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parties to 'bear' the market at some time during the month, so as to obtain a
low quotation for settlement. Nevertheless, the committee can only regard
the prosecution instituted against the broker, Mr. Cowperwood, as an effort
to divert public attention from more guilty parties while those concerned
may be able to 'fix' matters to suit themselves."
"There," thought Aileen, when she read it, "there you have it." These
politicians—her father among them as she gathered after his conversation
with her—were trying to put the blame of their own evil deeds on her Frank.
He was not nearly as bad as he was painted. The report said so. She gloated
over the words "an effort to divert public attention from more guilty parties."
That was just what her Frank had been telling her in those happy, private
hours when they had been together recently in one place and another,
particularly the new rendezvous in South Sixth Street which he had
established, since the old one had to be abandoned. He had stroked her rich
hair, caressed her body, and told her it was all a prearranged political
scheme to cast the blame as much as possible on him and make it as light
as possible for Stener and the party generally. He would come out of it all
right, he said, but he cautioned her not to talk. He did not deny his long and
profitable relations with Stener. He told her exactly how it was. She
understood, or thought she did. Anyhow, her Frank was telling her, and that
was enough.
As for the two Cowperwood households, so recently and pretentiously joined
in success, now so gloomily tied in failure, the life was going out of them.
Frank Algernon was that life. He was the courage and force of his father: the
spirit and opportunity of his brothers, the hope of his children, the estate of
his wife, the dignity and significance of the Cowperwood name. All that
meant opportunity, force, emolument, dignity, and happiness to those
connected with him, he was. And his marvelous sun was waning apparently
to a black eclipse.
Since the fatal morning, for instance, when Lillian Cowperwood had received
that utterly destructive note, like a cannonball ripping through her domestic
affairs, she had been walking like one in a trance. Each day now for weeks
she had been going about her duties placidly enough to all outward
seeming, but inwardly she was running with a troubled tide of thought. She
was so utterly unhappy. Her fortieth year had come for her at a time when
life ought naturally to stand fixed and firm on a solid base, and here she
was about to be torn bodily from the domestic soil in which she was growing
and blooming, and thrown out indifferently to wither in the blistering
noonday sun of circumstance.
As for Cowperwood, Senior, his situation at his bank and elsewhere was
rapidly nearing a climax. As has been said, he had had tremendous faith in
his son; but he could not help seeing that an error had been committed, as
he thought, and that Frank was suffering greatly for it now. He considered,
of course, that Frank had been entitled to try to save himself as he had; but
he so regretted that his son should have put his foot into the trap of any
situation which could stir up discussion of the sort that was now being
aroused. Frank was wonderfully brilliant. He need never have taken up with
the city treasurer or the politicians to have succeeded marvelously. Local
street-railways and speculative politicians were his undoing. The old man
walked the floor all of the days, realizing that his sun was setting, that with
Frank's failure he failed, and that this disgrace—these public charges—
meant his own undoing. His hair had grown very gray in but a few weeks,
his step slow, his face pallid, his eyes sunken. His rather showy side-
whiskers seemed now like flags or ornaments of a better day that was gone.
His only consolation through it all was that Frank had actually got out of his
relationship with the Third National Bank without owing it a single dollar.
Still as he knew the directors of that institution could not possibly tolerate
the presence of a man whose son had helped loot the city treasury, and
whose name was now in the public prints in this connection. Besides,
Cowperwood, Sr., was too old. He ought to retire.
The crisis for him therefore came on the day when Frank was arrested on
the embezzlement charge. The old man, through Frank, who had it from
Steger, knew it was coming, still had the courage to go to the bank but it
was like struggling under the weight of a heavy stone to do it. But before
going, and after a sleepless night, he wrote his resignation to Frewen
Kasson, the chairman of the board of directors, in order that he should be
prepared to hand it to him, at once. Kasson, a stocky, well-built, magnetic
man of fifty, breathed an inward sigh of relief at the sight of it.
"I know it's hard, Mr. Cowperwood," he said, sympathetically. "We—and I
can speak for the other members of the board—we feel keenly the
unfortunate nature of your position. We know exactly how it is that your son
has become involved in this matter. He is not the only banker who has been
involved in the city's affairs. By no means. It is an old system. We
appreciate, all of us, keenly, the services you have rendered this institution
during the past thirty-five years. If there were any possible way in which we
could help to tide you over the difficulties at this time, we would be glad to
do so, but as a banker yourself you must realize just how impossible that
would be. Everything is in a turmoil. If things were settled—if we knew how
soon this would blow over—" He paused, for he felt that he could not go on
and say that he or the bank was sorry to be forced to lose Mr. Cowperwood
in this way at present. Mr. Cowperwood himself would have to speak.
During all this Cowperwood, Sr., had been doing his best to pull himself
together in order to be able to speak at all. He had gotten out a large white
linen handkerchief and blown his nose, and had straightened himself in his
chair, and laid his hands rather peacefully on his desk. Still he was
intensely wrought up.
"I can't stand this!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I wish you would leave me alone
now."
Kasson, very carefully dressed and manicured, arose and walked out of the
room for a few moments. He appreciated keenly the intensity of the strain he
had just witnessed. The moment the door was closed Cowperwood put his
head in his hands and shook convulsively. "I never thought I'd come to this,"
he muttered. "I never thought it." Then he wiped away his salty hot tears,
and went to the window to look out and to think of what else to do from now
on.
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