The Memoirs of an American Citizen Part 41

I had hated him, and for that reason I had refused all offers to settle on anything but a cash basis for my interests in the companies he was buying from us. Carmichael and some others had urged me again and again to go in with them and help them build the great merger, but I had steadily refused to work with Strauss. "I cannot make a good servant," I had said to John, "and I don't want a knife in my side. The country is big enough for Strauss and me. I'll give him his side of the pasture."

But now he was dead, and already, somehow, my hate was fading from my heart. The great Strauss was but another man like myself, who had done his work in his own way. Carmichael, who was a good deal worked up, exclaimed:--

"This won't make any hitch in our negotiations, Harrington. Everything will go right on just as before. The old man's plans were laid pretty deep, and this deal with you is one of the first of them. His brother Joe will take his place, maybe, and if he can't fill the shoes, why, young Jenks, who seems to be a smart young man, or I will take the reins."

(Old Strauss had been married three times, but his children had all died. There was no one of his own to take the ball of money he had made and roll it larger; no one of his own blood to grasp the reins of his power and drive on in the old man's way!)

"Say, Van," the Irishman continued, "why don't you think it over once more, and see your way to join us? You didn't care for the old man. But you and I and Jenks could swing things all right. And we could keep Joe Strauss in his place between us. G.o.d, kid, the four of us could make a clean job of this thing--there's no limit to what we could do!" As he uttered this last, he grasped me by the arms and shook me.

I knew what he meant--that with the return of prosperity, with vast capital ready for investment, with the control of the packing and food-products transportation business--which we packers had been organizing into a compact machine--there was no limit to the reach of our power in this land, in the world. (And I was of his way of thinking, then, not believing that a power existed which could check our operations. And I do not believe it now, I may add; nor do I know a man conversant with the modern situation of capital who believes that with our present system of government any effective check upon the operations of capital can be devised.)

"Think it over," Carmichael urged, "and let me know when I return from Chicago the first of the week. You don't want to make the mistake of your life by dropping out just now."

But while he was talking to me, urging on me the greatness of the future, my thoughts went back to that letter of Jane Dround's. She had seen swiftly a truth that was coming to me slowly. There might be twenty, forty, sixty millions in the packers' deal, but the joy of the game had gone for me. All of those millions would not give me the joy I had when I sold that sausage plant to Strauss! I shook my head.

"No, I don't want it, John. But Strauss's death makes a big difference.

I am willing to offer some kind of trade with you,--to let you have my stock on better terms, if your people will do what I want."

Carmichael waited for my proposal. I said:--

"Old Parkinson is pretty near his end, I hear. It's likely there will be a vacant seat in the Senate sometime soon."

The Irishman's eyes opened wide in astonishment.

"Strauss used to keep in touch with Springfield," I suggested. "He and Vitzer" (who was the great traction wolf in Chicago) "used to work pretty close together sometimes--"

"You want to go to the Senate, Van?"

Carmichael burst into a laugh that attracted the attention of the men sitting around us.

"It might work out that way," I admitted.

"And how about that judge business?" he inquired, still laughing. "The papers would make it some hot for you."

"No doubt. I don't expect I should be exactly a popular candidate, John.

But I calculate I'd make as good a Senator as Jim Parkinson, and a deal more useful one."

Carmichael stopped laughing and began to think, seeing that there might be a business end to this proposition. The time was coming when he and his a.s.sociates would need the services of an intelligent friend at Washington. He reckoned up his political hirelings in the state.

"It might be managed," he said after a while, "only our crowd would want to be sure we could count on you if we helped put you there. There's a lot of b.u.m, cranky notions loose in Congress, and it's up to the Senate to see that the real interests of the country are protected."

"I ought to know by this time what the real interests are," I a.s.sured him, and when he rose to leave for his train I added pointedly: "In case we make this arrangement there's more stock than mine which you could count on for your deal. We'd all stay in with you."

For there was the stock Carb.o.n.e.r had locked up in his safe, and Sloc.u.m's, and considerable more that would do as I said. If Carmichael and young Jenks put through their merger and swallowed the packing business whole, I knew that our money would be in good hands.

"Well, when Parkinson gets out we'll see what we can do," Carmichael concluded.

And thus the deal for Parkinson's seat was made right there. All that remained was for the old man to have his second stroke.

"You in the Senate--that's a good one!" John chuckled. "I suppose next you will be wanting to be made Secretary of the Treasury, or President, maybe!"

"I know my limit, John."

"D----d if I do! The old man would have enjoyed this. But, Van, take my advice and stay out. There ain't much in that political business. Stay with us and make some money. Right now is coming the biggest time this country has ever seen. And we are the crowd that's got the combination to the safe. These New York financiers think they are pretty near the whole thing, but I reckon we are going to give even them a surprise."

With this final boast, he got into his cab and drove off.

The day was brilliantly sunny, and the street was alive with gay people.

What the Irishman said was true--I felt it in the sunny air: the greatest period of prosperity this country had ever seen was just starting. It was the time when two or three good gamblers could pick up any kind of property, give it a fine name, print a lot of pretty stock certificates, and sell their gold brick to the first comer. The people were crazy to spend their money. It was a great time! Nevertheless, at the bottom of all this craze was a sure feeling that all was well with us--that ours was a mighty people. And that was about right.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_And we are the crowd that's got the combination to the safe._"]

Well, I loved my country in my own way; and I had all the money I knew what to do with. Why not take a seat in "the millionnaires' club," as the newspapers called that honorable body, the United States Senate?

Before I left for the West the family sailed for Europe. Little May and sister Sarah, as we called the girls, had persuaded their mother to take them over to Paris for a lark. May, who was thirteen, was running the party. She was a tall, lively girl, with black hair and eyes, and was thought to resemble me. The other was quieter in her ways, more like Sarah. We had lost one little boy the summer before, which was a great sorrow to us all. The older boy, who was at school preparing for college, took after his mother, too. He was a pleasant-mannered chap, with a liking for good clothes and other playthings. I did not reckon that he ever would be much of a business man.

The morning that the steamer sailed Sarah was nervous over starting, but May settled her in a corner of the deck and got her a wrap. Then the girls went to say good-by to some friends.

"Van," Sarah said to me when we were alone. She hesitated a moment, then went on timidly, "If anything should happen to us, Van, there's one thing--"

"Nothing is going to happen! Not unless you lose your letter of credit, or the girls run off with you," I joked.

"There's one thing I want to speak about seriously, Van. It's May and Will!" She paused timidly.

"Well?"

"Can't you do something to make them feel differently?"

"I guess not. I've tried my best!"

"I know they are poor, and Will's in bad health, too,--quite sick."

"How did you know that?"

"Oh, I saw May once before I left. They are in Chicago again."

After a time I said:--

"You know I would give half of my money not to have it so, but it's no use talking. They wouldn't take a cent from me."

Sarah sighed. "But couldn't you get Will a place somewhere without his knowing about how it came?"

"I'll try my best," I said sadly.

Then it was time to leave the steamer; the girls came and kissed me good-by, hanging about my neck and making me promise to write and to come over for them later. Sarah raised her veil as I leaned down to kiss her.

"Good-by, Van," she said without much spirit. "Be careful of yourself and come over if you can get away."