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The Lever: A Novel

by William Dana Orcutt · English · Gutenberg #15430 · 491,581 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Lever: A Novel

Author: William Dana Orcutt


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

Language: English

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




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









                               THE LEVER

                         BY WILLIAM DANA ORCUTT

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

                                 1911


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




TO MY MOTHER

ELLEN DANA ORCUTT

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




THE LEVER




I


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you know about those?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I went abroad right after Commencement."

"To perfect yourself in the languages?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Imagination?" his wife queried.

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

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

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

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

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

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




II


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Absolutely."

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

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

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

"Then how can they serve the Consolidated Companies?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I claim he has," Gorham stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well?" Gorham encouraged, interrogatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Senator passed over the obvious correction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Certainly."

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

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

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

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

"But how do you know it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"None whatever," Kenmore replied, with decision.

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

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




III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Freckles and all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allen became unusually thoughtful as the conversation progressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better than anything else in the world."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




IV


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is the culprit?"

"Riley," she replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




V


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

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

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

"Come in," she called, innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What has happened?" again demanded Eleanor.

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

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

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

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

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

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




VI


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'They have no telephone,' he said.

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

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

"'But they have! I still insist.'

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

"'I really do,' I admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You had two licenses?"

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

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

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

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

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

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




VII


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Was that all?"

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

"And you never asked any questions?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleanor controlled herself before she continued.

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

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

"Were you quite alone there?" Alice asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Forgive me, dear Eleanor," Alice murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That and his anxiety over my unexplained absence."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




VIII


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I judge that he has proved that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you in his place?"

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

"Did you--in his place?"

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

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

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

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

"Chiefly because you asked it, Stephen."

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

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

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

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

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




IX


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you mean Stephen Sanford's son?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

When he returned Alice welcomed him full of anticipation.

"What have you gone into?" she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

"A book agent!" Mrs. Gorham exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Isn't this great!" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Allen squared himself for his maiden effort.

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

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

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

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

"Do what hurriedly?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But suppose--" Alice began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gee!" ejaculated Allen.

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

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

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




X


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does Mr. Gorham know all this ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A half-million apiece."

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

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

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

"Exactly," assented Harris.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




XI


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alice looked up quickly and smiled brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why should he interest himself in that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You never loved him?" he repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




XII


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

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

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

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

Allen, oblivious to everything except the present opportunity to prove
himself to Alice and to be near Alice, plunged ahead until Gorham was
forced to change his words of caution into actual commands.

"You are trying to put the head of the wedge in first, my boy," the
older man told him. "You are using twenty pounds of steam to do the work
of two, and that does no credit to your judgment."

Covington was negatively antagonistic from the start in that quiet,
skilful way which kept his animosity from any specific expression. Allen
felt it, and reciprocated the feeling with an intensity not lessened by
the knowledge that Covington and Alice were thrown together almost daily
by this business arrangement which seemed to him the height of
absurdity. He did not approve of the business manners which the girl
delighted to assume with him when they chanced to meet, and he watched
for an opportunity to tell her so.

As the opportunity seemed slow in coming, with characteristic energy he
made one to order. Gorham required some important papers which he had
left at his house the night before, and the boy so arranged his arrival
that he had the pleasure of seeing Covington depart, although he himself
was unobserved. He found Alice deep in the mysterious detail of her
growing responsibility, but not at all disturbed to be discovered at her
work. The desk which had been placed in her father's library was as near
a duplicate of his in reduced size as could be found. A bunch of letters
covered one end of it, while a neatly arranged pile of checks directly
in front of her showed that the contents of her mail had proved
profitable. She told Riley to bring Allen here, and the boy stood
regarding her for a moment before she looked up.

"Don't let me disturb you, Miss--Manager," he said, loftily, as he
caught her eye. "We magnates become peeved by interruptions--I always do
myself."

Alice laughed as Allen unlocked the drawer in Gorham's desk and placed
the desired papers in his pocket.

"Isn't it fun?" she asked, merrily.

"Isn't what fun?" was the unresponsive reply. "I haven't burst any
buttons off my waistcoat watching you and Mr. Covington do the
turtle-dove act while I drag out a tabloid existence in a two by twice
hall bedroom, and stay tied down to my desk all day. Where does the fun
come in?"

The girl looked at him in complete surprise. "What in the world--" she
began.

"Oh, I mean it--every word!" he insisted. Now that he had plunged in
there was no retreating. "I say, are you going to marry him?"

"I'd be angry with you if you weren't so terribly amusing, Allen," she
replied, smiling again after the first shock of his outburst. "Truly,
you don't know how funny you are when you try to be serious. It doesn't
fit."

Allen bit his lip. "I'm a joke still, am I?" he asked, without looking
at her. "I thought it was the pater's prerogative to consider me that,
but I see he didn't get it patented."

"Is it being a 'joke' when you ask questions which you have no right to
ask?"

"If you knew how I feel inside you'd think I had a right."

The girl relented a little. "You know as well as I do that Mr. Covington
comes here simply to help me in my business education."

"Business fiddlesticks!" he interrupted, crossly. "You're not engaged to
him yet, are you?"

There was so pathetic a tone of entreaty in Allen's voice that Alice
could not deny herself the pleasure of being mischievous.

"Not to him alone," she answered, demurely.

"What do you mean?" Allen demanded, now thoroughly alarmed.

"Don't you think it is better for a girl to make a number of men
comparatively happy by being engaged to them than one man supremely
miserable by marrying him?"

He looked at her aghast. "Who are some of the others?" he asked, with
despair written on every feature. "Is Joe Whitney one of them?"

"Joe Whitney!" Alice laughed merrily. "Mercy, no! Joe is entirely
without resources. If it wasn't for his family troubles, I shouldn't
know what in the world to talk to him about."

Allen began to be suspicious. The girl's manner was far too flippant to
be genuine, but he would not for the world give her the satisfaction of
knowing that she had worried him.

"If you have so many, why can't you add me to the list?"

"You? Oh, that would never do! You would be sure to think I meant it,
and the first thing I knew you would try to make me marry you."

"Of course I should. Don't you want to be married?"

"Marriage is an institution for the blind," she laughed back at him.

"Then that's where I want to be confined."

Alice sat up very straight. "Then you had better run right along and
find your guardian," she urged. "We business women have no time for such
trifles."

"So you shirk your responsibility, do you?" Allen looked at her so
reproachfully, and spoke with such quiet firmness that she ceased her
bantering.

"What responsibility am I shirking?" she demanded.

"Me; I am the greatest responsibility you have, and you are neglecting
me shamefully."

Alice gave evidence of becoming amused again, but he gravely checked
her.

"For once I am serious, if you can be made to believe it. When we met so
accidentally in Washington--well, I was a joke then, I admit; but it's
different now. You gave me some new ideas to think about, and the more
I've thought about them the more I've seen things your way. And ever
since then I've tried hard to do what I thought would please you. But
now I'm sick of the whole thing. It may be all my fault; but, anyhow, I
wish I were well out of it."

"Why, Allen Sanford!" Her voice showed astonishment and reproach.

"I do," he insisted. "I'd give a whole lot right now if I knew that I
never had to go back to the office again."

Alice was genuinely shocked. "I can't understand you," she said,
soberly. "If you had felt this way at the beginning, I shouldn't have
been so much surprised; but now, just when you are getting to a point
where you could be useful to father and to yourself, you begin to show
the white feather."

"You mustn't say that, Alice," the boy replied, quickly, his tone
showing that she hurt him. "It isn't quitting; it's a question of
whether or not I am fitted for business--but you mustn't say that I am
showing the white feather. I shan't let even you say that."

"Father says you are making a splendid start." She tried to atone in
part for her severity. "That ought to mean a lot to you, for he is a
hard man to satisfy."

"Did he say that?" Allen replied, temporarily mollified. "That does mean
a whole lot to me; but it's all your doing, and you must take the
responsibility. Good or bad, I'm your business creation, and you must
stand by it."

"No, Allen; you mustn't put it that way. You settled the matter for
yourself when you took the stand you did with your father. Of course I'm
more than interested to see you make good, but it isn't for me to accept
either the responsibility or the credit."

"We never should have had that scrap if it hadn't been for you. I
shouldn't have had the nerve."

"Oh, don't say that," she begged.

"It was a good thing all right," he hastened to reassure her. "Except
for that, I should still be wearing pinafores, and it's as much better
for the pater as it is for me to have shed them. I'd probably like
business all right if I understood the blamed thing; but it isn't the
whole show, you know."

"Isn't the business end enough?" she asked, quietly. "It is for me. I
can't tell you how much real pleasure I'm gett

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