“Marry Jefferson yourself.”—Act III.
“What do I care what the world says when I'm dead?” he asked with a forced laugh.
“You do care,” replied Shirley gravely. “You may school yourself to believe that you are indifferent to the good opinion of your fellow man, but right down in your heart you do care—every man does, whether he be multi-millionaire or a sneak thief.”
“You class the two together, I notice,” he said bitterly.
“It is often a distinction without a difference,” she rejoined promptly.
He remained silent for a moment or two toying nervously with a paper knife. Then, arrogantly, and as if anxious to impress her with his importance, he said:
“Most men would be satisfied if they had accomplished what I have. Do you realize that my wealth is so vast that I scarcely know myself what I am worth? What my fortune will be in another fifty years staggers the imagination. Yet I started with nothing. I made it all myself. Surely I should get credit for that.”
“How did you make it?” retorted Shirley.
“In America we don't ask how a man makes his money; we ask if he has got any.”
“You are mistaken,” replied Shirley earnestly. “America is waking up. The conscience of the nation is being aroused. We are coming to realize that the scandals of the last few years were only the fruit of public indifference to sharp business practice. The people will soon ask the dishonest rich man where he got it, and there will have to be an accounting. What account will you be able to give?”
He bit his lip and looked at her for a moment without replying. Then, with a faint suspicion of a sneer, he said:
“You are a socialist—perhaps an anarchist!”
“Only the ignorant commit the blunder of confounding the two,” she retorted. “Anarchy is a disease; socialism is a science.”
“Indeed!” he exclaimed mockingly, “I thought the terms were synonymous. The world regards them both as insane.”
Herself an enthusiastic convert to the new political faith that was rising like a flood tide all over the world, the contemptuous tone in which this plutocrat spoke of the coming reorganization of society which was destined to destroy him and his kind spurred her on to renewed argument.
“I imagine,” she said sarcastically, “that you would hardly approve any social reform which threatened to interfere with your own business methods. But no matter how you disapprove of socialism on general principles, as a leader of the capitalist class you should understand what socialism is, and not confuse one of the most important movements in modern world-history with the crazy theories of irresponsible cranks. The anarchists are the natural enemies of the entire human family, and would destroy it were their dangerous doctrines permitted to prevail; the socialists, on the contrary, are seeking to save mankind from the degradation, the crime and the folly into which such men as you have driven it.”
She spoke impetuously, with the inspired exaltation of a prophet delivering a message to the people. Ryder listened, concealing his impatience with uneasy little coughs.
“Yes,” she went on, “I am a socialist and I am proud of it. The whole world is slowly drifting toward socialism as the only remedy for the actual intolerable conditions. It may not come in our time, but it will come as surely as the sun will rise and set tomorrow. Has not the flag of socialism waved recently from the White House? Has not a President of the United States declared that the State must eventually curb the great fortunes? What is that but socialism?”
“True,” retorted Ryder grimly, “and that little speech intended for the benefit of the gallery will cost him the nomination at the next Presidential election. We don't want in the White House a President who stirs up class hatred. Our rich men have a right to what is their own; that is guaranteed them by the Constitution.”
“Is it their own?” interrupted Shirley.
Ryder ignored the insinuation and proceeded:
“What of our boasted free institutions if a man is to be restricted in what he may and may not do? If I am clever enough to accumulate millions who can stop me?”
“The people will stop you,” said Shirley calmly. “It is only a question of time. Their patience is about exhausted. Put your ear to the ground and listen to the distant rumbling of the tempest which, sooner or later, will be unchained in this land, provoked by the iniquitous practices of organized capital. The people have had enough of the extortions of the Trusts. One day they will rise in their wrath and seize by the throat this knavish plutocracy which, confident in the power of its wealth to procure legal immunity and reckless of its danger, persists in robbing the public daily. But retribution is at hand. The growing discontent of the proletariat, the ever-increasing strikes and labour disputes of all kinds, the clamour against the Railroads and the Trusts, the evidence of collusion between both—all this is the writing on the wall. The capitalistic system is doomed; socialism will succeed it.”
“What is socialism?” he demanded scornfully. “What will it give the public that it has not got already?”
Shirley, who never neglected an opportunity to make a convert, no matter how hardened he might be, picked up a little pamphlet printed for propaganda purposes which she had that morning received by mail.
“Here,” she said, “is one of the best and clearest definitions of socialism I have ever read:
“Socialism is common ownership of natural resources and public utilities, and the common operation of all industries for the general good. Socialism is opposed to monopoly, that is, to private ownership of land and the instruments of labor, which is indirect ownership of men; to the wages system, by which labor is legally robbed of a large part of the product of labor; to competition with its enormous waste of effort and its opportunities for the spoliation of the weak by the strong. Socialism is industrial democracy. It is the government of the people by the people and for the people, not in the present restricted sense, but as regards all the common interests of men. Socialism is opposed to oligarchy and monarchy, and therefore to the tyrannies of business cliques and money kings. Socialism is for freedom, not only from the fear of force, but from the fear of want. Socialism proposes real liberty, not merely the right to vote, but the liberty to live for something more than meat and drink.
“Socialism is righteousness in the relations of men. It is based on the fundamentals of religion, the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of men. It seeks through association and equality to realize fraternity. Socialism will destroy the motives which make for cheap manufacturers, poor workmanship and adulterations; it will secure the real utility of things. Use, not exchange, will be the object of labour. Things will be made to serve, not to sell. Socialism will banish war, for private ownership is back of strife between men. Socialism will purify politics, for private capitalism is the great source of political corruption. Socialism will make for education, invention and discovery; it will stimulate the moral development of men. Crime will have lost most of its motive and pauperism will have no excuse. That,” said Shirley, as she concluded, “is socialism!”
Ryder shrugged his shoulders and rose to go.
“Delightful,” he said ironically, “but in my judgment wholly Utopian and impracticable. It's nothing but a gigantic pipe dream. It won't come in this generation nor in ten generations if, indeed, it is ever taken seriously by a majority big enough to put its theories to the test. Socialism does not take into account two great factors that move the world—men's passions and human ambition. If you eliminate ambition you remove the strongest incentive to individual effort. From your own account a socialistic world would be a dreadfully tame place to live in—everybody depressingly good, without any of the feverish turmoil of life as we know it. Such a world would not appeal to me at all. I love the fray—the daily battle of gain and loss, the excitement of making or losing millions. That is my life!”
“Yet what good is your money to you?” insisted Shirley. “You are able to spend only an infinitesimal part of it. You cannot even give it away, for nobody will have any of it.”
“Money!” he hissed rather than spoke, “I hate money. It means nothing to me. I have so much that I have lost all idea of its value. I go on accumulating it for only one purpose. It buys power. I love power—that is my passion, my ambition, to rule the world with my gold. Do you know,” he went on and leaning over the desk in a dramatic attitude, “that if I chose I could start a panic in Wall Street to-morrow that would shake to their foundations every financial institution in the country? Do you know that I practically control the Congress of the United States and that no legislative measure becomes law unless it has my approval?”
“The public has long suspected as much,” replied Shirley. “That is why you are looked upon as a menace to the stability and honesty of our political and commercial life.”
An angry answer rose to his lips when the door opened and Mrs. Ryder entered.
“I've been looking for you, John,” she said peevishly. “Mr. Bagley told me you were somewhere in the house. Senator Roberts is downstairs.”
“He's come about Jefferson and his daughter, I suppose,” muttered Ryder. “Well, I'll see him. Where is he?”
“In the library. Kate came with him. She's in my room.”
They left Shirley to her writing, and when he had closed the door the financier turned to his wife and said impatiently:
“Now, what are we going to do about Jefferson and Kate? The senator insists on the matter of their marriage being settled one way or another. Where is Jefferson?”
“He came in about half an hour ago. He was upstairs to see me, and I thought he was looking for you,” answered the wife.
“Well,” replied Ryder determinedly, “he and I have got to understand each other. This can't go on. It shan't.”
Mrs. Ryder put her hand on his arm, and said pleadingly:
“Don't be impatient with the boy, John. Remember he is all we have. He is so unhappy. He wants to please us, but—”
“But he insists on pleasing himself,” said Ryder completing the sentence.
“I'm afraid, John, that his liking for that Miss Rossmore is more serious than you realize—”
The financier stamped his foot and replied angrily:
“Miss Rossmore! That name seems to confront me at every turn—for years the father, now the daughter! I'm sorry, my dear,” he went on more calmly, “that you seem inclined to listen to Jefferson. It only encourages him in his attitude towards me. Kate would make him an excellent wife, while what do we know about the other woman? Are you willing to sacrifice your son's future to a mere boyish whim?”
Mrs. Ryder sighed.
“It's very hard,” she said, “for a mother to know what to advise. Miss Green says—”
“What!” exclaimed her husband, “you have consulted Miss Green on the subject?”
“Yes,” answered his wife, “I don't know how I came to tell her, but I did. I seem to tell her everything. I find her such a comfort, John. I haven't had an attack of nerves since that girl has been in the house.”
“She is certainly a superior woman,” admitted Ryder. “I wish she'd ward that Rossmore girl off. I wish she—” He stopped abruptly as if not venturing to give expression to his thoughts, even to his wife. Then he said: “If she were Kate Roberts she wouldn't let Jeff slip through her fingers.”
“I have often wished,” went on Mrs. Ryder, “that Kate were more like Shirley Green. I don't think we would have any difficulty with Jeff then.”
“Kate is the daughter of Senator Roberts, and if this marriage is broken off in any way without the senator's consent, he is in a position to injure my interests materially. If you see Jefferson send him to me in the library. I'll go and keep Roberts in good humour until he comes.”
He went downstairs and Mrs. Ryder proceeded to her apartments, where she found Jefferson chatting with Kate. She at once delivered Ryder Sr.'s message.
“Jeff, your father wants to see you in the library.”
“Yes, I want to see him,” answered the young man grimly, and after a few moments more badinage with Kate he left the room.
It was not a mere coincidence that had brought Senator Roberts and his daughter and the financier's son all together under the Ryder roof at the same time. It was part of Jefferson's well-prepared plan to expose the rascality of his father's secretary, and at the same time rid himself of the embarrassing entanglement with Kate Roberts. If the senator were confronted publicly with the fact that his daughter, while keeping up the fiction of being engaged to Ryder Jr., was really preparing to run off with the Hon. Fitzroy Bagley, he would have no alternative but to retire gracefully under fire and relinquish all idea of a marriage alliance with the house of Ryder. The critical moment had arrived. To-morrow, Wednesday, was the day fixed for the elopement. The secretary's little game had gone far enough. The time had come for action. So Jefferson had written to Senator Roberts, who was in Washington, asking him if it would be convenient for him to come at once to New York and meet himself and his father on a matter of importance. The senator naturally jumped to the conclusion that Jefferson and Ryder had reached an amicable understanding, and he immediately hurried to New York and with his daughter came round to Seventy-fourth Street.
When Ryder Sr. entered the library, Senator Roberts was striding nervously up and down the room. This, he felt, was an important day. The ambition of his life seemed on the point of being attained.
“Hello, Roberts,” was Ryder's cheerful greeting. “What's brought you from Washington at a critical time like this? The Rossmore impeachment needs every friend we have.”
“Just as if you didn't know,” smiled the senator uneasily, “that I am here by appointment to meet you and your son!”
“To meet me and my son?” echoed Ryder astonished.
The senator, perplexed and beginning to feel real alarm, showed the financier Jefferson's letter. Ryder read it and he looked pleased.
“That's all right,” he said, “if the lad asked you to meet us here it can mean only one thing—that at last he has made up his mind to this marriage.”
“That's what I thought,” replied the senator, breathing more freely. “I was sorry to leave Washington at such a time, but I'm a father, and Kate is more to me than the Rossmore impeachment. Besides, to see her married to your son Jefferson is one of the dearest wishes of my life.”
“You can rest easy,” said Ryder; “that is practically settled. Jefferson's sending for you proves that he is now ready to meet my wishes. He'll be here any minute. How is the Rossmore case progressing?”
“Not so well as it might,” growled the senator. “There's a lot of maudlin sympathy for the judge. He's a pretty sick man by all accounts, and the newspapers seem to be taking his part. One or two of the Western senators are talking Corporate influence and Trust legislation, but when it comes to a vote the matter will be settled on party lines.”
“That means that Judge Rossmore will be removed?” demanded Ryder sternly.
“Yes, with five votes to spare,” answered the senator.
“That's not enough,” insisted Ryder. “There must be at least twenty. Let there be no blunders, Roberts. The man is a menace to all the big commercial interests. This thing must go through.”
The door opened and Jefferson appeared. On seeing the senator talking with his father, he hesitated on the threshold.
“Come in, Jeff,” said his father pleasantly. “You expected to see Senator Roberts, didn't you?”
“Yes, sir. How do you do, Senator?” said the young man, advancing into the room.
“I got your letter, my boy, and here I am,” said the senator smiling affably. “I suppose we can guess what the business is, eh?”
“That he's going to marry Kate, of course,” chimed in Ryder Sr. “Jeff, my lad, I'm glad you are beginning to see my way of looking at things. You're doing more to please me lately, and I appreciate it. You stayed at home when I asked you to, and now you've made up your mind regarding this marriage.”
Jefferson let his father finish his speech, and then he said calmly:
“I think there must be some misapprehension as to the reason for my summoning Senator Roberts to New York. It had nothing to do with my marrying Miss Roberts, but to prevent her marriage with someone else.”
“What!” exclaimed Ryder, Sr.
“Marriage with someone else?” echoed the senator. He thought he had not heard aright, yet at the same time he had grave misgivings. “What do you mean, sir?”
Taking from his pocket a copy of the letter he had picked up on the staircase, Jefferson held it out to the girl's father.
“Your daughter is preparing to run away with my father's secretary. To-morrow would have been too late. That is why I summoned you. Read this.”
The senator took the letter, and as he read his face grew ashen and his hand trembled violently. At one blow all his ambitious projects for his daughter had been swept away. The inconsiderate act of a silly, thoughtless girl had spoiled the carefully laid plans of a lifetime. The only consolation which remained was that the calamity might have been still more serious. This timely warning had saved his family from perhaps an even greater scandal. He passed the letter in silence to Ryder, Sr.
The financier was a man of few words when the situation called for prompt action. After he had read the letter through, there was an ominous silence. Then he rang a bell. The butler appeared.
“Tell Mr. Bagley I want him.”
The man bowed and disappeared.
“Who the devil is this Bagley?” demanded the senator.
“English—blue blood—no money,” was Ryder's laconic answer.
“That's the only kind we seem to get over here,” growled the senator. “We furnish the money—they furnish the blood—damn his blue blood! I don't want any in mine.” Turning to Jefferson, he said: “Jefferson, whatever the motives that actuated you, I can only thank you for this warning. I think it would have broken my heart if my girl had gone away with that scoundrel. Of course, under the circumstances, I must abandon all idea of your becoming my son-in-law. I release you from all obligations you may have felt yourself bound by.”
Jefferson bowed and remained silent.
Ryder, Sr. eyed his son closely, an amused expression hovering on his face. After all, it was not so much he who had desired this match as Roberts, and as long as the senator was willing to withdraw, he could make no objection. He wondered what part, if any, his son had played in bringing about this sensational denouement to a match which had been so distasteful to him, and it gratified his paternal vanity to think that Jefferson after all might be smarter than he had given him credit for.
At this juncture Mr. Bagley entered the room. He was a little taken aback on seeing the senator, but like most men of his class, his self-conceit made him confident of his ability to handle any emergency which might arise, and he had no reason to suspect that this hasty summons to the library had anything to do with his matrimonial plans.
“Did you ask for me, sir?” he demanded, addressing his employer.
“Yes, Mr. Bagley,” replied Ryder, fixing the secretary with a look that filled the latter with misgivings. “What steamers leave to-morrow for England?”
“To-morrow?” echoed Mr. Bagley.
“I said to-morrow,” repeated Ryder, slightly raising his voice.
“Let me see,” stammered the secretary, “there is the White Star, the North German Lloyd, the Atlantic Transport—”
“Have you any preference?” inquired the financier.
“No, sir, none at all.”
“Then you'll go on board one of the ships to-night,” said Ryder. “Your things will be packed and sent to you before the steamer sails to-morrow.”
The Hon. Fitzroy Bagley, third son of a British peer, did not understand even yet that he was discharged as one dismisses a housemaid caught kissing the policeman. He could not think what Mr. Ryder wanted him to go abroad for unless it were on some matter of business, and it was decidedly inconvenient for him to sail at this time.
“But, sir,” he stammered. “I'm afraid—I'm afraid—”
“Yes,” rejoined Ryder promptly, “I notice that—your hand is shaking.”
“I mean that I—”
“You mean that you have other engagements!” said Ryder sternly.
“Oh no—no but—”
“No engagement at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?” insisted Ryder.
“With my daughter?” chimed in the senator.
Mr. Bagley now understood. He broke out in a cold perspiration and he paled visibly. In the hope that the full extent of his plans were not known, he attempted to brazen it out.
“No, certainly not, under no circumstances,” he said.
Ryder, Sr. rang a bell.
“Perhaps she has an engagement with you. We'll ask her.” To the butler, who entered, he said: “Tell Miss Roberts that her father would like to see her here.”
The man disappeared and the senator took a hand in cross-examining the now thoroughly uncomfortable secretary.
“So you thought my daughter looked pale and that a little excursion to Buffalo would be a good thing for her? Well, it won't be a good thing for you, young man, I can assure you of that!”
The English aristocrat began to wilt. His assurance of manner quite deserted him and he stammered painfully as he floundered about in excuses.
“Not with me—oh dear, no,” he said.
“You never proposed to run away with my daughter?” cried the irate father.
“Run away with her?” stammered Bagley.
“And marry her?” shouted the senator, shaking his fist at him.
“Oh say—this is hardly fair—three against one—really—I'm awfully sorry, eh, what?”
The door opened and Kate Roberts bounced in. She was smiling and full of animal spirits, but on seeing the stern face of her father and the pitiable picture presented by her faithful Fitz she was intelligent enough to immediately scent danger.
“Did you want to see me, father?” she inquired boldly.
“Yes, Kate,” answered the senator gravely, “we have just been having a talk with Mr. Bagley, in which you were one of the subjects of conversation. Can you guess what it was?”
The girl looked from her father to Bagley and from him to the Ryders. Her aristocratic lover made a movement forward as if to exculpate himself, but he caught Ryder's eye and remained where he was.
“Well?” she said, with a nervous laugh.
“Is it true” asked the senator, “that you were about to marry this man secretly?”
She cast down her eyes and answered:
“I suppose you know everything.”
“Have you anything to add?” asked her father sternly.
“No,” said Kate shaking her head. “It's true. We intended to run away, didn't we Fitz?”
“Never mind about Mr. Bagley,” thundered her father. “Haven't you a word of shame for this disgrace you have brought upon me?”
“Oh papa, don't be so cross. Jefferson did not care for me. I couldn't be an old maid. Mr. Bagley has a lovely castle in England, and one day he'll sit in the House of Lords. He'll explain everything to you.”
“He'll explain nothing,” rejoined the senator grimly. “Mr. Bagley returns to England to-night. He won't have time to explain anything.”
“Returns to England?” echoed Kate dismayed.
“Yes, and you go with me to Washington at once.”
The senator turned to Ryder.
“Good-bye Ryder. The little domestic comedy is ended. I'm grateful it didn't turn out a drama. The next time I pick out a son-in-law I hope I'll have better luck.”
He shook hands with Jefferson, and left the room followed by his crestfallen daughter.
Ryder, who had gone to write something at his desk, strode over to where Mr. Bagley was standing and handed him a cheque.
“Here, sir, this settles everything to date. Good-day.”
“But I—I—” stammered the secretary helplessly.
“Good-day, sir.”
Ryder turned his back on him and conversed with, his son, while Mr. Bagley slowly, and as if regretfully, made his exit.
It was now December and the Senate had been in session for over a week. Jefferson had not forgotten his promise, and one day, about two weeks after Mr. Bagley's spectacular dismissal from the Ryder residence, he had brought Shirley the two letters. She did not ask him how he got them, if he forced the drawer or procured the key. It sufficed for her that the precious letters—the absolute proof of her father's innocence—were at last in her possession. She at once sent them off by registered mail to Stott, who immediately acknowledged receipt and at the same time announced his departure for Washington that night. He promised to keep her constantly informed of what he was doing and how her father's case was going. It could, he thought, be only a matter of a few days now before the result of the proceedings would be known.
The approach of the crisis made Shirley exceedingly nervous, and it was only by the exercise of the greatest self-control that she did not betray the terrible anxiety she felt. The Ryder biography was nearly finished and her stay in Seventy-fourth Street would soon come to an end. She had a serious talk with Jefferson, who contrived to see a good deal of her, entirely unsuspected by his parents, for Mr. and Mrs. Ryder had no reason to believe that their son had any more than a mere bowing acquaintance with the clever young authoress. Now that Mr. Bagley was no longer there to spy upon their actions these clandestine interviews had been comparatively easy. Shirley brought to bear all the arguments she could think of to convince Jefferson of the hopelessness of their engagement. She insisted that she could never be his wife; circumstances over which they had no control made that dream impossible. It were better, she said, to part now rather than incur the risk of being unhappy later. But Jefferson refused to be convinced. He argued and pleaded and he even swore—strange, desperate words that Shirley had never heard before and which alarmed her not a little—and the discussion ended usually by a kiss which put Shirley completely hors de combat.
Meantime, John Ryder had not ceased worrying about his son. The removal of Kate Roberts as a factor in his future had not eliminated the danger of Jefferson taking the bit between his teeth one day and contracting a secret marriage with the daughter of his enemy, and when he thought of the mere possibility of such a thing happening he stormed and raved until his wife, accustomed as she was to his choleric outbursts, was thoroughly frightened. For some time after Bagley's departure, father and son got along together fairly amicably, but Ryder, Sr. was quick to see that Jefferson had something on his mind which was worrying him, and he rightly attributed it to his infatuation for Miss Rossmore. He was convinced that his son knew where the judge's daughter was, although his own efforts to discover her whereabouts had been unsuccessful. Sergeant Ellison had confessed absolute failure; Miss Rossmore, he reported, had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed her, and further search was futile. Knowing well his son's impulsive, headstrong disposition, Ryder, Sr. believed him quite capable of marrying the girl secretly any time. The only thing that John Ryder did not know was that Shirley Rossmore was not the kind of a girl to allow any man to inveigle her into a secret marriage. The Colossus, who judged the world's morals by his own, was not of course aware of this, and he worried night and day thinking what he could do to prevent his son from marrying the daughter of the man he had wronged.
The more he pondered over it, the more he regretted that there was not some other girl with whom Jefferson could fall in love and marry. He need not seek a rich girl—there was certainly enough money in the Ryder family to provide for both. He wished they knew a girl, for example, as attractive and clever as Miss Green. Ah! he thought, there was a girl who would make a man of Jefferson—brainy, ambitious, active! And the more he thought of it the more the idea grew on him that Miss Green would be an ideal daughter-in-law, and at the same time snatch his son from the clutches of the Rossmore woman.
Jefferson, during all these weeks, was growing more and more impatient. He knew that any day now Shirley might take her departure from their house and return to Massapequa. If the impeachment proceedings went against her father it was more than likely that he would lose her forever, and if, on the contrary, the judge were acquitted, Shirley never would be willing to marry him without his father's consent; and this, he felt, he would never obtain. He resolved, therefore, to have a final interview with his father and declare boldly his intention of making Miss Rossmore his wife, regardless of the consequences.
The opportunity came one evening after dinner. Ryder, Sr. was sitting alone in the library, reading, Mrs. Ryder had gone to the theatre with a friend, Shirley as usual was writing in her room, giving the final touches to her now completed “History of the Empire Trading Company.” Jefferson took the bull by the horns and boldly accosted his redoubtable parent.
“May I have a few minutes of your time, father?”
Ryder, Sr. laid aside the paper he was reading and looked up. It was unusual for his son to come to him on any errand, and he liked to encourage it.
“Certainly, Jefferson. What is it?”
“I want to appeal to you, sir. I want you to use your influence, before it is too late, to save Judge Rossmore. A word from you at this time would do wonders in Washington.”
The financier swung half-round in his chair, the smile of greeting faded out of his face, and his voice was hard as he replied coldly:
“Again? I thought we had agreed not to discuss Judge Rossmore any further?”
“I can't help it, sir,” rejoined Jefferson undeterred by his sire's hostile attitude, “that poor old man is practically on trial for his life. He is as innocent of wrongdoing as a child unborn, and you know it. You could save him if you would.”
“Jefferson,” answered Ryder, Sr., biting his lip to restrain his impatience, “I told you before that I could not interfere even if I would; and I won't, because that man is my enemy. Important business interests, which you cannot possibly know anything about, demand his dismissal from the bench.”
“Surely your business interests don't demand the sacrifice of a man's life!” retorted Jefferson. “I know modern business methods are none too squeamish, but I should think you'd draw the line at deliberate murder!”
Ryder sprang to his feet and for a moment stood glaring at the young man. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. Suppressed wrath rendered him speechless. What was the world coming to when a son could talk to his father in this manner?
“How dare you presume to judge my actions or to criticise my methods?” he burst out; finally.
“You force me to do so,” answered Jefferson hotly. “I want to tell you that I am heartily ashamed of this whole affair and your connection with it, and since you refuse to make reparation in the only way possible for the wrong you and your associates have done Judge Rossmore—that is by saving him in the Senate—I think it only fair to warn you that I take back my word in regard to not marrying without your consent. I want you to know that I intend to marry Miss Rossmore as soon as she will consent to become my wife, that is,” he added with bitterness, “if I can succeed in overcoming her prejudices against my family—”
Ryder, Sr. laughed contemptuously.
“Prejudices against a thousand million dollars?” he exclaimed sceptically.
“Yes,” replied Jefferson decisively, “prejudices against our family, against you and your business practices. Money is not everything. One day you will find that out. I tell you definitely that I intend to make Miss Rossmore my wife.”
Ryder, Sr. made no reply, and as Jefferson had expected an explosion, this unnatural calm rather startled him. He was sorry he had spoken so harshly. It was his father, after all.
“You've forced me to defy you, father,” he added. “I'm sorry—”
Ryder, Sr. shrugged his shoulders and resumed his seat. He lit another cigar, and with affected carelessness he said:
“All right, Jeff, my boy, we'll let it go at that You're sorry—so am I. You've shown me your cards—I'll show you mine.”
His composed unruffled manner vanished. He suddenly threw off the mask and revealed the tempest that was raging within. He leaned across the desk, his face convulsed with uncontrollable passion, a terrifying picture of human wrath. Shaking his fist at his son he shouted:
“When I get through with Judge Rossmore at Washington, I'll start after his daughter. This time to-morrow he'll be a disgraced man. A week later she will be a notorious woman. Then we'll see if you'll be so eager to marry her!”
“Father!” cried Jefferson.
“There is sure to be something in her life that won't bear inspection,” sneered Ryder. “There is in everybody's life. I'll find out what it is. Where is she to-day? She can't be found. No one knows where she is—not even her own mother. Something is wrong—the girl's no good!”
Jefferson started forward as if to resent these insults to the woman he loved, but, realizing that it was his own father, he stopped short and his hands fell powerless at his side.
“Well, is that all?” inquired Ryder, Sr. with a sneer.
“That's all,” replied Jefferson, “I'm going. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” answered his father indifferently; “leave your address with your mother.”
Jefferson left the room, and Ryder, Sr., as if exhausted by the violence of his own outburst, sank back limp in his chair. The crisis he dreaded had come at last. His son had openly defied his authority and was going to marry the daughter of his enemy. He must do something to prevent it; the marriage must not take place, but what could he do? The boy was of age and legally his own master. He could do nothing to restrain his actions unless they put him in an insane asylum. He would rather see his son there, he mused, than married to the Rossmore woman.
Presently there was a timid knock at the library door. Ryder rose from his seat and went to see who was there. To his surprise it was Miss Green.
“May I come in?” asked Shirley.
“Certainly, by all means. Sit down.”
He drew up a chair for her, and his manner was so cordial that it was easy to see she was a welcome visitor.
“Mr. Ryder,” she began in a low, tremulous voice, “I have come to see you on a very important matter. I've been waiting to see you all evening—and as I shall be here only a short time longer I—want to ask you a great favour—perhaps the greatest you were ever asked—I want to ask you for mercy—for mercy to—”
She stopped and glanced nervously at him, but she saw he was paying no attention to what she was saying. He was puffing heavily at his cigar, entirely preoccupied with his own thoughts. Her sudden silence aroused him. He apologized:
“Oh, excuse me—I didn't quite catch what you were saying.”
She said nothing, wondering what had happened to render him so absent-minded. He read the question in her face, for, turning towards her, he exclaimed:
“For the first time in my life I am face to face with defeat—defeat of the most ignominious kind—incapacity—inability to regulate my own internal affairs. I can rule a government, but I can't manage my own family—my own son. I'm a failure. Tell me,” he added, appealing to her, “why can't I rule my own household, why can't I govern my own child?”
“Why can't you govern yourself?” said Shirley quietly.
Ryder looked keenly at her for a moment without answering her question; then, as if prompted by a sudden inspiration, he said:
“You can help me, but not by preaching at me. This is the first time in my life I ever called on a living soul for help. I'm only accustomed to deal with men. This time there's a woman in the case—and I need your woman's wit—”
“How can I help you?” asked Shirley.
“I don't know,” he answered with suppressed excitement. “As I told you, I am up against a blank wall. I can't see my way.” He gave a nervous little laugh and went on: “God! I'm ashamed of myself—ashamed! Did you ever read the fable of the Lion and the Mouse? Well, I want you to gnaw with your sharp woman's teeth at the cords which bind the son of John Burkett Ryder to this Rossmore woman. I want you to be the mouse—to set me free of this disgraceful entanglement.”
“How?” asked Shirley calmly.
“Ah, that's just it—how?” he replied. “Can't you think—you're a woman—you have youth, beauty—brains.” He stopped and eyed her closely until she reddened from the embarrassing scrutiny. Then he blurted out: “By George! marry him yourself—force him to let go of this other woman! Why not? Come, what do you say?”
This unexpected suggestion came upon Shirley with all the force of a violent shock. She immediately saw the falseness of her position. This man was asking for her hand for his son under the impression that she was another woman. It would be dishonorable of her to keep up the deception any longer. She passed her hand over her face to conceal her confusion.
“You—you must give me time to think,” she stammered. “Suppose I don't love your son—I should want something—something to compensate.”
“Something to compensate?” echoed Ryder surprised and a little disconcerted. “Why, the boy will inherit millions—I don't know how many.”
“No—no, not money,” rejoined Shirley; “money only compensates those who love money. It's something else—a man's honour—a man's life! It means nothing to you.”
He gazed at her, not understanding. Full of his own project, he had mind for nothing else. Ignoring therefore the question of compensation, whatever she might mean by that, he continued:
“You can win him if you make up your mind to. A woman with your resources can blind him to any other woman.”
“But if—he loves Judge Rossmore's daughter?” objected Shirley.
“It's for you to make him forget her—and you can,” replied the financier confidently. “My desire is to separate him from this Rossmore woman at any cost. You must help me.” His sternness relaxed somewhat and his eyes rested on her kindly. “Do you know, I should be glad to think you won't have to leave us. Mrs. Ryder has taken a fancy to you, and I myself shall miss you when you go.”
“You ask me to be your son's wife and you know nothing of my family,” said Shirley.
“I know you—that is sufficient,” he replied.
“No—no you don't,” returned Shirley, “nor do you know your son. He has more constancy—more strength of character than you think—and far more principle than you have.”
“So much the greater the victory for you,” he answered good humouredly.
“Ah,” she said reproachfully, “you do not love your son.”
“I do love him,” replied Ryder warmly. “It's because I love him that I'm such a fool in this matter. Don't you see that if he marries this girl it would separate us, and I should lose him. I don't want to lose him. If I welcomed her to my house it would make me the laughing-stock of all my friends and business associates. Come, will you join forces with me?”
Shirley shook her head and was about to reply when the telephone bell rang. Ryder took up the receiver and spoke to the butler downstairs:
“Who's that? Judge Stott? Tell him I'm too busy to see anyone. What's that? A man's life at stake? What's that to do with me? Tell him—”
On hearing Stott's name, Shirley nearly betrayed herself. She turned pale and half-started up from her chair. Something serious must have happened to bring her father's legal adviser to the Ryder residence at such an hour! She thought he was in Washington. Could it be that the proceedings in the Senate were ended and the result known? She could hardly conceal her anxiety, and instinctively she placed her hand on Ryder's arm.
“No, Mr. Ryder, do see Judge Stott! You must see him. I know who he is. Your son has told me. Judge Stott is one of Judge Rossmore's advisers. See him. You may find out something about the girl. You may find out where she is. If Jefferson finds out you have refused to see her father's friend at such a critical time it will only make him sympathize more deeply with the Rossmores, and you know sympathy is akin to love. That's what you want to avoid, isn't it?”
Ryder still held the telephone, hesitating what to do. What she said sounded like good sense.