The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

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Chapter XXV 
The residence of Henry A. Mollenhauer was, at that time, in a section of the 
city which was almost as new as that in which Butler was living. It was on 
South Broad Street, near a handsome library building which had been 
recently erected. It was a spacious house of the type usually affected by men 
of new wealth in those days—a structure four stories in height of yellow 
brick and white stone built after no school which one could readily identify, 
but not unattractive in its architectural composition. A broad flight of steps 
leading to a wide veranda gave into a decidedly ornate door, which was set 
on either side by narrow windows and ornamented to the right and left with 
pale-blue jardinieres of considerable charm of outline. The interior, divided 
into twenty rooms, was paneled and parqueted in the most expensive 
manner for homes of that day. There was a great reception-hall, a large 
parlor or drawing-room, a dining-room at least thirty feet square paneled in 
oak; and on the second floor were a music-room devoted to the talents of 
Mollenhauer's three ambitious daughters, a library and private office for 
himself, a boudoir and bath for his wife, and a conservatory. 
Mollenhauer was, and felt himself to be, a very important man. His financial 
and political judgment was exceedingly keen. Although he was a German, or 
rather an American of German parentage, he was a man of a rather 
impressive American presence. He was tall and heavy and shrewd and cold. 
His large chest and wide shoulders supported a head of distinguished 
proportions, both round and long when seen from different angles. The 
frontal bone descended in a protruding curve over the nose, and projected 
solemnly over the eyes, which burned with a shrewd, inquiring gaze. And 
the nose and mouth and chin below, as well as his smooth, hard cheeks, 
confirmed the impression that he knew very well what he wished in this 
world, and was very able without regard to let or hindrance to get it. It was a 
big face, impressive, well modeled. He was an excellent friend of Edward 
Malia Butler's, as such friendships go, and his regard for Mark Simpson was 
as sincere as that of one tiger for another. He respected ability; he was 
willing to play fair when fair was the game. When it was not, the reach of his 
cunning was not easily measured. 
When Edward Butler and his son arrived on this Sunday evening, this 
distinguished representative of one-third of the city's interests was not 
expecting them. He was in his library reading and listening to one of his 
daughters playing the piano. His wife and his other two daughters had gone 
to church. He was of a domestic turn of mind. Still, Sunday evening being 
an excellent one for conference purposes generally in the world of politics, 
he was not without the thought that some one or other of his distinguished 
confreres might call, and when the combination footman and butler 
announced the presence of Butler and his son, he was well pleased. 

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"So there you are," he remarked to Butler, genially, extending his hand. "I'm 
certainly glad to see you. And Owen! How are you, Owen? What will you 
gentlemen have to drink, and what will you smoke? I know you'll have 
something. John"—to the servitor—-"see if you can find something for these 
gentlemen. I have just been listening to Caroline play; but I think you've 
frightened her off for the time being." 
He moved a chair into position for Butler, and indicated to Owen another on 
the other side of the table. In a moment his servant had returned with a 
silver tray of elaborate design, carrying whiskies and wines of various dates 
and cigars in profusion. Owen was the new type of young financier who 
neither smoked nor drank. His father temperately did both. 
"It's a comfortable place you have here," said Butler, without any indication 
of the important mission that had brought him. "I don't wonder you stay at 
home Sunday evenings. What's new in the city?" 
"Nothing much, so far as I can see," replied Mollenhauer, pacifically. "Things 
seem to be running smooth enough. You don't know anything that we ought 
to worry about, do you?" 
"Well, yes," said Butler, draining off the remainder of a brandy and soda that 
had been prepared for him. "One thing. You haven't seen an avenin' paper, 
have you?" 
"No, I haven't," said Mollenhauer, straightening up. "Is there one out? 
What's the trouble anyhow?" 
"Nothing—except Chicago's burning, and it looks as though we'd have a little 
money-storm here in the morning." 
"You don't say! I didn't hear that. There's a paper out, is there? Well, well—is 
it much of a fire?" 
"The city is burning down, so they say," put in Owen, who was watching the 
face of the distinguished politician with considerable interest. 
"Well, that is news. I must send out and get a paper. John!" he called. His 
man-servant appeared. "See if you can get me a paper somewhere." The 
servant disappeared. "What makes you think that would have anything to do 
with us?" observed Mollenhauer, returning to Butler. 
"Well, there's one thing that goes with that that I didn't know till a little 
while ago and that is that our man Stener is apt to be short in his accounts, 
unless things come out better than some people seem to think," suggested 
Butler, calmly. "That might not look so well before election, would it?" His 
shrewd gray Irish eyes looked into Mollenhauer's, who returned his gaze. 

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"Where did you get that?" queried Mr. Mollenhauer icily. "He hasn't 
deliberately taken much money, has he? How much has he taken—do you 
know?" 
"Quite a bit," replied Butler, quietly. "Nearly five hundred thousand, so I 
understand. Only I wouldn't say that it has been taken as yet. It's in danger 
of being lost." 
"Five hundred thousand!" exclaimed Mollenhauer in amazement, and yet 
preserving his usual calm. "You don't tell me! How long has this been going 
on? What has he been doing with the money?" 
"He's loaned a good deal—about five hundred thousand dollars to this young 
Cowperwood in Third Street, that's been handlin' city loan. They've been 
investin' it for themselves in one thing and another—mostly in buyin' up 
street-railways." (At the mention of street-railways Mollenhauer's impassive 
countenance underwent a barely perceptible change.) "This fire, accordin' to 
Cowperwood, is certain to produce a panic in the mornin', and unless he 
gets considerable help he doesn't see how he's to hold out. If he doesn't hold 
out, there'll be five hundred thousand dollars missin' from the city treasury 
which can't be put back. Stener's out of town and Cowperwood's come to me 
to see what can be done about it. As a matter of fact, he's done a little 
business for me in times past, and he thought maybe I could help him 
now—that is, that I might get you and the Senator to see the big bankers 
with me and help support the market in the mornin'. If we don't he's goin' to 
fail, and he thought the scandal would hurt us in the election. He doesn't 
appear to me to be workin' any game—just anxious to save himself and do 
the square thing by me—by us, if he can." Butler paused. 
Mollenhauer, sly and secretive himself, was apparently not at all moved by 
this unexpected development. At the same time, never having thought of 
Stener as having any particular executive or financial ability, he was a little 
stirred and curious. So his treasurer was using money without his knowing 
it, and now stood in danger of being prosecuted! Cowperwood he knew of 
only indirectly, as one who had been engaged to handle city loan. He had 
profited by his manipulation of city loan. Evidently the banker had made a 
fool of Stener, and had used the money for street-railway shares! He and 
Stener must have quite some private holdings then. That did interest 
Mollenhauer greatly. 
"Five hundred thousand dollars!" he repeated, when Butler had finished. 
"That is quite a little money. If merely supporting the market would save 
Cowperwood we might do that, although if it's a severe panic I do not see 
how anything we can do will be of very much assistance to him. If he's in a 
very tight place and a severe slump is coming, it will take a great deal more 

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than our merely supporting the market to save him. I've been through that 
before. You don't know what his liabilities are?" 
"I do not," said Butler. 
"He didn't ask for money, you say?" 
"He wants me to l'ave a hundred thousand he has of mine until he sees 
whether he can get through or not." 
"Stener is really out of town, I suppose?" Mollenhauer was innately 
suspicious. 
"So Cowperwood says. We can send and find out." 
Mollenhauer was thinking of the various aspects of the case. Supporting the 
market would be all very well if that would save Cowperwood, and the 
Republican party and his treasurer. At the same time Stener could then be 
compelled to restore the five hundred thousand dollars to the city treasury, 
and release his holdings to some one—preferably to him—Mollenhauer. But 
here was Butler also to be considered in this matter. What might he not 
want? He consulted with Butler and learned that Cowperwood had agreed to 
return the five hundred thousand in case he could get it together. The 
various street-car holdings were not asked after. But what assurance had 
any one that Cowperwood could be so saved? And could, or would get the 
money together? And if he were saved would he give the money back to 
Stener? If he required actual money, who would loan it to him in a time like 
this—in case a sharp panic was imminent? What security could he give? On 
the other hand, under pressure from the right parties he might be made to 
surrender all his street-railway holdings for a song—his and Stener's. If he 
(Mollenhauer) could get them he would not particularly care whether the 
election was lost this fall or not, although he felt satisfied, as had Owen, 
that it would not be lost. It could be bought, as usual. The defalcation—if 
Cowperwood's failure made Stener's loan into one—could be concealed long 
enough, Mollenhauer thought, to win. Personally as it came to him now he 
would prefer to frighten Stener into refusing Cowperwood additional aid, and 
then raid the latter's street-railway stock in combination with everybody 
else's, for that matter—Simpson's and Butler's included. One of the big 
sources of future wealth in Philadelphia lay in these lines. For the present, 
however, he had to pretend an interest in saving the party at the polls. 
"I can't speak for the Senator, that's sure," pursued Mollenhauer, 
reflectively. "I don't know what he may think. As for myself, I am perfectly 
willing to do what I can to keep up the price of stocks, if that will do any 
good. I would do so naturally in order to protect my loans. The thing that we 
ought to be thinking about, in my judgment, is how to prevent exposure, in 
case Mr. Cowperwood does fail, until after election. We have no assurance, 

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of course, that however much we support the market we will be able to 
sustain it." 
"We have not," replied Butler, solemnly. 
Owen thought he could see Cowperwood's approaching doom quite plainly. 
At that moment the door-bell rang. A maid, in the absence of the footman, 
brought in the name of Senator Simpson. 
"Just the man," said Mollenhauer. "Show him up. You can see what he 
thinks." 
"Perhaps I had better leave you alone now," suggested Owen to his father. 
"Perhaps I can find Miss Caroline, and she will sing for me. I'll wait for you, 
father," he added. 
Mollenhauer cast him an ingratiating smile, and as he stepped out Senator 
Simpson walked in. 
A more interesting type of his kind than Senator Mark Simpson never 
flourished in the State of Pennsylvania, which has been productive of 
interesting types. Contrasted with either of the two men who now greeted 
him warmly and shook his hand, he was physically unimpressive. He was 
small—five feet nine inches, to Mollenhauer's six feet and Butler's five feet 
eleven inches and a half, and then his face was smooth, with a receding jaw. 
In the other two this feature was prominent. Nor were his eyes as frank as 
those of Butler, nor as defiant as those of Mollenhauer; but for subtlety they 
were unmatched by either—deep, strange, receding, cavernous eyes which 
contemplated you as might those of a cat looking out of a dark hole, and 
suggesting all the artfulness that has ever distinguished the feline family. He 
had a strange mop of black hair sweeping down over a fine, low, white 
forehead, and a skin as pale and bluish as poor health might make it; but 
there was, nevertheless, resident here a strange, resistant, capable force 
that ruled men—the subtlety with which he knew how to feed cupidity with 
hope and gain and the ruthlessness with which he repaid those who said 
him nay. He was a still man, as such a man might well have been—feeble 
and fish-like in his handshake, wan and slightly lackadaisical in his smile, 
but speaking always with eyes that answered for every defect. 
"Av'nin', Mark, I'm glad to see you," was Butler's greeting. 
"How are you, Edward?" came the quiet reply. 
"Well, Senator, you're not looking any the worse for wear. Can I pour you 
something?" 
"Nothing to-night, Henry," replied Simpson. "I haven't long to stay. I just 
stopped by on my way home. My wife's over here at the Cavanaghs', and I 
have to stop by to fetch her." 

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"Well, it's a good thing you dropped in, Senator, just when you did," began 
Mollenhauer, seating himself after his guest. "Butler here has been telling 
me of a little political problem that has arisen since I last saw you. I suppose 
you've heard that Chicago is burning?" 
"Yes; Cavanagh was just telling me. It looks to be quite serious. I think the 
market will drop heavily in the morning." 
"I wouldn't be surprised myself," put in Mollenhauer, laconically. 
"Here's the paper now," said Butler, as John, the servant, came in from the 
street bearing the paper in his hand. Mollenhauer took it and spread it out 
before them. It was among the earliest of the "extras" that were issued in 
this country, and contained a rather impressive spread of type announcing 
that the conflagration in the lake city was growing hourly worse since its 
inception the day before. 
"Well, that is certainly dreadful," said Simpson. "I'm very sorry for Chicago. I 
have many friends there. I shall hope to hear that it is not so bad as it 
seems." 
The man had a rather grandiloquent manner which he never abandoned 
under any circumstances. 
"The matter that Butler was telling me about," continued Mollenhauer, "has 
something to do with this in a way. You know the habit our city treasurers 
have of loaning out their money at two per cent.?" 
"Yes?" said Simpson, inquiringly. 
"Well, Mr. Stener, it seems, has been loaning out a good deal of the city's 
money to this young Cowperwood, in Third Street, who has been handling 
city loans." 
"You don't say!" said Simpson, putting on an air of surprise. "Not much, I 
hope?" The Senator, like Butler and Mollenhauer, was profiting greatly by 
cheap loans from the same source to various designated city depositories. 
"Well, it seems that Stener has loaned him as much as five hundred 
thousand dollars, and if by any chance Cowperwood shouldn't be able to 
weather this storm, Stener is apt to be short that amount, and that wouldn't 
look so good as a voting proposition to the people in November, do you 
think? Cowperwood owes Mr. Butler here one hundred thousand dollars, 
and because of that he came to see him to-night. He wanted Butler to see if 
something couldn't be done through us to tide him over. If not"—he waved 
one hand suggestively—"well, he might fail." 
Simpson fingered his strange, wide mouth with his delicate hand. "What 
have they been doing with the five hundred thousand dollars?" he asked. 

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"Oh, the boys must make a little somethin' on the side," said Butler, 
cheerfully. "I think they've been buyin' up street-railways, for one thing." He 
stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. Both Mollenhauer and 
Simpson smiled wan smiles. 
"Quite so," said Mollenhauer. Senator Simpson merely looked the deep 
things that he thought. 
He, too, was thinking how useless it was for any one to approach a group of 
politicians with a proposition like this, particularly in a crisis such as bid 
fair to occur. He reflected that if he and Butler and Mollenhauer could get 
together and promise Cowperwood protection in return for the surrender of 
his street-railway holdings it would be a very different matter. It would be 
very easy in this case to carry the city treasury loan along in silence and 
even issue more money to support it; but it was not sure, in the first place, 
that Cowperwood could be made to surrender his stocks, and in the second 
place that either Butler or Mollenhauer would enter into any such deal with 
him, Simpson. Butler had evidently come here to say a good word for 
Cowperwood. Mollenhauer and himself were silent rivals. Although they 
worked together politically it was toward essentially different financial ends. 
They were allied in no one particular financial proposition, any more than 
Mollenhauer and Butler were. And besides, in all probability Cowperwood 
was no fool. He was not equally guilty with Stener; the latter had loaned him 
money. The Senator reflected on whether he should broach some such 
subtle solution of the situation as had occurred to him to his colleagues, but 
he decided not. Really Mollenhauer was too treacherous a man to work with 
on a thing of this kind. It was a splendid chance but dangerous. He had 
better go it alone. For the present they should demand of Stener that he get 
Cowperwood to return the five hundred thousand dollars if he could. If not, 
Stener could be sacrificed for the benefit of the party, if need be. 
Cowperwood's stocks, with this tip as to his condition, would, Simpson 
reflected, offer a good opportunity for a little stock-exchange work on the