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THE FINANCIER
be reached with this man now, so much the better. Any port in
a storm; any straw to a drowning man.
«Well, no doubt all of us makes mistakes», continued Mr. Chapin, superiorly, with an amusing faith in his own value as a moral
guide and reformer. «We can’t just always tell how the plans we
think so fi ne are coming out, can we? You’re here now, an’ I suppose
you’re sorry certain things didn’t come out just as you thought; but
if you had a chance I don’t suppose you’d try to do just as you did
before, now would yuh?»
«No, Mr. Chapin, I wouldn’t, exactly», said Cowperwood, truly
enough, «though I believed I was right in everything I did. I don’t
think legal justice has really been done me».
«Well, that’s the way», continued Chapin, meditatively, scratching his grizzled head and looking genially about. «Sometimes, as
I allers says to some of these here young fellers that comes in here,
we don’t know as much as we thinks we does. We forget that others
are just as smart as we are, and that there are allers people that are
watchin’ us all the time. These here courts and jails and detectives –
they’re here all the time, and they get us. I gad» – Chapin’s moral
version of «by God» –»they do, if we don’t behave».
«Yes», Cowperwood replied, «that’s true enough, Mr. Chapin».
«Well», continued the old man after a time, after he had made
a few more solemn, owl-like, and yet well-intentioned remarks,
«now here’s your bed, and there’s your chair, and there’s your washstand, and there’s your water-closet. Now keep ‘em all clean and use
‘em right». (You would have thought he was making Cowperwood
a present of a fortune.) «You’re the one’s got to make up your bed
every mornin’ and keep your fl oor swept and your toilet fl ushed
and your cell clean. There hain’t anybody here’ll do that for yuh.
You want to do all them things the fi rst thing in the mornin’ when
you get up, and afterward you’ll get sumpin’ to eat, about six-thirty.
You’re supposed to get up at fi ve-thirty».
«Yes, Mr. Chapin», Cowperwood said, politely. «You can depend on me to do all those things promptly».
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THEODORE DREISER
«There hain’t so much more», added Chapin. «You’re supposed to wash yourself all over once a week an’ I’ll give you a clean
towel for that. Next you gotta wash this fl oor up every Friday
mornin’». Cowperwood winced at that. «You kin have hot water for
that if you want it. I’ll have one of the runners bring it to you. An’ as
for your friends and relations» – he got up and shook himself like
a big Newfoundland dog. «You gotta wife, hain’t you?»
«Yes», replied Cowperwood.
«Well, the rules here are that your wife or your friends kin
come to see you once in three months, and your lawyer – you gotta
lawyer hain’t yuh?»
«Yes, sir», replied Cowperwood, amused.
«Well, he kin come every week or so if he likes – every day,
I guess – there hain’t no rules about lawyers. But you kin only write
one letter once in three months yourself, an’ if you want anything
like tobaccer or the like o’ that, from the store-room, you gotta sign
an order for it, if you got any money with the warden, an’ then I can
git it for you».
The old man was really above taking small tips in the shape of
money. He was a hold-over from a much more severe and honest regime, but subsequent presents or constant fl attery were not amiss in
making him kindly and generous. Cowperwood read him accurately.
«Very well, Mr. Chapin; I understand», he said, getting up as
the old man did.
«Then when you have been here two weeks», added Chapin, rather ruminatively (he had forgot to state this to Cowperwood before),
«the warden ‘ll come and git yuh and give yuh yer regular cell summers down-stairs. Yuh kin make up yer mind by that time what y’u’d
like tuh do, what y’u’d like to work at. If you behave yourself proper,
more’n like they’ll give yuh a cell with a yard. Yuh never can tell».
He went out, locking the door with a solemn click; and Cowperwood stood there, a little more depressed than he had been, because of this latest intelligence. Only two weeks, and then he would
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be transferred from this kindly old man’s care to another’s, whom he
did not know and with whom he might not fare so well.
«If ever you want me for anything – if ye’re sick or sumpin’ like
that», Chapin now returned to say, after he had walked a few paces
away, «we have a signal here of our own. Just hang your towel out
through these here bars. I’ll see it, and I’ll stop and fi nd out what
yuh want, when I’m passin’».
Cowperwood, whose spirits had sunk, revived for the moment.
«Yes, sir», he replied; «thank you, Mr. Chapin».
The old man walked away, and Cowperwood heard his steps
dying down the cement-paved hall. He stood and listened, his ears
being greeted occasionally by a distant cough, a faint scraping of
some one’s feet, the hum or whir of a machine, or the iron scratch of
a key in a lock. None of the noises was loud. Rather they were all
faint and far away. He went over and looked at the bed, which
was not very clean and without linen, and anything but wide or
soft, and felt it curiously. So here was where he was to sleep from
now on – he who so craved and appreciated luxury and refi nement.
If Aileen or some of his rich friends should see him here. Worse,
he was sickened by the thought of possible vermin. How could he
tell? How would he do? The one chair was abominable. The skylight
was weak. He tried to think of himself as becoming accustomed to
the situation, but he re-discovered the offal pot in one corner, and
that discouraged him. It was possible that rats might come up here –
it looked that way. No pictures, no books, no scene, no person, no
space to walk – just the four bare walls and silence, which he would
be shut into at night by the thick door. What a horrible fate!
He sat down and contemplated his situation. So here he was at
last in the Eastern Penitentiary, and doomed, according to the judgment of the politicians (Butler among others), to remain here four
long years and longer. Stener, it suddenly occurred to him, was probably being put through the same process he had just gone through.
Poor old Stener! What a fool he had made of himself. But because of
his foolishness he deserved all he was now getting. But the differ-
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THEODORE DREISER
ence between himself and Stener was that they would let Stener
out. It was possible that already they were easing his punishment in
some way that he, Cowperwood, did not know. He put his hand to
his chin, thinking – his business, his house, his friends, his family,
Aileen. He felt for his watch, but remembered that they had taken
that. There was no way of telling the time. Neither had he any notebook, pen, or pencil with which to amuse or interest himself. Besides
he had had nothing to eat since morning. Still, that mattered little.
What did matter was that he was shut up here away from the world,
quite alone, quite lonely, without knowing what time it was, and
that he could not attend to any of the things he ought to be attending to – his business affairs, his future. True, Steger would probably
come to see him after a while. That would help a little. But even
so – think of his position, his prospects up to the day of the fi re and
his state now. He sat looking at his shoes; his suit. God! He got up
and walked to and fro, to and fro, but his own steps and movements
sounded so loud. He walked to the cell door and looked out through
the thick bars, but there was nothing to see – nothing save a portion of two cell doors opposite, something like his own. He came
back and sat in his single chair, meditating, but, getting weary of
that fi nally, stretched himself on the dirty prison bed to try it. It was
not uncomfortable entirely. He got up after a while, however, and
sat, then walked, then sat. What a narrow place to walk, he thought.
This was horrible – something like a living tomb. And to think he
should be here now, day after day and day after day, until – until
what? Until the Governor pardoned him or his time was up, or his
fortune eaten away – or –
So he cogitated while the hours slipped by. It was nearly fi ve
o’clock before Steger was able to return, and then only for a little
while. He had been arranging for Cowperwood’s appearance on
the following Thursday, Friday, and Monday in his several court
proceedings. When he was gone, however, and the night fell and
Cowperwood had to trim his little, shabby oil-lamp and to drink
the strong tea and eat the rough, poor bread made of bran and
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white fl our, which was shoved to him through the small aperture in
the door by the trencher trusty, who was accompanied by the overseer to see that it was done properly, he really felt very badly. And
after that the center wooden door of his cell was presently closed and
locked by a trusty who slammed it rudely and said no word. Nine
o’clock would be sounded somewhere by a great bell, he understood,
when his smoky oil-lamp would have to be put out promptly and
he would have to undress and go to bed. There were punishments,
no doubt, for infractions of these rules – reduced rations, the straitjacket, perhaps stripes – he scarcely knew what. He felt disconsolate,
grim, weary. He had put up such a long, unsatisfactory fi ght. After
washing his heavy stone cup and tin plate at the hydrant, he took off
the sickening uniform and shoes and even the drawers of the scratching underwear, and stretched himself wearily on the bed. The place
was not any too warm, and he tried to make himself comfortable between the blankets – but it was of little use. His soul was cold.
«This will never do», he said to himself. «This will never do. I’m
not sure whether I can stand much of this or not». Still he turned
his face to the wall, and after several hours sleep eventually came.
CHAPTER LIV
Those who by any pleasing courtesy of fortune, accident of birth,
inheritance, or the wisdom of parents or friends, hav e succeeded in
avoiding making that anathema of the prosperous and comfortable, «a mess of their lives», will scarcely understand the mood of
Cowperwood, sitting rather gloomily in his cell these fi rst days,
wondering what, in spite of his great ingenuity, was to become of
him. The strongest have their hours of depression. There are times
when life to those endowed with the greatest intelligence – perhaps
mostly to those – takes on a somber hue. They see so many phases of its dreary subtleties. It is only when the soul of man has been
built up into some strange self-confi dence, some curious faith in its
own powers, based, no doubt, on the actual presence of these same
powers subtly involved in the body, that it fronts life unfl inchingly.
It would be too much to say that Cowperwood’s mind was of the fi rst
order. It was subtle enough in all conscience – and involved, as is
common with the executively great, with a strong sense of personal
advancement. It was a powerful mind, turning, like a vast searchlight, a glittering ray into many a dark corner; but it was not suffi ciently disinterested to search the ultimate dark. He realized, in
a way, what the great astronomers, sociologists, philosophers, chemists, physicists, and physiologists were meditating; but he could not
be sure in his own mind that, whatever it was, it was important for
him. No doubt life held many strange secrets. Perhaps it was essential that somebody should investigate them. However that might
be, the call of his own soul was in another direction. His business
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was to make money – to organize something which would make
him much money, or, better yet, save the organization he had begun.
But this, as he now looked upon it, was almost impossible. It had
been too disarranged and complicated by unfortunate circumstances. He might, as Steger pointed out to him, string out these bankruptcy proceedings for years, tiring out one creditor and another,
but in the meantime the properties involved were being seriously
damaged. Interest charges on his unsatisfi ed loans were making
heavy inroads; court costs were mounting up; and, to cap it all, he
had discovered with Steger that there were a number of creditors –
those who had sold out to Butler, and incidentally to Mollenhauer – who would never accept anything except the full value of their
claims. His one hope now was to save what he could by compromise a little later, and to build up some sort of profi table business
through Stephen Wingate. The latter was coming in a day or two, as
soon as Steger had made some working arrangement for him with
Warden Michael Desmas who came the second day to have a look at
the new prisoner.
Desmas was a large man physically – Irish by birth, a politician by training – who had been one thing and another in Philadelphia from a policeman in his early days and a corporal in the Civil
War to a ward captain under Mollenhauer. He was a canny man,
tall, raw-boned, singularly muscular-looking, who for all his fi ftyseven years looked as though he could give a splendid account of
himself in a physical contest. His hands were large and bony, his
face more square than either round or long, and his forehead high.
He had a vigorous growth of short-clipped, iron-gray hair, and
a bristly iron-gray mustache, very short, keen, intelligent bluegray eyes; a fl orid complexion; and even-edged, savage-looking
teeth, which showed the least bit in a slightly wolfi sh way when he
smiled. However, he was not as cruel a person as he looked to be;
temperamental, to a certain extent hard, and on occasions savage,
but with kindly hours also. His greatest weakness was that he was
not quite mentally able to recognize that there were mental and
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THEODORE DREISER
social differences between prisoners, and that now and then one
was apt to appear here who, with or without political infl uences,
was eminently worthy of special consideration. What he could recognize was the differences pointed out to him by the politicians in
special cases, such as that of Stener – not Cowperwood. However,
seeing that the prison was a public institution apt to be visited at
any time by lawyers, detectives, doctors, preachers, propagandists,
and the public generally, and that certain rules and regulations
had to be enforced (if for no other reason than to keep a moral
and administrative control over his own help), it was necessary to
maintain – and that even in the face of the politician – a certain
amount of discipline, system, and order, and it was not possible to be
too liberal with any one. There were, however, exceptional cases –
men of wealth and refi nement, victims of those occasional uprisings
which so shocked the political leaders generally – who had to be
looked after in a friendly way.
Desmas was quite aware, of course, of the history of Cowperwood and Stener. The politicians had already given him warning
that Stener, because of his past services to the community, was to
be treated with special consideration. Not so much was said about
Cowperwood, although they did admit that his lot was rather hard.
Perhaps he might do a little something for him but at his own risk.
«Butler is down on him», Strobik said to Desmas, on one occasion. «It’s that girl of his that’s at the bottom of it all. If you listened to Butler you’d feed him on bread and water, but he isn’t a bad
fellow. As a matter of fact, if George had had any sense Cowperwood
wouldn’t be where he is to-day. But the big fellows wouldn’t let
Stener alone. They wouldn’t let him give Cowperwood any money».
Although Strobik had been one of those who, under pressure
from Mollenhauer, had advised Stener not to let Cowperwood have
any more money, yet here he was pointing out the folly of the victim’s course. The thought of the inconsistency involved did not
trouble him in the least.
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Desmas decided, therefore, that if Cowperwood were persona
non grata to the »Big Three», it might be necessary to be indifferent to him, or at least slow in extending him any special favors. For
Stener a good chair, clean linen, special cutlery and dishes, the daily
papers, privileges in the matter of mail, the visits of friends, and
the like. For Cowperwood – well, he would have to look at Cowperwood and see what he thought. At the same time, Steger’s intercessions were not without their effect on Desmas. So the morning after
Cowperwood’s entrance the warden received a letter from Terrence
Relihan, the Harrisburg potentate, indicating that any kindness
shown to Mr. Cowperwood would be duly appreciated by him. Upon
the receipt of this letter Desmas went up and looked through Cowperwood’s iron door. On the way he had a brief talk with Chapin,
who told him what a nice man he thought Cowperwood was.
Desmas had never seen Cowperwood before, but in spite of
the shabby uniform, the clog shoes, the cheap shirt, and the wretched cell, he was impressed. Instead of the weak, anaemic body and
the shifty eyes of the average prisoner, he saw a man whose face
and form blazed energy and power, and whose vigorous erectness
no wretched clothes or conditions could demean. He lifted his head
when Desmas appeared, glad that any form should have appeared at
his door, and looked at him with large, clear, examining eyes – those
eyes that in the past had inspired so much confi dence and surety in
all those who had known him. Desmas was stirred. Compared with
Stener, whom he knew in the past and whom he had met on his
entry, this man was a force. Say what you will, one vigorous man
inherently respects another. And Desmas was vigorous physically.
He eyed Cowperwood and Cowperwood eyed him. Instinctively
Desmas liked him. He was like one tiger looking at another.
Instinctively Cowperwood knew that he was the warden. «This
is Mr. Desmas, isn’t it?» he asked, courteously and pleasantly.
«Yes, sir, I’m the man», replied Desmas interestedly. «These
rooms are not as comfortable as they might be, are they?» The warden’s even teeth showed in a friendly, yet wolfi sh, way.
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«They certainly are not, Mr. Desmas», replied Cowperwood,
standing very erect and soldier-like. «I didn’t imagine I was coming to a hotel, however». He smiled.
«There isn’t anything special I can do for you, is there, Mr. Cowperwood?» began Desmas curiously, for he was moved by a thought
that at some time or other a man such as this might be of service to
him. «I’ve been talking to your lawyer». Cowperwood was intensely
gratifi ed by the Mr. So that was the way the wind was blowing. Well,
then, within reason, things might not prove so bad here. He would
see. He would sound this man out.
«I don’t want to be asking anything, Warden, which you cannot reasonably give», he now returned politely. «But there are a few
things, of course, that I would change if I could. I wish I might have
sheets for my bed, and I could afford better underwear if you would
let me wear it. This that I have on annoys me a great deal».
«They’re not the best wool, that’s true enough», replied Desmas, solemnly. «They’re made for the State out here in Pennsylvania
somewhere. I suppose there’s no objection to your wearing your own
underwear if you want to. I’ll see about that. And the sheets, too.
We might let you use them if you have them. We’ll have to go a little
slow about this. There are a lot of people that take a special interest in showing the warden how to tend to his business».
«I can readily understand that, Warden», went on Cowperwood
briskly, «and I’m certainly very much obliged to you. You may be
sure that anything you do for me here will be appreciated, and not
misused, and that I have friends on the outside who can reciprocate
for me in the course of time». He talked slowly and emphatically,
looking Desmas directly in the eye all of the time. Desmas was very
much impressed.
«That’s all right», he said, now that he had gone so far as to be
friendly. «I can’t promise much. Prison rules are prison rules. But
there are some things that can be done, because it’s the rule to do
them for other men when they behave themselves. You can have
a better chair than that, if you want it, and something to read too. If
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