“Well, Frank, you are asking me something which just at the moment I cannot really answer, because I don’t know.”
“But, as you see,” he persisted, “in this case her influence has not lasted, or I wouldn’t be here now. And I am not offering this as an excuse, but as a fact.”
“In other words,” said Berenice, “she did not come on the same boat.”
“She is dancing in New York the whole winter. And any American paper will tell you that. I maintain, Bevy, that the attraction you have for me is not only stronger but superior, I need you, Bevy. We are two minds and temperaments that think and work alike. That’s why I’m back here now, and want to stay here. This other affair was less valuable. I felt it all the time. When you stopped writing, I realized how much less I cared for Lorna. There, that’s the sum of it. Now what, Bevy?”
In the growing dusk he had drawn nearer and nearer. Now he seized her, pressed his lips to hers, and held her tightly. As he did so, she felt herself yielding, mentally and emotionally. But at the same time she felt impelled to make plain her position.
“I do care for you, Frank, yes. But this is only a sensual pull in your case. When it is over . . . when it is over . . .”
Both subsided in each other’s arms, letting desire, emotion, blot out for the time being that frail little lamp, the human mind, and submerge for the moment that wholly unreasoning force, the human will.
Chapter 49
Later in her bedroom, on that first night, Cowperwood continued his argument as to the wisdom of going on together in their roles of ward and guardian.
“You see, Bevy,” he said, “the relationship is already established in the minds of Stane and others.”
“Are you trying to discover whether I am planning to leave you?” she queried.
“Well, naturally, I thought you might be considering it. This fellow Stane certainly has everything to offer you.”
He was sitting on the edge of her bed. The room was only slightly illumined by a moon that was shining against the drawn blinds. Berenice was sitting up in bed, leaning against the pillows, smoking a cigarette.
“Not so much as you have,” she said, “if you were ever really interested enough. But if you must know, I am not considering anything except the problem which you yourself have forced on me. We entered into an arrangement and you disarranged it. What do you expect me to do under the circumstances? Give you every liberty and ask nothing for myself?”
“I don’t expect anything which is going to prove distasteful or harmful to you.” His tone was aggressive. “I’m merely suggesting that if you’re going to become interested in Stane, we’ll have to figure out some way to continue this guardian-ward relationship until you are settled in your new state. From one point of view,” he added, honestly enough, “I’d be glad to see you established as the wife of a man like Stane. On the other hand, there’s the program we planned, and without you as a part of it, Bevy, I can tell you frankly that I’m not going to be very much interested. I might go on, and I might not. It will all depend on how I feel. I know you think that because I went with Lorna Maris I could easily make worthwhile conditions for myself. But I don’t see it that way. She was a mere incident, something involved with the passions and not the mind, as I’ve told you. If you had gone to New York with me, it never would have happened. Since it has, the one thing I see to do is to make the best working arrangement I can with you. And you will have to say what that is to be.” He got up and went to look for a cigar.
Thus directly approached, Berenice found herself intensely troubled by all he had said. For she cared for him intensely; his problems, his career, were almost more important to her than her own. And yet opposed to them was her own life, her own future. For once she reached the age of thirty-five or forty, the chances of his being present were slight. She lay there silently thinking, while Cowperwood waited. And in due course she answered, although not without extreme misgivings. Yes, she would continue; of course she would continue, for the present, anyway. For what could either he or she say in regard to his future movements or decisions?
“There’s no one like you, Frank,” she observed at this point, “for me, anyway. I like Lord Stane, of course, but I’ve not really seen enough of him. It’s nonsense to even think of it. Just the same, he is interesting—fascinating, really. And if you’re going to leave me to a sort of half-life with you, it does seem impractical for me to ignore him, assuming that he would really marry me. At the same time, relying on you is not even to be considered. I can stay with you, of course, and do my best to work out with you all the things we planned. But if so, it will be because •I am relying entirely on myself. I will be making you a present of my youth, my ideals, my enthusiasm, and my love, and expecting not one thing in return.”
“Bevy!” he exclaimed, startled by the equity of her statement. “That isn’t true!”
“Well, then, show me where it’s false. Let’s say I go on, as I probably shall; then what?”
“Well,” said Cowperwood, seating himself in a chair opposite the bed, “I will admit you raise a serious question. I’m not as young as you, and if you continue with me, you certainly run a great risk of exposure and social ostracism. There’s no denying that. About all I can leave you is money, and regardless of what we decide on tonight, I can tell you now that I propose to arrange for that at once. You will have enough, if you manage it intelligently, to maintain you in luxury for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, I know,” said Berenice. “No one can deny that where you care for anyone, you are the soul of generosity. I am not even questioning that. What troubles me is the lack of real love on your part, and the reasonable certainty that I’m to be not only left without love but I am to pay for my own love in other ways later on.”
“I see your problem, Bevy, believe me, I do. And I’m in no position to ask you to do more for me than you feel you want to do. You must do what you think is best for yourself. But I promise you, darling, that if you do continue with me, I will try to be faithful to you. And if ever you feel you ought to leave me and marry someone, I promise not to interfere. And that’s final. As I said before, I care for you very much, Bevy. You know that. You are not only my sweetheart but the same as my own child to me.”
“Frank!” She called him over to her side. “You know I cannot leave you. It’s not possible, at least not in spirit.”
“Bevy, darling girl!” And he gathered her up in his arms. “How wonderful it is to have you with me again!”
“But one thing we must settle, Frank,” she put in at this point, calmly smoothing her ruffled hair, “and that’s this yachting invitation. What about that?”
“I don’t know yet, dear, but I guess as long as he’s so very much interested in you, he’s not likely to be particularly antagonistic toward me.”
“Scamp!” cried Berenice, laughing. “If ever there was a deep-dyed villain . . .”
“No, just a young, ambitious American businessman trying to find his way through an English financial jungle! We’ll talk it over tomorrow. It’s you, just you, I want to think about now . . .”
Chapter 50
Like a master chess player, Cowperwood proposed to outwit all of the entirely nationalistic and, of course, humanly selfish elements arrayed against him in his underground project. He had evolved a broad and comprehensive plan, which he hoped to work out as follows:
First, there was the existing Charing Cross line, to which must be added the existing central loop consisting of the District and the Metropolitan Railway, with their utterly impractical and warring factions. If all went well, he, Stane, and Johnson, but principally himself, held the key to this situation.
Next, assuming that he gained control of the District and the Metropolitan—with which he would or would not, as circumstances dictated, join his Railway Equipment & Construction Company—he proposed to organize the Union Traction Underground, Limited, which would control all of these.
Incidentally, howe
ver, and unknown to any of his present associates, he proposed to buy from Abington Scarr the charter for the Baker Street and Waterloo Line; also the charter of the Brompton and Piccadilly, a line which he had learned was in about the same conditions as the Charing Cross; and certain other routes and prospects, charters for which he would pick up through others.
With these in his bag, he would be able, he felt, to organize the London Underground General, which would include all of the property of the Union Traction Underground, Limited, as well as the charters and lines which he would privately acquire, thus providing a complete metropolitan system and at the same time, by reason of his holdings, give him personal control. Incidentally, if he could not ultimately take publicly the chairmanship of this enormous property, at least he would be acknowledged as its subsurface control. Also, if he could not put in his own directors, he would arrange so that those who were placed in control could do nothing to injure the property.
And eventually, if all went well, he would quietly dispose of his holdings at an enormous profit, and thereafter leave the company to get along as best it could. He would have established his title as not only promoter but builder, and would have given London a modern and comprehensive metropolitan system which would bear the imprint of his genius, just as Chicago’s downtown loop bore it. And thereafter, with his wealth, he could maintain his art gallery, organize his charities,, build the hospital to which he had given much thought in the past, and at the same time leave to all to whom he felt obligated an unquestionably satisfactory reward. The dream enticed him. A few years of swift work, five or six at the most, as he saw it, would serve to accomplish all.
But to follow all of his activities, mental as well as physical, in connection with this plan would be the same as attempting to follow the swift and confusing thoughts, tricks, and motions of a prestidigitator. There were primarily, of course, his negotiations with Johnson and Stane. On communicating with Johnson, immediately following his reconciliation with Berenice, he found a greater willingness to co-operate than had previously existed. Johnson announced that he and Stane had given a great deal of thought to the matter in Cowperwood’s absence, but he would prefer to communicate their conclusions in Stane’s presence.
This resulted almost immediately in another conference in Berkeley Square, where Cowperwood found something resembling more a friendly than a commercial atmosphere. Johnson had been detained and was not present when he arrived. Immediately he noticed the joviality of Stane’s manner. The latter inquired about conditions in the United States: what the elections there forebode; did he find London pleasing; and how was his ward, Miss Fleming? And her mother? He had been, as Cowperwood perhaps knew, a fairly frequent visitor to Pryor’s Cove. How truly charming they were, mother and daughter. He paused shrewdly, watching Cowperwood’s face as he said this. But Cowperwood met the challenge.
“No doubt you are wondering about their relationship to me,” he said, suavely. “Well, I have known Mrs. Carter for many years. She married a distant relative of mine, who named me as executor and guardian in loco parentis. Naturally, I have become very fond of Berenice. She is a very brilliant girl.”
“I must say I find her so,” said Stane. “And I am pleased that Pryor’s Cove has appealed to Mrs. Carter and her daughter.”
“Yes, they certainly seem to have found it an ideal place. It is really beautiful.”
Fortunately, to break the personal trend of the conversation, Johnson arrived at this moment. Bustling in and apologizing for having been unavoidably detained, he inquired after Cowperwood’s welfare before putting on his most officially expectant and executive manner. And there followed a concise and vigorous presentation by him of all that had been done, together with a review of the situation as it now stood. Decidedly, he announced, Cowperwood’s proposed invasion of the London underground field had evoked a furore. With but few exceptions, directors and shareholders of both of the old loop companies were against him.
“They seem to want to take over your ideas, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, “and work them out themselves. The only thing that is delaying them is lack of agreement among themselves, and, of course,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “they are a little disturbed by the amount of money it is going to take. They don’t know how they’re going to get it without too much expense to themselves.”
“Precisely,” commented Cowperwood, “and for that very reason delay will be the most expensive thing that can be indulged in. There is a program here which, if entered upon vigorously, can be held within attractive financial limits. Delay and argument will only attract speculators and prospectors who will pile up options on whatever shares or franchises are floating about and hold them for a rise. For that reason it is essential that we reach an agreement as quickly as possible.”
“Now, as I understand it,” put in Stane, agreeably enough, “your proposal was for Johnson and myself to pool our interests in the District as well as the Metropolitan, and in addition either buy, or bring together under some working agreement which you are to control, 51 per cent of either the District or the Metropolitan, or both.”
“Right!” said Cowperwood.
“And against that, either on a hundred-year lease or in perpetuity, you agree to guarantee interest at 5 per cent.”
“Right!”
“And, in addition, give the refusal of at least 10 per cent of the preferred shares of the Charing Cross, together with 10 per cent of the shares of any additional subsidiary which you or the larger company may see fit to organize and join up with the parent company, at 8 per cent of their par value.”
“Right!”
“The interest on all these shares to be a first lien on the property of the entire company at the time it is fully organized.”
“That is my proposal,” said Cowperwood.
“I must say I see nothing wrong with that,” said Stane, staring at Johnson, who in turn stared back at him.
“In short,” said Johnson, turning to Cowperwood, “once we perform our part, you bind yourself to reconstruct and equip in the most modern fashion both of the old lines and such new ones as you can secure, and to mortgage the entire property in such a way as to guarantee the interest on all of the present shares of the District and the Metropolitan, also on whatsoever amount of the 10 per cent of the shares of these new companies or subsidiaries we may elect to subscribe for at eighty.”
“Such is my intention,” said Cowperwood.
Once more Johnson and Stane stared at each other.
“Well,” said Stane, finally, “subject to such difficulties as we are certain to encounter, I pledge myself to perform my part of the undertaking as quickly as possible, and to the best of my ability.”
“And I,” said Johnson, “shall be glad to work in entire harmony with Lord Stane, and to do whatever is necessary to bring this to a successful conclusion.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Cowperwood, rising, “I am not only pleased but honored by this understanding, and to show you the soundness of my intentions, I propose—if both of you are agreeable to the idea, of course—to ask Mr. Johnson to act as my legal advisor, and have him prepare all papers concluding this general agreement between us. And when the time comes, he added, smiling at them, “I would be delighted to have you both serve as directors.”
“As to that, time and circumstances will have to decide,” said Stane. “It should be helpful, certainly.”
“It will be my pleasure to serve both of you to the very best of my ability,” added Johnson.
All three were not a little conscious of the grandiose note that had slipped into these mutual felicitations, but it was quickly eased by Stane’s proffer of a parting glass of old cognac—a case of which, without any previous mention, he had sent to Cowperwood’s rooms at the Cecil.
Chapter 51
One of the painful phases of Cowperwood’s further negotiations at this time was the need he faced, or thought he did, of employing Englishmen rather than Americans as his
assistants in all departments of his work. De Sota Sippens was the first victim, and he was almost brokenhearted, for he had come to like London. Joined with his ever-successful Chief, as he argued, he expected to shine here. More than that, he was eager to sharpen his wits and energies against those of these assured and almost condescending Englishmen, who, he was perfectly satisfied, knew nothing about the business of traction. However, to soften the blow as much as possible, Cowperwood placed him in charge of his Chicago financial affairs.
One of Cowperwood’s methods of raising capital was the use of the holding company, an underlying organization which would bring in sufficient money to buy the companies which he wished to control and at the same time furnish him with the necessary shares for that control. In this instance, his Railway Equipment & Construction Company was formed, with dummy directors and chairmen, and in which all who joined him were eventually to possess founder’s shares. Johnson acted as solicitor and counsel at a salary of £3,000 a year. And thereafter, in a private agreement drawn by him—but most carefully gone over by Cowperwood’s attorneys—and signed by Johnson, Stane, and Cowperwood, it was stipulated that from then on their various shares in both the District and the Metropolitan, either then and there owned or subsequently to be acquired, were to be voted as one in any official vote that looked to the reorganization and sale of the District and the Metropolitan to the new company later to be organized. And in this new company they were to receive three shares of its issue for each one of their old shares.
And now, for Johnson, there was the really great task of running about in quest of blocks of scattered shares of both the District and the Metropolitan, which shares, up to £500,000 he had orders from Cowperwood to buy, but under various names. Also to work up, among the old directors, knowledge of as well as enthusiasm for Cowperwood and his proposed plans. As for Stane, he was to buy as many more shares of these old companies as he could obtain, with a view to voting with Cowperwood in his new undertaking, and he, too, where possible, was to bring his personal influence to bear on all such as he knew.
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