The Financier by Theodore Dreiser

and were disturbed as to how they would return what they owed before the storm broke. If Cowperwood failed, and Stener was short in his accounts, the whole budget might be investigated, and then their loans would be brought to light. The thing to do was to return what they owed, and then, at least, no charge of malfeasance would lie against them.

“Go to Mollenhauer,” Strobik had advised Stener, shortly after Cowperwood had left the latter’s office, “and tell him the whole story. He put you here. He was strong for your nomination. Tell him just where you stand and ask him what to do. He’ll probably be able to tell you. Offer him your holdings to help you out.

You have to. You can’t help yourself. Don’t loan Cowperwood another damned dollar, whatever you do. He’s got you in so deep now you can hardly hope to get out. Ask Mollenhauer if he won’t help you to get Cowperwood to put that money back. He may be able to influence him.”

There was more in this conversation to the same effect, and then Stener hurried as fast as his legs could carry him to Mollenhauer’s office. He was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe, and he was quite ready to throw himself on his knees before the big German-American financier and leader. Oh, if Mr. Mollenhauer would only help him! If he could just get out of this without going to jail!

“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” he repeated, over and over to himself, as he walked. “What shall I do?”

The attitude of Henry A. Mollenhauer, grim, political boss that he was—trained in a hard school—was precisely the attitude of every such man in all such trying circumstances.

He was wondering, in view of what Butler had told him, just how much he could advantage himself in this situation. If he could, he wanted to get control of whatever street-railway stock Stener now had, without in any way compromising himself. Stener’s shares could easily be transferred on ‘change through Mollenhauer’s brokers to a dummy, who would eventually transfer them to himself (Mollenhauer). Stener must be squeezed thoroughly, though, this afternoon, and as for his five hundred thousand dollars’ indebtedness to the treasury, Mollenhauer did not see what could be done about that. If Cowperwood could not pay it, the city would have to lose it; but the scandal must be hushed up until after election. Stener, unless the various party leaders had more generosity than Mollenhauer imagined, would have to suffer exposure, arrest, trial, confiscation of his property, and possibly sentence to the penitentiary, though this might easily be commuted by the governor, once public excitement died down. He did not trouble to think whether Cowperwood was criminally involved or not. A hundred to one he was not. Trust a shrewd man like that to take care of himself. But if there was any way to shoulder the blame on to Cowperwood, and so clear the treasurer and the skirts of the party, he would not object to that.

He wanted to hear the full story of Stener’s relations with the broker first. Meanwhile, the thing to do was to seize what Stener had to yield.

The troubled city treasurer, on being shown in Mr. Mollenhauer’s presence, at once sank feebly in a chair and collapsed. He was entirely done for mentally. His nerve was gone, his courage exhausted like a breath.

“Well, Mr. Stener?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, pretending not to know what brought him.

“I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood.”

“Well, what about them?”

“Well, he owes me, or the city treasury rather, five hundred thousand dollars, and I understand that he is going to fail and that he can’t pay it back.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Sengstack, and since then Mr. Cowperwood has been to see me.

He tells me he must have more money or he will fail and he wants to borrow three hundred thousand dollars more. He says he must have it.”

“So!” said Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, and with an air of astonishment which he did not feel. “You would not think of doing that, of course. You’re too badly involved as it is. If he wants to know why, refer him to me. Don’t advance him another dollar.

If you do, and this case comes to trial, no court would have any mercy on you. It’s going to be difficult enough to do anything for you as it is. However, if you don’t advance him any more—we will see. It may be possible, I can’t say, but at any rate, no more money must leave the treasury to bolster up this bad business.

It’s much too difficult as it now is.” He stared at Stener warningly.

And he, shaken and sick, yet because of the faint suggestion of mercy involved somewhere in Mollenhauer’s remarks, now slipped from his chair to his knees and folded his hands in the uplifted attitude of a devotee before a sacred image.

“Oh, Mr. Mollenhauer,” he choked, beginning to cry, “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Strobik and Wycroft told me it was all right. You sent me to Cowperwood in the first place. I only did what I thought the others had been doing. Mr. Bode did it, just like I have been doing. He dealt with Tighe and Company.

I have a wife and four children, Mr. Mollenhauer. My youngest boy is only seven years old. Think of them, Mr. Mollenhauer! Think of what my arrest will mean to them! I don’t want to go to jail. I didn’t think I was doing anything very wrong—honestly I didn’t.

I’ll give up all I’ve got. You can have all my stocks and houses and lots—anything—if you’ll only get me out of this. You won’t let ‘em send me to jail, will you?”

His fat, white lips were trembling—wabbling nervously—and big hot tears were coursing down his previously pale but now flushed cheeks. He presented one of those almost unbelievable pictures which are yet so intensely human and so true. If only the great financial and political giants would for once accurately reveal the details of their lives!

Mollenhauer looked at him calmly, meditatively. How often had he seen weaklings no more dishonest than himself, but without his courage and subtlety, pleading to him in this fashion, not on their knees exactly, but intellectually so! Life to him, as to every other man of large practical knowledge and insight, was an inexplicable tangle. What were you going to do about the so-called morals and precepts of the world? This man Stener fancied that he was dishonest, and that he, Mollenhauer, was honest. He was here, self-convicted of sin, pleading to him, Mollenhauer, as he would to a righteous, unstained saint. As a matter of fact, Mollenhauer knew that he was simply shrewder, more far-seeing, more calculating, not less dishonest. Stener was lacking in force and brains—not morals. This lack was his principal crime. There were people who believed in some esoteric standard of right—some ideal of conduct absolutely and very far removed from practical life; but he had never seen them practice it save to their own financial (not moral—

he would not say that) destruction. They were never significant, practical men who clung to these fatuous ideals. They were always poor, nondescript, negligible dreamers. He could not have made Stener understand all this if he had wanted to, and he certainly did not want to. It was too bad about Mrs. Stener and the little Steners. No doubt she had worked hard, as had Stener, to get up in the world and be something—just a little more than miserably poor; and now this unfortunate complication had to arise to undo them—this Chicago fire. What a curious thing that was! If any one thing more than another made him doubt the existence of a kindly, overruling Providence, it was the unheralded storms out of clear skies—financial, social, anything you choose—that so often brought ruin and disaster to so many.

“Get Up, Stener,” he said, calmly, after a few moments. “You mustn’t give way to your feelings like this. You must not cry.

These troubles are never unraveled by tears. You must do a little thinking for yourself. Perhaps your situation isn’t so bad.”

As he was saying this Stener was putting himself back in his chair, getting out his handkerchief, and sobbing hopelessly in it.

“I’ll do what I can, Stener. I won’t promise anything. I can’t tell you what the result will be. There are many peculiar political forces in this city. I may not be able to save you, but I am perfectly willing to try. You must put yourself absolutely under my direction. You must not say or do anything without first consulting with me. I will send my secretary to you from time to time. He will tell you what to do. You must not come to me unless I send for you. Do you understand that thoroughly?”