“Oh, I’ll do anything, Frank, anything, if only I can make up to her for other things I have done!”
“That’s the attitude!” And he smiled an encouraging smile, and left her to join Berenice.
Chapter 27
In the railway carriage Cowperwood discussed with Berenice the fears of her mother. She assured him that they meant nothing, it was merely the sudden change. With a little success here, she would feel better.
“If trouble comes from anywhere, it’s likely to come from visiting Americans, not the English people,” she added thoughtfully, as they passed one charming scene after another, almost unnoted by them for the moment. “And I certainly do not intend to accept introductions to Americans, or invitations from them here in London, or entertain them either, if I can avoid it.”
“You’re right as to that, Bevy. It’s the wisest thing to do.”
“They are the people who terrify Mother. You know, Americans somehow haven’t the manners or courtesy or tolerance of these people over here. I feel at home here.”
“It’s their older culture and diplomacy that you like,” said Cowperwood. “They are less outspoken, slower to jump at conclusions. We Americans have taken an undeveloped continent, and are developing it, or trying to, in a very few years, whereas these people have been working on this little island for a thousand years.”
At Windsor they were met by Mr. Warburton, the renting agent, who had much to say about the property he was going to show. It was really one of the most charming places on the river. Lord Stane had occupied it for years until a few summers ago.
“Since his father’s death,” the agent explained, confidentially, “he has gone mostly to Tregasal, where his main property lies. Last year he let this place to the actress, Miss Constance Hathaway, but this year she is going to Brittany, and it was only a month or two ago that Lord Stane told me I might let it if I found a suitable tenant.”
“Has he much of an estate in Tregasal?” asked Cowperwood.
“One of the largest, sir,” answered the agent. “About five thousand acres. A really beautiful place, although he seldom uses it.”
At that moment a troublesome thought entered Cowperwood’s mind. Insisting to himself that he would never again allow himself to be aroused by jealousy, still the truth was that since Berenice had come into his life, he was beginning to feel the pangs. She was so much of all that he desired. Might she not, under such circumstances as these, prefer a younger, if equally brilliant and resourceful, man? Could he expect to hold her if she were to meet and come to know such a personality as Stane? The thought injected into his relationship with Berenice a tinge of something which previously had not been there.
Pryor’s Cove proved to be a dream of architecture and landscape gardening. It was over a hundred years old, though most modernly equipped, and trailed along for nearly a hundred feet in a straight line. Under great trees rather grandly overtopping its eighteen feet of height, it was surrounded by a veritable tangle of paths, hedges, flower gardens, and kitchen gardens. At the rear, to the south of the house where it faced the river, was a double ell of picturesque Leicestershire stables, with quaint fences, gates, rookeries, and birdhouses, and, as Mr. Warburton pointed out, there were riding and driving horses for the use of the tenant, black Minorca chickens, sheep dogs, and a flock of sheep, all looked after by a gardener, a hostler, and a farmer, the tenant acquiring their labor along with the house.
Cowperwood, like Berenice, was charmed by the bucolic atmosphere: the glasslike smoothness of the Thames, which crept slowly and silently toward London; the wide expanse of lawn which led down to the river; and the brightly awninged houseboat, with its fluttering curtains and wicker chairs and tables, moored to a landing. He mused over a sundial which stood in the center of a path leading down to the houseboat. How time was passing! He was really an elderly man. And Berenice was about to meet this younger man, who might interest her. On coming to him in Chicago a few months before, Berenice had said she was her own mistress, and came to him only because she desired to do so. And when she no longer desired him, she would leave him. Of course, he need not take this place, and he need not deal with Stane financially. There were other men and other ways. Abington Scarr and Lord Ettinge were possibilities. Why entertain the fear of defeat? He had lived a full life and would continue to do so whatever happened.
He noted Berenice exultingly admiring the beauties of this place. Unconscious of his thoughts, she was already wondering to herself about Lord Stane. He could not be very old, as she had heard that he had only recently come into these great properties of his father’s. However, she was chiefly arrested by the social character of the neighborhood, as described by Mr. Warburton. For in the immediate vicinity dwelt Mr. Arthur Garfield Wriothesley Gole, of the Queen’s bench; Sir Heberman Kipes, of the Consolidated British Tiles & Patterns Company; the Honorable Runciman Maynes, of the Secretariat for the Colonies; together with various other Sir Bigwigs and Sir Littlewigs and hostesses of title and achievement. Cowperwood was likewise interested by all this, and wondered what Berenice and her mother were likely to make of it. During the spring and summer here, she now pointed out, there would be house parties, garden parties, and country reunions of London city groups in politics, government, the arts, and society, so that with proper introductions one’s days and nights might be filled.
“In fact,” commented Cowperwood at this point, “altogether an atmosphere in which one could rise or sink, and that most swiftly and fatefully either way.”
“Quite!” said Berenice. “But one in which I should try to rise.”
He was once more captivated by her optimism and courage.
And then the agent, who had gone over to examine the hedges, returned, and Cowperwood now addressed him.
“I have just advised Miss Fleming,” he said, without a previous word to Berenice, “that she and her mother have my permission to lease this place, if they choose. You may send the necessary papers to my solicitor. A mere formality, but a part of my legal duty as Miss Fleming’s guardian, you know.”
“Certainly, I understand, Mr. Cowperwood,” said the agent. “But it will be a few days before the papers are ready, possibly not before next Monday or Tuesday, as Lord Stane’s agent, Mr. Bailey, will not be back before then.”
Cowperwood was somewhat gratified to learn that Stane did not trouble with his own renting details. That would keep his name out of it for the present, anyway. As for the future, he could not help wondering a little. . . .
Chapter 28
Cowperwood’s tour of the undergrounds, with Sippens as his guide, having confirmed his opinion as to the importance of securing the Charing Cross franchise as his initial move, he was looking forward with interest to the interview with Greaves and Henshaw in his office this morning. It was Greaves who took the lead in the opening conversation.
“We want to know, Mr. Cowperwood,” he began, “if you are willing to take a 51 per cent interest in the Charing Cross line, provided we undertake to raise proportionately the amount necessary to build the line.”
“Proportionately?” queried Cowperwood. “It depends on what you mean by that. If the line should cost £1,000,000 do you guarantee to furnish approximately £450,000?”
“Well,” said Greaves, somewhat hesitantly, “not directly out of our own pockets. We have some connections which might join us in furnishing it.”
“You didn’t appear to have any such connections when I saw you in New York,” said Cowperwood, “and since then I have decided that £30,000 for a 51-per-cent interest in a company which has only a franchise and some debts, is my limit. There are too many companies with rights, and nothing else, going begging here, as it is. I have had time to find that out. If you are coming to me with a positive guarantee of the £450,000 which the building of 49 per cent of this line is likely to cost, I might be interested. But since you are merely waiting to have me agree to take 51 per cent so that on the strength of that you may be able to rais
e your 49 per cent, I can’t see it. You have really only your rights to offer. Under the circumstances, I must ask for a full control or nothing. For it is only with full control that I will be able to raise the very large amount of money it is going to take to do this. And no one should know that better than you two gentlemen. Therefore, unless you can see your way clear to take my final offer—which is £30,000 for your option, together with a continuance of your contract to build—I cannot give the matter any further thought.”
Whereupon he took out his watch, a gesture which confirmed a suspicion in the minds of both Greaves and Henshaw that unless they decided here and now, this was the end. They looked at each other questioningly, and then Henshaw spoke:
“Assuming that we sell you this complete control, Mr. Cowperwood, what guarantee have we that you would immediately proceed with the building of this line? For if we do not get the construction work out of it within a reasonable time, I cannot see that we are getting anything.”
“I feel the same way as my partner does,” said Greaves.
“As to that,” said Cowperwood, “you need have no fear. I would be perfectly willing to write into any contract we may draw that unless the money for the construction of the first division line is furnished within six months after signing, the agreement is not only canceled, but I agree to pay you £10,000 by way of damages. Is that satisfactory?”
The two contractors stared at each other again. They had heard that Cowperwood was shrewd and cold where money was concerned, but they also had heard that he held to his signed contracts.
“Well and good! That sounds reasonable enough. But what about the other divisions?” This from Greaves.
Cowperwood laughed. “Well, gentlemen, I am just disposing of two-thirds of the entire street railway system of Chicago. In the last twenty years in that city I have built thirty-five miles of elevated roads, forty-six miles of electric slot traction lines, and I have built and am now profitably operating seventy-five miles of suburban trolley lines, in all of which I am the majority owner. In connection with these, no investor has ever lost a dime. They have paid, and are paying to this day, more than 6 per cent, and they still belong to me. It is not because they are not profitable that I am disposing of them—and at a profit—but because of political and social jealousies which are irritating to me.
“And, furthermore, it isn’t because I need the money that I am bothering with this London situation. You mustn’t forget that it was you who came to me, not I to you. But never mind that. I am not boasting, and don’t wish to. As to these additional sections, the time and the money for each one can be written into the contract, only, as you must know from experience, all must be subject to the natural delays and contingencies which are always likely to affect such things. The principal point is that I am willing now to put up the cash for your option and to do all of the things subsequently that the contract requires.”
“What do you say?” asked Greaves, turning to Henshaw. “I am satisfied that we will do as well with Mr. Cowperwood as with anyone.”
“Very well,” said Henshaw, “I’m ready.”
“How do you propose to go about the matter of this transfer?” asked Cowperwood. “As I understand it, you must take up your option with the Traffic Electrical Company before you can transfer it to me.”
“That’s true,” replied Henshaw, who had already been speculating as to this. If now they were first to deal directly with the Traffic Electrical Company and subsequently with Cowperwood, it would mean that they not only would have to secure from somewhere the £30,000 with which to take up their option, but, in addition, temporarily, at least, would have to borrow £60,000 to effect the transfer of the consols which the Traffic Electrical Company had deposited with the government for performance of their obligation.
Since a total of £90,000 was not an easy sum to raise, Henshaw bethought himself as to how much better it would be to go to Johnson and the office of the Traffic Electrical Company and explain what was under way. He would then ask the directors to meet with Cowperwood, Greaves, and himself, in order that the entire transaction could be met and disposed of with Cowperwood’s money. And this idea so pleased him that he now said:
“I think it would be best if we made one transaction of the whole thing,” and he explained how, if not why. But Cowperwood understood why, well enough.
“Very well,” he said. “If you will arrange with the directors, I am ready. We can complete everything in a few minutes. You can tender your option for my check for £30,000, together with the £60,000 national deposit, or a voucher for it, and I will hand you my check, or checks, for both. All we have to do now, I take it, is to draw up a temporary agreement as to the details of this, and you can sign it.”
And he rang for his secretary and dictated the substance of the understanding.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, when it was signed, “I want to feel that we are no longer bargainers, but associates in an important enterprise that should lead to agreeable results for all of us. I pledge you my word that in return for your wholehearted co-operation from now on, you will have mine.” And he gave a most cordial handclasp to both.
“Well,” observed Greaves, “I must say, this has been done very quickly.”
Cowperwood smiled.
“I suppose that is what you would call, in your country, ‘fast work,’ ” added Henshaw.
“Nothing more than the exercise of good sense on the part of everybody concerned,” said Cowperwood. “If that’s American, fine! If it’s English, just as fine! But don’t forget that it took one American and two Englishmen to do it!”
As soon as they had left, Cowperwood sent for Sippens.
“I don’t know if I can make you believe it or not, De Sota,” he said, when Sippens arrived, “but I have just bought that Charing Cross line for you.”
“You did!” exclaimed Sippens. “Well, that’s great!” Already he saw himself as the organizing general manager of this new line.
And actually at this time Cowperwood was thinking of using him in that way; long enough, at least, to get things started, only not so much longer, since he looked on Sippens as perhaps too irritatingly American to be able to deal successfully with men of the world of high finance in London.
“Take a look at that!” he went on, picking up a sheet of paper from his desk, the tentative but nonetheless binding understanding between Greaves and Henshaw and himself.
Sippens selected from a box that Cowperwood held out to him a long gold-foil wrapped cigar, and started to read.
“Great!” he snapped, as he concluded his reading, cigar held out at arm’s length. “And if that won’t make a sensation when they read it in Chicago and New York, and here, too! Jehoshaphat. It’ll go all over the world, once you allow it to be announced here.”
“But that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about, De Sota. An announcement of this kind, and so soon after my coming here . . . well, I’m a little afraid of the effect of it . . . not back home . . . I don’t mind their being surprised or shocked . . . but the effect on the prices of underground rights over here bothers me. They may go up, and most likely will, if this gets out.” He paused. “And particularly when they read of how much money is going to pass over the table at one sitting, and for one little line: relatively £100,000 . . . for, of course, I have to build that line or lose about £70,000.”
“Right, Chief,” agreed Sippens.
“There’s a lot of nonsense to all this, you know?” continued Cowperwood, ruminatively. “Here we are, you and I, both of us getting along in years, and now running around on this new job, which, whether we do it or not, can’t mean so much to either of us. For we’re not going to be here so much longer, De Sota, and neither of us needs the money.”
“Just the same, you’re wanting to build it, Chief!”
“I know,” said Cowperwood, “and yet neither of us can do much more than eat a little, drink a little, play about a little while longer, that’s all.
What astonishes me is that we can get so excited over it. Aren’t you a little astonished at yourself?”
“Well, Chief, I’m not going to pretend to speak for you, because you’re a great man, and anything you do or don’t do is important. As for me, I look on it all as some sort of a game that I’m here to play. I used to feel that everything was more important than I feel it is now. Maybe I was right then, for if I hadn’t gotten busy and done a lot for myself, life would have slipped by me and I wouldn’t have been able to do a lot of things I have done. And I guess that’s the answer: to be doing something all the time. There’s a game on, and whether we like it or not, we have to play our parts.”
“Well,” said Cowperwood, “you’ll have plenty to play with pretty soon, if this line is to be built on time.”
And he gave his small and vigorous friend a hearty smack on the back.
To Berenice, his announcement of this Charing Cross control was an occasion for celebration. For was it not she who had originally suggested this London adventure? And now here she was at last, finding herself a part of a great world of affairs such as in the past she had only dimly envisioned. Sensing Cowperwood’s exultant mood, she brought out a bottle of wine with which they might toast the occasion, and each other.
At one point in their conversation, she could not resist asking, rather impishly: “Have you, by any chance, met your, our, Lord Stane?”
“ ‘Our’?” He laughed. “Don’t you really mean your Lord Stane?”
“Mine and yours,” countered Berenice. “For he can help us both, can he not?”
What a creature! thought Cowperwood. The daring and bravado of this chit of a girl!
“To be sure,” he said, resignedly. “No, I haven’t met him, but I admit he is important. In fact, I am hoping he may mean a great deal. However, Stane or no Stane, I shall go ahead with this project.”
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