THE STOIC. Theodore Dreiser
big, that’s all. I’d break under a thing like that myself. I know I would. I’d quit, I admit it. But not you! Well, all I want to know is what you want me to do, Chief, and I’ll do it! And no one will know a thing, if that’s what you want, Chief.”
“Well, that’s one of the things, De Sota,” said Cowperwood. “Secrecy and that good hard-boiled traction sense of yours! It’ll come in handy in connection with this idea of mine, if I go through with it. And neither one of us is going to be any the worse off for it, either.”
“Don’t mention it, Chief, don’t mention it,” went on De Sota, tense almost to the breaking point. “I’ve had enough out of you if I never get another cent between now and the time we pass out. Just you tell me what you want and I’ll do it to the best of my ability, or I’ll come back and tell you that I can’t do it.”
“You never told me that yet, De Sota, and I don’t believe you ever will. But here it is, in a nutshell. About a year ago, when we were all busy with this extension business here, there were two Englishmen here from London, representing a London syndicate of some kind. I’ll give you the details later, but this is a rough idea . . .”
And he outlined all that Greaves and Henshaw had said to him, concluding with the thought which was in his own mind at the time.
“It’s all too top-heavy with money already expended, as you see, De Sota. Nearly $500,000 and nothing to show for it except that act or franchise for a line four or five miles long. And that has to be connected in some way by track rights over these two other systems before it can really come to anything. They admitted that themselves. But what I’m interested in now, De Sota, is to find out not only all about this whole London underground system as it stands now, but the possibility of a much bigger system, if such a thing is possible. You know what I mean, of course—with lines that would pay, say, if pushed into territories not yet reached by any other. You understand?”
“Perfectly, Chief!”
“Besides that,” he went on, “I want maps of the general layout and character of the city, its traction lines, surface or underground, where they start from and where they end, together with the geological formation, if we can find that out. Also the neighborhoods or districts they reach, the sort of people living in them now or who are likely to live there. You understand?”
“Perfectly, Chief, perfectly!”
“Then, too, I want to know all about the franchises covering those lines as they exist now—those acts, I believe they call them—their duration, the length of the lines, who owns them, their biggest stockholders, how they’re operated, how much their shares pay—everything, in fact, that you can find out without attracting too much attention to yourself, and certainly no attention to me. You understand that, of course, and why?”
“Perfectly, Chief, perfectly!”
“Then, De Sota, I’d like to know all about wages, as well as operational costs, in connection with the existing lines.”
“Right, Chief,” echoed Sippens, already in his own mind planning his work.
“Then there’s the matter of digging and equipment costs, the losses and new costs in connection with changing lines which are now in existence from steam—which is what I understand they use over there—to electricity, the new third-rail idea they’re talking about using in New York in that new subway. You know, the English do differently and feel differently about these things, and I want all you can tell me about that. Lastly, maybe you can find out something about the land values that are likely to be made by what we do, and whether it might be worth while to buy in advance in any direction, as we have done here in Lakeview and other places. You remember?”
“Certainly, Chief, certainly,” replied Sippens. “I understand everything, and I’ll get you everything you want, and maybe more. Why, this thing’s wonderful! And I can’t tell you how proud and happy I am that you’ve called on me to do it. When do you suppose you’ll be wanting me to go?”
“At once,” replied Cowperwood; “that is, just as soon as you can arrange your affairs in connection with your present work out there in the suburbs.” He was referring to his rural Union Traction system, of which Sippens was then president. “Better have Kitteredge take over, and you give it out that you’re going to take the winter off somewhere: England, or the Continent. If you can keep any mention of your presence out of the papers, so much the better. If you can’t, make it look as though you were interested in anything but traction. And if you hear of any railroad men over there who appear to be alive and who would be good to take over along with such lines as they are connected with, let me know of them. For, of course, this is going to have to be an English, not an American, enterprise from start to finish, De Sota, if we take it over. You know that. These English don’t like Americans, and I don’t want any anti-American war.”
“Right, Chief, I understand. All I ask, though, is that if I can be useful to you anywhere over there afterward, I hope you’ll keep me in mind. I’ve worked with you so long, Chief, and so close, it would be hard on me if after all this time . . .” he paused and stared at Cowperwood almost pleadingly, and Cowperwood returned his look blandly but at the same time inscrutably.
“That’s right, that’s right, De Sota. I know, and I understand. When the time comes, I’ll do whatever I can. I won’t forget you.”
Chapter 7
Having instructed Sippens as to his duties and also ascertained that insofar as Chicago was concerned he would have to go east to consult with certain financiers if he were to extract any immediate sums from his holdings, Cowperwood’s mind naturally reverted to Berenice and the matter of traveling and living in such a way as to attract as little attention as possible.
Of course it was all so much clearer in his own mind than in that of Berenice—the long chain of facts and association connecting him with Aileen and with no one else so intimately. It was something which Berenice could not fully realize, particularly because of his ardent pursuit of her. But he himself was compelled to doubt the wisdom of any action in regard to Aileen other than something decidedly diplomatic and placative. It would be too great a risk, particularly if London were invaded, and so soon after this hue and cry in connection with his corporations and his social methods in Chicago. He had been accused of bribery and anti-social methods in general. And now to provoke public complaints as well as possibly some form of public action on the part of Aileen—tips to the newspapers about his relationship with Berenice—that would never do.
And then there was another problem, quite capable of causing trouble between himself and Berenice. And that was his relationship with other women. Several of these affairs were by no means closed. Arlette Wayne was temporarily disposed of, and there were others which had no more than a casual life, but there was still Caroline Hand, the wife of Hosmer Hand, wealthy Chicago investor in railways and packing houses. Caroline had been a mere girl-wife when Cowperwood first met her. She had since been divorced by Hand because of him, but with a handsome settlement. And she was still devoted to Cowperwood. He had given her a house in Chicago, and throughout the Chicago fight he had spent quite a lot of time in her company, for he had become convinced that Berenice would never come to him.
And now Caroline was thinking of going to New York in order to be near him when he finally decided to leave Chicago. She was a clever woman, not jealous—or openly so, at least—beautiful, though a bit unconventional in her style of dress, and witty to a degree which unvariably succeeded in diverting him. She was now thirty, but looked twenty-five, and retained to the full the spirit of twenty. Up to the very hour of Berenice’s arrival, and since—although Berenice did not know of this—Caroline Hand kept open house for Cowperwood, inviting whomsoever he wished to receive there. It was her establishment on the North Side to which the Chicago newspapers had referred in their bitterest attacks on him. She always protested that when he no longer cared for her, he should say so and she would not seek to hold him.