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Файл:The Financier
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THE FINANCIER
narrow gray eyes and light hair, took the paper which the sheriff’s
deputy handed him and read it. This was his authority for receiving
Cowperwood. In his turn he handed Zanders a slip, showing that he
had so received the prisoner; and then Zanders left, receiving gratefully the tip which Cowperwood pressed in his hand.
«Well, good-by, Mr. Cowperwood», he said, with a peculiar
twist of his detective-like head. «I’m sorry. I hope you won’t fi nd it
so bad here».
He wanted to impress the receiving overseer with his familiarity with this distinguished prisoner, and Cowperwood, true to his
policy of make-believe, shook hands with him cordially.
«I’m much obliged to you for your courtesy, Mr. Zanders», he
said, then turned to his new master with the air of a man who is
determined to make a good impression. He was now in the hands of
petty offi cials, he knew, who could modify or increase his comfort at
will. He wanted to impress this man with his utter willingness to
comply and obey – his sense of respect for his authority – without in any way demeaning himself. He was depressed but effi cient,
even here in the clutch of that eventual machine of the law, the State
penitentiary, which he had been struggling so hard to evade.
The receiving overseer, Roger Kendall, though thin and clerical, was a rather capable man, as prison offi cials go – shrewd, not
particularly well educated, not over-intelligent naturally, not overindustrious, but suffi ciently energetic to hold his position. He knew
something about convicts – considerable – for he had been dealing
with them for nearly twenty-six years. His attitude toward them was
cold, cynical, critical.
He did not permit any of them to come into personal contact
with him, but he saw to it that underlings in his presence carried out
the requirements of the law.
When Cowperwood entered, dressed in his very good clothing – a dark gray-blue twill suit of pure wool, a light, well-made
gray overcoat, a black derby hat of the latest shape, his shoes new
and of good leather, his tie of the best silk, heavy and conservatively
481
THEODORE DREISER
colored, his hair and mustache showing the attention of an intelligent barber, and his hands well manicured – the receiving overseer
saw at once that he was in the presence of some one of superior
intelligence and force, such a man as the fortune of his trade rarely
brought into his net.
Cowperwood stood in the middle of the room without apparently looking at any one or anything, though he saw all. «Convict
number 3633», Kendall called to a clerk, handing him at the same
time a yellow slip of paper on which was written Cowperwood’s
full name and his record number, counting from the beginning of
the penitentiary itself.
The underling, a convict, took it and entered it in a book, reserving the slip at the same time for the penitentiary «runner» or
«trusty», who would eventually take Cowperwood to the »manners» gallery.
«You will have to take off your clothes and take a bath», said
Kendall to Cowperwood, eyeing him curiously. «I don’t suppose you
need one, but it’s the rule».
«Thank you», replied Cowperwood, pleased that his personality was counting for something even here. «Whatever the rules are,
I want to obey».
When he started to take off his coat, however, Kendall put up
his hand delayingly and tapped a bell. There now issued from
an adjoining room an assistant, a prison servitor, a weird-looking
specimen of the genus «trusty». He was a small, dark, lopsided individual, one leg being slightly shorter, and therefore one shoulder lower, than the other. He was hollow-chested, squint-eyed,
and rather shambling, but spry enough withal. He was dressed in
a thin, poorly made, baggy suit of striped jeans, the prison stripes of
the place, showing a soft roll-collar shirt underneath, and wearing a large, wide-striped cap, peculiarly offensive in its size and
shape to Cowperwood. He could not help thinking how uncanny
the man’s squint eyes looked under its straight outstanding visor.
The trusty had a silly, sycophantic manner of raising one hand in
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THE FINANCIER
salute. He was a professional «second-story man», «up» for ten
years, but by dint of good behavior he had attained to the honor of
working about this offi ce without the degrading hood customary
for prisoners to wear over the cap. For this he was properly grateful.
He now considered his superior with nervous dog-like eyes, and
looked at Cowperwood with a certain cunning appreciation of his
lot and a show of initial mistrust.
One prisoner is as good as another to the average convict; as
a matter of fact, it is their only consolation in their degradation that
all who come here are no better than they. The world may have
misused them; but they misuse their confreres in their thoughts.
The »holier than thou» attitude, intentional or otherwise, is quite
the last and most deadly offense within prison walls. This particular
«trusty» could no more understand Cowperwood than could a fl y
the motions of a fl y-wheel; but with the cocky superiority of the underling of the world he did not hesitate to think that he could.
A crook was a crook to him – Cowperwood no less than the shabbiest pickpocket. His one feeling was that he would like to demean
him, to pull him down to his own level.
«You will have to take everything you have out of your pockets», Kendall now informed Cowperwood. Ordinarily he would have
said, «Search the prisoner».
Cowperwood stepped forward and laid out a purse with twentyfi ve dollars in it, a pen-knife, a lead-pencil, a small note-book, and
a little ivory elephant which Aileen had given him once, «for luck»,
and which he treasured solely because she gave it to him. Kendall looked at the latter curiously. «Now you can go on», he said to
the »trusty», referring to the undressing and bathing process which
was to follow.
«This way», said the latter, addressing Cowperwood, and preceding him into an adjoining room, where three closets held three
old-fashioned, iron-bodied, wooden-top bath-tubs, with their attendant shelves for rough crash towels, yellow soap, and the like,
and hooks for clothes.
483
THEODORE DREISER
«Get in there», said the trusty, whose name was Thomas Kuby,
pointing to one of the tubs.
Cowperwood realized that this was the beginning of petty offi cial supervision; but he deemed it wise to appear friendly even here.
«I see», he said. «I will».
«That’s right», replied the attendant, somewhat placated. «What
did you bring?»
Cowperwood looked at him quizzically. He did not understand.
The prison attendant realized that this man did not know the lingo of the place. «What did you bring?» he repeated. «How many
years did you get?»
«Oh!» exclaimed Cowperwood, comprehendingly. «I understand. Four and three months».
He decided to humor the man. It would probably be better so.
«What for?» inquired Kuby, familiarly.
Cowperwood’s blood chilled slightly. «Larceny», he said.
«Yuh got off easy», commented Kuby. «I’m up for ten. A rube
judge did that to me».
Kuby had never heard of Cowperwood’s crime. He would not
have understood its subtleties if he had. Cowperwood did not
want to talk to this man; he did not know how. He wished he
would go away; but that was not likely. He wanted to be put in his
cell and let alone.
«That’s too bad», he answered; and the convict realized clearly
that this man was really not one of them, or he would not have said
anything like that. Kuby went to the two hydrants opening into
the bath-tub and turned them on. Cowperwood had been undressing the while, and now stood naked, but not ashamed, in front of
this eighth-rate intelligence.
«Don’t forget to wash your head, too», said Kuby, and went away.
Cowperwood stood there while the water ran, meditating on his
fate. It was strange how life had dealt with him of late – so severely.
Unlike most men in his position, he was not suffering from a consciousness of evil. He did not think he was evil. As he saw it, he
484
THE FINANCIER
was merely unfortunate. To think that he should be actually in this
great, silent penitentiary, a convict, waiting here beside this cheap
iron bathtub, not very sweet or hygienic to contemplate, with this
crackbrained criminal to watch over him!
He stepped into the tub and washed himself briskly with
the biting yellow soap, drying himself on one of the rough, only
partially bleached towels. He looked for his underwear, but there
was none. At this point the attendant looked in again. «Out here»,
he said, inconsiderately.
Cowperwood followed, naked. He was led through the receiving overseer’s offi ce into a room, where were scales, implements of
measurement, a record-book, etc. The attendant who stood guard at
the door now came over, and the clerk who sat in a corner automatically took down a record-blank. Kendall surveyed Cowperwood’s
decidedly graceful fi gure, already inclining to a slight thickening
around the waist, and approved of it as superior to that of most who
came here. His skin, as he particularly noted, was especially white.
«Step on the scale», said the attendant, brusquely.
Cowperwood did so, The former adjusted the weights and
scanned the record carefully.
«Weight, one hundred and seventy-fi ve», he called. «Now
step over here».
He indicated a spot in the side wall where was fastened in a thin
slat – which ran from the fl oor to about seven and one half feet
above, perpendicularly – a small movable wooden indicator, which,
when a man was standing under it, could be pressed down on his
head. At the side of the slat were the total inches of height, laid off in
halves, quarters, eighths, and so on, and to the right a length measurement for the arm. Cowperwood understood what was wanted
and stepped under the indicator, standing quite straight.
«Feet level, back to the wall», urged the attendant. «So. Height,
fi ve feet nine and ten-sixteenths», he called. The clerk in the corner noted it. He now produced a tape-measure and began measuring Cowperwood’s arms, legs, chest, waist, hips, etc. He called out
485
THEODORE DREISER
the color of his eyes, his hair, his mustache, and, looking into his
mouth, exclaimed, «Teeth, all sound».
After Cowperwood had once more given his address, age, profession, whether he knew any trade, etc. – which he did not – he was
allowed to return to the bathroom, and put on the clothing which
the prison provided for him – fi rst the rough, prickly underwear,
then the cheap soft roll-collar, white-cotton shirt, then the thick
bluish-gray cotton socks of a quality such as he had never worn in
his life, and over these a pair of indescribable rough-leather clogs,
which felt to his feet as though they were made of wood or iron – oily
and heavy. He then drew on the shapeless, baggy trousers with their
telltale stripes, and over his arms and chest the loose-cut shapeless
coat and waistcoat. He felt and knew of course that he looked very
strange, wretched. And as he stepped out into the overseer’s room
again he experienced a peculiar sense of depression, a gone feeling
which before this had not assailed him and which now he did his
best to conceal. This, then, was what society did to the criminal, he
thought to himself. It took him and tore away from his body and his
life the habiliments of his proper state and left him these. He felt
sad and grim, and, try as he would – he could not help showing it
for a moment. It was always his business and his intention to conceal his real feelings, but now it was not quite possible. He felt degraded, impossible, in these clothes, and he knew that he looked it.
Nevertheless, he did his best to pull himself together and look unconcerned, willing, obedient, considerate of those above him. After
all, he said to himself, it was all a play of sorts, a dream even, if one
chose to view it so, a miasma even, from which, in the course of time
and with a little luck one might emerge safely enough. He hoped so.
It could not last. He was only acting a strange, unfamiliar part on
the stage, this stage of life that he knew so well.
Kendall did not waste any time looking at him, however.
He merely said to his assistant, «See if you can fi nd a cap for him»,
and the latter, going to a closet containing numbered shelves, took
down a cap – a high-crowned, straight-visored, shabby, striped af-
486
THE FINANCIER
fair which Cowperwood was asked to try on. It fi tted well enough,
slipping down close over his ears, and he thought that now his
indignities must be about complete. What could be added? There
could be no more of these disconcerting accoutrements. But he was
mistaken. «Now, Kuby, you take him to Mr. Chapin», said Kendall.
Kuby understood. He went back into the wash-room and produced what Cowperwood had heard of but never before seen –
a blue-and-white-striped cotton bag about half the length of
an ordinary pillow-case and half again as wide, which Kuby now
unfolded and shook out as he came toward him. It was a custom.
The use of this hood, dating from the earliest days of the prison, was
intended to prevent a sense of location and direction and thereby
obviate any attempt to escape. Thereafter during all his stay he was
not supposed to walk with or talk to or see another prisoner – not
even to converse with his superiors, unless addressed. It was a grim
theory, and yet one defi nitely enforced here, although as he was to
learn later even this could be modifi ed here.
«You’ll have to put this on», Kuby said, and opened it in such
a way that it could be put over Cowperwood’s head.
Cowperwood understood. He had heard of it in some way, in
times past. He was a little shocked – looked at it fi rst with a touch of
real surprise, but a moment after lifted his hands and helped pull
it down.
«Never mind», cautioned the guard, «put your hands down. I’ll
get it over».
Cowperwood dropped his arms. When it was fully on, it came to
about his chest, giving him little means of seeing anything. He felt
very strange, very humiliated, very downcast. This simple thing of
a blue-and-white striped bag over his head almost cost him his
sense of self-possession. Why could not they have spared him this
last indignity, he thought?
«This way», said his attendant, and he was led out to where he
could not say.
487
THEODORE DREISER
«If you hold it out in front you can see to walk», said his guide;
and Cowperwood pulled it out, thus being able to discern his feet
and a portion of the fl oor below. He was thus conducted – seeing
nothing in his transit – down a short walk, then through a long
corridor, then through a room of uniformed guards, and fi nally up
a narrow fl ight of iron steps, leading to the overseer’s offi ce on
the second fl oor of one of the two-tier blocks. There, he heard
the voice of Kuby saying: «Mr. Chapin, here’s another prisoner for
you from Mr. Kendall».
«I’ll be there in a minute», came a peculiarly pleasant voice from
the distance. Presently a big, heavy hand closed about his arm, and
he was conducted still further.
«You hain’t got far to go now», the voice said, «and then I’ll take
that bag off», and Cowperwood felt for some reason a sense of sympathy, perhaps – as though he would choke. The further steps were
not many.
A cell door was reached and unlocked by the inserting of a great
iron key. It was swung open, and the same big hand guided him
through. A moment later the bag was pulled easily from his head,
and he saw that he was in a narrow, whitewashed cell, rather dim,
windowless, but lighted from the top by a small skylight of frosted
glass three and one half feet long by four inches wide. For a night
light there was a tin-bodied lamp swinging from a hook near
the middle of one of the side walls. A rough iron cot, furnished with
a straw mattress and two pairs of dark blue, probably unwashed
blankets, stood in one corner. There was a hydrant and small sink in
another. A small shelf occupied the wall opposite the bed. A plain
wooden chair with a homely round back stood at the foot of the bed,
and a fairly serviceable broom was standing in one corner. There
was an iron stool or pot for excreta, giving, as he could see, into
a large drain-pipe which ran along the inside wall, and which was
obviously fl ushed by buckets of water being poured into it. Rats and
other vermin infested this, and it gave off an unpleasant odor which
fi lled the cell. The fl oor was of stone. Cowperwood’s clear-seeing
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THE FINANCIER
eyes took it all in at a glance. He noted the hard cell door, which
was barred and cross-barred with great round rods of steel, and fastened with a thick, highly polished lock. He saw also that beyond
this was a heavy wooden door, which could shut him in even more
completely than the iron one. There was no chance for any clear, purifying sunlight here. Cleanliness depended entirely on whitewash,
soap and water and sweeping, which in turn depended on the prisoners themselves.
He also took in Chapin, the homely, good-natured, cell overseer
whom he now saw for the fi rst time – a large, heavy, lumbering man,
rather dusty and misshapen-looking, whose uniform did not fi t him
well, and whose manner of standing made him look as though he
would much prefer to sit down. He was obviously bulky, but not
strong, and his kindly face was covered with a short growth of grayish-brown whiskers. His hair was cut badly and stuck out in odd
strings or wisps from underneath his big cap. Nevertheless, Cowperwood was not at all unfavorably impressed – quite the contrary –
and he felt at once that this man might be more considerate of him
than the others had been. He hoped so, anyhow. He did not know
that he was in the presence of the overseer of the »manners squad»,
who would have him in charge for two weeks only, instructing
him in the rules of the prison, and that he was only one of twentysix, all told, who were in Chapin’s care.
That worthy, by way of easy introduction, now went over to
the bed and seated himself on it. He pointed to the hard wooden
chair, which Cowperwood drew out and sat on.
«Well, now you’re here, hain’t yuh?» he asked, and answered
himself quite genially, for he was an unlettered man, generously disposed, of long experience with criminals, and inclined to deal kindly
with kindly temperament and a form of religious belief – Quakerism – had inclined him to be merciful, and yet his offi cial duties, as
Cowperwood later found out, seemed to have led him to the conclusion that most criminals were innately bad. Like Kendall, he regarded them as weaklings and ne’er-do-wells with evil streaks in them,
489
THEODORE DREISER
and in the main he was not mistaken. Yet he could not help being
what he was, a fatherly, kindly old man, having faith in those shibboleths of the weak and inexperienced mentally – human justice
and human decency.
«Yes, I’m here, Mr. Chapin», Cowperwood replied, simply, remembering his name from the attendant, and fl attering the keeper by the use of it.
To old Chapin the situation was more or less puzzling. This
was the famous Frank A. Cowperwood whom he had read about,
the noted banker and treasury-looter. He and his co-partner in
crime, Stener, were destined to serve, as he had read, comparatively
long terms here. Five hundred thousand dollars was a large sum of
money in those days, much more than fi ve million would have been
forty years later. He was awed by the thought of what had become of
it – how Cowperwood managed to do all the things the papers had
said he had done. He had a little formula of questions which he usually went through with each new prisoner – asking him if he was
sorry now for the crime he had committed, if he meant to do better
with a new chance, if his father and mother were alive, etc.; and by
the manner in which they answered these questions – simply, regretfully, defi antly, or otherwise – he judged whether they were
being adequately punished or not. Yet he could not talk to Cowperwood as he now saw or as he would to the average second-story burglar, store-looter, pickpocket, and plain cheap thief and swindler.
And yet he scarcely knew how else to talk.
«Well, now», he went on, «I don’t suppose you ever thought
you’d get to a place like this, did you, Mr. Cowperwood?»
«I never did», replied Frank, simply. «I wouldn’t have believed
it a few months ago, Mr. Chapin. I don’t think I deserve to be here
now, though of course there is no use of my telling you that».
He saw that old Chapin wanted to moralize a little, and he was
only too glad to fall in with his mood. He would soon be alone with
no one to talk to perhaps, and if a sympathetic understanding could
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