XIX
It was not many minutes after ten when Tetlow hurried into Norman'soffice. "Galloway's coming at eleven!" said he, with an air of triumph.
"So you mulled over what I said and decided that I was not altogetherdrunk?"
"I wasn't sure of that," replied Tetlow. "But I was afraid you'd beoffended if I didn't try to get him. He gave me no trouble at all. Assoon as I told him you'd be glad to see him at your office, he astoundedme by saying he'd come."
"He and I have had dealings," said Norman. "He understood at once. Ialways know my way when I'm dealing with a big man. It's only the littlepeople that are muddled and complex. I hope you'll not forget thislesson, Billy."
"I shan't," promised Tetlow.
"We are to be partners," pursued Norman. "We shall be intimatelyassociated for years. You'll save me a vast amount of time and energyand yourself a vast amount of fuming and fretting, if you'll simplyaccept what I say, without discussion. When I want discussion I'll askyour advice."
"I'm afraid you don't think it's worth much," said Tetlow humbly, "and Iguess it isn't."
"On the contrary, invaluable," declared Norman with flattering emphasis."Where you lack and I excel is in decision and action. I'll often getyou to tell me what ought to be done, and then I'll make you doit--which you'd never dare, by yourself."
At eleven sharp Galloway came, looking as nearly like a dangerous oldeagle as a human being well could. Rapacious, merciless, tyrannical; afamous philanthropist. Stingy to pettiness; a giver away of millions.Rigidly honest, yet absolutely unscrupulous; faithful to the last letterof his given word, yet so treacherous where his sly mind could nose outa way to evade the spirit of his agreements that his name was a synonymfor unfaithfulness. An assiduous and groveling snob, yet so militantlydemocratic that, unless his interest compelled, he would not employ anymember of the "best families" in any important capacity. He seemed abundle of contradictions. In fact he was profoundly consistent. That isto say, he steadily pursued in every thought and act the gratificationof his two passions--wealth and power. He lost no seen opportunity,however shameful, to add to his fortune or to amuse himself with thehuman race, which he regarded with the unpitying contempt characteristicof every cold nature born or risen to success.
His theory of life--and it is the theory that explains most greatfinancial successes, however they may pretend or believe--his theory oflife was that he did not need friends because the friends of a strongman weaken and rob him, but that he did need enemies because he couldgrow rich and powerful destroying and despoiling them. To him friendssuggested the birds living in a tree. They might make the tree moreromantic to the unthinking observer; but they in fact ate its buddingleaves and its fruit and rotted its bough joints with their filthynests.
We Americans are probably nearest to children of any race incivilization. The peculiar conditions of life--their almost Arcadiansimplicity--up to a generation or so ago, gave us a false training inthe study of human nature. We believe what the good preacher, thenovelist and the poet, all as ignorant of life as nursery books, tell usabout the human heart. We fancy that in a social system modeled upon thecruel and immoral system of Nature, success is to the good and kind.Life is like the pious story in the Sunday-school library; evil is theexception and to practice the simple virtues is to tread with sure stepthe highway to riches and fame. This sort of ignorance is taught, isproclaimed, is apparently accepted throughout the world. Literature andthe drama, representing life as it is dreamed by humanity, life as itperhaps may be some day, create an impression which defies the plaindaily and hourly mockings of experience. Because weak and pettyoffenders are often punished, the universe is pictured as sternlyenforcing the criminal codes enacted by priests or lawyers. But, whileall the world half inclines to this agreeable mendacity about life, onlyin America of all civilization is the mendacity accepted as gospel, andsuspicion about it frowned upon as the heresy of cynicism. So theGalloways prosper and are in high moral repute. Some day we shall learnthat a social system which is merely a slavish copy of Nature'sbarbarous and wasteful sway of the survival of the toughest could be andought to be improved upon by the intelligence of the human race. Someday we shall put Nature in its proper place as kindergarten teacher, anddrop it from godship and erect enlightened human understanding instead.But that is a long way off. Meanwhile the Galloways will reign, and willassure us that they won their success by the Decalogue and the GoldenRule--and will be believed by all who seek to assure for themselves inadvance almost certain failure at material success in the arena ofaction.
But they will not be believed by men of ambition, pushing resolutely forpower and wealth. So Frederick Norman knew precisely what he was facingwhen Galloway's tall gaunt figure and face of the bird of prey appearedbefore him. Galloway had triumphed and was triumphing not throughobedience to the Sunday sermons and the silly novels, poems, plays, andthe nonsense chattered by the obscure multitudes whom the mighty fewexploit, but through obedience to the conditions imposed by our socialsystem. If he raised wages a little, it was in order that he might haveexcuse for raising prices a great deal. If he gave away millions, it wasfor his fame, and usually to quiet the scandal over some particularlywicked wholesale robbery. No, Galloway was not a witness to the might ofaltruistic virtue as a means to triumph. Charity and all the other formsof chicanery by which the many are defrauded and fooled by the few--those"virtues" he understood and practiced. But justice--humanity's ages-longdream that at last seems to glitter as a hope in the horizon of thefuture--justice--not legal justice, nor moral justice, but humanjustice--that idea would have seemed to him ridiculous, Utopian,something for the women and the children and the socialists.
Norman understood Galloway, and Galloway understood Norman. Galloway,with an old man's garrulity and a confirmed moral poseur's eagernessabout appearances, began to unfold his virtuous reasons for theimpending break with Burroughs--the industrial and financial war out ofwhich he expected to come doubly rich and all but supreme. Midway hestopped.
"You are not listening," said he sharply to the young man.
Their eyes met. Norman's eyes were twinkling. "No," said he, "I amwaiting."
There was the suggestion of an answering gleam of sardonic humor inGalloway's cold gray eyes. "Waiting for what?"
"For you to finish with me as father confessor, to begin with me aslawyer. Pray don't hurry. My time is yours." This with a fine air ofutmost suavity and respect.
In fact, while Galloway was doddering on and on with his fakemoralities, Norman was thinking of his own affairs, was wondering at hisindifference about Dorothy. The night before--the few hours before--whenhe had dealt with her so calmly, he, even as he talked and listened andacted, had assumed that the enormous amount of liquor he had beenconsuming was in some way responsible. He had said to himself, "When Iam over this, when I have had sleep and return to the normal, I shallagain be the foolish slave of all these months." But here he was, sober,having taken only enough whisky to prevent an abrupt let-down--here hewas viewing her in the same tranquil light. No longer all his life; nolonger even dominant; only a part of life--and he was by no meanscertain that she was an important part.
How explain the mystery of the change? Because she had voluntarily comeback, did he feel that she was no longer baffling but was definitelyhis? Or had passion running madly on and on dropped--perhaps not dead,but almost dead--from sheer exhaustion?--was it weary of racing andcontent to saunter and to stroll? . . . He could not account for thechange. He only knew that he who had been quite mad was now quitesane. . . . Would he like to be rid of her? Did he regret that they weretied together? No, curiously enough. It was high time he got married;she would do as well as another. She had beauty, youth, amiability,physical charm for him. There was advantage in the fact that herinferiority to him, her dependence on him, would enable him to take asmuch or as little of her as he might feel disposed, to treat her as thewarrior must ever treat his entire domestic establishment from wife downto pet dog or cat or b
aby. . . . No, he did not regret Josephine. He couldsee now disadvantages greater than her advantages. All of value shewould have brought him he could get for himself, and she would have beentroublesome--exacting, disputing his sway, demanding full value or morein return for the love she was giving with such exalted notions of itsworth.
"You are married?" Galloway suddenly said, interrupting his own speechand Norman's thought.
"Yes," said Norman.
"Just married, I believe?"
"Just."
Young and old, high and low, successful and failed, we are a race ofadvice-givers. As for Galloway, he was not one to neglect that showyform of inexpensive benevolence. "Have plenty of children," said he.
"And keep your family in the country till they grow up. Town's no placefor women. They go crazy. Women--and most men--have no initiative. Theythink only about whatever's thrust at them. In the country it'll betheir children and domestic things. In town it'll be getting andspending money."
Norman was struck by this. "I think I'll take your advice," said he.
"A man's home ought to be a retreat, not an inn. We are humoring thewomen too much. They are forgetting who earns what they spend inexhibiting themselves. If a woman wants that sort of thing, let her getout and earn it. Why should she expect it from the man who hasundertaken her support because he wanted a wife to take care of hishouse and a mother for his children? If a woman doesn't like the job,all right. But if she takes it and accepts its pay, why, she should doits work."
"Flawless logic," said Norman.
"When I hire a man to work, he doesn't expect to idle about showingother people how handsome he is in the clothes my money pays for. Notthat marriage is altogether a business--not at all. But, my dear sir--"And Galloway brought his cane down with the emphasis of one speakingfrom a heart full of bitter experience--"unless it is a business atbottom, organized and conducted on sound business principles, there's nosentiment either. We are human beings--and that means we are first ofall _business_ beings, engaged in getting food, clothing, shelter. Nosentiment--_no_ sentiment, sir, is worth while that isn't firmly grounded.It's a house without a foundation. It's a steeple without a church underit."
Norman looked at the old man with calm penetrating eyes. "I shallconduct my married life on a sound, business basis, or not at all," saidhe.
"We'll see," said Galloway. "That's what I said forty years ago--No, Ididn't. I had no sense about such matters then. In my youth the men knewnothing about the woman question." He smiled grimly. "I see signs thatthey are learning."
Then as abruptly as he had left the affairs he was there to discuss hereturned to them. His mind seemed to have freed itself of allirrelevancy and superfluity, as a stream often runs from a faucet withmuch spluttering and rather muddy at first, then steadies and clears.Norman gave him the attention one can get only from a good mind that isinterested in the subject and understands it thoroughly. Such attentionnot merely receives the words and ideas as they fall from the mouth ofhim who utters them, but also seems to draw them by a sort of suctionfaster and in greater abundance. It was this peculiar ability of givingattention, as much as any other one quality, that gave Norman's clientstheir confidence in him. Galloway, than whom no man was shrewder judgeof men, showed in his gratified eyes and voice, long before he hadfinished, how strongly his conviction of Norman's high ability wasconfirmed.
When Galloway ended, Norman rapidly and in clear and simple sentencessummarized what Galloway had said. "That is right?" he asked.
"Precisely," said Galloway admiringly. "What a gift of clear statementyou have, young man!"
"It has won me my place," said Norman. "As to your campaign, I can tellyou now that the legal part of it can be arranged. That is what the lawis for--to enable a man to do whatever he wants. The penalties are forthose who have the stupidity to try to do things in an unlawful way."
Galloway laughed. "I had heard that they were for doing unlawfulthings."
"Nothing is unlawful," said Norman, "except in method."
"That's an interesting view of courts of justice."
"But we have no courts of justice. We have only courts of law."
Galloway threw back his head and laughed till the tears rolled down hischeeks. "What a gift for clear statement!" he cried.
Norman beamed appreciation of a compliment so flattering. But he wentback to business. "As I was saying, you can do what you want to do. Youwish me to show you how. In our modern way of doing things, the relationof lawyer and client has somewhat changed. To illustrate by this case,you are the bear with the taste for honey and the strength to rob thebees. I am the honey bird--that is, the modern lawyer--who can show youthe way to the hive. Most of the honey birds--as yet--are content with avery small share of the honey--whatever the bear happens to be unable tofind room for. But I--" Norman's eyes danced and his strong mouth curvedin a charming smile--"I am a honey bird with a bear appetite."
Galloway was sitting up stiffly. "I don't quite follow you, sir," hesaid.
"Yet I am plain enough. My ability at clear statement has not desertedme. If I show you the way through the tangled forest of the law to thishive you scent--I must be a partner in the honey."
Galloway rose. "Your conceptions of your profession--and of me, I maysay--are not attractive. I have always been, and am willing and anxiousto pay liberally--more liberally than anyone else--for legal advice. Butmy business, sir, is my own."
Norman rose, his expression one of apology and polite disappointment. "Isee I misunderstood your purpose in coming to me," said he. "Let us takeno more of each other's time."
"And what did you think my object was in coming?" demanded Galloway.
"To get from me what you realized you could get nowhere else--whichmeant, as an old experienced trader like you must have known, that youwere ready to pay my price. Of course, if you can get elsewhere theassistance you need, why, you would be most unwise to come to me."
Galloway moved toward the door. "And you might have charged practicallyany fee you wished," said he, laughing satirically. "Young man, you aremaking the mistake that is ruining this generation. You wish to get richall at once. You are not willing to be patient and to work and to buildyour fortune solidly and slowly."
Norman smiled as at a good joke. "What an asset to you strong men hasbeen the vague hope in the minds of the masses that each poor devil ofthem will have his turn to loot and grow rich. I used to think ignorancekept the present system going. But I have discovered that it is thatsly, silly, corrupt hope. But, sir, it does not catch me. I shall notwork for you and the other strong men, and patiently wait my turn thatwould never come. My time is _now_."
"You threaten me!" cried Galloway furiously.
"Threaten you?" exclaimed Norman, amazed.
"You think, because I have given you, my lawyer, my secrets, that youcan compel me----"
With an imperious gesture Norman stopped him. "Good day, sir," he saidhaughtily. "Your secrets are safe with me. I am a lawyer, not afinancier."
Galloway was disconcerted. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Norman," he said. "Imisunderstood you. I thought I heard you say in effect that you purposedto be rich, and that you purposed to compel me to make you so."
"So I did," replied Norman. "But not by the methods you financiers areso adept at using. Not by high-class blackmail and blackjacking. I meantthat my abilities were such that you and your fellow masters of modernsociety would be compelled to employ me on my own terms. A few momentsago you outlined to me a plan. It may be you can find other lawyerscompetent to steer it through the channel of the law. I doubt it. I mayexaggerate my value. But--" He smiled pleasantly--"I don't think so."
In this modern world of ours there is no more delicate or more importantbranch of the art of material success than learning to play one's owntune on the trumpets of fame. To those who watch careers intelligentlyand critically, and not merely with mouth agape and ears awag forwhatever sounds the winds of credulity bear, there is keen interest innoting how differe
ntly this high art is practiced by thefame-seekers--how well some modest heroes disguise themselves beforeessaying the trumpet, how timidly some play, how brazenly others. It isan art of infinite variety. How many there are who can echoShakespeare's sad lament, through Hamlet's lips--"I lack advancement!"Those are they who have wholly neglected, as did Shakespeare, thisessential part of the art of advancement--Shakespeare, who lived almostobscure and was all but forgotten for two centuries after his death.
Norman, frankly seeking mere material success, and with the colossalegotism that disdains egotism and shrugs at the danger of being accusedof it--Norman did not hesitate to proclaim his own merits. He reasonedthat he had the wares, that crying them would attract attention to them,that he whose attention was attracted, if he were a judge of wares and aseeker of the best, would see that the Norman wares were indeed asNorman cried them. At first blush Galloway was amused by Norman's candidself-esteem. But he had often heard of Norman's conceit--and in a longand busy life he had not seen an able man who was unaware of hisability; any more than he had seen a pretty woman unaware of herprettiness. So, at second blush, Galloway was tempted by Norman's calmstrong blast upon his own trumpet to look again at the wares.
"I always have had a high opinion of you, young man," said he, withlaughing eyes. "Almost as high an opinion as you have of yourself. Thinkover the legal side of my plan. When you get your thoughts in order, letme know--and make me a proposition as to your own share. Does thatsatisfy you?"
"It's all I ask," said Norman.
And they parted on the friendliest terms--and Norman knew that hisfortune was assured, if Galloway lived another nine months. When he wasalone, the sweat burst out upon him and, trembling from head to foot, helocked his door and flung himself at full length upon the rug. It washalf an hour before the fit of silent hysterical reaction passedsufficiently to let him gather strength to rise. He tottered to his deskchair, and sat with his head buried in his arms upon the desk. After awhile the telephone at his side rang insistently. He took the receiverin a hand he could not steady.
"Yes?" he called.
"It's Tetlow. How'd you come out?"
"Oh--" He paused to stiffen his throat to attack the wordsnaturally--"all right. We go ahead."
"With G.?"
"Certainly. But keep quiet. Don't let him know you've heard, if you seehim or he sends for you. Remember, it's in my hands entirely."
"Trust me." Tetlow's voice, suppressed and jubilant, suggested a fat,hoarse rooster trying to finish a crow before a coming stone from a farmboy reaches him. "It seems natural and easy to you, old man. But I'mabout crazy with joy. I'll come right over."
"No. I'm going home."
"Can't I see you there?"
"No. I've other matters to attend to. Come about lunch timeto-morrow--to the office, here."
"All right," said Tetlow disappointedly, and Norman rang off.