_ The city of Chicago, with whose development the personality of
Frank Algernon Cowperwood was soon to be definitely linked! To
whom may the laurels as laureate of this Florence of the West yet
fall? This singing flame of a city, this all America, this poet
in chaps and buckskin, this rude, raw Titan, this Burns of a city!
By its shimmering lake it lay, a king of shreds and patches, a
maundering yokel with an epic in its mouth, a tramp, a hobo among
cities, with the grip of Caesar in its mind, the dramatic force
of Euripides in its soul. A very bard of a city this, singing of
high deeds and high hopes, its heavy brogans buried deep in the
mire of circumstance. Take Athens, oh, Greece! Italy, do you keep
Rome! This was the Babylon, the Troy, the Nineveh of a younger
day. Here came the gaping West and the hopeful East to see. Here
hungry men, raw from the shops and fields, idyls and romances in
their minds, builded them an empire crying glory in the mud.
From New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine had come a strange
company, earnest, patient, determined, unschooled in even the
primer of refinement, hungry for something the significance of
which, when they had it, they could not even guess, anxious to be
called great, determined so to be without ever knowing how. Here
came the dreamy gentleman of the South, robbed of his patrimony;
the hopeful student of Yale and Harvard and Princeton; the
enfranchised miner of California and the Rockies, his bags of gold
and silver in his hands. Here was already the bewildered foreigner,
an alien speech confounding him--the Hun, the Pole, the Swede, the
German, the Russian--seeking his homely colonies, fearing his
neighbor of another race.
Here was the negro, the prostitute, the blackleg, the gambler, the
romantic adventurer par excellence. A city with but a handful of
the native-born; a city packed to the doors with all the riffraff
of a thousand towns. Flaring were the lights of the bagnio;
tinkling the banjos, zithers, mandolins of the so-called gin-mill;
all the dreams and the brutality of the day seemed gathered to
rejoice (and rejoice they did) in this new-found wonder of a
metropolitan life in the West.
The first prominent Chicagoan whom Cowperwood sought out was the
president of the Lake City National Bank, the largest financial
organization in the city, with deposits of over fourteen million
dollars. It was located in Dearborn Street, at Munroe, but a block
or two from his hotel.
"Find out who that man is," ordered Mr. Judah Addison, the president
of the bank, on seeing him enter the president's private waiting-room.
Mr. Addison's office was so arranged with glass windows that he
could, by craning his neck, see all who entered his reception-room
before they saw him, and he had been struck by Cowperwood's face
and force. Long familiarity with the banking world and with great
affairs generally had given a rich finish to the ease and force
which the latter naturally possessed. He looked strangely replete
for a man of thirty-six--suave, steady, incisive, with eyes as
fine as those of a Newfoundland or a Collie and as innocent and
winsome. They were wonderful eyes, soft and spring-like at times,
glowing with a rich, human understanding which on the instant could
harden and flash lightning. Deceptive eyes, unreadable, but
alluring alike to men and to women in all walks and conditions of
life.
The secretary addressed came back with Cowperwood's letter of
introduction, and immediately Cowperwood followed.
Mr. Addison instinctively arose--a thing he did not always do.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Cowperwood," he said, politely. "I
saw you come in just now. You see how I keep my windows here, so
as to spy out the country. Sit down. You wouldn't like an apple,
would you?" He opened a left-hand drawer, producing several polished
red winesaps, one of which he held out. "I always eat one about
this time in the morning."
"Thank you, no," replied Cowperwood, pleasantly, estimating as he
did so his host's temperament and mental caliber. "I never eat
between meals, but I appreciate your kindness. I am just passing
through Chicago, and I thought I would present this letter now
rather than later. I thought you might tell me a little about the
city from an investment point of view."
As Cowperwood talked, Addison, a short, heavy, rubicund man with
grayish-brown sideburns extending to his ear-lobes and hard, bright,
twinkling gray eyes--a proud, happy, self-sufficient man--munched
his apple and contemplated Cowperwood. As is so often the case
in life, he frequently liked or disliked people on sight, and he
prided himself on his judgment of men. Almost foolishly, for one
so conservative, he was taken with Cowperwood--a man immensely his
superior--not because of the Drexel letter, which spoke of the
latter's "undoubted financial genius" and the advantage it would
be to Chicago to have him settle there, but because of the swimming
wonder of his eyes. Cowperwood's personality, while maintaining
an unbroken outward reserve, breathed a tremendous humanness which
touched his fellow-banker. Both men were in their way walking
enigmas, the Philadelphian far the subtler of the two. Addison
was ostensibly a church-member, a model citizen; he represented a
point of view to which Cowperwood would never have stooped. Both
men were ruthless after their fashion, avid of a physical life;
but Addison was the weaker in that he was still afraid--very much
afraid--of what life might do to him. The man before him had no
sense of fear. Addison contributed judiciously to charity,
subscribed outwardly to a dull social routine, pretended to love
his wife, of whom he was weary, and took his human pleasure secretly.
The man before him subscribed to nothing, refused to talk save
to intimates, whom he controlled spiritually, and did as he pleased.
"Why, I'll tell you, Mr. Cowperwood," Addison replied. "We people
out here in Chicago think so well of ourselves that sometimes we're
afraid to say all we think for fear of appearing a little extravagant.
We're like the youngest son in the family that knows he can lick
all the others, but doesn't want to do it--not just yet. We're
not as handsome as we might be--did you ever see a growing boy
that was?--but we're absolutely sure that we're going to be. Our
pants and shoes and coat and hat get too small for us every six
months, and so we don't look very fashionable, but there are big,
strong, hard muscles and bones underneath, Mr. Cowperwood, as
you'll discover when you get to looking around. Then you won't
mind the clothes so much."
Mr. Addison's round, frank eyes narrowed and hardened for a moment.
A kind of metallic hardness came into his voice. Cowperwood could
see that he was honestly enamoured of his adopted city. Chicago
was his most beloved mistress. A moment later the flesh about his
eyes crinkled, his mouth softened, and he smiled. "I'll be glad
to tell you anything I can," he went on. "There are a lot of
interesting things to tell."
Cowperwood beamed back on him encouragingly. He inquired after
the condition of one industry and another, one trade or profession
and another. This was somewhat different from the atmosphere which
prevailed in Philadelphia--more breezy and generous. The tendency
to expatiate and make much of local advantages was Western. He
liked it, however, as one aspect of life, whether he chose to share
in it or not. It was favorable to his own future. He had a prison
record to live down; a wife and two children to get rid of--in the
legal sense, at least (he had no desire to rid himself of financial
obligation toward them). It would take some such loose, enthusiastic
Western attitude to forgive in him the strength and freedom with
which he ignored and refused to accept for himself current convention.
"I satisfy myself" was his private law, but so to do he must assuage
and control the prejudices of other men. He felt that this banker,
while not putty in his hands, was inclined to a strong and useful
friendship.
"My impressions of the city are entirely favorable, Mr. Addison,"
he said, after a time, though he inwardly admitted to himself that
this was not entirely true; he was not sure whether he could bring
himself ultimately to live in so excavated and scaffolded a world
as this or not. "I only saw a portion of it coming in on the train.
I like the snap of things. I believe Chicago has a future."
"You came over the Fort Wayne, I presume," replied Addison, loftily.
"You saw the worst section. You must let me show you some of the
best parts. By the way, where are you staying?"
"At the Grand Pacific."
"How long will you be here?"
"Not more than a day or two."
"Let me see," and Mr. Addison drew out his watch. "I suppose you
wouldn't mind meeting a few of our leading men--and we have a
little luncheon-room over at the Union League Club where we drop
in now and then. If you'd care to do so, I'd like to have you
come along with me at one. We're sure to find a few of them--some
of our lawyers, business men, and judges."
"That will be fine," said the Philadelphian, simply. "You're more
than generous. There are one or two other people I want to meet
in between, and"--he arose and looked at his own watch--"I'll find
the Union Club. Where is the office of Arneel & Co.?"
At the mention of the great beef-packer, who was one of the bank's
heaviest depositors, Addison stirred slightly with approval. This
young man, at least eight years his junior, looked to him like a
future grand seigneur of finance.
At the Union Club, at this noontime luncheon, after talking with
the portly, conservative, aggressive Arneel and the shrewd director
of the stock-exchange, Cowperwood met a varied company of men
ranging in age from thirty-five to sixty-five gathered about the
board in a private dining-room of heavily carved black walnut,
with pictures of elder citizens of Chicago on the walls and an
attempt at artistry in stained glass in the windows. There were
short and long men, lean and stout, dark and blond men, with eyes
and jaws which varied from those of the tiger, lynx, and bear to
those of the fox, the tolerant mastiff, and the surly bulldog.
There were no weaklings in this selected company.
Mr. Arneel and Mr. Addison Cowperwood approved of highly as shrewd,
concentrated men. Another who interested him was Anson Merrill,
a small, polite, recherche soul, suggesting mansions and footmen
and remote luxury generally, who was pointed out by Addison as the
famous dry-goods prince of that name, quite the leading merchant,
in the retail and wholesale sense, in Chicago.
Still another was a Mr. Rambaud, pioneer railroad man, to whom
Addison, smiling jocosely, observed: "Mr. Cowperwood is on from
Philadelphia, Mr. Rambaud, trying to find out whether he wants to
lose any money out here. Can't you sell him some of that bad land
you have up in the Northwest?"
Rambaud--a spare, pale, black-bearded man of much force and
exactness, dressed, as Cowperwood observed, in much better taste
than some of the others--looked at Cowperwood shrewdly but in a
gentlemanly, retiring way, with a gracious, enigmatic smile. He
caught a glance in return which he could not possibly forget. The
eyes of Cowperwood said more than any words ever could. Instead
of jesting faintly Mr. Rambaud decided to explain some things about
the Northwest. Perhaps this Philadelphian might be interested.
To a man who has gone through a great life struggle in one metropolis
and tested all the phases of human duplicity, decency, sympathy,
and chicanery in the controlling group of men that one invariably
finds in every American city at least, the temperament and
significance of another group in another city is not so much, and
yet it is. Long since Cowperwood had parted company with the idea
that humanity at any angle or under any circumstances, climatic
or otherwise, is in any way different. To him the most noteworthy
characteristic of the human race was that it was strangely chemic,
being anything or nothing, as the hour and the condition afforded.
In his leisure moments--those free from practical calculation,
which were not many--he often speculated as to what life really
was. If he had not been a great financier and, above all, a
marvelous organizer he might have become a highly individualistic
philosopher--a calling which, if he had thought anything about
it at all at this time, would have seemed rather trivial. His
business as he saw it was with the material facts of life, or,
rather, with those third and fourth degree theorems and syllogisms
which control material things and so represent wealth. He was
here to deal with the great general needs of the Middle West--to
seize upon, if he might, certain well-springs of wealth and power
and rise to recognized authority. In his morning talks he had
learned of the extent and character of the stock-yards' enterprises,
of the great railroad and ship interests, of the tremendous rising
importance of real estate, grain speculation, the hotel business,
the hardware business. He had learned of universal manufacturing
companies--one that made cars, another elevators, another binders,
another windmills, another engines. Apparently, any new industry
seemed to do well in Chicago. In his talk with the one director
of the Board of Trade to whom he had a letter he had learned that
few, if any, local stocks were dealt in on 'change. Wheat, corn,
and grains of all kinds were principally speculated in. The big
stocks of the East were gambled in by way of leased wires on the
New York Stock Exchange--not otherwise.
As he looked at these men, all pleasantly civil, all general in
their remarks, each safely keeping his vast plans under his vest,
Cowperwood wondered how he would fare in this community. There
were such difficult things ahead of him to do. No one of these
men, all of whom were in their commercial-social way agreeable,
knew that he had only recently been in the penitentiary. How much
difference would that make in their attitude? No one of them knew
that, although he was married and had two children, he was planning
to divorce his wife and marry the girl who had appropriated to
herself the role which his wife had once played.
"Are you seriously contemplating looking into the Northwest?" asked
Mr. Rambaud, interestedly, toward the close of the luncheon.
"That is my present plan after I finish here. I thought I'd take
a short run up there."
"Let me put you in touch with an interesting party that is going
as far as Fargo and Duluth. There is a private car leaving Thursday,
most of them citizens of Chicago, but some Easterners. I would
be glad to have you join us. I am going as far as Minneapolis."
Cowperwood thanked him and accepted. A long conversation followed
about the Northwest, its timber, wheat, land sales, cattle, and
possible manufacturing plants.
What Fargo, Minneapolis, and Duluth were to be civically and
financially were the chief topics of conversation. Naturally, Mr.
Rambaud, having under his direction vast railroad lines which
penetrated this region, was confident of the future of it.
Cowperwood gathered it all, almost by instinct. Gas, street-railways,
land speculations, banks, wherever located, were his chief thoughts.
Finally he left the club to keep his other appointments, but
something of his personality remained behind him. Mr. Addison and
Mr. Rambaud, among others, were sincerely convinced that he was
one of the most interesting men they had met in years. And he
scarcely had said anything at all--just listened. _