Hyssop, a medium-sized, ornate, conservative person, was not so sure. “We shall find out soon enough, no doubt, what propositions Mr. Cowperwood has in hand,” he remarked. “He is very energetic and capable, as I understand it.”
Hyssop and Schryhart, as well as the latter and Merrill, had been social friends for years and years.
After his call on Mr. Haguenin, Cowperwood’s naturally selective and self-protective judgment led him next to the office of the Inquirer, old General MacDonald’s paper, where he found that because of rhuematism and the severe, inclement weather of Chicago, the old General had sailed only a few days before for Italy. His son, an aggressive, mercantile type of youth of thirty-two, and a managing editor by the name of Du Bois were acting in his stead. In the son, Truman Leslie MacDonald, an intense, calm, and penetrating young man, Cowperwood encountered some one who, like himself, saw life only from the point of view of sharp, self-centered, personal advantage. What was he, Truman Leslie MacDonald, to derive from any given situation, and how was he to make the Inquirer an even greater property than it had been under his father before him? He did not propose to be overwhelmed by the old General’s rather flowery reputation. At the same time he meant to become imposingly rich. An active member of a young and very smart set which had been growing up on the North Side, he rode, drove, was instrumental in organizing a new and exclusive country club, and despised the rank and file as unsuited to the fine atmosphere to which he aspired. Mr. Clifford Du Bois, the managing editor, was a cool reprobate of forty, masquerading as a gentleman, and using the Inquirer in subtle ways for furthering his personal ends, and that under the old General’s very nose. He was osseous, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, with a keen, formidable nose and a solid chin. Clifford Du Bois was always careful never to let his left hand know what his right hand did.
It was this sapient pair that received Cowperwood in the old General’s absence, first in Mr. Du Bois’s room and then in that of Mr. MacDonald. The latter had already heard much of Cowperwood’s doings. Men who had been connected with the old gas war—Jordan Jules, for instance, president of the old North Chicago Gas Company, and Hudson Baker, president of the old West Chicago Gas Company—had denounced him long before as a bucaneer who had pirated them out of very comfortable sinecures. Here he was now invading the North Chicago street-railway field and coming with startling schemes for the reorganization of the down-town business heart. Why shouldn’t the city have something in return; or, better yet, those who helped to formulate the public opinion, so influential in the success of Cowperwood’s plans? Truman Leslie MacDonald, as has been said, did not see life from his father’s point of view at all. He had in mind a sharp bargain, which he could drive with Cowperwood during the old gentleman’s absence. The General need never know.
“I understand your point of view, Mr. Cowperwood,” he commented, loftily, “but where does the city come in? I see very clearly how important this is to the people of the North Side, and even to the merchants and real-estate owners in the down-town section; but that simply means that it is ten times as important to you. Undoubtedly, it will help the city, but the city is growing, anyhow, and that will help you. I’ve said all along that these public franchises were worth more than they used to be worth. Nobody seems to see it very clearly as yet, but it’s true just the same. That tunnel is worth more now than the day it was built. Even if the city can’t use it, somebody can.”
He was meaning to indicate a rival car line.
Cowperwood bristled internally.
“That’s all very well,” he said, preserving his surface composure, “but why make fish of one and flesh of another? The South Side company has a loop for which it never paid a dollar. So has the Chicago City Passenger Railway. The North Side company is planning more extensive improvements than were ever undertaken by any single company before. I hardly think it is fair to raise the question of compensation and a franchise tax at this time, and in connection with this one company only.”
“Um—well, that may be true of the other companies. The South Side company had those streets long ago. They merely connected them up. But this tunnel, now—that’s a different matter, isn’t it? The city bought and paid for that, didn’t it?”
“Quite true—to help out men who saw that they couldn’t make another dollar out of it,” said Cowperwood, acidly. “But it’s of no use to the city. It will cave in pretty soon if it isn’t repaired. Why, the consent of property-owners alone, along the line of this loop, is going to aggregate a considerable sum. It seems to me instead of hampering a great work of this kind the public ought to do everything in its power to assist it. It means giving a new metropolitan flavor to this down-town section. It is time Chicago was getting out of its swaddling clothes.”