Jane Cable

  Twenty long years had passed since David and Frances Cable tooktheir hasty departure--virtually fleeing from New York City, theirmigrations finally ending in that thriving Western city--Denver.Then, the grime of the engine was on Cable's hands and deep beneathhis skin; the roar of iron and steel and the rush of wind was everin his ears; the quest of danger in his eye; but there was love,pride and a new ambition in his heart. Now, in 1898, David Cable'shands were white and strong; the grime was gone; the engineer'scap had given way to the silk tile of the magnate; and the shovelwas a memory.

  But his case was not unique in that day and age of pluck and luck.Many another man had gone from the bottom to the top with the speedand security of the elevator car in the lofty "sky-scrapers." Inthe heartless revolution of a few years, he became the successorof his Western benefactor. The turn that had been kind to him,was unkind to his friend and predecessor; the path that led upwardfor David Cable, ran the other way for the train-master, who yearsafterward died in his greasy overalls and the close-fitting cap ofan engineer. One night Cable read the news of the wreck with allthe joy gone from his heart.

  From the cheap, squalid section of town known as "railroad end,"Cable's rising influence carried him to the well-earned luxury. Thelines of care and toil mellowed in the face of his pretty wife, asthe years rolled by; her comely figure shed the cheap raiment of"hard, old days," and took on the plumage of prosperity. Trouble,resentment, and worry disappeared as if by magic, smoothed out bythe satiny touch of comfort's fingers. She went upward much fasterthan her husband, for her ambitions were less exacting. She longedto shine socially--he loathed the thought of it. But Cable wasproud of his wife. He enjoyed the transition that lifted her up withsteady strength to the plane which fitted her best--as he regardedit. She had stuck by him nobly and uncomplainingly through thevicissitudes; it delighted him to give her the pleasures.

  Frances Cable was proud; but she had not been too proud to standbeside the man with the greasy overalls and to bend her fine, youngstrength to work in unison with his. Together, facing the task,cheerfully, they had battled and won.

  There were days when it was hard to smile; but the next day alwaysbrought with it a fresh sign of hope. The rough, hard, days inthe Far West culminated in his elevation to the office of GeneralManager of the great railroad system, whose headquarters and homewere in the city of Chicago. Attaining this high place two yearsprior to the opening of this narrative, he was regarded now as oneof the brainiest railroad men and slated to be president of theroad at the next meeting.

  Barely past fifty years of age, David Cable was in the prime oflife and usefulness. Age and prosperity had improved him greatly.The iron grey of his hair, the keen brightness of his face, theerect, and soldierly carriage of his person made him a strikingfigure. His wife, ten years his junior, was one of the most attractivewomen in Chicago. Her girlish beauty had refined under the blastsof adversity; years had not been unkind to her. In a way, she wasthe leader of a certain set, but her social ambitions were notcontent. There was a higher altitude in fashion's realm. Money,influence and perseverance were her allies; social despotism heronly adversary.

  The tall, beautiful and accomplished daughter of the Cables wasworshipped by her father with all the warmth and ardour of hissoul. Times there were when he looked in wonder upon this arbiterof not a few manly destinies; and for his life could not help askinghimself how the Creator had given him such a being for a child,commenting on the fact that she bore resemblance to neither parent.

  For years, Mrs. Cable had lived in no little terror of some daybeing found out. As the child grew to womanhood, the fears graduallydiminished and a sense of security that would not be disturbedreplaced them. Then, just as she was reaching out for the chiefprizes of her ambition, she came face to face with a man, whosevisage she never had forgotten--Elias Droom! And Frances Cablelooked again into the old and terrifying shadows!

  It was late in the afternoon, and she was crossing the sidewalk toher carriage waiting near Field's, when a man brushed against her.She was conscious of a strange oppressiveness. Before she turnedto look at him she knew that a pair of staring eyes were upon herface. Something seemed to have closed relentlessly upon her heart.

  One glance was sufficient. The tall, angular form stood almost overher; the two, wide, blue eyes looked down in feigned surprise; thenever-to-be-forgotten voice greeted her, hoarsely:

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cable! And how is the baby?"

  "The baby!" she faltered. Struggle against it as she would, a sortof fascination drew her gaze toward the remarkable face of the oldclerk. "Why--why--she's very well, thank you," she finally stammered.Her face was as white as a ghost; with a shudder she started topass him. Droom, blocked the way.

  "She was such a pretty little thing, I remember;" and then,insinuatingly: "Where is her father, now?"

  "He--Mr. Cable," answered Mrs. Cable, feeling very much as a birdfeels when it is charmed by a snake, "why, he's at home, of course."

  "Indeed!" was all that Elias Droom said; for she had fled to escapethe grin that writhed in and out among the wrinkles of his face.

  As her carriage struggled through crowded Washington Street,an irresistible something compelled Frances Cable to glance back.Droom stood on the curb, his eyes following her almost hungrily.Half an hour later, when she reached home, she was in a state ofcollapse. Although there was no physical proof of the fact, shewas positive that Elias Droom had followed her to the very doorstep.

  In suspense and dread, she waited for days before there was asecond manifestation of Droom. There was rarely a day when she didnot expect her husband to stand before her and ask her to explainthe story that had been carried to him by a demon in the form ofman.

  But Droom did not go to David Cable. He went to James Bansemer withthe news.

  James Bansemer's law and loan offices were not far from the riverand, it is sufficient to say, not much farther from State Street.He who knows Chicago well cannot miss the location more than threeblocks, either way, if he takes City Hall as a focal point. Theoffice building in which they were located is not a pretentiousstructure, but its tenants were then and still are regarded asdesirable. It may be well to announce that Bansemer, on reachingChicago, was clever enough to turn over a new leaf and begin workon a clear, white page, but it is scarcely necessary to add thatthe black, besmirched lines on the opposite side of the sheet couldbe traced through every entry that went down on the fresh whitesurface. Bansemer was just as nefarious in his transactions, buthe was a thousandfold more cautious. Droom sarcastically remindedhim that he had a reputation to protect, in his new field and,besides, as his son was "going in society" through the influence ofa coterie of Yale men, it would be worse than criminal to deteriorate.

  Bansemer loathed Droom, but he also feared him. He was the only livingcreature that inspired fear in the heart of this bold schemer. Itis true that he feared the effect an exposure might have on themind of his stalwart son, the boy with his mother's eyes; but hehad succeeded so well in blinding the youth in the years gone by,that the prospects of discovery now seemed too remote for concern.The erstwhile New York "shark" was now an eel, wily and elusive,but he was an eel with a shark's teeth and a shark's voraciousness.He had grown old in the study of this particular branch of naturalhistory. Bansemer was fifty-five years old in this year of 1898.He was thinner than in the old New York days, but the bull-likevigour had given way to the wiry strength of the leopard. The onceblack hair was almost white, and grew low and thick on his forehead.Immaculately dressed, ever straight and aggressive in carriage,he soon became a figure of whom all eyes took notice, even in themost crowded of Chicago thoroughfares.

  Graydon Bansemer, on leaving Yale with a diploma and some ofthe honours of his class, urged his father to take him into hisoffice, and ultimately to make him a partner in the business. JamesBansemer never forgot the malicious grin that crossed the face ofElias Droom when the young fellow made the proposition not morethan a fortnight before the Banse
mer establishment picked itselfup and hastily deserted New York. That grin spoke plainer than allthe words in language. Take him into the office? Make this honest,grey-eyed boy a partner? It was no wonder that Droom grinned andit is no wonder that he forgot to cover his mouth with his hugehand, as was his custom.

  The proposition, while sincere and earnest, was too impossiblefor words. For once in his life, James Bansemer was at a loss forsubterfuge. He stammered, flushed and writhed in the effort toshow the young man that the step would be unprofitable, and he wassorely conscious that he had not convinced the eager applicant.He even urged him to abandon the thought of becoming a lawyer, andwas ably seconded by Elias Droom, whose opinion of the law, as hehad come to know it, was far from flattering.

  Just at this time Bansemer was engaged in the most daring as wellas the most prodigious "deal" of his long career. With luck, it wasbound to enrich him to the extent of $50,000. The plans had beenso well prepared and the execution had been so faultless that thereseemed to be no possibility of failure. To take his fair-mindedson--with the mother's eyes--into the game would be suicidal. Theyoung fellow would turn from him forever. Bansemer never went sofar as to wonder whence came the honest blood in the boy's veins,nor to speculate on the origin of the unquestioned integrity. Hehad but to recall the woman who bore him, the woman whose love wasthe only good thing he ever knew, the wife he had worshipped whilehe sinned.

  For years and years he had plied his unwholesome trade in reputations,sometimes evading exposure by the narrowest of margins, and he hadcome to believe that he was secure for all time to come. But itwas the "big job" that brought disaster. Just when it looked asthough success was assured, the crash came. He barely had time tocover his tracks, throw the figurative pepper into the eyes of hisenemies, and get away from the scene of danger. But, he had beenclever and resourceful enough to avoid the penalty that lookedinevitable and came off with colours trailing but uncaptured.

  Perhaps no other man could have escaped; but James Bansemer wascleverest when in a corner. He backed away, held them at bay untilhe could recover his breath, and then defied them to their teeth.Despite their proof, he baffled them, and virtue was not its ownreward--at least in this instance.

  In leaving New York, he hoped that Ellas Droom--who knew too much--mightrefuse to go into the new territory with him, but the gaunt, oldclerk took an unnatural and malevolent delight in clinging to hisemployer. He declined to give up his place in the office, and,although he hated James Bansemer, he came like an accusing shadowinto the new offices near the Chicago River, and there he toiled,grinned and scowled with the same old faithfulness.

  CHAPTER VI

  IN SIGHT OF THE FANGS