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THE TITAN
keeper. They were pretending to dust, though gossip conducted in
a whisper was the matter for which they were foregathered. The tall
girl had recently been employed in the family of Aymar Cochrane,
the former president of the Chicago West Division Railway, and
now a director of the new West Chicago Street Railway Company.
«And I was that surprised», Aileen heard this girl saying, «to
think I should be coming here. I cud scarcely believe me ears when
they told me. Why, Miss Florence was runnin’ out to meet him two
and three times in the week. The wonder to me was that her mother
never guessed».
«Och», replied the other, «he’s the very divil and all when it comes
to the wimmin». (Aileen did not see the upward lift of the hand that
accompanied this). «There was a little girl that used to come here.
Her father lives up the street here. Haguenin is his name. He owns
that morning paper, the Press, and has a fi ne house up the street
here a little way. Well, I haven’t seen her very often of late, but more
than once I saw him kissing her in this very room. Sure his wife
knows all about it. Depend on it. She had an awful fi ght with some
woman here onct, so I hear, some woman that he was runnin’ with
and bringin’ here to the house. I hear it’s somethin’ terrible the way
she beat her up — screamin’ and carryin’ on. Oh, they’re the divil,
these men, when it comes to the wimmin».
A slight rustling sound from somewhere sent the two gossipers on their several ways, but Aileen had heard enough to understand. What was she to do? How was she to learn more of these new
women, of whom she had never heard at all? She at once suspected
Florence Cochrane, for she knew that this servant had worked in
the Cochrane family. And then Cecily Haguenin, the daughter of
the editor with whom they were on the friendliest terms! Cowperwood kissing her! Was there no end to his liaisons — his infi delity?
She returned, fretting and grieving, to her room, where she
meditated and meditated, wondering whether she should leave him,
wondering whether she should reproach him openly, wondering
whether she should employ more detectives. What good would it do?
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THEODORE DREISER
She had employed detectives once. Had it prevented the Stephanie
Platow incident? Not at all. Would it prevent other liaisons in the future? Very likely not. Obviously her home life with Cowperwood was
coming to a complete and disastrous end. Things could not go on in
this way. She had done wrong, possibly, in taking him away from
Mrs. Cowperwood number one, though she could scarcely believe
that, for Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood was so unsuited to him — but this
repayment! If she had been at all superstitious or religious, and had
known her Bible, which she didn’t, she might have quoted to herself that very fatalistic statement of the New Testament, «With what
measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again».
The truth was that Cowperwood’s continued propensity to
rove at liberty among the fair sex could not in the long run fail of
some results of an unsatisfactory character. Coincident with
the disappearance of Stephanie Platow, he launched upon a variety of episodes, the charming daughter of so worthy a man as Editor Haguenin, his sincerest and most sympathetic journalistic supporter; and the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, falling victims, among
others, to what many would have called his wiles. As a matter of
fact, in most cases he was as much sinned against as sinning, since
the provocation was as much offered as given.
The manner in which he came to get in with Cecily Haguenin was
simple enough. Being an old friend of the family, and a frequent visitor at her father’s house, he found this particular daughter of desire
an easy victim. She was a vigorous blonde creature of twenty at this
time, very full and plump, with large, violet eyes, and with considerable alertness of mind — a sort of doll girl with whom Cowperwood
found it pleasant to amuse himself. A playful gamboling relationship had existed between them when she was a mere child attending school, and had continued through her college years whenever
she happened to be at home on a vacation. In these very latest days
when Cowperwood on occasion sat in the Haguenin library consulting with the journalist-publisher concerning certain moves which
he wished to have put right before the public he saw considerably
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THE TITAN
more of Cecily. One night, when her father had gone out to look up
the previous action of the city council in connection with some matter of franchises, a series of more or less sympathetic and understanding glances suddenly culminated in Cecily’s playfully waving a new
novel, which she happened to have in her hand, in Cowperwood’s
face; and he, in reply, laid hold caressingly of her arms.
«You can’t stop me so easily», she observed, banteringly.
«Oh yes, I can», he replied.
A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance, managed to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against his shoulder.
«Well», she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous, semiprovocative glance, «now what? You’ll just have to let me go».
«Not very soon, though».
«Oh yes, you will. My father will be here in a moment».
«Well, not until then, anyhow. You’re getting to be
the sweetest girl».
She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half dreamily at him, whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed her.
Her father’s returning step put an end to this; but from this point on
ascent or descent to a perfect understanding was easily made.
In the matter of Florence Cochrane, the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, the president of the Chicago West Division Company — a
second affair of the period — the approach was only slightly different, the result the same. This girl, to furnish only a brief impression,
was a blonde of a different type from Cecily — delicate, picturesque,
dreamy. She was mildly intellectual at this time, engaged in reading Marlowe and Jonson; and Cowperwood, busy in the matter of
the West Chicago Street Railway, and conferring with her father,
was conceived by her as a great personage of the Elizabethan order.
In a tentative way she was in revolt against an apple-pie order of existence which was being forced upon her. Cowperwood recognized
the mood, trifl ed with her spiritedly, looked into her eyes, and found
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THEODORE DREISER
the response he wanted. Neither old Aymar Cochrane nor his impeccably respectable wife ever discovered.
Subsequently Aileen, refl ecting upon these latest developments,
was from one point of view actually pleased or eased. There is always
safety in numbers, and she felt that if Cowperwood were going to
go on like this it would not be possible for him in the long run to
take a defi nite interest in any one; and so, all things considered, and
other things being equal, he would probably just as leave remain
married to her as not.
But what a comment, she could not help refl ecting, on her own
charms! What an end to an ideal union that had seemed destined to
last all their days! She, Aileen Butler, who in her youth had deemed
herself the peer of any girl in charm, force, beauty, to be shoved
aside thus early in her life — she was only forty — by the younger
generation. And such silly snips as they were — Stephanie Platow!
and Cecily Haguenin! and Florence Cochrane, in all likelihood another pasty-faced beginner! And here she was — vigorous, resplendent, smooth of face and body, her forehead, chin, neck, eyes without
a wrinkle, her hair a rich golden reddish glow, her step springing,
her weight no more than one hundred and fi fty pounds for her very
normal height, with all the advantages of a complete toilet cabinet,
jewels, clothing, taste, and skill in material selection — being elbowed out by these upstarts. It was almost unbelievable. It was so
unfair. Life was so cruel, Cowperwood so temperamentally unbalanced. Dear God! to think that this should be true! Why should he
not love her? She studied her beauty in the mirror from time to
time, and raged and raged. Why was her body not suffi cient for him?
Why should he deem any one more beautiful? Why should he not
be true to his reiterated protestations that he cared for her? Other
men were true to other women. Her father had been faithful to her
mother. At the thought of her own father and his opinion of her
conduct she winced, but it did not change her point of view as to her
present rights. See her hair! See her eyes! See her smooth, resplendent arms! Why should Cowperwood not love her? Why, indeed?
254
THE TITAN
One night, shortly afterward, she was sitting in her boudoir
reading, waiting for him to come home, when the telephone-bell
sounded and he informed her that he was compelled to remain at
the offi ce late. Afterward he said he might be obliged to run on to
Pittsburg for thirty-six hours or thereabouts; but he would surely
be back on the third day, counting the present as one. Aileen was
chagrined. Her voice showed it. They had been scheduled to go to
dinner with the Hoecksemas, and afterward to the theater. Cowperwood suggested that she should go alone, but Aileen declined rather sharply; she hung up the receiver without even the pretense of
a good-by. And then at ten o’clock he telephoned again, saying that
he had changed his mind, and that if she were interested to go anywhere — a later supper, or the like — she should dress, otherwise he
would come home expecting to remain.
Aileen immediately concluded that some scheme he had had to
amuse himself had fallen through. Having spoiled her evening, he
was coming home to make as much hay as possible out of this bit of
sunshine. This infuriated her. The whole business of uncertainty in
the matter of his affections was telling on her nerves. A storm was in
order, and it had come. He came bustling in a little later, slipped his
arms around her as she came forward and kissed her on the mouth.
He smoothed her arms in a make-believe and yet tender way, and
patted her shoulders. Seeing her frown, he inquired, «What’s troubling Babykins?»
«Oh, nothing more than usual», replied Aileen, irritably. «Let’s
not talk about that. Have you had your dinner?»
«Yes, we had it brought in». He was referring to McKenty, Addison, and himself, and the statement was true. Being in an honest position for once, he felt called upon to justify himself a little.
«It couldn’t be avoided to-night. I’m sorry that this business takes up
so much of my time, but I’ll get out of it some day soon. Things are
bound to ease up».
Aileen withdrew from his embrace and went to her dressingtable. A glance showed her that her hair was slightly awry, and she
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THEODORE DREISER
smoothed it into place. She looked at her chin, and then went back
to her book — rather sulkily, he thought.
«Now, Aileen, what’s the trouble?» he inquired. «Aren’t you glad
to have me up here? I know you have had a pretty rough road of it of
late, but aren’t you willing to let bygones be bygones and trust to
the future a little?»
«The future! The future! Don’t talk to me about the future. It’s
little enough it holds in store for me», she replied.
Cowperwood saw that she was verging on an emotional storm,
but he trusted to his powers of persuasion, and her basic affection
for him, to soothe and quell her.
«I wish you wouldn’t act this way, pet», he went on. «You know
I have always cared for you. You know I always shall. I’ll admit that
there are a lot of little things which interfere with my being at home
as much as I would like at present; but that doesn’t alter the fact that
my feeling is the same. I should think you could see that».
«Feeling! Feeling!» taunted Aileen, suddenly. «Yes, I know how
much feeling you have. You have feeling enough to give other women sets of jade and jewels, and to run around with every silly little
snip you meet. You needn’t come home here at ten o’clock, when
you can’t go anywhere else, and talk about feeling for me. I know
how much feeling you have. Pshaw!»
She fl ung herself irritably back in her chair and opened her
book. Cowperwood gazed at her solemnly, for this thrust in regard
to Stephanie was a revelation. This woman business could grow peculiarly exasperating at times.
«What do you mean, anyhow?» he observed, cautiously and with
much seeming candor. «I haven’t given any jade or jewels to any one,
nor have I been running around with any ‘little snips,’ as you call
them. I don’t know what you are talking about, Aileen».
«Oh, Frank», commented Aileen, wearily and incredulously,
«you lie so! Why do you stand there and lie? I’m so tired of it; I’m
so sick of it all. How should the servants know of so many things to
talk of here if they weren’t true? I didn’t invite Mrs. Platow to come
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THE TITAN
and ask me why you had given her daughter a set of jade. I know why
you lie; you want to hush me up and keep quiet. You’re afraid I’ll go
to Mr. Haguenin or Mr. Cochrane or Mr. Platow, or to all three. Well,
you can rest your soul on that score. I won’t. I’m sick of you and your
lies. Stephanie Platow — the thin stick! Cecily Haguenin — the little
piece of gum! And Florence Cochrane — she looks like a dead fi sh!»
(Aileen had a genius for characterization at times.) «If it just weren’t
for the way I acted toward my family in Philadelphia, and the talk it
would create, and the injury it would do you fi nancially, I’d act tomorrow. I’d leave you — that’s what I’d do. And to think that I should
ever have believed that you really loved me, or could care for any
woman permanently. Bosh! But I don’t care. Go on! Only I’ll tell you
one thing. You needn’t think I’m going to go on enduring all this as
I have in the past. I’m not. You’re not going to deceive me always. I’m
not going to stand it. I’m not so old yet. There are plenty of men who
will be glad to pay me attention if you won’t. I told you once that
I wouldn’t be faithful to you if you weren’t to me, and I won’t be. I’ll
show you. I’ll go with other men. I will! I will! I swear it».
«Aileen», he asked, softly, pleadingly, realizing the futility of additional lies under such circumstances, «won’t you forgive me this
time? Bear with me for the present. I scarcely understand myself at
times. I am not like other men. You and I have run together a long
time now. Why not wait awhile? Give me a chance! See if I do not
change. I may».
«Oh yes, wait! Change. You may change. Haven’t I waited?
Haven’t I walked the fl oor night after night! when you haven’t been
here? Bear with you — yes, yes! Who’s to bear with me when my
heart is breaking? Oh, God!» she suddenly added, with passionate
vigor, «I’m miserable! I’m miserable! My heart aches! It aches!»
She clutched her breast and swung from the room, moving with
that vigorous stride that had once appealed to him so, and still did.
Alas, alas! it touched him now, but only as a part of a very shifty
and cruel world. He hurried out of the room after her, and (as at
the time of the Rita Sohlberg incident) slipped his arm about her
257
THEODORE DREISER
waist; but she pulled away irritably. «No, no!» she exclaimed. «Let me
alone. I’m tired of that».
«You’re really not fair to me, Aileen», with a great show of feeling and sincerity. «You’re letting one affair that came between us
blind your whole point of view. I give you my word I haven’t been
unfaithful to you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may
have fl irted with them a little, but that is really nothing. Why not
be sensible? I’m not as black as you paint me. I’m moving in big matters that are as much for your concern and future as for mine. Be
sensible, be liberal».
There was much argument — the usual charges and countercharges — but, fi nally, because of her weariness of heart, his petting, the unsolvability of it all, she permitted him for the time being
to persuade her that there were still some crumbs of affection left.
She was soul-sick, heartsick. Even he, as he attempted to soothe her,
realized clearly that to establish the reality of his love in her belief he would have to make some much greater effort to entertain
and comfort her, and that this, in his present mood, and with his
leaning toward promiscuity, was practically impossible. For the time
being a peace might be patched up, but in view of what she expected of him — her passion and selfi sh individuality — it could not
be. He would have to go on, and she would have to leave him, if
needs be; but he could not cease or go back. He was too passionate,
too radiant, too individual and complex to belong to any one single
individual alone.
CHAPTER XXX
OBSTACLES
The impediments that can arise to baffl e a great and swelling career are strange and various. In some instances all the cross-waves of
life must be cut by the strong swimmer. With other personalities
there is a chance, or force, that happily allies itself with them; or
they quite unconsciously ally themselves with it, and fi nd that there
is a tide that bears them on. Divine will? Not necessarily. There is
no understanding of it. Guardian spirits? There are many who so
believe, to their utter undoing. (Witness Macbeth). An unconscious
drift in the direction of right, virtue, duty? These are banners of
mortal manufacture. Nothing is proved; all is permitted.
Not long after Cowperwood’s accession to control on the West
Side, for instance, a contest took place between his corporation
and a citizen by the name of Redmond Purdy — real-estate investor, property-trader, and money-lender — which set Chicago by
the ears. The La Salle and Washington Street tunnels were now in
active service, but because of the great north and south area of
the West Side, necessitating the cabling of Van Buren Street and
Blue Island Avenue, there was need of a third tunnel somewhere
south of Washington Street, preferably at Van Buren Street, because
the business heart was thus more directly reached. Cowperwood was
willing and anxious to build this tunnel, though he was puzzled
how to secure from the city a right of way under Van Buren Street,
where a bridge loaded with heavy traffi c now swung. There were all
sorts of complications. In the fi rst place, the consent of the War De-
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THEODORE DREISER
partment at Washington had to be secured in order to tunnel under
the river at all. Secondly, the excavation, if directly under the bridge,
might prove an intolerable nuisance, necessitating the closing or
removal of the bridge. Owing to the critical, not to say hostile, attitude of the newspapers which, since the La Salle and Washington
tunnel grants, were following his every move with a searchlight,
Cowperwood decided not to petition the city for privileges in this
case, but instead to buy the property rights of suffi cient land just
north of the bridge, where the digging of the tunnel could proceed
without interference.
The piece of land most suitable for this purpose, a lot 150 x 150,
lying a little way from the river-bank, and occupied by a seven-story
loft-building, was owned by the previously mentioned Redmond
Purdy, a long, thin, angular, dirty person, who wore celluloid collars
and cuffs and spoke with a nasal intonation.
Cowperwood had the customary overtures made by seemingly
disinterested parties endeavoring to secure the land at a fair price.
But Purdy, who was as stingy as a miser and as incisive as a rat-trap,
had caught wind of the proposed tunnel scheme. He was all alive
for a fi ne profi t. «No, no, no», he declared, over and over, when approached by the representatives of Mr. Sylvester Toomey, Cowperwood’s ubiquitous land-agent. «I don’t want to sell. Go away».
Mr. Sylvester Toomey was fi nally at his wit’s end, and complained to Cowperwood, who at once sent for those noble beacons of dark and stormy waters, General Van Sickle and the Hon.
Kent Barrows McKibben. The General was now becoming a little
dolty, and Cowperwood was thinking of pensioning him; but McKibben was in his prime — smug, handsome, deadly, smooth. After
talking it over with Mr. Toomey they returned to Cowperwood’s
offi ce with a promising scheme. The Hon. Nahum Dickensheets,
one of the judges of the State Court of Appeals, and a man long since
attached, by methods which need not here be described, to Cowperwood’s star, had been persuaded to bring his extensive technical
knowledge to bear on the emergency. At his suggestion the work of
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