The Financier [261]
he were out and did not have to fight court proceedings. Courts and jails! He shook his head when he thought of the waste involved in them.
"That's all right," he said, looking around him in an uncertain way. "I'm ready."
He stepped out into the hall, with scarcely a farewell glance, and to Bonhag, who was grieving greatly over the loss of so profitable a customer, he said: "I wish you would see that some of these things are sent over to my house, Walter. You're welcome to the chair, that clock, this mirror, those pictures--all of these things in fact, except my linen, razors, and so forth."
The last little act of beneficence soothed Bonhag's lacerated soul a little. They went out into the receiving overseer's office, where Cowperwood laid aside his prison suit and the soft shirt with a considerable sense of relief. The clog shoes had long since been replaced by a better pair of his own. He put on the derby hat and gray overcoat he had worn the year before, on entering, and expressed himself as ready. At the entrance of the prison he turned and looked back--one last glance--at the iron door leading into the garden.
"You don't regret leaving that, do you, Frank?" asked Steger, curiously.
"I do not," replied Cowperwood. "It wasn't that I was thinking of. It was just the appearance of it, that's all."
In another minute they were at the outer gate, where Cowperwood shook the warden finally by the hand. Then entering a carriage outside the large, impressive, Gothic entrance, the gates were locked behind them and they were driven away.
"Well, there's an end of that, Frank," observed Steger, gayly; "that will never bother you any more."
"Yes," replied Cowperwood. "It's worse to see it coming than going."
"It seems to me we ought to celebrate this occasion in some way," observed Walter Leigh. "It won't do just to take Frank home. Why don't we all go down to Green's? That's a good idea."
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," replied Cowperwood, feelingly. "I'll get together with you all, later. Just now I'd like to go home and change these clothes."
He was thinking of Aileen and his children and his mother and father and of his whole future. Life was going to broaden out for him considerably from now on, he was sure of it. He had learned so much about taking care of himself in those thirteen months. He was going to see Aileen, and find how she felt about things in general, and then he was going to resume some such duties as he had had in his own concern, with Wingate & Co. He was going to secure a seat on 'change again, through his friends; and, to escape the effect of the prejudice of those who might not care to do business with an ex-convict, he was going to act as general outside man, and floor man on 'charge, for Wingate & Co. His practical control of that could not be publicly proved. Now for some important development in the market--some slump or something. He would show the world whether he was a failure or not.
They let him down in front of his wife's little cottage, and he entered briskly in the gathering gloom.
On September 18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen of a brilliant autumn day, in the city of Philadelphia, one of the most startling financial tragedies that the world has ever seen had its commencement. The banking house of Jay Cooke & Co., the foremost financial organization of America, doing business at Number 114 South Third Street in Philadelphia, and with branches in New York, Washington, and London, closed its doors. Those who know anything about the financial crises of the United States know well the significance of the panic which followed. It is spoken of in all histories as the panic of 1873, and the widespread ruin and disaster which followed was practically unprecedented in American history.
At this time Cowperwood, once more a broker--ostensibly a broker's agent--was doing business in South Third Street, and representing Wingate & Co. on 'change. During the six months which had elapsed since he had emerged from the Eastern Penitentiary he had been
"That's all right," he said, looking around him in an uncertain way. "I'm ready."
He stepped out into the hall, with scarcely a farewell glance, and to Bonhag, who was grieving greatly over the loss of so profitable a customer, he said: "I wish you would see that some of these things are sent over to my house, Walter. You're welcome to the chair, that clock, this mirror, those pictures--all of these things in fact, except my linen, razors, and so forth."
The last little act of beneficence soothed Bonhag's lacerated soul a little. They went out into the receiving overseer's office, where Cowperwood laid aside his prison suit and the soft shirt with a considerable sense of relief. The clog shoes had long since been replaced by a better pair of his own. He put on the derby hat and gray overcoat he had worn the year before, on entering, and expressed himself as ready. At the entrance of the prison he turned and looked back--one last glance--at the iron door leading into the garden.
"You don't regret leaving that, do you, Frank?" asked Steger, curiously.
"I do not," replied Cowperwood. "It wasn't that I was thinking of. It was just the appearance of it, that's all."
In another minute they were at the outer gate, where Cowperwood shook the warden finally by the hand. Then entering a carriage outside the large, impressive, Gothic entrance, the gates were locked behind them and they were driven away.
"Well, there's an end of that, Frank," observed Steger, gayly; "that will never bother you any more."
"Yes," replied Cowperwood. "It's worse to see it coming than going."
"It seems to me we ought to celebrate this occasion in some way," observed Walter Leigh. "It won't do just to take Frank home. Why don't we all go down to Green's? That's a good idea."
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," replied Cowperwood, feelingly. "I'll get together with you all, later. Just now I'd like to go home and change these clothes."
He was thinking of Aileen and his children and his mother and father and of his whole future. Life was going to broaden out for him considerably from now on, he was sure of it. He had learned so much about taking care of himself in those thirteen months. He was going to see Aileen, and find how she felt about things in general, and then he was going to resume some such duties as he had had in his own concern, with Wingate & Co. He was going to secure a seat on 'change again, through his friends; and, to escape the effect of the prejudice of those who might not care to do business with an ex-convict, he was going to act as general outside man, and floor man on 'charge, for Wingate & Co. His practical control of that could not be publicly proved. Now for some important development in the market--some slump or something. He would show the world whether he was a failure or not.
They let him down in front of his wife's little cottage, and he entered briskly in the gathering gloom.
On September 18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen of a brilliant autumn day, in the city of Philadelphia, one of the most startling financial tragedies that the world has ever seen had its commencement. The banking house of Jay Cooke & Co., the foremost financial organization of America, doing business at Number 114 South Third Street in Philadelphia, and with branches in New York, Washington, and London, closed its doors. Those who know anything about the financial crises of the United States know well the significance of the panic which followed. It is spoken of in all histories as the panic of 1873, and the widespread ruin and disaster which followed was practically unprecedented in American history.
At this time Cowperwood, once more a broker--ostensibly a broker's agent--was doing business in South Third Street, and representing Wingate & Co. on 'change. During the six months which had elapsed since he had emerged from the Eastern Penitentiary he had been