XXV
A week later the Gorhams' dinner-table received two unexpected additions. Gorham had returned from Chicago earlier in the day, and found a telegram awaiting him which announced that Senator Kenmore would call at his house at five o'clock that afternoon. As he was unable to complete his work upon the accumulated matters which demanded immediate attention, he put the papers into his bag, and took Allen with him to the house in time to keep his appointment with the Senator, intending to continue his day's labors after his caller had departed.
During the weeks which had elapsed since Gorham's conversation with Allen, the boy's attitude toward him manifested a respect so marked that the older man saw in it an effort to atone for his momentary disloyalty; in his work he was devoted and exact to a degree beyond anything he had previously demonstrated; inwardly he was the investigator. Never had he put himself through so merciless a self-examination. He felt keenly Alice's misunderstanding of his dislike of business; he blamed himself for having spoken so freely to Mr. Gorham before he had fully satisfied himself that the doubts he expressed at that time were based on anything beyond inexperience and a lack of knowledge. He knew that he had committed an error in accusing Covington before he could substantiate his statements. He was glad, therefore, to be able to work this all out in his own mind during the absence of his chief, yet when Mr. Gorham returned, the boy was still further embarrassed by his special kindliness toward him.
Kenmore's face wore a worried expression as he entered the hall soon after Gorham and Allen arrived. He was shown at once to the library, where he and Gorham passed the next two hours in close conference. Indeed, the discussion was sufficiently important to hold Kenmore longer than he expected, and to cause Gorham to break over a rule which he had never before violated, in discussing business matters at the dinner-table and in the presence of his family.
The thought had come to Gorham, as he was rushing along toward New York on the limited express, of the rapidity with which events had shaped themselves since that moment, only a few weeks earlier, when he had sat in his library indulging in day-dreams. James Riley had come first, with his news of Buckner's presence in New York; then Allen called, bringing his suspicions concerning the attitude of those trusted in the affairs of the corporation, adding his own unexpected and unwarranted doubts as to the integrity of Covington and the morality of this company, which to its creator had seemed to embody every idealistic and altruistic principle; then Litchfield, at the meeting of the committee, substantiated to a considerable extent Allen's deep-seated conviction that the men who made up the fibre of the corporation were actuated by selfish motives in their relations to it and to its transactions, thus making the situation even more acute. James Riley later had brought him the first definite ray of hope in what promised a solution of his domestic tangle; but as the burden lightened on the one hand, it seemed to bear him down with added weight on the other. Senator Hunt, urged on by Brady and other powerful interests, was working against the Consolidated Companies with an energy which would have done him credit had it owed its origin to his appreciation of the responsibilities of his public duties. Now, Kenmore's description of the situation at Washington left no room for doubt that for the first time Gorham must admit the assailability of the Companies. After the two hours' interview, Gorham could not fail to recognize that the one thing which showed above all else in Kenmore's attitude, was his anxiety lest the threatened adverse position on the part of the Government toward the Companies should result in a loss of his own future profits. Could it be possible, Gorham asked, inwardly, that Allen was right in saying that he himself was the only man in the corporation who lived up to the ideals he expressed!
"Next Tuesday is the critical day," the Senator repeated at the table, all other conversation giving way to the matter which he had so strongly upon his mind. "The Attorney-General was not far wrong when he told us in Washington that there was not the slightest possibility of passing any bill through either House which could accomplish the results which the President desires, and yet I cannot believe that the position which the Administration has taken will be overridden."
"If we can get the bill through the Senate, do you think there will be the same difficulty in the House?" asked Gorham.
"No," Kenmore responded; "the Congressmen are more eager to serve their constituents. The people are still with us, and Congress knows it. In the Senate, however, they are playing for bigger game. The great interests there hope to divert attention from themselves to the Consolidated Companies, and if they can secure legislation which will operate against us they think that the people will so resent it that it will probably put a stop, for the present at least, to all agitation against consolidations, good or bad. It is a clever game, and they are playing it well."
"We must not let them play it better than ourselves," Gorham replied, decisively.
"We are working hard, Gorham," the Senator replied. "That was a great move of yours, having each stockholder invest in the Consolidated Companies to such an extent that it made the welfare of the corporation a matter of personal concern. Those of us who are stockholders are fighting for our lives, and the Companies is getting the benefit of it."
"So is the public," Gorham replied, quickly, regretting particularly the turn the conversation had taken owing to Allen's presence, and noting the expression on the boy's face. "You and our other colleagues in the Senate are fighting for the people, and the right is bound to win."
Kenmore laughed nervously. "I don't know that it makes much difference what you call it," he replied. "We are fighting all right, and the result is bound to be the same whether it is for the people or for ourselves. You won't fail us next Tuesday, Gorham? If you can turn the tide in our favor, you will accomplish the greatest stroke in your career."
"I shall be there," Gorham replied, and with deliberate intent turned the conversation into general channels.
Kenmore took his departure shortly after dinner, and Eleanor and Alice remained with Mr. Gorham and Allen, who lingered a few moments over their cigars before taking up their evening's labors. Eleanor, in an effort to relieve her own mind from its oppressing thoughts, quite unconsciously called attention to Allen's quiet bearing, which Mr. Gorham had hoped would pass by without attracting attention, knowing as he did what lay beneath.
"How sober you are to-night, Allen," she said.
The boy looked up quickly. "Forgive me for being such poor company," he replied, simply. "I was thinking over what the Senator has been telling us."
"You must leave all that worry to me," Gorham said, kindly. "Great burdens are not meant for young shoulders. The Consolidated Companies is too strong a force to be vanquished without a hard struggle, even when attacked by so mighty an organization as the United States Senate."
"I was not worrying about that, Mr. Gorham," Allen replied, and he regretted the words as soon as they had left his lips.
"What is it, then?" asked Alice.
The boy passed his hand across his forehead and rose to his feet. "I don't know what it is," he answered, irresolutely. "I am all upset to-night—do you mind if I go up to the library now, Mr. Gorham, and wait for you there?"
Gorham held out his hand and Allen grasped it firmly, yet turned his face away.
"Have you lost faith in me, too, my boy? Has it really come to that?"
"I beg of you, let me go now," Allen replied, controlling himself with difficulty. "You know I shall never lose faith in you."
"You are in no condition for work to-night," Gorham remarked, quietly. "Draw your chair up here beside me, and let us talk it all out right now."
Allen looked hesitatingly at Eleanor and Alice and then at Gorham. "Not now?" he said.
"Why not now, Allen?" Alice asked, curious to know what so affected him. "You told me once that you were my business creation, and that I must accept the responsibility whether I wished it or not. Surely I am entitled to be present."
"Affairs have changed since then. If I don't hold my tongue now, I shall say things for which you and your father will never forgive me."
"I want to hear them, Allen," she insisted; "I have a right to hear them."
Gorham was impressed by the girl's attitude. "She is right," he added.
"Now, out with it, boy, and let us get to the bottom of things."
Then the pent-up thoughts which had been collecting during the past few months burst forth.
"You have made me do it, Mr. Gorham," the boy cried, passionately. "You would never have heard it from my lips except for that, but I can't stand it any longer. I have tried hard since we talked that last time to convince myself that I was wrong, but I can't do it. I know it's because I can't see things the right way, but, whatever the cause, the trouble is there. To me the Companies seems based on interests which are wholly selfish, and to be accomplishing good only because doing business on this basis brings extra dividends to its stockholders. It is growing bigger and more powerful and more irresistible, but with this increasing power there is also increasing danger; and I feel sure, Mr. Gorham, as I told you before, that some day the public will have to pay the price. When the dike breaks the flood is going to wipe out all the advantages which the people have received, and more too."
The boy paused for breath and waited, expecting to hear Gorham's stern reproaches, but none came. The amazed expression both on Eleanor's and Alice's faces, however, evidenced the heresy of his words.
"I suppose I am forfeiting all which this family means to me by my seeming disloyalty to you, Mr. Gorham; but I honestly feel that I am more loyal than if I played the hypocrite. I see you carrying on the business of this corporation surrounded by men whose only thought is of themselves, who accept your judgment simply because it puts dollars into their pockets, who permit you to exercise your ideals only because they know that it means profit to them. Yet you have been consistent, you have been straightforward, you have lived up to the standards which you have taught me to expect. But can't you see, Mr. Gorham"—the boy held out both arms supplicatingly—"can't you see that there isn't a single man in that great organization who feels as you do? Can't you see that even Senator Kenmore is thinking only of himself?"
"You forget Mr. Covington and—yourself," Gorham answered.
"I don't cut any ice, one way or the other," Allen protested, "but I haven't forgotten Mr. Covington. I tell you, Mr. Gorham—forgive me, Alice—Mr. Covington is the worst of all. He's the one who has influenced the committee to take their stand against you; he's helping them plan things out now so as to throw you down, hoping to become president himself; he's trying to marry Alice so that you can't expose him when you begin to unravel his double cross. I tell you, he's the slickest Johnnie outside of State's Prison."
"Of course you have unquestionable proof to support all this, Allen?"
Gorham demanded, sternly.
"No, I haven't, and I shouldn't speak; but I know I'm right," was the dogged reply.
"Do you realize what it means to make such unsubstantiated statements?"
"But I have everything except the actual proofs," he pleaded.
"What else can you have?"
"I know how he's been investing Alice's money for her, for instance."
"What of that; it was done with my consent."
"With your consent?" Allen repeated, bewildered. "Then you knew—with your principles—"
Gorham was thoroughly angry now, but he delayed replying until he could choose his words in the presence of his wife and daughter.
"I have borne with this long enough," he interrupted. "I have been patient with you because I sympathized with your disappointment regarding Alice—but my patience is at an end. Your jealousy has so warped your sense of right and wrong that you are willing to attack the reputation of a man of honor and integrity, trying to injure him in the eyes of those who respect him. I warned you against this, and you have failed to heed my warning. Much as I regret it, on many accounts, there is no alternative—your usefulness to the Companies is at an end."
Allen rose and looked searchingly into Gorham's face. He could read in the lines which he saw there a real suffering which touched him deeply. No man, not even his father, had come so closely into his life as Mr. Gorham, and the boy's heart was wrung with pain that he should be the cause of adding to his burdens. But his gaze into those expressive eyes seemed to bewilder him still further, for he passed his hand in a dazed manner across his forehead.
"You must be right," he said at length. "I should have known that I'd be no good in business. Why, I haven't even brains enough to comprehend. I know that you, sir, are the soul of honor, and yet you tell me that you knew of that investment. I'm a failure—I'm just no good, that's all. I'll go back to Pittsburgh and tell the pater what a chance you gave me, and what a mess I made of it. Then I'll ask him to let me strip down as his other workmen do, and go into the furnaces where I belong. Good-night and—good-bye."
As the conversation developed into so serious a situation, Alice and Eleanor watched the two men, astonished at the nature of the disagreement, and filled with apprehension. Mrs. Gorham had grown more fond of the boy than she realized until this moment, and she actually suffered for him. Alice was running the gamut of her emotions, her sensations changing every moment, affected by each sentence which she heard torn from the very soul of each speaker. As Allen rose after his final acceptance of his dismissal, she rose with him, a curious mixture of uncertainty and lack of understanding combining in her expression.
"I don't believe you do know about that stock, daddy," she said, quietly. "Before Allen goes perhaps—"
"I know all about it, Alice," her father replied, impatiently. "Allen has no right to meddle in my personal affairs, and I resent it. Don't interfere, little girl—leave this to me."
The color left her face, and she seemed to grow to mature years in the instant. Allen started to leave, but was held spellbound by the force exercised by the quiet, firm dignity which became at once the dominating factor.
"You are wrong, daddy," she said, with a new note in her voice which all recognized instinctively. "For the first time in my life, I tell you, you are wrong."
"Leave this to me, Alice," Gorham repeated, sternly, but the girl did not heed him.
"Since I have been sitting here I have learned a lot, and I know that Allen is right. There are things which I have kept from you, and now I know that I should have told you all about them. Now I know that the advice I received was wrong—and it is all reacting upon Allen and upon you."
"Is there no way—" Gorham began, thoroughly exasperated.
"Be patient, Robert," begged Eleanor.
"Don't, Alice," Allen protested; "it's mighty white of you, but it only makes matters worse. I'm going now—"
"Not until I tell you that I've been unfair to you too," she cried. "I've made fun of you and been horrid to you, but I believe I've loved you all the time."
"Alice!" the boy exclaimed.
"You are forgetting your duty to Mr. Covington, as you have already forgotten your duty to me," her father expostulated, severely.
"She doesn't mean it, Mr. Gorham—please don't blame her; it's all my fault."
"I do mean it, Allen. I haven't known my own heart till now."
"It's pity for me—it isn't love," the boy replied, bitterly. "I'm a failure and you're sorry for me. I wanted you when I thought I could make good. Now that I know I can't, it's different. But I'll never forget it, Alice, never. Don't blame her, Mr. Gorham. Good-bye."
He rushed out, not trusting himself to speak further, and a moment later those left behind heard the door close quietly as he went out into the darkness.