The Cheat (Holman)/Chapter 17
To a young man under thirty the end of the world comes at least once every six months. But he always survives the catastrophe and is ready to take up life with renewed vigor in the new Eden that inevitably follows. Work that absorbs the whole mind is a wonderful aid in weathering such crises of the emotions. Perhaps this is the answer to the question, "Who invented work—and why?"
Dudley Drake softly closed the door leading into the corridor from an elaborate suite of rooms on the fifteenth floor of the Hotel Biltmore, and, briefcase and straw hat in his hand, walked over the soft rug toward the elevator. As he pushed the button and stood waiting for the elevator to appear he looked very cheerful. It was eleven o'clock of the Monday morning following the Saturday night of his dramatic parting with Carmelita at Hedgewood. Momentous events had happened since then for both of them, though each was still ignorant of what the other had past through.
When Dudley left his wife after his dramatic tirade in which he had allowed to surge forth all his pent-up resentment of the past two months and had virtually given her carte blanche to sue for a divorce if she wished to, he plunged out into the night and down the drive and out into the highway like a blind man in a great hurry, with no idea of his destination. But after all he was a very healthy, normal young man. And the cool night air and his rapid walking soon had their effect in clearing up his mind. He pulled himself together and discovered that he was on his way to the Hedgewood railway station. A few hundred yards more and he began to wonder if he hadn't just made rather a fool of himself.
Airing our grievances against one whom we love brings always an aftermath of remorse in which the object of our erstwhile anger looms up as a snow-white angel and we ourselves are the only one at fault. And we are very apt to do ourselves a greater injustice than we did our loved one.
After all, what he had heard linking the names of his wife and Rao-Singh had been mere gossip and he knew that idle summer porch-rocking women are no worse than smoking-car men when it comes to inventing spicy conversation to fill in the spare moments, and nobody's reputation is ever safe from their wagging tongues. In his heart he could never conceive of Carmelita's being unfaithful to him. He knew her better than that. He stood stock still in the middle of the road while an owl hooted weirdly deep in the wood that skirted the highway and a chorus of ancient frogs croaked in a deep bass, and debated whether he shouldn't go back and apologize and take her into his arms. But his pride would hardly stand that. The kiss-bidding episode had been something no normal husband could watch with pleasure, especially considering who the lucky bidder had been, no matter how much innocent impulsiveness there had been in Carmelita's actions.
On the whole he would wait until morning before he made advances to her and tried to set himself right. Perhaps he would have some excellent news to tell her when he saw her again. He had an appointment with Chartres at ten in the morning at the Biltmore. Dudley's whole business future, the decision whether his past three months of slaving at the office had been wasted, might be decided by this meeting with Chartres.
Chartres was one of the largest manufacturers in France and he had been in America for three months for the purpose of contracting for several million feet of lumber and several thousand tons of steel for use in reconstruction work in the devastated regions. Chartres had the job of building anew scores of villages—dwellings, municipal buildings, factories—and he intended buying in America, provided the supply could be found at the right price. Sanford Drake had gotten wind of the coming of the Frenchman and his mission from his Paris agents almost as soon as Chartres decided to come. The Frenchman's trip was to be strictly a confidential affair and the elder Drake had gone to the precaution of summoning Dudley out to his Greenwich home for a week-end to discuss the matter with him.
For Sanford Drake was beginning to look with hopeful approval at the manner in which his nephew was settling down to business and showing some of the acumen that had carried him, Sanford Drake, to his present enviable position in the Street. Drake and Porter were extremely anxious to do business with Chartres. J. P. Morgan and other banking houses had made millions buying steel and other supplies for the Allies during the war. There was no reason why Drake and Porter should not now reap their share of the business of repairing the damage which Morgan-bought shells had wrought in France. Drake and Porter had several large steel and lumber companies for which they transacted foreign business regularly. Indeed Sanford Drake was financially interested in one or two such conferns and was on their Boards of Directors.
Andre Chartres was a tough nut to crack, there was no doubt about that. He was far from the excitable, emotional Frenchman of fiction the picture of whom the war did much to expel from the minds of the rest of the world. Chartres was small, but so was Ferdinand Foch. He was an iron-haired, pointed-bearded native of Brittany with small keen eyes and a disconcerting habit of waving bunkum aside and getting immediately down to business.
Despite the secrecy surrounding Chartres' coming to America, several other firms besides Drake and Porter had gotten word of his impending visit and were making preparations to receive him with offers. Sanford Drake knew that the competition would be stiff, that there would be better prices offered to the Frenchman than Drake and Porter would be able to make, that the chances of his concern's landing the contracts were not too good. But there was something like $25,000,000 involved and it was worth trying for. He would use it as a means of testing his nephew.
So he summoned Dudley to Greenwich on the week-end Carmelita accepted Lucy's invitation to Hedgewood, told him the situation, and put him in charge of Drake and Porter's interests as far as Chartres was concerned.
"I don't mind telling you that this is a tough assignment," he told Dudley. "And judging by the muff you made of the deal with that other Frenchman, Duval, I'm an old fool to put you in charge. But you've shown signs of buckling down to business lately and one or two deals you've put over have given me agreeable surprises and I want to give you another chance. You're young and just married—to a very lovely girl, I may say—and you deserve a chance. Here's my proposition: Close with Chartres and the day he signs I'll give you ten per-cent. of the commission coming to us—that will be about $250,000. Something to work for, eh? And sometimes when our young men put over something especially noteworthy like this, we take them into the firm. A word to the wise, you know—"
Dudley was tickled pink at the chance. He had come home to their Greenwich Village apartment with mysterious hints to Carmelita of prosperity just around the corner and plunged into the business of cultivating the elusive Chartres with every resource at his command. Sworn to deep secrecy by his uncle regarding the negotiations, he had not even told Carmelita what was in the wind. He arranged an initial meeting with Chartres at the Hotel Biltmore.
"But you quote me no figures or assurances that you can deliver," the Frenchman had snapped at him. "Details—I must have definite details. Show me where the material is coming from. Guarantee me shipping dates. You are putting the cart before the horse, young man. Take a month to get estimates and production figures from the mills, then come to me again."
So Dudley abandoned practically all his other duties to satisfy the demand of this exacting Frenchman, while Chartres went on to Pittsburgh and Chicago to interview other representatives of American firms anxious to do business with him. Dudley himself made frequent trips to Pittsburgh and Youngstown for steel estimates, to New England and Southern lumber mills. He brought his figures back and worked them out nights at the office and home until he was tearing down ruined French villages and building them up again in his sleep. His uncle kept a wary eye upon him but he did not offer a suggestion one way or the other. Finally Chartres went out to California to be gone a month. There followed four weeks of feverish anxiety on Dudley's part during which he wrote or wired the Frenchman two or three times a week and received not a sign or a word from him.
A week previous Dudley had learned that Chartres was back in New York and had telephoned the Frenchman for an appointment. The reply was most discouraging. He had practically concluded arrangements with another house, Chartres said, and intended to sign the papers the following Tuesday and sail for France on Thursday. Dudley's hand on the receiver trembled violently. But he refused to be cast aside. He had in his desk all the lumber and steel bids elaborately worked out to the minimum price and maximum detail and he was sure they were as low as it was possible for any one to quote. Would not Monsieur Chartres grant him a few moments, say at ten on Monday morning? At first M. Chartres would not, but finally, remembering that this was the handsome dark young man who had fought in the French Air Service even before America entered the war, he reluctantly consented.
Dudley knocked upon the door of Chartres' suite on the fifteenth floor of the Biltmore precisely at ten and was admitted. The little Napoleon of finance was sitting near the window of his sitting-room before a table upon which a breakfast tray rested. He was alternately munching a piece of toast and drinking wine. A bottle which he had brought from France stood upon the tray and a waiter hovered near. Dudley accepted a chair and waited until he had finished breakfast and the waiter withdrew.
"As I told you over the telephone," Chartres said cheerfully, "your mission is quite hopeless. However—"
"If you will permit me to present a few figures, as you requested at our first interview," offered Dudley and he took his two months' work from his briefcase, all neatly typed in easily grasped form.
Chartres accepted the sheets of paper with little interest. As he read his small eyes brightened a little. It took him twenty minutes to digest what was before him. Then he consumed another twenty minutes in going over them thoroughly again, while Dudley sat in extreme discomfort, for in addition to the momentous business at hand the room was very stuffy and hot, a condition which the Frenchman did not seem to mind in the slightest.
Having finished his reading, Chartres asked a few sharp questions for five minutes. Then he said, "Did you bring a contract for me to sign, Mr. Drake?"
Dudley, who could have been knocked over with a feather at that moment, produced the contract. This is a preliminary agreement," he managed to say. "If you will come down to the office, we will have the other papers drawn and ready for you."
Chartres nodded. He signed his name with a flourish. He produced another glass and poured out wine for two.
"To our agreement and prosperity," he toasted gravely. Dudley had never tasted anything half so good. It was the nectar of the gods and Chartres was the greatest financial wizard who had ever lived. And so Dudley Drake, taking his leave after making sure that the signed contract was securely in his briefcase, closed the door of Chartres' suite softly and made his way to the elevator. And no wonder he was looking very cheerful. He had put it over, the deal that was to "make" him—and Carmelita.
"Why, doggone it, I'm going to be rich, I am rich," he told himself in some surprise as the elevator whisked him swiftly to the main floor. His uncle had mentioned $250,000 as his share of the commission, and a possible partnership. Carmelita would be so proud of him and she could have anything she wanted now. Poor girl, he'd show her. He descended into the subway on air and didn't mind the stifling heat down there and the fact that he had to stand all the way to Wall Street clinging to a dirty strap. He hadn't telephoned his uncle. He wanted to see Sanford Drake's face as he told him the news.
Sanford Drake was busy, with a client. Some petty matter involving a half million or so, Dudley smiled to himself as he sat at his own desk in the outer office and waited. His news would hold. It was big enough. When he saw his uncle's fat, perspiring visitor come out, he walked in as nonchalantly as he possibly could and, standing before Sanford Drake, said simply, "Chartres has signed."
"No!" ejaculated Drake.
"Here is the contract," and Dudley produced it from his precious briefcase which he had taken the precaution to bring in with him. He pointed to the Frenchman's scrawl.
"Well, well, you put it over. And to tell the truth, Dudley, I didn't think you had a Chinaman's chance. I understood Hodge and Story had him tied fast. Well, I certainly congratulate you from the bottom of my heart." He held out his hand and motioned Dudley to a chair beside his desk. "It's more of a personal triumph for you than it is for the firm, that's sure, and you deserve full credit. I've watched you; you've worked like a dog. But you've made good with a vengeance and I hope the reward will be worth it."
He shot over his shoulder to his secretary who occupied a desk in back of him, "Miss Gorman, bring my checkbook, please." While Dudley wondered what was up, the old man wrote a check for $25,000 in Dudley's favor, and signed his name to it. Then he turned again to his secretary and said significantly, "You may go to lunch now, Miss Gorman, if you like." Miss Gorman had been with Sanford Drake long enough to know the meaning of that. She put on her hat and left at once. Sanford Drake handed the check to his nephew.
"When we first discussed this deal," he said, "I promised you ten per-cent. of the commissions the firm got out of it and I said your share would amount to about $250,000. There isn't time to figure it out exactly now and I have no authority to pay you in full until the stuff is actually delivered and Chartres pays and we receive our money fromthe mills. But I want to give you this check in advance because I think perhaps you can use . . . it."
Dudley accepted it gratefully. How he would open Carmelita's eyes! He could hardly wait to get out to her.
Sanford Drake seemed to have something further to say and seemed to be a little doubtful, as to the propriety of saying it. Presently he took a chance. "Dudley," he cleared his throat, "I don't mind saying I didn't care especially for you when you first came to work forme. I quarreled with your father because he exasperated me. He was an impractical dreamer. I wanted to help you out but you impressed me in those early days as an irresponsible young fellow who would never make good. Especially after that Duval fiasco in Paris. Then you came home and 'phoned me you were married and I thought, 'The poor young fool.'
"But I was the one who was fooled. You got a fresh grip and you've simply amazed me the way you've developed. And now this Chartres contract—it's the biggest thing that has come to Drake and Porter since the war and you've put it over all alone. You're going to be wealthy now, comparatively speaking for a young man of your age, and I know it won't spoil you. And I don't mind telling you that at the next Board of Directors' meeting, which is next Monday, I am going to recommend that you be taken into the firm, and they usually take my word in such things."
He looked at the young man keenly and Dudley wondered what marvelous announcement was coming next. But Sanford Drake took a new, more personal tack. "I don't suppose what I'm going to say now is any of my business. I hate meddlers, as you know. But I'm your only living relative after all, Dudley, and perhaps I'm not such an unromantic old fossil as you think. All this success you've won in business isn't going to do you any good unless you're happy at home. And I've been observing you and wondering lately. You seemed to have something depressing on your mind, and it wasn't all Chartres either. What is it—domestic difficulties? Don't tell me if you don't want to, but I don't think you have many intimates—I work you too hard—and it's a bad thing for a man to brood too much alone."
Dudley looked at his uncle in some surprise. He had always regarded Sanford Drake as his hard-headed, business-only employer. Never before had the old man indicated in any way that there was any blood relationship between them. But it was quite evident that the elder Drake's interest was kindly intended and probably his advice would be valuable. Dudley forgot his new-gained riches and thought of Carmelita and the manner in which he had last left her. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself.
On an impulse he told his uncle all about the misunderstanding with her and his suspicions and the manner in which they had been virtually separated since her leasing of the Long Island summer home. Dudley did not spare himself in the slightest in this frank recital but he did not mention the name of Rao-Singh. He had an instinctive desire to protect Carmelita, to minimize her own selfishness and possible blame in the whole matter, and to convey the impression that he was entirely at fault. It was a direct reaction from the feelings he had had when he left her that eventful Saturday night which, though it was only two days away, seemed now to have existed some time in the dark ages. So much had happened in the meantime.
Sanford Drake listened. In the end he said, "It seems to me, Dudley, that you're assuming rather too much of the responsibility for a bad situation, though, heaven knows, you're not blameless, Neither is Carmelita—and neither am I, for that matter. I have encouraged you to forget everything for business, for this Chartres contract. I thought I was doing it for your own sake. I wanted to give you a chance to prove to yourself and me that you are worthy of big things in a business way. I have kept you on practically starvation wages because I thought it was good discipline. But I guess I was wrong. It was good discipline, but, like lots of good discipline, it has caused a rebellion in another quarter.
"There never has been a substantial and lasting success won in the business world except by hard work.
"I know lots of young men read that kind of thing in these stories on 'How I Make My Millions' in the magazines and say, 'Bunk! Most fortunes are made more by good luck than good management.' Well, luck has something to do with making a million, too. But you can force luck. You can make it come to you. By hard work. Generally what looks like luck is just the logical result of keeping everlastingly on the job. When opportunity knocks at your door it's a wise thing to be there instead of up at the Princeton Club shooting billiards. So hard work pays, Dudley, in good money as well as good discipline. Look at this Chartres business. But still I blame myself for not giving you your chance sooner.
"You mustn't forget that your wife is the daughter of a very rich man, one of the most prominent millionaires in South America—he arrived in New York the other day by the way—and it was a terrific come down for her to be forced to live on a broker's clerk's wages. Your living quarters you must admit are—er—rather cramped and the very thought of spending some of these recent broiling days there is enough to make anybody swelter. She is young and beautiful, used all her life to extravagant clothes and entertainment. You couldn't exactly blame her for rushing to her rich friends when she got the chance and taking up her life with them when she unexpectedly got the money. Could you?
"I'm a bachelor myself but my observation has been that the successful marriage is based upon compromise, a give and take proposition. Each partner makes concessions for the other's character and whims—and past. If I were you I would call it a day at this minute here at the office and go out and send her the biggest flock of flowers I could find and then hustle up to the Pennsylvania Station and catch the first train to Hedgewood. Tell her all about the Chartres business and your big success and that your worries are over. And show her the check! Money talks to the ladies, Dudley, even when they're in love with you."
Dudley had never thought his uncle's cold gray eyes were capable of the almost affectionate warmth he now saw in them. Why, Sanford Drake was actually embarrassed. "You're the only living relative I have, Dudley," he was saying. "I'll admit you've touched me in a weak spot by making good in business the way you have and probably if you'd turned out to be a dub I'd have disowned you. But I'm very fond of you, my boy—and it's your own personality as well as this Chartres business that has done the trick. If you ever get into trouble or need help, call on me, will you? Eh? That's good."
By this time Sanford Drake was fumbling with papers, clearing his throat with thunderous noises, trying to conceal the fact that he had a heart, and making a great fuss of getting back on a businesslike basis.
This was by far the longest speech Dudley had ever heard his usually laconic uncle make to anybody. Having made it, the financier, greatly perturbed at his own garrulity, turned abruptly back to the papers on his desk without paying any further attention to his nephew. Dudley stood uncertainly for a moment, then said, "Thank you for your interest, Uncle Sanford. I think you have the right idea. And I'll be on my way immediately."
"Telephone Chartres that the final papers will be ready for him in the morning. You might take them up to the Biltmore yourself," said Sanford Drake without looking up. "And good luck."
There was a florist around the corner on Exchange Place and, after ringing Chartres, Dudley hurried directly there. He ordered a huge bouquet of red and white roses and lilies of the valley to be telegraphed out to Hedgewood and promised all sorts of disaster to the fussy little Italian proprietor if he did not see that they reached their destination that afternoon.
At his bank Dudley had to stand in line for ten precious minutes. Moreover, owing to the size of the new account he wanted to open, he had to see the treasurer as well as the receiving teller. But twenty minutes after he had entered he hustled out with a new bank-book and check-book in his inside pocket, and the name on each was "Carmelita Drake."
He put his stomach in jeopardy by bolting down a three o'clock lunch at a soda fountain, boarded a subway uptown express, and caught the four o'clock local on the Long Island Railroad for Hedgewood.
The railroad journey seemed interminable. There was a long wait in the tunnel under New York and when the train reached the comparatively open stretches of Queens, with its scattered new factories and apartment house developments, and penetrated further into the more fragrant air and more natural scenery of rural Long Island, it appeared to be stopping every hundred yards or so to discharge armies of passengers and acres of trunks. There is, of course, nothing more local in the world than a local on the Long Island Railroad.
But at last, after traveling the distance in an hour and three-quarters which the express train did in an hour, the conveyance wheezed into the Hedgewood stations, one of the few pretty, new and clean stations along the line, and Dudley swung off upon the platform before the train stopped. He hailed a taxi and in fifteen minutes stood with anxious anticipation in the doorway of the living-room of Carmelita's house.