The Great God Success Part 32

Howard laughed. "And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?"

"Oh, she didn't blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing Mr. Mercer a great injustice."

"Well, what do you think?"

"Why--I can't believe--is it possible, dear--I was just reading one of your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The way she told it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people a valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of men employed."

"Poor Mercer!" Howard said ironically. "Poor misunderstood philanthropist! What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be carried on by bribing judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making the poor shiver and freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and adding to the anxieties of millions. One would almost say that such a philanthropy had better not be undertaken. It is so likely to be misunderstood by the 'unruly cla.s.ses.'"

"Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never wrote until you knew."

"And what was the result?"

"Well, we are making some very bitter enemies."

"I doubt it. I suspect that before long they'll come wheedling about in the hope that I'll let up on them or be a little easier next time."

"I'm sure I do not care what they do," said Marian, drawing herself up.

"All I care for is--you, and to see you do your duty at whatever cost or regardless of cost--" she was leaning over the back of his chair with her arms about his neck and her lips very near to his ear--"you are my love without fear and without reproach."

"Listen, dear." He took her hand and drew her arms more closely about his neck. "Suppose that the lines were drawn--as they may be any day.

Suppose that we had to choose, with all these friends of yours, with our position, yes, even the place I have won in my profession, my place as editor--all that we now have on the one side; and on the other side a thankless, unprofitable, apparently useless standing up for the right.

Wouldn't you miss your friends?"

"_All_ our friends? And who will be on the other side?"

"Almost no one that we know--that you would care to call upon or go about with or have here at the house. n.o.body with any great amount of wealth or social position. Those other people who are in town when it is said 'n.o.body is in town now!'"

She did not answer.

"Where would you be?" he repeated.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that." She came around and sat on his knee. "Where? Why, there's only one 'where' in all this world for me--'wheresoever thou goest.'"

And so the half-formed impulse to begin to straighten himself out with her was smothered by her.

Both were silent through dinner. She was thinking how honest, how fearless he was, how he loved her, how eagerly she would follow him, how blessed she was in the love of such a man. And he--he was regretting that his "pose" had carried him so far; he was wishing that he had not been so bitter in his attacks upon his and his wife's friends, the coal conspirators. When he had definitely cast in his lot with "the shearers"

why persist in making his hypocrisy more abominable by protesting more loudly than ever in behalf of "the sheep?" Above all, why had he let his habit of voluble denunciation lead him into this hypocrisy with the woman he loved?

He admitted to himself that "causes" had ceased to interest him except as they might contribute to the advancement of his power. Power!--that was his ambition now. First he had wished to have an independent income in order to be free. When he had achieved that, it was at the sacrifice of his mental freedom. And now, with the clearness of self-knowledge which only men of great ability have, he knew that the one cause for which he would make sacrifices was--himself.

"Of what are you thinking so gloomily?" she interrupted.

"Oh--I--let me see--well, I was thinking what a fraud I am; and that I wished I could dupe myself as completely as I can dupe--"

"Me?" she laughed. "Oh, we're all frauds--shocking frauds. I wouldn't have you see me as I really am for anything."

Although her remark was a commonplace, of small meaning, as he knew, he got comfort out of it, so desperately was he casting about for some consolation.

"That's true, my dear," he said. "And I wish that you liked the kind of a fraud I am as well as I like the kind of a fraud you are."

XXIV.

"MR. VALIANT-FOR-TRUTH."

Stokely came rushing into his office the next morning. "Good G.o.d, old man," he exclaimed, "What's the meaning of this attack on the coal roads?"

Howard flushed with resentment, not at what Stokely said, but at his tone.

"Now, don't get on your high horse. I don't think you understand."

Stokely's tone had moderated. "Don't you know that the Delaware Valley road is in this?"

Howard started. He had just invested two hundred thousand dollars in that stock on Stokely's advice "No, I didn't know it." He recovered himself. "And furthermore I don't give a d.a.m.n." He struck his desk angrily. His simulation of incorruptible indignation for the moment half deceived himself.

"Why, man, if this infernal roast is kept up, you'll lose a hundred thousand. Then there are my interests. I'm up to my neck in this deal."

"My advice to you is to get out of it. I'm sorry, but you know as well as I do that the thing is infamous."

"Infamous--nonsense! It will double our dividends and the consumers won't feel it."

"Let us not discuss it, Stokely. There--don't say anything you'll regret."

"But--"

"Now, Stokely--don't argue it with me."

Stokely put on his hat, stood up and looked at Howard with sullen admiration. "You will drive away the last friend you've got on earth, if you keep this up. Good morning."

Howard sent a smile of cynical amus.e.m.e.nt after him, then stared thoughtfully into the ma.s.s of papers on his desk for five, ten, fifteen minutes. When his plan was formed he touched the electric b.u.t.ton.

"Please tell Mr. King I'd like to see him," he said to the answering boy.

Mr. King entered with a bundle of legal doc.u.ments. "I suppose it's the injunction you want to discuss," he said. "We've got the papers all ready. It's simply great. Those fellows will be in a corner and will have to give up. They can't get away from us. The price of coal will drop half a dollar within a week, I'll bet."

"I'm afraid you are over sanguine," Howard said. "I've just been going over the matter with my lawyer. But leave the papers with me. And--about the news--be careful what you say. We've been going a little strong. I think a little less personal matter would be advisable."

Mr. King was amazed and looked it. He slowly pulled himself together to say, "All right, Mr. Howard. I think I understand." He laid the papers down and departed. Outside the door he laughed softly to himself.

"Somebody's been cutting his comb, I guess," he murmured. "Well, I didn't think he'd last. New York always gets 'em when they're worth while."

As the door closed behind King, Howard drew out the lowest and deepest drawer of his desk. It was half-filled with long-undisturbed pamphlets and newspaper cuttings. He tossed in the injunction papers. A cloud of dust flew up and settled thickly upon them. He shut the drawer.

He went to the window and looked out over the city--that seductive, that overwhelming expression of wealth and power. "What was it my father wrote me when I told him I was going to New York?" and he recalled almost the exact words--"New York that lures young men from the towns and the farms, and prost.i.tutes them, teaches them to sell themselves with unblushing cheeks for a fee, for an office, for riches, for power."

He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, drew himself up, returned to his desk and was soon absorbed in his work.