His day-dreams and his thoughts were interrupted by finding his wife at his side. She had entered so quietly that he had not heard her footstep, and he gave a gentle start when he felt her hand upon his forehead.
"Yes, dear, I am dreaming," he said, in answer to her unspoken question. "You don't often see me this way, do you? The world never looked so bright as it does to-day. The Consolidated Companies, the child of your conception and my creation, has reached the zenith of its power. It may grow larger, but even now nothing can resist it."
"The world never looked so bright as it does to-day," Eleanor repeated to herself, sitting on the arm of his chair, thrilled by the message of love which this man sent out to her through the pressure of his hand on hers which he held so closely. Should she be the one to disturb the supreme serenity of his thoughts at this moment by a suggestion of something which perhaps was only the figment of an over-anxious brain? Inside the battle waged, but he could not see her face, so was ignorant of the conflict. If her hand trembled within his own he did not notice it. She looked down at the profile so clearly outlined. What strength, what sweetness, what contentment! To-morrow she would tell him, but not to-day. This moment was hers, and no past memory had the right to take it from her!
XVII
The strain under which Gorham had been working for the past five years was beginning to show itself, and, acting upon his doctor's advice, he decided to take a brief respite from the cares and responsibilities of the office. He did not think it necessary to leave New York, as the reaction was not as yet strong enough to require any radical treatment. A fortnight spent quietly at his home in the midst of congenial surroundings would be entirely sufficient. During this time he denied himself to business callers, simply keeping in touch with affairs by means of his daily reports, which formed so strong a feature of his business system.
"They make the yesterdays into a whip of many lashes to urge to-day on to still greater speed," Gorham once explained. "They change the president of the Consolidated Companies from an absentee employer into an ubiquitous superintendent."
Because of Mr. Gorham's desire for retirement, the butler endeavored to explain the impossibility of an interview to a tall, smooth-faced young man who presented his card one afternoon. The caller's slight figure was clad in a black whip-cord suit, and over his arm was thrown a neatly folded tan overcoat. His silk hat carried a broad mourning band, and his hands were encased in black kid gloves. Gorham's would-be visitor did not present the most cheerful appearance, but the insistence with which he emphasized the important nature of his business succeeded in effecting his entrance to the hallway, where he was left until the butler could fortify himself behind the faithful Riley's invaluable advice.
Riley looked at the printed visiting-card, gave a violent start, and then quickly closed his hand over it. A penetrating glance disclosed the fact that the name had conveyed no special information to his companion, so he hastily assumed the responsibility of handling the situation, and hurried to the hall. Giving the visitor no opportunity to speak, Riley placed his hand gently upon his arm, and addressed him beseechingly.
"Jimmie, me la-ad," the old man said, "is it raly yersel' come ter see ye'er ol' fa-ather? I can't belave it, indade I can't; but 'tain't this we must be talkin' about now. I know it's th' great man ye are, but ye wuddent queer ye'er fa-ather by comin' ter th' front dure, wud ye? Come now, Misther Robert ain't heard about it yit, so it's all right, Jimmie—we'll go down-stairs an' have a nice little visit. It's proud I am ter have ye call on me, but ye mustn't come ter th' front dure, Jimmie—ye mustn't do that."
Riley's anxiety to get his son down-stairs and into his own domain blinded him to the straightness of Jimmie's back and the severe lines in his face. With all the dignity at his command the visitor assumed a position which perhaps he had learned during his career as an orator:
"You are my father, and an old man," he replied, with rare condescension, "so I will be gentle with you. I didn't call to sec you, Mr. Riley—I have important business with Mr. Gorham."
Riley drew back, indecision mingled with a father's pride that a son of his could carry himself with such an air.
"That's phwat brought ye here, is it?—business wid Misther Robert—ye!" he repeated. "Ah, Jimmie, I can't belave it, me la-ad. Are ye shure?"
"Is it his father who doubts the word of James Riley?" the younger man replied, and Riley thought he discerned a touch of sorrow in the unnatural tone of voice.
"But Misther Robert ain't doin' no business these days, Jimmie. It's th' vacation he's havin'."
"This is personal business, Mr. Riley, and it's to his own interest to see me. I can be of service to Mr. Gorham."
"Ye can be iv service ter Misther Robert, Jimmie?" The old man's face beamed with pride. "Ah, Jimmie, it's proud I am iv ye! Me own la-ad iv service ter Misther Robert! I'll spake ter him at wance."
As Riley drew back to admire his son, his eye fell upon the silk hat and the black gloves.
"Who's dead, Jimmie?" he asked, with real concern "—why do ye wear th' sorry rag on ye'er hat an' th' ravens on ye'er hands?"
"No one you know," James replied, carelessly flicking a speck from his overcoat sleeve. "The city supplied them for the committee what went to Moriarty's funeral last month."
"Oh!" Riley wavered between his relief and his sense of duty to
acquaint his son with the proper usage of the articles in question.
Discretion finally prevailed, and he went up-stairs to impress Mr.
Gorham with the importance of Jimmie's errand.
James Riley had acted upon a sudden impulse in making his call upon Mr. Gorham. He had unexpectedly gained possession of certain information which he felt might be of commercial value to himself, and beyond this it offered him an opportunity to come in close contact with a famous man. With his eye always open to the main chance, James felt that this first meeting with Mr. Gorham, since he himself had come into his own, might lead to something worth while.
Even Gorham was conscious of the satisfaction expressed in the old man's voice as he opened the library door for his famous offspring and announced "Misther James Riley," dwelling noticeably upon the prefix.
"I am glad to see you, James," Gorham greeted him cordially. "Your father has kept me posted from time to time of your successes, and I congratulate you both."
Praise from the president of the Consolidated Companies was nectar to James Riley, and with an effort to appear indifferent he suffered himself to sit down.
"Your father tells me you have personal business with me," Gorham continued, noting the difficulty James experienced in getting under way.
The caller would not have admitted it, even to himself, but the effect of being actually in the presence of this man of world-wide fame, and in the midst of such palatial surroundings, was to deprive him of his usual easy flow of words. Gorham's remark, however, as was intended, served to relieve him, but the oratorical prelude which he had carefully rehearsed coming up on the electric 'bus had vanished from his mind, and he plunged, as had still another "gentleman" before him, in medias res.
"There's a feller in town what means to make trouble for you," he announced, bluntly, looking up from his study of the pattern in the rug to note the effect of his announcement upon his host.
Gorham laughed. "I have an idea that there is more than one 'feller' in town who would be glad to do that if he found the chance."
"That may be, sir," James assented, "but this feller has come a long bit out of his way to do it, and I don't think it's on the level, sir."
"It is very good of you to come and tell me this, James," Gorham said, lightly; "but I presume our secret service force already have the gentleman on their list."
"Oh, he ain't no gentleman," James corrected him, "and it ain't got nothin' to do with business, sir, so I thought I'd call on you as a friend and tell you what I know."
"What else can it have to do with?" queried Gorham, incredulously, yet humoring James for his father's sake.
"With Mrs. Gorham, sir—leastwise, that's what he says."
Gorham's apathy disappeared, but his visitor observed no change in the calmness of his expression or in the quiet tone in which he spoke.
"You surprise me, James. What sort of man is he?"
"He's a blackguard, sir, and a liar. I'd have told him so, only he was drunk, and I thought he might leak something what would be of interest to you. He says he used to be Mrs. Gorham's husband."
The lines deepened a little in Gorham's face. "What is his name?" he asked.
"Buckner, sir—Ralph Buckner."
"H'm! And why do you think he intends to try to make trouble for me?"
"Well, sir, you see it's this way. This feller come to the same boardin'-house where I live, but I didn't pay no attention to him 'til I see him playin' pool in the saloon opposite. I'm a Tammany man, sir, and I has to mix with all the new ones what come into my ward. I got acquainted with him over there, and he drank awful heavy. He's quiet enough when he's sober, but he talks free and easy like when he gets tanked. One night he says to me, 'I'm goin' to make a lot o' money.'
"'Good!' says I, more to be agreeable than because I had any 'special interest—'how're you goin' to do it?'
"Then he laughed, silly-like, and winked at me. I didn't say no more, but the next night he talked again.
"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder she shook me for that.'
"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.
"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be long.'
"Then I laughed at him, and that made him mad.
"'That's right,' says he. 'There're people here in this town who tell me that her divorce from me warn't reg'lar, and I may be takin' the lady back to New Orleans with me, and a heap o' money besides.'
"0' course, all this don't mean nothin' to me, but I thought it might to you, sir."
Mr. Gorham did not reply for so long a time that James became anxious.
"I hope I done right, sir, to come to you with this."
"Yes, James; quite right. You are evidently influenced by your loyalty to my family," Gorham answered. "It is right that you should be, but it shall not be forgotten. There probably is nothing in all this, but, since Mrs. Gorham's name was mentioned, I should like to get to the bottom of it. I shall depend upon you to keep me posted."
"I will, sir," James responded, eagerly. "I'll do that as long as he stays in New York, but he says they're trying to get him to go back to New Orleans."
"Who are 'they'?"
"I don't know, sir."
"That is the first thing to discover, James. I shall trust you to do it."
Gorham rose, and James, vastly satisfied with himself, followed the suggestion.
"I'll do it for you, sir," he said at the door. "You can depend on me for that."
"Thank you, James; and in the mean time it will be prudent for you to keep your information to yourself."
"Yes, sir; I'll do that, sir. Any one with a Tammany Hall education knows how to do that, sir."
Riley was anxiously awaiting the close of the interview, and eagerly accompanied his son to the front door. Before he opened it, the old man turned inquiringly.
"Ain't ye goin' ter tell me phwat it's all about, Jimmie?"
"It's too delicate a situation to discuss with the servants," James replied, freezingly. "Me and Mr. Gorham understands each other, that's all."
Riley gazed with still greater admiration at the straight figure which passed by him, out of the house, and up the gravel walk to the street.
"Jimmie's th' great man," he muttered to himself as he closed the door—"he's th' great man, mixin' wid men like Misther Robert; but he hadn't oughter wear that sorry rag an' th' ravens, wid me, his only livin' relation, still livin'."
The bell rang almost immediately, and Riley, certain that James had returned, hastened to throw the door open. As he did so, he discovered Allen Sanford.
"Who's that undertaker person?" Allen demanded.
Riley straightened perceptibly. "'Tis me son James, Misther Sanford, an' it's th' great man he is, an' no undertaker."
"I beg your pardon, Riley," Allen laughed, noting the old man's injured dignity. "Of course I should have known; but I may want to employ an undertaker soon, so I suppose I had it on my mind."
"Ain't ye falin' well, Misther Allen?" Riley asked, anxiously.
"Oh, I don't want him for myself," Allen laughed again. "Is Miss Alice in?"
"How do I know 'til she tells me, sor?"
"All right; you'll have to ask her then, won't you? If she is in, tell her that I've called to have tea with her."
Alice was in particularly high spirits. She had digested Covington's proposal, and found that she enjoyed it. She was still waiting for a chance to discuss it with Eleanor and her father, but she experienced an unexpected amount of pleasure in thinking it over by herself. She had already decided that she would take plenty of time before she gave her answer. The sensation was so exhilarating that she was unwilling to shorten its duration. It was all so incredible that she—little she—should have attracted a man of Mr. Covington's calibre to the extent that he should actually want to marry her! And now Allen had called, giving her an outlet for this unusual buoyancy.
Her caller was not blind to the excitement which showed in Alice's face, and the formalities were scarcely over before he asked the question which brought a violent color to the girl's cheeks.
"So it's come, has it—just as I said it would?"
"What has come?" Alice busied herself with the teacups which the butler had already placed on the little table in front of her, and appeared to be mystified, though she knew well what he meant.
"That doesn't surprise me any," Allen continued, "but I really didn't think it would set you up so much when it did strike."
"I suppose you are enjoying this monologue," she replied. "Don't mind me if it gives you any pleasure."
"Look here, Alice"—he became desperate—"why can't we talk it over without having to jump all these high hurdles? I know you don't care anything about me, and you know that I can't see anything in life worth while except you, so the situation is clear on both sides. But I can't let that four-flusher pull the wool over your eyes without saying, 'Beware of the dog.' I shouldn't be a man if I did."
"You take advantage of our friendship," she said, severely; "but there are limits beyond which even an old friend cannot go, and you've reached them. Mr. Covington is a friend too; I don't admit that he is more than this, but I shan't let you say unfair things about him any more than I should listen to similar things about you. Come now, let's drop the subject. How many lumps will you have?"
"Two lumps, and—no lemon, please."
"You say you wouldn't be a man if you didn't warn me," the girl went on; "but it is because you are not that you talk as you do. You find me agreeable, and, boy-like, think you want to marry me. Pat thinks she wants to marry you—you are both children, and both behave the same."
Allen put his cup down on the table untasted. "Is there no way I can convince you that I've grown up?" he demanded.
"Yes; drop all this nonsense about me, and make yourself a place in the world as Mr. Covington has done."
"Never!" he almost shouted. "You don't know how he's made his place, or you wouldn't say that. Do you want me to climb up by stepping all over those who have helped me, to play double with every one I meet, to crisscross even on the man who trusts me most, and finally try to cinch my position by marrying his daughter? If that's your idea of being a man, I'll tell you right now, not for mine."
Alice rose, with flaming face. "I told you that you had reached the limit, Allen—now you have passed it. Oh! why did I let you go on! I like you so much, and I want to see you succeed. I've tried to help you all I could, and this is the result. Now we can't even be friends any more, and this insane jealousy of yours will spoil your chances in the Companies. Oh, Allen, Allen—why can't you grow up and be sensible!"
"Don't worry about me," the boy said, dejectedly. "You're probably right, just as the pater was probably right. I'm no good anyhow. I didn't want to go into diplomacy because there seemed to be so much in it which was double-dealing. Now I'm in business, and I see the same things there. It's all my fault—it must be; but I'm in wrong somehow. I wouldn't say a word, Alice, if it were some one else, but Covington—well, you've told me to cut that out, so I will. But don't say we can't be friends—I couldn't stand that. You'll need me some time, little girl, and when you do, I want to be Johnny on the spot."
Alice never found it possible to be angry with him for any extended period. Always after his impulsive outbreaks he became so contrite that the early displeasure was abated by his unspoken but evident desire for forgiveness.
"Will you take back what you said about Mr. Covington?" she asked.
"I can't do that," he replied, firmly; "but I'll do my best to let you find him out from some one else."
And the girl let him leave it there, remaining in the same position several minutes after he had gone, wondering that she had been willing to permit so gross a slander to stand unchallenged. When at last she turned slowly toward the door, she started violently as something began to untangle itself from the portières.
"It's only me," announced Patricia, ungrammatically, but none the less undauntedly.
"What have you been doing there?" the elder sister demanded, her momentary fright making her indignation even greater.
"Listenin'," replied the culprit, shamelessly.
"Patricia Gorham!" For Alice to use the child's full name conveyed the absolute limit of reproach, but Patricia stood her ground fearlessly.
"I'm not ashamed—I've simply got to know my future. You'll stick to what you said, won't you, Alice?"
"You ought to be punished!"
"But you won't marry Allen, will you?" Pat pleaded, unblushingly. "You can have Mr. Covington and I will have Allen, and we all will be happy ever afterward."
"Oh, you—kids, that's what you both are!" Alice cried in sheer desperation. "Between you, I can't get a moment's peace."
"He would make a lovely Knight." Patricia's face assumed an enraptured expression. "Oh, I wish I was a damosel, with a vessel of gold between my hands, and Allen was Sir Launcelot, and I would say, 'Wit ye well,' and he would kneel and say his prayers to me, and—Alice, what does 'Wit ye well' mean, anyhow?"
But Alice had fled, leaving Patricia the victrix of her bloodless battle-field.
XVIII
James Riley's information, while causing Gorham some concern, was not the matter which gave him the greatest anxiety during the days he passed away from his office. The fact that Buckner was in town was not altogether surprising, and his maudlin comments need not necessarily be seriously considered. In addition to the commission he intrusted to young Riley, Gorham also set in motion the wheels of his own secret-service department, feeling confident that he would soon learn all the facts. The conduct of the current business of the Companies, complex as it had now become, appeared to be advancing steadily along the lines which he himself had laid down for it, and he saw no reason to think that his temporary absence was causing the slightest disarrangement of the delicately adjusted machine upon which depended the continued momentum of the business. This interested him particularly, as he considered that the crowning point of his successful formation of the Consolidated Companies would not be attained until his actual contact with the business was not required.
But great enterprises do not expand themselves without the jealous watchfulness of other competing or interested organizations, and Gorham's daily reports contained an increasing number of references to the efforts being made by these to harass the Consolidated Companies with governmental interference. Senator Kenmore had by this time become the chief spokesman of the Companies in Washington. Since his first exhaustive examination into its affairs, his doubts as to the possibility of conducting so mammoth a consolidation along conscientious lines had been dissipated by the absolute straightness of the course which Gorham steered. His influence had been exerted frequently in behalf of the Companies, and each time the success which thus came to the corporation carried in its wake advantages to the people, just as Gorham had promised. The Senator had become one of Gorham's stanchest admirers and supporters, and the president of the Consolidated Companies in turn relied fully upon him. For several weeks Kenmore's correspondence had suggested certain unrest in the Senate concerning trusts and consolidations, so when Gorham received from him an urgent summons to come to Washington at once, it left no room for doubt as to the necessity which prompted its sending, and obliged him for the present to abandon his idea of rest.
Gorham found Kenmore awaiting him in his office, and the Senator, with characteristic directness, came to the point at once.
"Some one is starting up another scare on monopolies and combinations, and is making the Consolidated Companies the target. Do you know anything about it?"
"Does it come from New York State?" Gorham asked.
"Yes; the junior senator is at the head of it."
"He is a Tammany man."
"Yes."
"Brady made him, and now he is collecting his fee. The Consolidated
Companies hit Brady hard in the Manhattan Traction deal, you remember.
How much headway has it gained?"
"Enough to be dangerous; that's why I wrote as I did."
"It can't be dangerous while we have the people so strongly with us, but it might become troublesome. Whom do you want me to see?"
"The President. I have made an appointment with him half an hour from now. The Senator from New York has touched him a bit by demanding why he is haling the other great corporations into court, and leaving the Consolidated Companies to grow larger and stronger without opposition."
"Have you discussed the matter with the President?"
"No; I thought it best to let you present it as a whole. Come—we shall find him ready for us."
The President received his callers in his office. He was a great President, and as such realized, as some of his predecessors had not, that the country of which he was the chief executive was constantly outgrowing the legislation which had been wise at the time of its enactment. He realized that as expansion comes conditions change, and these changed conditions necessitate the exercise of a far-seeing and a far-reaching judgment in administering the law in its spirit rather than always in its letter; but the experience he had gained in the White House had taught him the difficulties which beset his path in living up to his convictions. Gorham had been frequently called to his councils for advice upon various subjects, and the President was familiar with the Consolidated Companies in conception and operation.
"We are accused of discrimination, Mr. Gorham," the President explained, after the first greetings. "You and I have discussed the Consolidated Companies upon various occasions; I have watched its operations carefully, and I am free to say that my early apprehensions have thus far proved groundless. I believe that I have acted conscientiously in pushing the investigations and prosecutions against those combinations which are really a menace to the country; but there are some who disagree with me, and flaunt the Consolidated Companies in my face as an evidence of insincerity on my part. I have asked you and Senator Kenmore to meet me here this afternoon, to talk over the question quite informally with the senator from New York and with the Attorney-General."
"I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. President," Gorham replied, quietly.
"Then we are all ready for the discussion," said the President, touching a button. "They are waiting—I will send for them."
Upon the arrival of the others, he repeated to them what he had said to Gorham, and then, settling back in his chair, became an interested listener, leaving Gorham and the senator from New York as the principal disputants, with Kenmore and the Attorney-General joining in the argument from time to time.
"Do I understand that Mr. Gorham speaks for the Administration in this matter?" asked Senator Hunt, with some asperity.
"I speak for the Consolidated Companies, and for that alone," Gorham replied, promptly.
"Then you will perhaps explain why your corporation, the largest trust in existence to-day, is immune, while other trusts are being persecuted to the extent of the Government's power."
"I am not authorized to answer any question which has to do with the Government," Gorham continued; "but it may be that it is due to the same reason that some of the 'other trusts' you mention are not as yet incorporated as a part of the Consolidated Companies."
"Then they have been approached?" the Senator asked, quickly.
"Several of them have approached us; but they have thus far been unwilling to accept the principles upon which the Consolidated Companies is founded."
"You refer to its alleged benevolent aspect?"
"Yes, if you choose to call it that," Gorham replied, smiling. "We prefer to call it reciprocity. If we receive favors in the form of concessions from the people, we believe it to be not only fair, but also sound business, to use these concessions not to bleed them, but for their benefit."
"In other words, the Consolidated Companies is a good trust, and the others are bad trusts?"
"Exactly."
"The Sherman Act, if I read it correctly, makes no distinction."
"But the Government does."
"And to that extent unlawfully discriminates," the Senator said, emphatically.
"What would be the effect upon the country if the Sherman Act were enforced literally?" Gorham asked.
"That is not for me to say."
"Perhaps the Attorney-General will give us his opinion," Gorham persisted.
The Attorney-General had been listening to the discussion with much interest.
"There can be but one answer to that question," he replied; "it would produce an industrial reign of terror, and yet I am frank to say that, from a legal standpoint, I believe Senator Hunt is correct in his statement that the Government unlawfully discriminates in drawing any distinction between good and bad trusts; but let me say further, that it is my definite opinion that the Sherman Act, as it now stands, is a menace to the country. That Act, literally interpreted, would break up every trust into smaller corporations. It is based on a hasty inference that great consolidations are of necessity monopolies. Even if we disintegrated a great corporation like the Consolidated Companies, for instance, into a large number of smaller corporations, we should not have solved the problem. There would always be methods by which a common understanding could be reached, and, in the disintegration, producing concerns would lose much of the efficiency in serving the public which has already been demonstrated by the Consolidated Companies. I have answered your question frankly, giving you my opinion from a legal and also from a personal standpoint."
"Was there not a time," Kenmore asked, "when the public in England was as much afraid of the formation of business partnerships as our public has been afraid of trusts?"
"Yes," the Attorney-General replied; "our own trust legislation is nothing more than a modern repetition of certain laws which centuries ago were in force in England, and were designed to prevent the formation of co-partnerships in business."
"Yet partnerships were formed in spite of the law, were they not?" insisted Kenmore, "and it was discovered that the prices of goods did not go up."
"We are digressing," the senator from New York interrupted. "As I understand it, we are concerned with the present rather than the past."
"I am glad you realize that," Gorham responded, "for it has a considerable bearing upon the situation. In the past, the public has been opposed to the organization of industry, and properly so, since it has meant the secret rebates, the limiting of output, the 'fake' independent companies, and the stealing of competitors' secrets; but to-day there is a changed public sentiment, and perhaps I may be pardoned if I say that I believe the Consolidated Companies has played its part in bringing this about. The magazines have turned from muckraking to articles instructing their readers in finance; the anti-trust orator is speaking to empty seats; and intelligent lawmakers, who once considered 'corporation' as a synonym for 'crime,' now carefully distinguish between the honest and the dishonest organization. The Administration is elected by the people to exercise the will of the people, and it is the will of the people to-day that honest combinations be permitted, in order to reduce the cost of the necessities of life."
"It is a conflict between a literal interpretation of the law and industrial progress," added Senator Kenmore, "and the law as it stands does not appeal to justice nor does it express American public sentiment. Bigness, in commerce and industry, has now come to be associated with progress. Production on a large scale is justified by its economy and efficiency when brought about through the free play of economic forces. It would be just as ridiculous to oppose the ever-increasing demand for machinery."
"To what point is all this leading us?" asked Senator Hunt, impatiently. "These one-sided arguments may be interesting to those who agree with them, but my question still remains unanswered: why does not the Government enforce the law equally against one offender as against another, since by that law both are offenders?"
"Senator Kenmore, the Attorney-General, and I have endeavored to answer your question to the best of our ability," Gorham replied, "and I, for one, regret to have failed in my endeavor. We all agree, I am sure, that the Government has a plain duty to perform, but we do not understand that duty to be the prevention of honest and beneficial combination. The Consolidated Companies has led the way in seeking publicity and preserving equality, and in insuring public participation in the benefits accruing from the combinations which it effects. If other trusts do likewise, I have no doubt that they will be as 'immune' as you have been pleased to call the Consolidated Companies."
"Are you prepared to deny that, in spite of this 'benevolent' aspect of which you boast, the profits of your corporation are greater than those of any trust in the world?"
"I have never made the comparative analysis which would be required to answer your question," Gorham replied; "but I do say without fear of contradiction that no organization ever gave back to the people so large a percentage of its earnings. It may interest Senator Hunt if I outline the principles upon which the Consolidated Companies was conceived."
Gorham's voice was a strong asset. Its low, clear tones carried without apparent effort, and there was a firmness and sincerity in every spoken word which always secured attentive hearing.
"The public," he said, "has long since become accustomed to mergers and consolidations, and has naturally associated with them the strangling of competition and the creation and enjoyment, on the part of a few, of the conditions of monopoly. But business exploits such as these are, in a measure, things of the past, and cannot be repeated. Great industries can no longer hem in their rivals, or stifle and cripple them to the extent that fields, which by natural law are free to all, become the field of one. The people have at last risen against this, and consolidations will only be tolerated when confidence is established that the masses will be benefited. When the scheme of the Consolidated Companies first became known, it was bitterly opposed by the public, who saw in it nothing other than a new and more gigantic octopus, to feed upon its very life-blood.
"From the very beginning, both from principle and from what I consider to be sound business sense, I have endeavored by word and act to convince the public that the Consolidated Companies intended to serve its best interests, and our unprecedented success is the best evidence I could offer that I have, at least in part, succeeded. Our stockholders are men in high positions of trust, and they cannot continue to deliver contracts to us unless we make good our promises to execute those concessions to the advantage of the people. To-day, wherever the Consolidated Companies is known, the public looks with approval upon favors shown us by its officials, and this in itself is an asset to our corporation of untold value. Bread, coffee, and other daily necessities are now obtainable cheaper than ever before in the history of the world, because the Consolidated Companies has made them so. Transportation charges, wherever we have obtained the franchises, have been reduced twenty per cent.; lighting costs, both gas and electric, are fifteen per cent. cheaper in those cities which we control; government loans placed through us are from one to two per cent. lower, thus substantially reducing the rate of taxation. We have prevented war in at least two instances, and thus demonstrated the possibilities of our power in preserving universal peace. For the Government to interfere with our work because of a technicality would result in an international calamity."
"Are you now speaking for the Administration, Mr. Gorham?"
"Now, I am speaking as a private citizen."
"If the Attorney-General agrees with me," added the President, joining in the discussion for the first time, "I think I may say that Mr. Gorham's views as a private citizen are shared by the Administration; on the other hand, I agree with the Attorney-General in the position which he takes regarding the conflict between the legal and practical bearing of the Sherman Act. There is only one way to solve the problem, and that is to modify that Act so that a distinction can be made between those consolidations which advance the country's prosperity, and those which are operated solely for personal gain to the detriment of all except the few directly interested. You may report back to your constituents, Senator Hunt, that the Administration will refrain from further action in this matter for the present, and will direct its efforts toward securing amendments to the Sherman Act which shall make it possible to draw a distinction between good and bad trusts, as you call them, without discrimination."
The President rose, signifying that the conference was ended, and Gorham left the White House in company with Senator Kenmore and the Attorney-General. The latter wore a serious expression upon his face.
"The President took the only logical position," he remarked to his companions; "but I tell you, gentlemen, that there is not the slightest possibility of passing any bill through either house which can accomplish the results we all desire."
"In another twelve months," observed Gorham, "granting that the Companies continues to make history as it has, the people themselves will prevent their representatives from interfering."
"Provided nothing occurs to raise a doubt as to the integrity of the
Companies' motives," added the Attorney-General, suggestively.
"How could such a doubt be raised?" Gorham was incredulous.
"By having some official in your corporation act in defiance of the principles which you have upheld."
"We have a five-years' record to fall back upon."
"Yes; but as the Companies grows larger the risk increases."
"And the careful surveillance increases in like ratio."
"There are human limitations, Mr. Gorham," laughed the Attorney-General.
XIX
Allen Sanford, during the next few weeks, found much to think about besides himself. His advance had been more rapid than Gorham had expected. His position with the Companies was still the same, but his value in his position had steadily increased. The impetuosity and intensity which, previously uncontrolled, had made him heedless, were now directed through a smaller vent, and gained in power. Gorham's early belief that the boy possessed in no small degree, though undeveloped, the business genius which had accomplished his father's great success, was being definitely confirmed, and he rejoiced in it.
Allen had studied the business problem with which he came daily in contact as closely as he could with the little experience which had as yet come to him. What man of affairs does not recall how intangible was that turning-point, in his own early business career, before which he felt hopelessly submerged in that sea of infinite detail, vainly struggling to gauge its currents and to escape its undertow; after which he found himself advancing with steady strides, short at first, but gaining in power as the lesser responsibilities merged into greater ones!
Gorham's business training, previous to the inception of the Consolidated Companies, had been in accord with the universal business code, quite at variance with the idealistic basis which he himself had now established. Allen's training had all been along Gorham's idealistic thread. It was perhaps natural, therefore, that Allen, under these circumstances, should look upon the transactions of the Consolidated Companies from a different viewpoint from that which Mr. Gorham took. At all events, some of these business acts did not seem to the boy to be in full accord with the altruism which he had learned from his preceptor. Allen had come to know most of the directors and some of the stockholders, and he was convinced that the prevailing instinct which controlled their relations to the Consolidated Companies and to its transactions was self-interest pure and simple. There was no question that the Companies had accomplished important reductions in the necessities of life and in the cost of public utilities, as a result of which the people were radically benefited; but to Allen's untrained mind even this seemed to be a clever business policy from the exercise of which the corporation gained more than it gave. Already there had come to him a sense of apprehension as to what might happen if Mr. Gorham's restraining hand should lose its present power, and the control should fall into the hands of men such as he conceived Covington and his sympathizers to be; and lately the boy had regarded this chance as not altogether remote.
Gorham never allowed Allen to discuss with him the personalities of any of the directors or stockholders with whom he came in contact. This was partly due to his feeling that Allen was not as yet competent to form opinions of any value, and partly to his general principle that he must hold his own mind unprejudiced in his duty toward his associates. For this reason, and for another which lay closer to his heart, the boy had never expressed to him his distrust of Covington, though he had been tempted to do so on more than one occasion. Now, however, during the absence of his chief from the offices, Allen felt sure that a crisis was near at hand. He knew that Covington was in constant communication with certain of the directors, and the nature of these conferences could perhaps be divined by the growing discontent which he saw developing among those upon whom he knew Gorham depended as his most valued lieutenants. He had been brooding over matters so long that this new and tenser situation, as he saw it, made him feel it to be his duty to talk it over with Gorham. He was none too sure that his doubts would be shared or even accepted, and this uncertainty added to his apprehensiveness in breaking over what he knew to be his chief's implied commands. This was his first experience in a business office, and it might be that what caused him anxiety was only a part of the day's work, to be found in any similar establishment. Still, he determined to free his mind of its ever-present burden, and he selected the time shortly after Gorham's return from Washington.
Gorham listened to Allen's reports well into the night. The boy did most of the talking, and Gorham absorbed with little comment the story which he had to tell. Allen was surprised and relieved to find that he listened to him without criticism, and it strengthened him in his own confidence to find that the elder man treated him with a consideration beyond that which he had previously received.
"You are quite right to come to me with this," Gorham said at length; "but I feel that, as far as the business is concerned, you are unduly apprehensive. I shall satisfy myself on this point on my return to the office. Now, as to Mr. Covington: I have been aware for weeks of your personal dislike for each other, but it is unworthy of you, Allen, to allow this to influence you to the extent of doing him so great an injustice."
Allen colored deeply at the criticism. "I have waited until I am certain that it is no injustice before bringing the matter to you," he said.
"I have also been aware of another fact," Gorham continued, "which is in itself an explanation of your present attitude. When I tell you that it is my fondest hope that Alice shall marry Mr. Covington, you will understand. This in itself is the strongest evidence I could give of my confidence in him."
This was a blow far greater than any Alice had dealt him. Allen had never lost hope that sooner or later he could convince her that he had attained man's estate, and this he considered the only real barrier between them. But if Mr. Gorham had set his heart upon her marriage to Covington, he knew the case was hopeless. The older man watched him as he struggled with himself.
"You should have no thought at present of marrying any one," he said, kindly. "You are not mature enough yet to know your own mind. You have done well, and I have great hopes for your future, but for the present you must be content to solve one day's problems before taking up the next."
"I wouldn't mind so much about Alice," the boy finally managed to blurt out, "if it was any one except Mr. Covington."
"Have you any actual evidence that he is other than an upright, able man, whose character entitles him to the fullest confidence and esteem?"
"No actual evidence; but I know I'm right. Please don't let him have
Alice without making sure."
Gorham placed his hand kindly upon the boy's shoulder. "Your interest in my little girl's happiness, though prejudiced, makes me overlook this boyish jealousy toward a man whom I respect. But you can't think that my carefulness in so important a matter as this would be any less than your own. Come, now, let us forget all this. Go back to your duties, my boy, with a confidence that my judgment is better than yours."
As Allen made no reply and showed no inclination to leave, Gorham wondered if he had still anything further to say. The boy moved uncomfortably in his chair as the question was asked.
"Not regarding the business detail, Mr. Gorham," he replied at length. "Oh, I am all at sea!" he burst out suddenly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I guess business isn't in my line anyhow."
"What do you mean, Allen?" Gorham asked, completely surprised by the boy's intensity.
"If I tell you what I really mean you will think I am ungrateful for the chance you have given me, and, truly, that isn't it. I know you feel that the Consolidated Companies is accomplishing a great work, and you're right; but there's another side which I don't like at all. With the single exception of yourself, I don't believe there is a man connected with it who isn't in it for what he can get out of it. The public is being benefited by certain reductions which the Companies accomplishes, but before long I'm sure they will have to pay up for all they have saved, with a bitter interest. Of course, my feeling this way is simply an evidence that I don't understand things at all."
Allen had touched upon Gorham's most sensitive point. "It is a deep disappointment to me that you feel as you do," he replied. "As you say, it is an evidence that you don't understand things at all. The Consolidated Companies has almost reached a point where individual personality is merely incidental; where, in my opinion, my own services even will not long be essential. I like to believe that my continued connection strengthens and guides it, but no one man can now affect its progress to any serious degree; but, my boy, loyalty to the Companies on the part of its employees is absolutely imperative. That I must demand of you."
Allen winced under the criticism, but he could not withdraw from his position.
"Could not a man like Mr. Covington change the entire policy of the
Companies if he came into control?" he asked, significantly.
"No," Gorham replied, firmly. "In the first place, if he gained control, he would have no desire to change it; in the second, my Executive Committee is made up of men of too high principle to permit him or any other man to operate the Companies upon other than a proper basis."
"You may not feel so sure of this after you have investigated," Allen insisted.
"I shall never alter my opinion." Gorham was annoyed by the boy's persistence. "It is too late to-night to discuss this phase of the subject with you as thoroughly as we must if you are to continue with the corporation, but in the mean time remember that the Consolidated Companies is in the hands of men whose self-interest is coupled with a personal gratification in the altruistic basis whose nature you have learned from me. You are not competent to pass upon their motives, and until you are you should not venture to criticise."
"I admitted that it is all due to my inexperience, Mr. Gorham, and I am sorry that you are angry. I believe in you as I could never believe in any other man, and I know that, as far as you can control it, you will keep the Consolidated Companies within the lines you have laid down; but I can't make myself believe that the others have the same honorable intentions."
"Stop!" cried Gorham, seriously aroused by the boy's words. "I shall listen to you no further. It is only my friendship for your father and my affection for you which, keeps me from speaking harshly to you; but be warned! You are attempting to interfere in a matter which is too heavy for your strength. Leave it to those who understand it."
After Allen left the house Gorham sat for a long time in his library, smoking and meditating. Yet it was not the possible internal business complications, as suggested by the boy, which occupied his thoughts; it was not some new gigantic transaction about to be launched on behalf of the Companies which filled his mind, nor was it the suggested danger to Eleanor's peace of mind. He was thinking of Allen, half blaming himself for the forlorn expression the boy's face had worn as he left the room. It was a courageous thing for this youngster to rush in where older and more experienced men would not have dared, to face Robert Gorham and to tell him that the monument he had erected rested upon a base of shifting sand. His absurd statements regarding Covington were easily explained, but what he had said of the business was an honest expression, even though groundless in fact and resulting from an inexperienced interpretation of matters far beyond his present knowledge.
Gorham contrasted in his mind the changes which these few months had wrought in him. He remembered how lightly the boy had taken his father's tirade which had thrown him upon his own resources, and compared this with the depressing effect which his own criticism had produced.
"Poor boy, I'm really sorry for him," he said to himself. "With old Stephen on one side and with me on the other, and with his fancied devotion to Alice on top of it all, he must feel that the world is against him." Then Gorham's face became stern again. "But he must take on ballast," he said, firmly; "he must get over these snap-judgments and learn to recognize that he is playing with tools too heavy for him to handle. It will do him good—but I love the boy for his courage. It will land him somewhere if he keeps his head."
XX
The days passed by with nothing to justify Eleanor's apprehensions resulting from Ralph Buckner's presence in New York, so her fears vanished, and with them the necessity of disturbing her husband's tranquillity with this confidence which already had been so long postponed. Gorham's sudden trip to Washington made this even more natural. Alice had told her of Covington's proposal, and was eager to discuss the situation from every possible standpoint. To the older woman the girl's attitude toward Allen seemed heartless, yet, knowing her husband's feeling in the matter, she decided that it was wiser to leave the young people to solve their own problem. Youth is ever heartless in its attitude toward others, and it is only by its own suffering that it learns the lesson of consideration. Eleanor sought to impress Alice with the importance of being sure of her own heart before making her final decision, and encouraged her to take plenty of time. She would have hesitated to do this, on her husband's account, except that with Allen so hopelessly out of the running the delay could do no harm. Alice must make no error, Eleanor kept repeating to herself, recalling with painful vividness the result of her own mistaken act of duty.
Covington became a constant visitor at the Gorham home, assuming more and more the prerogatives of an accepted suitor. His attentions were assiduous and his companionship was so agreeable that Alice considered the arrangement ideal. Each time he urged her to give him a definite reply she begged off in such a playful, girlish fashion that Covington mildly acquiesced, feeling that each day's association made the situation that much more favorable to him. And this courtship, curious as it was, proved not unpleasant to him. Much to his own surprise, he began to find himself really fond of this young girl, who kept him constantly on the qui vive to follow her from the absurdity of girlish conceits to the opposite extreme of mature discussion of subjects ordinarily far beyond the grasp of her years. It whetted his interest and possessed a decided fascination for him, he admitted to himself more than once as he left the house to return to his own apartment, wearing a satisfied smile of patronizing indulgence. Had it not been for the business necessities, and the importance of actually becoming her husband before anything occurred to disturb his relations with Gorham, he would have preferred to have things run on indefinitely as they were.
During this time Allen found Covington's attitude toward him completely changed. It would have hurt the older man's self-respect to admit that the boy could in any way be looked upon as a rival; but young girls are uncertain quantities, and it had been necessary for Alice to prove that she was beyond this danger-point before Covington decided that Allen was a promising youngster, after all, and, as Stephen Sanford's son, entitled at least to being noticed.
Allen, during the same period, and perhaps because of the same conditions, had grown to regard Covington with even more cordial aversion. The only positive grievance he had against him was the success he had gained with Alice; but, in an undefined way, he felt instinctively that this man possessed every Machiavellian attribute in the calendar of dishonor. With an effort to be just, Allen mentally made a generous discount to offset any possible prejudice, but even then Covington measured up shockingly bad. If Alice had insisted on a proof of the statements he made against him to her, he would have found himself lacking ammunition; when Gorham had asked him point-blank what evidence he had to substantiate his accusations, he had been unable to give any, and this, he realized, had hurt him in the eyes of his chief.
So now the boy proposed to collect evidence, with the self-acknowledged purpose of helping Gorham and of saving Alice, entirely overlooking any personal interest in the undertaking. Covington's first overtures came just at this time and were coldly received; but as Allen considered the matter, he concluded that he would learn to "purr" too, taking lessons in this gentle art from the one man whom he acknowledged to be its past master.
Gorham was surprised by the change in their relations as he saw it, and the boy at once rose in his estimation. Allen had evidently taken to heart the advice given him during their last interview, and had proved himself big enough to rise above his jealousies and his disappointment. Gorham, guided by Eleanor's judgment, had refrained even from expressing to Alice his strong desire that she should marry Covington, but with Allen already self-effaced and with Alice accepting Covington's attentions, even though as yet uncommitted, all was progressing to his satisfaction.
Allen's duties still took him frequently to the Gorham house, but he saw Alice only casually, as he made no effort to force himself upon her. She was too much engrossed with the new element which had entered her life to concern herself particularly, but she was negatively grateful to him for not making the present condition unpleasant. She wanted to keep him as a friend, and told him so frankly, but that could only be so long as he accepted things as he found them.
But any lack of enthusiasm on the part of Alice was more than made up for by Patricia. She was living on the seventh floor of her seventh heaven. As she saw it, Alice had acted in the friendliest way possible in giving her a clear field with her Sir Launcelot. Allen humored her, finding a real relief in this childish game which his little friend took so seriously. The one drawback was the amount of intimate information which she conveyed through the medium of her innocent prattle. Allen could not know what was coming next, and so was powerless to head off conversation upon subjects into which he knew he had no right to enter, for Patricia possessed the faculty of keeping herself well informed as to family matters. It was through this that he secured the first clew upon which to start a real investigation, so he considered the information Heaven-sent, and blessed the child accordingly.
The staircase, as usual, formed the trysting-place. Here Patricia waylaid her Knight on his way down from the library, taking her position on an upper step, which made their difference in height less apparent. The same ceremony was enacted each time in accord with the ritual she had taught him. After he passed her, she suddenly sprang up to her full stature, holding her arm high above her with the palm of her hand extended.
"Wit ye well, Sir Knight!" she cried, impressively.
Then Allen turned—he was forbidden, under pain of death, to recognize her until he heard these mystic words—knelt on the step below her and kissed her other hand, while the one upraised descended upon his head in benediction.
"The Lord be with thee, Fair Lady," he replied, following his lesson.
"And with thee—I accept thy troth. Now we can have a visit."
The Arthurian lady had vanished, and Patricia was herself again, curled up close beside him.
"Look here, Lady Pat," he said, shaking his finger at her warningly, "I think we ought to put a stop to this—you're taking it all too seriously."
"Of course," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Why don't we get married right away—then it needn't be serious any longer."
"Well"—Allen would not have wounded the devoted little heart for worlds—"one reason is that I haven't money enough."
"Did Knights have to have money?" Patricia inquired. "I never saw a suit of armor with a money-pocket in it."
"Neither did I," he admitted. "There wasn't any money then, like ours, and when they wanted anything they didn't have, they fought for it."
"Well, then, why don't you fight for it?"
"I'm going to—I am fighting now. I mean, Lady Pat, they don't let you fight the way they used to."
"Is it only because you haven't money enough that we don't marry, Sir
Launcelot?"
"That is—one of the principal reasons."
"Swear that you don't love any other fair lady."
"Except Alice," Allen insisted.
"Shall you always love her?" Patricia asked, wistfully.
Allen sighed. "I'm afraid so, Lady Pat."
"Well, I don't care—I'll love you enough for both of us, so that's all settled. Now promise that you'll sit on this very step and not move 'til I come back."
"What for? I must run along."
"You promised," she cried, and disappeared up-stairs as fast as her little white legs could carry her. There was nothing to do but wait, yet Allen was not long kept in suspense. Patricia returned with equal speed, carrying her bank in both hands.
"There!" she exclaimed, jingling the contents. "You take that and make a lot more with it, and we shall have all the money we want."
"But I can't do that," he protested.
"Aren't you as smart as Mr. Covington?"
"What has he to do with it, Lady Pat?"
"He took Alice's money and made a whole lot more with it, and I'm going to tell you how to do it, too."
Patricia danced before him on the hall rug, clapping her hands together with joy and excitement. Suddenly she paused in her gyrations, and, placing her mouth close to his ear, she whispered:
"Buy some storks from the New York Railroad."
Allen jumped to his feet as if he had been struck. "What did you say?" he demanded, seizing the child almost roughly by the wrist; but Patricia attributed his action to excitement and joy equal to her own, so accepted it cheerfully.
"That is it," she repeated, firmly. "I'm sure, for I wrote it down just as soon as I heard it. I knew I should need it some time. Storks must be very valuable birds, because Mr. Covington told Alice not to tell; and he made thirty—thousand—dollars for her. Now, you're smarter than Mr. Covington, and you can make a hundred thousand. Will you?"
"I'll start right out and see what I can do." Allen tried to keep the child from seeing his excitement. "I haven't time to stop to tell you how naughty it is to listen. If I don't go right now the storks may all be gone, and then of course we couldn't make any money. Good-bye, Lady Pat—I'll try hard, but don't be disappointed if there aren't any left—good-bye."
Allen rushed from the house and, hailing a passing taxi, ordered the chauffeur to drive to the office, although it was now nearly six o'clock.