The Second Generation Part 34

He was in the habit of pa.s.sing Estelle's shop twice each day--early in the morning, when she was opening, again when the day's business was over; and he had often fancied he could see in her evening expression how the tide of trade had gone. Now, he thought he could tell whether it was to be one of Lorry's evenings or not. He understood why she had so eagerly taken up Henrietta Hastings's suggestion, made probably with no idea that anything would come of it--Henrietta was full of schemes, evolved not for action, but simply to pa.s.s the time and to cause talk in the town. Estelle's shop became to him vastly different from a mere place for buying and selling; and presently he was looking on the other side, the human side, of all the shops and businesses and material activities, great and small. Just as a knowledge of botany makes every step taken in the country an advance through thronging miracles, so his new knowledge was transforming surroundings he had thought commonplace into a garden of wonders. "How poor and tedious the life I marked out for myself at college was," he was presently thinking, "in comparison with this life of realities!" He saw that Lorry, instead of being without ambitions, was inspired by the highest ambitions. "A good son, a good lover, a good workman," thought Arthur. "What more can a man be, or aspire to be?" Before his mind's eyes there was, clear as light, vivid as life, the master workman--his father. And for the first time Arthur welcomed that vision, felt that he could look into Hiram's grave, kind eyes without flinching and without the slightest inward reservation of blame or reproach.

It was some time before the bearing of the case of Lorry and Estelle upon the case of Arthur and Madelene occurred to him. Once he saw this he could think of nothing else. He got Lorry's permission to tell Madelene; and when she had the whole story he said, "You see its message to us?"

And Madelene's softly s.h.i.+ning eyes showed that she did, even before her lips had the chance to say, "We certainly have no respectable excuse for waiting."

"As soon as mother gets the office done," suggested Arthur.

On the morning after the wedding, at a quarter before seven, Arthur and Madelene came down the drive together to the new little house by the gate. And very handsome and well matched they seemed as they stood before her office and gazed at the sign: "Madelene Ranger, M.D." She unlocked and opened the door; he followed her in. When, a moment later, he reappeared and went swinging down the street to his work, his expression would have made you like him--and envy him. And at the window watching him was Madelene. There were tears in her fine eyes, and her bosom was heaving in a storm of emotion. She was saying, "It almost seems wicked to feel as happy as I do."

CHAPTER XXI

HIRAM'S SON

In Hiram Ranger's last year the Ranger-Whitney Company made half a million; the first year under the trustees there was a small deficit.

Charles Whitney was most apologetic to his fellow trustees who had given him full control because he owned just under half the stock and was the business man of the three. "I've relied wholly on Howells," explained he.

"I knew Ranger had the highest opinion of his ability, but evidently he's one of those chaps who are good only as lieutenants. However, there's no excuse for me--none. During the coming year I'll try to make up for my negligence. I'll give the business my personal attention."

But at the end of the second year the books showed that, while the company had never done so much business, there was a loss of half a million; another such year and the surplus would be exhausted. At the trustees' meeting, of the three faces staring gloomily at these ruinous figures the gloomiest was Charles Whitney's. "There can be only one explanation," said he. "The s.h.i.+fting of the centers of production is making it increasingly difficult to manufacture here at a profit."

"Perhaps the railways are discriminating against us," suggested Scarborough.

Whitney smiled slightly. "That's your reform politics," said he. "You fellows never seek the natural causes for things; you at once accuse the financiers."

Scarborough smiled back at him. "But haven't there been instances of rings in control of railways using their power for plants they were interested in and against competing plants?"

"Possibly--to a limited extent," conceded Whitney. "But I hold to the old-fas.h.i.+oned idea. My dear sir, this is a land of opportunity--"

"Still, Whitney," interrupted Dr. Hargrave, "there _may_ be something in what Senator Scarborough says."

"Undoubtedly," Whitney hastened to answer. "I only hope there is. Then our problem will be simple. I'll set my lawyers to work at once. If that is the cause"--he struck the table resolutely with his clenched fist--"the scoundrels shall be brought to book!"

His eyes s.h.i.+fted as he lifted them to find Scarborough looking at him.

"You have inside connections with the Chicago railway crowd, have you not, Mr. Whitney?" he inquired.

"I think I have," said Whitney, with easy candor. "That's why I feel confident your suggestion has no foundation--beyond your suspicion of all men engaged in large enterprises. It's a wonder you don't suspect me.

Indeed, you probably will."

He spoke laughingly. Scarborough's answer was a grave smile.

"My personal loss may save me from you," Whitney went on. "I hesitate to speak of it, but, as you can see, it is large--almost as large as the university's."

"Yes," said Scarborough absently, though his gaze was still fixed on Whitney. "You think you can do nothing?"

"Indeed I do not!" exclaimed Whitney. "I shall begin with the a.s.sumption that you are right. And if you are, I'll have those scoundrels in court within a month."

"And then?"

The young senator's expression and tone were calm, but Whitney seemed to find covert hostility in them. "Then--justice!" he replied angrily.

Dr. Hargrave beamed benevolent confidence. "Justice!" he echoed. "Thank G.o.d for our courts!"

"But _when_?" said Scarborough. As there was no answer, he went on: "In five--ten--fifteen--perhaps twenty years. The lawyers are in no hurry--a brief case means a small fee. The judges--they've got their places for life, so there's no reason why they should muss their silk gowns in undignified haste. Besides--It seems to me I've heard somewhere the phrase 'railway judges.'"

Dr. Hargrave looked gentle but strong disapproval. "You are too pessimistic, Hampden," said he.

"The senator should not let the wounds from his political fights gangrene," suggested Whitney, with good-humored raillery.

"Have you nothing but the court remedy to offer?" asked Scarborough, a slight smile on his handsome face, so deceptively youthful.

"That's quite enough," answered Whitney. "In my own affairs I've never appealed to the courts in vain."

"I can believe it," said Scarborough, and Whitney looked as if he had scented sarcasm, though Scarborough was correctly colorless. "But, if you should be unable to discover any grounds for a case against the railways?"

"Then all we can do is to work harder than ever along the old lines--cut down expenses, readjust wages, stop waste." Whitney sneered politely.

"But no doubt you have some other plan to propose."

Scarborough continued to look at him with the same faint smile. "I've nothing to suggest--to-day," said he. "The court proceedings will do no harm--you see, Mr. Whitney, I can't get my wicked suspicion of your friends out of my mind. But we must also try something less--less leisurely than courts. I'll think it over."

Whitney laughed rather uncomfortably; and when they adjourned he lingered with Dr. Hargrave. "We must not let ourselves be carried away by our young friend's suspicions," said he to his old friend. "Scarborough is a fine fellow. But he lacks your experience and my knowledge of practical business. And he has been made something of a crank by combating the opposition his extreme views have aroused among conservative people."

"You are mistaken, Whitney," replied the doctor. "Hampden's views are sound. He is misrepresented by the highly placed rascals he has exposed and dislodged. But in these business matters we rely upon you." He linked his arm affectionately in that of the powerful and successful "captain of industry" whom he had known from boyhood. "I know how devoted you are to Tec.u.mseh, and how ably you manage practical affairs; and I have not for a moment lost confidence that you will bring us safely through."

Whitney's face was interesting. There was a certain hangdog look in it, but there was also a suggestion--very covert--of cynical amus.e.m.e.nt, as of a good player's jeer at a blunder by his opponent. His tone, however, was melancholy, tinged with just resentment, as he said: "Scarborough forgets how my own personal interest is involved. I don't like to lose two hundred and odd thousand a year."

"Scarborough meant nothing, I'm sure," said Hargrave soothingly. "He knows we are all single hearted for the university."

"I don't like to be distrusted," persisted Whitney sadly. Then brightening: "But you and I understand each other, doctor. And we will carry the business through. Every man who tries to do anything in this world must expect to be misunderstood."

"You are mistaken about Scarborough, I know you are," said Hargrave earnestly.

Whitney listened to Hargrave, finally professed to be rea.s.sured; but, before he left, a strong doubt of Scarborough's judgment had been implanted by him in the mind of the old doctor. That was easy enough; for, while Hargrave was too acute a man to give his trust impulsively, he gave without reserve when he did give--and he believed in Charles Whitney. The ability absolutely to trust where trust is necessary is as essential to effective character as is the ability to withhold trust until its wisdom has been justified; and exceptions only confirm a rule.

Scarborough, feeling that he had been neglecting his trustees.h.i.+p, now devoted himself to the Ranger-Whitney Company.

He had long consultations with Howells, and studied the daily and weekly balance sheets which Howells sent him. In the second month after the annual meeting he cabled Dory to come home. The entire foundation upon which Dory was building seemed to be going; Saint X was, therefore, the place for him, not Europe.

"And there you have all I have been able to find out," concluded Scarborough, when he had given Dory the last of the facts and figures.

"What do you make of it?"

"There's something wrong--something rotten," replied Dory.

"But where?" inquired Scarborough, who had taken care not to speak or hint his vague doubts of Whitney. "Everything _looks_ all right, except the totals on the balance sheets."