Текст книги "Финансист / The Financier"

Chapter XXIII

Then, after several years of this secret relationship, in which the ties of sympathy and understanding grew stronger, came the storm. It burst unexpectedly and out of a clear sky. It was nothing more than a fire, a distant one—the great Chicago fire, October 7th, 1871, which burned that city to the ground, and instantly and incidentally produced a financial panic. The fire began on Saturday and destroyed the banks, the commercial houses, the shipping conveniences, and vast stretches of property. The heaviest loss fell upon the insurance companies, which instantly, in many cases closed their doors. This threw the loss back on the manufacturers and wholesalers in other cities who had had dealings with Chicago as well as the merchants of that city. Nothing could be done on Saturday or Sunday after the exchange closed, for the opening reports came too late. The owners of railroad securities, government securities, street-car securities, and, indeed, all other forms of stocks and bonds, began to throw them on the market in order to raise cash. The banks naturally were calling their loans, and the result was a stock stampede.

Cowperwood and his father were out of town at the time the fire began. They had gone with several friends—bankers—to look at a proposed route of extension of a local steam-railroad, on which a loan was desired. They were returning to Philadelphia late Sunday evening when the cries of newsboys reached their ears.

“Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Extra! Chicago burning down! Extra! Extra!”

“Hey, boy,” called Cowperwood, listening, “What's that? Chicago is burning!”

He looked at his father and the other men in a significant way as he reached for the paper, and then, glancing at the headlines, realized the worst.

“That looks rather serious,” he said, calmly.

He was thinking quickly, brilliantly, resourcefully of his own outstanding obligations. His father's bank was carrying one hundred thousand dollars' worth of his street-railway securities at sixty, and fifty thousand dollars' worth of city loan at seventy. The banks would want their money. At four smaller banks and three brokerage companies he was debtor for sums ranging from fifty thousand dollars down. The city treasurer was involved with him to the extent of nearly five hundred thousand dollars, and exposure of that would create a scandal; the State treasurer for two hundred thousand. There were small accounts, hundreds of them, ranging from one hundred dollars up to five and ten thousand. A panic would mean not only a withdrawal of deposits and a calling of loans, but a heavy depression of securities. How could he realize on his securities? That was the question—how not to be ruined?

He figured briskly the while he waved adieu to his friends.

“You had better go on out to the house, father, and I'll send some telegrams.” (The telephone had not yet been invented.) “I'll be right out and we'll talk about it together. Don't say anything to anyone until after we have had our talk; then we can decide what to do.”

Cowperwood, Sr. was cogitating as to what might happen to him in case his son failed, for he was deeply involved with him. He was a little gray in his complexion now and frightened.

The thing that was troubling Frank most was the matter of the half-million invested with him by Stener. His first move, he decided, would be to go at once to Stener's house and demand the loan of an additional three or four hundred thousand dollars. Stener had always been very tractable, and he would see how important it was that his shortage of half a million should not be made public. Then he must get as much more as possible. But where from?

But Stener was out of town, and was not expected back for several days. Cowperwood sent an urgent telegram, asking him to return immediately. He was not at all sure, however, that Stener would return in time and uncertain for the moment as to what his next step would be.

He decided to go to Butler at once, the only disturbing thought being that he would now be compelled to reveal his own and Stener's affairs. But what to do!

When he arrived there the famous contractor was at dinner. The servant's announcement of Cowperwood brought him smiling to the door.

“Won't you come in and join us? We're just having a light supper. Have a cup of coffee or tea…”

“I can't,” replied Cowperwood. “Not tonight, I'm in too much of a hurry. I want to see you for just a few moments, and then I'll be off again. I won't keep you very long.”

“Why, if that's the case, I'll come right out.”

And Butler returned to the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen, who was also dining, had heard Cowperwood's voice, and wanted to see him. She wondered what it was that brought him at this time of night to see her father. She could not leave the table at once, but hoped to before he went. Cowperwood was thinking of her, even in the face of this impending storm.

“Well, now,” exclaimed Butler, returning. “What's up with you tonight? Nothing wrong, I hope.”

“Nothing very serious, I hope myself,” replied Cowperwood, “But I want to talk with you a few minutes, anyhow. Don't you think we had better go up to your room?”

“I was just going to say that,” replied Butler, “the cigars are up there.”

As the contractor mounted, Aileen came out from the dining-room in a frou-frou of silk. Her complexion was glowing, and her bare arms and shoulders shone white against the dark red of her evening gown. She realized there was something wrong.

“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, how do you do?” she exclaimed, coming forward and holding out her hand as her father went on upstairs.

“What's the trouble, honey?” she whispered, as soon as her father was out of hearing. “You look worried.”

“Nothing much, I hope, sweet,” he said. “Chicago is burning up and there's going to be trouble tomorrow. I have to talk to your father.”

She went through the reception-room to the parlor. She sat down, thinking, for never before had she seen Cowperwood's face like that. It was placid, like fine, white wax, and quite as cold; and those deep, vague, inscrutable eyes! So Chicago was burning. What would happen to him? Was he very much involved? He had never told her in detail of his affairs. She would not have understood fully any more than would have Mrs. Cowperwood. But she was worried, nevertheless, because it was her Frank, and because she was bound to him.

Cowperwood as he followed Butler into the room upstairs.

“Sit down, sit down. Well, have a cigar. Now, what's this that's troubling you tonight?”

Voices could be heard faintly in the distance.

“Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Chicago burning down!”

“Just that,” replied Cowperwood, hearkening to them. “Have you heard the news?”

“No. What's that they're calling?”

“It's a big fire out in Chicago.”

“Oh,” replied Butler, still not gathering the significance of it.

“It's burning down the business section there, Mr. Butler,” went on Cowperwood ominously, “and it's going to disturb financial conditions here tomorrow. That is what I have come to see you about. How are your investments?”

“So that's it,” said Butler. “You're expecting trouble tomorrow. How are your own affairs?”

“I'm in pretty good shape, I think. But you know we are facing a real panic, Mr. Butler. It may not last long, but while it does it will be bad. The banks are going to call their loans unless some arrangement can be made to prevent them. No one man can do that. It will have to be a combination of men. You and Mr. Simpson and Mr. Mollenhauer might do it—that is, you could if you could persuade the big banking people to combine. I am not strong enough to face this thing alone.”

“Well, now, that's pretty bad,” said Butler, calmly and meditatively. He was thinking of his own affairs. A panic was not good for him either, but he was not in a desperate state. He could not fail. He might lose some money, but not a vast amount.

“Mr. Butler, the truth is I have been carrying a lot of stocks for Mr. Stener and some of his friends. Personally I have borrowed considerable money from Mr. Stener at two per cent. Naturally, I don't want to fail. There is no excuse for my doing so. But I cannot weather this storm without assistance, and I want to know if you won't help me. Mr. Stener is out of town or

I would have brought him here with me.”

“How much money is it Stener has invested with you?” asked Butler.

“About five hundred thousand dollars,” replied Cowperwood.

The old man straightened up. “Is it as much as that?” he said.

“Just about—a little more or a little less; I'm not sure.”

The old contractor listened solemnly to all Cowperwood had to say on this score, thinking of the effect on the Republican party and his own contracting interests. He liked Cowperwood, but he was a slow-thinking and a slow-moving man. He had considerable money invested in Philadelphia street-railway stocks—perhaps as much as eight hundred thousand dollars. Mollenhauer had perhaps as much more. He would not have thought so much of it if Cowperwood had told him that Stener was involved, say, to the extent of seventy-five or a hundred thousand dollars. That might be adjusted. But five hundred thousand dollars!

“That's a lot of money,” said Butler. “That's something to think about. There's no time to lose if there's going to be a panic in the morning.”

Old Butler got up. “This is serious business,” he said. “It's bad, bad business,” he added dourly. “Still, I'll do what I can. I can't promise much, but I've always liked you. Owen!”

He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the banister.

“Yes, father.”

“Get your hat and coat. I want you to go along with me.”

“Yes, father.”

Cowperwood was up now and moving to the door.

“And where are you going?” asked Butler.

“Oh, I have to meet several people. But I'll come back here later, if I may.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Butler. “To be sure I'll be here by midnight, anyhow. Well, good night. I'll see you later, then, I suppose.”

He went back in his room for something, and Cowperwood descended the stair alone. Near reception-room entryway Aileen signaled him to draw near.

“I hope it's nothing serious, honey?” she asked, looking into his solemn eyes.

“No,” he said, almost coldly, “I think not.”

“Frank, don't forget me, please. You won't, will you? I love you so.”

“No, no, I won't!” he replied earnestly, quickly and yet absently. He had started to kiss her, but a noise disturbed him. “Sh!”

He walked to the door.

What if anything should happen to her Frank? What would she do? That was what was troubling her. What would, what could she do to help him?

Chapter XXIV

Butler stepped into the buggy with his son.

“Cowperwood's just been here,” he said to his son Owen. “He's in a trouble. You hear that?” he continued, as some voice in the distance was calling “Extra! Extra!” “Chicago burnin!” “There's going to be trouble on the stock exchange tomorrow. We have a lot of our street-railway stocks around at the different banks. Cowperwood has a hundred thousand of mine with him that he wants me to let stay there, and he has some money that belongs to Stener, he tells me.”

“Stener?” asked Owen, curiously. Owen had heard some rumors concerning Stener and others only very recently, which he had not credited nor yet communicated to his father. “How much money of his has Cowperwood?” he asked.

“About five hundred thousand dollars. If that should become known, it would be making a good deal of noise.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Owen in astonishment. “Five hundred thousand dollars! Good Lord, father! Do you mean to say Stener has got away with five hundred thousand dollars? Why, I wouldn't think he was clever enough to do that. Five hundred thousand dollars!”

“Wait,” replied Butler. “We can't tell exactly what will happen. Cowperwood hasn't failed yet. I'm going to see Henry Mollenhauer and Mark Simpson. Cowperwood thought we might protect our loans by buying and holding up the price.”

Owen was sure that this dilemma was Cowperwood's fault, not Stener's. It was strange to him that his father did not see it.

“You see, father,” he said, dramatically, after a time. “Cowperwood's been using this money of Stener's to pick up stocks, and he's in a trouble. Now he wants you and Simpson and Mollenhauer and the others to pull him out. He's a nice fellow, and I like him fairly well; but you're a fool if you do as he wants you to. Stener is just a pawn. Cowperwood moves him around where he pleases.”

Owen's eyes gleamed avariciously. Cowperwood ought to be punished, sold out, driven out of the street-railway business in which Owen was anxious to rise.

“Now you know,” observed Butler, thickly and solemnly, “I always thought that young felly was clever, but I hardly thought he was as clever as all that. So that's his game. You're pretty shrewd yourself, aren't you? The thing that's troubling me is this matter of Stener and the city treasury. I'm wondering if I ought to call in that one hundred thousand dollars. I must meet my loans in the morning.”

In the presence of Cowperwood, Butler was influenced by that young man's personality and his magnetic presentation of his need. Out here in the cool night air, talking to Owen, he was beginning to sober down and see things in their true light. He had to admit that Cowperwood had seriously compromised the city treasury and the Republican party, and Butler's own private interests. This young scalawag! None the less he still liked him, even here and now, and was feeling that he ought to do something to help the young man, if anything could help him. He might even leave his hundred-thousand-dollar loan with him until the last hour, as Cowperwood had requested.

“Well, father,” said Owen, “I don't see why you need to worry any more than Mollenhauer or Simpson. If you three want to help Cowperwood out, you can; but for the life of me I don't see why you should. My advice to you is to call that one-hundred-thousand-dollar loan of yours in the morning. It may make Cowperwood fail, but that won't hurt you any. You can go into the market and buy his stocks. You ought to get Mollenhauer and Simpson to scare Stener so that he won't loan Cowperwood anymore money. If you don't, Cowperwood will run there and get more.”

Chapter XXV

The residence of Henry A. Mollenhauer was, at that time, in a new section of the city. It was near a handsome library building which had been recently erected.

Mollenhauer was, and felt himself to be, a very important man. His financial and political judgment was exceedingly keen. He was tall and shrewd and cold. He was an excellent friend of Edward Malia Butler's, and his regard for Mark Simpson was as sincere as that of one tiger for another.

When Edward Butler and his son arrived on this Sunday evening, Mollenhauer was in his library reading and listening to one of his daughters playing the piano. His wife and his other two daughters had gone to church. When the butler announced the presence of Butler and his son, Mollenhauer was well pleased.

“I'm certainly glad to see you,” he remarked to Butler, genially, extending his hand. “And Owen! How are you, Owen? What will you gentlemen have to drink, and what will you smoke? I have just been listening to Caroline.”

“It's a comfortable place you have here,” said Butler, without any indication of the important mission that had brought him. “What's new in the city?”

“Nothing much, so far as I can see,” replied Mollenhauer, pacifically. “You don't know anything that we ought to worry about, do you?”

“Well, yes,” said Butler. “One thing. You haven't seen an evening paper, have you?”

“No, I haven't,” said Mollenhauer, straightening up. “What's the trouble?”

“Nothing—except Chicago's burning, and it looks as though we'd have a little money-storm here in the morning.”

“You don't say! I didn't hear that. Well, is it much of a fire?”

“The city is burning down, so they say,” put in Owen, who was watching the face of the politician with considerable interest.

“Well, that is news. John!” he called. His man-servant appeared. “Get me a paper somewhere.” The servant disappeared. “What makes you think that would have anything to do with us?” observed Mollenhauer, returning to Butler.

“Well, our Stener is apt to be short in his accounts, unless things come out better than some people seem to think,” suggested Butler, calmly. “That might not look so well before election, would it?” His shrewd gray Irish eyes looked into Mollenhauer's.

“Where did you get that?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer icily. “He hasn't taken much money, has he? How much has he taken—do you know?”

“Quite a bit,” replied Butler, quietly. “Nearly five hundred thousand.”

“Five hundred thousand!” exclaimed Mollenhauer in amazement. “You don't tell me! What has he been doing with the money?”

“He's loaned a good deal—about five hundred thousand dollars to this young Cowperwood. They've been investing it for themselves in one thing and another—mostly in buying up street-railways. This fire, according to Cowperwood, is certain to produce a panic in the morning. And there'll be five hundred thousand dollars missing from the city treasury which can't be put back. Stener's out of town and Cowperwood's come to me to see what can be done about it. He thought maybe I could help him—that is, that I might get you and the Senator to support the market in the morning. If we don't he's going to fail, and he thought the scandal would hurt us in the election.” Butler paused.

Mollenhauer, sly and secretive himself, was curious. So his treasurer was using money without his knowing it, and now stood in danger of being prosecuted!

“Five hundred thousand dollars!” he repeated, when Butler had finished. “If merely supporting the market would save Cowperwood we might do that. He didn't ask for money?”

“He wants me to leave a hundred thousand he has of mine.”

“Stener is out of town, I suppose?” Mollenhauer was innately suspicious.

“So Cowperwood says.”

Mollenhauer was thinking of the various aspects of the case. Supporting the market would be all very well if that would save Cowperwood, and the Republican party and his treasurer. At the same time Stener could restore the five hundred thousand dollars to the city.

“I can't speak for the Senator, that's sure,” said Mollenhauer. “I don't know what he may think. As for myself, I am perfectly willing to do what I can to keep up the price of stocks, if that will do any good. I would do so naturally in order to protect my loans. But we have no assurance, of course, that we will be able to sustain the market.”

“We have not,” replied Butler, solemnly.

At that moment the door-bell rang. A maid brought in the name of Senator Simpson.

“Just the man,” said Mollenhauer. “You can see what he thinks.”

“Perhaps I had better leave you alone now,” suggested Owen to his father, and stepped out. Senator Simpson walked in.

“Good evening, Mark, I'm glad to see you,” was Butler's greeting.

“Good evening, Edward,” came the quiet reply.

“Well, it's a good thing you dropped in, Senator,” began Mollenhauer. “Butler here has been telling me of a little political problem that has arisen since I last saw you. I suppose you've heard that Chicago is burning?”

“Yes; it looks to be quite serious. I think the market will drop heavily in the morning.”

“I wouldn't be surprised myself,” put in Mollenhauer, laconically.

“Here's the paper now,” said Butler, as John, the servant, came in from the street bearing the paper in his hand. Mollenhauer took it and spread it out before them.

“Well, that is certainly dreadful,” said Simpson. “I'm very sorry for Chicago. I have many friends there. I shall hope to hear that it is not so bad as it seems.”

“The matter that Butler was telling me about,” continued Mollenhauer, “has something to do with this in a way. You know the habit our city treasurers have of loaning out their money at two per cent?”

“Yes?” said Simpson, inquiringly.

“Well, Mr. Stener, it seems, has been loaning out a good deal of the city's money to this young Cowperwood, in Third Street, who has been handling city loans.”

“You don't say!” said Simpson. “Not much, I hope?” The Senator, like Butler and Mollenhauer, was profiting greatly by cheap loans from the same source.

“Well, it seems that Stener has loaned him as much as five hundred thousand dollars. So Cowperwood wanted Butler to see if something couldn't be done through us to help him. If not, he might fail.”

“Well, now,” said the Senator, after a prolonged silence, “I might sympathize with Mr. Cowperwood in his situation, and I certainly don't blame him for buying up street-railways; but I really don't see what can be done for him very well in this crisis. I don't know about you, gentlemen, but I am rather certain that I am not in a position to help him.”

Mollenhauer pulled a long face. “I don't see that I will be able to do very much for Mr.

Cowperwood,” he sighed.

“So,” said Butler, “it looks to me that I must get my one hundred thousand dollars.”

“I think,” said Simpson, “we will have to do our best to hush it up until the election. And there's one thing I would suggest: that is that the city treasurer be cautioned against advancing any more money in a situation of this kind. I suppose a word from you, Henry, would prevent that.”

“Yes; I can do that,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly.

Thus ended Frank Cowperwood's dreams of what Butler and his friends might do for him in his hour of distress.