Never Victorious, Never Defeated

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  “Well?” Purcell said, carefully getting to his feet.

  “I want to be in the railroad company,” said Patrick with firm bluntness. “With that sixteen per cent.”

  Lydia and Laura gazed at him with mute surprise.

  “H’m,” said Purcell. “Better get out your lawbooks and start to study up on the subject.”

  “You wouldn’t object to me as a director?”

  Purcell turned his huge, rocklike head and contemplated the young man. He scowled. Then after a few moments, he grumbled, “Must I, in my old age, stand another idealist?”

  “You won’t help me then?” said Patrick.

  “I’m not sayin’ I will, and I’m not sayin’ I won’t,” Purcell muttered. “When the time comes, I’ll decide. Gettin’ too old to have any more idealists foulin’ up my business. Well, good night. I’m takin’ this child to bed, and I’m not coming downstairs again.” He studied Patrick’s stern face intently. Then he shook his head. “Guess, maybe, you’re not like poor old Steve, after all.”

  He marched out of the room, a giant with a fairy in his arms, and the three watched him go. Laura said gently, “Uncle Jim will help you.” She linked her arm through Patrick’s. They were almost equal in height, for she was tall. She smiled into his face.

  Lydia sighed, and folded up her work. “When I was young, there was only right and wrong in the world. Now I’m not so sure. No man is a devil and no man is a saint.”

  She rose to her feet with a movement as lithe as a young girl’s. She put her hand on Patrick’s shoulder and gazed earnestly at the young man. “Once Stephen told me that good is always defeated, but so is evil. Neither ever wins, permanently. I don’t know, but I feel he is right.” She added, more lightly, “Don’t forget that Rufus is giving a large reception for my Cornelia on Christmas Eve. We are all such civilized friends, you know, even though I divorced him. It scandalizes everybody; but business, as Jim would say, is business, and no grudges. Besides, Rufus and I parted so amiably, and when Cornelia is here he often calls on us.” She laughed somewhat bitterly. “Cornelia hasn’t confirmed it even to me, her mother. But I understand that Rufus is to announce her engagement to the Marquis de Fontainebleau. He will be Rufus’s house guest and everyone is coming, even business associates from Philadelphia, Chicago, and New York. It will be a very grand affair.”

  “You are happy about it, Mrs. Purcell?” asked Patrick coldly.

  She turned away. “Cornelia hasn’t been very close to me since I divorced her father. Oh, she is gay and loving. But she eludes me, in the merriest way possible. Cornelia is very like her father.” She continued sadly, “If Cornelia wants to marry this young Frenchman she will know what she is doing. She always knows.”

  Later, when in her rooms with her husband, Lydia said despondently, “Patrick has all the virtues one could desire, of course. But there is something unbending about him, something which will never compromise. That may be very worthy, I suppose. And it is an excellent quality in saints. However, for some reason, I don’t think he is a saint.” She laughed wearily. “He doesn’t like me, Jim; he looks at me very oddly sometimes. Ah, you are laughing at me, but I do wish he wasn’t to marry Laura. I have a sense of foreboding. …”

  28

  The Philadelphia House in Portersville was considered the most “genteel” of residential hotels: conservative, quietly luxurious, and established. The families and bachelors who lived there permanently were people of solid wealth and “refined” tastes, many of them retired and elderly, with sedate habits. To be admitted as a resident of the Philadelphia House was to be tacitly admitted to Portersville’s “society,” and to be regarded as a person of consequence, character, and importance.

  The lobby, all in green and crimson plush and heavy mahogany, and with rubber and palm plants in huge brass pots, and dotted with brown marble pillars upholding a carved white ceiling, was never the site of any hilarity or loud voices or brash costumes. The thick crimson carpet hushed every footstep; decorum ruled at the desk; conversation was muted. Rich silk might rustle, but it did so discreetly. The employees of the hotel, in uniforms of brown with very light touches of gold, were mostly elderly and of long service; they showed their aristocratic pride in their establishment, and their demeanor was less obsequious than dignified. Only lately had the House marched with progress and gaslights been installed. Even these, however, flared dimly, as if in apology. Guests, meeting in the lobby before dinner in the vast chill dining room beyond the plate-glass doors, would murmur about the weather, their health, any coming holiday, their minister, politics or business, all with a vague, disinterested manner as if these things were of no particular importance.

  A few elderly ladies and gentlemen, waiting in the lobby for their carriages this dull and somber December 21st, spoke with reserve of a new resident. A very old man wondered what “the House is coming to, admitting that person.” An old lady fluted that “he seemed very gentlemanly, and was quite personable.” A younger lady, not more than sixty, tittered gently and mentioned that she understood “he was well on his way to an unbelievable fortune,” though she, of course, deplored “trade.” The junior of the very old man, a short stout gentleman of about seventy-two, suggested that “we all wait and see. After all, times change.” “But Irish, I understand!” exclaimed the very old man with distress. “And a Papist, it is said. What will Mr. Ivers say?” “A protégé of Secretary Peale’s. Mr. Peale would not endorse him if he were not entirely respectable and worthy.”

  “Hush,” whispered the younger lady. The object of this uneasy conversation had appeared in the dim precincts of the lobby on his way to the door. His carriage, undistinguishable from all the other carriages owned by residents of the House, was waiting at the curb. He walked across the crimson carpet in a properly stately manner, head high, his motions slow and correct. His air might be sober and preoccupied, as befitting a “Resident,” but the uneasiness of the elder lady and gentleman increased. There was something “peculiar” about him. He did not appear in the least subdued. However, no one could quarrel with that conservative bowler in the gloved left hand, or with the ebony, gold-topped cane in the right hand, nor with the fine black broadcloth of his suit, the broadcloth greatcoat with the fur collar, the restrained white linen and black cravat and the excellent boots. The quarrel, if any, was concerned with his curiously fierce and restless black eyes and the intent sharpness of his features. Real gentlemen were not so distinct and clear-cut as this young man; he lacked unobtrusiveness. As no Resident had as yet spoken to him, he had not attempted conversation either in the halls or in the lobby, or in the dining room. He had been covertly watched at table; he had displayed no gaucheries. It was noted that he read only the most approved newspapers and periodicals. Inclusion was almost imminent in his case, and some of the old residents even began, very secretly, to think of unmarried nieces and granddaughters.

  As he passed the elderly group in the lobby he glanced at them swiftly. To the alarm and disapproval of the others, the younger lady nodded just a little. The young man bowed very slightly, went on without a pause. They watched him leave the House, and enter his carriage. “How could you, Elsie!” said the very old man.

  Once in his carriage, the new Resident burst out laughing. “The damned old fools!” His coachman, an old man, stiffened his shoulders in silence. The carriage rolled off down the streets in the direction of the Portersville National Bank building. The young man began to whistle, “Come back to Erin. …” He leaned back against the leather cushions and lighted one of the deplorable new “cigarettes,” and he puffed with the swift intensity which was characteristic of him. He pushed his bowler back on his head, and sent up clouds of smoke. He picked up his cane and admired the gold head. He turned it about in his gloved hands, and now the laughter went from his face. I’ve come a long way, thought Allan Marshall. I go on from here, and it must be fast. To calm some turbulent emotion, he began to sing, and even the coachman listened, unwilling, bu
t enraptured. The song might be unfamiliar; the voice was rich and full and of great dramatic power.

  The carriage rolled smoothly over the cobblestones, drew up before the bank. Allan climbed the stairs to the second floor, to the branch offices of the Interstate Railroad Company. During the past eight years, the company had come to occupy the whole of the second floor, though now the main offices were in Philadelphia. Smaller offices had been thrown together to make larger offices; a private door shut off passers-by to the third floor and the less affluent offices of local businessmen. Allan discreetly rang the bell at the second-floor door, and it opened to show the serious and elderly face of a black-clad man with a formal air. “Ah, yes, Mr. Marshall,” he said, opened the door wider to admit Allan, and bowed. Allan, led by the guardian, traversed a carpeted corridor to the glass door on which was printed, with flourishes and bars, the name of the president of the company, Mr. Rufus deWitt.

  Only one desk remained in this office, which was comfortable and snug with fire and leather and velvet and bookcases. Rufus sat at the desk, and now, as Allan entered, he rose graciously and extended his hand to the young man. “Well, well,” he said, genially, “I’m glad to see you, my boy. And pleased that you accepted my invitation for a little consultation this afternoon.” He beamed on Allan fondly, offered him a chair near the desk, sat down, and increased the beam to a ruddy glow. He implied that he was proud of his caller, and held him not only in the highest esteem but in personal affection. Allan smiled to himself, kept his face grave, and sat down. He did not lift up the tail of his coat; he merely loosened the buttons, and revealed a black-brocaded waistcoat cut in the most conservative and elegant manner, and the chain of a gold watch.

  “I want to thank you, sir, for recommending me to the Philadelphia House,” he said.

  Rufus locked his hands together over his broad belly. “Ah, yes,” he said richly. “I thought it was just the place for you, Allan. A rising young gentleman, the famous inventor of our automatic coupler. By the way, our subsidiary is going into production at once. The Master Car Builders have already placed an enormous order. You are well on the way, it seems, to be a millionaire, though, of course, the royalties won’t be rolling in in any large quantity for at least a year. However”—and again the beam brightened—“you have only to mention the fact and the Interstate Iron & Steel Company will be happy to advance—anything—you need.”

  Allan said, “I think, then, that I shall ask them for six thousand dollars, say about January 2d.”

  “A lot of money,” murmured Rufus, cocking his head in a paternal way. “But then, you are young, and I believe you are a boy who doesn’t intend to let life go by without living it. Frankly, at your age, I was exactly the same.” He made a note on a piece of paper. “Six thousand it is, then. A check will be sent you in January.”

  I must be very careful; I’m playing for the highest stakes in my life, Allan was thinking. One hand rested lightly on the top of his cane; his gloves lay on his knee. He watched Rufus as keenly as Rufus watched him; he must not miss a single flicker of an eye, the slightest gesture. Rufus opened a silver box on his desk. “A cigar, Allan?” Allan hesitated; he loathed cigars. However, he inclined his head, accepted a cigar. There was an instant’s pause, then Rufus, beaming like the sun, struck a match and lit the cigar for his visitor. The first round, Allan said to himself, was won.

  “And you like the Philadelphia House?” asked Rufus lovingly. He put a little anxiety in his tone. “It suits you?”

  “Very much, sir. It is just my style,” said Allan. “The flamboyant isn’t to my taste.”

  Rufus, whose delicate little wife sometimes complained that he was “flamboyant,” did not care much for this. His eye sharpened suspiciously on Allan. He laughed. “It isn’t to my taste,” he said. “It’s somewhat like a mausoleum, full of old relics. But eminently respectable. Very important—for a young man on his way up.”

  “I’m very respectable, myself,” said Allan. Then they burst out laughing together, and both relaxed in a sudden swell of good-fellowship.

  Rufus said, “By the way, did you receive our invitation to Miss deWitt’s Christmas Eve celebration, Allan?”

  Allan met his fatherly glance, and immediately understood that no invitation had been sent at all, and that the idea was an entirely new one and decided upon only this very instant. “I’m afraid I have not seen it as yet, sir. But doubtless it is in my box; I did not call for the post before I left.” Another round won!

  “Well, matters are a little rushed,” Rufus apologized. “Not all the invitations have been sent out as yet, though the time is growing short. We expect to announce our daughter’s engagement to the Marquis de Fontainebleau that evening. He is our house guest, you know.”

  “I saw something about that in the newspapers,” replied Allan. His fingers tightened on the head of his cane. “It is quite settled, then?”

  Rufus smiled disarmingly and allowed himself to show a little ruefulness. “Our daughter is not definite,” he said. “Candidly, I should not like her to live in France, though we go abroad every spring. Cornelia and I are very close; she is much like me, they say. And, after all, she is all I have.”

  Your wife? Your two little sons? thought Allan, amused. His fingers loosened on the cane. He barely controlled a loud breath of desperate relief. “So,” continued Rufus, with a genuine sigh, “I am not altogether pleased.”

  An atmosphere of the deepest intimacy now prevailed in the office. For some reason Rufus’s guardedness abated. He studied Allan for a long moment or two, and he said to himself: He’s almost a gentleman. Good brains there; no fool. Allan said respectfully, “Perhaps Miss deWitt will change her mind, even if she ever had any idea of such a marriage.”

  As this exactly met Rufus’s hopes, in spite of the sweet, shrill urgings of his wife, and her raptures over the “magnificent honor,” Rufus gave Allan one of his sincerest smiles. “Ah, yes,” said Rufus. “Well, it is growing late, and so I really think we must come down to business. Allan, I have a suggestion to make to you. An offer, if you will.”

  Allan evidenced polite and serious interest. “As you mentioned before, my boy, in Scranton, law is your forte, and you do not intend to live on your royalties, enormous though they will later be. We all are very proud of you. Well, then. How long will it be necessary for you to continue reading law in Mr. Peale’s offices?”

  Now, thought Allan, keeping his expression unchanged. He said quietly, “I believe until about the first of February.”

  “And then?” prompted Rufus gently.

  “My decision to concentrate on labor law is unchanged,” replied the young man. There was a paler tint about his mouth as he studied Rufus.

  Rufus smoothed his chin with his right index finger, and his tawny eyes glowed on the younger man. “I hear you are a very forensic speaker,” he remarked.

  Allan smiled. “I am glad you think so, sir. No doubt Mr. Duncan Baynes told you about it. I noticed him at Union Hall on December 18th.”

  Rufus was not confused. He chuckled. “I sent him,” he said with charming candor. He lifted a letter from the desk, and chuckled again. “You did not write this by any chance, did you, Allan?”

  Allan glanced briefly at the letter, and his only answer was a reserved smile. Rufus laughed heartily. “Your object is very clear to me.” He waited, but Allan only lifted courteous eyebrows. Rufus leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man most benevolently. “You and young Pat Peale have been very good friends, have you not, my boy? It happens, as you know, that he is to marry my niece, who is like a daughter to me. She mentioned that Pat was disturbed about your speech at Union Hall, and is beginning to—well—shall we say that he found it somewhat ambiguous?”

  “Ambiguous?” Allan frowned. “In what way? I noticed, a week or so ago, before Mr. Pat returned to Washington, that he was a little cool to me. The Peale offices are not the most important in Pennsylvania. I’ll finish reading law there. I am going
on with labor law, as I said. If Mr. Pat does not like that, I am sorry, but I don’t intend to give it up.”

  Rufus grinned slyly. “Don’t be disingenuous, Allan. You may speak to me as to a father, or at least an older brother. You know very well that Pat is deeply concerned over more favorable laws for labor.”

  Allan shrugged. “I also know that he is backing a bill for the regulating of railroads, sir. He has considerable support in the Senate.”

  “And you approve of the regulation?”

  “At the present time, sir—and you must forgive what might appear to be rudeness—I am not in a position to say.” He fixed his eyes on Rufus and now they sparkled with open ferocity. “It all depends on a number of things.”

  There was a sudden silence in the office as the two men’s eyes met and held, hard and knowing. Then Rufus glanced away, played with a pen on his desk. “You have been unearthing labor decisions, and other matters, in assisting Pat. He told my niece all about it. He said you were invaluable. Have you told him yet of—ah—that obscure decision you mentioned in Scranton?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “May I ask why?” Rufus’s tone was tender.

  “It is all part of my plans, when I finally make up my mind.”

  Nothing could have been happier than Rufus’s smile. “You are a young man who is not only out for money, but for power. I know all the symptoms; I’ve had them, myself. My dear boy, would you like to join my legal staff here in Portersville?”

  Allan puffed lightly on his cigar and gazed at the fire. He appeared to be considering. Then he shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. deWitt. But no. I want more than to be part of a legal staff. I have been thinking of politics, in conjunction with my legal work.”