Mindful of this, Cowperwood, with a now splendid scheme in his mind, one day invited John J. McKenty over to his house to dinner on a social pretext. When the latter, accompanied by his wife, had arrived, and Aileen had smiled on them both sweetly, and was doing her best to be nice to Mrs. McKenty, Cowperwood remarked:
“McKenty, do you know anything about these two tunnels that the city owns under the river at Washington and La Salle streets?”
“I know that the city took them over when it didn’t need them, and that they’re no good for anything. That was before my time, though,” explained McKenty, cautiously. “I think the city paid a million for them. Why?”
“Oh, nothing much,” replied Cowperwood, evading the matter for the present. “I was wondering whether they were in such condition that they couldn’t be used for anything. I see occasional references in the papers to their uselessness.”
“They’re in pretty bad shape, I’m afraid,” replied McKenty. “I haven’t been through either of them in years and years. The idea was originally to let the wagons go through them and break up the crowding at the bridges. But it didn’t work. They made the grade too steep and the tolls too high, and so the drivers preferred to wait for the bridges. They were pretty hard on horses. I can testify to that myself. I’ve driven a wagon-load through them more than once. The city should never have taken them over at all by rights. It was a deal. I don’t know who all was in it. Carmody was mayor then, and Aldrich was in charge of public works.”
He relapsed into silence, and Cowperwood allowed the matter of the tunnels to rest until after dinner when they had adjourned to the library. There he placed a friendly hand on McKenty’s arm, an act of familiarity which the politician rather liked.
“You felt pretty well satisfied with the way that gas business came out last year, didn’t you?” he inquired.
“I did,” replied McKenty, warmly. “Never more so. I told you that at the time.” The Irishman liked Cowperwood, and was grateful for the swift manner in which he had been made richer by the sum of several hundred thousand dollars.
“Well, now, McKenty,” continued Cowperwood, abruptly, and with a seeming lack of connection, “has it ever occurred to you that things are shaping up for a big change in the street-railway situation here? I can see it coming. There’s going to be a new motor power introduced on the South Side within a year or two. You’ve heard of it?”
“I read something of it,” replied McKenty, surprised and a little questioning. He took a cigar and prepared to listen. Cowperwood, never smoking, drew up a chair.
“Well, I’ll tell you what that means,” he explained. “It means that eventually every mile of street-railway track in this city—to say nothing of all the additional miles that will be built before this change takes place—will have to be done over on an entirely new basis. I mean this cable-conduit system. These old companies that are hobbling along now with an old equipment will have to make the change. They’ll have to spend millions and millions before they can bring their equipment up to date. If you’ve paid any attention to the matter you must have seen what a condition these North and West Side lines are in.”
“It’s pretty bad; I know that,” commented McKenty.
“Just so,” replied Cowperwood, emphatically. “Well, now, if I know anything about these old managements from studying them, they’re going to have a hard time bringing themselves to do this. Two to three million are two to three million, and it isn’t going to be an easy matter for them to raise the money—not as easy, perhaps, as it would be for some of the rest of us, supposing we wanted to go into the street-railway business.”
“Yes, supposing,” replied McKenty, jovially. “But how are you to get in it? There’s no stock for sale that I know of.”
“Just the same,” said Cowperwood, “we can if we want to, and I’ll show you how. But at present there’s just one thing in particular I’d like you to do for me. I want to know if there is any way that we can get control of either of those two old tunnels that I was talking to you about a little while ago. I’d like both if I might. Do you suppose that is possible?”
“Why, yes,” replied McKenty, wondering; “but what have they got to do with it? They’re not worth anything. Some of the boys were talking about filling them in some time ago—blowing them up. The police think crooks hide in them.”
“Just the same, don’t let any one touch them—don’t lease them or anything,” replied Cowperwood, forcefully. “I’ll tell you frankly what I want to do. I want to get control, just as soon as possible, of all the street-railway lines I can on the North and West Sides—new or old franchises. Then you’ll see where the tunnels come in.”
He paused to see whether McKenty caught the point of all he meant, but the latter failed.
“You don’t want much, do you?” he said, cheerfully. “But I don’t see how you can use the tunnels. However, that’s no reason why I shouldn’t take care of them for you, if you think that’s important.”
“It’s this way,” said Cowperwood, thoughtfully. “I’ll make you a preferred partner in all the ventures that I control if you do as I suggest. The street-railways, as they stand now, will have to be taken up lock, stock, and barrel, and thrown into the scrap heap within eight or nine years at the latest. You see what the South Side company is beginning to do now. When it comes to the West and North Side companies they won’t find it so easy. They aren’t earning as much as the South Side, and besides they have those bridges to cross. That means a severe inconvenience to a cable line. In the first place, the bridges will have to be rebuilt to stand the extra weight and strain. Now the question arises at once—at whose expense? The city’s?”
“That depends on who’s asking for it,” replied Mr. McKenty, amiably.
“Quite so,” assented Cowperwood. “In the next place, this river traffic is becoming impossible from the point of view of a decent street-car service. There are waits now of from eight to fifteen minutes while these tows and vessels get through. Chicago has five hundred thousand population to-day. How much will it have in 1890? In 1900? How will it be when it has eight hundred thousand or a million?”
“You’re quite right,” interpolated McKenty. “It will be pretty bad.”
“Exactly. But what is worse, the cable lines will carry trailers, or single cars, from feeder lines. There won’t be single cars waiting at these draws—there will be trains, crowded trains. It won’t be advisable to delay a cable-train from eight to fifteen minutes while boats are making their way through a draw. The public won’t stand for that very long, will it, do you think?”
“Not without making a row, probably,” replied McKenty.
“Well, that means what, then?” asked Cowperwood. “Is the traffic going to get any lighter? Is the river going to dry up?”
Mr. McKenty stared. Suddenly his face lighted. “Oh, I see,” he said, shrewdly. “It’s those tunnels you’re thinking about. Are they in any shape to be used?”
“They can be made over cheaper than new ones can be built.”
“True for you,” replied McKenty, “and if they’re in any sort of repair they’d be just what you’d want.” He was emphatic, almost triumphant. “They belong to the city. They cost pretty near a million apiece, those things.”
“I know it,” said Cowperwood. “Now, do you see what I’m driving at?”
“Do I see!” smiled McKenty. “That’s a real idea you have, Cowperwood. I take off my hat to you. Say what you want.”
“Well, then, in the first place,” replied Cowperwood, genially, “it is agreed that the city won’t part with those two tunnels under any circumstances until we can see what can be done about this other matter?”
“It will not.”
“In the next place, it is understood, is it, that you won’t make it any easier than you can possibly help for the North and West Side companies to get ordinances extending their lines, or anything else, from now on? I shall want to introduce some franchises for feeders
and outlying lines myself.”
“Bring in your ordinances,” replied McKenty, “and I’ll do whatever you say. I’ve worked with you before. I know that you keep your word.”
“Thanks,” said Cowperwood, warmly. “I know the value of keeping it. In the mean while I’ll go ahead and see what can be done about the other matter. I don’t know just how many men I will need to let in on this, or just what form the organization will take. But you may depend upon it that your interests will be properly taken care of, and that whatever is done will be done with your full knowledge and consent.”
“All very good,” answered McKenty, thinking of the new field of activity before them. A combination between himself and Cowperwood in a matter like this must prove very beneficial to both. And he was satisfied, because of their previous relations, that his own interests would not be neglected.
“Shall we go and see if we can find the ladies?” asked Cowperwood, jauntily, laying hold of the politician’s arm.
“To be sure,” assented McKenty, gaily. “It’s a fine house you have here—beautiful. And your wife is as pretty a woman as I ever saw, if you’ll pardon the familiarity.”
“I have always thought she was rather attractive myself,” replied Cowperwood, innocently.
Chapter XXII.
Street-railways at Last
Among the directors of the North Chicago City company there was one man, Edwin L. Kaffrath, who was young and of a forward-looking temperament. His father, a former heavy stockholder of this company, had recently died and left all his holdings and practically his directorship to his only son. Young Kaffrath was by no means a practical street-railway man, though he fancied he could do very well at it if given a chance. He was the holder of nearly eight hundred of the five thousand shares of stock; but the rest of it was so divided that he could only exercise a minor influence. Nevertheless, from the day of his entrance into the company—which was months before Cowperwood began seriously to think over the situation—he had been strong for improvements—extensions, more franchises, better cars, better horses, stoves in the cars in winter, and the like, all of which suggestions sounded to his fellow-directors like mere manifestations of the reckless impetuosity of youth, and were almost uniformly opposed.
“What’s the matter with them cars?” asked Albert Thorsen, one of the elder directors, at one of the meetings at which Kaffrath was present and offering his usual protest. “I don’t see anything the matter with ’em. I ride in ’em.”
Thorsen was a heavy, dusty, tobacco-bestrewn individual of sixty-six, who was a little dull but genial. He was in the paint business, and always wore a very light steel-gray suit much crinkled in the seat and arms.
“Perhaps that’s what’s the matter with them, Albert,” chirped up Solon Kaempfaert, one of his cronies on the board.
The sally drew a laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. I see the rest of you on board often enough.”
“Why, I tell you what’s the matter with them,” replied Kaffrath. “They’re dirty, and they’re flimsy, and the windows rattle so you can’t hear yourself think. The track is no good, and the filthy straw we keep in them in winter is enough to make a person sick. We don’t keep the track in good repair. I don’t wonder people complain. I’d complain myself.”
“Oh, I don’t think things are as bad as all that,” put in Onias C. Skinner, the president, who had a face which with its very short side-whiskers was as bland as a Chinese god. He was sixty-eight years of age. “They’re not the best cars in the world, but they’re good cars. They need painting and varnishing pretty badly, some of them, but outside of that there’s many a good year’s wear in them yet. I’d be very glad if we could put in new rolling-stock, but the item of expense will be considerable. It’s these extensions that we have to keep building and the long hauls for five cents which eat up the profits.” The so-called “long hauls” were only two or three miles at the outside, but they seemed long to Mr. Skinner.
“Well, look at the South Side,” persisted Kaffrath. “I don’t know what you people are thinking of. Here’s a cable system introduced in Philadelphia. There’s another in San Francisco. Some one has invented a car, as I understand it, that’s going to run by electricity, and here we are running cars—barns, I call them—with straw in them. Good Lord, I should think it was about time that some of us took a tumble to ourselves!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” commented Mr. Skinner. “It seems to me we have done pretty well by the North Side. We have done a good deal.”
Directors Solon Kaempfaert, Albert Thorsen, Isaac White, Anthony Ewer, Arnold C. Benjamin, and Otto Matjes, being solemn gentlemen all, merely sat and stared.
The vigorous Kaffrath was not to be so easily repressed, however. He repeated his complaints on other occasions. The fact that there was also considerable complaint in the newspapers from time to time in regard to this same North Side service pleased him in a way. Perhaps this would be the proverbial fire under the terrapin which would cause it to move along.
By this time, owing to Cowperwood’s understanding with McKenty, all possibility of the North Side company’s securing additional franchises for unoccupied streets, or even the use of the La Salle Street tunnel, had ended. Kaffrath did not know this. Neither did the directors or officers of the company, but it was true. In addition, McKenty, through the aldermen, who were at his beck and call on the North Side, was beginning to stir up additional murmurs and complaints in order to discredit the present management. There was a great to-do in council over a motion on the part of somebody to compel the North Side company to throw out its old cars and lay better and heavier tracks. Curiously, this did not apply so much to the West and South Sides, which were in the same condition. The rank and file of the city, ignorant of the tricks which were constantly being employed in politics to effect one end or another, were greatly cheered by this so-called “public uprising.” They little knew the pawns they were in the game, or how little sincerity constituted the primal impulse.
Quite by accident, apparently, one day Addison, thinking of the different men in the North Side company who might be of service to Cowperwood, and having finally picked young Kaffrath as the ideal agent, introduced himself to the latter at the Union League.
“That’s a pretty heavy load of expense that’s staring you North and West Side street-railway people in the face,” he took occasion to observe.
“How’s that?” asked Kaffrath, curiously, anxious to hear anything which concerned the development of the business.
“Well, unless I’m greatly mistaken, you, all of you, are going to be put to the expense of doing over your lines completely in a very little while—so I hear—introducing this new motor or cable system that they are getting on the South Side.” Addison wanted to convey the impression that the city council or public sentiment or something was going to force the North Chicago company to indulge in this great and expensive series of improvements.
Kaffrath pricked up his ears. What was the city Council going to do? He wanted to know all about it. They discussed the whole situation—the nature of the cable-conduits, the cost of the power-houses, the need of new rails, and the necessity of heavier bridges, or some other means of getting over or under the river. Addison took very good care to point out that the Chicago City or South Side Railway was in a much more fortunate position than either of the other two by reason of its freedom from the river-crossing problem. Then he again commiserated the North Side company on its rather difficult position. “Your company will have a very great deal to do, I fancy,” he reiterated.
Kaffrath was duly impressed and appropriately depressed, for his eight hundred shares would be depressed in value by the necessity of heavy expenditures for tunnels and other improvements. Nevertheless, there was some consolation in the thought that such betterment, as Addison now described, would in the long run make the lines more profitable. But in the mean time there might be rough sailing. The old directors ought to act soon now, he though
t. With the South Side company being done over, they would have to follow suit. But would they? How could he get them to see that, even though it were necessary to mortgage the lines for years to come, it would pay in the long run? He was sick of old, conservative, cautious methods.
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