Kitabı oku: «The Stoic / Стоик», sayfa 5
Chapter 13
The matter of interesting Cole in having Greaves and Henshaw reapproach him was accomplished by Cowperwood in but a few moments out of an evening of dining and drinking. Indeed, Cole expressed the thought that in London Cowperwood might find a better field for his powers than Chicago had ever offered him, in which case he would be glad to hear further in regard to any investment plans which might be devised.
Equally satisfactory was the talk with Edward Bingham, from whom Cowperwood drew out some interesting information regarding Bruce Tollifer. According to Bingham, Tollifer, at present, was in a sorry state. Although at one time a person of excellent social connections, and having some money, today he was without either. Still handsome, he looked dissipated, shabby. Until recently he had been associating with gamblers and other persons of questionable reputation; most of those who had formerly known and liked him had apparently stricken him from their lists.
On the other hand, as Bingham felt called upon to admit, within the past month Tollifer had been exhibiting attempts at rehabilitation. For he was now living alone at a modest so-called bachelor’s club, the Alcove, in Fifty-third Street, and was seen occasionally dining in the best restaurants. He believed that Tollifer was seeking to do one of two things: either to ingratiate himself with a wealthy woman who would be glad to pay him for such services as he could perform for her, or get himself a job in a brokerage firm where his one-time social connections might be considered worth a salary. This critical conclusion on the part of Bingham caused Cowperwood to smile, since it was exactly in this state that he had hoped to find Tollifer.
He thanked Bingham, and after he left telephoned Tollifer at the Alcove. That gentleman, at the moment, was lying down, half-dressed, rather dismally awaiting the arrival of five o’clock, at which time he intended to venture forth on one of his “cruises,” as he called them—those searchings in clubs, restaurants, theaters, bars, in order to exchange such casual greetings as might reopen old or create new friendships. It was three o’clock now, and a windy February day, when he came down into the main corridor to answer Cowperwood’s call, a half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, his hair ruffled, and his lounging slippers a little the worse for wear.
At the announcement: “This is Frank A. Cowperwood speaking,” Tollifer stiffened and pulled himself together, for that name had been a front page headline for months.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Cowperwood, what can I do for you?” and Tollifer’s voice was a blend of extreme awareness, civility, and willingness to accommodate himself to whatever might be asked of him.
“I have in mind a certain matter which I think might interest you, Mr. Tollifer. If you care to call at my office in the Netherlands at ten-thirty tomorrow morning, I’ll be glad to see you. May I expect you at that time?”
The voice, as Tollifer did not fail to note, was not exactly that of a superior addressing an inferior, yet it was authoritative and commanding. Tollifer, for all his social estimate of himself, was intensely curious and not a little thrilled.
“Certainly, Mr. Cowperwood, I’ll be there,” he replied immediately.
What could it mean? It might be a stock- or bond-selling proposition. If so, he would be delighted to take on such a job. Sitting in his room meditating on this unexpected call, he began to recall things he had read in regard to the Cowperwoods. There was that business of their trying to break into New York society, and the rumors of certain discomfitures and snubs in connection therewith. But then he returned to the idea of a job, and what that might mean in the way of social contacts, and he felt strangely cheered. He began to examine his face and figure, as well as the clothes in his closet. He must get a shave and a shampoo, and have his clothes well brushed and pressed. He would not go out this night, but rest and so refresh himself for the morrow.
And on the following morning he was at Cowperwood’s office, more repressed and pliable than he had been for a long time. For this, somehow, seemed to bode a new start in life. At least, so he hoped as he entered and saw the great man sitting behind a large rosewood desk which occupied the center of the room. But at once he felt reduced and a little uncertain of himself, for the man before him, although far from lacking in courtesy and a certain atmosphere of cordial understanding, was still so aloof and remote. Certainly, he decided, he might be described as handsome, forceful, and dominant. Those large, magnetic, and wholly unrevealing blue eyes, and those strong, graceful hands resting so lightly on the desk before him, the little finger of the right hand wearing a plain gold ring.
This ring, years before, Aileen had given him in his prison cell in Philadelphia, when he was at the lowest dip of his ever since ascending arc, as a token of her undying love, and he had never removed it. And here he was now, about to arrange with a somewhat déclassé social dandy to undertake a form of diversion which would preoccupy her in order that he might enjoy himself blissfully and peacefully with another woman. Really nothing short of a form of moral degradation! He fully realized that. But what else was he to do? What he was now planning must be as it was because it sprang out of conditions which life itself, operating through him and others, had created and shaped, and in any event not to be changed now. It was too late. He must work out matters bravely, defiantly, ruthlessly, so as to overawe people into accepting his methods and needs as inevitable. And so now, looking at Tollifer calmly and rather coldly, and motioning him to a chair, he began:
“Mr. Tollifer, do sit down. I telephoned you yesterday because there is something I want to have done which requires a man of considerable tact and social experience. I will explain it more fully a little later. I may say that I did not call you before having made some investigation of your personal history and affairs, but without intending you any harm, I assure you. In fact, quite the contrary. I may be of some service to you, if you can be so to me.” And here he smiled a bright smile, to which Tollifer responded in a somewhat dubious but still genial fashion.
“I hope you didn’t find so much against me as to make this conversation useless,” he said, ruefully. “I haven’t been living a strictly conventional life, I will admit. I wasn’t born for that type of thing, I’m afraid.”
“Very likely not,” said Cowperwood, quite pleasantly and consolingly. “But before we discuss that, I want you to be quite frank and tell me all about yourself. The matter I have in mind requires that I know all about you.”
He gazed encouragingly at Tollifer, and he, in turn, noting this, told in abbreviated form, and yet quite honestly, the entire story of his life, from his boyhood up. Whereupon Cowperwood, not a little entertained by this, decided that the fellow was a better sort than he had hoped for, less calculating—frank and random and pleasure-loving rather than sly and self-seeking. And, in consequence, he decided that he might speak to him more clearly and fully than at first he had intended.
“Financially, you are on the rocks, then?”
“Well, more or less so,” returned Tollifer, with a wry smile. “I think I’ve never been off the rocks, really.”
“Well, they’re usually crowded, I believe. But tell me, aren’t you, just at this time, trying to pull yourself together, and, if possible, reconnect yourself with the set to which you used to belong?”
He noticed an unmistakable shadow of distaste flicker cloudlike across Tollifer’s face as he answered: “Well, yes, I am,” and again that ironic, almost hopeless, yet intriguing, smile.
“And how do you find the fight going?”
“Situated as I am just now, not so good. My experience has been in a world that requires considerably more money than I have. I’ve been hoping to connect myself with some bank or brokerage house that has a pull with the sort of people I know here in New York, because then I might make some money for myself, as well as the bank, and also get in touch again with people who could really be of use to me…”
“I see,” said Cowperwood. “But the fact that you have allowed your social connections to lapse makes it, I take it, a little difficult. Do you really think that with such a job as you speak of you can win back to what you want?”
“I can’t say because I don’t know,” Tollifer replied. “I hope so.”
A slightly disconcerting note of disbelief, or at least doubt, in Cowperwood’s tone just then had caused Tollifer to feel much less hopeful than only a moment before he had felt. At any rate, he went on bravely enough:
“I’m not so old, and certainly not any more dissipated than a lot of fellows who have been out and gotten back. The only trouble with me is that I don’t have enough money. If I’d ever had that, I’d never have drifted out. It was lack of money, and nothing else. But I don’t feel that I’m wholly through by any means, even now. I haven’t stopped trying, and there’s always another day.”
“I like that spirit,” commented Cowperwood, “and I hope you’re right. At any rate, it should not prove difficult to get you a place in a brokerage house.”
Tollifer stirred eagerly and hopefully. “I wish I thought so,” he said, earnestly, and almost sadly. “It certainly would be a start toward something for me.”
Cowperwood smiled.
“Well, then,” he went on, “I think it might be arranged for you without any trouble. But only on one condition, and that is that you keep yourself free from any entanglements of any kind for the present. I say that because there is a social matter in which I am interested and which I may want you to undertake for me. It involves no compromise of your present bachelor’s freedom, but it may mean that for a time at least you will have to show particular attention to just one person, doing about the same sort of thing you were telling me of a while ago: paying attention to a rather charming woman a little older than yourself.”
As Cowperwood said this, Tollifer felt that there must be, perhaps, a wealthy, elderly woman of Cowperwood’s acquaintance on whom he had financial designs and that he was to be the cat’s-paw.
“Certainly,” he said, “if it is anything I feel I can do for you, Mr. Cowperwood.”
At this point Cowperwood leaned back easily in his chair, and, putting the fingers of his hands together, regarded Tollifer with a cold and calculating gaze.
“The woman I refer to is my wife, Mr. Tollifer,” he announced sharply and brazenly. “For years now, Mrs. Cowperwood and I have been—I will not say on bad terms, for that is not true—but more or less estranged.”
At this point Tollifer nodded as though he understood fully, but Cowperwood continued hastily:
“I do not mean that we are permanently so. Or that I wish to obtain any legal evidence of any kind against her. I do not. Her life is her own to live as freely as she chooses, yet within limits, of course. I would not tolerate any public scandal, and I would not allow anyone to intrigue her into scandal of any kind.”
“I can understand that,” commented Tollifer, who by now was beginning to sense demarcations which would need to be fully grasped and carefully observed if he were to have the opportunity of profiting by the proposal.
“Not quite yet, I believe,” retorted Cowperwood, a little coldly, “but I shall make myself perfectly clear. Mrs. Cowperwood was a very beautiful girl, one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. She is still very attractive, although she is middle-aged. And she could make herself much more attractive if she were not so despondent and inclined to be morbid. It is because of our break—and for that I accept all the responsibility and charge her with nothing—you understand that fully, I hope…”
“I do,” said Tollifer, interested and respectful.
“Mrs. Cowperwood has been allowing herself to slip—physically as well as socially—a course which may have justification to her mind, but none in reality. That is, she is still too young and has too much to live for, whatever she may think.”
“I can understand her feeling, though,” again interrupted Tollifer, with a trace of philosophic defiance which Cowperwood liked. It indicated sympathy and understanding.
“Very likely,” said Cowperwood, dryly and rather pointedly. “The task I am offering you, and for which I will, of course, provide the means, is that of intervening in some way—ostensibly without my knowledge and, of course, without her knowing anything about this conversation of ours—to make her life more interesting and colorful than it is now. She is alone too much. She sees too few people, and those not of the right sort. My purpose in calling you here is to see whether—the necessary money provided for you, of course, and no conduct in any way open to question indulged in—you cannot find ways of broadening her interests, surround her with a type of person more in keeping with her means and her mentality. I may say here, I am not seeking any contact with society, either for her or myself. But there are intermediate worlds with which I think she might be brought in touch, to her advantage, as well as, in a way, to my own. If you understand what I mean, perhaps you can make some suggestions.”
Whereupon Tollifer proceeded to outline as exactly as he could the possibilities of a life for Aileen such as Cowperwood had indicated. Cowperwood listened and seemed pleased with Tollifer’s grasp of the situation.
“There is one thing more, Mr. Tollifer,” he continued. “I want you to understand that your services in connection with the brokerage house which I will select will be directed by me personally. I hope we understand each other as to that,” and he rose from his chair, indicating that the interview was at an end.
“Yes, Mr. Cowperwood,” said Tollifer, rising and smiling.
“All right. Now I may not be able to see you very soon again, but you will not be left without instructions. I will see that a drawing account is arranged for you. That is all, I believe. Good morning!”
And this salutation, accompanied by a resumption of aloof dignity, was sufficient once more to impress Tollifer with a sharp sense of the vast gulf that still lay between himself and this man.
Chapter 14
The effect on Tollifer of this amazing interview was extremely exhilarating. Leaving Cowperwood’s office, he walked north along Fifth Avenue, in order to gaze at the beautiful Cowperwood mansion. After examining the impressive Italian palace lines and decorations, he turned, and with a sense of adventure, hailed a hansom cab for a ride to Delmonico’s, at Fifth Avenue and Twenty-seventh Street. This region was alive at the luncheon hour with the most pretentious and ambitious of the New York social world and stars of the theatrical, artistic, and legal world, coming to see and be seen. Before he left the restaurant, he had spoken with at least six of the better known patrons, and because of his exuberant and authoritative manner, had registered himself sharply on the minds of many others.
In the meantime, Cowperwood had instructed the Central Trust Company, of which he was a director and stockholder, to notify a certain Bruce Tollifer, then resident at the Alcove, on Fifty-third Street near Park Avenue, that his services in connection with its special account department were to be considered, and that if he would call at once he would receive instructions. The execution of this arrangement, which took place on the same day, with an advance of one month’s salary at $200 a week, so thrilled Tollifer that he felt as though he were walking on air. At once he made it his business to inquire, as casually as possible, concerning the New York history of the Cowperwoods, not only among newspapermen but the various know-it-alls of the bohemian bars and restaurants of the city: the Gilsey House, the Martinique, the Marlborough, and the Metropolitan at Broadway and Forty-second Street, the mecca for sports and rounders of the day.
And discovering that Aileen had been seen with this and that actor, and at certain restaurants, or races, or other public events, with various personalities, he decided to get himself somehow included in those gatherings where she was certain to be. A proper formal introduction, of course, would be the best possible entrance for him.
And now Cowperwood, having moved in this matter of a social chaperonage for Aileen, was free to devote his attention to the business of arranging for the sale of at least a portion of his Chicago holdings. At the same time, he was awaiting developments of negotiations by Cole with the representatives of the Charing Cross line. His main object, at the present time, was to reduce them to such a state that when he did see them they would be willing to make a reasonable offer.
And so, upon the arrival of Jarkins, with news that Greaves and Henshaw were once more anxious to obtain an interview with him, he affected no great interest. If they really had an advantageous offer to make, and were not merely haggling as before, and if they would appear within the next ten days…
Whereupon Jarkins immediately cabled his London partner, Kloorfain, emphasizing the necessity for prompt action. Within twenty-four hours Messrs. Greaves and Henshaw were on a boat sailing for New York. And for several days after their arrival they were closeted with Jarkins and Randolph, going over the data which they would present to Cowperwood. And after arranging for an interview, and ignorant of the fact that Cowperwood himself was the instigator of this meeting, they were finally brought into his presence by Jarkins and Randolph, equally unenlightened as to their part in the matter.
True enough, as Cowperwood knew, Greaves and Henshaw were men of great contracting and engineering import in England. They were comparatively wealthy, as he had been informed by Sippens. Also, in addition to their contract with the Traffic Electrical Company to build the tunnels and stations of the new underground, they had recently paid an additional £30,000 for a further option to take over the entire “act.”
But plainly the Traffic Electrical Company was on the rocks. Consisting of Rider, Lord Stane, Johnson, and some of their friends, it had the advantage of considerable legal and financial knowledge, but none of these men had any real conception of how to finance or successfully operate such a road, and were in no position to finance it themselves. Stane had already invested heavily in the two central loop roads: the District and the Metropolitan, but had not made any money. Hence his desire to divest himself of the Charing Cross line and the offer of it to Greaves and Henshaw upon payment of £30,000 additional to the £10,000 previously paid by them to secure the right to construct it. Actually, since he now had this larger loop scheme in mind, Cowperwood was interested, because, as he saw it, it might either be operated separately, or, better yet, should he secure control of the District and the Metropolitan, be combined with those as an extension, a most excellent entering wedge for him.
Nonetheless, when Greaves and Henshaw, shouldered and bolstered by Jarkins and Randolph, entered his office, his manner was not overwhelmingly cordial. Greaves was a man of great height and bulk, of florid complexion, and a solid middle-class conviction of his own worth. Henshaw, though also tall, was thin and pale, with the air of a gentleman. Allowing them to spread out their maps and papers, and once more listening to the entire story as though he did not already know it, Cowperwood asked only a few questions.
“One thing, gentlemen,” he announced, “assuming that I chance to be interested in this idea to the extent of looking into it further, how much time may I have for an investigation? I assume, of course, that what you really want to do is to sell the complete control of this project, together with your contract to construct the line. Am I right?”
At this both Greaves and Henshaw stiffened visibly, for it was not at all what they wished to do. What they really desired, as they now explained, was to sell for £30,000 a 50 per cent interest. The other 50 per cent, together with their contract for construction, was to remain in their hands. For this share, however, as they naively stated, they were willing to use their influence to help market the $8,000,000 worth of $100 shares which the Traffic Electrical Company had already printed but had never been able to sell, surrendering a portion of their 50 per cent so to do. But, as they added, a man like Cowperwood could help finance and operate the road in such a way that it would be sure to pay—a suggestion which caused Cowperwood to smile, for it was not the building or operation of this line which was so important, it was the control of the entire underground system that was his dream.
“But I judge from our talk so far that you expect to make a reasonable profit out of constructing the road for the parent company, not much less than 10 per cent, I take it,” said Cowperwood.
“Well, yes, we expect to make the usual contractors’ profit, but no more,” returned Greaves.
“That may be true,” said Cowperwood, suavely, “but if I understand you correctly, you two gentlemen expect to make at least $500,000 for yourselves out of the construction of this road, and entirely apart from your return as partners in the company for which you are doing the work.”
“But for our 50 per cent we expect to bring in some English capital,” explained Henshaw.
“How much English capital?” asked Cowperwood, warily, for he was thinking that if he could secure 51 per cent of the road, it might be worth considering.
But as to that, as he now discovered, they were a little vague. If he came in and took over the load of consols and gave the actual construction an appearance of certainty, perhaps as much as 25 per cent of the entire cost could be sold to the public.
“But would you guarantee to do that?” asked Cowperwood, rather interested by the idea. “That is, would you make your share of the company contingent upon your raising so much money before you received your share?”
Well, no, they could not do that, exactly, but if they failed, they might be willing to take something less than 50 per cent, say 30 or 35, provided they were permitted to retain their contract to construct.
Cowperwood smiled again at this point.
“What interests me, gentlemen,” he went on, “is that you who appear to understand the engineering business thoroughly should assume the business of financing to be less difficult. For it isn’t, of course. Just as you have had to study for years, and then by practical work get to the place where your reputations would command such contracts as I knew you are accustomed to, so I, as a financier, have had to do exactly the same thing. And, of course, you cannot expect any man, however great his wealth, to step forward and agree to construct and operate a road as large as this out of his own pocket. He couldn’t do it. It would be too great a risk. He would have to do what you are planning to do: get other people to invest. And he would not raise money for any enterprise without first a profit for himself, and, second, a profit for those whose money he was using. And in order to do that he must have much more than a 50 per cent interest in anything he undertakes.”
Greaves and Henshaw were silent, and he went on talking.
“Now, you are not only asking me to raise the money, or most of it, while I make it possible for you to raise the rest, but to pay you to construct the line and then afterward operate it jointly with you. If that is what is really in your minds, of course we need not talk any further, for I am not interested. What I might do would be to take over your £30,000 option, provided it gave me full control of the road, and possibly leave you the £10,000 you have paid in and your contract to build, but not more than that. For in addition to all this, as I know, there are £60,000 of consols, carrying interest at 4 per cent, which have to be looked after.”
Jarkins and Randolph were beginning to feel by now that they had in some way mishandled all of this. At the same time, Greaves and Henshaw, sensing that they had overreached themselves in a situation where they might have profited, gazed at each other dubiously.
“Very well,” said Greaves, finally. “You are your own best judge, Mr. Cowperwood. But we want you to understand clearly that there isn’t a sounder proposition in the world. London is the ideal field for undergrounds. It has no united system, and lines like this are absolutely necessary, and will come. The money will be found for them.”
“Possibly,” said Cowperwood, “but as for myself, if after again looking over the situation you still find yourselves unable to work out your plan and are willing to accept mine, you may say so in writing, and I will then consider it. However, if I decide to become interested, it would have to be with an option to close on my own terms. That, of course, would not mean that I would disturb you in the matter of your construction contract. That could stand, I think, provided your specifications were satisfactory.”
He drummed on his desk with his fingers as if to indicate that the interview was over, and then paused to add that since there was no proposition before him now that he could consider, he would take it as a favor if no publicity of any kind resulted from what he had said. Then he signaled Jarkins to remain, and the moment the others had gone, turned to him and said:
“The trouble with you, Jarkins, is that you never completely grasp an opportunity even when it’s in your hands. Look what’s happened here today! You bring me two men, who, according to your story and theirs, control an important traction proposition in London, which, if rightly handled, might readily lead to much larger things for everyone concerned. Yet they come here with no conception of the way I do business. You know what that is: full control for myself. I doubt if even now they have any clear knowledge of my experience in this field and what I could do with such a project. They thought they could sell me a half-interest in something which they and their friends would control. I tell you, Jarkins,” and here he glared with a finality which sent chills up and down the spine of Mr. Jarkins, “if you’re to be of any service to me in this matter, I would advise you not to bother with this particular proposition but to look into the entire London underground situation and see what can be done with that. And furthermore, I want you to keep all of your private speculations in regard to me and my affairs to yourself. If you had gone to London before bringing these men to me, and ascertained all there was to know about them, you would not have wasted my time and theirs.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jarkins, who was fat and forty, a very model of sartorial excellence, and, at the moment, because of nervousness, wet with perspiration. He was a flabby, waxlike man, with black, acquisitive eyes, below which a small, pointed nose stuck out, and below that a soft, puffy mouth. He was forever dreaming of some speculative coup which would make him a multimillionaire, and a well-known figure at first nights at the theater, polo games, dog shows, and other society functions. In London he had as many friends as he had in New York.
In consequence, Cowperwood had the feeling that he might have some use for him, and yet, at the moment, he was not willing to do more than throw out vague hints, knowing that they would, in all probability, cause him to go tearing after Greaves and Henshaw to set himself right with them, and, who knows, he might even go over to London, where… well, what better press agent could he have than Mr. Jarkins?
