The Titan

one Lieutenant Lawrence Braxmar, U.S.N., whom she found loitering there, and who was then connected with the naval station at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Cowperwood, coming East at this time for a few days’ stay in order to catch another glimpse of his ideal, had been keenly disturbed by the sight of Braxmar and by what his presence might signify. Up to this time he had not given much thought to younger men in connection with her. Engrossed in her personality, he could think of nothing as being able to stand long between him and the fulfilment of his dreams. Berenice must be his. That radiant spirit, enwrapt in so fair an outward seeming, must come to see and rejoice in him. Yet she was so young and airy in her mood that he sometimes wondered. How was he to draw near? What say exactly? What do? Berenice was in no way hypnotized by either his wealth or fame. She was accustomed (she little knew to what extent by his courtesy) to a world more resplendent in its social security than his own. Surveying Braxmar keenly upon their first meeting, Cowperwood had liked his face and intelligence, had judged him to be able, but had wondered instantly how he could get rid of him. Viewing Berenice and the Lieutenant as they strolled off together along a summery seaside veranda, he had been for once lonely, and had sighed. These uncertain phases of affection could become very trying at times. He wished he were young again, single.

Tonight, therefore, this thought was haunting him like a gloomy undertone, when at half past eleven the telephone rang once more, and he heard a low, even voice which said:

“Mr. Cowperwood? This is Mr. Arneel.”

“Yes.”

“A number of the principal financial men of the city are gathered here at my house this evening. The question of ways and means of preventing a panic tomorrow is up for discussion. As you probably know, Hull & Stackpole are in trouble. Unless something is done for them tonight they will certainly fail tomorrow for twenty million dollars. It isn’t so much their failure that we are considering as it is the effect on stocks in general, and on the banks. As I understand it, a number of your loans are involved. The gentlemen here have suggested that I call you up and ask you to come here, if you will, to help us decide what ought to be done. Something very drastic will have to be decided on before morning.”

During this speech Cowperwood’s brain had been reciprocating like a well-oiled machine.

“My loans?” he inquired, suavely. “What have they to do with the situation? I don’t owe Hull & Stackpole anything.”

“Very true. But a number of the banks are carrying securities for you. The idea is that a number of these will have to be called⁠—the majority of them⁠—unless some other way can be devised tonight. We thought you might possibly wish to come and talk it over, and that you might be able to suggest some other way out.”

“I see,” replied Cowperwood, caustically. “The idea is to sacrifice me in order to save Hull & Stackpole. Is that it?”

His eyes, quite as though Arneel were before him, emitted malicious sparks.

“Well, not precisely that,” replied Arneel, conservatively; “but something will have to be done. Don’t you think you had better come over?”

“Very good. I’ll come,” was the cheerful reply. “It isn’t anything that can be discussed over the phone, anyhow.”

He hung up the receiver and called for his runabout. On the way over he thanked the prevision which had caused him, in anticipation of some such attack as this, to set aside in the safety vaults of the Chicago Trust Company several millions in low-interest-bearing government bonds. Now, if worst came to worst, these could be drawn on and hypothecated. These men should see at last how powerful he was and how secure.

As he entered the home of Arneel he was a picturesque and truly representative figure of his day. In a light summer suit of cream and gray twill, with a straw hat ornamented by a blue-and-white band, and wearing yellow quarter-shoes of the softest leather, he appeared a very model of trig, well-groomed self-sufficiency. As he was ushered into the room he gazed about him in a brave, leonine way.

“A fine night for a conference, gentlemen,” he said, walking toward a chair indicated by Mr. Arneel. “I must say I never saw so many straw hats at a funeral before. I understand that my obsequies are contemplated. What can I do?”

He beamed in a genial, sufficient way, which in anyone else would have brought a smile to the faces of the company. In him it was an implication of basic power which secretly enraged and envenomed nearly all those present. They merely stirred in a nervous and wholly antagonistic way. A number of those who knew him personally nodded⁠—Merrill, Lawrence, Simms; but there was no friendly light in their eyes.

“Well, gentlemen?” he inquired, after a moment or two of ominous silence, observing Hand’s averted face and Schryhart’s eyes, which were lifted ceilingward.

“Mr. Cowperwood,” began Mr. Arneel, quietly, in no way disturbed by Cowperwood’s jaunty air, “as I told you over the phone, this meeting is called to avert, if possible, what is likely to be a very serious panic in the morning. Hull & Stackpole are on the verge of failure. The outstanding loans are considerable⁠—in the neighborhood of seven or eight million here in Chicago. On the other hand, there are assets in the shape of American Match stocks and other properties sufficient to carry them for a while longer if the banks can only continue their loans. As you know, we are all facing a falling market, and the banks are short of ready money. Something has to be done. We have canvassed the situation here tonight as thoroughly as possible, and the general conclusion is that your loans are among the most available assets which can be reached quickly.