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."