The Titan 19 страница

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personality; but Stephanie was too young and too poetic to be

greatly impaired by wealth and fame, and she was not yet sufficiently

gripped by the lure of him. She loved him in her strange way; but

she was interested also by the latest arrival, Forbes Gurney.

This tall, melancholy youth, with brown eyes and pale-brown hair,

was very poor. He hailed from southern Minnesota, and what between

a penchant for journalism, verse-writing, and some dramatic work,

was somewhat undecided as to his future. His present occupation

was that of an instalment collector for a furniture company, which

set him free, as a rule, at three o'clock in the afternoon. He

was trying, in a mooning way, to identify himself with the Chicago

newspaper world, and was a discovery of Gardner Knowles.

Stephanie had seen him about the rooms of the Garrick Players.

She had looked at his longish face with its aureole of soft, crinkly

hair, his fine wide mouth, deep-set eyes, and good nose, and had

been touched by an atmosphere of wistfulness, or, let us say,

life-hunger. Gardner Knowles brought a poem of his once, which

he had borrowed from him, and read it to the company, Stephanie,

Ethel Tuckerman, Lane Cross, and Irma Ottley assembled.

" Listen to this, " Knowles had suddenly exclaimed, taking it out

of his pocket.

It concerned a garden of the moon with the fragrance of pale

blossoms, a mystic pool, some ancient figures of joy, a quavered

Lucidian tune.

" With eerie flute and rhythmic thrum

Of muted strings and beaten drum. "

Stephanie Platow had sat silent, caught by a quality that was akin

to her own. She asked to see it, and read it in silence.

" I think it's charming, " she said.

Thereafter she hovered in the vicinity of Forbes Gurney. Why, she

could scarcely say. It was not coquetry. She just drew near,

talked to him of stage work and her plays and her ambitions. She

sketched him as she had Cowperwood and others, and one day Cowperwood

found three studies of Forbes Gurney in her note-book idyllicly

done, a note of romantic feeling about them.

" Who is this? " he asked.

" Oh, he's a young poet who comes up to the Players--Forbes Gurney.

He's so charming; he's so pale and dreamy. "

Cowperwood contemplated the sketches curiously. His eyes clouded.

" Another one of Stephanie's adherents, " he commented, teasingly.

" It's a long procession I've joined. Gardner Knowles, Lane Cross,

Bliss Bridge, Forbes Gurney. "

Stephanie merely pouted moodily.

" How you talk! Bliss Bridge, Gardner Knowles! I admit I like them

all, but that's all I do do. They're just sweet and dear. You'd

like Lane Cross yourself; he's such a foolish old Polly. As for

Forbes Gurney, he just drifts up there once in a while as one of

the crowd. I scarcely know him. "

" Exactly, " said Cowperwood, dolefully; " but you sketch him. "

For some reason Cowperwood did not believe this. Back in his brain

he did not believe Stephanie at all, he did not trust her. Yet

he was intensely fond of her--the more so, perhaps, because of

this.

" Tell me truly, Stephanie, " he said to her one day, urgently, and

yet very diplomatically. " I don't care at all, so far as your

past is concerned. You and I are close enough to reach a perfect

understanding. But you didn't tell me the whole truth about you

and Knowles, did you? Tell me truly now. I sha'n't mind. I can

understand well enough how it could have happened. It doesn't

make the least bit of difference to me, really.

Stephanie was off her guard for once, in no truly fencing mood.

She was troubled at times about her various relations, anxious to

put herself straight with Cowperwood or with any one whom she truly

liked. Compared to Cowperwood and his affairs, Cross and Knowles

were trivial, and yet Knowles was interesting to her. Compared

to Cowperwood, Forbes Gurney was a stripling beggar, and yet Gurney

had what Cowperwood did not have--a sad, poetic lure. He awakened

her sympathies. He was such a lonely boy. Cowperwood was so

strong, brilliant, magnetic.

Perhaps it was with some idea of clearing up her moral status

generally that she finally said: " Well, I didn't tell you the exact

truth about it, either. I was a little ashamed to. "

At the close of her confession, which involved only Knowles, and

was incomplete at that, Cowperwood burned with a kind of angry

resentment. Why trifle with a lying prostitute? That she was an

inconsequential free lover at twenty-one was quite plain. And yet

there was something so strangely large about the girl, so magnetic,

and she was so beautiful after her kind, that he could not think

of giving her up. She reminded him of himself.

" Well, Stephanie, " he said, trampling under foot an impulse to

insult or rebuke and dismiss her, " you are strange. Why didn't

you tell me this before? I have asked and asked. Do you really

mean to say that you care for me at all? "

" How can you ask that? " she demanded, reproachfully, feeling that

she had been rather foolish in confessing. Perhaps she would lose

him now, and she did not want to do that. Because his eyes blazed

with a jealous hardness she burst into tears. " Oh, I wish I had

never told you! There is nothing to tell, anyhow. I never wanted

to. "

Cowperwood was nonplussed. He knew human nature pretty well, and

woman nature; his common sense told him that this girl was not to

be trusted, and yet he was drawn to her. Perhaps she was not

lying, and these tears were real.

" And you positively assure me that this was all--that there wasn't

any one else before, and no one since? "

Stephanie dried her eyes. They were in his private rooms in

Randolph Street, the bachelor rooms he had fitted for himself as

a changing place for various affairs.

" I don't believe you care for me at all, " she observed, dolefully,

reproachfully. " I don't believe you understand me. I don't think

you believe me. When I tell you how things are you don't understand.

I don't lie. I can't. If you are so doubting now, perhaps you

had better not see me any more. I want to be frank with you, but

if you won't let me--"

She paused heavily, gloomily, very sorrowfully, and Cowperwood

surveyed her with a kind of yearning. What an unreasoning pull

she had for him! He did not believe her, and yet he could not let

her go.

" Oh, I don't know what to think, " he commented, morosely. " I

certainly don't want to quarrel with you, Stephanie, for telling

me the truth. Please don't deceive me. You are a remarkable girl.

I can do so much for you if you will let me. You ought to see

that. "

" But I'm not deceiving you, " she repeated, wearily. " I should

think you could see. "

" I believe you, " he went on, trying to deceive himself against his

better judgment. " But you lead such a free, unconventional life. "

" Ah, " thought Stephanie, " perhaps I talk too much. "

" I am very fond of you. You appeal to me so much. " I love you,

really. Don't deceive me. Don't run with all these silly simpletons.

They are really not worthy of you. I shall be able to get a

divorce one of these days, and then I would be glad to marry you.

" But I'm not running with them in the sense that you think. They're

not anything to me beyond mere entertainment. Oh, I like them,

of course. Lane Cross is a dear in his way, and so is Gardner

Knowles. They have all been nice to me.

Cowperwood's gorge rose at her calling Lane Cross dear. It incensed

him, and yet he held his peace.

" Do give me your word that there will never be anything between

you and any of these men so long as you are friendly with me? " he

almost pleaded--a strange role for him. " I don't care to share

you with any one else. I won't. I don't mind what you have done

in the past, but I don't want you to be unfaithful in the future. "

" What a question! Of course I won't. But if you don't believe me

--oh, dear--"

Stephanie sighed painfully, and Cowperwood's face clouded with

angry though well-concealed suspicion and jealousy.

" Well, I'll tell you, Stephanie, I believe you now. I'm going to

take your word. But if you do deceive me, and I should find it

out, I will quit you the same day. I do not care to share you

with any one else. What I can't understand, if you care for me,

is how you can take so much interest in all these affairs? It

certainly isn't devotion to your art that's impelling you, is it? "

" Oh, are you going to go on quarreling with me? " asked Stephanie,

naively. " Won't you believe me when I say that I love you?

Perhaps--" But here her histrionic ability came to her aid, and

she sobbed violently.

Cowperwood took her in his arms. " Never mind, " he soothed. " I

do believe you. I do think you care for me. Only I wish you

weren't such a butterfly temperament, Stephanie. "

So this particular lesion for the time being was healed.

Chapter XXVIII

The Exposure of Stephanie

At the same time the thought of readjusting her relations so that

they would avoid disloyalty to Cowperwood was never further from

Stephanie's mind. Let no one quarrel with Stephanie Platow. She

was an unstable chemical compound, artistic to her finger-tips,

not understood or properly guarded by her family. Her interest

in Cowperwood, his force and ability, was intense. So was her

interest in Forbes Gurney--the atmosphere of poetry that enveloped

him. She studied him curiously on the various occasions when they

met, and, finding him bashful and recessive, set out to lure him.

She felt that he was lonely and depressed and poor, and her womanly

capacity for sympathy naturally bade her be tender.

Her end was easily achieved. One night, when they were all out in

Bliss Bridge's single-sticker--a fast-sailing saucer--Stephanie

and Forbes Gurney sat forward of the mast looking at the silver

moon track which was directly ahead. The rest were in the cockpit

" cutting up" --laughing and singing. It was very plain to all

that Stephanie was becoming interested in Forbes Gurney; and since

he was charming and she wilful, nothing was done to interfere with

them, except to throw an occasional jest their way. Gurney, new

to love and romance, scarcely knew how to take his good fortune,

how to begin. He told Stephanie of his home life in the wheat-fields

of the Northwest, how his family had moved from Ohio when he was

three, and how difficult were the labors he had always undergone.

He had stopped in his plowing many a day to stand under a tree

and write a poem--such as it was--or to watch the birds or to wish

he could go to college or to Chicago. She looked at him with

dreamy eyes, her dark skin turned a copper bronze in the moonlight,

her black hair irradiated with a strange, luminous grayish blue.

Forbes Gurney, alive to beauty in all its forms, ventured finally

to touch her hand--she of Knowles, Cross, and Cowperwood--and she

thrilled from head to toe. This boy was so sweet. His curly brown

hair gave him a kind of Greek innocence and aspect. She did not

move, but waited, hoping he would do more.

" I wish I might talk to you as I feel, " he finally said, hoarsely,

a catch in his throat.

She laid one hand on his.

" You dear! " she said.

He realized now that he might. A great ecstasy fell upon him.

He smoothed her hand, then slipped his arm about her waist, then

ventured to kiss the dark cheek turned dreamily from him. Artfully

her head sunk to his shoulder, and he murmured wild nothings--how

divine she was, how artistic, how wonderful! With her view of

things, it could only end one way. She manoeuvered him into calling

on her at her home, into studying her books and plays on the

top-floor sitting-room, into hearing her sing. Once fully in his

arms, the rest was easy by suggestion. He learned she was no longer

innocent, and then-- In the mean time Cowperwood mingled his

speculations concerning large power-houses, immense reciprocating

engines, the problem of a wage scale for his now two thousand

employees, some of whom were threatening to strike, the problem

of securing, bonding, and equipping the La Salle Street tunnel and

a down-town loop in La Salle, Munroe, Dearborn, and Randolph

streets, with mental inquiries and pictures as to what possibly

Stephanie Platow might be doing. He could only make appointments

with her from time to time. He did not fail to note that, after

he began to make use of information she let drop as to her whereabouts

from day to day and her free companionship, he heard less of Gardner

Knowles, Lane Cross, and Forbes Gurney, and more of Georgia

Timberlake and Ethel Tuckerman. Why this sudden reticence? On one

occasion she did say of Forbes Gurney " that he was having such a

hard time, and that his clothes weren't as nice as they should be,

poor dear! " Stephanie herself, owing to gifts made to her by

Cowperwood, was resplendent these days. She took just enough to

complete her wardrobe according to her taste.

" Why not send him to me? " Cowperwood asked. " I might find something

to do for him. " He would have been perfectly willing to put him

in some position where he could keep track of his time. However,

Mr. Gurney never sought him for a position, and Stephanie ceased

to speak of his poverty. A gift of two hundred dollars, which

Cowperwood made her in June, was followed by an accidental meeting

with her and Gurney in Washington Street. Mr. Gurney, pale and

pleasant, was very well dressed indeed. He wore a pin which

Cowperwood knew had once belonged to Stephanie. She was in no way

confused. Finally Stephanie let it out that Lane Cross, who had

gone to New Hampshire for the summer, had left his studio in her

charge. Cowperwood decided to have this studio watched.

There was in Cowperwood's employ at this time a young newspaper

man, an ambitious spark aged twenty-six, by the name of Francis

Kennedy. He had written a very intelligent article for the Sunday

Inquirer, describing Cowperwood and his plans, and pointing out

what a remarkable man he was. This pleased Cowperwood. When

Kennedy called one day, announcing smartly that he was anxious to

get out of reportorial work, and inquiring whether be couldn't find

something to do in the street-railway world, Cowperwood saw in

him a possibly useful tool.

" I'll try you out as secretary for a while, " he said, pleasantly.

" There are a few special things I want done. If you succeed in

those, I may find something else for you later. "

Kennedy had been working for him only a little while when he said

to him one day: " Francis, did you ever hear of a young man by the

name of Forbes Gurney in the newspaper world? "

They were in Cowperwood's private office.

" No, sir, " replied Francis, briskly.

" You have heard of an organization called the Garrick Players,

haven't you? "

" Yes, sir. "

" Well, Francis, do you suppose you could undertake a little piece

of detective work for me, and handle it intelligently and quietly? "

" I think so, " said Francis, who was the pink of perfection this

morning in a brown suit, garnet tie, and sard sleeve-links. His

shoes were immaculately polished, and his young, healthy face

glistened.

" I'll tell you what I want you to do. There is a young actress,

or amateur actress, by the name of Stephanie Platow, who frequents

the studio of an artist named Cross in the New Arts Building. She

may even occupy it in his absence--I don't know. I want you to

find out for me what the relations of Mr. Gurney and this woman

are. I have certain business reasons for wanting to know. "

Young Kennedy was all attention.

" You couldn't tell me where I could find out anything about this

Mr. Gurney to begin with, could you? " he asked.

" I think he is a friend of a critic here by the name of Gardner

Knowles. You might ask him. I need not say that you must never

mention me.

" Oh, I understand that thoroughly, Mr. Cowperwood. " Young Kennedy

departed, meditating. How was he to do this? With true journalistic

skill he first sought other newspaper men, from whom he learned--a

bit from one and a scrap from another--of the character of the

Garrick Players, and of the women who belonged to it. He pretended

to be writing a one-act play, which he hoped to have produced.

He then visited Lane Cross's studio, posing as a newspaper

interviewer. Mr. Cross was out of town, so the elevator man said.

His studio was closed.

Mr. Kennedy meditated on this fact for a moment.

" Does any one use his studio during the summer months? " he asked.

" I believe there is a young woman who comes here--yes. "

" You don't happen to know who it is? "

" Yes, I do. Her name is Platow. What do you want to know for? "

" Looky here, " exclaimed Kennedy, surveying the rather shabby

attendant with a cordial and persuasive eye, " do you want to make

some money--five or ten dollars, and without any trouble to

you? "

The elevator man, whose wages were exactly eight dollars a week,

pricked up his ears.

" I want to know who comes here with this Miss Platow, when they

come--all about it. I'll make it fifteen dollars if I find out

what I want, and I'll give you five right now. "

The elevator factotum had just sixty-five cents in his pocket at

the time. He looked at Kennedy with some uncertainty and much

desire.

" Well, what can I do? " he repeated. " I'm not here after six. The

janitor runs this elevator from six to twelve. "

" There isn't a room vacant anywhere near this one, is there? "

Kennedy asked, speculatively.

The factotum thought. " Yes, there is. One just across the hall. "

" What time does she come here as a rule? "

" I don't know anything about nights. In the day she sometimes

comes mornings, sometimes in the afternoon. "

" Anybody with her? "

" Sometimes a man, sometimes a girl or two. I haven't really paid

much attention to her, to tell you the truth. "

Kennedy walked away whistling.

From this day on Mr. Kennedy became a watcher over this very

unconventional atmosphere. He was in and out, principally observing

the comings and goings of Mr. Gurney. He found what he naturally

suspected, that Mr. Gurney and Stephanie spent hours here at

peculiar times--after a company of friends had jollified, for

instance, and all had left, including Gurney, when the latter would

quietly return, with Stephanie sometimes, if she had left with the

others, alone if she had remained behind. The visits were of

varying duration, and Kennedy, to be absolutely accurate, kept

days, dates, the duration of the hours, which he left noted in a

sealed envelope for Cowperwood in the morning. Cowperwood was

enraged, but so great was his interest in Stephanie that he was

not prepared to act. He wanted to see to what extent her duplicity

would go.

The novelty of this atmosphere and its effect on him was astonishing.

Although his mind was vigorously employed during the day,

nevertheless his thoughts kept returning constantly. Where was

she? What was she doing? The bland way in which she could lie

reminded him of himself. To think that she should prefer any one

else to him, especially at this time when he was shining as a great

constructive factor in the city, was too much. It smacked of age,

his ultimate displacement by youth. It cut and hurt.

One morning, after a peculiarly exasperating night of thought

concerning her, he said to young Kennedy: " I have a suggestion for

you. I wish you would get this elevator man you are working with

down there to get you a duplicate key to this studio, and see if

there is a bolt on the inside. Let me know when you do. Bring

me the key. The next time she is there of an evening with Mr.

Gurney step out and telephone me. "

The climax came one night several weeks after this discouraging

investigation began. There was a heavy yellow moon in the sky,

and a warm, sweet summer wind was blowing. Stephanie had called

on Cowperwood at his office about four to say that instead of

staying down-town with him, as they had casually planned, she was

going to her home on the West Side to attend a garden-party of

some kind at Georgia Timberlake's. Cowperwood looked at her

with--for him--a morbid eye. He was all cheer, geniality, pleasant

badinage; but he was thinking all the while what a shameless enigma

she was, how well she played her part, what a fool she must take

him to be. He gave her youth, her passion, her attractiveness,

her natural promiscuity of soul due credit; but he could not forgive

her for not loving him perfectly, as had so many others. She had

on a summery black-and-white frock and a fetching brown Leghorn

hat, which, with a rich-red poppy ornamenting a flare over her

left ear and a peculiar ruching of white-and-black silk about the

crown, made her seem strangely young, debonair, a study in Hebraic

and American origins.

" Going to have a nice time, are you? " he asked, genially, politically,

eying her in his enigmatic and inscrutable way. " Going to shine

among that charming company you keep! I suppose all the standbys

will be there--Bliss Bridge, Mr. Knowles, Mr. Cross--dancing

attendance on you? "

He failed to mention Mr. Gurney.

Stephanie nodded cheerfully. She seemed in an innocent outing mood.

Cowperwood smiled, thinking how one of these days--very shortly,

perhaps--he was certain to take a signal revenge. He would catch

her in a lie, in a compromising position somewhere--in this studio,

perhaps--and dismiss her with contempt. In an elder day, if they

had lived in Turkey, he would have had her strangled, sewn in a

sack, and thrown into the Bosporus. As it was, he could only

dismiss her. He smiled and smiled, smoothing her hand. " Have a

good time, " he called, as she left. Later, at his own home--it

was nearly midnight--Mr. Kennedy called him up.

" Mr. Cowperwood? "

" Yes. "

" You know the studio in the New Arts Building? "

" Yes. "

" It is occupied now. "

Cowperwood called a servant to bring him his runabout. He had had

a down-town locksmith make a round keystem with a bored clutch at

the end of it--a hollow which would fit over the end of such a key

as he had to the studio and turn it easily from the outside. He

felt in his pocket for it, jumped in his runabout, and hurried

away. When he reached the New Arts Building he found Kennedy in

the hall and dismissed him. " Thanks, " he observed, brusquely.

" I will take care of this. "

He hurried up the stairs, avoiding the elevator, to the vacant

room opposite, and thence reconnoitered the studio door. It was

as Kennedy had reported. Stephanie was there, and with Gurney.

The pale poet had been brought there to furnish her an evening of

delight. Because of the stillness of the building at this hour

he could hear their muffled voices speaking alternately, and once

Stephanie singing the refrain of a song. He was angry and yet

grateful that she had, in her genial way, taken the trouble to

call and assure him that she was going to a summer lawn-party and

dance. He smiled grimly, sarcastically, as he thought of her

surprise. Softly he extracted the clutch-key and inserted it,

covering the end of the key on the inside and turning it. It gave

solidly without sound. He next tried the knob and turned it,

feeling the door spring slightly as he did so. Then inaudibly,

because of a gurgled laugh with which he was thoroughly familiar,

he opened it and stepped in.

At his rough, firm cough they sprang up--Gurney to a hiding position

behind a curtain, Stephanie to one of concealment behind draperies

on the couch. She could not speak, and could scarcely believe

that her eyes did not deceive her. Gurney, masculine and defiant,

but by no means well composed, demanded: " Who are you? What do you

want here? " Cowperwood replied very simply and smilingly: " Not

very much. Perhaps Miss Platow there will tell you. " He nodded

in her direction.

Stephanie, fixed by his cold, examining eye, shrank nervously,

ignoring Gurney entirely. The latter perceived on the instant that

he had a previous liaison to deal with--an angry and outraged

lover--and he was not prepared to act either wisely or well.

" Mr. Gurney, " said Cowperwood, complacently, after staring at

Stephanie grimly and scorching her with his scorn, " I have no

concern with you, and do not propose to do anything to disturb you

or Miss Platow after a very few moments. I am not here without

reason. This young woman has been steadily deceiving me. She has

lied to me frequently, and pretended an innocence which I did not

believe. To-night she told me she was to be at a lawn-party on

the West Side. She has been my mistress for months. I have given

her money, jewelry, whatever she wanted. Those jade ear-rings,

by the way, are one of my gifts. " He nodded cheerfully in Stephanie's

direction. " I have come here simply to prove to her that she

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