Aladdin & Co.: A Romance of Yankee Magic
like a smile, so far from mirth, which my acquaintance with the girl, so
sensitive and free from secretiveness, had made me familiar with.
"I want to know about some things," said she, "that papa hints about in
a blind sort of a way, but doesn't tell clearly. Is it true that Josie
and her mother are poor?"
"That is something which ought not to be known yet," said I, "but it is
true."
"Oh," said she tearfully, "I am so sorry, so sorry!"
"Antonia," said I, as she hastily brushed her eyes, "these tears do your
kind heart credit!"
"Oh, don't, don't talk to me like that!" she exclaimed passionately. "My
kind heart! Why, sometimes I hate her; and I would be glad if she was
out of the world! Don't look like that at me! And don't pretend to be
surprised, or say you don't understand me. I think every one understands
me, and has for a long time. I think everybody on the street says, after
I pass, 'Poor Antonia!' I _must_ talk to somebody! And I'd rather talk
to you because, even though you are a man and can't possibly know how I
feel, you understand _him_ better than any one else I know--and _you_
love him too!"
I started to say something, but the situation did not lend itself to
words. Neither could I pat her on the shoulders, or press her hand, as I
might have done with a man. Pale and beautiful, her jaunty hat a little
awry, her blonde ringlets in some disorder, she sat unapproachable in
her grief.
"You look at me," said she, with a little gasping laugh, "as if I were a
drowning girl, and you chained to the bank. If you haven't pitied me in
the past, Albert, don't pity me now; for the mere saying openly to some
human being that I love him seems almost to make me happy!"
I lamely murmured some inanity, of which she took not the slightest
notice.
"Is it true," she asked, "that Mr. Elkins is to pay their debts, and
that they are to be--married?"
"No," said I, glad, for some reason which is not very clear, to find
something to deny. "Nothing of the sort, I assure you."
And again, this time something wearily, for it was the second time over
it in so short a time, I explained the disposition of the Trescott
estate.
"But he urged it?" she said. "He insisted upon it?"
"Yes."
She arose, buttoned her jacket about her, and stood quietly as if to
test her mastery of herself, once or twice moving as if to speak, but
stopping short, with a long, quivering sigh. I longed to take her in my
arms and comfort her; for, in a way, she attracted me strongly.
"Mr. Barslow," said she at last, "I have no apology to make to you; for
you are my friend. And I have no feeling toward Mr. Elkins of which, in
my secret heart, and so long as he knows nothing of it, I am not proud.
To know him ... and love him may be death ... but it is honor!... I am
sorry Josie is poor, because it is a hard thing for her; but more
because I know he will be drawn to her in a stronger way by her poverty.
Shake hands with me, Albert, and be jolly, I'm jollier, away down deep,
than I've been for a long, long time; and I thank you for that!"
We shook hands warmly, like comrades, and passed down to her carriage
together. At dinner she was vivacious as ever; but I was downcast. So
much so that Mrs. Hinckley devoted herself to me, cheering me with a
dissertation on "Sex in Mind." I asked myself if the atmosphere in which
she had been reared had not in some degree contributed to the attitude
of Antonia toward the expression to me of her regard for Jim.
So the Trescott estate matter was arranged. In a few days the boom was
strengthened by newspaper stories of the purchase, by heavy financial
interests, of the entire list of assets in the hands of the
administrator.
"This immense deal," said the _Herald_, "is new proof of the
desirability of Lattimore property. The Acme Investment Company, which
will handle the properties, has bought for investment, and will hold for
increased prices. It may be taken as certain that in no other city in
the country could so large and varied a list of holdings be so quickly
and advantageously realized upon."
This was cheering--to the masses. But to us it was like praise for the
high color of a fever patient. Even while the rehabilitated Giddings
thus lifted his voice in paeans of rejoicing, the lurid signals of danger
appeared in our sky.
CHAPTER XXI.
Of Conflicts, Within and Without.
I have often wished that some sort of a business weather-chart might be
periodically got out, showing conditions all over the world. It seems to
me that with such a map one could forecast financial storms and squalls
with an accuracy quite up to the weather-bureau standard.
Had we at Lattimore been provided with such a chart, and been reminded
of the wisdom of referring to it occasionally, we might have saved
ourselves some surprises. We should have known of certain areas of
speculative high pressure in Australasia, Argentina, and South Africa,
which existed even prior to my meeting with Jim that day in the Pullman
smoking-room coming out of Chicago. These we should have seen changing
month by month, until at the time when we were most gloriously carrying
things before us in Lattimore, each of these spots on the other side of
the little old world showed financial disturbances--pronounced "lows."
We should have seen symptoms of storm on the European bourses; and we
should have thought of the natural progress of the moving areas, and
derived much benefit from such consideration. We should certainly have
paid some attention to it, if we could have seen the black isobars
drawn about London, when the great banking house of Fleischmann Brothers
went down in the wreck of their South African and Argentine investments.
But having no such chart, and being much engrossed in the game against
the World and Destiny, we glanced for a moment at the dispatches, seeing
nothing in them of interest to us, congratulated ourselves that we were
not as other investors and speculators, and played on.
Once in a while we found some over-cautious banker or broker who had
inexplicable fears for the future.
"Here is an idiot," said Cornish, while we were placing the paper to
float the Trescott deal, "who is calling his loans; and why, do you
think?"
"Can't guess," said Jim, "unless he needs the money. How does _he_
account for it?"
"Read his letter," said Cornish. "Says the Fleischmann failure in London
is making his directors cautious. I'm calling his attention to the now
prevailing sun-spots, as bearing on Lattimore property."
Mr. Elkins read the letter carefully, turned it over, and read it again.
"Don't," said he; "he may be one of those asses who fail to see the
business value of the _reductio ad absurdum_.... Fellows, we must push
this L. & G. W. business with Pendleton. Some of us ought to be down
there now."
"That is wise counsel," I agreed, "and you're the man."
"No," said he positively, "I'm not the man. Cornish, can't you go,
starting, say, to-morrow?"
"No indeed," said Cornish with equal positiveness; "since my turn-down
by Wade on that bond deal, I'm out of touch with the lower Broadway and
Wall Street element. It seems clear to me that you are the only one to
carry this negotiation forward."
"I can't go, absolutely," insisted Jim. "Al, it seems to be up to you."
I knew that Jim ought to do this work, and could not understand the
reasons for both himself and Cornish declining the mission. Privately, I
told him that it was nonsense to send me; but he found reasons in plenty
for the course he had determined upon. He had better control of the hot
air, he said, but as a matter of fact I was more in Pendleton's class
than he was, I was more careful in my statements, and I saw further into
men's minds.
"And if, as you say," said he, "Pendleton thinks me the whole works
here, it will show a self-possession and freedom from anxiety on our
part to accredit a subordinate (as you call yourself) as envoy to the
court of St. Scads. Again, affairs here are likely to need me at any
time; and if we go wrong here, it's all off. I don't dare leave. Anyhow,
down deep in your subconsciousness, you know that in diplomacy you
really have us all beaten to a pulp: and this is a matter as purely
diplomatic as draw-poker. You'll do all right."
My wife was skeptical as to the necessity of my going.
"Why doesn't Mr. Cornish go, then?" she inquired, after I had explained
to her the position of Mr. Elkins. "He is a native of Wall Street, I
believe."
"Well," I repeated, "they both say positively that they can't go."
"Your natural specialty may be diplomacy," said she pityingly, "but if
you take the reasons they give as the real ones, I must be permitted to
doubt it. It's perfectly obvious that if Josie were transferred to New
York, the demands of business would take them both there at once."
This remark struck me as very subtle, and as having a good deal in it.
Josie had never permitted the rivalry between Jim and Cornish to become
publicly apparent; but in spite of the mourning which kept the
Trescott's in semi-retirement, it was daily growing more keen. Elkins
was plainly anxious at the progress Cornish had seemed to make during
his last long absence, and still doubtful of his relations with Josie
after that utterance over her father's body. But he was not one to give
up, and so, whenever she came over for an evening with Alice, Jim was
sure to drop in casually and see us. I believe Alice telephoned him. On
the other hand, Cornish was calling at the Trescott house with
increasing frequency. Mrs. Trescott was decidedly favorable to him,
Alice a pronounced partisan of Elkins; and Josie vibrated between the
two oppositely charged atmospheres, calmly non-committal, and apparently
pleased with both. But the affair was affecting our relations. There was
a new feeling, still unexpressed, of strain and stress, in spite of the
familiarity and comradeship of long and intimate intercourse. Moreover,
I felt that Mr. Hinckley was not on the same terms with Jim as formerly,
and I wondered if he was possessed of Antonia's secret.
It was with a prevision of something out of the ordinary, therefore,
that I received through Alice a request from Josie for a private
interview with me. She would come to us at any time when I would
telephone that I was at home and would see her. Of course I at once
decided I would go to her. Which, that evening, my last in Lattimore
before starting for the East, I did.
There was a side door to my house, and a corresponding one in the
Trescott home across the street. We were all quite in the habit, in our
constant visiting between the households, of making a short cut by
crossing the road from one of these doors to the other. This I did that
evening, rapped at the door, and imagining I heard a voice bid me come
in, opened it, and stepping into the library, found no one. The door
between the library and the front hall stood open, and through it I
heard the voice of Miss Trescott and the clear, carrying tones of Mr.
Cornish, in low but earnest conversation.
"Yes," I heard him say, "perhaps. And if I am, haven't I abundant
reason?"
"I have told you often," said she pleadingly, "that I would give you a
definite answer whenever you definitely demand it--"
"And that it would in that case be 'No,'" he added, completing the
sentence. "Oh, Josie, my darling, haven't you punished me enough for my
bad conduct toward you in that old time? I was a young fool, and you a
strange country girl; but as soon as you left us, I began to feel your
sweetness. And I was seeking for you everywhere I went until I found you
that night up there by the lake. Does that seem like slighting you? Why,
I hope you don't deem me capable of being satisfied in this hole