The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

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Chapter XXVII 
For the first time in his life Cowperwood felt conscious of having been in the 
presence of that interesting social phenomenon—the outraged sentiment of 
a parent. While he had no absolute knowledge as to why Butler had been so 
enraged, he felt that Aileen was the contributing cause. He himself was a 
father. His boy, Frank, Jr., was to him not so remarkable. But little Lillian, 
with her dainty little slip of a body and bright-aureoled head, had always 
appealed to him. She was going to be a charming woman one day, he 
thought, and he was going to do much to establish her safely. He used to tell 
her that she had "eyes like buttons," "feet like a pussy-cat," and hands that 
were "just five cents' worth," they were so little. The child admired her father 
and would often stand by his chair in the library or the sitting-room, or his 
desk in his private office, or by his seat at the table, asking him questions. 
This attitude toward his own daughter made him see clearly how Butler 
might feel toward Aileen. He wondered how he would feel if it were his own 
little Lillian, and still he did not believe he would make much fuss over the 
matter, either with himself or with her, if she were as old as Aileen. Children 
and their lives were more or less above the willing of parents, anyhow, and it 
would be a difficult thing for any parent to control any child, unless the 
child were naturally docile-minded and willing to be controlled. 
It also made him smile, in a grim way, to see how fate was raining 
difficulties on him. The Chicago fire, Stener's early absence, Butler, 
Mollenhauer, and Simpson's indifference to Stener's fate and his. And now 
this probable revelation in connection with Aileen. He could not be sure as 
yet, but his intuitive instincts told him that it must be something like this. 
Now he was distressed as to what Aileen would do, say if suddenly she were 
confronted by her father. If he could only get to her! But if he was to meet 
Butler's call for his loan, and the others which would come yet to-day or on 
the morrow, there was not a moment to lose. If he did not pay he must 
assign at once. Butler's rage, Aileen, his own danger, were brushed aside for 
the moment. His mind concentrated wholly on how to save himself 
financially. 
He hurried to visit George Waterman; David Wiggin, his wife's brother, who 
was now fairly well to do; Joseph Zimmerman, the wealthy dry-goods dealer 
who had dealt with him in the past; Judge Kitchen, a private manipulator of 
considerable wealth; Frederick Van Nostrand, the State treasurer, who was 
interested in local street-railway stocks, and others. Of all those to whom he 
appealed one was actually not in a position to do anything for him; another 
was afraid; a third was calculating eagerly to drive a hard bargain; a fourth 
was too deliberate, anxious to have much time. All scented the true value of 
his situation, all wanted time to consider, and he had no time to consider. 

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Judge Kitchen did agree to lend him thirty thousand dollars—a paltry sum. 
Joseph Zimmerman would only risk twenty-five thousand dollars. He could 
see where, all told, he might raise seventy-five thousand dollars by 
hypothecating double the amount in shares; but this was ridiculously 
insufficient. He had figured again, to a dollar, and he must have at least two 
hundred and fifty thousand dollars above all his present holdings, or he 
must close his doors. To-morrow at two o'clock he would know. If he didn't 
he would be written down as "failed" on a score of ledgers in Philadelphia. 
What a pretty pass for one to come to whose hopes had so recently run so 
high! There was a loan of one hundred thousand dollars from the Girard 
National Bank which he was particularly anxious to clear off. This bank was 
the most important in the city, and if he retained its good will by meeting 
this loan promptly he might hope for favors in the future whatever 
happened. Yet, at the moment, he did not see how he could do it. He 
decided, however, after some reflection, that he would deliver the stocks 
which Judge Kitchen, Zimmerman, and others had agreed to take and get 
their checks or cash yet this night. Then he would persuade Stener to let 
him have a check for the sixty thousand dollars' worth of city loan he had 
purchased this morning on 'change. Out of it he could take twenty-five 
thousand dollars to make up the balance due the bank, and still have thirty-
five thousand for himself. 
The one unfortunate thing about such an arrangement was that by doing it 
he was building up a rather complicated situation in regard to these same 
certificates. Since their purchase in the morning, he had not deposited them 
in the sinking-fund, where they belonged (they had been delivered to his 
office by half past one in the afternoon), but, on the contrary, had 
immediately hypothecated them to cover another loan. It was a risky thing 
to have done, considering that he was in danger of failing and that he was 
not absolutely sure of being able to take them up in time. 
But, he reasoned, he had a working agreement with the city treasurer (illegal 
of course), which would make such a transaction rather plausible, and 
almost all right, even if he failed, and that was that none of his accounts 
were supposed necessarily to be put straight until the end of the month. If 
he failed, and the certificates were not in the sinking-fund, he could say, as 
was the truth, that he was in the habit of taking his time, and had forgotten. 
This collecting of a check, therefore, for these as yet undeposited certificates 
would be technically, if not legally and morally, plausible. The city would be 
out only an additional sixty thousand dollars—making five hundred and 
sixty thousand dollars all told, which in view of its probable loss of five 
hundred thousand did not make so much difference. But his caution 
clashed with his need on this occasion, and he decided that he would not 
call for the check unless Stener finally refused to aid him with three 

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hundred thousand more, in which case he would claim it as his right. In all 
likelihood Stener would not think to ask whether the certificates were in the 
sinking-fund or not. If he did, he would have to lie—that was all. 
He drove rapidly back to his office, and, finding Butler's note, as he 
expected, wrote a check on his father's bank for the one hundred thousand 
dollars which had been placed to his credit by his loving parent, and sent it 
around to Butler's office. There was another note, from Albert Stires, 
Stener's secretary, advising him not to buy or sell any more city loan—that 
until further notice such transactions would not be honored. Cowperwood 
immediately sensed the source of this warning. Stener had been in 
conference with Butler or Mollenhauer, and had been warned and 
frightened. Nevertheless, he got in his buggy again and drove directly to the 
city treasurer's office. 
Since Cowperwood's visit Stener had talked still more with Sengstack, 
Strobik, and others, all sent to see that a proper fear of things financial had 
been put in his heart. The result was decidedly one which spelled opposition 
to Cowperwood. 
Strobik was considerably disturbed himself. He and Wycroft and Harmon 
had also been using money out of the treasury—much smaller sums, of 
course, for they had not Cowperwood's financial imagination—and were 
disturbed as to how they would return what they owed before the storm 
broke. If Cowperwood failed, and Stener was short in his accounts, the 
whole budget might be investigated, and then their loans would be brought 
to light. The thing to do was to return what they owed, and then, at least, no 
charge of malfeasance would lie against them. 
"Go to Mollenhauer," Strobik had advised Stener, shortly after Cowperwood 
had left the latter's office, "and tell him the whole story. He put you here. He 
was strong for your nomination. Tell him just where you stand and ask him 
what to do. He'll probably be able to tell you. Offer him your holdings to help 
you out. You have to. You can't help yourself. Don't loan Cowperwood 
another damned dollar, whatever you do. He's got you in so deep now you 
can hardly hope to get out. Ask Mollenhauer if he won't help you to get 
Cowperwood to put that money back. He may be able to influence him." 
There was more in this conversation to the same effect, and then Stener 
hurried as fast as his legs could carry him to Mollenhauer's office. He was so 
frightened that he could scarcely breathe, and he was quite ready to throw 
himself on his knees before the big German-American financier and leader. 
Oh, if Mr. Mollenhauer would only help him! If he could just get out of this 
without going to jail! 

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"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" he repeated, over and over to himself, as he 
walked. "What shall I do?" 
The attitude of Henry A. Mollenhauer, grim, political boss that he was—
trained in a hard school—was precisely the attitude of every such man in all 
such trying circumstances. 
He was wondering, in view of what Butler had told him, just how much he 
could advantage himself in this situation. If he could, he wanted to get 
control of whatever street-railway stock Stener now had, without in any way 
compromising himself. Stener's shares could easily be transferred on 
'change through Mollenhauer's brokers to a dummy, who would eventually 
transfer them to himself (Mollenhauer). Stener must be squeezed 
thoroughly, though, this afternoon, and as for his five hundred thousand 
dollars' indebtedness to the treasury, Mollenhauer did not see what could be 
done about that. If Cowperwood could not pay it, the city would have to lose 
it; but the scandal must be hushed up until after election. Stener, unless 
the various party leaders had more generosity than Mollenhauer imagined, 
would have to suffer exposure, arrest, trial, confiscation of his property, and 
possibly sentence to the penitentiary, though this might easily be commuted 
by the governor, once public excitement died down. He did not trouble to 
think whether Cowperwood was criminally involved or not. A hundred to one 
he was not. Trust a shrewd man like that to take care of himself. But if there 
was any way to shoulder the blame on to Cowperwood, and so clear the 
treasurer and the skirts of the party, he would not object to that. He wanted 
to hear the full story of Stener's relations with the broker first. Meanwhile, 
the thing to do was to seize what Stener had to yield. 
The troubled city treasurer, on being shown in Mr. Mollenhauer's presence, 
at once sank feebly in a chair and collapsed. He was entirely done for 
mentally. His nerve was gone, his courage exhausted like a breath. 
"Well, Mr. Stener?" queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, pretending not to 
know what brought him. 
"I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood." 
"Well, what about them?" 
"Well, he owes me, or the city treasury rather, five hundred thousand 
dollars, and I understand that he is going to fail and that he can't pay it 
back." 
"Who told you that?" 
"Mr. Sengstack, and since then Mr. Cowperwood has been to see me. He 
tells me he must have more money or he will fail and he wants to borrow 
three hundred thousand dollars more. He says he must have it." 

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"So!" said Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, and with an air of astonishment 
which he did not feel. "You would not think of doing that, of course. You're 
too badly involved as it is. If he wants to know why, refer him to me. Don't 
advance him another dollar. If you do, and this case comes to trial, no court 
would have any mercy on you. It's going to be difficult enough to do 
anything for you as it is. However, if you don't advance him any more—we 
will see. It may be possible, I can't say, but at any rate, no more money 
must leave the treasury to bolster up this bad business. It's much too 
difficult as it now is." He stared at Stener warningly. And he, shaken and 
sick, yet because of the faint suggestion of mercy involved somewhere in 
Mollenhauer's remarks, now slipped from his chair to his knees and folded 
his hands in the uplifted attitude of a devotee before a sacred image. 
"Oh, Mr. Mollenhauer," he choked, beginning to cry, "I didn't mean to do 
anything wrong. Strobik and Wycroft told me it was all right. You sent me to 
Cowperwood in the first place. I only did what I thought the others had been 
doing. Mr. Bode did it, just like I have been doing. He dealt with Tighe and 
Company. I have a wife and four children, Mr. Mollenhauer. My youngest 
boy is only seven years old. Think of them, Mr. Mollenhauer! Think of what 
my arrest will mean to them! I don't want to go to jail. I didn't think I was 
doing anything very wrong—honestly I didn't. I'll give up all I've got. You can 
have all my stocks and houses and lots—anything—if you'll only get me out 
of this. You won't let 'em send me to jail, will you?" 
His fat, white lips were trembling—wabbling nervously—and big hot tears 
were coursing down his previously pale but now flushed cheeks. He 
presented one of those almost unbelievable pictures which are yet so 
intensely human and so true. If only the great financial and political giants 
would for once accurately reveal the details of their lives! 
Mollenhauer looked at him calmly, meditatively. How often had he seen 
weaklings no more dishonest than himself, but without his courage and 
subtlety, pleading to him in this fashion, not on their knees exactly, but 
intellectually so! Life to him, as to every other man of large practical 
knowledge and insight, was an inexplicable tangle. What were you going to 
do about the so-called morals and precepts of the world? This man Stener 
fancied that he was dishonest, and that he, Mollenhauer, was honest. He 
was here, self-convicted of sin, pleading to him, Mollenhauer, as he would to 
a righteous, unstained saint. As a matter of fact, Mollenhauer knew that he 
was simply shrewder, more far-seeing, more calculating, not less dishonest. 
Stener was lacking in force and brains—not morals. This lack was his 
principal crime. There were people who believed in some esoteric standard of 
right—some ideal of conduct absolutely and very far removed from practical 
life; but he had never seen them practice it save to their own financial (not 
moral—he would not say that) destruction. They were never significant, 

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practical men who clung to these fatuous ideals. They were always poor, 
nondescript, negligible dreamers. He could not have made Stener 
understand all this if he had wanted to, and he certainly did not want to. It 
was too bad about Mrs. Stener and the little Steners. No doubt she had 
worked hard, as had Stener, to get up in the world and be something—just a 
little more than miserably poor; and now this unfortunate complication had 
to arise to undo them—this Chicago fire. What a curious thing that was! If 
any one thing more than another made him doubt the existence of a kindly, 
overruling Providence, it was the unheralded storms out of clear skies—
financial, social, anything you choose—that so often brought ruin and 
disaster to so many. 
"Get Up, Stener," he said, calmly, after a few moments. "You mustn't give 
way to your feelings like this. You must not cry. These troubles are never 
unraveled by tears. You must do a little thinking for yourself. Perhaps your 
situation isn't so bad." 
As he was saying this Stener was putting himself back in his chair, getting 
out his handkerchief, and sobbing hopelessly in it. 
"I'll do what I can, Stener. I won't promise anything. I can't tell you what the 
result will be. There are many peculiar political forces in this city. I may not 
be able to save you, but I am perfectly willing to try. You must put yourself 
absolutely under my direction. You must not say or do anything without 
first consulting with me. I will send my secretary to you from time to time. 
He will tell you what to do. You must not come to me unless I send for you. 
Do you understand that thoroughly?" 
"Yes, Mr. Mollenhauer." 
"Well, now, dry your eyes. I don't want you to go out of this office crying. Go 
back to your office, and I will send Sengstack to see you. He will tell you 
what to do. Follow him exactly. And whenever I send for you come at once." 
He got up, large, self-confident, reserved. Stener, buoyed up by the subtle 
reassurance of his remarks, recovered to a degree his equanimity. Mr. 
Mollenhauer, the great, powerful Mr. Mollenhauer was going to help him out 
of his scrape. He might not have to go to jail after all. He left after a few 
moments, his face a little red from weeping, but otherwise free of telltale 
marks, and returned to his office. 
Three-quarters of an hour later, Sengstack called on him for the second time 
that day—Abner Sengstack, small, dark-faced, club-footed, a great sole of 
leather three inches thick under his short, withered right leg, his slightly 
Slavic, highly intelligent countenance burning with a pair of keen, piercing, 
inscrutable black eyes. Sengstack was a fit secretary for Mollenhauer. You 
could see at one glance that he would make Stener do exactly what 

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Mollenhauer suggested. His business was to induce Stener to part with his 
street-railway holdings at once through Tighe & Co., Butler's brokers, to the 
political sub-agent who would eventually transfer them to Mollenhauer. 
What little Stener received for them might well go into the treasury. Tighe & 
Co. would manage the "'change" subtleties of this without giving any one 
else a chance to bid, while at the same time making it appear an open-
market transaction. At the same time Sengstack went carefully into the state 
of the treasurer's office for his master's benefit—finding out what it was that 
Strobik, Wycroft, and Harmon had been doing with their loans. Via another 
source they were ordered to disgorge at once or face prosecution. They were 
a part of Mollenhauer's political machine. Then, having cautioned Stener not 
to set over the remainder of his property to any one, and not to listen to any 
one, most of all to the Machiavellian counsel of Cowperwood, Sengstack left. 
Needless to say, Mollenhauer was greatly gratified by this turn of affairs. 
Cowperwood was now most likely in a position where he would have to come 
and see him, or if not, a good share of the properties he controlled were 
already in Mollenhauer's possession. If by some hook or crook he could 
secure the remainder, Simpson and Butler might well talk to him about this 
street-railway business. His holdings were now as large as any, if not quite 
the largest.