The Titan [98]
back of him. After a parley with his secretary, he was informed that a gentleman connected with the Inquirer wished to speak with him.
"This is the Inquirer," said a voice which Cowperwood, his ear to the receiver, thought he recognized as that of young Truman MacDonald, the General's son. "You wanted to know," continued the voice, "what would be considered adequate compensation so far as that tunnel matter is concerned. Can you hear me?"
"Yes," replied Cowperwood.
"Well, I should not care to influence your judgment one way or the other; but if my opinion were asked I should say about fifty thousand dollars' worth of North Chicago Street Railway stock would be satisfactory."
The voice was young, clear, steely.
"To whom would you suggest that it might be paid?" Cowperwood asked, softly, quite genially.
"That, also, I would suggest, might be left to your very sound judgment."
The voice ceased. The receiver was hung up.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Cowperwood said, looking at the floor reflectively. A smile spread over his face. "I'm not going to be held up like that. I don't need to be. It isn't worth it. Not at present, anyhow." His teeth set.
He was underestimating Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, principally because he did not like him. He thought his father might return and oust him. It was one of the most vital mistakes he ever made in his life.
Chapter XXIV
The Coming of Stephanie Platow
During this period of what might have been called financial and commercial progress, the affairs of Aileen and Cowperwood had been to a certain extent smoothed over. Each summer now, partly to take Aileen's mind off herself and partly to satisfy his own desire to see the world and collect objects of art, in which he was becoming more and more interested, it was Cowperwood's custom to make with his wife a short trip abroad or to foreign American lands, visiting in these two years Russia, Scandinavia, Argentine, Chili, and Mexico. Their plan was to leave in May or June with the outward rush of traffic, and return in September or early October. His idea was to soothe Aileen as much as possible, to fill her mind with pleasing anticipations as to her eventual social triumph somewhere--in New York or London, if not Chicago--to make her feel that in spite of his physical desertion he was still spiritually loyal.
By now also Cowperwood was so shrewd that he had the ability to simulate an affection and practise a gallantry which he did not feel, or, rather, that was not backed by real passion. He was the soul of attention; he would buy her flowers, jewels, knickknacks, and ornaments; he would see that her comfort was looked after to the last detail; and yet, at the very same moment, perhaps, he would be looking cautiously about to see what life might offer in the way of illicit entertainment. Aileen knew this, although she could not prove it to be true. At the same time she had an affection and an admiration for the man which gripped her in spite of herself.
You have, perhaps, pictured to yourself the mood of some general who has perhaps suffered a great defeat; the employee who after years of faithful service finds himself discharged. What shall life say to the loving when their love is no longer of any value, when all that has been placed upon the altar of affection has been found to be a vain sacrifice? Philosophy? Give that to dolls to play with. Religion? Seek first the metaphysical-minded. Aileen was no longer the lithe, forceful, dynamic girl of 1865, when Cowperwood first met her. She was still beautiful, itis true, a fair, full-blown, matronly creature not more than thirty-five, looking perhaps thirty, feeling, alas, that she was a girl and still as attractive as ever. It is a grim thing to a woman, however fortunately placed, to realize that age is creeping on, and that love, that singing will-o'-the-wisp, is fading into the ultimate dark. Aileen, within the hour of her greatest triumph, had seen love die. It was useless to tell herself, as she did sometimes, that it
"This is the Inquirer," said a voice which Cowperwood, his ear to the receiver, thought he recognized as that of young Truman MacDonald, the General's son. "You wanted to know," continued the voice, "what would be considered adequate compensation so far as that tunnel matter is concerned. Can you hear me?"
"Yes," replied Cowperwood.
"Well, I should not care to influence your judgment one way or the other; but if my opinion were asked I should say about fifty thousand dollars' worth of North Chicago Street Railway stock would be satisfactory."
The voice was young, clear, steely.
"To whom would you suggest that it might be paid?" Cowperwood asked, softly, quite genially.
"That, also, I would suggest, might be left to your very sound judgment."
The voice ceased. The receiver was hung up.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Cowperwood said, looking at the floor reflectively. A smile spread over his face. "I'm not going to be held up like that. I don't need to be. It isn't worth it. Not at present, anyhow." His teeth set.
He was underestimating Mr. Truman Leslie MacDonald, principally because he did not like him. He thought his father might return and oust him. It was one of the most vital mistakes he ever made in his life.
Chapter XXIV
The Coming of Stephanie Platow
During this period of what might have been called financial and commercial progress, the affairs of Aileen and Cowperwood had been to a certain extent smoothed over. Each summer now, partly to take Aileen's mind off herself and partly to satisfy his own desire to see the world and collect objects of art, in which he was becoming more and more interested, it was Cowperwood's custom to make with his wife a short trip abroad or to foreign American lands, visiting in these two years Russia, Scandinavia, Argentine, Chili, and Mexico. Their plan was to leave in May or June with the outward rush of traffic, and return in September or early October. His idea was to soothe Aileen as much as possible, to fill her mind with pleasing anticipations as to her eventual social triumph somewhere--in New York or London, if not Chicago--to make her feel that in spite of his physical desertion he was still spiritually loyal.
By now also Cowperwood was so shrewd that he had the ability to simulate an affection and practise a gallantry which he did not feel, or, rather, that was not backed by real passion. He was the soul of attention; he would buy her flowers, jewels, knickknacks, and ornaments; he would see that her comfort was looked after to the last detail; and yet, at the very same moment, perhaps, he would be looking cautiously about to see what life might offer in the way of illicit entertainment. Aileen knew this, although she could not prove it to be true. At the same time she had an affection and an admiration for the man which gripped her in spite of herself.
You have, perhaps, pictured to yourself the mood of some general who has perhaps suffered a great defeat; the employee who after years of faithful service finds himself discharged. What shall life say to the loving when their love is no longer of any value, when all that has been placed upon the altar of affection has been found to be a vain sacrifice? Philosophy? Give that to dolls to play with. Religion? Seek first the metaphysical-minded. Aileen was no longer the lithe, forceful, dynamic girl of 1865, when Cowperwood first met her. She was still beautiful, itis true, a fair, full-blown, matronly creature not more than thirty-five, looking perhaps thirty, feeling, alas, that she was a girl and still as attractive as ever. It is a grim thing to a woman, however fortunately placed, to realize that age is creeping on, and that love, that singing will-o'-the-wisp, is fading into the ultimate dark. Aileen, within the hour of her greatest triumph, had seen love die. It was useless to tell herself, as she did sometimes, that it