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

Lattimore, under any circumstances, if it hadn't been for the hope and

comfort your being here has given me!"

"I thought we were to say no more about that old time," said she; "I

thought the doings of Johnny Cornish were not to be remembered by or of

Bedford."

"The name I've asked you to call me by!" said he passionately. "Does

that mean--"

"It means nothing," said she. "Oh, please, please!--Good-night!"

I retired to the porch, and rapped again. She came to the door blushing

redly, and so fluttered by their leave-taking that I thanked God that

Jim was not in my place. There would have been division in our ranks at

once; for it seemed to me that her conduct to Cornish was too

complaisant by far.

"I came over," said I, "because Alice said you wanted to see me."

I think there must have been in my tone something of the reproach in my

thoughts; for she timidly said she was sorry to have given me so much

trouble.

"Oh, don't, Josie!" said I. "You know I'd not miss the chance of doing

you a favor for anything. Tell me what it is, my dear girl, and don't

speak of trouble."

"If you forbid reference to trouble," said she, smiling, "it will stop

this conference. For my troubles are what I want to talk to you about.

May I go on?--You see, our financial condition is awfully queer. Mamma

has some money, but not much. And we have this big house. It's absurd

for us to live in it, and I want to ask you first, can you sell it for

us?"

It was doubtful, I told her. A year or so ago, I went on, it would have

been easy; but somehow the market for fine houses was dull now. We would

try, though, and hoped to succeed. We talked at length, and I took

copious memoranda for my clerks.

"There is another thing," said she when we had finished the subject of

the house, "upon which I want light, something upon which depends my

staying here or going away. You know General Lattimore and I are

friends, and that I place great trust in his conclusions. He says that

the most terrible hard times here would result from anything happening

to your syndicate. You have said almost the same thing once or twice,

and the other day you said something about great operations which you

have in view which will, somehow, do away with any danger of that kind.

Is it true that you would all be--ruined by a--breaking up--or anything

of that sort?"

"Just now," I confessed, "such a thing would be dangerous; but I hope we

shall soon be past all that."

I told her, as well as I could, about our hopes, and of my mission to

New York.

"You must suspect," said she, "that my presence here is danger to your

harmony; and through you, to all these people whose names even we have

never heard. Shall I go away? I can go almost anywhere with mamma, and

we can get along nicely. Now that pa is gone, my work here is over, and

I want to get into the world."

I thought of the parallelism between her discontent and the speech Mr.

Cornish had made, referring so contemptuously to Lattimore. I began to

see the many things in common between them, and I grew anxious for Jim.

"Of all things," said she, "I want to avoid the role of Helen setting a

city in flames. It would be so absurd--and so terrible; and rather than

do such a hackneyed and harmful thing, I want to go away."

"Do you really mean that?" I asked, "Haven't you a desire to make your

choice, and stay?"

"You mustn't ask that question, Albert," said she. "The answer is a

secret--from every one. But I will say--that if you succeed in this

mission, so as to put people here quite out of danger--I may not go

away--not for some time!"

She was blushing again, just as she blushed when she admitted me. I

thought once more of the fluttering cry, "Oh, please--please!" and the

pause before she added the good-night, and my jealousy for Jim rose

again.

"Well," said I, rising, "all I can say is that I hope all will be safe

when I return, and that you will find it quite possible to--remain. My

advice is: do nothing looking toward leaving until I return."

"Don't be cross with me, Mr. Barslow," said she, "for really, really--I

am in great perplexity."

"I am not cross," said I, "but don't you see how hard it is for me to

advise? Things conflict so, and all among your friends!"

"They do conflict," she assented, "they do conflict, every way, and all

the time--and do, do give me a little credit for keeping the conflict

from getting beyond control for so long; for there are conflicts within,

as well as without! Don't blame Helen altogether, or me, whatever

happens!"

She hung on my arm, as she took me to the door, and seemed deeply

troubled. I left her, and walked several times around the block,

ruminating upon the extraordinary way in which these dissolving views of

passion were displaying themselves to me. Not that the mere matter of

outburst of confidences surprised me; for people all my life have bored

me with their secret woes. I think it is because I early formed a habit

of looking sympathetic. But these concerned me so nearly that their

gradual focussing to some sort of climax filled me with anxious

interest.

The next day I spent in the sleeping-car, running into Chicago. As the

clickety-_clack_, clickety-_clack_, clickety-_clack_ of the wheels

vibrated through my couch, I pondered on the ridiculous position of that

cautious Eastern bank as to the Fleischmann Brothers' failure; then on

the Lattimore & Great Western and Belt Line sale; and finally worked

around through the Straits of Sunda, in a suspicious lateen-rigged

craft manned by Malays and Portuguese. Finally, I was horrified at

discovering Cornish, in a slashed doublet, carrying Josie away in one of

the boats, having scuttled the vessel and left Jim bound to the mast.

"Chicago in fifteen minutes, suh," said the porter, at this critical

point. "Just in time to dress, suh."

And as I awoke, my approach toward New York brought to me a sickening

consciousness of the struggle which awaited me there, and the fatal

results of failure.