The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

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Chapter XLV 
Say what one will about prison life in general, modify it ever so much by 
special chambers, obsequious turnkeys, a general tendency to make one as 
comfortable as possible, a jail is a jail, and there is no getting away from 
that. Cowperwood, in a room which was not in any way inferior to that of 
the ordinary boarding-house, was nevertheless conscious of the character of 
that section of this real prison which was not yet his portion. He knew that 
there were cells there, probably greasy and smelly and vermin-infested, and 
that they were enclosed by heavy iron bars, which would have as readily 
clanked on him as on those who were now therein incarcerated if he had not 
had the price to pay for something better. So much for the alleged equality of 
man, he thought, which gave to one man, even within the grim confines of 
the machinery of justice, such personal liberty as he himself was now 
enjoying, and to another, because he chanced to lack wit or presence or 
friends or wealth, denied the more comfortable things which money would 
buy. 
The morning after the trial, on waking, he stirred curiously, and then it 
suddenly came to him that he was no longer in the free and comfortable 
atmosphere of his own bedroom, but in a jail-cell, or rather its very 
comfortable substitute, a sheriff's rented bedroom. He got up and looked out 
the window. The ground outside and Passayunk Avenue were white with 
snow. Some wagons were silently lumbering by. A few Philadelphians were 
visible here and there, going to and fro on morning errands. He began to 
think at once what he must do, how he must act to carry on his business, to 
rehabilitate himself; and as he did so he dressed and pulled the bell-cord, 
which had been indicated to him, and which would bring him an attendant 
who would build him a fire and later bring him something to eat. A shabby 
prison attendant in a blue uniform, conscious of Cowperwood's superiority 
because of the room he occupied, laid wood and coal in the grate and 
started a fire, and later brought him his breakfast, which was anything but 
prison fare, though poor enough at that. 
After that he was compelled to wait in patience several hours, in spite of the 
sheriff's assumption of solicitous interest, before his brother Edward was 
admitted with his clothes. An attendant, for a consideration, brought him 
the morning papers, and these, except for the financial news, he read 
indifferently. Late in the afternoon Steger arrived, saying he had been busy 
having certain proceedings postponed, but that he had arranged with the 
sheriff for Cowperwood to be permitted to see such of those as had 
important business with him. 
By this time, Cowperwood had written Aileen under no circumstances to try 
to see him, as he would be out by the tenth, and that either that day, or 

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shortly after, they would meet. As he knew, she wanted greatly to see him, 
but he had reason to believe she was under surveillance by detectives 
employed by her father. This was not true, but it was preying on her fancy, 
and combined with some derogatory remarks dropped by Owen and Callum 
at the dinner table recently, had proved almost too much for her fiery 
disposition. But, because of Cowperwood's letter reaching her at the 
Calligans', she made no move until she read on the morning of the tenth 
that Cowperwood's plea for a certificate of reasonable doubt had been 
granted, and that he would once more, for the time being at least, be a free 
man. This gave her courage to do what she had long wanted to do, and that 
was to teach her father that she could get along without him and that he 
could not make her do anything she did not want to do. She still had the 
two hundred dollars Cowperwood had given her and some additional cash of 
her own—perhaps three hundred and fifty dollars in all. This she thought 
would be sufficient to see her to the end of her adventure, or at least until 
she could make some other arrangement for her personal well-being. From 
what she knew of the feeling of her family for her, she felt that the agony 
would all be on their side, not hers. Perhaps when her father saw how 
determined she was he would decide to let her alone and make peace with 
her. She was determined to try it, anyhow, and immediately sent word to 
Cowperwood that she was going to the Calligans and would welcome him to 
freedom. 
In a way, Cowperwood was rather gratified by Aileen's message, for he felt 
that his present plight, bitter as it was, was largely due to Butler's 
opposition and he felt no compunction in striking him through his daughter. 
His former feeling as to the wisdom of not enraging Butler had proved rather 
futile, he thought, and since the old man could not be placated it might be 
just as well to have Aileen demonstrate to him that she was not without 
resources of her own and could live without him. She might force him to 
change his attitude toward her and possibly even to modify some of his 
political machinations against him, Cowperwood. Any port in a storm—and 
besides, he had now really nothing to lose, and instinct told him that her 
move was likely to prove more favorable than otherwise—so he did nothing 
to prevent it. 
She took her jewels, some underwear, a couple of dresses which she thought 
would be serviceable, and a few other things, and packed them in the most 
capacious portmanteau she had. Shoes and stockings came into 
consideration, and, despite her efforts, she found that she could not get in 
all that she wished. Her nicest hat, which she was determined to take, had 
to be carried outside. She made a separate bundle of it, which was not 
pleasant to contemplate. Still she decided to take it. She rummaged in a 
little drawer where she kept her money and jewels, and found the three 

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hundred and fifty dollars and put it in her purse. It wasn't much, as Aileen 
could herself see, but Cowperwood would help her. If he did not arrange to 
take care of her, and her father would not relent, she would have to get 
something to do. Little she knew of the steely face the world presents to 
those who have not been practically trained and are not economically 
efficient. She did not understand the bitter reaches of life at all. She waited, 
humming for effect, until she heard her father go downstairs to dinner on 
this tenth day of December, then leaned over the upper balustrade to make 
sure that Owen, Callum, Norah, and her mother were at the table, and that 
Katy, the housemaid, was not anywhere in sight. Then she slipped into her 
father's den, and, taking a note from inside her dress, laid it on his desk, 
and went out. It was addressed to "Father," and read: 
Dear Father,—I just cannot do what you want me to. I have 
made up my mind that I love Mr. Cowperwood too much, so I am 
going away. Don't look for me with him. You won't find me 
where you think. I am not going to him; I will not be 
there. I am going to try to get along by myself for a 
while, until he wants me and can marry me. I'm terribly 
sorry; but I just can't do what you want. I can't ever 
forgive you for the way you acted to me. Tell mama and Norah 
and the boys good-by for me. 
Aileen 
To insure its discovery, she picked up Butler's heavy-rimmed spectacles 
which he employed always when reading, and laid them on it. For a moment 
she felt very strange, somewhat like a thief—a new sensation for her. She 
even felt a momentary sense of ingratitude coupled with pain. Perhaps she 
was doing wrong. Her father had been very good to her. Her mother would 
feel so very bad. Norah would be sorry, and Callum and Owen. Still, they did 
not understand her any more. She was resentful of her father's attitude. He 
might have seen what the point was; but no, he was too old, too hidebound 
in religion and conventional ideas—he never would. He might never let her 
come back. Very well, she would get along somehow. She would show him. 
She might get a place as a school-teacher, and live with the Calligans a long 
while, if necessary, or teach music. 
She stole downstairs and out into the vestibule, opening the outer door and 
looking out into the street. The lamps were already flaring in the dark, and a 
cool wind was blowing. Her portmanteau was heavy, but she was quite 
strong. She walked briskly to the corner, which was some fifty feet away, 

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and turned south, walking rather nervously and irritably, for this was a new 
experience for her, and it all seemed so undignified, so unlike anything she 
was accustomed to doing. She put her bag down on a street corner, finally, 
to rest. A boy whistling in the distance attracted her attention, and as he 
drew near she called to him: "Boy! Oh, boy!" 
He came over, looking at her curiously. 
"Do you want to earn some money?" 
"Yes, ma'am," he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over one ear. 
"Carry this bag for me," said Aileen, and he picked it up and marched off. 
In due time she arrived at the Calligans', and amid much excitement was 
installed in the bosom of her new home. She took her situation with much 
nonchalance, once she was properly placed, distributing her toilet articles 
and those of personal wear with quiet care. The fact that she was no longer 
to have the services of Kathleen, the maid who had served her and her 
mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She scarcely felt that 
she had parted from these luxuries permanently, and so made herself 
comfortable. 
Mamie Calligan and her mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not 
entirely out of the atmosphere which she craved and to which she was 
accustomed.