The Deluge

by David Graham Phillips

  XI. WHEN A MAN IS NOT A MAN

  Walters entered. He was one of the great railway presidents, wasuniversally regarded as a power, though I, of course, knew that he, like somany other presidents of railways, of individual corporations, of banks,of insurance companies, and high political officials in cities, statesand the nation, was little more than a figurehead put up and used by theinside financial ring. As he shifted from leg to leg, holding his hat andtrying to steady his twitching upper lip, he looked as one of his smallestsection-bosses would have looked, if called up for a wigging.

  Roebuck shook hands cordially with him, responded to his nervous glance atme with:

  "Blacklock is practically in our directory." We all sat, then Roebuck beganin his kindliest tone:

  "We have decided, Walters, that we must give your place to a stronger man.Your gross receipts, outside of coal, have fallen rapidly and steadily forthe past three quarters. You were put into the presidency to bring themup. They have shown no change beyond what might have been expected in thenatural fluctuations of freight. We calculated on resuming dividends a yearago. We have barely been able to meet the interest on our bonds."

  "But, Mr. Roebuck," pleaded Walters, "you doubled the bonded indebtednessof the road just before I took charge."

  "The money went into improvements, into increasing your facilities, did itnot?" inquired Roebuck, his paw as soft as a playful tiger's.

  "Part of it," said Walters. "But you remember the reorganizing syndicategot five millions, and then the contracts for the new work had to be givento construction companies in which directors of the road were silentpartners. Then they are interested in the supply companies from which Imust buy. You know what all that means, Mr. Roebuck."

  "No doubt," said Roebuck, still smooth and soft. "But if there was waste,you should have reported--"

  "To whom?" demanded Walters. "Every one of our directors, includingyourself, Mr. Roebuck, is a stock-holder--a large stock-holder--in one ormore of those companies."

  "Have you proof of this, Walters?" asked Roebuck, looking profoundlyshocked. "It's a very grave charge--a criminal charge."

  "Proof?" said Walters, "You know how that is. The real books of all bigcompanies are kept in the memories of the directors--and mighty treacherousmemories they are." This with a nervous laugh. "As for the holdings ofdirectors in construction and supply companies--most of those holdings arein other names--all of them are disguised where the connection is direct."

  Roebuck shook his head sadly. "You admit, then, that you have allowedmillions of the road's money to be wasted, that you made no complaint, noeffort to stop the waste; and your only defense is that you _suspect_the directors of fraud. And you accuse them to excuse yourself--accuse themwith no proof. Were you in any of those companies, Walters?"

  "No," he said, his eyes shifting.

  Roebuck's face grew stern. "You bought two hundred thousand dollars of thelast issue of government bonds, they tell me, with your two years' profitsfrom the Western Railway Construction Company."

  "I bought no bonds," blustered Walters. "What money I have I made out ofspeculating in the stock of my road--on legitimate inside information."

  "Your uncle in Wilkesbarre, I meant," pursued Roebuck.

  Walters reddened, looked straight at Roebuck without speaking.

  "Do you still deny?" demanded Roebuck.

  "I saw everybody--_everybody_--grafting," said Walters boldly, "andI thought I might as well take my share. It's part of the business." Thenhe added cynically: "That's the way it is nowadays. The lower ones seethe higher ones raking off, and they rake off, too--down to conductorsand brakemen. We caught some trackwalkers in a conspiracy to disposeof the discarded ties and rails the other day." He laughed. "We jailed_them_."

  "If you can show that any director has taken anything that did not belongto him, if you can show that a single contract you let to a construction ora supply company--except, of course, the contracts you let to yourself--ofthem I know nothing, suspect much--if you can show one instance of thesecriminal doings, Mr. Walters, I shall back you up with all my power inprosecution."

  "Of course I can't show it," cried Walters. "If I tried, wouldn't they ruinand disgrace me, perhaps send me to the penitentiary? Wasn't I the one thatpassed on and signed their contracts? And wouldn't they--wouldn't you, Mr.Roebuck--have fired me if I had refused to sign?"

  "Excuses, excuses, Walters," was Roebuck's answer, with a sad, disappointedlook, as if he had hoped Walters would make a brighter showing for himself."How many times have you yourself talked to me of this eternal excuse habitof men who fail? And if I expended my limited brain-power in looking intoall the excuses and explanations, what energy or time would I have forconstructive work? All I can do is to select a man for a position and tojudge him by results. You were put in charge to produce dividends. Youhaven't produced them. I'm sorry, and I venture to hope that things are notso bad as you make out in your eagerness to excuse yourself. For the sakeof old times, Tom, I ignore your angry insinuations against me. I try to bejust, and to be just one must always be impersonal."

  "Well," said Walters with an air of desperation, "give me another year, Mr.Roebuck, and I'll produce results all right. I'll break the agreements andcut rates. I'll freeze out the branch roads and our minority stock-holders,I'll keep the books so that all the expert accountants in New York couldn'tuntangle them. I'll wink at and commit and order committed all thenecessary crimes. I don't know why I've been so squeamish, when there wereso many penitentiary offenses that I did consent to, and, for that matter,commit, without a quiver. I thought I ought to draw the line somewhere--andI drew it at keeping my personal word and at keeping the books reasonablystraight. But I'll go the limit."

  I'll never forget Roebuck's expression; it was perfect, simply perfect--agreat and good man outraged beyond endurance, but a Christian still. "Youhave made it impossible for me to temper justice with mercy, Walters," saidhe. "If it were not for the long years of association, for the affectionfor you which has grown up in me, I should hand you over to the fate youhave earned. You tell me you have been committing crimes in my service. Youtell me you will commit more and greater crimes. I can scarcely believe myown ears."

  Walters laughed scornfully--the reckless laugh of a man who suddenly seesthat he is cornered and must fight for his life. "Rot!" he jeered. "Rot!You always have been a wonder at juggling with your conscience. But doyou expect me to believe you think yourself innocent because you do notyourself execute the orders you issue--orders that can be carried out onlyby committing crimes?" Walters was now beside himself with rage. He gavethe reins to that high horse he had been riding ever since he was promotedto the presidency of the great coal road. He began to lay on whip and spur."Do you think," he cried to Roebuck, "the blood of those five hundred mendrowned in the Pequot mine is not on _your_ hands--_your_ head?You, who ordered John Wilkinson to suppress the competition the Pequot wasgiving you, ordered him in such a way that he knew the alternative was hisown ruin? He shot himself--yet he had as good an excuse as you, for he,too, passed on the order until it got to the poor fireman--that wretchedfellow they sent to the penitentiary for life? And as sure as there isa God in Heaven, you will some day do a long, long sentence in whateverhell there is, for letting that wretch rot in prison--yes, and for JohnWilkinson's suicide, and for the lives of those five hundred drowned. Yourpensions to the widows and orphans can't save you."

  I listened to this tirade astounded. Used as I was to men losing theirheads through vanity, I could not credit my own ears and eyes when theyreported to me this insane exhibition. I looked at Roebuck. He was wearingan expression of beatific patience; he would have made a fine study for apicture of the martyr at the stake.

  "I forgive you, Tom," he said, when Walters stopped for breath. "Your ownsinful heart makes you see the black of sin upon everything. I had heardthat you were going about making loud boasts of your power over youremployers, but I tried not to believe it. I see now that you have, indeed
,lost your senses. Your prosperity has been too much for your good sense."He sighed mournfully. "I shall not interfere to prevent your getting aposition elsewhere," he continued. "But after what you have confessed,after your slanders, how can I put you back in your old place out West, asI intended? How can I continue the interest in you and care for your careerthat I have had, in spite of all your shortcomings? I who raised you upfrom a clerk."

  "Raised me up as you fellows always raise men up--because you find themclever at doing your dirty work. I was a decent, honest fellow when youfirst took notice of me and tempted me. But, by God, Mr. Roebuck, if I'vesold out beyond hope of living decent again, I'll have my price--to thelast cent. You've got to leave me where I am or give me a place and salaryequally as good." This Walters said blusteringly, but beneath I coulddetect the beginnings of a whine.

  "You are angry, Tom," said Roebuck soothingly. "I have hurt your vanity--itis one of the heaviest crosses I have to bear, that I must be continuallyhurting the vanity of men. Go away and--and calm down. Think the situationover coolly; then come and apologize to me, and I will do what I can tohelp you. As for your threats--when you are calm, you will see how idlethey are."

  Walters gave a sort of groan; and though I, blinded by my prejudices infavor of Roebuck and of the crowd with whom my interests lay, had beenfeeling that he was an impudent and crazy ingrate, I pitied him.

  "What proofs have I got?" he said desperately. "If I show up the things Iknow about, I show up myself, and everybody will say I'm lying about youand the others in the effort to save myself. The newspapers would denounceme as a treacherous liar--you fellows own or control or foozle them inone way and another. And if I was believed, who'd prosecute you and whatcourt'd condemn you? Don't you own both political parties and make all thetickets, and can't you ruin any office-holders who lifted a finger againstyou? What a hell of a state of affairs!"

  A swifter or a weaker descent I never witnessed. My pity changed tocontempt. "This fellow, with his great reputation," thought I, "is a fooland a knave, and a weak one at that."

  "Go away now, Tom," said Roebuck.

  "When you're master of yourself again, come to see me."

  "Master of myself!" cried Walters bitterly. "Who that's got anything tolose is master of himself in this country?" With shoulders sagging and asort of stumble in his gait, he went toward the door. He paused there tosay: "I've served too long, Mr. Roebuck. There's no fight in me. I thoughtthere was, but there ain't. Do the best you can for me." And he tookhimself out of our sight.

  You will wonder how I was ever able to blind myself to the reality of thisfrightful scene. But please remember that in this world every thought andevery act is a mixture of the good and the bad; and the one or the othershows the more prominently according to one's point of view. There probablyisn't a criminal in any cell, anywhere, no matter what he may say insniveling pretense in the hope of lighter sentence, who doesn't at thebottom of his heart believe his crime or crimes somehow justifiable--andwho couldn't make out a plausible case for himself.

  At that time I was stuffed with the arrogance of my fancied membership inthe caste of directing financial geniuses; I was looking at everythingfrom the viewpoint of the brotherhood of which Roebuck was the strongestbrother, and of which I imagined myself a full and equal member. I did not,I could not, blind myself to the vivid reminders of his relentlessness; butI knew too well how necessary the iron hand and the fixed purpose are togreat affairs to judge him as infuriated Walters, with his vanity savagelywounded, was judging him. I'd as soon have thought of describing GeneralGrant as a murderer, because he ordered the battles in which men werekilled or because he planned and led the campaigns in which subordinatescommitted rapine and pillage and assassination. I did not then see theradical difference--did not realize that while Grant's work was at thecommand of patriotism and necessity, there was no necessity whateverfor Roebuck's getting rich but the command of his own greedy and cruelappetites.

  Don't misunderstand me. My morals are practical, not theoretical. Men mustdie, old customs embodied in law must be broken, the venal must be bribedand the weak cowed and compelled, in order that civilization may advance.You can't establish a railway or a great industrial system by rose-watermorality. But I shall show, before I finish, that Roebuck and his gang ofso-called "organizers of industry" bear about the same relation to industrythat the boll weevil bears to the cotton crop.

  I'll withdraw this, if any one can show me that, as the result of theactivities of those parasites, anybody anywhere is using or is able touse a single pound or bushel or yard more of any commodity whatsoever.I'll withdraw it, if I can not show that but for those parasites, bearingprecisely the same relation to our society that the kings and noblesand priests bore to France before the Revolution, everybody except themwould have more goods and more money than they have under the system thatenables these parasites to overshadow the highways of commerce with theirstrongholds and to clog them with their toll-gates. They know little aboutproducing, about manufacturing, about distributing, about any process ofindustry. Their skill is in temptation, in trickery and in terror.

  On that day, however, I sided--honestly, as I thought--with Roebuck. WhatI saw and heard increased my admiration of the man, my already profoundrespect for his master mind. And when, just after Walters went out, heleaned back in his chair and sat silent with closed eyes and moving lips,I--yes, I, Matt Blacklock, "Black Matt," as they call me--was awed in thepresence of this great and good man at prayer!

  How he and that God of his must have laughed at me! So infatuated was Ithat, clear as it is that he'd never have let me be present at such a scenewithout a strong ulterior motive, not until he himself long afterwardmade it impossible for me to deceive myself did I penetrate to his realpurpose--that he wished to fill me with a prudent dread and fear of him,with a sense of the absoluteness of his power and of the hopelessness oftrying to combat it. But at the time I thought--imbecile that my vanityhad made me--at the time I thought he had let me be present because hegenuinely liked, admired and trusted me!

  Is it not amazing that one who could fall into such colossal blundersshould survive to tell of them? I would not have survived had not Roebuckand his crowd been at the same time making an even more colossalmisestimate of me than I was making of them. My attack of vanity wasviolent, but temporary; theirs was equally violent, and chronic andincurable to boot.