“Listen, George. Whatever you do at this time, don’t let this political loyalty stuff cloud your judgment. You’re in a very serious position and so am I. If you don’t act for yourself with me now no one is going to act for you—now or later—no one. And later will be too late. I proved that last night when I went to Butler to get help for the two of us. They all know about this business of our street-railway holdings and they want to shake us out and that’s the big and little of it—nothing more and nothing less. It’s a case of dog eat dog in this game and this particular situation and it’s up to us to save ourselves against everybody or go down together, and that’s just what I’m here to tell you. Mollenhauer doesn’t care any more for you today than he does for that lamppost. It isn’t that money you’ve paid out to me that’s worrying him, but who’s getting something for it and what. Well they know that you and I are getting street-railways, don’t you see, and they don’t want us to have them. Once they get those out of our hands they won’t waste another day on you or me. Can’t you see that? Once we’ve lost all we’ve invested, you’re down and so am I—and no one is going to turn a hand for you or me politically or in any other way. I want you to understand that, George, because it’s true. And before you say you won’t or you will do anything because Mollenhauer says so, you want to think over what I have to tell you.”
He was in front of Stener now, looking him directly in the eye and by the kinetic force of his mental way attempting to make Stener take the one step that might save him—Cowperwood—however little in the long run it might do for Stener. And, more interesting still, he did not care. Stener, as he saw him now, was a pawn in whosoever’s hands he happened to be at the time, and despite Mr. Mollenhauer and Mr. Simpson and Mr. Butler he proposed to attempt to keep him in his own hands if possible. And so he stood there looking at him as might a snake at a bird determined to galvanize him into selfish self-interest if possible. But Stener was so frightened that at the moment it looked as though there was little to be done with him. His face was a grayish-blue: his eyelids and eye rings puffy and his hands and lips moist. God, what a hole he was in now!
“Say that’s all right, Frank,” he exclaimed desperately. “I know what you say is true. But look at me and my position, if I do give you this money. What can’t they do to me, and won’t. If you only look at it from my point of view. If only you hadn’t gone to Butler before you saw me.”
“As though I could see you, George, when you were off duck shooting and when I was wiring everywhere I knew to try to get in touch with you. How could I? The situation had to be met. Besides, I thought Butler was more friendly to me than he proved. But there’s no use being angry with me now, George, for going to Butler as I did, and anyhow you can’t afford to be now. We’re in this thing together. It’s a case of sink or swim for just us two—not anyone else—just us—don’t you get that? Butler couldn’t or wouldn’t do what I wanted him to do—get Mollenhauer and Simpson to support the market. Instead of that they are hammering it. They have a game of their own. It’s to shake us out—can’t you see that? Take everything that you and I have gathered. It is up to you and me, George, to save ourselves, and that’s what I’m here for now. If you don’t let me have three hundred and fifty thousand dollars—three hundred thousand, anyhow—you and I are ruined. It will be worse for you, George, than for me, for I’m not involved in this thing in any way—not legally, anyhow. But that’s not what I’m thinking of. What I want to do is to save us both—put us on easy street for the rest of our lives, whatever they say or do, and it’s in your power, with my help, to do that for both of us. Can’t you see that? I want to save my business so then I can help you to save your name and money.” He paused, hoping this had convinced Stener, but the latter was still shaking.
“But what can I do, Frank?” he pleaded, weakly. “I can’t go against Mollenhauer. They can prosecute me if I do that. They can do it, anyhow. I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough. If they didn’t know, if you hadn’t told them, it might be different, but this way—” He shook his head sadly, his gray eyes filled with a pale distress.
“George,” replied Cowperwood, who realized now that only the sternest arguments would have any effect here, “don’t talk about what I did. What I did I had to do. You’re in danger of losing your head and your nerve and making a serious mistake here, and I don’t want to see you make it. I have five hundred thousand of the city’s money invested for you—partly for me, and partly for you, but more for you than for me”—which, by the way, was not true—“and here you are hesitating in an hour like this as to whether you will protect your interest or not. I can’t understand it. This is a crisis, George. Stocks are tumbling on every side—everybody’s stocks. You’re not alone in this—neither am I.
