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THE TITAN
appeal, which only the truly artistic can understand. They unlocked
dark dream moods and pageants for her. She responded to them,
lingered over them, experienced strange moods from them as from
the orchestrated richness of music.
And in doing so she thought of Cowperwood often. Did he really like these things, or was he just buying them to be buying them?
She had heard much of the pseudo artistic — the people who made
a show of art. She recalled Cowperwood as he walked the deck of
the Centurion. She remembered his large, comprehensive, embracing blue-gray eyes that seemed to blaze with intelligence. He seemed
to her quite obviously a more forceful and signifi cant man than her
father, and yet she could not have said why. He always seemed so
trigly dressed, so well put together. There was a friendly warmth
about all that he said or did, though he said or did little. She felt that
his eyes were mocking, that back in his soul there was some kind of
humor over something which she did not understand quite.
After Stephanie had been back in Chicago six months, during
which time she saw very little of Cowperwood, who was busy with
his street-railway programme, she was swept into the net of another
interest which carried her away from him and Aileen for the time
being. On the West Side, among a circle of her mother’s friends, had
been organized an Amateur Dramatic League, with no less object
than to elevate the stage. That world-old problem never fails to interest the new and the inexperienced. It all began in the home of
one of the new rich of the West Side — the Timberlakes. They, in
their large house on Ashland Avenue, had a stage, and Georgia
Timberlake, a romantic-minded girl of twenty with fl axen hair,
imagined she could act. Mrs. Timberlake, a fat, indulgent mother,
rather agreed with her. The whole idea, after a few discursive performances of Milton’s «The Masque of Comus», «Pyramus and Thisbe», and an improved Harlequin and Columbine, written by one of
the members, was transferred to the realm of the studios, then quartered in the New Arts Building. An artist by the name of Lane Cross,
a portrait-painter, who was much less of an artist than he was a stage
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THEODORE DREISER
director, and not much of either, but who made his living by hornswaggling society into the belief that he could paint, was induced to
take charge of these stage performances.
By degrees the »Garrick Players», as they chose to call themselves, developed no little skill and craftsmanship in presenting one
form and another of classic and semi-classic play. «Romeo and Juliet», with few properties of any kind, «The Learned Ladies» of Moliere, Sheridan’s «The Rivals», and the »Elektra» of Sophocles were
all given. Considerable ability of one kind and another was developed, the group including two actresses of subsequent repute on
the American stage, one of whom was Stephanie Platow. There were
some ten girls and women among the active members, and almost as
many men — a variety of characters much too extended to discuss
here. There was a dramatic critic by the name of Gardner Knowles,
a young man, very smug and handsome, who was connected with
the Chicago Press. Whipping his neatly trousered legs with his
bright little cane, he used to appear at the rooms of the players at
the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday teas which they inaugurated,
and discuss the merits of the venture. Thus the Garrick Players were
gradually introduced into the newspapers. Lane Cross, the smoothfaced, pasty-souled artist who had charge, was a rake at heart, a subtle seducer of women, who, however, escaped detection by a smooth,
conventional bearing. He was interested in such girls as Georgia
Timberlake, Irma Ottley, a rosy, aggressive maiden who essayed comic roles, and Stephanie Platow. These, with another girl, Ethel Tuckerman, very emotional and romantic, who could dance charmingly
and sing, made up a group of friends which became very close. Presently intimacies sprang up, only in this realm, instead of ending in
marriage, they merely resulted in sex liberty. Thus Ethel Tuckerman
became the mistress of Lane Cross; an illicit attachment grew up between Irma Ottley and a young society idler by the name of Bliss
Bridge; and Gardner Knowles, ardently admiring Stephanie Platow
literally seized upon her one afternoon in her own home, when he
went ostensibly to interview her, and overpersuaded her. She was
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THE TITAN
only reasonably fond of him, not in love; but, being generous, nebulous, passionate, emotional, inexperienced, voiceless, and vainly
curious, without any sense of the meums and teums that govern
society in such matters, she allowed this rather brutal thing to happen. She was not a coward — was too nebulous and yet forceful to
be such. Her parents never knew. And once so launched, another
world — that of sex satisfaction — began to dawn on her.
Were these young people evil? Let the social philosopher answer. One thing is certain: They did not establish homes and raise
children. On the contrary, they led a gay, butterfl y existence for
nearly two years; then came a gift in the lute. Quarrels developed
over parts, respective degrees of ability, and leadership. Ethel
Tuckerman fell out with Lane Cross, because she discovered him
making love to Irma Ottley. Irma and Bliss Bridge released each
other, the latter transferring his affections to Georgia Timberlake.
Stephanie Platow, by far the most individual of them all, developed
a strange inconsequence as to her deeds. It was when she was drawing near the age of twenty that the affair with Gardner Knowles began. After a time Lane Cross, with his somewhat earnest attempt at
artistic interpretation and his superiority in the matter of years —
he was forty, and young Knowles only twenty-four — seemed more
interesting to Stephanie, and he was quick to respond. There followed an idle, passionate union with this man, which seemed important, but was not so at all. And then it was that Stephanie began
dimly to perceive that it was on and on that the blessings lie, that
somewhere there might be some man much more remarkable than
either of these; but this was only a dream. She thought of Cowperwood at times; but he seemed to her to be too wrapped up in grim
tremendous things, far apart from this romantic world of amateur
dramatics in which she was involved.
CHAPTER XXV
AIRS FROM THE ORIENT
Cowperwood gained his fi rst real impression of Stephanie at
the Garrick Players, where he went with Aileen once to witness
a performance of «Elektra». He liked Stephanie particularly in this
part, and thought her beautiful. One evening not long afterward
he noticed her in his own home looking at his jades, particularly
a row of bracelets and ear-rings. He liked the rhythmic outline of
her body, which reminded him of a letter S in motion. Quite suddenly it came over him that she was a remarkable girl — very — destined, perhaps, to some signifi cant future. At the same time Stephanie was thinking of him.
«Do you fi nd them interesting?» he asked, stopping beside her.
«I think they’re wonderful. Those dark-greens, and that pale,
fatty white! I can see how beautiful they would be in a Chinese setting. I have always wished we could fi nd a Chinese or Japanese play
to produce sometime».
«Yes, with your black hair those ear-rings would look well», said
Cowperwood.
He had never deigned to comment on a feature of hers before.
She turned her dark, brown-black eyes on him — velvety eyes with
a kind of black glow in them — and now he noticed how truly fi ne
they were, and how nice were her hands — brown almost as a Malay’s.
He said nothing more; but the next day an unlabeled box was
delivered to Stephanie at her home containing a pair of jade earrings, a bracelet, and a brooch with Chinese characters intagliated.
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THE TITAN
Stephanie was beside herself with delight. She gathered them up in
her hands and kissed them, fastening the ear-rings in her ears and
adjusting the bracelet and ring. Despite her experience with her
friends and relatives, her stage associates, and her paramours, she
was still a little unschooled in the world. Her heart was essentially poetic and innocent. No one had ever given her much of anything — not even her parents. Her allowance thus far in life had
been a pitiful six dollars a week outside of her clothing. As she surveyed these pretty things in the privacy of her room she wondered
oddly whether Cowperwood was growing to like her. Would such
a strong, hard business man be interested in her? She had heard
her father say he was becoming very rich. Was she a great actress, as
some said she was, and would strong, able types of men like Cowperwood take to her — eventually? She had heard of Rachel, of Nell
Gwynne, of the divine Sarah and her loves. She took the precious
gifts and locked them in a black-iron box which was sacred to her
trinkets and her secrets.
The mere acceptance of these things in silence was suffi cient
indication to Cowperwood that she was of a friendly turn of mind.
He waited patiently until one day a letter came to his offi ce — not
his house — addressed, «Frank Algernon Cowperwood, Personal».
It was written in a small, neat, careful hand, almost printed.
I don’t know how to thank you for your wonderful present.
I didn’t mean you should give them to me, and I know you sent
them. I shall keep them with pleasure and wear them with delight.
It was so nice of you to do this.
STEPHANIE PLATOW.
Cowperwood studied the handwriting, the paper, the phraseology. For a girl of only a little over twenty this was wise and reserved
and tactful. She might have written to him at his residence. He gave
her the benefi t of a week’s time, and then found her in his own home
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THEODORE DREISER
one Sunday afternoon. Aileen had gone calling, and Stephanie was
pretending to await her return.
«It’s nice to see you there in that window», he said. «You fi t your
background perfectly».
«Do I?» The black-brown eyes burned soulfully. The panneling
back of her was of dark oak, burnished by the rays of an afternoon
winter sun.
Stephanie Platow had dressed for this opportunity. Her full, rich,
short black hair was caught by a childish band of blood-red ribbon,
holding it low over her temples and ears. Her lithe body, so harmonious in its graven roundness, was clad in an apple-green bodice,
and a black skirt with gussets of red about the hem; her smooth
arms, from the elbows down, were bare. On one wrist was the jade
bracelet he had given her. Her stockings were apple-green silk, and,
despite the chill of the day, her feet were shod in enticingly low slippers with brass buckles.
Cowperwood retired to the hall to hang up his overcoat and
came back smiling.
«Isn’t Mrs. Cowperwood about?»
«The butler says she’s out calling, but I thought I’d wait a little
while, anyhow. She may come back».
She turned up a dark, smiling face to him, with languishing, inscrutable eyes, and he recognized the artist at last, full and clear.
«I see you like my bracelet, don’t you?»
«It’s beautiful», she replied, looking down and surveying it
dreamily. «I don’t always wear it. I carry it in my muff. I’ve just put
it on for a little while. I carry them all with me always. I love them
so. I like to feel them».
She opened a small chamois bag beside her — lying with her
handkerchief and a sketch-book which she always carried — and
took out the ear-rings and brooch.
Cowperwood glowed with a strange feeling of approval and enthusiasm at this manifestation of real interest. He liked jade himself
very much, but more than that the feeling that prompted this ex-
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THE TITAN
pression in another. Roughly speaking, it might have been said of
him that youth and hope in women — particularly youth when
combined with beauty and ambition in a girl — touched him. He responded keenly to her impulse to do or be something in this world,
whatever it might be, and he looked on the smart, egoistic vanity of
so many with a kindly, tolerant, almost parental eye. Poor little organisms growing on the tree of life — they would burn out and fade
soon enough. He did not know the ballad of the roses of yesteryear,
but if he had it would have appealed to him. He did not care to rifl e
them, willy-nilly; but should their temperaments or tastes incline
them in his direction, they would not suffer vastly in their lives because of him. The fact was, the man was essentially generous where
women were concerned.
«How nice of you!» he commented, smiling. «I like that». And
then, seeing a note-book and pencil beside her, he asked, «What are
you doing?»
«Just sketching».
«Let me see?»
«It’s nothing much», she replied, deprecatingly. «I don’t draw
very well».
«Gifted girl!» he replied, picking it up. «Paints, draws, carves on
wood, plays, sings, acts».
«All rather badly», she sighed, turning her head languidly and
looking away. In her sketch-book she had put all of her best drawings; there were sketches of nude women, dancers, torsos, bits of running fi gures, sad, heavy, sensuous heads and necks of sleeping girls,
chins up, eyelids down, studies of her brothers and sister, and of her
father and mother.
«Delightful!» exclaimed Cowperwood, keenly alive to a new
treasure. Good heavens, where had been his eyes all this while?
Here was a jewel lying at his doorstep — innocent, untarnished — a
real jewel. These drawings suggested a fi re of perception, smoldering
and somber, which thrilled him.
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THEODORE DREISER
«These are beautiful to me, Stephanie», he said, simply, a strange,
uncertain feeling of real affection creeping over him. The man’s
greatest love was for art. It was hypnotic to him. «Did you ever study
art?» he asked.
«No».
«And you never studied acting?»
«No».
She shook her head in a slow, sad, enticing way. The black hair
concealing her ears moved him strangely.
«I know the art of your stage work is real, and you have a natural art which I just seem to see. What has been the matter with me,
anyhow?»
«Oh no», she sighed. «It seems to me that I merely play at everything. I could cry sometimes when I think how I go on».
«At twenty?»
«That is old enough», she smiled, archly.
«Stephanie», he asked, cautiously, «how old are you, exactly?»
«I will be twenty-one in April», she answered.
«Have your parents been very strict with you?»
She shook her head dreamily. «No; what makes you ask? They
haven’t paid very much attention to me. They’ve always liked Lucille
and Gilbert and Ormond best». Her voice had a plaintive, neglected
ring. It was the voice she used in her best scenes on the stage.
«Don’t they realize that you are very talented?»
«I think perhaps my mother feels that I may have some ability.
My father doesn’t, I’m sure. Why?»
She lifted those languorous, plaintive eyes.
«Why, Stephanie, if you want to know, I think you’re wonderful.
I thought so the other night when you were looking at those jades.
It all came over me. You are an artist, truly, and I have been so busy
I have scarcely seen it. Tell me one thing».
«Yes».
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THE TITAN
She drew in a soft breath, fi lling her chest and expanding her
bosom, while she looked at him from under her black hair. Her
hands were crossed idly in her lap. Then she looked demurely down.
«Look, Stephanie! Look up! I want to ask you something. You
have known something of me for over a year. Do you like me?»
«I think you’re very wonderful», she murmured.
«Is that all?»
«Isn’t that much?» she smiled, shooting a dull, black-opal look in
his direction.
«You wore my bracelet to-day. Were you very glad to get it?»
«Oh yes», she sighed, with aspirated breath, pretending a kind of
suffocation.
«How beautiful you really are!» he said, rising and looking
down at her.
She shook her head.
«No».
«Yes!»
«No».
«Come, Stephanie! Stand by me and look at me. You are so tall
and slender and graceful. You are like something out of Asia».
She sighed, turning in a sinuous way, as he slipped his arm her.
«I don’t think we should, should we?» she asked, naively, after a moment, pulling away from him.
«Stephanie!»
«I think I’d better go, now, please».
CHAPTER XXVI
LOVE AND WAR
It was during the earlier phases of his connection with Chicago
street-railways that Cowperwood, ardently interesting himself in
Stephanie Platow, developed as serious a sex affair as any that had
yet held him. At once, after a few secret interviews with her, he adopted his favorite ruse in such matters and established bachelor
quarters in the down-town section as a convenient meeting-ground.
Several conversations with Stephanie were not quite as illuminating as they might have been, for, wonderful as she was — a kind of
artistic godsend in this dull Western atmosphere — she was also
enigmatic and elusive, very. He learned speedily, in talking with
her on several days when they met for lunch, of her dramatic ambitions, and of the seeming spiritual and artistic support she required
from some one who would have faith in her and inspire her by his or
her confi dence. He learned all about the Garrick Players, her home
intimacies and friends, the growing quarrels in the dramatic organization. He asked her, as they sat in a favorite and inconspicuous
resort of his fi nding, during one of those moments when blood and
not intellect was ruling between them, whether she had ever —
«Once», she naively admitted.
It was a great shock to Cowperwood. He had fancied her refreshingly innocent. But she explained it was all so accidental, so unintentional on her part, very. She described it all so gravely, soulfully,
pathetically, with such a brooding, contemplative backward searching of the mind, that he was astonished and in a way touched. What
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