The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

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Chapter XXVIII 
It was in the face of this very altered situation that Cowperwood arrived at 
Stener's office late this Monday afternoon. 
Stener was quite alone, worried and distraught. He was anxious to see 
Cowperwood, and at the same time afraid. 
"George," began Cowperwood, briskly, on seeing him, "I haven't much time 
to spare now, but I've come, finally, to tell you that you'll have to let me have 
three hundred thousand more if you don't want me to fail. Things are 
looking very bad today. They've caught me in a corner on my loans; but this 
storm isn't going to last. You can see by the very character of it that it can't." 
He was looking at Stener's face, and seeing fear and a pained and yet very 
definite necessity for opposition written there. "Chicago is burning, but it 
will be built up again. Business will be all the better for it later on. Now, I 
want you to be reasonable and help me. Don't get frightened." 
Stener stirred uneasily. "Don't let these politicians scare you to death. It will 
all blow over in a few days, and then we'll be better off than ever. Did you 
see Mollenhauer?" 
"Yes." 
"Well, what did he have to say?" 
"He said just what I thought he'd say. He won't let me do this. I can't, Frank, 
I tell you!" exclaimed Stener, jumping up. He was so nervous that he had 
had a hard time keeping his seat during this short, direct conversation. "I 
can't! They've got me in a corner! They're after me! They all know what we've 
been doing. Oh, say, Frank"—he threw up his arms wildly—"you've got to get 
me out of this. You've got to let me have that five hundred thousand back 
and get me out of this. If you don't, and you should fail, they'll send me to 
the penitentiary. I've got a wife and four children, Frank. I can't go on in 
this. It's too big for me. I never should have gone in on it in the first place. I 
never would have if you hadn't persuaded me, in a way. I never thought 
when I began that I would ever get in as bad as all this. I can't go on, Frank. 
I can't! I'm willing you should have all my stock. Only give me back that five 
hundred thousand, and we'll call it even." His voice rose nervously as he 
talked, and he wiped his wet forehead with his hand and stared at 
Cowperwood pleadingly, foolishly. 
Cowperwood stared at him in return for a few moments with a cold, fishy 
eye. He knew a great deal about human nature, and he was ready for and 
expectant of any queer shift in an individual's attitude, particularly in time 
of panic; but this shift of Stener's was quite too much. "Whom else have you 

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been talking to, George, since I saw you? Whom have you seen? What did 
Sengstack have to say?" 
"He says just what Mollenhauer does, that I mustn't loan any more money 
under any circumstances, and he says I ought to get that five hundred 
thousand back as quickly as possible." 
"And you think Mollenhauer wants to help you, do you?" inquired 
Cowperwood, finding it hard to efface the contempt which kept forcing itself 
into his voice. 
"I think he does, yes. I don't know who else will, Frank, if he don't. He's one 
of the big political forces in this town." 
"Listen to me," began Cowperwood, eyeing him fixedly. Then he paused. 
"What did he say you should do about your holdings?" 
"Sell them through Tighe & Company and put the money back in the 
treasury, if you won't take them." 
"Sell them to whom?" asked Cowperwood, thinking of Stener's last words. 
"To any one on 'change who'll take them, I suppose. I don't know." 
"I thought so," said Cowperwood, comprehendingly. "I might have known as 
much. They're working you, George. They're simply trying to get your stocks 
away from you. Mollenhauer is leading you on. He knows I can't do what 
you want—give you back the five hundred thousand dollars. He wants you 
to throw your stocks on the market so that he can pick them up. Depend on 
it, that's all arranged for already. When you do, he's got me in his clutches, 
or he thinks he has—he and Butler and Simpson. They want to get together 
on this local street-railway situation, and I know it, I feel it. I've felt it 
coming all along. Mollenhauer hasn't any more intention of helping you than 
he has of flying. Once you've sold your stocks he's through with you—mark 
my word. Do you think he'll turn a hand to keep you out of the penitentiary 
once you're out of this street-railway situation? He will not. And if you think 
so, you're a bigger fool than I take you to be, George. Don't go crazy. Don't 
lose your head. Be sensible. Look the situation in the face. Let me explain it 
to you. If you don't help me now—if you don't let me have three hundred 
thousand dollars by to-morrow noon, at the very latest, I'm through, and so 
are you. There is not a thing the matter with our situation. Those stocks of 
ours are as good to-day as they ever were. Why, great heavens, man, the 
railways are there behind them. They're paying. The Seventeenth and 
Nineteenth Street line is earning one thousand dollars a day right now. 
What better evidence do you want than that? Green & Coates is earning five 
hundred dollars. You're frightened, George. These damned political 
schemers have scared you. Why, you've as good a right to loan that money 
as Bode and Murtagh had before you. They did it. You've been doing it for 

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Mollenhauer and the others, only so long as you do it for them it's all right. 
What's a designated city depository but a loan?" 
Cowperwood was referring to the system under which certain portions of city 
money, like the sinking-fund, were permitted to be kept in certain banks at 
a low rate of interest or no rate—banks in which Mollenhauer and Butler 
and Simpson were interested. This was their safe graft. 
"Don't throw your chances away, George. Don't quit now. You'll be worth 
millions in a few years, and you won't have to turn a hand. All you will have 
to do will be to keep what you have. If you don't help me, mark my word, 
they'll throw you over the moment I'm out of this, and they'll let you go to 
the penitentiary. Who's going to put up five hundred thousand dollars for 
you, George? Where is Mollenhauer going to get it, or Butler, or anybody, in 
these times? They can't. They don't intend to. When I'm through, you're 
through, and you'll be exposed quicker than any one else. They can't hurt 
me, George. I'm an agent. I didn't ask you to come to me. You came to me in 
the first place of your own accord. If you don't help me, you're through, I tell 
you, and you're going to be sent to the penitentiary as sure as there are 
jails. Why don't you take a stand, George? Why don't you stand your 
ground? You have your wife and children to look after. You can't be any 
worse off loaning me three hundred thousand more than you are right now. 
What difference does it make—five hundred thousand or eight hundred 
thousand? It's all one and the same thing, if you're going to be tried for it. 
Besides, if you loan me this, there isn't going to be any trial. I'm not going to 
fail. This storm will blow over in a week or ten days, and we'll be rich again. 
For Heaven's sake, George, don't go to pieces this way! Be sensible! Be 
reasonable!" 
He paused, for Stener's face had become a jelly-like mass of woe. 
"I can't, Frank," he wailed. "I tell you I can't. They'll punish me worse than 
ever if I do that. They'll never let up on me. You don't know these people." 
In Stener's crumpling weakness Cowperwood read his own fate. What could 
you do with a man like that? How brace him up? You couldn't! And with a 
gesture of infinite understanding, disgust, noble indifference, he threw up 
his hands and started to walk out. At the door he turned. 
"George," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for you, not for myself. I'll come out of 
things all right, eventually. I'll be rich. But, George, you're making the one 
great mistake of your life. You'll be poor; you'll be a convict, and you'll have 
only yourself to blame. There isn't a thing the matter with this money 
situation except the fire. There isn't a thing wrong with my affairs except 
this slump in stocks—this panic. You sit there, a fortune in your hands, and 
you allow a lot of schemers, highbinders, who don't know any more of your 

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affairs or mine than a rabbit, and who haven't any interest in you except to 
plan what they can get out of you, to frighten you and prevent you from 
doing the one thing that will save your life. Three hundred thousand paltry 
dollars that in three or four weeks from now I can pay back to you four and 
five times over, and for that you will see me go broke and yourself to the 
penitentiary. I can't understand it, George. You're out of your mind. You're 
going to rue this the longest day that you live." 
He waited a few moments to see if this, by any twist of chance, would have 
any effect; then, noting that Stener still remained a wilted, helpless mass of 
nothing, he shook his head gloomily and walked out. 
It was the first time in his life that Cowperwood had ever shown the least 
sign of weakening or despair. He had felt all along as though there were 
nothing to the Greek theory of being pursued by the furies. Now, however, 
there seemed an untoward fate which was pursuing him. It looked that way. 
Still, fate or no fate, he did not propose to be daunted. Even in this very 
beginning of a tendency to feel despondent he threw back his head, 
expanded his chest, and walked as briskly as ever. 
In the large room outside Stener's private office he encountered Albert 
Stires, Stener's chief clerk and secretary. He and Albert had exchanged 
many friendly greetings in times past, and all the little minor transactions in 
regard to city loan had been discussed between them, for Albert knew more 
of the intricacies of finance and financial bookkeeping than Stener would 
ever know. 
At the sight of Stires the thought in regard to the sixty thousand dollars' 
worth of city loan certificates, previously referred to, flashed suddenly 
through his mind. He had not deposited them in the sinking-fund, and did 
not intend to for the present—could not, unless considerable free money 
were to reach him shortly—for he had used them to satisfy other pressing 
demands, and had no free money to buy them back—or, in other words, 
release them. And he did not want to just at this moment. Under the law 
governing transactions of this kind with the city treasurer, he was supposed 
to deposit them at once to the credit of the city, and not to draw his pay 
therefor from the city treasurer until he had. To be very exact, the city 
treasurer, under the law, was not supposed to pay him for any transaction 
of this kind until he or his agents presented a voucher from the bank or 
other organization carrying the sinking-fund for the city showing that the 
certificates so purchased had actually been deposited there. As a matter of 
fact, under the custom which had grown up between him and Stener, the 
law had long been ignored in this respect. He could buy certificates of city 
loan for the sinking-fund up to any reasonable amount, hypothecate them 
where he pleased, and draw his pay from the city without presenting a 

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voucher. At the end of the month sufficient certificates of city loan could 
usually be gathered from one source and another to make up the deficiency, 
or the deficiency could actually be ignored, as had been done on more than 
one occasion, for long periods of time, while he used money secured by 
hypothecating the shares for speculative purposes. This was actually illegal; 
but neither Cowperwood nor Stener saw it in that light or cared. 
The trouble with this particular transaction was the note that he had 
received from Stener ordering him to stop both buying and selling, which 
put his relations with the city treasury on a very formal basis. He had 
bought these certificates before receiving this note, but had not deposited 
them. He was going now to collect his check; but perhaps the old, easy 
system of balancing matters at the end of the month might not be said to 
obtain any longer. Stires might ask him to present a voucher of deposit. If 
so, he could not now get this check for sixty thousand dollars, for he did not 
have the certificates to deposit. If not, he might get the money; but, also, it 
might constitute the basis of some subsequent legal action. If he did not 
eventually deposit the certificates before failure, some charge such as that of 
larceny might be brought against him. Still, he said to himself, he might not 
really fail even yet. If any of his banking associates should, for any reason, 
modify their decision in regard to calling his loans, he would not. Would 
Stener make a row about this if he so secured this check? Would the city 
officials pay any attention to him if he did? Could you get any district 
attorney to take cognizance of such a transaction, if Stener did complain? 
No, not in all likelihood; and, anyhow, nothing would come of it. No jury 
would punish him in the face of the understanding existing between him 
and Stener as agent or broker and principal. And, once he had the money, it 
was a hundred to one Stener would think no more about it. It would go in 
among the various unsatisfied liabilities, and nothing more would be 
thought about it. Like lightning the entire situation hashed through his 
mind. He would risk it. He stopped before the chief clerk's desk. 
"Albert," he said, in a low voice, "I bought sixty thousand dollars' worth of 
city loan for the sinking-fund this morning. Will you give my boy a check for 
it in the morning, or, better yet, will you give it to me now? I got your note 
about no more purchases. I'm going back to the office. You can just credit 
the sinking-fund with eight hundred certificates at from seventy-five to 
eighty. I'll send you the itemized list later." 
"Certainly, Mr. Cowperwood, certainly," replied Albert, with alacrity. "Stocks 
are getting an awful knock, aren't they? I hope you're not very much 
troubled by it?" 
"Not very, Albert," replied Cowperwood, smiling, the while the chief clerk was 
making out his check. He was wondering if by any chance Stener would 

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appear and attempt to interfere with this. It was a legal transaction. He had 
a right to the check provided he deposited the certificates, as was his 
custom, with the trustee of the fund. He waited tensely while Albert wrote, 
and finally, with the check actually in his hand, breathed a sigh of relief. 
Here, at least, was sixty thousand dollars, and to-night's work would enable 
him to cash the seventy-five thousand that had been promised him. To-
morrow, once more he must see Leigh, Kitchen, Jay Cooke & Co., Edward 
Clark & Co.—all the long list of people to whom he owed loans and find out 
what could be done. If he could only get time! If he could get just a week!