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She rose from her chair by the fire, walked over to sit on his lap, began to rumple his hair.
“All problems are not financial, are they?” she said, quizzically, touching his forehead with her lips.
“They certainly are not,” he replied lightly, cheered by her affectionate sympathy and encouragement.
And then, for diversion, he suggested that since there had been a heavy snowfall the previous day, a sleigh ride would be a delightful way to end the day. He knew of a charming inn on the North Shore, where they might have dinner beside the lake under a winter moon.
Returning late that night, Berenice sat alone in her room before the fire, thinking and planning. She had already telegraphed her mother to come to Chicago at once. She would have her go to a certain North Side hotel and register for both of them. With her mother there, she could outline the course which she and Cowperwood had in mind.
What troubled her most, however, was Aileen, alone in that great house in New York, with youth, if not beauty, gone forever, and recently, as Berenice had noticed, suffering the handicap of too much flesh, which apparently she had not troubled to overcome. Her clothes, too, ran more to richness and show than to real taste. Years, physical appearance, and lack of a gifted mentality: all of them made it impossible for Aileen to contend against one like Berenice. But never, as she told herself, would she be cruel, however vengeful Aileen might be. Rather, she proposed to be as generous as possible, and also she would not countenance the least cruelty or even thoughtlessness on Cowperwood’s part, if she could detect it in time. Actually, she felt sorry for Aileen, very sorry, realizing how she must be feeling in her torn and discarded heart, for already, as young as she was, she herself had suffered, and her mother also. Their wounds were still all too fresh.
Hence, the thing to do, as she now decided, was to play as subdued and inconspicuous a role as possible in Cowperwood’s life, going about with him, true enough, since that was his greatest desire and need, but without being identified too clearly. If only there were some way of diverting Aileen’s mind from her present ills, and so keep her from hating Cowperwood, and, once she knew all, Berenice herself.
At first she thought of religion, or rather, wondered if there were not a priest or minister whose religious counsel might be of benefit to Aileen. There were always such well-disposed, if politic, souls, who for a bequest, or the hope of it, at her death, might gladly minister to her. Back in New York, as she recalled, was such a person: the Reverend Willis Steele, Rector of St. Swithin’s of the Episcopal Diocese of New York. She had occasionally visited his church, more to dream over the simple architecture and agreeable service than to plead with God. The Reverend Willis was middle-aged, airy, bland, attractive, but without much money, although possessed of a high degree of social polish. She recalled him as once having approached her, but further thought of him only caused her to smile, and she dismissed the idea. But surely Aileen needed to be looked after by someone.
Suddenly she bethought herself at this point of one of those affable social ne’er-do-wells so common in New York society, who, for enough cash or entertainment, might be relied upon to create a fairly gay, if not exactly conventional, social scene about Aileen, and thus divert her, for the time being, anyhow. But how to go about reaching and influencing such a person to that end?
Berenice decided that this idea was really too shrewd and too cunning to come from her as a suggestion to Cowperwood. She did feel, however, that it was too valuable to be neglected. Her mother, perhaps, might throw out the hint to him. Once the bare thought of it was flicked before him, he could be counted on to react in a practical manner.
Chapter 6
Henry de Sota Sippens was the man whom Cowperwood thought of at once to send to London to spy out the physical aspects and financial possibilities of the London underground system.
Years before, he had discovered Sippens, who had been invaluable in the negotiations to secure the contract for Chicago gas. And with the money made from that venture, Cowperwood had invaded the Chicago street railway field, and had included Sippens, because, as he had learned, the man had a genuine talent for spying out and aiding in the development of any public utility or service. He was inclined to be nervous and irritable, easily set jangling, therefore not always diplomatic; but on the other hand, he was wholly loyal, though possessed of an uncompromising midwestern “Americanism” which often proved as irritating as it was valuable.
In the opinion of Sippens, at the present moment, Cowperwood had received an almost fatal body blow in the defeat in connection with his local franchises. He could not see how the man could ever restore himself with the local financiers who had invested with him and were now likely to lose some of their money. Since the night of the defeat, Sippens had been nervous about meeting him again. What was he to say? How sympathize with a man who up to a week ago had been one of the world’s seemingly unconquerable financial giants?
Yet now, only the third day after that defeat, there came to Sippens a telegram from one of Cowperwood’s secretaries requesting him to call on his former employer. Meeting him and finding him cheerful, sparkling, vibrating with good humor, Sippens could scarcely believe his eyes.
“Well, how’s the Chief? I’m glad to see you looking so well.”
“I never felt better, De Sota. And how are you? Ready for any fate?”
“Well, you ought to know, Chief. I’ve been standing by. It’s whatever you say with me.”
“I know that, De Sota,” replied Cowperwood, smiling. For in truth, because of his compensating success with Berenice, he was feeling that the greatest pages of his life’s history were about to be opened and written upon, and he felt not only hopeful but kindly toward all. “I have something I want you to undertake for me. I sent for you, De Sota, because I need reliability and secrecy, and I know you’re the man!”
And for the moment his lips stiffened, and his eyes took on that hard, fixed, metallic, inscrutable luster which those who mistrusted and feared him hated. Sippens threw out his chest and chin and stood at attention. He was a little man, not more than five feet four, but heightened by high-heeled shoes and a top hat that he never doffed to anyone but Cowperwood. He wore a long double-breasted and skirted coat, which he thought gave him height and dignity.
“Thanks, Chief,” he said, “you know I’d go to hell for you any time.” His lips almost trembled, so wrought-up was he, not only by Cowperwood’s combined faith and flattery but by all that he had been compelled to endure during the past few months as well as throughout the years of their association.
“But it’s nothing like going through hell this time, De Sota,” said Cowperwood, relaxing and smiling. “We’ve just done that here in Chicago, and we won’t have to do it again. And I’m going to show you why. What I want to talk to you about now, De Sota, is London and its underground system, and the possibility of my doing something over there.”
And here he paused and motioned blandly and easily to Sippens to take the chair closest to him, while Sippens, thoroughly aroused by the bare possibilities of something so different and interesting, fairly gasped.
“London! You don’t say, Chief. Great! I knew you’d do something, Chief! I knew it! Oh, I can’t tell you how this makes me feel, Chief!” As he spoke, his face brightened as with a light turned on within, and his fingers twitched. He half rose and then sat down again, a sure sign of excitement within him. He pulled at his fierce and rather top-heavy mustache, while he contemplated Cowperwood with brooding and wholly reassured admiration.
“Thanks, De Sota,” commented Cowperwood at this point. “I thought it might interest you.”
“Interest me, Chief!” returned Sippens, excitedly. “Why, Chief, you’re one of the wonders of the world! Why, here you are, scarcely through with these Chicago bastards and you’re ready to tackle a thing like this! It’s