 | CHAPTER V.
THE STORM THREATENING. What can she do? |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
THE STORM THREATENING.
LAURA had a better motive than suggested by
her father for wishing to lead Mr. Goulden to
commit himself, for as far as she could love any one
beyond herself, she loved him, and also realized
fully that he could continue to her all that her elegant
and expensive tastes craved. Notwithstanding
her show of maidenly pride and reserve, she
was ready enough to do as she had been bidden.
Mr. Allen guessed as much. Indeed, as was quite
natural, his wife was the type of the average
woman to his mind, only he believed that she was
a little cleverer in these matters than the majority.
The manner in which she had “hooked” him made
a deep and lasting impression on his memory.
But Mr. Goulden was a wary fish. He had no
objections to being hooked if the conditions were
all right, and until satisfied as to these, he would
play around at a safe distance. As he saw Mr.
Allen daily getting into deeper water, he grew
more cautious. His calls were not quite so frequent.
He always managed to be with Laura in
company with others, and while his manner was
very complimentary, it was never exactly lover-like.
Therefore, all Laura's feminine diplomacy was in
moment a man speaks, she could scarcely hint.
Moreover, Mr. Goulden was adroit enough to chill
her heart while he flattered her vanity. There
was something about his manner she could not
understand, but it was impossible to take offence
at the polished gentleman.
Her father understood him better. He saw
that Mr. Goulden had resolved to settle the question
on financial principles only.
As the chances diminished of securing him
indirectly through Laura as a prop to his tottering
fortunes, he at last came to the conclusion to try
to interest him directly in his speculation, feeling
sure if he could control only a part of Mr. Goulden's
large means and credit, he could carry his
operation through successfully.
Mr. Goulden warily listened to the scheme,
warily weighed it, and concluded within the brief
compass of Mr. Allen's explanation to have nothing
to do with it. But his outward manner was all
deference and courteous attention.
At the end of Mr. Allen's rather eager and
rose-colored statements, he replied in politest and
most regretful tones that he “was very sorry he
could not avail himself of so promising an opening,
but in fact, he was `in deep' himself—carrying all
he could stand up under very well, and was rather
in the borrowing than in the lending line at present.”
Keen Mr. Allen saw through all this in a
his efforts at self-control. Muttering something
to the effect,—
“I thought I would give you a chance to make
a good thing,” he bade a rather abrupt “good
morning.”
As the pressure grew heavier upon him he was
led to do a thing, the suggestion of which a few
weeks previously, he would have regarded as an
insult. Mrs. Allen had a snug little property of
her own, which had been secured to her on first
mortgages, and in bonds that were quiet and safe.
These her husband held in trust for her, and now
pledged them as collateral on which to borrow
money to carry through his gigantic operation.
In respect to part of this transaction, Mrs. Allen
was obliged to sign a paper which might have revealed
to her the danger involved, but she languidly
took the pen, yawned, and signed away the
result of her father's long years of toil without
reading a line.
“There,” she said, “I hope you will not bother
me about business again. Now in regard to this
party”—and she was about to enter into an eager
discussion of all the complicated details, when her
husband, interrupting, said,—
“Another time, my dear—I am very much
pressed by business at present.”
“O, business, nothing but business,” whined
his wife. “You never have time to attend to me or
your family.”
But Mr. Allen was out of hearing of the
querulous tones before the sentence was finished.
Of course he never meant that his wife should
lose a cent, and to satisfy his conscience, and impressed
by his danger, he resolved that as soon as
he was out of this quaking morass of speculation
he would settle on his wife and each daughter
enough to secure them in wealth through life and
arrange it in such a way that no one could touch
the principal.
The large sum that he now secured eased up
matters and helped him greatly, and affairs began
to wear a brightening aspect. He felt sure that
the stock he had invested in was destined to rise
in time, and indeed it already gave evidences of
buoyancy. He noticed with an inward chuckle
that Mr. Goulden began to call a little oftener.
He was the best financial barometer in Wall
street.
But the case would require the most adroit and
delicate management for weeks still, and this Mr.
Allen could have given. Success also depended
on a favorable state of the money market, and a
good degree of stability and quietness throughout
the financial world. Political changes in Europe,
a war in Asia, heavy failures in Liverpool, London
or Paris, might easily spoil all. Reducing Mr.
Allen's vast complicated operation to its final
analysis, he had simply bet several millions—all he
had, that nothing would happen throughout the
world that could interfere with a scheme so problematical
even.
But gambling is occasionally successful, and it
began to look as if Mr. Allen would win his bet;
and so he might had nothing happened. The
world was quiet enough, remarkably quiet, considering
the superabundance of explosive elements
everywhere.
The financial centres seethed on as usual, like
a witch's cauldron, but there were no infernal ebullitions
in the form of “Black Fridays.” The
storm that threatened to wreck Mr. Allen was no
wide, sweeping tempest, but rather one of those
little local whirlwinds that sometimes in the West
destroy a farm or township.
For the last few weeks Mr. Fox had quietly
watched the game, matured his plans, and secured
his proof in the best legal form. He now concluded
it was time to act, as he believed Mr. Allen
to be in his power. So one morning he coolly
walked into that gentleman's office, closed the door
and took a seat. Mr. Allen looked up with an expression
of surprise and annoyance on his face. He
instinctively disliked Mr. Fox, as a lion might be
irritated by a cat, and the instinctive enmity was
all the stronger, because of a certain family likeness.
But Mr. Allen's astuteness had nothing
mean or cringing in it, while Mr. Fox heretofore
had been a sort of Uriah Heep to him. Therefore
his surprise and annoyance at his new role of cool
confidence.
“Well, sir,” said he, rather impatiently, returning
to his writing, as a broad hint that communications
must be brief if made at all.
“Mr. Allen,” said Mr. Fox, in that clear cut
decisive tone, that betokens resolute purpose, and
a little anger also, “I must request you to give me
your undivided attention for a little time, and surely
what I am about to say is important enough to
make it worth the while.”
Though Mr. Allen flushed angrily, he knew that
his clerk would not employ such a tone and manner
without reason, so he raised his head and looked
steadily at his unwelcome visitor and again said
briefly,—
“Well, sir.”
“I wish, in the first place,” said Mr. Fox, thinking
to begin with the least important exaction, and
gradually reach a climax in his extortion, “I wish
permission to pay my addresses to your daughter
Miss Edith.”
Knowing nothing of a father's pride and affection,
he unwittingly brought in the climax first.
The angry flush deepened on Mr. Allen's face,
but he still managed to control himself, and to remember
that the father of three pretty daughters
must expect some scenes like these, and the only
thing to do was to get rid of the objectionable suitors
as civilly as possible. He was also too much
of an American to put on any of the high stepping
airs of the European aristocracy. Here it is simply
one sovereign proposing for the daughter of
arrange it all before asking any consent in the
case. After all, Mr. Fox had only paid his daughter
the highest compliment in his power, and if
any other of his clerks had made a similar request
he would probably have given as kind and delicate
a refusal as possible. It was because he disliked
Mr. Fox, and instinctively gauged his character,
that he said with a short, dry laugh,—
“Come, Mr. Fox, you are forgetting yourself.
You have been a useful employee in my store. If
you feel that you should have more salary, name
what will satisfy you, and I will consult my partners,
and try and arrange it.” “There,” thought
he, “if he can't take that hint as to his place, I
shall have to give him a kick.” But both surprise
and anger began to get the better of him when Mr.
Fox replied,—
“I must really beg your closer attention; I said
nothing of increased salary. You will soon see
that is no object with me now. I asked your permission
to pay my addresses to your daughter.”
“I decline to give it,” said Mr. Allen, harshly,
“and if I hear any more of this nonsense I will
discharge you from my employ.”
“Why?” was the quiet response, yet spoken
with the intensity of passion.
“Because I never would permit my daughter
to marry a man in your circumstances, and if you
will have it, you are not the style of a man I would
wish to take into my family.”
“If a man who was worth a million asked for
your daughter's hand, would you answer him in
this manner?”
“Perhaps not,” said Mr. Allen, with another
of his short dry laughs, which expressed little save
irritation, “but you have my answer as respects
yourself.”
“I am not so sure of that,” was the bold retort.
“I am practically worth a million—indeed several
millions to you, as you are now situated. You
have talked long enough in the dark, Mr. Allen.
For some time back there have been in your importations
violations of the revenue laws. I have
only to give the facts in my possession to the
proper authorities and the government would
legally claim from you a million of dollars, of which
I should get half. So you see that I am positively
worth five hundred thousand, and to you I am
worth a million with respect to this item alone.”
Mr. Allen sprang excitedly to his feet. Mr.
Fox coolly got up and edged toward the door,
which he had purposely left unlatched.
“Moreover,” continued Mr. Fox, in his hard
metallic voice, “in view of your other operations in
Wall street, which I know all about, the loss of a
million would involve the loss of all you have.”
Mr. Fox now had his hand on the door-knob,
and Mr. Allen was glaring at him as if purposing
to rush upon and rend him to pieces.
Standing in the passage-way, Mr. Fox concluded,
in a low, meaning tone,—
“You had better make terms with me within
twenty-four hours.”
And the door closed sharply, reminding one of
the shutting of a steel trap.
Mr. Allen sank suddenly back in his chair and
stared at the closed door, looking as if he might
have been a prisoner and all escape cut off.
He seemed to be in a lethargy or under a partial
paralysis; he slowly and weakly rubbed his
head with his hand, as if vaguely conscious that
the trouble was there.
Gradually the stupor began to pass off, his
blood to circulate, and his mind to realize his situation.
Rising feebly, as if a sudden age had fallen on
him, he went to the door and gave orders that he
must not be disturbed, and then sat down to think.
Half an hour later he sent for his lawyer, stated
the case to him, enjoined secrecy, and asked him
to see Fox, hoping that it might be a case of mere
black-mailing bravado. Keen as Mr. Allen's lawyer
was, he had more than his match in the astute
Mr. Fox. Moreover the latter had everything in
his favor. There had been a slight infringement
of the revenue laws, and though involving but
small loss to the government, the consequences
were the same. The invoice would be confiscated
as soon as the facts were known. Mr. Fox had
secured ample proof of this.
Mr. Allen might be able to prove that there
was no intention to violate the law, as indeed there
to his subordinates, and they had been a little careless,
averaging matters, contenting themselves with
complying with the general intent of the law,
rather than, with painstaking care, conforming to
its letter. But the law is very matter-of-fact, and
can be excessively literal when money is to be
made by those who live by enforcing or evading it,
as may suit them. Mr. Fox could carry his case,
if he pressed it, and secure his share of the plunder.
On account of a very slight loss, Mr. Allen might
be compelled to lose a million.
Before the day's decline the lawyer had asked
Mr. Fox to take no further steps, stating vaguely
that Mr. Allen would look into the matter, and
would not be unreasonable.
A sardonic grin gave a momentary lurid hue to
Mr. Fox's sallow face. Knowing the game to be
in his own hands, he could quietly bide his time;
so, assuming a tone of much moderation and dignity,
he replied, he had no wish to be hard, and
could be reasonable also. “But,” added he, in a
meaning tone, “there must be no double work in
this matter. Mr. Allen must see what I am worth
to him—nothing could be plainer. His best policy
now is to act promptly and liberally toward me,
for I pledge you my word that if I see any disposition
to evade my requirements I will blow out
the bottom of everything,” and a snaky glitter in
his small black eyes showed how remorselessly he
could scuttle the ship bearing Mr. Allen's fortunes.
A speedy investigation showed Mr. Fox's fatal
power, and Mr. Allen's partners were for paying
him off, but when they found that he exacted an
interest in the business, that quite threw them
into the background; they were indignant and inclined
to fight it out. Mr. Allen could not tell
them that he was in no condition to fight. If his
financial status had been the same as some weeks
previously, he would rather have lost the million
than have listened one moment to Mr. Fox's repulsive
conditions, but now to risk litigation and commercial
reputation on one hand, and total ruin on
the other, was an abyss from which he shrank back
appalled.
His only resource was to temporize, both with
his partners and Mr. Fox, and so gain time, hoping
that the Wall street scheme, that had caused so
much evil, might also cure it. Of course he could
not tell his partners how he was situated. The
slightest breath of suspicion might cause the
evenly balanced scales in which hung all chances
to hopelessly decline. It now showed a decided
tendency to rise.
If he could only keep things quiet a little
longer—
Edith must help him. Cailing her into the
library after dinner, he asked:
“Has Mr. Fox called lately?”
“No, sir, not for some little time.”
“Will you oblige me by seeing him and being
civil if he calls again?”
“Why, papa, I thought you did not wish me to
see him.”
“Circumstances have altered since then. Is
he very disagreeable to you?”
“Well papa, I have scarcely thought of him,
but to tell you the truth when he has been here
on business, I have involuntarily thought of a mousing
cat or the animal he is named after, on the
scent of a hen-roost. But of course I can be civil
or even polite to him if you wish it.”
A spasm of pain crossed her father's face and
he put his hand hastily to his head, a frequent act
of late. He rose and took a few turns up and down
the room, muttering,—
“Curse it all, I must tell her. Half knowledge
is always dangerous, and is sure to lead to blunders,
and there must be no blunders now.”
Stopping abruptly before his daughter, he said,
“He has proposed for your hand.”
An expression of disgust flitted across Edith's
face, and she replied quickly,—
“We both have surely but one answer to such
a proposition from him.”
“Edith, you seem to have more sense in regard
to business and such matters than most young ladies.
I must now test you, and it is for you to
show whether you are a woman or a shallow-brained
girl. I am sorry to tell you these things. They
are not suited to your age or sex, but there is no
help for it,” and he explained how he was situated.
Edith listened with paling cheek, dilating eyes
growing purpose to help her father.
“I do not wish you to marry this villain,” he
continued. “Heaven forbid;” (not that Mr. Allen
referred this or any other matter to Heaven; it
was only a strong way of expressing his own disapproval.)
“But we must manage to temporize and
keep this man at bay till I can extricate myself
from my difficulties. As soon as I stand on firm
ground I will defy him.”
To Edith, with her standard of morality, the
course indicated by her father seemed eminently
filial and praiseworthy. The thought of marrying
Mr. Fox made her flesh creep, but a brief flirtation
was another affair. She had flirted not a little in
her day for the mere amusement of the thing, and
with the motives her father had presented, she
could do it in this case as if it were an act of devotion.
Of the pure and lofty morality of the Bible
she had as little idea as a Persian houri, and rugged
Roman virtue could not develop in the social atmosphere
in which the Allens lived. It was with
a clear conscience that she resolved to beguile Mr.
Fox, and signified as much to her father.
“Play him off,” said this model father, “as Mr.
Goulden does Laura. Curse him!—how I would
like to slam the front door in his face. But my
time may come yet,” he added with set teeth.
That morning Mr. Allen sent for Mr. Fox, as he
dared brave him no longer without some definite
show of yielding, in order to keep back his fatal
in keeping with his fear and the import of his
words, he said,—
“I have considered your statements, sir, and admit
their weight. As I informed you through my
lawyer, I wish to be reasonable and hope you intend
to be the same, for these are very grave matters.
In regard to my daughter, you have my permission
to call upon her as do her other gentleman
friends, and she will receive you. In this land, that
is all the vantage ground a gentleman asks, as indeed
it is all that can be granted. I am not the
king of Dahomey or the Shah of Persia, and able
to give my daughters where interest may dictate.
A lady's inclination must be consulted. But I give
you the permission you ask, you may pay your addresses
to my daughter. You could scarcely ask
a father to say more.”
“It matters little to me what you or others say,
but much what they do. My action shall be based
upon yours and Miss Edith's. I have learned in
your employ the value of promptness in all business
matters. I hope you understand me.”
“I do, sir, but there can be no indecent haste
in these matters. In gaining the important position—in
assuming the relations you desire,—there
should be some show of dignity, otherwise society
will be disgusted, and you would lose the respect
which should follow such vast acquirements.”
“Where I can secure the whole cloth, I shall not
opinion,” was Mr. Fox's cynical reply.
Mr. Allen could not prevent an expression of
intense disgust from coming out upon his face, and
he replied with some heat,—
“Well, sir, something is due to my own position,
and I can not treat my daughter like a bale of
cloth, as you suggest in your figurative speech.
However,” he added, warily, “I will take the necessary
steps as soon as possible, and will trespass
upon your time no longer.”
As Mr. Fox glided out of the office with his
sardonic smile, Mr. Allen felt for the moment that
he would rather break than make terms with him.
Meanwhile the month of February was rapidly
passing, though each day was an age of anxiety
and suspense to Mr. Allen. The tension was too
much for him, and he evidently aged and failed under
it. He drank more than he ate, and his temper
was very variable. From his wife he only received
chidings and complaints that in his horrid “mania
for business” he was neglecting her and his family
in general. She could never get him to sit down
and talk sensibly of the birthday and début party
that was now so near. He would always say, testily,
“manage it to suit yourselves.”
Laura and Zell were too much wrapped up in
their own affairs to give much thought to anything
else. But Edith, of late, understood her father and
felt deeply for him. One evening finding him sitting
said,—
“Why go on with this party, papa? I am sure
I am ready to give it up if it will be any relief to
you.”
The heart of this strong, confident man of the
world was sore and lonely. For perhaps the first
time he felt the need of support and sympathy.
He drew his beautiful daughter, that thus far he
had scarcely more than admired, down upon his
lap and buried his face upon her shoulder. A
breath of divine impulse swept aside for a moment
the narrow stifling curtains of his sordid life, and
he caught a glimpse of the large happy realm of
love.
“And would you really give up anything for
the sake of your old father?” he asked in a low
tone.
“Everything,” cried Edith, much moved by the
unusual display of affection and feeling on the part
of her father.
“The others would not,” said he bitterly.
“Indeed, papa, I think they would if they only
knew. We would all do anything to see you
your old jovial self again. Give up this wretched
struggle; tell Mr. Fox to do his worst. I am not
afraid of being poor; I am sure we could work up
again.”
“You know nothing about poverty,” sighed
her father. “When you are down, the world that
bowed at your feet, will run over and trample on
of danger to me and mine.”
“But this party,” said the practical Edith,
“why not give this up? It will cost a great deal.”
“By no means give it up,” said her father. “It
may help me very much. My credit is everything
now. The appearance of wealth which such a
display insures, will do much to secure the wealth.
I am watched day and night, and must show no
sign of weakness. Go on with the party and make
it as brilliant as possible. If I fail, two or three
thousand will make no difference, and it may help
me to succeed. Whatever strengthens my credit
for the next few days is everything to me. My
stock is rising, only it is too slow. Things look
better— if I could only gain time. But I am
very uneasy—my head troubles me,” and he put
his hand to his head, and Edith remembered how
often she had seen him do that of late.
“By the way,” said he, abruptly, “tell me how
you get on with Mr. Fox.”
“O, never mind about that now; do rest a
little, mind and body.”
“No, tell me,” said her father sharply, showing
how little control he had over himself.
“Well, I think I have beaten him so far. He
is very demonstrative, and acts as if I belonged to
him. Did I not manage to always meet him in
company with others, he would come at once to an
open declaration. As it is, I cannot prevent it
much longer. He is coming this evening, and I
the asking is a mere form and that our extremity
will leave no choice.”
“You must avoid him a little longer. Come,
we will go to the theatre, and then you might be
sick for a few days.”
“In a few minutes they were off, and were
scarcely well away when Mr. Fox, dressed in more
style than he could carry gracefully, appeared.
“Miss Edith am out,” said Hannibal loftily.
“I half believe you lie,” muttered Mr. Fox,
looking very black.
“Sarch de house, sah. It am a berry gentlemanly
proceeding.”
“Where has she gone, and who did she go
with?”
“I hab no orders to say,” said Hannibal looking
fixedly at the ceiling of the vestibule.
The knightly suitor turned on his heel, muttering,
“They are playing me false.”
'Twas a pity, and he so true.
The next day Edith was sick and Mr. Allen's
stock was rising. Hannibal again sent Mr. Fox
baffled away, but with a dangerous gleam in his
eyes.
On the following morning Mr. Allen found a note
on his desk. His face grew livid as he read it, and
he often put his hand to his head. He sat down
and wrote to this effect, however,—
“I am arranging the partnership matter as rapidly
as possible. In regard to my daughter you will
compel her to marry you. You may make it impossible
to influence her in your favor. You have
been well received. What more can you ask? A
matter of this kind must be arranged delicately.”
Mr. Fox pondered over this with a peculiarly
foxy expression. “It sounds plausible. If I only
thought he was true,” soliloquized this embodiment
of truth.
Mr. Allen's stock was higher, and Mr. Fox
watched the rise grimly, but he saw Edith, who
was all smiles, and graciousness, and gave him a
verbal invitation to her birthday-party which was
to take place early in the following week.
The fellow had considerable vanity, and was ensnared,
his suspicions quieted for the time. Valuing
money himself supremely, it seemed most rational
that father and daughter should regard him
as the most eligible young man in the city.
Edith's friends, and Gus in particular, were
rather astonished at the new comer. Laura was
frigid and remonstrative, Zell and Mr. Van Dam
satirical, but Edith wilfully tossed her head and
said, “He was clever and well off, and she liked him
well enough to talk to him a little. Society had
made her a good actress. Meanwhile on the Tuesday
following (and this was Friday) the long expected
party would take place.
| CHAPTER V.
THE STORM THREATENING. What can she do? | |