Never Victorious, Never Defeated

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  Stephen put aside the file and stared through the window at the ashy November sky. A few ruffled pigeons fluttered against it. The knifelike mountain lifted itself in a dark blur over the city. A few flakes of snow brushed the windows. Behind Stephen the fire blustered on the hearth. The afternoon began to darken rapidly.

  Stephen’s first impulse was to call his brother into consultation, and to speculate with him on the whole matter. He kept nothing from Rufus now, as he had done before Aaron’s death. His hand kept creeping to his bell, which would summon his clerk, and inexplicably his hand kept withdrawing. Why should he not call Rufus? Why should he not tell Rufus that he, Stephen, must go at once to Chicago with a set plan which entailed a bold movement? He told himself that it was because matters were still too vague.

  He began to go over in his mind all that he intended to do. A sense of increasing and powerful danger came to him. If it were not for Gunther, thought Stephen. Then he confessed to himself that Gunther was just the precipitating element, though an unknown one. Something, eventually, would have to be done about the Chicago Railroad System. He had known this, and had shrunk from it, hoping constantly that the inevitable might be delayed or eliminated. Now the time had come.

  At length he did ring his bell. His clerk, a quiet young man of the utmost discretion, entered, and Stephen said in a low voice, “I am leaving the city for a few days. Please go down to the station and arrange passage for me to Chicago, in the name of—let me see—a Mr. Dawson. I don’t want to use our private car. For reasons known only to myself.”

  “Yes, Mr. deWitt,” said the young man respectfully. “But when you are on the train, the crew will know you are there.”

  Stephen smiled a little. “Yes, of course. But the train will be pulling out then, and news of where I am going won’t be back in the city for several days. After that, it won’t matter.” He paused. “Naturally no one—and I mean no one at all—must know where I am when I am absent You understand that, Gruger?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Gruger gravely.

  “The twelve-thirty-two, tonight, then. Hardly anyone will be about.” He drummed his fingers rigidly on the desk. “And now, will you ask Mr. Rufus to come in for a few moments, please?”

  When Rufus entered, smiling, he was struck by his brother’s face and expression. Stephen was extremely pale; his eyes were fixed and still. He watched Rufus as the latter moved across the big warm room, and he thought: This is a stealthy and insulting thing I am doing, and I don’t know what impels me. He said, “Rufus, I am leaving tonight on the twelve-twenty for Scranton. I have an opportunity to buy up some more potential coal acreage.”

  Rufus seated himself on the edge of his brother’s desk and he turned his head alertly. “Anything I should invest in?” he asked with interest.

  Stephen was silent. He was himself concerned with negotiations for what seemed to be a very promising two hundred acres. He sighed. He must give Rufus this opportunity. It was only fair, he considered regretfully. In some way he must atone to his conscience for this mysterious deceit he was practicing on his brother. He said, “Yes, I think so. Of course, it won’t be developed for some years, but I can tell you that I’ve seen no better possibilities anywhere. Have I your permission to place an option on it in your name? You could give me a small check. …”

  If “gray Stephen” thought the possibilities were excellent, then they must be so, thought Rufus with excitement. He expressed his gratitude, made out a check, and gave it to his brother. After he had left the office, Stephen called his clerk and dictated a letter to his attorney in Scranton, and enclosed Rufus’s check. He reflected that the attorney would be considerably surprised.

  Rufus, back in his own office, did not go on with his work for some time. He remembered Stephen’s face. Something was going on, about which Stephen had not told him. But what? While Stephen was absent, he intended to inspect the files secretly.

  Stephen was about to put Guy Gunther’s letter in the latter’s file, when he stopped, again assailed by that sense of danger. He finally folded the letter in his pocket. He called his clerk and dictated a letter to Mr. Gunther. He expressed his hope that Mr. Gunther would visit Portersville the next week end, after he, Stephen, returned from some pressing business in Fort Wayne. Mr. Gruger took the letter with no change of expression, and made no comment when Stephen asked him not to place the copy in Mr. Gunther’s file.

  What they have done to me, thought Stephen with weariness. I am no man for chicanery and deceit, and it is thrust upon me.

  15

  For the second time Rufus read the letter addressed to him from Mr. Guy Gunther.

  “I am writing this to you, dear Rufus, as Stephen has informed me he will be in Fort Wayne for a few days. He did not mention the date of his return to Portersville. He kindly invited me to spend next week end with you both, as I had written him on a matter of importance. I find next week end will be impossible for me, as I will be moving about among friends until next Thursday, and cannot go to Portersville until then. Will you please inform Stephen of this on his return home? I hope my change in plans will not discommode the family.”

  Rufus thoughtfully laid aside the letter and scowled. So the “gray weasel” had deliberately deceived him. Why had Stephen not only deceived him but Guy Gunther in the bargain? Such deceit meant something of enormous import, something connected with Guy Gunther. Rufus, who had full access to all the files now, brought out the Gunther “dossier,” and having learned Stephen’s method of close study, however he derided it, he sat down in his office and minutely went over every item in the file. The first thing he noticed was that Guy Gunther’s letter was not in the file. This was of such significance that Rufus fastened all his attention on every item, looking for a clue. His alertness became acute when he saw that there was no copy of Stephen’s alleged letter to Gunther. The dog had secreted not only Gunther’s letter to him but his answer.

  There was nothing in the file to arouse Rufus’s new suspicions to a higher level. Idiotic clippings of Gunther’s recent sojourn in Chicago among friends! Of what importance was that? Rufus noted the names of these friends, and not one of them concerned the Interstate Railroad Company at all.

  Then Rufus caught his breath. The Chicago Railway System! The Interstate Railroad Company was invested, in a measure, in that concern. Feverishly now, Rufus reexamined all the notations about Gunther. There was no mention that Gunther owned any stock in the Chicago company, not even the slightest hint. If he did own any stock, Stephen would have known of it, and written it down. Rufus sat back in his chair. The Chicago Railroad System had “passed” only one dividend. It was a good company; it was planning to expand. Stephen had explained all this to his brother only recently, and had remarked on the threat to the Interstate Railroad Company. Had the threat become more imminent?

  Of course! And Stephen had gone to Chicago. Why had he not told his brother? Why had he distrusted him? Rufus’s face flushed with rage. Was he not executive vice-president of this damned company? What had occurred, what slip had he made, that had aroused that ugly and latent suspicion in Stephen’s mind? Was all the slow and tedious work of years lost, then? For a few minutes Rufus was more disturbed over this than the deception practiced on him by Stephen.

  Rufus had the sort of mind that made lightning deductions and came to swift conclusions. But he had learned from his brother the art of verifying everything. So he shrugged on his greatcoat and put his hard hat on his head and left the office. He went at once to the railroad station, and sought out the superintendent, who adored him.

  George Hassen firmly believed, as did all other employees of the company, that if it were not for Mr. Rufus there would be no railroad. He also believed that Mr. Rufus had been “done wrong.” He was an old and precise man, who had loved Aaron and who despised, and had always despised, the silent and reserved Stephen. “If that one’s a railroader, then I’m a coal miner!” he would say contemptuously. “It’s a shame, a rotten sham
e, that old Aaron could’ve done that to Mr. Rufus, who’s a born railroader, and got idees.”

  He received Rufus with flattered delight, and led him at once into his hot and gritty office overlooking the rails. Rufus sat down in his jovial, democratic way and offered the old man one of the cheroots in his silver case. An engine was letting off noisy jets of steam just under the dirty window, and so neither man could speak, but just sat there smiling affectionately at each other. At length, with much clanging and grinding, the engine moved off down to the switchyard. Now only large wet flakes of snow splashed themselves against the window.

  “Ain’t seen you lately, Mr. Rufus,” said Hassen, pulling on the cheroot with pleasure after Rufus had lighted it for him. “We miss you down here.”

  “Too much work at the office, George,” Rufus replied in a tone of apology. “You know how I like to visit you boys. How is Jed Thompson’s hand, by the way?”

  “Well, the couplin’ pin lost him two fingers, sir, but that’s the way it is. The boys kind of expect it; it’s a sort of badge of railroadin’. I gave him your fifty dollars, and he sure was pleased. Set him right up. ‘Knew Mr. Rufe wouldn’t forget me,’ he said.”

  Rufus, with amusement, reflected that Stephen had sent five hundred dollars to Jed Thompson, had paid his medical expenses, and had ordered his pay to go on after the accident. But the superintendent, and doubtless Jed Thompson, too, had either overlooked this generosity, or had suspected, wrongly, that Mr. Rufus was “behind it.” Rufus leaned to the latter conclusion, in which he was quite correct. “I never forget any of our boys,” said Rufus in a deep tone, which so moved Mr. Hassen that his cloudy eyes moistened.

  It did not need money, it did not demand compassion or mercy or gentleness, to make these dogs lick your hand, thought Rufus. All that was necessary was an engaging smile, a lying word or two, a rollicking laugh. Stephen was a fool, a stupid fool. His dollars and his pity and his great love for humanity could elicit nothing more than hatred and contempt.

  “How are things here, and in the roundhouse, George?” Rufus asked. “Everybody satisfied and comfortable?”

  “Yes sir, yes sir!” exclaimed the old man enthusiastically. “You won’t have strikes here, Mr. Rufe. No labor trouble long’s you’re here! The boys know you’re their friend, yes sir!” He scowled and leaned forward. “Long’s you’re here, Mr. Rufe,” he added significantly.

  The two men smoked in an atmosphere of affection and mutual esteem. Then Rufus said, “By the way, did Steve leave a brief case on the train a few days ago—when he left for Chicago?” It was part of his spurious democracy that he always referred to his brother and to the directors of the company by their first names, when speaking to even the humblest of employees.

  “A brief case? No, Mr. Rufe. Did he lose one?”

  Rufus shook his head, smiling. He said evasively, “Well, he didn’t say he would take it, though it contained valuable papers. But I haven’t seen it around the office, and I was worried. Did he take the nine-thirty-five, so he’d have to change in Philadelphia, or the twelve-thirty-two? Maybe the brief case was on the other train.”

  “Mr. Stephen took the twelve-thirty-two,” said Hassen. “I didn’t know about it, though I was here then. But one of the boys told me. He was surprised; there wasn’t no reservation for Mr. Stephen, and he didn’t ask for the private car.” He added, “There wasn’t any brief case, Mr. Rufe. It’s probably home somewheres.”

  Rufus looked impatient. “I’ll have to search again.”

  He held out his hand in his bluff and friendly way, sent a message to Mollie, Hassen’s wife, and left the station.

  So, he had been right. Stephen was in Chicago. And it all concerned the Chicago Railroad System, and Guy Gunther.

  Was there a clue here for him? Had the time arrived for action? Guy Gunther had been deceived by Stephen, so Gunther was a formidable threat in Stephen’s mind. Suppose he, Rufus, sent a telegram to Gunther, a friendly telegram, expressing his pleasure at the coming visit, and then casually mentioning that Stephen was in Chicago, and not in Fort Wayne. Would that bring Gunther immediately to Portersville, appreciative of the subtle hint? Could he and Gunther then conclude something of tremendous advantage to Rufus deWitt? It was an exciting idea, and had its drama and color.

  But Rufus had painfully learned from Stephen that effervescent ideas, based on nothing but intuition and a desire for flamboyant action, were not only foolish but sometimes dangerous. Rufus also reflected that Gunther was a very astute man, and that he would soon learn, from a few artful questions, that Rufus was ignorant of Stephen’s purpose in going to Chicago. Gunther, like Stephen, dealt in drab hard facts. His opinion of Rufus would not be enhanced by his becoming aware that Stephen had kept his brother in ignorance.

  Seated now in his carriage, Rufus again became anxious about some possible slip he must have made that had inspired the sleeping mistrust of his brother. He went over and over, in his mind, all occasions where there had been a little danger. He could not remember that he had ever been indiscreet. But men like Stephen had a nose for duplicity, even though it was an unconscious sense.

  The snow had come early this year. Rufus could not see through the carriage windows, which had become plastered heavily with a wet whiteness. Ahead, the carriage lights poured in an uncertain golden tunnel through the howling and swirling flakes. Rufus could feel the coldness of the night through the windows of his vehicle and through the fur robe which covered his knees. Fires would be welcome, and a glass of whisky near the hearth, and the excellent meal which his brother’s new cook was now preparing. Then, of course, there were the children, the two little five-year-old girls who would cling to him, Cornelia shouting and demanding to be the first in his arms, and Laura waiting with her gray eyes shining in her wan face. Rufus sincerely loved children, and his bitterness against his wife invariably increased to a cold rage when he considered how she had deprived him of more daughters, and sons. There were occasions when he regretted that he had not accepted her suggestion for a divorce.

  Stephen was due home tonight, or the next night. If this snow keeps up the trains will be very late, Rufus reflected impatiently. He could feel the lurching of the carriage, the pounding of the wind at the windows. His feet were becoming cold, and he did not like this riding through nothingness. He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it; the rich aroma comforted him, and the tiny coal lightened the darkness.

  He continued, at intervals, to peer through the windows at the raging night, and it was with a profound sensation of relief that he finally caught a glimpse of the house high on its mountainside, its great yellow lights streaming out into the night. In a few minutes the carriage swung into the circle of the driveway, and the exhausted horses quickened their trot. Rufus, not waiting for the coachman, opened the carriage door himself, so eager was he to be inside the house, and safe from the blackness and the nothingness.

  It was part of his theatrical instinct that had made him ceremoniously deliver up his keys to his brother shortly after Aaron’s death. It had embarrassed and distressed Stephen, and Rufus had watched him with malicious pleasure. “Frankly,” Rufus had said, knowing that Stephen would detect the “brave” lie, “I prefer to have the door opened for me. More dignity, you know. Besides, what are servants for?” So, Rufus, tonight, rang the bell as usual, and waited. The door opened almost at once, and Seth, the butler, admitted him with a smile of concern. “You were late, Mr. Rufus, and we were all worried.”

  Rufus glanced about the beautiful hall with satisfaction. For a man who loved change and movement and mobility, he was singularly susceptible to the changeless. In the business of running a railroad, he was “progressive.” In the business of living, he was happily conservative. There were people who were changing candlelighted chandeliers into flaring gas globes, but Rufus preferred the chandelier in this white-and-gold paneled hall with its aureate flames. He loved the pale and delicate furniture, the fire on the small white hearth, the Aubuss
on rugs, the scent of flowers, burning apple wood and wax.

  Seth relieved him of his bowler and his fur-collared coat and gloves. He paused for a moment to rub his hands near the fire; then, smiling, he entered the drawing room and looked about him expectantly. As he had hoped, there was a rush of young footsteps toward him, and the hoarse, childish shout of Cornelia. Two little girls, Cornelia leading, raced in his direction, with outflung arms, Cornelia all red-gold and brilliance, pink-dimpled and laughing, and Laura, small and pale and gently smiling, with dark ringlets on her blue-velvet shoulders. It was Laura whom Rufus caught up first, though she reached him last, and he held her to him tightly, feeling the frail bones through the velvet, the thin and clinging arms. Perhaps he loved her almost as much as he did his daughter because he had saved her life, or perhaps in so many ways she resembled Lydia in her gravity, in her smile, in the large and quiet shining of her eyes. He kissed her tenderly, set her down, and then he picked up his tall and heavy little daughter who bussed him heartily. The thick curls almost smothered him, the strong arms choked off his breath. Crying out in laughing protest, he held her away from him, looking fondly into that round and highly colored infantile face with its radiant hazel eyes and big scarlet mouth. A beauty, his daughter, a robust, warm beauty, already charming and magnetic and spoiled, but delightful!