“You are quite right, my dear,” observed Stane, when she informed him of their decision to go to Pryor’s Cove. “It is likely to have a soothing effect on him, I’m sure, as it has had on me many times in the past. Besides, your mother is there, and she will be of help to you. If you will permit me, I’ll drive you over myself in the morning. Mr. Cowperwood is far too important to me to overlook anything that might contribute to his comfort and speedy recovery.”
Chapter 62
The aftermath of all this was, in the course of the next two weeks, the arrival at Pryor’s Cove of Dr. James, who, seeing Cowperwood resting comfortably in a bedroom overlooking the Thames, paused to observe:
“Well, Frank, I see that you’re not so ill that you can’t enjoy the beautiful view through these windows. I’m half-inclined to suggest that you get up and hurry over to New York and let me stretch out here until I recover from my labors of getting here. I’ve been dying for a vacation for years.”
“Didn’t you enjoy your trip over?” asked Cowperwood.
“I never welcomed a change more in my life. It was beautiful. The sea was calm and there was a minstrel troupe aboard that entertained me enormously. They were headed, if you please, for Vienna, and half of them were Negroes.”
“Same old Jeff!” commented Cowperwood. “My, what a pleasure it is to see you again! If I have wished once, I have wished a score of times that you were over here and could study some of the oddities of these English!”
“Bad as all that, are they?” said James, amusedly. “But suppose you tell me the story of all this from the beginning. Where were you, and why were you arrested?”
Whereupon Cowperwood slowly and carefully proceeded to recite the incidents of his life and labor since he had returned from Norway, together with the opinions of Dr. Wayne and the specialists.
“And that’s why I wanted you to come over, Jeff,” he concluded. “I knew you would tell me the truth. The specialists said it might be Bright’s disease. In fact, they said I might not live more than a year and a half at the most, although Dr. Wayne did say that the conclusions of specialists are not necessarily always correct.”
“Right!” said Dr. James, emphatically.
“Dr. Wayne’s opinion, of course,” continued Cowperwood, “may have given me a false sense of security, for it wasn’t so very long after that I did quite some celebrating, at Lord Stane’s place, and that brought on the disturbing incident I have described to you. I found myself suddenly very short of breath and had to be helped from the room. It’s made me rather doubtful of Dr. Wayne’s diagnosis. But now that you are here, I expect to be told the truth and put on the right track.”
At this point Dr. James stepped forward and put both hands on Cowperwood’s chest.
“Now show me how deep you can breathe,” he said, and after Cowperwood’s best effort in that direction, the doctor said: “Ah, I see, a little dilation of the stomach. I shall have to leave you something for that.”
“Does it look as though I have a fatal disease, Jeff?”
“Not so fast, Frank. After all, I have to make some examinations. But I can say this: you have already seen two doctors and three specialists, and you’ve learned that it might cause your death or it might not cause your death. As you know, there’s always a wide margin between the possible and the impossible, between the certain and the uncertain, and there’s always a wide margin between sickness and health. But looking at you here now, and taking into consideration your general physical tone, I think you are likely to be around here for some months yet, maybe for several years. You must give me time to work on you, to think out what is best for you. In the meantime, tomorrow morning, fairly early, I’ll be back here to make a complete physical examination.”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Cowperwood. “My orders are that you’re to stay here with us, with me and my ward, Miss Fleming, and her mother.”
“It’s very good of you, Frank, to ask me, but I can’t stay today. It just so happens that there are one or two drugs I’ll have to find in London before I go on with you. But I’ll come back about eleven in the morning, and after that, I’ll stay with you, as you wish, at least long enough to make you a better, if not a wiser, man. But now, no champagne, in fact no liquor of any kind, for a while at least, and no food with the exception of a cream soup, perhaps, and plenty of buttermilk.”
Whereupon Berenice entered the room and was introduced by Cowperwood. Dr. James, after greeting her turned to Cowperwood and exclaimed:
“How can you be ill, with such a cure for all ills right here at your bedside! You may be sure I’ll be here bright and early in the morning.”
After which, and very professionally, he explained to Berenice that when he returned he would require hot water, towels, and some charcoal from a brightly blazing fireplace which he saw in an adjoining room.
“To think I should have come all the way from New York to treat him, with the cure right here,” he observed to her, smilingly. “This world is too ridiculous for any use.”
Berenice, noting how wise and gay he was, liked him at once, and thought of the many strong and interesting people Frank invariably drew to himself.
Accordingly, after an added personal talk with Cowperwood, he left for the city, but not before he had caused Cowperwood to feel that his gigantic financial obligations constituted a form of disease in themselves.
“These varying problems prey on your mind, Frank,” he told him, seriously. “The brain is a thinking, creative, and directive organ which can cause you as much trouble as any fatal disease, of which worry is one, and I think you have that disease now. My problem is to make you know that that is true, and that your life is worth more to you than any ten underground systems. If you insist on putting work first, any quack doctor can truthfully assure you that at your age you are likely to die. So now my problem is to get your mind off your underground systems, and get you to take a real rest.”
“I will do the best I can,” said Cowperwood, “but some of these burdens are not so easy to drop as you may imagine. They concern the interests of hundreds of people who have put their complete faith in me, besides millions of Londoners who have never been able to travel beyond the limits of their own neighborhoods. With my plan, they will be able to ride to all parts of London for as little as tuppence, and so get a fairly good idea of what their city is like.”
“There you go, Frank! If your life should suddenly end, where would your Londoners be then?”
“My Londoners will be all right, whether I live or die, assuming that I get my underground plan fully launched before I die. Yes, Jeff, I’m afraid I do put my work far above myself. In fact, this thing I’ve started has already grown so large that no one man is indispensable to it now, not even me, although there are many things I can do if I live long enough to carry out my ideas.”
Chapter 63
Dr. James, meanwhile, had much to ponder over concerning Cowperwood’s illness and the financial burdens which troubled him. As for the Bright’s disease which the London physician had suggested might be so swiftly fatal, he knew of related cases that had endured for many years. Yet there were aspects of Cowperwood’s case that were serious. For one, the dilation of the stomach, and for another, the acute pains that attacked him from time to time; certainly these, along with his mental disturbance in regard to his business affairs, might do him great harm. Another disturbing factor was his worry over various problems in connection with his past life, about which James knew a great deal—his first wife, his son; Aileen, and other attachments which had from time to time been commented on in the newspapers.
What to do, what to do for this man for whom he cared so much! What particular thing, apart from medicine, might tend to restore him, if for no more than a period of time! The mind! The mind! If he could only mentally, as well as medically, influence his mind to come to its own rescue! Suddenly he felt that he had stumbled upon the required idea. This was that Cowperwood must be strengthened to the
point where he would be willing to go on a leisurely trip abroad, not only to interest him in a change of scene but to cause the public, both in England and America, to be astonished by the news that he was well enough to be traveling, so that people would say: “Why, this man isn’t sick! He’s so much recovered that he can travel and enjoy himself!” The effect of this would probably not only restore Cowperwood’s somewhat depleted nervous energy but cause him to believe that he was well, or at least very much better.
Strangely enough, the place that the good doctor’s mind returned to again and again as a possible solution of his problem was the Riviera, Monte Carlo, the great gambling center. How effective it would be if the press were to announce his presence there, at the gambling tables, among grandiose dukes and Asiatic princes! Psychologically! would that not enhance Cowperwood’s standing as a financier? A thousand to one it would!
The next day, when he returned to Pryor’s Cove and thoroughly examined Cowperwood, the doctor put forth his suggestion.
“Personally, Frank,” he began, “I think that in about three weeks you should be well enough to leave here and take a nice leisurely trip. So my prescription now is that temporarily you abandon this life here and go abroad with me.”
“Abroad?” queried Cowperwood, his tone expressing his astonishment.
“Yes, and do you want to know why? Because the newspapers would certainly take note of the fact that you were able to travel. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Quite!” replied Cowperwood. “Where do we go?”
“Well, Paris, may be, and probably we might go to Carlsbad—a most detestable watering place, I know, but excellent for you physically.”
“For God’s sake, where do I go from there?”
“Well,” said James, “you may have your choice of Prague, Budapest, Vienna, and the Riviera, including Monte Carlo.”
“What!” exclaimed Cowperwood! “Me in Monte Carlo!”
“Yes, you in Monte Carlo, as sick as you imagine yourself to be. Appearing in Monte Carlo at this particular time is certain to produce just the reaction you want in connection with yourself. Yet, actually, you need not do anything more than appear in one of the gambling rooms and lose a few thousand dollars, so that the news can be spread abroad. People will comment on your being there, and the fact that it seems to make no difference to you as to the amount of money you toss away.”
“Stop, stop!” shouted Cowperwood. “If I have the strength, I’ll go, and if it doesn’t turn out right, I’ll sue you for breach of promise!”
“Do that,” returned James.
Consequently, after three weeks of constant observation and medication on the part of Dr. James, who had taken up his residence at Pryor’s Cove, Cowperwood himself felt that he was much better, and James, studying him from day to day, decided that his patient had sufficiently revived physically to undertake the travel program suggested.
However, Berenice, delighted as she was to know that Cowperwood was improving in health, was nevertheless troubled by the idea of the trip. She was well aware that rumours concerning a fatal illness would probably disrupt his whole economic plan, but loving him as she did, she could not help conjuring up fears that such a trip might not prove as valuable and effective as Dr. James and Cowperwood thought. But Cowperwood assured her that she had nothing to worry about, since he felt better, and the plan was ideal.
The following week end they departed. And true enough, the London press immediately announced that Frank Cowperwood, recently rumoured to be seriously ill, was apparently so completely recovered as to be able to indulge in a pleasure tour of Europe. A little later there were still other newspaper items, from Paris, from Budapest, from Carlsbad, Vienna, and from Monte Carlo, fabulous Monte Carlo. The papers emphasized this last information by saying that “the indestructible Cowperwood, so recently ill, had chosen Monte Carlo as a place of pleasure and rest.”
However, on his return to London, the questions put to him by reporters took on a very frank and open character. One reporter asked: “Is there any truth to the rumour, Mr. Cowperwood, that you’ve been seriously ill?”
“As a matter of fact, my boy,” replied Cowperwood, “I had been working too hard and found I needed a rest. A вoctor friend of mine did accompany me on this trip, and we’ve just been puttering around the Continent.”
He laughed heartily when the World correspondent asked whether or not it was true that he had bequeathed his priceless art treasures to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
“If people want to know what is in my will,” he said, “they’ll have to wait until I’m under the turf, and I can only hope that their charity is as strong as their curiosity.”
These comments brought smiles to the faces of Berenice and Dr. James as they read them on the spacious lawn of Pryor’s Cove. Dr. James, though steadily conscious of the necessity of returning to New York and his practice there, found himself drawn further and further into the affections of Cowperwood, and Berenice as well. For both were grateful to him beyond measure for having brought Cowperwood back to seemingly normal health and strength. And so, when the time came for the doctor to leave, there was an emotional sense of gratitude and mental union among the three.
“There’s really nothing I can say to you, Jeff,” said Cowperwood, as he and Berenice walked with the doctor to the gangplank of the steamer on which he was about to leave. “Anything I can do for you is yours to command. I ask but one thing: that our friendship continue as it has in the past.”
“Don’t try to reward me, Frank,” interrupted James. “Knowing you all these years has been my reward. Come to see me in New York when you can. I’ll be waiting to see you again.” Picking up his bag, he added: “Well, friends, boats wait for no man!” and with that he smiled and again shook hands, finally merging with the throng now boarding the boat.
Chapter 64
Now that Dr. James was gone, Cowperwood was faced with many labors which had accumulated during his absence. These would require months of concentrated energy and attention, the while he found it necessary to turn to certain phases of his personal problems, one of which was a letter from Aileen, in which she stated that while the alterations being made in the new addition were going forward under the supervision of Pyne, the architect, she felt that Cowperwood should return to New York as soon as possible in order to look the whole plan over, so that he could either approve or disapprove before it was too late. She was not sure there would be space enough in the new gallery for the pictures he had recently added to his collection. While she respected Mr. Cuthbert’s opinion as an art expert, there were times when she felt that Cowperwood would disagree wholeheartedly with him if he were present.
Cowperwood realized that this was something that deserved his attention. Still, at this particular time he felt he could ill afford a trip to New York. There were too many urgent matters of policy and practical details concerning the underground that demanded his personal supervision. Of course, Lord Stane, who was frequently about, assured him of the now probably smooth future of the entire system, and by his interest and efforts succeeded in lessening the former friction among the varied interests. Stane seemed to be very much relieved and pleased at his recovery.
“Well, Cowperwood,” he said to him the first morning after his return, “you look as good as new. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t do it,” replied Cowperwood. “It was all the work of my old friend, Jeff James. He’s pulled me out of a few illnesses in the past, but this time he pulled me out of a financial jam as well.”
“You’re right there,” said Stane. “You certainly fooled the public in a masterly fashion.”
“That was Jeff’s brilliant idea. He not only took me on the trip to allay suspicion and rumor, but he cured me en route,” said Cowperwood.
Another matter that compelled his personal attention at this time was the discussion with Rexford Lynnwood, one of the three American sculptors whose names had been suggested by Jamieson
regarding the tomb he proposed to have built. Lynnwood’s qualifications appealed to Cowperwood because of the fact that in connection with a prize recently offered for a tomb and statue to mark the grave of a lately deceased governor of one of the southern states, his design carried on one of its surfaces a reproduction of the cabin in which the man had been born, and at the foot of a huge, moss-covered oak tree was drawn the outline of a horse which he had ridden in various battles of the Civil War. As Cowperwood looked at it, he was touched by the pathos and simplicity of the whole conception.
Later as he sat opposite Lynnwood on the other side of his massive working desk, he was struck by the man’s classic features, his deep-set eyes, and tall angular figure. In fact, he immediately liked the fellow.
As Cowperwood explained to Lynnwood, his idea for the tomb leaned toward the Greco-Roman style of architecture, but not in its purest conception. Rather, he would like it to be a modification, with some originality of design in its details. It was to be large, because he had always liked the idea of space, and was to be made of pebble-gray granite of rich texture. He would like a narrow slit of a window at one end, and a place for two sarcophagi, with two heavy bronze doors opening into the tomb itself. Lynnwood approved and was even delighted with the opportunity of executing this structure. He drew several sketches as Cowperwood talked, and these pleased Cowperwood greatly. A contract was agreed upon and he was instructed to begin work at once. As Lynnwood began gathering his designs and placing them in his portfolio, he paused and looked at Cowperwood.
“Well, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said as he was leaving, “judging from the way you look, I’m sure it will be a long time before you will be needing this. At least, I sincerely hope so.”
“Well, thank you very much,” said Cowperwood, “But don’t count on that.”
Chapter 65
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