Chapter 11

The departing client gave no evidence that he heard the words, but after pushing his way to the street he drew a long breath, which might have indicated relief after sitting in the close office, or satisfaction that he held in his possession new weapons which could easily be made useful in case of need.

XVI

The mail-order business came to an abrupt end three months after Alice Gorham became its head. This in no way reflected upon its management, but it was too trifling an enterprise for the Consolidated Companies to retain. Covington was enthusiastic in his reports to Mr. Gorham regarding Alice's proficiency and natural ability along business lines. This experience had been an interesting and valuable one to her, he explained, but would it not accomplish the same purpose and be better for Miss Gorham--still, of course, under his guidance--to take personal charge of her own property and thus become thoroughly familiar with the various investments?

Gorham heartily approved of Covington's suggestion, and so did Alice. To the former it seemed to offer a natural vent for his daughter's desires; to the girl it appeared as a real promotion. It was not necessary for Covington to explain to his chief that the arrangement actually went into effect several weeks before it was submitted to him for his approval, nor did he take any credit to himself for the handsome profit in certain street railways stock, which netted Alice thirty thousand dollars as a result of her first investment. In fact, he modestly cautioned his pupil to say nothing about it, on the ground that the next investment might show a loss, and her father would be interested only in final results.

During the weeks which succeeded the merger of the New York street railways, Covington was more assiduous than ever in his attentions to Alice, yet, even with Allen's jealous suggestions, the girl saw in them nothing more than a continuation of their previous relations. His skill in manipulating her securities increased her admiration, and the incredible success filled her with joy. She was bursting with enthusiasm, and longed for an opportunity to share her happiness at least with Eleanor; but since the first confidences with her, she had become convinced that her preceptor's restrictions included Eleanor as well.

In spite of the care with which he selected the moment and the words, when Covington actually declared himself it came to Alice not only as a surprise, but as a distinct shock. At first she could not believe him sincere, but he succeeded in convincing her on this point. He interpreted her long silence and evident surprise as the natural expression of a young girl face to face with the most vital problem which ever comes to her. As a matter of fact, had Alice analyzed her feelings, the compound would have proved to be made up in equal parts of gratification, astonishment, and a broken idol. She was flattered that this man should really wish to marry her, she was amazed that his declaration did not arouse in her all those sentimental emotions which she had associated with a moment such as this; and she instinctively felt that he could not possibly be the great man she had considered him, to desire what he had asked.

"I thought you and I had decided that I was to be a business woman," Alice said at last, questioningly.

"Only for the time being," Covington smiled, well satisfied. "That is all right as a pastime, and you shall indulge in it as much as you like, but Mrs. John Covington will have more of a position to live up to even than Miss Alice Gorham."

"That's just it," she said, slowly. "It doesn't seem to me that I am ready to assume any 'position,' as you call it. Until you and daddy gave me this chance to do something else besides dances and theatre-parties and all those things we girls fill our time with, I was drifting hopelessly. This tiny bit of responsibility has been just the anchor I needed. What I read means so much more to me, what people talk about is of increased interest because I am just that much more conversant with what is going on; and the dances and the theatre-parties are lots more fun too. What you have asked, Mr. Covington, is enough to make any girl feel proud and happy, but--I don't believe I'm ready yet to give up my girlhood now when I am enjoying it most."

"There need be no haste in your decision," he said, graciously.

"Needn't there? Then you will give me a long time to think it over?"

"Not too long, I hope," he answered, significantly.

"But, truly," Alice's pout was exceedingly becoming, "I don't want to be married at all. Why should I when I am so happy?"

"Isn't that an unusual position for a young girl to take?"

"Perhaps it's because I am young," she admitted, smiling. "But I see so many--what shall I call them?--semi-detached couples, that it makes me wonder."

"Semi-detached?" Covington queried.

"Why, yes," she explained; "you know what I mean: the only way they can live happily together is to live apart."

"You are not very complimentary to me."

"Oh, please!" Alice interrupted quickly. "But you've noticed it, haven't you?"

"We notice many things which do not require personal application. In the present instance I think we possess so many interests in common that our marriage would be considered an ideal one. It would make me very happy."

"You have been so kind," Alice said, looking at him gratefully. "You know that I appreciate it, don't you? But I had no idea--you quite took my breath away, you are so much older than I am, and--"

"Am I so terribly old?"

"Oh, no; I mean it is I who am so terribly young. I never felt quite so young before. I suppose it is the surprise of it all. But you said I might have a long time. I must talk with daddy and Eleanor, you know. And I shall think it all over most carefully, please believe me." Alice held out her hand cordially. "Will you excuse me now--I really must see Eleanor."

Covington watched the girl in amazement as she hastily withdrew her hand and fled from the room. The self-possessed young woman whom he had met day after day had vanished, and in her place he saw the youthful school-girl, frightened into a loss of self-control by the offer of marriage he had just tendered her. Yet the whole episode amused him hugely. He smiled as he thought of his wife-to-be--the future Mrs. John Covington--running like a frightened deer from the first situation which took her by surprise! It was not as he had pictured it, but youth is a malady from which one's convalescence is ever speedy, and he could enjoy it while it lasted. He found his way to the front door unguided, where he paused for a moment and looked back, as if expecting to see the lithe form of the girl peering over the banister; but no sound came from the floor above, and the staircase was vacant.

"An amusing little minx," he laughed to himself, as he passed out of the house.

Alice lost no time in seeking Eleanor, eager to pour into her sympathetic ears the new problem which had presented itself. Instead, she found Patricia, curled up in an easy-chair, rereading her _Knights of the Round Table_ with renewed interest. She bent over to kiss her, but the child drew away.

"I don't love you any more," she announced.

"You don't!" asked Alice, taken by surprise.

"No; you're so mean to Allen."

The girl laughed. "Don't be silly, Pat. Why, Allen is only a kid, like you. Where's mamma Eleanor?"

"Lying down in her room; but he isn't a kid--he's my Knight."

"All right; you may have him," Alice answered, lightly, turning toward the door.

"Alice!"

The older girl turned. "Well?" she interrogated.

"Is Mr. Covington a cat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allen said to me the other day, 'Listen to him purr.'"

"Allen ought to have his ears boxed."

"No, he oughtn't"--but the door had slammed, and Patricia was alone with her Knights.

Alice tiptoed into Mrs. Gorham's room, then started to withdraw as Eleanor appeared to be asleep, but the older woman stopped her.

"Come in, dear," she said; "I am only resting."

"Are you ill?" the girl asked, anxiously, all thought of her errand vanishing; "you were looking very tired at breakfast."

"I did not sleep last night," she replied, rising wearily from the bed, and pressing her hands against her temples as she sat down. "I am so perplexed that I don't know which way to turn. I wonder if you could advise me, Alice?"

"If only I could be of help to you!" the girl exclaimed, drawing another chair close to Eleanor's, and taking both her hands in her own.

Eleanor made no reply for several moments. "I don't know what to do," she said simply at last. "I want to have my life an open book to your father, yet in this one instance I can't see my way clear."

"Why, Eleanor!" cried the girl, surprised, "how can that be possible?"

"I don't wonder you ask; that is the question I have set myself to answer. I saw Ralph Buckner yesterday as I was driving up Fifth Avenue, and the sight of him filled me with apprehension."

"Your first husband--in New York?" Alice asked, surprised.

"Yes--what can he be doing here?"

"You don't know that it has anything to do with you, do you?"

"No; but I am so apprehensive that I imagine everything."

"But the past is dead, Eleanor dear. To have it recalled is of course painful, but why should you dread it?"

Mrs. Gorham did not answer at once, and the girl was amazed to witness the conflict of emotion which her face expressed. At last Eleanor raised her eyes.

"The past is not wholly dead," she said, in a low voice. "That is the unfortunate part. There is one event which happened back there in Colorado, right after Carina was killed, which has never--can never be explained. It is the only detail of that awful tragedy which I have not told your father, and I could not even tell you."

"Can't you tell me enough so I can really help you, Eleanor?"

"No, not even as much as that. The appearances were all against me. I know that nothing occurred of which I need feel ashamed, but the circumstantial evidence is so strong that it would be beyond human possibility to expect any one, even one as generous as your father, to accept my unsupported statement."

"Has this to do with your first husband?"

"I fear that if he has come in possession of the facts he may intend to use them against me."

"Then the only thing for you to do is to see father at once, and to tell him everything yourself before that horrid man has the opportunity. There is nothing, Eleanor, which you could tell him which he would not accept exactly as you stated. Why, of course there isn't."

"I wish I had your confidence, dear," Eleanor sighed, "but that would be asking too much."

"Was Mr. Buckner concerned in it?"

"No; it was another man--the only other man I ever met except your father whom I would include among God's noblemen."

"Some one you loved, Eleanor?" the girl asked, hesitatingly.

"No, dear, not that!" she cried, hastily. "I was in no condition at that time to love any one. It was, as I told you, right after Carina's death. He was the friend who protected me and who helped me at that time--I told you about it--but who would believe that it was simply an act of humanity?"

"Father would believe it, Eleanor," the girl cried, firmly. "You must tell him, and you must tell him now--now--he is in the library."

"Oh, I cannot!" cried Eleanor, shrinking; "Robert is so much to me that I cannot run the risk of having even a doubt disturb the perfect understanding that has always existed between us."

"You must, Eleanor," insisted Alice, rising and urging Mrs. Gorham to her feet. "You must--shall I go with you?"

"No, dear," Eleanor replied. "I will go"; and with slow footsteps she left the room.

* * * * *

Gorham was well satisfied with the successful formation of the Manhattan Traction Company, as he was also with the general progress of the Consolidated Companies. Its expansion and success were phenomenal, and it was, of a certainty, coming into its own. The volume of business had quadrupled; its list of stockholders was nearly complete, and already included a sufficient proportion of those who controlled the world's pulse to make the acquisition of the others certain; its political strength, exercised under his firm hand for peace always, even now exceeded any similarly exerted power the world had known.

It was natural that Gorham should be filled with a certain sense of satisfaction that his work was bearing such magnificent fruit. One by one the necessities of life were being given to the public at a lower cost; one by one the luxuries, which had previously been denied them, were being brought within their reach. Wars had been prevented and taxation reduced. Everywhere the Consolidated Companies was looked upon as the people's friend, and those connected with it as public benefactors. And yet--the profits were increasing so rapidly that before long they bade fair to defy human computation!

For the first time since he began his work of forming the corporation Gorham gave himself up to day-dreams. Sitting back in an easy-chair in his library he watched the smoke curl upward from his cigar, and gave his mind free rein. With the momentum now acquired, nothing could stem the triumphal advance. The business scope had extended nearly as far as he would let it go--he would confine it to public utilities and public necessities. In the future, it might break beyond the confines he had set for it, and even become the single employer of all labor, but for his own time he would keep it within his limitations, so that he might devote his thought and energy to the development of its political power. Why should he not eventually succeed even in forcing a disarmament of nations, relieving the people of their most grievous burden, and insuring peace by the absolute control the Companies was certain to acquire of foodstuffs and the munitions of war? Then, indeed, his life would not have been in vain!

His day-dreams and his thoughts were interrupted by finding his wife at his side. She had entered so quietly that he had not heard her footstep, and he gave a gentle start when he felt her hand upon his forehead.

"Yes, dear, I am dreaming," he said, in answer to her unspoken question. "You don't often see me this way, do you? The world never looked so bright as it does to-day. The Consolidated Companies, the child of your conception and my creation, has reached the zenith of its power. It may grow larger, but even now nothing can resist it."

"The world never looked so bright as it does to-day," Eleanor repeated to herself, sitting on the arm of his chair, thrilled by the message of love which this man sent out to her through the pressure of his hand on hers which he held so closely. Should she be the one to disturb the supreme serenity of his thoughts at this moment by a suggestion of something which perhaps was only the figment of an over-anxious brain? Inside the battle waged, but he could not see her face, so was ignorant of the conflict. If her hand trembled within his own he did not notice it. She looked down at the profile so clearly outlined. What strength, what sweetness, what contentment! To-morrow she would tell him, but not to-day. This moment was hers, and no past memory had the right to take it from her!

XVII

The strain under which Gorham had been working for the past five years was beginning to show itself, and, acting upon his doctor's advice, he decided to take a brief respite from the cares and responsibilities of the office. He did not think it necessary to leave New York, as the reaction was not as yet strong enough to require any radical treatment. A fortnight spent quietly at his home in the midst of congenial surroundings would be entirely sufficient. During this time he denied himself to business callers, simply keeping in touch with affairs by means of his daily reports, which formed so strong a feature of his business system.

"They make the yesterdays into a whip of many lashes to urge to-day on to still greater speed," Gorham once explained. "They change the president of the Consolidated Companies from an absentee employer into an ubiquitous superintendent."

Because of Mr. Gorham's desire for retirement, the butler endeavored to explain the impossibility of an interview to a tall, smooth-faced young man who presented his card one afternoon. The caller's slight figure was clad in a black whip-cord suit, and over his arm was thrown a neatly folded tan overcoat. His silk hat carried a broad mourning band, and his hands were encased in black kid gloves. Gorham's would-be visitor did not present the most cheerful appearance, but the insistence with which he emphasized the important nature of his business succeeded in effecting his entrance to the hallway, where he was left until the butler could fortify himself behind the faithful Riley's invaluable advice.

Riley looked at the printed visiting-card, gave a violent start, and then quickly closed his hand over it. A penetrating glance disclosed the fact that the name had conveyed no special information to his companion, so he hastily assumed the responsibility of handling the situation, and hurried to the hall. Giving the visitor no opportunity to speak, Riley placed his hand gently upon his arm, and addressed him beseechingly.

"Jimmie, me la-ad," the old man said, "is it raly yersel' come ter see ye'er ol' fa-ather? I can't belave it, indade I can't; but 'tain't this we must be talkin' about now. I know it's th' great man ye are, but ye wuddent queer ye'er fa-ather by comin' ter th' front dure, wud ye? Come now, Misther Robert ain't heard about it yit, so it's all right, Jimmie--we'll go down-stairs an' have a nice little visit. It's proud I am ter have ye call on me, but ye mustn't come ter th' front dure, Jimmie--ye mustn't do that."

Riley's anxiety to get his son down-stairs and into his own domain blinded him to the straightness of Jimmie's back and the severe lines in his face. With all the dignity at his command the visitor assumed a position which perhaps he had learned during his career as an orator:

"You are my father, and an old man," he replied, with rare condescension, "so I will be gentle with you. I didn't call to sec _you_, Mr. Riley--I have important business with Mr. Gorham."

Riley drew back, indecision mingled with a father's pride that a son of his could carry himself with such an air.

"That's phwat brought ye here, is it?--business wid Misther Robert--ye!" he repeated. "Ah, Jimmie, I can't belave it, me la-ad. Are ye shure?"

"Is it his father who doubts the word of James Riley?" the younger man replied, and Riley thought he discerned a touch of sorrow in the unnatural tone of voice.

"But Misther Robert ain't doin' no business these days, Jimmie. It's th' vacation he's havin'."

"This is personal business, Mr. Riley, and it's to his own interest to see me. I can be of service to Mr. Gorham."

"Ye can be iv service ter Misther Robert, Jimmie?" The old man's face beamed with pride. "Ah, Jimmie, it's proud I am iv ye! Me own la-ad iv service ter Misther Robert! I'll spake ter him at wance."

As Riley drew back to admire his son, his eye fell upon the silk hat and the black gloves.

"Who's dead, Jimmie?" he asked, with real concern "--why do ye wear th' sorry rag on ye'er hat an' th' ravens on ye'er hands?"

"No one you know," James replied, carelessly flicking a speck from his overcoat sleeve. "The city supplied them for the committee what went to Moriarty's funeral last month."

"Oh!" Riley wavered between his relief and his sense of duty to acquaint his son with the proper usage of the articles in question. Discretion finally prevailed, and he went up-stairs to impress Mr. Gorham with the importance of Jimmie's errand.

James Riley had acted upon a sudden impulse in making his call upon Mr. Gorham. He had unexpectedly gained possession of certain information which he felt might be of commercial value to himself, and beyond this it offered him an opportunity to come in close contact with a famous man. With his eye always open to the main chance, James felt that this first meeting with Mr. Gorham, since he himself had come into his own, might lead to something worth while.

Even Gorham was conscious of the satisfaction expressed in the old man's voice as he opened the library door for his famous offspring and announced "Misther James Riley," dwelling noticeably upon the prefix.

"I am glad to see you, James," Gorham greeted him cordially. "Your father has kept me posted from time to time of your successes, and I congratulate you both."

Praise from the president of the Consolidated Companies was nectar to James Riley, and with an effort to appear indifferent he suffered himself to sit down.

"Your father tells me you have personal business with me," Gorham continued, noting the difficulty James experienced in getting under way.

The caller would not have admitted it, even to himself, but the effect of being actually in the presence of this man of world-wide fame, and in the midst of such palatial surroundings, was to deprive him of his usual easy flow of words. Gorham's remark, however, as was intended, served to relieve him, but the oratorical prelude which he had carefully rehearsed coming up on the electric 'bus had vanished from his mind, and he plunged, as had still another "gentleman" before him, _in medias res_.

"There's a feller in town what means to make trouble for you," he announced, bluntly, looking up from his study of the pattern in the rug to note the effect of his announcement upon his host.

Gorham laughed. "I have an idea that there is more than one 'feller' in town who would be glad to do that if he found the chance."

"That may be, sir," James assented, "but this feller has come a long bit out of his way to do it, and I don't think it's on the level, sir."

"It is very good of you to come and tell me this, James," Gorham said, lightly; "but I presume our secret service force already have the gentleman on their list."

"Oh, he ain't no gentleman," James corrected him, "and it ain't got nothin' to do with business, sir, so I thought I'd call on you as a friend and tell you what I know."

"What else can it have to do with?" queried Gorham, incredulously, yet humoring James for his father's sake.

"With Mrs. Gorham, sir--leastwise, that's what he says."

Gorham's apathy disappeared, but his visitor observed no change in the calmness of his expression or in the quiet tone in which he spoke.

"You surprise me, James. What sort of man is he?"

"He's a blackguard, sir, and a liar. I'd have told him so, only he was drunk, and I thought he might leak something what would be of interest to you. He says he used to be Mrs. Gorham's husband."

The lines deepened a little in Gorham's face. "What is his name?" he asked.

"Buckner, sir--Ralph Buckner."

"H'm! And why do you think he intends to try to make trouble for me?"

"Well, sir, you see it's this way. This feller come to the same boardin'-house where I live, but I didn't pay no attention to him 'til I see him playin' pool in the saloon opposite. I'm a Tammany man, sir, and I has to mix with all the new ones what come into my ward. I got acquainted with him over there, and he drank awful heavy. He's quiet enough when he's sober, but he talks free and easy like when he gets tanked. One night he says to me, 'I'm goin' to make a lot o' money.'

"'Good!' says I, more to be agreeable than because I had any 'special interest--'how're you goin' to do it?'

"Then he laughed, silly-like, and winked at me. I didn't say no more, but the next night he talked again.

"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder she shook me for that.'

"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.

"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be long.'