It is not for Mr. Litchfield or for me to determine the
amount--the proportion has already been settled by our original
covenant."

Litchfield moved uneasily in his chair as Gorham ceased speaking.

"You put it in rather a disagreeable form, Mr. Gorham. Perhaps the fact
that you have been talking this side of the enterprise for so long has
made you assimilate more of your own theories than is ordinarily the
case. Of course, in the beginning, it was necessary to make the
statements strong in order to be convincing, but there was no
'covenant,' as you call it, and the people are not in a position to
exact an equal division unless we choose to give it to them."

"Can it be that I understand you correctly?" Gorham demanded, with
mingled indignation and amazement. "Do you mean to imply that I have not
been sincere in stating to the public the original basis upon which we
incorporated? Do you suggest that when one party to the agreement has
lived fairly up to his end of it we, the other party, should neglect to
do the same, simply because he has no access to our books and no power
to demand an accounting?"

"You are far too literal in your interpretation of my remarks,"
Litchfield protested, with some warmth. "This parallel you have drawn is
absurd on the face of it. There has been no legal agreement that we
should treat the dear public as if it were in actual partnership with
us. You have held out certain inducements which have secured for us the
concessions, and we have made good the promise you gave that our success
meant advantage to the people. But all this was a means to an end. For
five years the public has shared equally with those of us who have put
money and brains into the Consolidated Companies. No one suggests that
the people should not still continue to receive benefits, but those of
us here present are unanimous in our conviction that the time has now
come to conduct the Companies upon a strictly business basis. This is
not the age for quixotic sentimentality, and the Consolidated Companies
not only possesses the right, but the power to maintain its position
upon the same basis as other smaller and less powerful organizations.
Speaking for myself alone, I am amazed that Robert Gorham, with his
exceptional and acknowledged business acumen, should take a position
with his Executive Committee which is as disadvantageous to his own
interests as it is to the stockholders'."

No one but Gorham himself saw the mist which momentarily rose before his
eyes, yet, when it passed, his vision was clearer than it had ever been.
The men sitting around him represented the flower of the business world,
each one of whom stood before his fellow-men as a tangible expression of
honor and integrity. Yet not one was able to comprehend Gorham's
viewpoint, not one could be anything but incredulous that he stood
sincere in the position he had taken. This was what hurt him most. The
applause which his associates had awarded him had been as that won by a
clever actor rather than, as he had believed, the responsive echo forced
from their souls by the battle notes of a new cause. Their acceptance of
his doctrines had been because his arguments had persuaded them of the
material side of the enterprise. The very magnetism which they had felt
exercised by him upon themselves they had capitalized as an asset to be
assayed when once the ore was stopped. All the high-sounding claims were
turned at this moment into empty platitudes. All his promises were
valueless beyond his personal strength to make them good. To this extent
Allen had been right, but it was not too late to recognize the danger
and to meet it. His associates saw the Robert Gorham they thought they
had known for five years sitting in repose before them while this
realization of the situation surged through his brain--they saw the real
Robert Gorham when he rose to his feet, and faced them with a force they
felt before a word was spoken.

"I could not have believed it possible," he said, "for a moment such as
this ever to arrive. I have lived in this business Utopia for five
years, blind to the fact that those who labored with me failed utterly
to comprehend or to appreciate the sincerity of my motives or the
integrity of my purpose. I admit that I question my ability to make
clear to you by words what my acts have not conveyed. During these
years, and until to-day, you have accepted my judgment as supreme, and
for the first time I realize that this was not because you believed in
it, but because you saw in it advantage to yourselves. The gratification
which I have enjoyed from this supposed tribute has vanished, like the
empty bubble that it was. It has been said that the Consolidated
Companies was a one-man corporation, which I have denied, believing that
my labors were rather those of the pioneer, showing the way to those
associated with me who would naturally follow my footsteps. Again, I was
wrong: this has been a one-man corporation, and it is so to-day. Not
only has the creation of it been mine and mine alone, but also the
successful putting into execution of those principles which I alone
devised. The credit for this, which I have until now proudly conceded to
you, I assume wholly for myself, and I also give myself the further
credit of having, unknown to myself, been the single force which has
compelled you to live up to the high standard I established.

"Now, as the parent of this child which I have seen develop to this
point under my guidance and protection, I stand here prepared to fight
for its honor against you who threaten its destruction--and I warn you
that the parent love dares much. As the Roman Virginius stood with his
sword pricking the flesh over the heart of his beloved daughter, so do I
stand ready to destroy my offspring rather than suffer its dishonor at
the hands of any Appius Claudius. Gentlemen, the Consolidated Companies
has been a one-man corporation in the past through your sufferance; from
to-day, if it exist at all, it shall be a one-man corporation because of
my will. You know that these are no idle words. You know what would be
the result of a single statement from me that the Companies repudiates
its assumed responsibilities. I do not ask--I demand that you gentlemen,
as the Executive Committee of the corporation, pass such resolutions as
will place the authority absolutely in my hands. I ask Mr. Litchfield to
take the chair, while I retire to give you ample opportunity for
discussion. However hard it may be for your personal pride, you will
have to do this--you have too much at stake to gratify your resentment
of my autocracy. But if you can gain any consolation in the knowledge
that you have dealt your president a blow from which it will take long
for him to recover, I beg of you to make the most of it. I believed
that power was the supreme lever with which to move the world, and that
money was but the fulcrum upon which that lever should rest. You
gentlemen have shattered this belief, and have shown me that sordid gold
is the controlling object of man's life. Still, I prefer to remain in my
Utopia, alone if need be, but with your unwilling company so long as my
present strength shall last."

Gorham closed his eyes involuntarily as he ceased speaking, still
standing before his associates. A single tremor passed over his face,
and then it was as impassive as before. With a bow as courteous as it
was impressive, he left the room.




XXII


When Covington entered Gorham's office an hour later he found his chief
bowed forward on his desk, his head resting upon his hands. As the door
closed the older man raised his eyes, and the change in his face caused
Covington to stop in surprise. The usual color was replaced by a dull,
ashen gray, the lines had deepened, and the general aspect was that of a
man ten years older.

"Everything is all right, Mr. Gorham," Covington remarked,
encouragingly. "They passed the resolutions you demanded."

"John."

It was the first time Gorham had ever addressed him by his Christian
name, and this fact, together with the tone in which it was spoken,
aroused a novel sensation in the younger man. He took the outstretched
hand, and accepted the friendly pressure, conscious of a feeling not
altogether pleasant.

"John," Gorham repeated, "you and I are the only ones who can save the
Companies to its stockholders. We have a tremendous responsibility
thrust upon us."

"But you won out," Covington exclaimed, amazed that Gorham seemed not to
have comprehended his words. "Everything is all right."

"Everything is all wrong," the older man corrected, his eyes flashing
with a fire at variance with his general bearing. "Of course I won out,
but that is the least of my concern. My life-work bids fair to be a
failure, unless you and I together can build this structure over, using
material which this time will prove strong enough to withstand the
unholy strain of money, money, money. Of course I won out, because they
dare not risk my antagonism; but I have failed--miserably failed--in my
efforts to instil into those associated with me the basic principles of
a successful altruistic business. Oh, the pity of it! The greater the
returns the greater the greed, and their blindness in killing the goose
which lays the golden egg! But in you, John, at least, I have a tower of
strength."

Covington found himself being rapidly forced into an equivocal position.
No one knew so well as he that the present conditions were the direct
result of his skilful and persistent manipulation, yet the result of
this first issue had not been what he had foreseen. In fact, it had
turned out better than he had expected, in that Gorham now leaned on him
as his sole support. Yet it was dangerous, Covington realized, to be
placed where he could be accused of carrying water on both shoulders, so
he hastened to put himself on record, midway between the two factions.

"They had no idea that you laid so much stress on the moral side, in
your own mind--" he began.

"How could they have known me at all and thought otherwise?"

"The whole scheme of the Consolidated Companies is so unusual that
perhaps it isn't to be wondered at. What you consider to be unwarranted
is a recognized business method in other corporations."

"Why do you tell me this?" Gorham demanded, suddenly.

"Because I feared that you had overlooked it, in the heat of the
argument, and some sort of a compromise is of course necessary."

"Compromise?" repeated Gorham, questioningly. "I don't follow you."

"Why, you've carried your point, and proved your strength, but you have
divided the Companies into two camps. Of course something must be done
to conciliate. By Jove! that was an arraignment you gave them!"

"There can be no conciliation, Covington," was the firm response; "there
can be no compromise. The Consolidated Companies either is what it is,
or it is nothing. The pledges which I have made from the beginning shall
be lived up to in spirit and in letter, or the final exercise of the
strength which they all are forced to admit shall be again to separate
it into its integral parts, and prevent it from undoing that which I
have already accomplished through its agency."

"That is a large contract for any one man to undertake," Covington
remarked. "No individual has yet been able to disintegrate a successful
going corporation when the stockholders and the directors were opposed
to it."

"We are talking of unusual things," Gorham replied. "No individual
before has been able to found so mammoth or so successful a corporation
as the Consolidated Companies. No individual before this has found
himself strong enough to force the immediate capitulation, against their
wills, of so powerful an Executive Committee. With these precedents
before me, I state my determination not as a threat, or as a boast, but
as a fact."

"Are you counting on the stockholders for support?"

"Absolutely."

"You will find them as unanimously against you as you have just found
the committee."

"Do you know this?"

"They all know it; they would not have taken their position otherwise.
Next time, the stockholders will be put in evidence."

Gorham again became silent. This second shock, following so soon after
the first, for a moment paralyzed his power to think, but he quickly
recovered his optimism.

"I do not believe it--I will not believe it. But why do you tell me
this?" he again asked. "There must be some purpose behind it all."

"There is. It is necessary for you to realize the exact position we are
in. Your work has been with those about to become stockholders, or with
the consolidations; I have been brought in personal contact with the
stockholders and the directors. You have met the ideals, while I have
come face to face with the actualities. For this reason I tell you that
you are undertaking a more serious campaign than you realize, and I also
tell you that, strong as you are, compromise and conciliation will
eventually be required."

"Do I, then, stand alone?"

Covington resented the suggestion.

"There should be no question in your mind as to where I stand," he said.
"My personal relations with you, and my hope of an even closer
relationship, make any discussion unnecessary. But I see the situation
from a viewpoint which you cannot, and my duty clearly demands that I
express myself to you with complete frankness. I do not suggest that you
give up your ideals--I simply urge you to compromise with them in order
to win greater victories in the future."

"Covington," replied Gorham, with decision, "you know how much I value
your judgment, how firmly I rely upon your loyalty. Because of this, I
shall move with even greater care than so serious a crisis as this
inevitably demands. Yet it is only fair to say to you now that I can see
but one outcome. There are many conflicts which arise in life which
admit of compromise--but you cannot compromise with truth, with virtue,
or with honor. These attributes either exist, or they do not--there are
no half-ways. Suppose you do a little thinking, too, along my line. Then
we'll join together, taking advantage of this new knowledge which has
come to us, and force the issue where we see the necessity. We are both
trying to accomplish the same results, but are considering different
routes. Think it over, my friend, and I feel sure that you will see that
I am right."

His interview with Gorham left Covington with certain well-defined
conclusions: Gorham would never yield one iota from his position, and
his associates would not rest until they had wiped out this affront they
had received. It would be necessary for him to take sides openly with
Gorham or else make definite sacrifices. Yet he must hold the position
he now had with the directors so as to be Gorham's successor in case the
affair turned in that direction; and, most important of all, he must
fortify himself still further against the breaking of the storm, which
he knew would sooner or later come upon him.

In military conflicts there are various methods of winning a victory.
When the adversary appears too strong for a direct battle, a skilful
tactician will sometimes weaken the enemy's strength by a rear attack.
Covington was a skilful tactician, and in the present crisis the
affidavits he had stored away in his safe-deposit drawer tempted him
sorely. He had never expected to use them, he told himself. He had never
expected to be placed in opposition to Mr. Gorham. With the family
alliance he contemplated, there would seem to be no occasion for
conflicting interests to exist between them. But if Gorham insisted on
making a fool of himself, there was really no good reason why Covington
should allow himself to be dragged down with him. It was infinitely
wiser to be in the position of "heads I win, tails you lose." Surely he
could not be accused of selfishness in the matter, when, if Mr. Gorham
were eventually dethroned by the directors, and he, Covington, crowned
in his place, it would simply result in keeping the Consolidated
Companies still in the family. And as for Gorham's silly threat to
disintegrate the corporation--that was too absurd to be considered
seriously.

So Covington again inspected the papers which Levy had secured for him.
The one which related to Mrs. Buckner and the prospector he laid aside
at once as too contemptible to be considered, but the other interested
him. Gorham was setting himself above other men who held enviable
positions in the business and social world. If this affidavit was
true--and Covington saw no reason to doubt its authenticity--this
demigod might hesitate to emphasize his superiority. With the legality
of his marriage questioned, his Czarship might be weakened; and this,
as Covington saw it, meant advantage to himself in the Consolidated
Companies, and an insurance against any attitude Gorham might take
against him. With Brady vowing vengeance, his part in unloading the
railways stock on Alice might at any time be uncovered. With the present
strained relations between Gorham and the Executive Committee, his
confidential relations with both sides might prove disagreeable. But
with Gorham himself entangled in a domestic complication, serious
consequences to himself from such a catastrophe might be averted, or, at
least, mitigated. And, best of all, Levy was quite ready to proceed in
the matter with Buckner as his client. Surely Opportunity never offered
herself with more brazen coquetry to any one than she did to John
Covington.

All this resulted in a busy afternoon for Lawyer Levy. Covington
returned the affidavit to him and left him free to proceed or not, as he
saw fit. Levy's delight was unbounded--"it was such a nice case."
Buckner was quickly summoned to the lawyer's office and a new agreement
drawn between them, which gave special joy to Buckner, as it meant an
increased supply of money and a renewed lease of life in New York City,
which he had learned to "love." Besides the agreement, he was asked to
sign a letter to Mrs. Gorham, which had been carefully worded by Levy
and was filled with lurid descriptions of his affection and loneliness.
He had accidentally become aware of the fact that their separation was
not legal, and the unexpected knowledge had served to revive in him all
the fondness of the early days. He had mastered the curse of drink which
had brought about their estrangement, and needed her companionship and
care. He regretted the inconvenience which it might occasion, but Mr.
Gorham had everything while he had nothing but the affection which he
felt for her--and that as she was now, and always had been his wife, he
demanded his rights.

Levy had known men to change their minds, and in order to prevent any
such misfortune he despatched the letter by special messenger early in
the evening. Gorham had returned late and betook himself to the library
immediately after dinner to consider the new business complications with
great care before grappling with the situation on the following day. He
was still meditating when he was surprised to see Eleanor enter the
room, with an expression on her face which at once made him forget his
own perplexities.

"Why, Eleanor!" he cried, "what has gone wrong with you?"

Mrs. Gorham took her favorite seat on the arm of her husband's chair,
and he drew her to him.

"I saw Ralph Buckner while out driving a few weeks ago," she said in
response to his question. "It unnerved me at the time, and I have been
apprehensive ever since. I did not tell you about it, as there seemed
nothing on which to base my fears, and you were so occupied. I hesitate
even now to add to your burdens, but this letter has just come, and you
should see it."

As she spoke she placed the open letter in his hand, and he read it
carefully.

"There can be nothing to this--can there?" she asked, her lip trembling
and her whole expression showing how eagerly she awaited his answer.

"Eleanor," he said, softly, drawing her onto his lap, and soothing her
with the tenderness a mother would have shown an anxious child. He held
her pressed closely to him for so long a time in silence that at last
she became frightened She sat upright and, placing a hand on either
shoulder, regarded him searchingly.

"Robert," she cried, aghast, "you don't believe--"

Then he told her the news which James Riley had brought him, and of his
efforts to learn more.

"No, dear, I don't believe it," Gorham finally answered her unfinished
question. "No power on earth could make me believe it until they proved
it; and even then no power could take you from me."

"But it must be proved one way or the other."

"There will be no need," Gorham replied, with a lightness he did not
feel; "I will find this man and will settle it for all time."

"How will you settle it, Robert?"

"He is doing this for money. Now that he has come out into the open, I
can take care of him."

"But that won't do, dear. If there is any question about the divorce,
your buying him off won't settle it, will it?"

"It must," was Gorham's decisive answer.

"It can't." Eleanor rose and regarded him with an infinite tenderness.
"It can't, Robert; you know it can't, dear. If the divorce is not legal,
then there was no marriage between us, and what Ralph Buckner says or
does cannot affect that. We must know the facts now, dear."

"In all probability the divorce was perfectly regular. It is questioned
now purely for blackmailing purposes; but I will submit to that, if
necessary, rather than have the matter go any further. Don't be quixotic
and play into the hands of these scoundrels who have gotten hold of
Buckner, and are trying to reach me through you, knowing well that this
is my vulnerable point."

Mrs. Gorham was so long silent that her husband felt his argument had
won.

"Eleanor," he said more calmly, "can you ever fully realize what you are
to me? All these gigantic transactions which have fallen to my lot mean
only so many contests with the world that I may bring my victories back
to you. The struggle is inspiring, the strife is intoxicating while it
is on, but how hollow the successes except for you! My life and all its
activities are centred about this one inmost shrine in which I mean to
keep you, unsullied by even the implied contamination which these
blackmailers would bring upon you. I will fight them with their own
weapons, and, thank God, I can ward off the blow."

"Robert--my Robert!" Mrs. Gorham's voice was low but masterful in the
force which lay behind the words. "Nothing can ever come to me so bitter
as to make me forget that this has caused you to say what you have just
said. You mean every word, and to have won such devotion from such a man
is enough to make any woman's life complete. But it is your heart which
speaks, and our sober judgment must acknowledge without a question the
necessity of settling beyond the reach of doubt the validity of the
legal tie which binds us. We need no court to settle the question of our
love, my Robert--that is the real marriage which I know God only
recognizes; but there can be no happiness for us if we disregard even
for a moment those conventions which are necessary to our every-day
life. You know it, dear, just as I do."

"It is unnecessary, Eleanor--it is unwise. We are so certain that there
is no real basis for doubt."

"Would you feel the same if Alice were involved?" she asked, quietly.

"Alice?" he repeated.

"Yes; suppose this same question came up with her, would you not be the
first to insist that the facts be proven?"

"What can I say?" he asked, brokenly. "This means a public trial and all
the scandal that goes with it. It means a rehearsing of all that past
which I have tried to help you to forget. It means pain and sorrow and
suffering to you, dear--to you whom I would shield with my life from
just what now threatens you."

"A trial, Robert?" Mrs. Gorham asked, looking at him with a startled
expression. "Do you mean that there has to be a trial?"

"Of course," Gorham replied, wondering at the unexpected change in her
attitude.

Suddenly she buried her face against his shoulder and burst into tears.
"Oh, I couldn't stand that!" she cried.

Gorham gently held her face from him and looked into it kindly but
questioningly. "Why not?" he asked.

"It would kill me," she replied, not meeting his look.

"Is there anything which the trial could bring out which you have not
already told me, Eleanor?" he asked, quietly.

"Don't you know enough already to understand why I could never live
through it?"

Gorham urged no further and caressed her gently, yet there was an
expression of distinct disappointment in his face.

"There must be no trial," he said, firmly. "You shall be shielded from
that and from everything else which threatens to bring you sorrow. You
must leave it all in my hands."




XXIII


Allen went over the list of names lying on the desk before him for a
third time, carefully running down the column with his finger. Then he
leaned back in his chair and reflected. The single light flooded the
desk and cast its shadows out into the great office, but the boy's eyes
never left the papers before him.

"That's mighty strange," he said aloud. "I'll bet Lady Pat got it
straight, but if she did that list ought to show it."

He leaned forward again and turned to the early pages. "Courtney,
Cousens, Covell, Coveney--Covington ought to come in right there." Then
he turned the pages over rapidly--"Goodrich, Goodspeed, Goodwin, Gordon,
Gore--there isn't any Gorham there, either."

For several moments he sat there deep in thought. Suddenly he rose and
struck the top of the desk a resounding blow with his fist.

"Chump!" he cried. "Of course he didn't. Oh, I'm a great business man, I
am, thinking he'd buy those shares in his own name or in Alice's. It's
back to the dear old farm for me. Chump!"

He restored the papers to their proper places, picked up Patricia's
bank, which he still had with him, turned out the light, and then
tramped down the long flights of stairs to work off his excitement. He
was disappointed not to have succeeded in this first attempt to prove
his suspicions, but he found some consolation in the certainty which
came to him, even in the face of this defeat, that he was on the right
track.

For the next few days more immediate matters kept him completely
occupied. Gorham told him enough of what had happened at the meeting to
make him feel at once elated and concerned.

"You were right to a degree, my boy, and I give you credit for it; but
don't think for a moment that there is going to be any change in the
administration of the Consolidated Companies."

"You'll have a hard fight on your hands, Mr. Gorham. They aren't the
kind of men to let you force them any longer than they have to."

"That will be as long as we remain associated in the corporation,"
Gorham said, with conviction. "It does mean a greater burden for me and
for Covington and for you, as for all those who remain loyal, but the
game is worth the struggle. This is what makes life worth living, boy.
Struggles are nothing--I've had them always; it's only the lost faith
which slips in under one's guard and stings."

Allen longed to ask just where Covington claimed to stand, but he
dreaded further imputations as to the motives underlying his question.
Then, later, it occurred to him that he might take advantage of the new
relations created by Covington himself. Watching his opportunity, he
opened up the subject with a proper air of mystery.

"I wish you would advise me, Mr. Covington."

The words may have caused surprise, but Covington turned to the boy as
though his remark were perfectly natural.

"I shall be glad to if I can," he said.

"You see, I don't quite know where I stand just now. There's evidently
going to be a struggle between the chief and the committee, and I'd like
to be put in right. How do you think it's going to turn out?"

Covington did not doubt the sincerity which Allen's words and tone
apparently expressed.

"There is only one possible outcome," he replied, frankly. "Mr. Gorham
will have to compromise or they will find a way to take his power away
from him."

"But you don't think he will, do you?"

"He's bound to. No man except a fool is going to let his ideals rob him
of his power, and Robert Gorham is no fool."

"No, but those ideals are pretty well developed."

"Of course they are, and he will hold to them as long as he can; but
when Litchfield and the others begin to take real action, as they will
soon, he will see things differently."

"Then you advise me to stick to him?"

Covington looked at him critically. "If I were you," he said, carefully,
"I would stick to the Companies. I am with him, of course, but the
clerks have no special obligation to any one. You have been closer to
him than the others, but I don't suppose that is any reason why you
shouldn't look out for yourself if a break comes. But personally, I'm
not expecting any break."

"I never saw any one cotton so to anything as Mr. Gorham does to those
ideals of his," Allen continued. "I believe he talks them all day and
dreams them all night. It would break his heart to be obliged to take
back water."

Covington laughed at the boy's simplicity. "Mr. Gorham was in business
long before the Consolidated Companies was born, and from what they tell
me he was a clever one even back there. His ideals didn't trouble him
any then, yet he succeeded. He figures that it is necessary for him to
test his strength against the committee at this point, and he has
accomplished all he wants. He will play with them for a time, and
eventually make a compromise which will fool them into thinking that
they have carried their point, but which in reality will give him a
still stronger grip on the Companies. Mr. Gorham has taught me a good
many lessons, not the least of which is how to turn ideals into business
assets. I would suggest that you don't give yourself a great deal of
anxiety over his 'broken heart.'"

Covington's conversation with Allen was as frank and cordial as the boy
could have asked, yet between the two there was a barrier beyond which
Allen could not venture to pass. But the ice was broken, and this first
conversation which approached even a semblance of friendliness might
open the way for more important conferences in the future.

Gorham, during these days, was working hard to discover the real crux in
Buckner's affairs. His secret-service men supplied him with a detailed
record of the man's history, and reported frequent interviews between
him and Levy or Levy's agents. Gorham had even seen the lawyer himself,
but gained only a deeper conviction that it was a case of blackmail for
revenue only. Levy laid before him all the papers in the case with
praiseworthy frankness. He would even have extended his sympathy,
except that his first efforts in this direction had not been received in
the spirit he thought they should have been. If Buckner's statement was
correct, there had been a cruel blunder on the part of Eleanor's
counsel; yet unless he was certain of his ground, Gorham could not
comprehend his daring to place himself in so dangerous a position.
Already the machinery was in motion to settle this point, but so far the
telegrams from the Colorado lawyers threw no light on the situation.
James Riley made frequent reports, drawing liberal expense accounts each
time he called, but as yet no single fact had been unearthed which gave
any promise of relief. Gorham relished an open fight, but this guerilla
warfare, threatening Eleanor's happiness and peace of mind, caused him
real anxiety.

Eleanor's attitude throughout this period puzzled him not a little. The
more he thought the matter over, the more convinced he was that she was
right in her position that the question of the legality of the divorce
must be settled once and for all and at whatever cost. There must be
some way to arrive at this point without the necessity of a public
trial, but even if it came to that the facts must be established. Yet as
Gorham gradually came squarely over to his wife's viewpoint, Eleanor
seemed to be coming nearer to accepting the one which he had originally
advanced. This was what mystified him. He recognized that what she had
told him, when they first talked the matter over, was the natural
expression of the woman's self which he knew so well; her later attitude
showed the influence of some factor in her life unknown to him. She had
repeatedly been on the point of confiding to him, yet the confidence had
never been given, and Gorham was not a man who could urge beyond what
it was her voluntary desire to speak.

It never had occurred to him to take offence or to criticise Eleanor's
attitude. He wished that she would come to him with the burden which lay
so heavily upon her heart, but he wished it only because he felt that he
could lighten it. Ever since the cloud had become apparent, his
tenderness toward her had increased to such an extent that she felt
herself weakened by his sympathy and swept along relentlessly by the
flood of events which crowded one on top of another. He had told her
that there should be no trial, and she showed him by every word and act
that she depended blindly upon his ability to make good his promise.

The calm which existed at the offices of the Consolidated Companies
during the fortnight succeeding the stormy session of the committee,
while unexpected, did not lull Gorham into any false sense of security.
Now that his vision had been cleared, he knew that it was their strength
pitted against his own. He had his own plans for meeting this, but with
supreme confidence in himself he preferred to let them make the first
move. Covington had not retreated from his position that a compromise of
some sort was desirable, but he succeeded in convincing Gorham that this
was simply a difference in viewpoint, and that his chief's judgment
would, of course, be final. Acting upon the definite authority which
Gorham had forced from the committee to replace the tacit understanding
which had existed from the first, he plunged ahead with renewed energy
to perfect the organizations which the Companies had in hand. But while
conscious that his associates were undoubtedly concentrating their
energies upon some plan which might be used effectively against him, he
was grateful for the postponement of the issue, in that it gave him time
to work upon his present domestic problem.

Covington congratulated himself upon the happy solution of the most
dangerous horn of his dilemma. He did not wish Gorham to yield, and he
found that the more he urged him to compromise, the more firmly set he
was against doing it. Thus he could accomplish his purpose, and at the
same time put himself on record without risk of being called disloyal,
while advising him for his own best good. The others were working hard,
and Covington could have posted his chief upon many interesting points
had he chosen to do so. Instead, he preferred to bring added pressure
upon Alice to name an early date for their wedding. He seemed to have
overlooked the fact that as yet she had not given him her formal
consent, but as the event was apparently accepted by her father and
Eleanor and Covington himself as a foregone conclusion, the girl took no
definite exceptions to his attitude. He was, of course, aware of the
family complications, and, in expressing his sympathy, explained that he
could be of much greater assistance in helping to straighten matters out
if he were actually included in the family circle.

But Covington, with all his astuteness, was frankly surprised by a piece
of information which one of the committee confided to him; and this was
nothing less than that unquestionable evidence had been secured that
Gorham himself had, at least in one instance, taken advantage of his
position for personal gain. What this instance was his informant could
not at that moment say--the facts were being carefully compiled, but the
evidence was beyond dispute. This autocrat, who talked of principle and
honor, had been caught red-handed in the very act against which he
pretended to stand; and, of course, this instance was but one of many.
Doctor Jekyll could take it upon himself to deliver platitudes upon
moral rectitude, while Mr. Hyde gathered in the shekels on the side!

The members of the Executive Committee were hugely pleased, and
Covington no less so. All was playing into his hands with surprising
directness, and he even began to feel that his approaching marriage into
Mr. Gorham's family was an act of supreme sacrifice on his part. Still,
it were better to safeguard both exits to the house, and Alice was an
amusing little minx, after all.




XXIV


The elder Riley felt the tenseness in the atmosphere of the Gorham
family, and his inability to discover the occasion for it proved trying
to his soul. The mysterious visits of his son James, and the apparent
confidences between him and his employer, made the old man feel strongly
that, if James were not a part of the new condition, at least he was
acquainted with the cause. Patience with Riley had ceased to be a
virtue, and he so contrived it that he passed an evening with his son at
the latter's lodgings.

Much to his relief, he found James in an unusually agreeable mood; and,
although the younger man made no effort to move from the comfortable
position he had assumed with the assistance of an extra chair for his
feet, the welcome extended was far more cordial than that to which the
elder Riley was accustomed.

"Well, well, well," the old man ejaculated, as he closed the door and
stood for a moment contemplating the scene before him. James smiled
complacently at the look of mingled surprise and admiration his father
so plainly showed, as his eye roved from the new pieces of gaudy
furniture to the box of cigars upon the table, particularly noting the
attitude which the son assumed as the nearest he could imagine to that
of a gentleman in repose.

"Well, well, well," Riley repeated, coming down to earth again, and
seating himself upon a near-by chair not required for James's feet,
which the host had been too preoccupied to think of offering. "Things is
comin' good f'r ye, ain't they, Jimmie?"

The old man had discovered a fact which James had no desire to dispute,
so he admitted it graciously, at the same time blowing clouds of smoke
from his over-fragrant cigar.

"They is," he replied, sententiously; "and soon they'll be comin' better
still."

"Ah, Jimmie"--the old man lowered his voice--"are ye goin' ter run f'r
mayor?"

"Not--yet," James replied, dwelling upon his words in such a way as to
convince his hearer that the delay was wholly a matter of his own
convenience. "Politics is movin' some, father, but 'tis in my private
capacity that I'm makin' my present strides."

"So," murmured Riley; "an' phwat may ye'er private capacity be, Jimmie?"

"'Tis of a confidential nature," he replied, loftily.

"Has it ter do wid Misther Robert?"

"Him--and others."

"Who is th' others?" the old man persisted.

"That's my affair. 'Tis confidential, I tell you."

"Not wid me, Jimmie," Riley begged; "not when I've watched over Misther
Robert iver sence he was a little la-ad, not wid me when I've brought ye
up fr'm a howlin' little brat. There can't be nothin' confidential, I
tell ye, when it's affectin' thim I loves best in all th' whole wide
world. Shure ye'll tell me about it, Jimmie, shure ye will."

In James's present mood, it was easier to talk than to keep silent. If
his father really knew the importance of the part he felt himself to be
playing in Mr. Gorham's family complication, the old man's appreciation
of his son's true position in the community could not fail to be
enhanced. James Riley's most vulnerable point was his vanity, and the
present opportunity to gratify it was more than he could well resist.
The elder Riley, without having analyzed his son's characteristics to
this extent, was intuitively conscious of a yielding to his appeal, and
he was not slow to follow it up.

"That's th' good la-ad, Jimmie," he said, coaxingly. "Ye knows how tight
I keeps me mouth shut; an' phwat hits ye or Misther Robert hits me."

"Well," James replied, indulgently, blowing another cloud of
smoke--"'tis his wife that it's all about."

"His wife!" the old man repeated, surprised and excited--"about Mrs.
Gorham, d'ye say?"

"That is--provided she is his wife. There is them that says she ain't."

"Who says she ain't?" Riley almost shouted the words as he rose
excitedly to his feet. "Who says she ain't? By God, I'll kill th' man
phwat says that!"

"Slowly, slowly," James answered, soothingly, thoroughly enjoying his
father's amazement and excitement. "That's for them to settle as knows
how, but it's to me Mr. Gorham must look to help him out. Now, do you
understand where I come in?"

"Ah, Jimmie, ye're killin' me wid yer slowness. Out wid it, la-ad! What
do they say, an' who done phwat? Out wid it!"

"The divorce was crooked, so they say; and now her first husband is here
in New York and wants her back."

"But it ain't true, Jimmie--it ain't true; tell me that."

"I don't know yet myself," James admitted; "but there's a few things I
do know what ought to be worth the coin to Mr. Gorham."

"An' ye're goin' ter give 'em ter him?"

"Perhaps," James replied, indifferently--"if he thinks they're worth
what I do."

"But Misther Robert has paid ye already, hasn't he? Hasn't these new
prosperity things come out iv Misther Robert's pay?"

"He's got what he's paid for," James asserted. "These new tips come to
me while I was workin' on my own account. They're worth the coin to
either side."

"That's phwat ye meant when ye said there was more prosperity comin'?"

"Sure."

"An' if Misther Robert don't pay ye ye'er price, ye'll sell 'em ter th'
other feller who says his wife ain't his wife?"

"Business is business," James replied, sagely.

The elder Riley's lips came close together as he rose quietly yet
quickly from his chair. In a moment more he had seized James by the
collar, and with a sudden, violent action, made easier by the recumbent
attitude, deposited the younger man in a heap on the floor. Too
surprised by the unexpectedness of the attack, James made no defence,
and before he could even attempt to rise from his humiliating position
the old man stood over him, shaking his fist in his face.

"Ye damn dirty spalpeen, lie there f'r a time, will ye? I'll break ivery
bone in ye'er body if ye even make a move ter git up. Do ye think I've
spint me life f'r nothin' better than ter rear up a blackmailer an' th'
like iv ye? Do ye think me an' th' ol' woman, God rist her soul, slaved
th' flesh off our bones f'r nothin' better than ter raise a brat who'd
sell th' man whose hand was always out f'r me an' mine? It's ye'er
fa-ather talkin' ter ye now, James Riley, an' it's ye'er fa-ather who's
goin' ter scrape off some iv thim fine airs thim Tammany thieves an'
blacklegs has learned ye. It's manny th' time I've licked ye good,
Jimmie, when ye was a la-ad, an' it's agin I'll do it if I has ter, ter
learn ye honesty. Now git up an' set in that chair an' do phwat I tell
ye, if ye know phwat's best f'r ye."

James Riley rose from the floor and sat obediently in the chair his
father indicated. Had he chosen to assert his strength, the elder man
would have been but a child in opposition; but the fire which flashed
from those angry eyes, and the tone in which his father's scathing
castigation was administered, took him back twenty years when the same
angry flash and the same convincing tones were backed up by a physical
force which made them worthy of respect. James Riley was again the
offending boy, and his father--stern, severe, unrelenting in his own
ideas of right and wrong--held him in a grip he could not break.

"Set there, damn ye," the elder Riley repeated, breathing hard from
excitement and from the unusual exertion. "Now tell me phwat ye found
out when ye was workin' on ye'er own account."

James tried desperately to summon courage enough to oppose his father's
will, but to no avail.

"I've mixed a bit with Buckner--the first husband--that's all."

"An' phwat did ye find out?" Riley demanded, sternly.

James hesitated.

"Out wid it!" the old man shouted.

"He's been married again since."

"Ah, ha! th' feller phwat says me Misther Robert's wife ain't his wife,
'cause th' divorce warn't reg'lar, has been married agin, has he?"
Riley's good-humor began to return with this cheerful bit of
information. "Then that makes him a liar or a Mormon--take ye'er choice.
Which do ye think it is, Jimmie?"

"Liar," James replied, sententiously.

"Right ye are, Jimmie! Right ye are! Liar it is, tho' 'twud serve him
right ter be th' other. An' where's his second wife?"

"That's what's a-worryin' him; he don't know."

"Ah, ha!" Riley chuckled, "why shouldn't it? It's bad enough when th'
wife don't know where ye are, but when ye don't know where th' wife is
an' her apt ter turn up anny minnit! Ah, let him worry; it's good f'r
him. What else did ye find out by ye'er mixin's?"

"That's all, so far, but I can get more. Buckner likes me."

The old man's passing amusement was gone, and his indignation returned
with full force.

"P'r'aps ye can git th' likin's iv a man who says me Misther Robert's
wife ain't his wife, but 'twill be healthier f'r ye if ye gits th'
likin's iv Misther Robert himself. Now, ye'll go ter him to-morrer
mornin'--d'ye mind--an' ye'll tell him all ye've tol' me, an' there
won't be no price asked, an' ye'll keep on findin' out all ye can f'r
Misther Robert, an' ye'll play fair, an' ye'll take phwat pay he chooses
ter give ye, an' if ye thry anny more thricks like th' dirty wan I've
just catched ye wid I'll be back ter see ye, James Riley, an' I'll break
ivery damn bone in ye'er body, James Riley. Now, good-night ter ye an'
ye'er prosperities. I'll tell Misther Robert ye'll be up ter see him at
nine o'clock to-morrer mornin'."

The old man drew himself up majestically, cast one more withering glance
on the completely humiliated James, and took his departure.

The next morning nine had not ceased striking on the clock standing on
the mantelpiece in Mr. Gorham's study when James Riley was formally and
seriously ushered by his father into these, the sacred precincts, where
none entered except by its owner's invitation; but it was a far
different James from the man who had called upon Mr. Gorham some weeks
earlier. The younger Riley's self-assurance was missing, his jaunty air
was replaced by a bearing almost timid in its gentleness, his voice had
become halty; and when Mr. Gorham first spoke to him he started
suddenly, turning his face toward his questioner, and showing
apprehension in every feature.

Gorham noticed the change, and, being ignorant of the tragic events of
the evening before, was frankly surprised.

"Have you been ill, James?" he inquired, quietly.

"Oh, no, sir--I'm feeling very well, I thank you, sir," James answered
in a quick, frightened voice.

"I am glad to hear it," Gorham answered, but his tone suggested
incredulity.

"I have been some worrited lately," James added, by way of explanation.
"I s'pose you knows how that tells on a feller, sir."

"Yes, James," Gorham agreed. "It comes to all of us sooner or later.
Now tell me what is the important information which your father promised
me you would bring with you ?"

"Hasn't he told you, sir?"

"Not a word, James. Has it to do with the matter you have been working
on for me, or is it some trouble of your own which has caused the worry
you speak of?"

James was seated on the edge of his chair with his thin hands folded and
resting on his knees. His eyes roved about the room, looking anywhere
except into Mr. Gorham's face. As a matter of fact, he had in reality
passed through some "worrited" times since his father's call, and his
humiliation was complete. It was a relief to him to know that his father
had not discussed the matter with Mr. Gorham, but even that consolation
was not equal to the task of restoring him to his former equinimity.

"Well," interrogated Mr. Gorham, helpfully, striving to assist him in
what was evidently a serious undertaking.

"You see, sir," James began, "there's another Mrs. Buckner."

"What!" cried Gorham, genuinely surprised and rising from his chair.
"Buckner has been married again, you say?"

"That's what I understand, sir; leastwise that's what he told me. He was
drunk when he said it, and perhaps that's why he did say it; but I
believe it's true."

James had the satisfaction of witnessing a sight which few men had seen
during Mr. Gorham's lifetime--he was visibly excited, and, what was
stranger still, he made no effort to conceal his emotion.

"If there is anything in what you say, James, this information is the
most cheering piece of news which I have heard for many a day. Now tell
me all you know about it."

In another half-hour James Riley was painfully making his way to the
nearest subway station, giving no indication, either in his face or in
his movements, as to whether the result of his mission had turned out
more or less favorably, in its financial probabilities, than would have
been the case had he followed his original intentions. He had found his
father waiting for him in the front hall after he came down-stairs from
Mr. Gorham's library, but the only remark the old man vouchsafed was,
"Have ye done phwat I told ye, Jimmie?" Then the door swung upon its
hinges while the younger man went out, leaving his father chuckling
softly.

"Jimmie's th' fine la-ad, afther all," Riley muttered quietly to
himself. "He has th' temptations same as we all has, but he seen his
duty when his fa-ather shown it ter him." Then the old man became
reflective. "It's sorry I'd 'a' been ter have had ter mess Jimmie all
up," he continued--"but I'd 'a' done it. It's lucky f'r him he didn't
show fight; it's lucky f'r him, I'm tellin' ye."

In the mean time Gorham had sought Eleanor and Alice, and told them the
news which had come to him so unexpectedly. The problem now was to find
the second Mrs. Buckner, and as quickly as possible. James had explained
to Mr. Gorham that even Buckner himself did not know where the woman
was. He had lived in several cities during the last few years. His wife
might have died or moved away; but as Gorham pointed out in answer to
the doubts Eleanor and his daughter expressed, if it was a fact, there
must be a way to find conclusive evidence.

"I cannot delay a moment," Gorham at length declared. "It will take some
time at best to run this matter down, and with the certainty so near at
hand to prove our fears groundless, I am all impatience to take steps
toward securing the actual evidence itself. It is imperative that I
leave for Chicago to-morrow, and I must get this investigation under way
before then."

Eleanor and Alice sat for some moments in silence after Gorham left the
house. The girl watched the older woman, waiting for her to speak. The
anxious lines were still in Eleanor's face; her pallor remained, and
Alice wondered that she gave no evidence of relief from the
nerve-racking strain which she had endured, in the face of so hopeful a
turn in the whole situation. Still more, to the girl's surprise, Eleanor
rose abruptly from beside her, and walked irresolutely to the window.

"I cannot, I cannot," she cried at last, all the pent-up feeling of the
last few moments finding expression in these brief words. Alice was
quickly beside her.

"You cannot do what, dear?" she asked, sympathetically.

"I cannot tell him."

"Haven't you told him yet?" Alice asked, a shade of reproach showing in
her voice.

Eleanor turned from the window and passed her arm around Alice's waist.

"I have tried a hundred times. The few opportunities when I might have
done so naturally found me too weak; at other times it has been
impossible. Robert is so sweet and tender with me these days that the
mere possibility of having him blame me is the most terrifying thought
which I can have."

"It ought not to be so hard now, dear. Everything is going to be
straightened out. Already the burden is a good deal lighter than before
because now we have something tangible to work upon. This leaves you
simply the one thing to think about, and of course father will believe
everything you tell him."

Eleanor looked at Alice irresolutely. "It isn't in the nature of man to
be so credulous--I doubt if I would believe the story myself if I heard
any one else tell it. Under these circumstances, how can I expect more
from your father?"

"Because it is--father," the girl replied, feelingly "--because he's the
grandest, noblest, truest man who ever lived; because he loves you,
Eleanor; and because he believes in you as he believes in himself."

"If I did not know of this belief in me, Alice dear, and was not so
jealous of it, perhaps I should not fear to bring the matter to the
test. But, of course, you are right. He must know the whole story, and
he must know it from me. I only hope that the opportunity may offer
itself naturally for me to tell him, under such conditions as will make
it appear less incredible than it does just now."

"It doesn't seem to me that that ought to enter into it at all," Alice
continued, quietly. "Even if you knew that it would destroy this belief,
you could do nothing else than tell him, could you, Eleanor? There could
be nothing good come from anything kept from father."

Eleanor felt reproached by the faith which the girl exhibited. "I have
done it to spare him," she urged. "If there had been anything in the
experience of which I need feel ashamed, I should have felt it
necessary to let him know it before we were married. I thought it all
over then, and decided it was wiser not to bring the matter up. It was
weak and cowardly not to do it, I can see that now, but at the time I
thought I was acting for the best."

"If father were to tell you something about his life which seemed
incredible, and which might be misinterpreted into something
dishonorable to him, would you believe his version of it?"

"Implicitly," Eleanor replied, with much feeling.

"Then do you think he is less loving or less tender or has less faith
than you, Eleanor?"

"Not that, dear," Eleanor replied; "but he is a man, and a man's
standpoint is essentially different from a woman's."

"I never think of him as a man," the girl replied, simply. "He is so far
above and beyond any man I have ever known that I have never thought of
him as only that."




XXV


A week later the Gorhams' dinner-table received two unexpected
additions. Gorham had returned from Chicago earlier in the day, and
found a telegram awaiting him which announced that Senator Kenmore would
call at his house at five o'clock that afternoon. As he was unable to
complete his work upon the accumulated matters which demanded immediate
attention, he put the papers into his bag, and took Allen with him to
the house in time to keep his appointment with the Senator, intending to
continue his day's labors after his caller had departed.

During the weeks which had elapsed since Gorham's conversation with
Allen, the boy's attitude toward him manifested a respect so marked that
the older man saw in it an effort to atone for his momentary disloyalty;
in his work he was devoted and exact to a degree beyond anything he had
previously demonstrated; inwardly he was the investigator. Never had he
put himself through so merciless a self-examination. He felt keenly
Alice's misunderstanding of his dislike of business; he blamed himself
for having spoken so freely to Mr. Gorham before he had fully satisfied
himself that the doubts he expressed at that time were based on anything
beyond inexperience and a lack of knowledge. He knew that he had
committed an error in accusing Covington before he could substantiate
his statements. He was glad, therefore, to be able to work this all out
in his own mind during the absence of his chief, yet when Mr. Gorham
returned, the boy was still further embarrassed by his special
kindliness toward him.

Kenmore's face wore a worried expression as he entered the hall soon
after Gorham and Allen arrived. He was shown at once to the library,
where he and Gorham passed the next two hours in close conference.
Indeed, the discussion was sufficiently important to hold Kenmore longer
than he expected, and to cause Gorham to break over a rule which he had
never before violated, in discussing business matters at the
dinner-table and in the presence of his family.

The thought had come to Gorham, as he was rushing along toward New York
on the limited express, of the rapidity with which events had shaped
themselves since that moment, only a few weeks earlier, when he had sat
in his library indulging in day-dreams. James Riley had come first, with
his news of Buckner's presence in New York; then Allen called, bringing
his suspicions concerning the attitude of those trusted in the affairs
of the corporation, adding his own unexpected and unwarranted doubts as
to the integrity of Covington and the morality of this company, which to
its creator had seemed to embody every idealistic and altruistic
principle; then Litchfield, at the meeting of the committee,
substantiated to a considerable extent Allen's deep-seated conviction
that the men who made up the fibre of the corporation were actuated by
selfish motives in their relations to it and to its transactions, thus
making the situation even more acute. James Riley later had brought him
the first definite ray of hope in what promised a solution of his
domestic tangle; but as the burden lightened on the one hand, it seemed
to bear him down with added weight on the other. Senator Hunt, urged on
by Brady and other powerful interests, was working against the
Consolidated Companies with an energy which would have done him credit
had it owed its origin to his appreciation of the responsibilities of
his public duties. Now, Kenmore's description of the situation at
Washington left no room for doubt that for the first time Gorham must
admit the assailability of the Companies. After the two hours'
interview, Gorham could not fail to recognize that the one thing which
showed above all else in Kenmore's attitude, was his anxiety lest the
threatened adverse position on the part of the Government toward the
Companies should result in a loss of his own future profits. Could it be
possible, Gorham asked, inwardly, that Allen was right in saying that he
himself was the only man in the corporation who lived up to the ideals
he expressed!

"Next Tuesday is the critical day," the Senator repeated at the table,
all other conversation giving way to the matter which he had so strongly
upon his mind. "The Attorney-General was not far wrong when he told us
in Washington that there was not the slightest possibility of passing
any bill through either House which could accomplish the results which
the President desires, and yet I cannot believe that the position which
the Administration has taken will be overridden."

"If we can get the bill through the Senate, do you think there will be
the same difficulty in the House?" asked Gorham.

"No," Kenmore responded; "the Congressmen are more eager to serve their
constituents. The people are still with us, and Congress knows it. In
the Senate, however, they are playing for bigger game. The great
interests there hope to divert attention from themselves to the
Consolidated Companies, and if they can secure legislation which will
operate against us they think that the people will so resent it that it
will probably put a stop, for the present at least, to all agitation
against consolidations, good or bad. It is a clever game, and they are
playing it well."

"We must not let them play it better than ourselves," Gorham replied,
decisively.

"We are working hard, Gorham," the Senator replied. "That was a great
move of yours, having each stockholder invest in the Consolidated
Companies to such an extent that it made the welfare of the corporation
a matter of personal concern. Those of us who are stockholders are
fighting for our lives, and the Companies is getting the benefit of it."

"So is the public," Gorham replied, quickly, regretting particularly the
turn the conversation had taken owing to Allen's presence, and noting
the expression on the boy's face. "You and our other colleagues in the
Senate are fighting for the people, and the right is bound to win."

Kenmore laughed nervously. "I don't know that it makes much difference
what you call it," he replied. "We are fighting all right, and the
result is bound to be the same whether it is for the people or for
ourselves. You won't fail us next Tuesday, Gorham? If you can turn the
tide in our favor, you will accomplish the greatest stroke in your
career."

"I shall be there," Gorham replied, and with deliberate intent turned
the conversation into general channels.

Kenmore took his departure shortly after dinner, and Eleanor and Alice
remained with Mr. Gorham and Allen, who lingered a few moments over
their cigars before taking up their evening's labors. Eleanor, in an
effort to relieve her own mind from its oppressing thoughts, quite
unconsciously called attention to Allen's quiet bearing, which Mr.
Gorham had hoped would pass by without attracting attention, knowing as
he did what lay beneath.

"How sober you are to-night, Allen," she said.

The boy looked up quickly. "Forgive me for being such poor company," he
replied, simply. "I was thinking over what the Senator has been telling
us."

"You must leave all that worry to me," Gorham said, kindly. "Great
burdens are not meant for young shoulders. The Consolidated Companies is
too strong a force to be vanquished without a hard struggle, even when
attacked by so mighty an organization as the United States Senate."

"I was not worrying about that, Mr. Gorham," Allen replied, and he
regretted the words as soon as they had left his lips.

"What is it, then?" asked Alice.

The boy passed his hand across his forehead and rose to his feet. "I
don't know what it is," he answered, irresolutely. "I am all upset
to-night--do you mind if I go up to the library now, Mr. Gorham, and
wait for you there?"

Gorham held out his hand and Allen grasped it firmly, yet turned his
face away.

"Have you lost faith in me, too, my boy? Has it really come to that?"

"I beg of you, let me go now," Allen replied, controlling himself with
difficulty. "You know I shall never lose faith in you."

"You are in no condition for work to-night," Gorham remarked, quietly.
"Draw your chair up here beside me, and let us talk it all out right
now."

Allen looked hesitatingly at Eleanor and Alice and then at Gorham. "Not
now?" he said.

"Why not now, Allen?" Alice asked, curious to know what so affected him.
"You told me once that you were my business creation, and that I must
accept the responsibility whether I wished it or not. Surely I am
entitled to be present."

"Affairs have changed since then. If I don't hold my tongue now, I shall
say things for which you and your father will never forgive me."

"I want to hear them, Allen," she insisted; "I have a right to hear
them."

Gorham was impressed by the girl's attitude. "She is right," he added.
"Now, out with it, boy, and let us get to the bottom of things."

Then the pent-up thoughts which had been collecting during the past few
months burst forth.

"You have made me do it, Mr. Gorham," the boy cried, passionately. "You
would never have heard it from my lips except for that, but I can't
stand it any longer. I have tried hard since we talked that last time to
convince myself that I was wrong, but I can't do it. I know it's because
I can't see things the right way, but, whatever the cause, the trouble
is there. To me the Companies seems based on interests which are wholly
selfish, and to be accomplishing good only because doing business on
this basis brings extra dividends to its stockholders. It is growing
bigger and more powerful and more irresistible, but with this
increasing power there is also increasing danger; and I feel sure, Mr.
Gorham, as I told you before, that some day the public will have to pay
the price. When the dike breaks the flood is going to wipe out all the
advantages which the people have received, and more too."

The boy paused for breath and waited, expecting to hear Gorham's stern
reproaches, but none came. The amazed expression both on Eleanor's and
Alice's faces, however, evidenced the heresy of his words.

"I suppose I am forfeiting all which this family means to me by my
seeming disloyalty to you, Mr. Gorham; but I honestly feel that I am
more loyal than if I played the hypocrite. I see you carrying on the
business of this corporation surrounded by men whose only thought is of
themselves, who accept your judgment simply because it puts dollars into
their pockets, who permit you to exercise your ideals only because they
know that it means profit to them. Yet you have been consistent, you
have been straightforward, you have lived up to the standards which you
have taught me to expect. But can't you see, Mr. Gorham"--the boy held
out both arms supplicatingly--"can't you see that there isn't a single
man in that great organization who feels as you do? Can't you see that
even Senator Kenmore is thinking only of himself?"

"You forget Mr. Covington and--yourself," Gorham answered.

"I don't cut any ice, one way or the other," Allen protested, "but I
haven't forgotten Mr. Covington. I tell you, Mr. Gorham--forgive me,
Alice--Mr. Covington is the worst of all. He's the one who has
influenced the committee to take their stand against you; he's helping
them plan things out now so as to throw you down, hoping to become
president himself; he's trying to marry Alice so that you can't expose
him when you begin to unravel his double cross. I tell you, he's the
slickest Johnnie outside of State's Prison."

"Of course you have unquestionable proof to support all this, Allen?"
Gorham demanded, sternly.

"No, I haven't, and I shouldn't speak; but I know I'm right," was the
dogged reply.

"Do you realize what it means to make such unsubstantiated statements?"

"But I have everything except the actual proofs," he pleaded.

"What else can you have?"

"I know how he's been investing Alice's money for her, for instance."

"What of that; it was done with my consent."

"With your consent?" Allen repeated, bewildered. "Then you knew--with
your principles--"

Gorham was thoroughly angry now, but he delayed replying until he could
choose his words in the presence of his wife and daughter.

"I have borne with this long enough," he interrupted. "I have been
patient with you because I sympathized with your disappointment
regarding Alice--but my patience is at an end. Your jealousy has so
warped your sense of right and wrong that you are willing to attack the
reputation of a man of honor and integrity, trying to injure him in the
eyes of those who respect him. I warned you against this, and you have
failed to heed my warning. Much as I regret it, on many accounts, there
is no alternative--your usefulness to the Companies is at an end."

Allen rose and looked searchingly into Gorham's face. He could read in
the lines which he saw there a real suffering which touched him deeply.
No man, not even his father, had come so closely into his life as Mr.
Gorham, and the boy's heart was wrung with pain that he should be the
cause of adding to his burdens. But his gaze into those expressive eyes
seemed to bewilder him still further, for he passed his hand in a dazed
manner across his forehead.

"You must be right," he said at length. "I should have known that I'd be
no good in business. Why, I haven't even brains enough to comprehend. I
know that you, sir, are the soul of honor, and yet you tell me that you
knew of that investment. I'm a failure--I'm just no good, that's all.
I'll go back to Pittsburgh and tell the pater what a chance you gave me,
and what a mess I made of it. Then I'll ask him to let me strip down as
his other workmen do, and go into the furnaces where I belong.
Good-night and--good-bye."

As the conversation developed into so serious a situation, Alice and
Eleanor watched the two men, astonished at the nature of the
disagreement, and filled with apprehension. Mrs. Gorham had grown more
fond of the boy than she realized until this moment, and she actually
suffered for him. Alice was running the gamut of her emotions, her
sensations changing every moment, affected by each sentence which she
heard torn from the very soul of each speaker. As Allen rose after his
final acceptance of his dismissal, she rose with him, a curious mixture
of uncertainty and lack of understanding combining in her expression.

"I don't believe you do know about that stock, daddy," she said,
quietly. "Before Allen goes perhaps--"

"I know all about it, Alice," her father replied, impatiently. "Allen
has no right to meddle in my personal affairs, and I resent it. Don't
interfere, little girl--leave this to me."

The color left her face, and she seemed to grow to mature years in the
instant. Allen started to leave, but was held spellbound by the force
exercised by the quiet, firm dignity which became at once the dominating
factor.

"You are wrong, daddy," she said, with a new note in her voice which all
recognized instinctively. "For the first time in my life, I tell you,
you are wrong."

"Leave this to me, Alice," Gorham repeated, sternly, but the girl did
not heed him.

"Since I have been sitting here I have learned a lot, and I know that
Allen is right. There are things which I have kept from you, and now I
know that I should have told you all about them. Now I know that the
advice I received was wrong--and it is all reacting upon Allen and upon
you."

"Is there no way--" Gorham began, thoroughly exasperated.

"Be patient, Robert," begged Eleanor.

"Don't, Alice," Allen protested; "it's mighty white of you, but it only
makes matters worse. I'm going now--"

"Not until I tell you that I've been unfair to you too," she cried.
"I've made fun of you and been horrid to you, but I believe I've loved
you all the time."

"Alice!" the boy exclaimed.

"You are forgetting your duty to Mr. Covington, as you have already
forgotten your duty to me," her father expostulated, severely.

"She doesn't mean it, Mr. Gorham--please don't blame her; it's all my
fault."

"I do mean it, Allen. I haven't known my own heart till now."

"It's pity for me--it isn't love," the boy replied, bitterly. "I'm a
failure and you're sorry for me. I wanted you when I thought I could
make good. Now that I know I can't, it's different. But I'll never
forget it, Alice, never. Don't blame her, Mr. Gorham. Good-bye."

He rushed out, not trusting himself to speak further, and a moment later
those left behind heard the door close quietly as he went out into the
darkness.




XXVI


The Executive Committee were ready to make their first move; and at a
meeting at which Gorham was not present, they had voted to ask the
president to call a special meeting of the Board of Directors. The call
for the meeting was supplemented by a letter to the Directors, signed by
each member of the committee, setting forth that the business to be
considered included the rescinding of a resolution passed at a previous
meeting, placing plenipotentiary powers in the hands of the president,
and also to consider the desirability of so dividing his present duties
that the responsibilities might rest on several shoulders instead of
upon his alone. It further recited that various criticisms of the
president would be considered at that time,--specifically, that Mr.
Gorham was using the Consolidated Companies for his own private ends;
that he prevented his associates from being recognized in their full
relation to the work, the credit for which he himself monopolized; that
he was devoting a large part of his time at the expense of the Companies
in straightening out certain domestic complications, as a result of
which the corporation was losing ground, and was even being threatened
by adverse legislation in Washington, against which it was his duty to
protect it. And finally, it was claimed that the president had at least
on one occasion taken advantage of his official position to make
certain investments for his own personal advantage.

A copy of this letter accidentally fell into Gorham's hands, and his
indignation at its needlessly antagonistic wording was tempered by
several elements of surprise. The frankness with which the grievances
were stated was an evidence that his associates were prepared to force
the break with him, and to dispense with whatever value his connection
with the corporation might have. The reference to his domestic
complications surprised him not a little, showing as it did a
familiarity with this subject which he had not supposed to have become
common property. The suggestion that he had been false to the ideals
which he himself had imposed could only be construed as a gratuitous
affront; yet these men who constituted the Executive Committee were not
those who would lightly do this. He could quite understand their
resentment of both his attitude and his words at the last meeting--he
had expected them to make an effort to wrest from him, but in such a way
as not to jeopardize their own interests, the supreme authority which he
had forced from them; yet they all knew him too well even to suggest any
transaction on his part so at variance with the standards which he had
established.

After thinking it all over, he sent for Covington, and as the younger
man entered he handed him the communication.

"Have you seen this before?" Gorham asked.

"Yes; Litchfield just showed it to me."

"What does it mean?"

"Compromise, I hope," Covington replied. "Nothing else can prevent a
great calamity to the Companies. I am even more certain of this now than
before."

"How do they know anything about my personal affairs?"

"I can't imagine, unless through some one of the secret-service men."

"You, of course, have made no reference to it?"

"Certainly not." Covington resented the suggestion.

"Now, about this last statement--what does that mean?"

"It is a complete mystery to me. Of course, there's nothing in it?"

Gorham looked at him with a flash in his eye which he had learned to
respect. "Do I need to answer that question?"

Covington's watchful mind noted the evasion. Gorham had not actually
denied it.

"Of course not," he responded; "but they claim to have indisputable
evidence. I tried to find out what it was, but knowing how close I am to
you, they are holding that back until the meeting."

"Indisputable evidence, have they? I should like to see it! Please have
a call signed by the secretary and sent out at once for a special
meeting of the Board to be held to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock.
Send with it a waiver of the usual five days' notice. More than a
majority of the Board are in the city, and they will be as eager as I am
to dispose of this matter."

The formalities in opening the meeting were brief, and the business in
hand was taken up with a promptness which showed the strong desire
dominating both sides to have the issue met squarely and settled once
for all. It was an interesting study to watch the expressions on the
various faces. Men who seldom allowed their bearing to reflect the
emotions influencing them, gave every evidence of their full
appreciation that a crisis was upon them. With the possible exception of
Covington, Gorham showed less than any of them the effect of the tense
strain which the situation developed. At the last meeting, the committee
had witnessed an exhibition of the latent reserve force which lay
beneath the impassive exterior, so they needed no further warning that
the quiet yet flashing eyes, the firm setting of the mouth, the head
bent forward, the general bearing--alert and decisive--all attested a
foeman worthy of their steel. It was his business life now against
theirs, but they believed themselves strong enough to force the
struggle.

Litchfield was again spokesman. "Nothing can be more painful," he said,
"to me personally or to the other members of the Board of Directors than
to have circumstances arise such as these which have made this meeting
necessary. It was a surprise to us, on the occasion of the last session,
to have our president take such exceptions to the suggestions which we
advanced in good faith. We tried to make it clear to him that we all
recognized and appreciated the extraordinary services which he has
rendered to the Consolidated Companies, yet we cannot admit that he
possesses all the wisdom, or that his policies are the only ones which
can be considered. He made it quite evident to us at that time that our
judgment was desired only to the extent that it coincided with his own.
He has seemed to overlook the fact that the Consolidated Companies is
not a private corporation, but rather one in which several of the
Directors are even more heavily interested, in a financial way, than he
is himself.

"There is no question in the minds of any of us that the services of
our president are still absolutely essential to the success of the
corporation, and we have no wish or intention of having him separate
himself from it; but we have become aware, through the unprecedented
position which has been taken, that if those interests which we
represent are to be safeguarded, immediate action must be taken to
convince him that the Consolidated Companies is not his personal
property, that the Executive Committee are not mere puppets, and that
even the president of a great and successful corporation is, after all,
an employee of that corporation, and subject to its control. The
gentlemen who have the honor to serve on the Executive Committee resent
the imputation made by him that this code of business morals, which he
has originated, is necessarily the only moral code, or that he himself
possesses the right or the power to establish the standard by which to
measure them as individuals or as officials.

"My colleagues have asked me to state the situation at this length in
order that our president may understand that our present attitude is
inspired not by any personal antagonism, but rather by what appears to
us to be a necessary and simple business precaution. What the Board of
Directors propose now is to rescind the resolution, passed upon our
president's insistence at the last meeting, which gave him unlimited
power in the conduct of the corporation, to divide the responsibilities
in such a way that the fortunes of the Consolidated Companies will no
longer remain dependent upon the life or services of any one officer,
and to insist that the employees of the corporation be used only in the
execution of the corporation's business. Our president will still be
given a free scope in the conduct of the important matters which will be
intrusted to him, but from now on the Board of Directors insist that the
corporation shall be dominated by their joint policies, in the
establishment of which our president will still have great weight."

Gorham listened to Litchfield's remarks with marked patience. He was
relieved that they were free from the personalities and vituperations
which the wording of the call had led him to fear, for to his nature it
was impossible to work in such close relationship with such a body of
able men without acquiring a regard beyond that inspired by mere
commercial intercourse. They were wrong in their whole understanding of
his position, but he could convince them of that now that there had been
nothing said to cause an open rupture.

"My friends," he said, "I can take no exception to the position which
you assume, knowing as I do the viewpoint from which you speak. The
arbitrary attitude which I have assumed has been one which you
yourselves have forced upon me rather than one taken of my own
volition--but I shall later refer to this more at length. I agree with
you that the employees of this or any other corporation should be used
only in the exercise of the corporation's business; but would not the
success of any blackmailing attempt, such as the one I am fighting,
react upon the Companies fully as much as upon me? As to the gentlemen
who form our Executive Committee, even though I have differed from them
on a point which I conceive to be absolutely vital to the success of the
Consolidated Companies, I consider them the ablest body of business men
ever gathered together upon any committee. I am proud of them for the
reputation they have given to the Companies, I respect them personally
for their own sterling worth. I can conceive no personal calamity
greater than to have any necessity arise to make it necessary for us to
sever our relations--and I cannot, even now, see that any such occasion
exists.

"As to the matter of dividing the responsibilities, I again agree with
you. It is not the act of wisdom to have the destinies of any
corporation so large as this rest as heavily upon any one man's
shoulders as your attitude has convinced me that this rests upon mine. I
not only assent to this proposition also, but I will do all which lies
in my power to accomplish it. I will even reserve my 'code of morals,'
as you are pleased to call it, wholly for myself, considering that it is
a point upon which we fail to agree.

"All that remains, then, is for you gentlemen to give me your assurances
upon one point: namely, that the present basis of profit-sharing with
the public shall not be disturbed. I will no longer put it upon a moral
basis--I insist upon it solely as a business policy. With this one point
established, I will work with you to the extent of such strength and
ability as I have within me, to further the interests of the great
Consolidated Companies as it advances triumphantly along its appointed
path."

"But this is the main contention upon which our split has come,"
protested Litchfield.

"You objected to the stand I took that the public is morally entitled to
an equal division. Personally, I still maintain that this obligation
exists, but now I am endeavoring to convince you that to continue this
is an act of supreme business wisdom. Mr. Litchfield made reference, in
the course of his remarks, to the adverse legislation with which the
Companies is threatened. I am, and have always been, in the closest
touch with the situation, and I tell you, gentlemen, this danger is a
real one. I have seen Senator Kenmore within a few days, and his
information is most alarming. Next week I expect to be in Washington
again to fight the battle not only for the future of the Consolidated
Companies, but for its very life. We have powerful allies, and I believe
that we can win, but, in the words of the Attorney-General himself, only
provided that we can show our hands to be clean in our future intentions
as well as in our present practices."

"Suppose we postpone any action whatever until after the present crisis
in Washington has passed," suggested one of the Directors.

"The action must be taken at once," insisted Gorham. "I told you,
gentlemen, that I had awakened from my Utopian dream. I shall make no
more promises until I am absolutely certain that they will be made good
to the letter."

"How far do you carry this 'Utopian' policy of yours, Mr. Gorham?" asked
Litchfield. "Would you even go so far as to deny the right of any
officer of the corporation to make profit for himself as a result of
inside information gained in his official capacity?"

"Most assuredly."

Covington watched his chief critically as the blow began to fall. What a
crash this idol would make when it fell from its self-created pedestal!

"Would you criticise an officer of this corporation who invested in
stock about to be acquired by the Companies, thus taking advantage of
the certain rise in value which he knew would come to it?"

"I should consider such an official as absolutely false to his trust. Is
there one of us present who would feel otherwise?"

Litchfield smiled. "There is no one present who does not regret the lack
of friendliness which prevented our president from giving him an equal
chance with himself in the purchase of stock in the New York Street
Railways Company."

Gorham seemed not to comprehend the charge against him. "You will have
to enlighten me further," he said, coldly.

Litchfield drew some papers from his pocket and handed them to Gorham.
"We don't undertake to criticise you for making the most of this
opportunity," he said, "but out of respect to your ridiculous 'code,' we
have ourselves refrained. Next time we shall expect you to give us a
chance too; and, incidentally, don't you think we can now come to a
mutual understanding regarding the morality basis of the Consolidated
Companies?"

"Where did you get these papers?" Gorham demanded.

"From Mr. Brady, who was interested enough to supply us with the sworn
statements which you see here."

"Do you really believe that I invested a penny of my money in that
stock?"

"Come, Gorham, admit that the joke's on you," Litchfield laughed. "Of
course, it was your daughter who did it, and, of course, you knew
nothing about it!--Don't try to hide behind her skirts."

Gorham looked across to where Covington was sitting, pale and unnerved
by the unexpected development. He might have suspected this, but the
remoteness of the chance had as a matter of fact precluded any thought
of the possibility. Gorham started to speak, but checked himself. He
could not bring his daughter's name into this discussion without more
time to consider the situation. Then he turned again to his associates.

"Gentlemen," he said, quietly, "it seems hardly necessary for me to make
this statement, but I wish to put myself on record: I have never
invested one cent of my own money, or any one else's, in any stock whose
value was likely to be affected by the action of the Consolidated
Companies. No one else has ever done so with my knowledge or consent. I
shall have more to say upon this matter when I have had sufficient time
to acquaint myself with all the facts. Until then, I ask that this
meeting be adjourned, subject to an early call."

Litchfield, puzzled, as were the others, by Gorham's flat denial in the
face of the overwhelming evidence, put the motion for adjournment which
the president requested.




XXVII


The bachelor apartment-house which Allen Sanford called his home in New
York, though constantly referred to by him as his "two by twice hall
bedroom," was considerably more pretentious and expensive than a young
man receiving his modest income would ordinarily have selected; yet when
he decided upon it, the chief point in question was whether or not it
suited his tastes. The fact that the rent alone exceeded the salary
assured him by his position in the Consolidated Companies did not strike
him as of any particular significance. He had sold his motor before
leaving Washington, and with this nest-egg and what remained of his last
allowance to draw upon, the necessity of economy had not occurred to
him. "I've eaten up the tires, and now I'm beginning on the chassis," he
had once remarked in conversation; but with characteristic confidence in
the future, he made no provision for the time when he should have
thoroughly fletcherized the entire machine.

Now that he had joined the army of the unemployed, and had decided to
return to Pittsburgh, it was incumbent upon him to pack up his
belongings. This was a project which failed to appeal to him. He had
formally terminated his connection with the Consolidated Companies on
the day before, and this Sunday morning had been set apart by him for
his tremendous undertaking. His trunks were in the middle of the floor,
and his clothes deposited in various stages of disorder upon every chair
in the room, preparatory to making the start toward packing which
appalled him. The empty drawers of the dresser and the chiffonnier, and
the bare hooks of the closet bore silent tribute to the thoroughness of
his work thus far.

He was sitting upon the edge of a trunk, regarding in dismay the
confusion around him and wondering where to make a start, when the bell
rang vigorously. He opened the door in surprise, and was relieved to
find no more formidable a visitor than the elevator boy.

"A young lady down-stairs to see you, sir."

"A--what?" demanded Allen.

"She wouldn't give her name, sir."

"I'll be right down," he cried, slamming the door unceremoniously in the
boy's face, and rushing into his coat and waistcoat. Could it be that
Alice had really meant what she said that night, and had come to
convince him of it! There was a girl for you! He would never accept the
sacrifice, he told himself resolutely, still he fairly danced as he
straightened his necktie, tripped over his evening clothes, which he had
knocked onto the floor, and almost stumbled over a little figure in the
hallway, as he threw open the door and started to rush to the elevator.

"They wouldn't let me come up in the elevator, so I walked," announced
Patricia, looking up at him with a beaming smile.

"What are you doing here? Is Alice down-stairs?" Allen demanded,
completely bewildered by the unexpected apparition.

"I've come to go away with you, and Alice is at home," the child
answered, simply. "Papa said you were going back to Pittsburgh. Aren't
you glad to see me? I've got all my things packed up in this bag, except
my _Knights of the Round Table_, which wouldn't go in, so I carried it
under my arm."

He looked at her, speechless with astonishment as she proudly held up
the diminutive satchel and displayed her precious volume.

"Of course I'm glad to see you, Lady Pat," he said at length; "but you
ought not to come here alone, you know."

"I'm not alone," she insisted. "Riley is down-stairs in my pony cart.
Phillips didn't know where you lived, but he's only a groom, so I
brought Riley. Now, how shall we get rid of him, and have you made a
hundred thousand dollars with my money?"

"I'm ashamed to say I haven't--I was too late. The storks had all gone
South for the winter, but I must give you back your bank."

Allen turned into his room, closely followed by Patricia.

"Then you haven't money enough to get married?" she asked in a pathetic
little voice. Suddenly her face brightened. "But I don't mind; I'll keep
house for you without any money; and storks always come to newly married
people, I've heard them say so."

"We couldn't do that, Lady Pat; we'd starve to death unless we ate the
storks. Come, let's go and find Riley."

But Riley's anxiety had resulted in his anticipating them, and the
familiar face at that moment showed above the stairway, as the old man
approached them, out of breath.

"Ah, there ye are, praise be ter th' Virgin Mary," he panted. "Ah, sich
a mess as ye're gettin' poor old Riley in. I cudn't hilp it, Misther
Allen, I cudn't nohow," heading off any criticism from that
quarter--"she wud have it, and that's th' ind iv it. I'm thinkin' that's
why they named her Miss Pat--'tis th' Irish persistency iv her name that
crops out, an' th' cajolery. I cudn't hilp it, nohow."

"Of course he couldn't help it." Patricia assented. "I had to see you,
and some one had to show me where you lived. But you may go now if you
want to, Riley."

"We had better come inside and talk it over--if we can get in," Allen
suggested, opening the door again, and pushing the things one side.

"Ah, Misther Allen--all ye'er clothes will be spiled, kickin' 'round
like this. Shall I fold 'em up an' put 'em in th' thrunks fer ye, sor?"

Riley was in his element again, and Allen grasped at the old man's offer
with an eagerness not assumed.

"That's just the thing," he said. "You pack the trunk, Riley, while Lady
Pat and I sit on the window-seat and have a little visit."

"Here are my things, too, Riley." Patricia handed the old man her
satchel and book. "Perhaps you'd better pack those on top."

"Why should I pack thim in Misther Allen's thrunk?" he demanded.

"Because we're going away to be married," she announced, grandly. "You
are the first one in the family to know it, and you mustn't tell."

Riley started to speak, but a signal from Allen silenced him; so he
continued his work, bringing order out of chaos so quickly that he won
instant admiration.

"Now, look here, Lady Pat," said Allen, kindly, as the child sat on her
heels in front of him on the window-seat, "we must talk this matter over
very carefully."

"Yes, Sir Launcelot," Patricia assented, expectantly.

"In the first place, I have made your father very angry with me."

"Were you a naughty boy?"

"He thinks so, and he must be right; but it wouldn't do to make him any
more angry by taking you away without his permission. You see that,
don't you?"

"But they wouldn't blame you--they'd blame me," the child persisted.
"Alice would frown at me and say 'Pa-tri-ci-a.' Papa would be severe and
say, 'I shall have to ask mamma Eleanor to punish you,' and mamma
Eleanor would look sad and say, 'Oh, my darling,' But she'd forget all
about it as soon as I kissed her."

"No; they would blame me, because I'm older--and, besides, a true knight
could never stand by and see his Lady Fair blamed, could he? The only
thing is for me to go away, and for you to go back home with Riley, and
then, later, for me to storm the castle and carry you off."

"But if you did that, you might carry off Alice instead of me," she
objected.

"That's so," Allen assented, laughing, "unless she hurries up and gets
married. That was our agreement, Lady Pat--as long as Alice is free, we
can't make any plans for ourselves."

"Wouldn't it be grand to have you storm the castle and carry me off!"
Patricia was quite taken by the idea. "Anyhow, next to Alice, you love
me best, don't you, Sir Launcelot?"

"I certainly do," Allen said, truthfully. "Now, you'll go home with
Riley and wait to see what happens, won't you?"

"All right," the child said, entirely satisfied. "Gee, but I wish Mr.
Covington would hurry up!"

Patricia rose obediently and took Riley's hand, as they left the room.

"Wit ye well," she said as she bade Allen good-bye at the elevator. "I
shall wait at the window with a silken ladder every night until you
come."

Allen turned slowly back into his room, closed the door, and sat down
alone on the window-seat which had so recently also sustained his
animated little companion. Not until now had the full force of the
wrench come upon him, and he was conscious of a lump in his throat as he
thought of Alice, first always, then of Mr. Gorham, and last of the city
itself. During the months since he had accidentally met Alice in
Washington, there had never been a wavering of his purpose. She was the
one girl to him among the many he met during the social rounds into
which he had plunged while living in New York. He had been undaunted by
her attitude, undismayed by the seeming hopelessness of it all--but now
her very sympathy proved to him the necessity of at last giving up the
one great hope upon which he had set his heart. The pain at separating
from his chief, while of a different nature, was no less keen. Mr.
Gorham still stood to Allen as the epitome of the best that a man could
express. The shock which had come to him when Gorham admitted a
knowledge of Covington's investment of Alice's money, did not weaken his
respect for the man, but rather was the final event to convince him that
his own conception of business must be entirely wrong. If Mr. Gorham
sanctioned it, then it was right, it could be nothing else; but all his
efforts, conscientious as he knew them to have been, to master the
intricacies of the code his preceptor had tried to teach him, had
accomplished nothing.

And the great city, which contained so many of his classmates and
friends, who had made him welcome in their homes, must in the future
receive him only as a stranger. He loved the individuality of the great
towering buildings, the wonderful harbor with its kaleidoscopic
shipping, the surging masses of the striving people in the streets, the
blinding glare of Broadway at night, and the tense, eager business
competition keeping each man, irrespective of position, constantly on
his taps to hold his own or to forge ahead against the incoming tide of
growing prosperity. Everything he craved seemed centred here, yet he had
been a part of it all, and had failed to keep his grip. His opportunity
had been given him, and he had not taken advantage of it. The city
contained no room for failures--only those who could force success from
its grinding turmoil belonged within its ever-grasping arms. He must
turn his back upon it all, and go to some place less critical, less
overpowering, taking with him as memories, in place of triumphs, the
thoughts of what might have been.

Amid the gloom which surrounded him, a childish face forced its sweet
features upon him, and it relieved the tension of the moment. Dear
little Patricia, at least, had faith in him. Alice's attitude was that
of sympathy and pity, but little Pat saw in him, the failure, those
attributes which belong to the Knight Courageous, undaunted by the
hostile flings of Fortune. As she grew older, she too would discover
that the gold was paint and the silver, tinsel; but until then, he knew
her faith was in him. He pressed his hands against his aching
temples--"God bless her for that," he said, softly, "God bless her for
that."




XXVIII


The first train which left Pittsburgh after the arrival of Mr. Gorham's
letter bore Stephen Sanford to New York. Gorham had found time, even
with the pressure of the conflicting details, to write his old friend at
length regarding the situation which made it necessary for Allen to
terminate his connection with the Consolidated Companies. There was no
word of censure against the boy--he even took pains to express in full
his admiration for certain sterling qualities which this, Allen's first
business experience, had brought out.

"_The time has come_," he wrote, "_when Allen needs the sympathy and
assistance of his father more than he ever has, or ever will need it
again. I believe I know you well enough, Stephen, to feel certain that
you won't refuse it to him simply because he has not asked for it. What
I have tried to do for him has been more for your sake than for his own,
though you have misunderstood my motive. The boy has developed rapidly,
and possesses an ability for business naturally inherited from you; but
when his mind is once made up it seems impossible to change him. I hope
you will set him a good example by showing him your own strength of
character in going to him now. As for our relations, Stephen, in spite
of the last stormy interview, and your attitude since, I know that I
have no firmer friend than you, and you know well that my affection for
you has not lessened because of anything so trivial as what has passed.
Old friends are like old wine in more than one respect--the explosion
made by the blowing out of the cork does not affect the quality. Come to
me first, and let me tell you the whole story_."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," Sanford fumed as he finished the letter;
yet the first train leaving Pittsburgh which he could catch carried him
to New York.

The months which had intervened had left their impress upon him, and his
friends had noticed it, though ignorant of the cause. Allen had been
away from home so much during the past few years, that his failure to
appear beneath the parental roof after his return from Europe was no
occasion for comment. Yet it was not the fact that he was separated from
the boy that wore on Stephen Sanford, but rather the knowledge that a
barrier had arisen between them. He had honestly expected that Allen
would refuse to take him seriously when he cast him adrift. They had
quarrelled before and nothing had come of it, so he had no reason to
think that this would be any exception. He knew the boy's tastes, and
while blaming him for his extravagances, he was proud to have him "live
like a gentleman." Even with the income assured from the position given
him by Mr. Gorham, Sanford knew how small it must be compared with the
allowance which Allen had previously received; and he suffered over
again the privations of his own youth while thinking of the self-denials
which his son must be obliged to practise. Picturing him living in a
hall bedroom of meagre proportions, taking his meals at cheap
restaurants and generally resorting to those economies common to
ambitious youth fighting its battle against the world, the father would
many times have sent him a substantial check if he could have made sure
that the source would remain unknown.

Yet he insisted to himself that Allen must come to him. He would respond
to Gorham's letter to the extent of going to New York and discussing the
matter, but he refused to admit any possibility of a reconciliation
unless the overtures came from the boy himself. As he hastened to
arrange matters for his departure, he muttered imprecations against him
with the same breath that drew an unquestioned joy from the thought that
a sight of him was near at hand; and no idea entered his mind other than
to reach New York at the earliest possible moment.


Covington was surprised that the blow did not fall upon him immediately
after the meeting of the committee adjourned. He was ignorant of the
exact contents of the papers handed to Gorham by Litchfield, but they
could scarcely fail to give his chief all the information necessary to
show his connection with the transaction, and he knew well how great
would be Gorham's resentment. Yet no mention was made of the matter
during the few minutes which remained of the business day after the
others had taken their departure. There were two or three routine
matters which Gorham turned over to him, with a few words of comment,
then he said good-night and left the office. Could it be that something
still intervened to keep the real facts covered up?

All doubts were removed the following morning. Gorham sent for him to
come to his office, and when he appeared he found that Brady was also
present. Covington seemed not to recognize him, but Brady's face assumed
a significant and satisfied expression.

"Mr. Brady has been good enough to respond to my request," Gorham began,
"and is here to supply me with fuller details concerning the matter
which was brought up at the meeting of the committee yesterday. As it
interests you even more than it does me, I have asked you to be present
during our interview."

Covington seated himself in silence.

"Now, Mr. Brady," Gorham continued, "I understand that you made a
statement to Mr. Litchfield to the effect that I had personally secured
some of the stock in the New York Street Railways Company, with a view
to profiting by the advance in price made inevitable by its proposed
merger into the Manhattan Traction Company, of which I was cognizant at
the time."

"No, I didn't say all that," Brady protested; "I simply said that a big
block of the stock was bought for you. It wasn't necessary to say why."

"But you don't really believe that this stock was purchased for me, or
with my knowledge, do you?"

Few men could resist the frank appeal of Gorham's eyes when he chose to
exert it, and Brady was not one of these. He moved uncomfortably in his
chair, and laughed consciously.

"Why, no, guv'nor, since you put it that way, man to man, I don't."

"Then why did you say what you did? I can't blame you for harboring some
resentment against me because I interfered with your plans in that
railway deal, but this statement is so easily refuted that I wonder why
you made it. It was to discover this that I asked you to come here this
morning."

Brady looked over at Covington meaningly. "That was just why I did do
it," he said. "I knew it would bring out certain facts that I wanted to
have known. I ain't harborin' any resentment against you. You licked me,
an' I took my medicine. P'raps I've worried you a bit in Washington
since,--that's another matter. I'm a sport all right, an' I know when to
take my hat off to any man. But there is other slick Alecks, who think
they're so all-fired smart, that I like to get even with when they try
to be funny with me,--an' there's one of 'em sittin' in that chair over
there now."

"Well--go on." Gorham encouraged him as he paused, at the same time
studying the unexpressive face of Covington as the man progressed.

"Just before that railway deal was put through, an' Harris an' me was
feelin' nervous about you gettin' so close to the big stockholders, I
found out that this Covington here was saltin' away some good blocks of
stock of the New York Street Railways Company. He wasn't buyin' them
direct, you understand, an' the stool-pigeon he was usin' happened to be
one of my own men. Then I sent Harris to see Covington, to get his
influence with you to let our personal scheme go through, usin' the
little information we had gained to act as an argument to help him make
up his mind. He see the game was up, of course, an' then he tried to be
smart. He had it all figured out that if he could unload that stock on
your daughter, it would make things run easier for him when the facts
come out. I wouldn't have held this up against him, for it was nothin'
but a cheap trick, but then he come to us of his own accord, an' told
us that you an' him had gone all over the matter, an' you was goin' to
let the thing go through all right. Well, you remember what happened. He
evidently went right back to you an' told you what we had up our sleeve.
I swore then I'd get even with him, an' this is the way I chose to do
it."

"That's the whole story, is it?" Gorham asked.

"Yes; unless friend Covington here can add a few details."

"I don't think he can,--but you do him an injustice in thinking that he
spoke to me of your plans. His failure to do so is noteworthy, but it
affects others rather than yourself. I am exceedingly obliged to you for
your time and frankness. I will not detain you further unless Mr.
Covington would like to make any comments."

"I have nothing to say," Covington replied.

Gorham waited until Brady had made his departure before he turned to the
man sitting in silence before him.

"This is all that is needed to make the blow complete, is it not?" he
asked, in a voice which betrayed the feeling beneath by its quiet
restraint. "Even the awakening which came to me when the committee
showed their real selves was not enough. I still believed that I could
carry through my purpose, and I relied on you to help make this
possible. I, who felt myself strong enough to undertake the
revolutionizing of the business world because of my magnificent support,
find myself, like Samson, shorn of my strength, and face to face with a
realization that man is by nature the cringing slave of the almighty
dollar. He may, for a time, or for a purpose, disguise it even from
himself, but when the real test comes, he dare not disregard the
compelling voice of his master. This is enough of an awakening, but
think of the pain which accompanies it when one finds that the friend in
whom he trusted, that the one man whom he was most proud to honor, fails
even to measure up to the simple test of honesty! Oh, Covington, I find
it hard to bring myself to believe it!"

"What do you propose to do?" Covington asked.

"First of all, I shall place the facts before the Directors. They at
least shall know that I have not been false to them or to myself."

"When will you do this?"

"As soon as possible,--this afternoon if I can get them together."

"Would you mind postponing it until to-morrow?"

"What is to be gained by that?"

"May I have an interview with you at your house to-night? It is for this
that I ask the postponement."

"Certainly," Gorham replied, wonderingly. "I will see you at nine
o'clock."

"I thank you," said Covington, rising and leaving the office without
further comment.




XXIX


Gorham received two callers on that Saturday night. Sanford came first,
and the heartiness of the welcome extended him thawed out the blustering
exterior which made it so difficult for the warm heart underneath to
assert itself.

"I never was so proud of any one," cried Gorham, with more enthusiasm
than he often manifested. "Now it is the old Stephen I used to know and
love, acting his own self once more! But you are going to have your
chance to crow over me. Stephen, I've been a more obstinate old fool
than you ever thought of being, and I'm going to make you my
father-confessor."

Then he told him of Allen's development, from the first day he entered
the offices of the Consolidated Companies down to the time when he had
himself sent the boy away from him in anger. He even told him of the
crisis in the corporation, knowing that their conversation was sacred to
his old friend. Then he dwelt on Allen's courage in the face of his own
blindness, and his admiration for the boy's attitude throughout.

"He is planning to go back to you, Stephen, but I shan't let him if I
can help it. I have made him think that his work has been a failure,
when in reality his vision has been clearer than mine. But don't tell
him this. Let your talk be of yourselves. Then bring him to me
to-morrow for dinner, and let me show him what he really is."

"I told you he'd make a fine business man," Stephen could not resist
saying. "You remember that."

"I do," laughed Gorham. "That is why I gave him the chance. You remember
asking me to do it, don't you?"

"There's another thing I told you, Robert,--that you never could do
business on the basis you planned unless you had angels all the way up
from the office boy to the Board of Directors."

"It has been my fault in not being able to distinguish between angels
and mortals," Gorham replied seriously, his mind reverting to the great
problem which still lay unsolved before him. "I am not willing yet to
admit that the basis is wrong,--the error must rest in the building.
Good-night, Stephen. Be sure to bring Allen with you to-morrow."

       *       *       *       *       *

Covington entered the library, walking with short, quick steps quite
unlike his usual deliberate gait, and sat down in the chair just vacated
by Mr. Sanford. Gorham noted at once the change which had come over his
features, even during the few hours which had elapsed since morning. For
the first time his eyes showed a nervous unrest, the lines about his
mouth had settled into a hard, disagreeable expression, and his whole
manner evidenced the strain he was enduring. Gorham noted all this, and
in a measure it surprised him. If Covington was so constituted that he
could play the hypocrite, he would not have supposed his sensibilities
acute enough to overwhelm him in the unmasking.

"You are wondering why I desired this interview," Covington began. "You
cannot understand what there is left for me to say to you in view of
what has happened. I could have bluffed this out for a time, but it was
no use. There are other developments which will follow on the heels of
this which make it useless to temporize. I have played the game my way,
letting you make the rules, believing that when it came to the showdown
my cards would be strong enough to win. They would be under normal
circumstances, but you've called my hand too soon. You see before you a
desperate man, Mr. Gorham, upon whom you have forced the necessity of
taking a gambler's chance. That is why I am here to-night."

"You must be implicated in matters far deeper than I have knowledge to
talk like this, Covington. You have been false to me and false to the
Companies, but after all there is nothing criminal in what you have
done. To me, the greatest crime a man can commit is so to forget the
manhood with which his Maker endowed him, as to prostitute it for
temporary personal advantage, but the law looks upon other lesser crimes
as deserving of greater punishment. I cannot tell how much of a lesson
this may be to you. It will, of course, be necessary for you to leave
New York, as the committee, however much they may criticise my code,
have one of their own which you have transgressed. As far as I am
concerned, you may have no anxiety. I have too many important matters in
hand to wish to divert myself from them simply to make you pay the
penalty you owe me."

"I am implicated deeper than you know, but I am here to make terms
rather than accept them," Covington replied. "I do not choose to begin
life over again, and I require your definite assurances that whatever
you know or may learn against me be kept from the knowledge of the
committee. At present I hold their confidence, and I am not willing to
relinquish it. What I have done in this stock transaction will not
strike them as so serious a matter as you make of it. I venture to say
that I am not the only one of them to do it."

Gorham looked at him keenly. "This is the talk of a man bereft of his
senses."

"I told you I was desperate, and so I am. I have been working all my
life to gain the position of wealth and power which is now within my
grasp, and you shall not keep me from it."

"You yourself have made its attainment impossible."

"Next to you, I am the one man most competent to conduct the affairs of
the Consolidated Companies. You yourself have trained me to be your
successor. The committee know this, and they also know that with me at
the head, the Companies will be run as they wish it. They are eager to
have the change, and only fear your influence against the corporation if
they force you out."

"All that may have been true, Covington, in the past. Not one of them
would trust you now."

"They know nothing which reflects upon my character, and they must not
know. You and they can never continue together,--it is hopeless to
expect a compromise. I am the only man who can hold these forces
together, and you must give me this chance."

Gorham could only believe that the excitement which controlled Covington
had affected him to the extent of irresponsibility, and his unusual
manner heightened the impression.

"I see no reason to continue this interview," he said shortly. "You
speak of what must and shall happen when the shaping of events has
already passed from your control."

"You think it has, Mr. Gorham; but that is where the gambler's chance
comes in. It is a desperate chance, and it is one which I could never
have believed myself capable of taking. It simply shows how far a man
will go when forced against the wall."

"I am tiring of this play-acting," protested Gorham. "If you have
anything to say, say it, or else leave me to devote my time to matters
which require it."

Covington hesitated even then. The weapon was an ugly one to handle, and
there were elements in him which rebelled. Slowly he drew the bulky
paper from his pocket, not meeting Gorham's steady gaze.

"More affidavits?" asked Gorham. "What is the nature of them this time?"

"I am more keenly aware of how despicable this is than you will give me
credit," he said. "I have lived among gentlemen long enough to recognize
that to those who know of this, my act separates me from the society of
which I have been a part. But I have chosen. With the wealth and power
which this will bring me, I can buy back what now I seem to forfeit."

He placed the papers in Mr. Gorham's hands, turning his pale face away,
and drumming nervously on the arm of his chair with his fingers. The
minutes seemed hours, and when he turned, he found Gorham's penetrating
eye fixed firmly upon him. He had counted on the strength of the
statements contained in the affidavits to protect him from personal
violence, yet he half suspected Gorham's purpose when he rose. His host,
however, walked quietly to the wall and pressed the button, then
noiselessly resumed his seat. The awful silence was in itself a strain
on Covington. He wished Gorham would speak, even though he thought he
knew the nature of what those first words would be. Presently Riley
opened the door.

"Ask Mrs. Gorham and Miss Alice to come here, Riley."

"Not Alice!" Covington cried.

Again silence pervaded the room, Gorham rereading the papers, and
Covington still drumming on the arm of his chair. As Eleanor and Alice
entered they greeted Covington cordially, but he drew back without
accepting the outstretched hands.

"We have a matter to discuss which affects us all," Gorham said, handing
Eleanor one of the papers. "Please read this, but make no comment until
later."

The first few words conveyed its nature to her, and she swayed for a
moment as if she might fall. Alice sprang to her side.

"What is it, Eleanor,--let me read it with you. Shall I, daddy?"

Gorham nodded. When they had finished, Eleanor started to speak, but her
husband checked her. The momentary faintness had passed, and she stood
erect, eager for the word from Gorham which would permit her to break
the silence.

"Where did this come from?" Alice demanded.

"Mr. Covington just brought it to me."

"What did you do to the man who dared to draw it up?" she asked
indignantly of Covington.

"Mr. Covington is the man who had it drawn up," her father answered.
"Now we will listen to what he has to say about it."

The man squared himself for the issue.

"You have read it," he said huskily, "and you value your wife's
reputation?"

"Yes, beyond anything and everything else."

"Beyond the Consolidated Companies and the gratification of injuring me
with the committee?"

"Yes."

Covington gained confidence from the ease with which all was moving. A
few minutes more of this as against a lifetime of wealth and power! It
was worth the degradation. "It is sometimes necessary to walk through
filth and slime to attain high places," he remembered Gorham had once
told him.

"Would you agree to stand one side and give me this chance, rather than
have a blemish on your wife's name made public?"

"Yes," was the firm reply.

Eleanor had lived a century during the conversation. Sitting now in the
shadow of the room, she turned her eyes first toward one speaker and
then the other, wondering all the while how it was to end. If only she
had told Robert herself before this moment! She could not understand her
husband's passive attitude. She knew him to be slow to anger, yet she
also knew well the strength of the passion which lay controlled beneath
his calm exterior. What Covington had said and the manner in which he
had said it would, under ordinary circumstances, have aroused Gorham to
stern indignation. She could only attribute his present patience to an
uncertainty which lay in his own mind as to the truth of the story
which he had read; but when he answered Covington's questions,
indicating which choice he would make, she could endure it no longer.
Rising quickly, she stood between the two men, her face turned toward
Gorham.

"Robert," she said, "what do you mean? This man is asking you to give up
the Consolidated Companies."

"I understand it, Eleanor," Gorham replied. "I would prefer to do so
rather than have a single breath of scandal or even suspicion attach
itself to you."

Eleanor drew herself up very straight, and, paying no attention to
Covington, she addressed herself passionately to her husband.

"Look at me, Robert, look into my eyes, and tell me if you see there
anything of which I need to feel ashamed. You have read this story, now
you shall hear mine. It is one which you should have heard long ago,
Robert, but I hesitated to speak, not because I was ashamed of anything
which happened, but because I feared just the interpretation which has
now been put upon it. You know all about my marriage to Ralph Buckner;
you know all about Carina's death, and you shall know all which I am
able to tell any one, or which I myself know, of what happened during
the awful days which followed."

Eleanor's voice trembled, but the excitement of the moment kept her from
breaking down.

"When I lifted that little form from the trail and pressed it to my
heart I knew that she was dead. My one thought in the face of the awful
blow which had come to me was to get away from the man who had inflicted
it. Somehow, with Carina in my arms, I got upon the mare, and again I
strained the little body to my heart and forgot all else except my
overpowering grief. The mare walked on unguided, uncontrolled,--I knew
not where,--I cared not where. I believe I never should have stopped her
myself, but suddenly a man appeared by the side of the trail who saw
that something was wrong, and he asked if he could be of help. At these
first words of sympathy I lost control of myself, and made some
incoherent reply. From that time on I was a child myself, and he a kind,
loving, guiding father. Walking beside me and helping to support me, we
soon reached the shack in which he lived. He took the dead child from my
arms, and carried it tenderly into the house; then he came back and
helped me to dismount. He asked no further questions, but led me inside,
too, soothing my outburst of grief as the reaction came in full force.
Of what happened afterward I have no memory. For the time, I lost my
reason, and he, day by day, night by night, watched over me, bathing my
hot forehead, moistening my parched lips, trying to give me courage to
pass through the awful ordeal.

"It was all of two weeks that I was there, so he told me afterward. As
my reason returned, his first thought was to get me back to my father's
ranch, having learned who I was and enough of what had happened to
understand the situation. Before we left, he took me to the little mound
back of the shack, where I said 'good-bye' to the one ray of sunshine
which had entered my life during those awful years. Then he helped me on
my mare and mounted his own horse. Together we rode silently back over
the seven or eight miles, only to learn that my father had suddenly
died, partly from the shock and partly from my unexplained absence. The
old man's strength could not endure the double blow.

"In dismay I turned to my protector, and he at once answered the query
which he read in my eyes. He made arrangements, and accompanied me to
Denver, leaving me in a hospital there, where for two months I hovered
between life and death, owing to a relapse. I saw him only once again,
when he came to the hospital and told me that he had placed my affairs
in the hands of a certain lawyer, who would look after what property my
father left, and would advise me after I was able to leave the hospital.
Then he passed out of my life, though I was told later that he stayed in
Denver until I was out of danger, before he returned East. In my
condition and because of the excitement, his name was a blank to me from
the moment I left the hospital, and I have striven ever since to recall
it. The lawyer to whom he referred me professed not to know it, and
simply said that the man had described himself as a prospector from the
East."

As Eleanor paused from weakness, Covington glanced across to Gorham.

"Her story doesn't differ much from that contained in the affidavit," he
remarked.

"No," Gorham answered, shortly; "it is the same story with a different
interpretation."

"What do you think of it now?"

"Just as I have from the beginning."

"You don't believe me!" Eleanor cried, half-beseechingly,
half-reproachfully. "I don't wonder,--it is past belief."

"You must believe her, daddy," Alice insisted, ready to burst into
tears; "she has tried so many times to tell you."

"I do believe you, Eleanor," Gorham replied. "And what is more, I know
that you speak the truth."

"The public may not be so generous," suggested Covington.

"You forget that I have great faith in that same public," Gorham
answered, strangely calm in the face of such great provocation.

"You know it, Robert?" Eleanor asked, scarcely believing what she heard.
"How can you know it? You mean that your faith in me is strong enough to
make you believe it."

"You may tell them that story, Covington," Gorham said, rising; "but it
will make it even more interesting if you add the finale which you are
going to witness now."

Then he turned to his wife and took her hand in his.

"Would you know that prospector if you saw him again?" he asked.

"I am sure I should," she replied, wonderingly.

"Must he still wear his full beard and his old corduroy clothes, with a
blue handkerchief knotted around his throat, to recall himself to you?
Must I tell you that he called himself 'Roberts'?"

"Roberts!" she gasped, gazing at him spellbound, "--how could you know?"

"Look at me again, Eleanor," he urged with infinite tenderness, but with
an eager expectancy manifest in every feature,--"look hard."

She drew back speechless as the truth came to her.

"Oh, my Robert," she cried at last, with a joy in her voice which
thrilled her hearers, "you--you were that man!"


It seemed a sacrilege to the two spectators of the unexpected climax of
this intimate personal drama to remain, so instinctively they both
withdrew silently to the drawing-room, leaving Eleanor closely enfolded
in her husband's arms. For the first time since Covington had disclosed
himself, Alice was alone with him. Wrought up as the girl had been by
the conflicting emotions which had consumed her strength during the past
moments, and relieved beyond measure by the final outcome of what had
promised only a tragedy, yet her eyes filled with tears as she looked at
him.

"Why did you do this?" she asked. "Why did you come into my life to
teach me that this beautiful world of ours can contain so much that is
bad?--you, whom I respected and admired, and whom I was beginning to
believe I loved? How could you do it?"

Covington made no answer to the impelling voice which spoke. The girl,
with her varying moods and changing conceits, who had so amused him, had
vanished, and in her place he saw the woman, supreme in the strength of
asserting that which is ever woman's creed,--justice and right. He could
sense, in her attitude, as in her words, that her resentment was not
because of the indignity which he had forced upon herself, but rather
because of the wrong he had done to those she loved. What a woman to
have called his wife,--what a woman to have lived up to as a husband!

"I must see your father again," he said when he spoke at last. "Let us
go back to them."

Covington stood in the doorway of the library as Alice slipped quietly
into the room and took her place beside Eleanor and her father. As he
looked upon the three, forming a group into which he had almost entered,
he realized the infinite distance which now separated them. Their total
disregard of his presence, Gorham's lack of open resentment, Alice's
indifference,--all told him that in their eyes he was only the pariah,
beneath their contempt, suffered to remain there until he saw fit to rid
them of his presence. Yet he could not leave them thus. Somewhere within
him a something, until now quiescent, demanded recognition and insisted
upon expression. Why had it waited until now! It was a changed John
Covington who spoke from that doorway, when at last silence became
unendurable. The hard lines in the face had softened, and the previously
insistent voice now betrayed realization of the present, and
hopelessness for the future. The fires of truth and love and faith and
honor, which burned so brightly before him, at least touched him with
their heat. God pity him!

"It is all over, Mr. Gorham," he forced himself to say. "It is not you
who have defeated me, it is I who have defeated myself. I offer no
defence. I despised myself before I did this, I despise myself still
further for having done it. I could not believe you sincere,--I could
not believe any man capable of living the creed you preached. I accept
the penalty which you or other men may impose upon me."

"You have imposed your own penalty, Covington," Gorham replied. "You,
who have destroyed the way-marks to misguide others, now find yourself
adrift because of your own act. You are a young man. If you are honest
in what you now say, there is still hope for you. Fight those
overpowering ambitions which have brought you to the brink until you
have them properly controlled, then guide your undoubted abilities along
lines which men recognize as true."

Covington bowed his head, and without a word disappeared. As the outer
door closed Alice turned to her father, but her thought was not of the
man who had passed from their lives.

"You were that prospector, daddy? Why did you never tell Eleanor?"

"I have tried to make her recognize me ever since we were married, dear.
I have tried to make her tell me the story, hoping that the repetition
might recall in her heart some association which would link me with that
past, sad as it was to her. You never knew, Alice, of that experience
when I went West in search of health, but now you know why I hurried
back to Denver; why I kept myself constantly informed regarding the
recovery and later life of this little woman who came into my heart
during those days when she was passing through her agony. I loved her
then, but she was another man's wife. I knew when the court gave her
back her freedom, and I lost no time in winning her at the first
opportunity which offered."

"How could I have recognized you, ill as I was then,--and without your
old prospector's clothes and your full beard? You should have told me."

"I wanted your love, dear heart, not your gratitude."

She tenderly pushed back the gray hair from the high forehead, and
pressed her lips against it reverently.

"You have both, Robert,--you have always had them."




XXX


Sanford located Allen's apartment from the address Gorham had given him.
He stood before the entrance for several moments, regarding its
pretentious appearance and the aristocratic neighborhood.

"Gorham must have made a mistake," he muttered; "this can't be the
place."

But the handsome Gothic figures over the doorway corresponded with those
written upon the slip of paper, so he approached the elevator boy,
resplendent in his brass buttons.

"Does Mr. Allen Sanford live here?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir; eighth floor. What name shall I say, sir?"

"You needn't say any name,--I'll say it myself. I'm his father. Rents
must be cheaper than they used to be," he remarked to himself in the
elevator. "I guess the boy hasn't suffered much."

Allen had just risen from the window-seat after the painful revelry he
had indulged in since Patricia and Riley left him. The ringing of the
bell annoyed him. He was in no mood to see any one, and he resented the
intrusion. Then he threw the door open and saw his father standing
there. For a long moment he stood speechless with amazement, when his
face broke into a smile of welcome which touched the old man's heart.

"The pater!" he cried, and in another moment he had him grasped in his
arms with a grip which almost crushed him.

"What do you mean, you young reprobate," Sanford gasped, struggling to
escape. "I'm not a football dummy. Let me get my breath."

Allen dragged him into the room, unwilling to release him.

"The dear old pater," he cried again, depositing him in the great Morris
chair, and drawing back to regard him joyfully. "You've come just in
time. There are my trunks packed all ready to go to you. You said I'd
come back, and you were right. Oh, pater, I've made an awful mess of
things. You knew that I was no good, but I've had to find it out for
myself."

"Nothing of the sort," blubbered the old man, striving earnestly to
conceal the emotion which almost overcame him as a result of the boy's
welcome. "Any one who says you're no good will have to settle with me.
You're my son, that's what you are, and no Sanford was ever a failure
yet."

"Then you must keep me from being the first."

"Nothing of the sort;--why do you try to make me lose my temper? Gorham
says--"

"You've seen Mr. Gorham?" Allen interrupted, his heart leaping at the
sound of the name. "What did he say?"

"Never mind what he said," Sanford replied, remembering the injunction
laid upon him. Then he looked about him. "Gorham must have paid you a
good deal more than you were worth," he remarked significantly.

"He did," admitted Allen, and then divining what was in his father's
mind; "but not enough for this."

"You've run in debt, have you?" Allen noticed that the question did not
contain the usual sting. The old man would have rejoiced at this
opportunity to express his sympathy in the only way he knew how.

"Not yet. I sold my motor and some other things."

"Had to live like a gentleman, whatever your salary, didn't you?"

"I ought not to have done it," the boy admitted.

"Nothing of the sort," Sanford sputtered, again resorting to his
favorite phrase. "My son has to live like a gentleman,--that's what I
educated him for. Now help me off with my coat, and tell me all the damn
fool things you've been doing."

Their conference lasted well into the afternoon,--an afternoon filled
with surprises for them both. For the first time Allen found his father
an interested, sympathetic listener; for the first time Stephen Sanford
came to know his son. The boy made no effort to spare himself, though
eager for his father to realize that he had been earnest and
industrious, albeit the net results of this had been but failure. Mr.
Gorham had done so much for him, and he had tried to assimilate the
lessons both from his deeds and from his words; but instead he had seen
chimeras breathing fire at every turn, and had charged them quixote-like
to find them but windmills, harmful only to himself. He enlarged upon
the personal characteristics of the directors and the other business men
with whom he came in contact,--many of them well known to his
listener,--and Sanford marvelled at the accuracy of the boy's insight,
and the integrity of the portraits. Gorham was right,--Allen had
developed, and far beyond what he himself realized. He was now a man to
be reckoned with rather than a boy to be disciplined.

The old man's keen business sense also for the first time grasped the
tremendous scope of Gorham's gigantic project. There was no room left to
doubt the strength of the appeal of the absolute honesty of purpose
after listening to Allen's unconsciously irresistible testimony. In
words made pregnant by the simplicity of their utterance, he described
Gorham the man and Gorham the Colossus of the business world; he
pictured the waves of avarice and intrigue and discontent which he
thought he saw beating against the feet of this towering figure,
unheeded and unrecognized because so far beneath it; he told of his own
puny efforts to warn this giant of the storm which he thought he saw
approaching, but in doing this he had betrayed his own ignorance, and
had prepared the pit into which he himself had fallen.

"And the worst of it all is," Allen concluded, "that I can't see even
now where I was wrong; but if Mr. Gorham told me that Napoleon Bonaparte
discovered America I would know that, all previous statements to the
contrary, he was right."

"H'm!" ejaculated Sanford, eager to break over the injunction Gorham had
placed upon him. "I don't believe there's anything in what you've said
yet that you can't live down. Now I suppose if Gorham had told you that
we'd had our lunch, the fact that your father was starving to death
wouldn't be accepted as evidence worthy of consideration."

Allen laughed as he pulled out his watch, his mind easier and his heart
lighter than it had been for months.

"I had forgotten all about that, and it's after four o'clock. Come on
out with me, and I'll give you a revised version of the 'fatted calf'
story."

"You think it is the return of the prodigal father, do you?"

"I hope we are both prodigals, you dear old pater," Allen replied,
seriously; "I hope we both need each other so much that we never can
exist alone again."

"All right; but we'd better go easy with the calf, for I've accepted a
dinner invitation for us both to-night."

"You have?" Allen asked, disappointed that their visit was to be
interrupted. "Where?"

"At Gorham's."

"I couldn't go there again, pater," he protested quickly. "He's just
asking me because he wants you."

"No; he wants to talk with you, especially."

"With me?" Allen's face sobered. "He thinks he was harsh the other
night. I would rather not open up the whole subject again. There are
special reasons. Please go without me."

"You don't want to do anything which will make him think worse of you
than he does now, do you?"

"No," was the frank reply, into which a genuine note of sorrow entered.

"Then we'll dine with him, as he asks us to. Now lead on to that calf,
but make it a little one."

       *       *       *       *       *

Allen found himself the only one at the dinner-table who seemed to be
laboring under any restraint. Eleanor and Alice were in better spirits
than he had seen them for months, Gorham was an ideal host, conversing
with Sanford and with Allen upon lighter topics in a way which seemed to
show entire forgetfulness of what had gone before. It seemed almost
heartless to the boy to find these friends, so dear to him, able to
conduct themselves in so matter-of-fact a manner while he was in the
grip of his own life tragedy. But he could not blame them. He had
assumed much which they had never granted. This last dinner together,
made possible by his father's presence in New York, was intended as a
lesson to him, and as Mr. Gorham had planned it, then it must be for his
good. He would play his part, and, concealing the pain it cost him, he
entered into the conversation with an abandon which surprised them all.

It was not until they had gathered in the library, whither Gorham had
especially invited them after the dinner was over, that the atmosphere
changed. Allen saw the expression on Gorham's face deepen into that
serious aspect which always signified matters of important moment.

"I find myself face to face with certain duties and responsibilities,"
Gorham began, "which appall me with their far-reaching significance, and
I have asked you, who are the nearest and dearest to me, to be witnesses
of my faithful performance of them, to the extent of my understanding."

Gorham paused, and seemed to deliberate before making his next
statement, unconscious of the tenseness of the silence which his words
had produced.

"First of all, it is my immediate intention to take such steps as are
necessary to bring about the disintegration of the Consolidated
Companies."

"But you can't do it," Sanford declared. "The corporation is solvent,
the directors and the stockholders will of course be against it, and you
will be powerless." "I have considered all that," Gorham replied,
quietly.

"What you say might be true six months from now, if the Executive
Committee succeed in wrenching my control from me; but to-day I have the
strength. The stockholders have invested because of their faith in me;
because of this same faith they will accept my statement that the
Companies' future is imperilled,--and the Government itself will help
me to accomplish my purpose."

"You are convinced, then, that the principles you built on are wrong?"
asked Sanford, unable to keep from showing some satisfaction in his
voice.

"No," Gorham replied, firmly. "The principles are right,--the wrong lies
in that human instinct which finds itself incapable of living up to its
best standard. I believed that my success had been due to a recognition
of my principle, when in reality it came from the simplest possible
expression of self-interest. If we go on, the Companies' continued
success means a growth beyond my control,--recent events show that it
has almost reached that point already,--and when once in the hands of
others, it can be nothing but a menace to the people.

"And now for the most humiliating confession of all: I myself have been
guilty of an exercise of my own self-interest as flagrant as any of my
associates, though in a different way. Their lust has been for gold,
while mine has been for a justification of an idea. My self-interest has
been less malignant in its possible effects, but it has been my
controlling influence none the less. With due humility, I confess that I
have attempted to assume a role which belongs to Providence, and that no
man has a right to do. I have been guilty of violating certain laws of
life, just as my associates have violated other laws which to me demand
observance; but I have recognized the tendency of things to gravitate
back to their natural positions before it is too late for me not to make
certain that they do so. In order to prevent this corporation from
becoming a great power for evil, and as a final evidence of the strength
which I still possess, I propose to force its dissolution."

"You have a big contract on your hands, Gorham," Sanford replied; "I
don't believe even you can do it."

"On Tuesday next," Gorham continued, "the Senate Committee will consider
a bill which is in reality an amendment to the Sherman Act, and is
intended to give the Government the power to discriminate between good
and bad trusts. The Consolidated Companies is to be cited as a case in
point, and they are depending upon me to advance the principal arguments
for the passage of the bill. All the other big interests are naturally
against it, and they are forcing the issue, hoping to compel the
Government to act against the Consolidated Companies, and thus call down
the wrath of the people upon trust legislation as a whole. If the masses
find that the one agency which has reduced their cost of living is
prevented from continuing its co-operative work, they will effectually
put a stop to further interference, and the other interests will be the
gainers."

"A clever game," Sanford exclaimed.

"But now I am convinced there are no 'good' trusts, as I have been
pleased to call them. Those combinations, like the Consolidated
Companies, which are really a benefit to the people to-day, may, as
again in the case of the Consolidated Companies, become their greatest
enemy to-morrow. I am prepared to say that all this talk--much of which
I have made myself--to the effect that combination effects economies of
which the public receives the benefit, is true only for a time. Just so
soon as the combinations become monopolies, amounts saved by the
economies simply go to swell the profits for the stockholders.
Competition must not be eliminated--it is the vital spark which keeps
alive the welfare of the country."

"You are going to say all this before the Senate Committee?"

"Yes, and more. I am going to use the Consolidated Companies as an
example, and urge immediate active enforcement of the Sherman Act
against all consolidations which aim at monopolies or the restraint of
trade. The Attorney-General said that this would mean an industrial
reign of terror. So be it. Even that is better than this gradual
strangling of the people's rights, which is now being carried on with
legislative approval. I shall at least have the satisfaction of
performing this one act in the interests of the people, even though I
must forego the continued administration of a corporation honestly
devoted to their welfare. This statement from me, and the position I
take regarding my own corporation, will go far toward defeating those
other malign interests which hope to gain by their attack upon me."

Allen's face had been a study while Mr. Gorham was speaking, and Alice
had particularly noted the varying emotions it expressed. She saw there
first the astonished incredulity at her father's determination to
dissolve the Companies; then the wonder as he heard Gorham state
conclusions which coincided with those he had arrived at earlier; and
finally the radiant joy as the realization came, not fully but in part,
that his own understanding of the situation had not been all at fault.
It needed only the words which Gorham added to make the world look
bright again. But it was to his father rather than to Allen that Gorham
addressed himself.

"And now, Stephen, as to this boy. You and I have done our best to make
him think the world is wrong side up; but I am more to blame because I
had the better opportunity to study his development, beneath my own
eyes. I taught him that imagination was an essential ingredient of a
successful business man, to enable him to grasp each situation as a
whole, and to conceive its dangers and its possibilities. Yet, when he
exercised that very quality, and came to me frankly with the results of
his efforts, I refused to recognize my own handiwork. I taught him my
altruistic creed, and then blamed him when he used it as his standard,
and was unhappy that those around him failed to measure up to it. Never
has a man been more blind than I. Never has a man settled back, so
self-satisfied, with so determined a conviction that because he willed
things to be so, then they were so. I have merged the white thread of my
new creed with the black one of the old business morals I first learned;
his pattern has been wholly woven from the white.

"My boy," he added, turning to Allen, "for the first time in my life I
ask a man's forgiveness. In the face of the greatest discouragements,
you have shown yourself true, and I congratulate you and your father
upon the future which you have before you. I want you to stay with me
until the Consolidated Companies has been placed in a position of safety
to itself and to its stockholders, then you may choose your own
career."

"No Sanford ever made a failure yet," Stephen proudly repeated.

"But, Mr. Gorham--" Allen began, surprised into confusion by the
unstinted praise; but Alice interrupted him.

"So this is my business creation!" she exclaimed, with satisfaction.
Allen looked first at her and then at Mr. Gorham. Then he smiled
consciously.

"While you are about it, Mr. Gorham," he said, impulsively, "I wish you
would disintegrate Alice and Mr. Covington."

A momentary shadow passed over the faces of all who knew what had
occurred.

"That dissolution took place last night," Mr. Gorham replied, quietly.

Alice's cheeks were flaming, but her smile was irresistible as she
spoke.

"I'll tell you all about it, Allen, if you'll come into the
conservatory."




XXXI


A great event requires retrospective consideration. Unlike the laws of
perspective, distance gives it greater size. So it was with Gorham's
supreme and final demonstration of his strength. To Covington, who, true
to his promise of the night before, was present at this crucial meeting
of the Board of Directors, and marvelled that his chief demanded of him
only a statement regarding the real purchaser of the stock, this
dissolution of the Consolidated Companies appeared as an act of
sacrilege; to his associates, aghast at the knowledge that they were
powerless to prevent him, it seemed the epitome of treachery; to his
family it meant a sublime exhibit of self-sacrifice;--to himself it was
the crowning point of his career, and a justification of his life-work.

"You know what this means?" Litchfield had demanded of him. "You realize
that your action to-morrow will deprive us of millions, and will plunge
the country into a panic which will cost that dear public which you
profess to love, more than we should have kept from them in a decade?"

"Yes," replied Gorham, resolutely; "I realize it all. It is a simple
case of surgery--it may be necessary to sacrifice the limb to save the
life. You, gentlemen, have had it in your power to place the standard of
the business world so high that no longer would other nations gaze at
our marvellous machine, appalled by its pace--politically, socially,
financially--wondering whether they or we read correctly the
danger-signals ahead. You have had it in your power, and you refused to
embrace the opportunity; and if men of your intelligence and high
standing in the world are not ready for it, then the world itself is not
ready. The people have trusted themselves to me, and have placed in my
hands power beyond that which has ever yet been given; now that I have
learned how that power may be misused against them, I will prevent their
betrayal."

From his office, Gorham returned to his home before leaving for
Washington. It was from Riley's hand, as he entered, that he received
the telegram from his Denver attorneys, announcing that the lawyer,
Jennings, was already on his way East, bringing with him absolute
evidence that the divorce papers had been properly served on Buckner.
Strengthened for the ordeal before him by the removal of this burden, he
sought Eleanor; but she met him in the hallway before he reached her
room.

"Robert," she said, impulsively, after looking for a moment searchingly
into his face--"something has happened, and the light in your eyes tells
me that all is well. You have decided not to take that awful step."

"All is well, dear heart," he repeated, handing her the telegram; "but
it would not be so except that the 'awful step' has already been taken."

"Then there is no doubt regarding the divorce?" she cried, joyfully,
after reading the telegram.

"There never has been," he replied, as he pressed her to him.

"May I tell the children?" she asked, happily, a moment later, and Alice
and Allen responded quickly.

The Consolidated Companies was forgotten in the joy of the new
knowledge, and it was Allen who first made reference to it.

"Are you really going to put things through as you said, Mr. Gorham?"

"The die is cast, my boy; I leave for Washington to-night."

"Then monopolies are doomed?"

"Monopolies can never be prevented," Gorham answered, seriously, "but I
hope that my action to-morrow will go far toward forcing their control.
You and I have seen the impossibility of trying to make them change
their spots. I thought I had solved the problem, but I was wrong. Far
ahead in the future, beyond the point which our present vision reaches,
perhaps the solution lies. Until it is found, the Government must
protect itself and the people it represents."

"Please fix it so as to make one exception," the boy pleaded. As Gorham
looked at him for explanation, he drew Alice closely to him. "Please let
this monopoly be exempt from governmental interference."

A stifled sob, entirely out of place in the presence of such general
rejoicing, came from a little human ball rolled up on the steps below
them. Eleanor and Allen quickly sprang toward her, but the boy better
understood Patricia's tears. He sat beside her, and wrapped his great
arms around her.

"Don't cry, Lady Pat," he entreated.

"I can't help it," she moaned. "I haven't any Sir Launcelot, and you
haven't stormed the castle, and I've lost my silken ladder, and I want
to die so that I can go up to heaven and be mean to the angels."

"Oh, no, no!" he begged. "I've tried to think it all out, and the only
thing I can do is to cut myself in two pieces the way King Solomon
decided to do with the baby. Do you remember?"

"But he didn't do it," replied Patricia, showing surprising knowledge of
the Scriptures.

"Well, I haven't done it yet--but I will if you say so."

"Will you really?" The child's mind was already diverted from its
tragedy. "But then you couldn't wear armor or ride a horse, or storm a
castle, or do any of those things."

"Not without messing everything all up," Allen admitted, sorrowfully;
"but that's the best thing I can think of."

Patricia was seized with an inspiration. "Will you swear to be my Knight
every time Alice is mean and horrid to you?"

"I swear," Allen responded in a sepulchral voice, his eyes laughing at
the older girl above him.

"Then I'll get you most of the time," Patricia announced, joyfully; and
she suffered herself to join the group in the hallway.

"So you have decided to abandon your business career?" Gorham asked,
turning to Alice.

"No, daddy," she replied, slyly. "I'm just changing my company from a
private corporation into a partnership."

Gorham drew her to him and kissed her tenderly. Then he held out his
disengaged hand to Allen.

"The world is before you. From the time it was created, man has striven
to force from it the secret of unlimited power. Events have sometimes
seemed to give encouragement, but ever at the end of each seeming
success has come the unmistakable warning of a wisely jealous God.
Omnipotence is not for mortals. The only lever which really moves the
world is love, and it rests on a fulcrum of honor."




THE END







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