Light-Fingered Gentry

by David Graham Phillips

"Well—won't you think of it—now?"

"Not to-day," was her answer, in the tone a woman uses when she is uncertain and wishes to convince herself that she is certain. She rose and crossed to the edge of the veranda.

In such circumstances, when the woman turns her back on the man, it is usually to signify that she has a traitor within, willing to yield to a surprise that which could not be won by a direct assault; and, had Alois's love been founded in passion instead of in interest, he would not have followed her hesitatingly, doing nothing, simply saying stumblingly: "I don't wish to annoy you. But let me say one thing—Amy—I love you, and to get you means life to me, and not to get you means the death of all that is really me. I think I could make you happy—you who are so interested in what is my life work. It must be our life work."

"I've thought of that," responded she softly. "But, not to-day—not to-day." A pause during which she was hoping, in spite of herself, that he would at least insist. When he remained silent and respectful, she went on: "Don't you think we may let father and Hugo come?"

"By all means. Everything is ready." And they went back to talking of the work—of the surprise awaiting Fosdick.

Fosdick had gratified her and delighted himself by playing the fondly indulgent father throughout the building of Overlook. He had put the widest limits on expense, he had asked no questions; he had let her keep him ignorant of all that was being done. It was a remarkable and most characteristic display of generosity. When a man earns a fortune by his own efforts, by risking his own property again and again, he is rarely "princely" in his generosity. But with the men who grow rich by risking other people's money in campaigns against rival captains of finance and industry who are also submitting to the fortunes of commercial war little or nothing that is rightfully theirs, then the princely qualities come out—the generosity with which the prince wastes the substance of his subjects in luxury, in largesse, and in wars. Fosdick felt most princely in relation to the properties he controlled. Whatever he did, if it was merely eating his breakfast or consulting a physician when he was ill, he did it for the benefit of the multitude whose money was invested in his various enterprises. Thus, when he took, he could take only his own; when he gave, he was "graciously pleased" to give up his own.

This simple, easy, and most natural theory reduced all divisions of profits, losses, expenses, to mere matters of bookkeeping. If his losses or expenses were heavy, the dividends to policy holders and stockholders must be small—clearly, he who had done his best and had acted only for the good of others ought not to cripple or hamper his future unselfish endeavors. If the profits were large—why dribble them out to several hundred thousand people who had done nothing to make them, who did not deserve, did not expect, and would not appreciate? No; the extra profits to the war-chest—which was naturally and of necessity and of right in the secure possession of the commander-in-chief. So, Fosdick, after the approved and customary manner of the princely industrial successors to the princely aristocratic parasites on mankind, was able to indulge himself in the luxury of generosity without inflicting any hardship upon his conscience or upon his purse.

The distribution of the cost of the new house had presented many nice problems in bookkeeping. Some of the expense—for raw materials, notably—was merged into the construction accounts of the O.A.D. and two railway systems; but the largest part was covered by the results of two big bond deals and a stock manipulation. This part appeared on the records as an actual payment by Fosdick out of his own private fortune; but on the other side of the ledger stood corresponding profits from the enterprises mentioned, and these profits, on careful analysis, were seen to have come from the fact that, when profits were to be distributed, Fosdick the private person was in no way distinguishable from Fosdick the trustee of the multitude.

If the old man had not had confidence in his daughter's good sense and good taste and in Siersdorf's ability, he would not have given them the absolutely free hand. It was, therefore, with the liveliest expectations that he took the train for Overlook. As he and Hugo descended at the station, they looked toward Overlook Hill, so amazingly transformed. "Well, you've certainly done something!" he exclaimed to Amy, as she came forward to meet him. "Why, I'd not have known the place. Splendid! Superb!" And he kissed her and shook hands warmly with Alois.

On the way through the village in the auto, he gushed a stream of enthusiasm and comment. "That cliff, now—what a fine idea! And the cascade—why, you've doubled the value of real estate throughout this region. I must quietly gather in some land round here— You are in on that, Siersdorf. The railway station must be improved. I'll see Thorne—he's president of the road and a good friend of mine—he'll put up a proper building—you must draw the plans, Siersdorf. This village—it's unsightly. We must either wipe it out or make it into a model."