The Financier a novel by Theodore Dreiser

 
 

---

Chapter XLVII 
Although it was nearly eleven o'clock when he arrived at the Calligans', 
Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bedroom upstairs she was confiding to 
Mamie and Mrs. Calligan some of her social experiences when the bell rang, 
and Mrs. Calligan went down and opened the door to Cowperwood. 
"Miss Butler is here, I believe," he said. "Will you tell her that there is some 
one here from her father?" Although Aileen had instructed that her presence 
here was not to be divulged even to the members of her family the force of 
Cowperwood's presence and the mention of Butler's name cost Mrs. Calligan 
her presence of mind. "Wait a moment," she said; "I'll see." 
She stepped back, and Cowperwood promptly stepped in, taking off his hat 
with the air of one who was satisfied that Aileen was there. "Say to her that I 
only want to speak to her for a few moments," he called, as Mrs. Calligan 
went up-stairs, raising his voice in the hope that Aileen might hear. She did, 
and came down promptly. She was very much astonished to think that he 
should come so soon, and fancied, in her vanity, that there must be great 
excitement in her home. She would have greatly grieved if there had not 
been. 
The Calligans would have been pleased to hear, but Cowperwood was 
cautious. As she came down the stairs he put his finger to his lips in sign 
for silence, and said, "This is Miss Butler, I believe." 
"Yes," replied Aileen, with a secret smile. Her one desire was to kiss him. 
"What's the trouble darling?" she asked, softly. 
"You'll have to go back, dear, I'm afraid," whispered Cowperwood. "You'll 
have everything in a turmoil if you don't. Your mother doesn't know yet, it 
seems, and your father is over at my place now, waiting for you. It may be a 
good deal of help to me if you do. Let me tell you—" He went off into a 
complete description of his conversation with Butler and his own views in 
the matter. Aileen's expression changed from time to time as the various 
phases of the matter were put before her; but, persuaded by the clearness 
with which he put the matter, and by his assurance that they could 
continue their relations as before uninterrupted, once this was settled, she 
decided to return. In a way, her father's surrender was a great triumph. She 
made her farewells to the Calligans, saying, with a smile, that they could not 
do without her at home, and that she would send for her belongings later, 
and returned with Cowperwood to his own door. There he asked her to wait 
in the runabout while he sent her father down. 
"Well?" said Butler, turning on him when he opened the door, and not seeing 
Aileen. 

---

"You'll find her outside in my runabout," observed Cowperwood. "You may 
use that if you choose. I will send my man for it." 
"No, thank you; we'll walk," said Butler. 
Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle, and Butler 
stalked solemnly out. 
He had to admit to himself that the influence of Cowperwood over his 
daughter was deadly, and probably permanent. The best he could do would 
be to keep her within the precincts of the home, where she might still, 
possibly, be brought to her senses. He held a very guarded conversation 
with her on his way home, for fear that she would take additional offense. 
Argument was out of the question. 
"Ye might have talked with me once more, Aileen," he said, "before ye left. 
Yer mother would be in a terrible state if she knew ye were gone. She doesn't 
know yet. Ye'll have to say ye stayed somewhere to dinner." 
"I was at the Calligans," replied Aileen. "That's easy enough. Mama won't 
think anything about it." 
"It's a sore heart I have, Aileen. I hope ye'll think over your ways and do 
better. I'll not say anythin' more now." 
Aileen returned to her room, decidedly triumphant in her mood for the 
moment, and things went on apparently in the Butler household as before. 
But those who imagine that this defeat permanently altered the attitude of 
Butler toward Cowperwood are mistaken. 
In the meanwhile between the day of his temporary release and the hearing 
of his appeal which was two months off, Cowperwood was going on doing his 
best to repair his shattered forces. He took up his work where he left off; but 
the possibility of reorganizing his business was distinctly modified since his 
conviction. Because of his action in trying to protect his largest creditors at 
the time of his failure, he fancied that once he was free again, if ever he got 
free, his credit, other things being equal, would be good with those who 
could help him most—say, Cooke & Co., Clark & Co., Drexel & Co., and the 
Girard National Bank—providing his personal reputation had not been too 
badly injured by his sentence. Fortunately for his own hopefulness of mind, 
he failed fully to realize what a depressing effect a legal decision of this 
character, sound or otherwise, had on the minds of even his most 
enthusiastic supporters. 
His best friends in the financial world were by now convinced that his was a 
sinking ship. A student of finance once observed that nothing is so sensitive 
as money, and the financial mind partakes largely of the quality of the thing 
in which it deals. There was no use trying to do much for a man who might 

---

be going to prison for a term of years. Something might be done for him 
possibly in connection with the governor, providing he lost his case before 
the Supreme Court and was actually sentenced to prison; but that was two 
months off, or more, and they could not tell what the outcome of that would 
be. So Cowperwood's repeated appeals for assistance, extension of credit, or 
the acceptance of some plan he had for his general rehabilitation, were met 
with the kindly evasions of those who were doubtful. They would think it 
over. They would see about it. Certain things were standing in the way. And 
so on, and so forth, through all the endless excuses of those who do not care 
to act. In these days he went about the money world in his customary 
jaunty way, greeting all those whom he had known there many years and 
pretending, when asked, to be very hopeful, to be doing very well; but they 
did not believe him, and he really did not care whether they did or not. His 
business was to persuade or over-persuade any one who could really be of 
assistance to him, and at this task he worked untiringly, ignoring all others. 
"Why, hello, Frank," his friends would call, on seeing him. "How are you 
getting on?" 
"Fine! Fine!" he would reply, cheerfully. "Never better," and he would explain 
in a general way how his affairs were being handled. He conveyed much of 
his own optimism to all those who knew him and were interested in his 
welfare, but of course there were many who were not. 
In these days also, he and Steger were constantly to be met with in courts of 
law, for he was constantly being reexamined in some petition in bankruptcy. 
They were heartbreaking days, but he did not flinch. He wanted to stay in 
Philadelphia and fight the thing to a finish—putting himself where he had 
been before the fire; rehabilitating himself in the eyes of the public. He felt 
that he could do it, too, if he were not actually sent to prison for a long term; 
and even then, so naturally optimistic was his mood, when he got out again. 
But, in so far as Philadelphia was concerned, distinctly he was dreaming 
vain dreams. 
One of the things militating against him was the continued opposition of 
Butler and the politicians. Somehow—no one could have said exactly why—
the general political feeling was that the financier and the former city 
treasurer would lose their appeals and eventually be sentenced together. 
Stener, in spite of his original intention to plead guilty and take his 
punishment without comment, had been persuaded by some of his political 
friends that it would be better for his future's sake to plead not guilty and 
claim that his offense had been due to custom, rather than to admit his 
guilt outright and so seem not to have had any justification whatsoever. This 
he did, but he was convicted nevertheless. For the sake of appearances, a 

---

trumped-up appeal was made which was now before the State Supreme 
Court. 
Then, too, due to one whisper and another, and these originating with the 
girl who had written Butler and Cowperwood's wife, there was at this time a 
growing volume of gossip relating to the alleged relations of Cowperwood 
with Butler's daughter, Aileen. There had been a house in Tenth Street. It 
had been maintained by Cowperwood for her. No wonder Butler was so 
vindictive. This, indeed, explained much. And even in the practical, financial 
world, criticism was now rather against Cowperwood than his enemies. For, 
was it not a fact, that at the inception of his career, he had been befriended 
by Butler? And what a way to reward that friendship! His oldest and firmest 
admirers wagged their heads. For they sensed clearly that this was another 
illustration of that innate "I satisfy myself" attitude which so regulated 
Cowperwood's conduct. He was a strong man, surely—and a brilliant one. 
Never had Third Street seen a more pyrotechnic, and yet fascinating and 
financially aggressive, and at the same time, conservative person. Yet might 
one not fairly tempt Nemesis by a too great daring and egotism? Like Death, 
it loves a shining mark. He should not, perhaps, have seduced Butler's 
daughter; unquestionably he should not have so boldly taken that check, 
especially after his quarrel and break with Stener. He was a little too 
aggressive. Was it not questionable whether—with such a record—he could 
be restored to his former place here? The bankers and business men who 
were closest to him were decidedly dubious. 
But in so far as Cowperwood and his own attitude toward life was 
concerned, at this time—the feeling he had—"to satisfy myself"—when 
combined with his love of beauty and love and women, still made him 
ruthless and thoughtless. Even now, the beauty and delight of a girl like 
Aileen Butler were far more important to him than the good-will of fifty 
million people, if he could evade the necessity of having their good-will. 
Previous to the Chicago fire and the panic, his star had been so rapidly 
ascending that in the helter-skelter of great and favorable events he had 
scarcely taken thought of the social significance of the thing he was doing. 
Youth and the joy of life were in his blood. He felt so young, so vigorous, so 
like new grass looks and feels. The freshness of spring evenings was in him, 
and he did not care. After the crash, when one might have imagined he 
would have seen the wisdom of relinquishing Aileen for the time being, 
anyhow, he did not care to. She represented the best of the wonderful days 
that had gone before. She was a link between him and the past and a still-
to-be triumphant future. 
His worst anxiety was that if he were sent to the penitentiary, or adjudged a 
bankrupt, or both, he would probably lose the privilege of a seat on 'change, 
and that would close to him the most distinguished avenue of his prosperity 

---

here in Philadelphia for some time, if not forever. At present, because of his 
complications, his seat had been attached as an asset, and he could not act. 
Edward and Joseph, almost the only employees he could afford, were still 
acting for him in a small way; but the other members on 'change naturally 
suspected his brothers as his agents, and any talk that they might raise of 
going into business for themselves merely indicated to other brokers and 
bankers that Cowperwood was contemplating some concealed move which 
would not necessarily be advantageous to his creditors, and against the law 
anyhow. Yet he must remain on 'change, whatever happened, potentially if 
not actively; and so in his quick mental searchings he hit upon the idea that 
in order to forfend against the event of his being put into prison or thrown 
into bankruptcy, or both, he ought to form a subsidiary silent partnership 
with some man who was or would be well liked on 'change, and whom he 
could use as a cat's-paw and a dummy. 
Finally he hit upon a man who he thought would do. He did not amount to 
much—had a small business; but he was honest, and he liked Cowperwood. 
His name was Wingate—Stephen Wingate—and he was eking out a not too 
robust existence in South Third Street as a broker. He was forty-five years of 
age, of medium height, fairly thick-set, not at all unprepossessing, and 
rather intelligent and active, but not too forceful and pushing in spirit. He 
really needed a man like Cowperwood to make him into something, if ever he 
was to be made. He had a seat on 'change, and was well thought of; 
respected, but not so very prosperous. In times past he had asked small 
favors of Cowperwood—the use of small loans at a moderate rate of interest, 
tips, and so forth; and Cowperwood, because he liked him and felt a little 
sorry for him, had granted them. Now Wingate was slowly drifting down 
toward a none too successful old age, and was as tractable as such a man 
would naturally be. No one for the time being would suspect him of being a 
hireling of Cowperwood's, and the latter could depend on him to execute his 
orders to the letter. He sent for him and had a long conversation with him. 
He told him just what the situation was, what he thought he could do for 
him as a partner, how much of his business he would want for himself, and 
so on, and found him agreeable. 
"I'll be glad to do anything you say, Mr. Cowperwood," he assured the latter. 
"I know whatever happens that you'll protect me, and there's nobody in the 
world I would rather work with or have greater respect for. This storm will 
all blow over, and you'll be all right. We can try it, anyhow. If it don't work 
out you can see what you want to do about it later." 
And so this relationship was tentatively entered into and Cowperwood began 
to act in a small way through Wingate.