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time you will be unwise, in my judgment, to saddle yourself with

this public-ownership idea. The newspapers in fighting Mr.

Cowperwood have raised an issue which never should have been

raised. "

After Mr. Carker's departure, arrived Mr. Edward Arneel, of local

renown, and then Mr. Jacob Bethal, the Democratic leader in San

Francisco, both offering suggestions which if followed might result

in mutual support. There were in addition delegations of powerful

Republicans from Minneapolis and from Philadelphia. Even the

president of the Lake City Bank and the president of the Prairie

National--once anti-Cowperwood--arrived to say what had already

been said. So it went. Mr. Lucas was greatly nonplussed. A

political career was surely a difficult thing to effect. Would

it pay to harry Mr. Cowperwood as he had set out to do? Would a

steadfast policy advocating the cause of the people get him anywhere?

Would they be grateful? Would they remember? Suppose the current

policy of the newspapers should be modified, as Mr. Carker had

suggested that it might be. What a mess and tangle politics really

were!

" Well, Bessie, " he inquired of his handsome, healthy, semi-blonde

wife, one evening, " what would you do if you were I? "

She was gray-eyed, gay, practical, vain, substantially connected

in so far as family went, and proud of her husband's position and

future. He had formed the habit of talking over his various

difficulties with her.

" Well, I'll tell you, Wally, " she replied. " You've got to stick

to something. It looks to me as though the winning side was with

the people this time. I don't see how the newspapers can change

now after all they've done. You don't have to advocate public

ownership or anything unfair to the money element, but just the

same I'd stick to my point that the fifty-year franchise is too

much. You ought to make them pay the city something and get their

franchise without bribery. They can't do less than that. I'd

stick to the course you've begun on. You can't get along without

the people, Wally. You just must have them. If you lose their

good will the politicians can't help you much, nor anybody else. "

Plainly there were times when the people had to be considered.

They just had to be!

Chapter LX

The Net

The storm which burst in connection with Cowperwood's machinations

at Springfield early in 1897, and continued without abating until

the following fall, attracted such general attention that it was

largely reported in the Eastern papers. F. A. Cowperwood versus

the state of Illinois--thus one New York daily phrased the situation.

The magnetizing power of fame is great. Who can resist utterly

the luster that surrounds the individualities of some men, causing

them to glow with a separate and special effulgence? Even in the

case of Berenice this was not without its value. In a Chicago

paper which she found lying one day on a desk which Cowperwood had

occupied was an extended editorial which interested her greatly.

After reciting his various misdeeds, particularly in connection

with the present state legislature, it went on to say: " He has an

innate, chronic, unconquerable contempt for the rank and file.

Men are but slaves and thralls to draw for him the chariot of his

greatness. Never in all his history has he seen fit to go to the

people direct for anything. In Philadelphia, when he wanted

public-franchise control, he sought privily and by chicane to

arrange his affairs with a venal city treasurer. In Chicago he

has uniformly sought to buy and convert to his own use the splendid

privileges of the city, which should really redound to the benefit

of all. Frank Algernon Cowperwood does not believe in the people;

he does not trust them. To him they constitute no more than a

field upon which corn is to be sown, and from which it is to be

reaped. They present but a mass of bent backs, their knees and

faces in the mire, over which as over a floor he strides to

superiority. His private and inmost faith is in himself alone.

Upon the majority he shuts the gates of his glory in order that

the sight of their misery and their needs may not disturb nor alloy

his selfish bliss. Frank Algernon Cowperwood does not believe in

the people. "

This editorial battle-cry, flung aloft during the latter days of

the contest at Springfield and taken up by the Chicago papers

generally and by those elsewhere, interested Berenice greatly.

As she thought of him--waging his terrific contests, hurrying to

and fro between New York and Chicago, building his splendid mansion,

collecting his pictures, quarreling with Aileen--he came by degrees

to take on the outlines of a superman, a half-god or demi-gorgon.

How could the ordinary rules of life or the accustomed paths of

men be expected to control him? They could not and did not. And

here he was pursuing her, seeking her out with his eyes, grateful

for a smile, waiting as much as he dared on her every wish and

whim.

Say what one will, the wish buried deep in every woman's heart is

that her lover should be a hero. Some, out of the veriest stick

or stone, fashion the idol before which they kneel, others demand

the hard reality of greatness; but in either case the illusion of

paragon-worship is maintained.

Berenice, by no means ready to look upon Cowperwood as an accepted

lover, was nevertheless gratified that his erring devotion was the

tribute of one able apparently to command thought from the whole

world. Moreover, because the New York papers had taken fire from

his great struggle in the Middle West and were charging him with

bribery, perjury, and intent to thwart the will of the people,

Cowperwood now came forward with an attempt to explain his exact

position to Berenice and to justify himself in her eyes. During

visits to the Carter house or in entr'actes at the opera or the

theater, he recounted to her bit by bit his entire history. He

described the characters of Hand, Schryhart, Arneel, and the motives

of jealousy and revenge which had led to their attack upon him in

Chicago. " No human being could get anything through the Chicago

City Council without paying for it, " he declared. " It's simply a

question of who's putting up the money. " He told how Truman Leslie

MacDonald had once tried to " shake him down" for fifty thousand

dollars, and how the newspapers had since found it possible to

make money, to increase their circulation, by attacking him. He

frankly admitted the fact of his social ostracism, attributing it

partially to Aileen's deficiencies and partially to his own attitude

of Promethean defiance, which had never yet brooked defeat.

" And I will defeat them now, " he said, solemnly, to Berenice one

day over a luncheon-table at the Plaza when the room was nearly

empty. His gray eyes were a study in colossal enigmatic spirit.

" The governor hasn't signed my fifty-year franchise bill" (this

was before the closing events at Springfield), " but he will sign

it. Then I have one more fight ahead of me. I'm going to combine

all the traffic lines out there under one general system. I am

the logical person to provide it. Later on, if public ownership

ever arrives, the city can buy it. "

" And then--" asked Berenice sweetly, flattered by his confidences.

" Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'll live abroad. You don't seem

to be very much interested in me. I'll finish my picture collection--"

" But supposing you should lose? "

" I don't contemplate losing, " he remarked, coolly. " Whatever

happens, I'll have enough to live on. I'm a little tired of contest. "

He smiled, but Berenice saw that the thought of defeat was a gray

one. With victory was his heart, and only there. Owing to the

national publicity being given to Cowperwood's affairs at this

time the effect upon Berenice of these conversations with him was

considerable. At the same time another and somewhat sinister

influence was working in his favor. By slow degrees she and her

mother were coming to learn that the ultra-conservatives of society

were no longer willing to accept them. Berenice had become at

last too individual a figure to be overlooked. At an important

luncheon given by the Harris Haggertys, some five months after the

Beales Chadsey affair, she had been pointed out to Mrs. Haggerty

by a visiting guest from Cincinnati as some one with whom rumor

was concerning itself. Mrs. Haggerty wrote to friends in Louisville

for information, and received it. Shortly after, at the coming-out

party of a certain Geraldine Borga, Berenice, who had been her

sister's schoolmate, was curiously omitted. She took sharp note

of that. Subsequently the Haggertys failed to include her, as

they had always done before, in their generous summer invitations.

This was true also of the Lanman Zeiglers and the Lucas Demmigs.

No direct affront was offered; she was simply no longer invited.

Also one morning she read in the Tribune that Mrs. Corscaden

Batjer had sailed for Italy. No word of this had been sent to

Berenice. Yet Mrs. Batjer was supposedly one of her best friends.

A hint to some is of more avail than an open statement to others.

Berenice knew quite well in which direction the tide was setting.

True, there were a number--the ultra-smart of the smart world--who

protested. Mrs. Patrick Gilbennin, for instance: " No! You don't

tell me? What a shame! Well, I like Bevy and shall always like

her. She's clever, and she can come here just as long as she

chooses. It isn't her fault. She's a lady at heart and always

will be. Life is so cruel. " Mrs. Augustus Tabreez: " Is that really

true? I can't believe it. Just the same, she's too charming to

be dropped. I for one propose to ignore these rumors just as long

as I dare. She can come here if she can't go anywhere else. " Mrs.

Pennington Drury: " That of Bevy Fleming! Who says so? I don't

believe it. I like her anyhow. The idea of the Haggertys cutting

her--dull fools! Well, she can be my guest, the dear thing, as

long as she pleases. As though her mother's career really affected

her! "

Nevertheless, in the world of the dull rich--those who hold their

own by might of possession, conformity, owl-eyed sobriety, and

ignorance--Bevy Fleming had become persona non grata. How did she

take all this? With that air of superior consciousness which knows

that no shift of outer material ill-fortune can detract one jot

from an inward mental superiority. The truly individual know

themselves from the beginning and rarely, if ever, doubt. Life

may play fast and loose about them, running like a racing, destructive

tide in and out, but they themselves are like a rock, still, serene,

unmoved. Bevy Fleming felt herself to be so immensely superior

to anything of which she was a part that she could afford to hold

her head high even now Just the same, in order to remedy the

situation she now looked about her with an eye single to a possible

satisfactory marriage. Braxmar had gone for good. He was somewhere

in the East--in China, she heard--his infatuation for her apparently

dead. Kilmer Duelma was gone also--snapped up--an acquisition on

the part of one of those families who did not now receive her.

However, in the drawing-rooms where she still appeared--and what

were they but marriage markets? --one or two affairs did spring up

--tentative approachments on the part of scions of wealth. They

were destined to prove abortive. One of these youths, Pedro Ricer

Marcado, a Brazilian, educated at Oxford, promised much for sincerity

and feeling until he learned that Berenice was poor in her own right

--and what else? Some one had whispered something in his ear.

Again there was a certain William Drake Bowdoin, the son of a

famous old family, who lived on the north side of Washington Square.

After a ball, a morning musicale, and one other affair at which

they met Bowdoin took Berenice to see his mother and sister, who

were charmed. " Oh, you serene divinity! " he said to her, ecstatically,

one day. " Won't you marry me? " Bevy looked at him and wondered.

" Let us wait just a little longer, my dear, " she counseled. " I

want you to be sure that you really love me. Shortly thereafter,

meeting an old classmate at a club, Bowdoin was greeted as

follows:

" Look here, Bowdoin. You're a friend of mine. I see you with

that Miss Fleming. Now, I don't know how far things have gone,

and I don't want to intrude, but are you sure you are aware of all

the aspects of the case? "

" What do you mean? " demanded Bowdoin. " I want you to speak out. "

" Oh, pardon, old man. No offense, really. You know me. I couldn't.

College--and all that. Just this, though, before you go any

further. Inquire about. You may hear things. If they're true

you ought to know. If not, the talking ought to stop. If I'm

wrong call on me for amends. I hear talk, I tell you. Best

intentions in the world, old man. I do assure you. "

More inquiries. The tongues of jealousy and envy. Mr. Bowdoin

was sure to inherit three million dollars. Then a very necessary

trip to somewhere, and Berenice stared at herself in the glass.

What was it? What were people saying, if anything? This was strange.

Well, she was young and beautiful. There were others. Still, she

might have come to love Bowdoin. He was so airy, artistic in an

unconscious way. Really, she had thought better of him.

The effect of all this was not wholly depressing. Enigmatic,

disdainful, with a touch of melancholy and a world of gaiety and

courage, Berenice heard at times behind joy the hollow echo of

unreality. Here was a ticklish business, this living. For want

of light and air the finest flowers might die. Her mother's error

was not so inexplicable now. By it had she not, after all, preserved

herself and her family to a certain phase of social superiority?

Beauty was of such substance as dreams are made of, and as fleeting.

Not one's self alone--one's inmost worth, the splendor of one's

dreams--but other things--name, wealth, the presence or absence

of rumor, and of accident--were important. Berenice's lip curled.

But life could be lived. One could lie to the world. Youth is

optimistic, and Berenice, in spite of her splendid mind, was so

young. She saw life as a game, a good chance, that could be played

in many ways. Cowperwood's theory of things began to appeal to

her. One must create one's own career, carve it out, or remain

horribly dull or bored, dragged along at the chariot wheels of

others. If society was so finicky, if men were so dull--well,

there was one thing she could do. She must have life, life--and

money would help some to that end.

Besides, Cowperwood by degrees was becoming attractive to her; he

really was. He was so much better than most of the others, so

very powerful. She was preternaturally gay, as one who says,

" Victory shall be mine anyhow. "

Chapter LXI

The Cataclysm

And now at last Chicago is really facing the thing which it has

most feared. A giant monopoly is really reaching out to enfold

it with an octopus-like grip. And Cowperwood is its eyes, its

tentacles, its force! Embedded in the giant strength and good will

of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co., he is like a monument based on a

rock of great strength. A fifty-year franchise, to be delivered

to him by a majority of forty-eight out of a total of sixty-eight

aldermen (in case the ordinance has to be passed over the mayor's

veto), is all that now stands between him and the realization of

his dreams. What a triumph for his iron policy of courage in the

face of all obstacles! What a tribute to his ability not to flinch

in the face of storm and stress! Other men might have abandoned

the game long before, but not he. What a splendid windfall of

chance that the money element should of its own accord take fright

at the Chicago idea of the municipalization of public privilege

and should hand him this giant South Side system as a reward for

his stern opposition to fol-de-rol theories.

Through the influence of these powerful advocates he was invited

to speak before various local commercial bodies--the Board of Real

Estate Dealers, the Property Owners' Association, the Merchants'

League, the Bankers' Union, and so forth, where he had an opportunity

to present his case and justify his cause. But the effect of his

suave speechifyings in these quarters was largely neutralized by

newspaper denunciation. " Can any good come out of Nazareth? " was

the regular inquiry. That section of the press formerly beholden

to Hand and Schryhart stood out as bitterly as ever; and most of

the other newspapers, being under no obligation to Eastern capital,

felt it the part of wisdom to support the rank and file. The most

searching and elaborate mathematical examinations were conducted

with a view to showing the fabulous profits of the streetcar trust

in future years. The fine hand of Eastern banking-houses was

detected and their sinister motives noised abroad. " Millions for

everybody in the trust, but not one cent for Chicago, " was the

Inquirer's way of putting it. Certain altruists of the community

were by now so aroused that in the destruction of Cowperwood they

saw their duty to God, to humanity, and to democracy straight and

clear. The heavens had once more opened, and they saw a great

light. On the other hand the politicians--those in office outside

the mayor--constituted a petty band of guerrillas or free-booters

who, like hungry swine shut in a pen, were ready to fall upon any

and all propositions brought to their attention with but one end

in view: that they might eat, and eat heartily. In times of great

opportunity and contest for privilege life always sinks to its

lowest depths of materialism and rises at the same time to its

highest reaches of the ideal. When the waves of the sea are most

towering its hollows are most awesome.

Finally the summer passed, the council assembled, and with the

first breath of autumn chill the very air of the city was touched

by a premonition of contest. Cowperwood, disappointed by the

outcome of his various ingratiatory efforts, decided to fall back

on his old reliable method of bribery. He fixed on his price

--twenty thousand dollars for each favorable vote, to begin with.

Later, if necessary, he would raise it to twenty-five thousand,

or even thirty thousand, making the total cost in the neighborhood

of a million and a half. Yet it was a small price indeed when the

ultimate return was considered. He planned to have his ordinance

introduced by an alderman named Ballenberg, a trusted lieutenant,

and handed thereafter to the clerk, who would read it, whereupon

another henchman would rise to move that it be referred to the

joint committee on streets and alleys, consisting of thirty-four

members drawn from all the standing committees. By this committee

it would be considered for one week in the general council-chamber,

where public hearings would be held. By keeping up a bold front

Cowperwood thought the necessary iron could be put into his followers

to enable them to go through with the scorching ordeal which was

sure to follow. Already aldermen were being besieged at their

homes and in the precincts of the ward clubs and meeting-places.

Their mail was being packed with importuning or threatening letters.

Their very children were being derided, their neighbors urged to

chastise them. Ministers wrote them in appealing or denunciatory

vein. They were spied upon and abused daily in the public prints.

The mayor, shrewd son of battle that he was, realizing that he had

a whip of terror in his hands, excited by the long contest waged,

and by the smell of battle, was not backward in urging the most

drastic remedies.

" Wait till the thing comes up, " he said to his friends, in a great

central music-hall conference in which thousands participated, and

when the matter of ways and means to defeat the venal aldermen was

being discussed. " We have Mr. Cowperwood in a corner, I think.

He cannot do anything for two weeks, once his ordinance is in, and

by that time we shall be able to organize a vigilance committee,

ward meetings, marching clubs, and the like. We ought to organize

a great central mass-meeting for the Sunday night before the Monday

when the bill comes up for final hearing. We want overflow meetings

in every ward at the same time. I tell you, gentlemen, that, while

I believe there are enough honest voters in the city council to

prevent the Cowperwood crowd from passing this bill over my veto,

yet I don't think the matter ought to be allowed to go that far.

You never can tell what these rascals will do once they see an

actual cash bid of twenty or thirty thousand dollars before them.

Most of them, even if they were lucky, would never make the half

of that in a lifetime. They don't expect to be returned to the

Chicago City Council. Once is enough. There are too many others

behind them waiting to get their noses in the trough. Go into

your respective wards and districts and organize meetings. Call

your particular alderman before you. Don't let him evade you or

quibble or stand on his rights as a private citizen or a public

officer. Threaten--don't cajole. Soft or kind words won't go

with that type of man. Threaten, and when you have managed to

extract a promise be on hand with ropes to see that he keeps his

word. I don't like to advise arbitrary methods, but what else is

to be done? The enemy is armed and ready for action right now.

They're just waiting for a peaceful moment. Don't let them find

it. Be ready. Fight. I'm your mayor, and ready to do all I can,

but I stand alone with a mere pitiful veto right. You help me and

I'll help you. You fight for me and I'll fight for you. "

Witness hereafter the discomfiting situation of Mr. Simon Pinski

at 9 P. M. on the second evening following the introduction of the

ordinance, in the ward house of the Fourteenth Ward Democratic

Club. Rotund, flaccid, red-faced, his costume a long black

frock-coat and silk hat, Mr. Pinski was being heckled by his

neighbors and business associates. He had been called here by

threats to answer for his prospective high crimes and misdemeanors.

By now it was pretty well understood that nearly all the present

aldermen were criminal and venal, and in consequence party enmities

were practically wiped out. There were no longer for the time

being Democrats and Republicans, but only pro or anti Cowperwoods

--principally anti. Mr. Pinski, unfortunately, had been singled

out by the Transcript, the Inquirer, and the Chronicle as one of

those open to advance questioning by his constituents. Of mixed

Jewish and American extraction, he had been born and raised in the

Fourteenth and spoke with a decidedly American accent. He was

neither small nor large--sandy-haired, shifty-eyed, cunning, and

on most occasions amiable. Just now he was decidedly nervous,

wrathy, and perplexed, for he had been brought here against his

will. His slightly oleaginous eye--not unlike that of a small

pig--had been fixed definitely and finally on the munificent sum

of thirty thousand dollars, no less, and this local agitation

threatened to deprive him of his almost unalienable right to the

same. His ordeal took place in a large, low-ceiled room illuminated

by five very plain, thin, two-armed gas-jets suspended from the

ceiling and adorned by posters of prizefights, raffles, games, and

the " Simon Pinski Pleasure Association" plastered here and there

freely against dirty, long-unwhitewashed walls. He stood on the

low raised platform at the back of the room, surrounded by a score

or more of his ward henchmen, all more or less reliable, all

black-frocked, or at least in their Sunday clothes; all scowling,

nervous, defensive, red-faced, and fearing trouble. Mr. Pinski

has come armed. This talk of the mayor's concerning guns, ropes,

drums, marching clubs, and the like has been given very wide

publicity, and the public seems rather eager for a Chicago holiday

in which the slaughter of an alderman or so might furnish the

leading and most acceptable feature.

" Hey, Pinski! " yells some one out of a small sea of new and decidedly

unfriendly faces. (This is no meeting of Pinski followers, but a

conglomerate outpouring of all those elements of a distrait populace

bent on enforcing for once the principles of aldermanic decency.

There are even women here--local church-members, and one or two

advanced civic reformers and W. C. T. U. bar-room smashers. Mr.

Pinski has been summoned to their presence by the threat that if

he didn't come the noble company would seek him out later at his

own house. )

" Hey, Pinski! You old boodler! How much do you expect to get out

of this traction business? " (This from a voice somewhere in the

rear. )

Mr. Pinski (turning to one side as if pinched in the neck). " The

man that says I am a boodler is a liar! I never took a dishonest

dollar in my life, and everybody in the Fourteenth Ward knows it. "

The Five Hundred People Assembled. " Ha! ha! ha! Pinski never took

a dollar! Ho! ho! ho! Whoop-ee! "

Mr. Pinski (very red-faced, rising). " It is so. Why should I

talk to a lot of loafers that come here because the papers tell

them to call me names? I have been an alderman for six years now.

Everybody knows me.

A Voice. " You call us loafers. You crook! "

Another Voice (referring to his statement of being known). " You

bet they do! "

Another Voice (this from a small, bony plumber in workclothes).

" Hey, you old grafter! Which way do you expect to vote? For or

against this franchise? Which way? "

Still Another Voice (an insurance clerk). " Yes, which way? "

Mr. Pinski (rising once more, for in his nervousness he is constantly

rising or starting to rise, and then sitting down again). " I have

a right to my own mind, ain't I? I got a right to think. What

for am I an alderman, then? The constitution... "

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