i
mr. rawn's long and shiny car was waiting for him when he stepped with stately dignity down the broad stair of the national union club. his chauffeur once more touched his hat, as he saw the hat of mr. rawn, so much taller and shinier than his own.
threading its path through the crowded traffic of the side streets, the car presently turned up the long northbound artery of the great western city. surrounded by a large and somewhat vulgar throng of similarly large and shiny cars, it floated on, steadily, almost silently, until most of the noises and the odors of the city were left behind; until at last the blue of the great lake showed upon the right hand through ranks of thin and straggling trees, supported by a thin and sandy soil. now appeared long rows of mansions, fronting on the lake, their amusingly narrow and inadequate grounds backing out upon the dusty roadway with its continual traffic of long, shiny and ofttimes vulgar cars. miles of cars carried hundreds of men to miles of mansions. in less than an hour, from town to home, john rawn also pulled up at the entrance to his home. speed limits are not for such as mr. rawn. this residence, yet another of these pretentious mansions, top-heavy on its inadequate delimitations, and done by one of the most ingenious architects to be found for money, was as new, as hideous, as barbarous as any that could be found in all that long assemblage of varied proofs of architectural aberrations. it was as new as mr. rawn himself. the brick walks were hardly yet firmly settled, the shrubs were not yet sure of root, the crocus rows in the borders still showed gaps. large trees, transplanted bodily, still were sick at heart in their new surroundings. the gravel under the new porte cochêre still was red and unweathered. as to the house itself, it combined japanese, colonial and elizabethan architecture in nice modern proportions, the architect having been resolved to earn his fee. many who passed that way turned and pointed approving thumbs at the residence of mr. john rawn, president of the international power company, a new man who had come in out of the west, and who evidently was possessed of wealth and taste.
ii
mr. rawn knew that many occupants of other cars were noting him. his dignity was perfect as he left his car, not noticing that the chauffeur once more touched his hat. his dignity remained unbroken as he walked up the elizabethan steps, flanked by japanese jars, and paused at the colonial door. the door swung open softly. his dignity was such that he scarcely saw the man who took his coat and hat, and who received no greeting from his master. calm, cold and scornful, as one well used to such surroundings, he passed through the long central halls and stood before the doubly glazed french window whose wide expanse fronted upon the lake. he came from inland parts, and he enjoyed this lake view he had bought. he did not hear the quiet footfall which approached over the heavy rug. laura rawn needed to speak to him the second time.
"well," said he, turning and sighing, "how's everything?"
"very well, john."
"not so bad, eh?" he jerked a thumb to indicate the lake.
"it's grand!" said his wife, yet with no vast enthusiasm in her tone.
"i should say it was grand! anyhow, there's nothing grander around chicago. there's not very much here in the way of scenery. of course, in new york—"
"oh, don't let us talk of new york, john."
"why?"
"i don't see how i could stand anything bigger or grander than this."
"stand anything more? ha-hum! well, that's just about what i expected you to say, laura. sometimes i wonder if there ever was a man more handicapped than i am. look at this! what have i done for you? why, i changed your whole life for you, as much as though you'd died and been born into another world. you couldn't have had all this if it hadn't been for me. you don't enjoy it. you've got no use for it. i don't set even this for my limit. i've got ambition, and i'm going up as far as a man can go in this country. if that means new york, all right, when the time comes. but what does my wife say? 'oh, i couldn't stand that!' stand it—why, i half believe, laura, you wish you were back in kelly row right now—i believe that's right where you'd be this minute, if you had your choice."
"i would, john; if things could be the way they once were."
he only growled as he turned away petulantly.
"of course i want to see you do well, get ahead, john, as far as ever you can go. and of course you'd never be happy to go back there again."
"happy?—me—kelly row? you'd see john rawn dead and buried first! i'd go jump in the lake if i thought i'd ever have to live again the way we used to."
"i wonder how they are doing back there now," said mrs. rawn, in spite of all, as though musing with herself. "it's evening now, and the men are just coming home from work. i wonder if jane english, next door to us, has another baby this year. she always had, you know. and there's the young woman, essie hannigan, who always used to wait on the steps for her husband. and the dogs; and the babies in the street. and the little trees without very many leaves on them—why, john, i can see it all as plain as if it were right here. this house of ours here is so grand i can't understand it. how did we get it, john?—when we worked so long, so many years, and lived just like those others there? it all came at once. have you earned all this—in a year or so? and how did you get it almost finished, before we moved up here, while we still were living in st. louis—without either of us being here to watch the carpenters?"
"i did it with money, laura, that's how. if you have money you can get anything done you want; and you don't have to do it with your own hands. but don't say 'carpenters'—it was an architect built this house."
"it cost a lot of money!"
"not so much—i've not got in over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars yet, even with most of the furnishings in."
"you're always joking nowadays, john. of course, you haven't made that much."
"well, no; that's a lot of money to take out of the investments of a beginner. i had to get accommodation for three-fourths of it."
"accommodation?—"
"well, mortgage, then—that's what they'd call it in texas or kelly row. i couldn't tie up all my capital—that isn't business. but what does it amount to? my salary is a hundred thousand a year; and i'm making more than that on the side. i didn't propose to come up here, president of the international power company, and go to living in a six-room flat. i wanted a house. you see." he swept a wide gesture again.
"it's not much like our little seven-room house in the brick block, is it, john?"
"and you wish you were back there? that's fine, isn't it? how can i do things for you if that's the way you feel? you've never got into the game with me, laura,—you've never helped me; i've had to do it all. yet look what i've done in the last two or three years!"
"yes, john, i know i couldn't do much."
"you didn't do anything! you don't do anything now! you don't try to go forward, you never did try, you always hung back! you've always thought of your own selfish pleasure, laura, and that's the trouble with you. a man busy all day with large matters, who comes home tired and worn out, looks for a little help when he gets home. what do i hear? 'i wish i was back in kelly row!' fine, isn't it? i'll bet you a million dollars there isn't another woman in chicago that would feel the way you do. you ought at least to have some sense of gratitude, it seems to me."
iii
grieved at the injustice of life, mr. rawn turned his troubled face and gazed out over the unexpressive expanse of water. laura rawn said nothing at the time, being a woman of large self-control. at length she laid a gentle hand upon her husband's shoulder.
"why, john," said she, "i'd go to new york, if it was for the best. you ought to know that i have your interests at heart—really, you ought to know that, john. i don't want to hinder you, not the least in the world, john."
"but you do hinder me. you make me feel as though you were not in the game with me, that you were holding back all the time. i'm going a fast gait. i'm a rising man; but you ought to be in my company. a man doesn't like to feel that he's all alone in the world!"
"why, john! why, john!"
but he never caught the poignant anguish of her tone. "why don't people come here to see you?" he demanded. "it's like a morgue. and by the time this place is done it'll cost pretty near another quarter of a million."
"john!" she gasped. "where will you get it?"
he turned and waved at her an aggressive finger. "i made it!" said he, "and i'll make it. i made a clean sixty-eight thousand dollars, to-day, with a turn of my wrist. i'll make the price of this house in another two years, if all goes well. when it starts, it comes fast. there's nothing grows like money. it rolls up like a snowball—for a few men; and i'm one of the few! it's easy picking for strong men in the business world of america to-day—the game's framed up for them, when they get in. and one of these days i'm going in further. we'll see a life which will make all this"—he swept a wide hand about him—"look like thirty cents." his pendulous lower lip trembled in emotion, precisely as might that of his father have trembled when he addressed assembled and unrepentant gatherings of sinners.
"well, john," said laura rawn, dropping into a chair and crossing her hands in her lap, "you've done a lot for me, that's sure, more than i have had any right in the world to expect. i can't do much. i'm only going to try just all i can to keep up with you. but now let's not bother or worry any more about things. supper is just about ready."
"dinner, you mean. dinner, mrs. rawn!"
she flushed a trifle. "as i meant, dinner, yes. you'll have time to dress for dinner, if you like, but i wish you wouldn't, john. i don't mean to. the truth is, i had the cook make to-night something you used to be very fond of in the old days—a pot roast—shoulder of pork with cabbage. somehow, it seemed to me that we wouldn't want to dress up just for that, john."
"my god, no!" the suffering john rawn fell into a chair and dropped his face between his hands, shaking his head from side to side.
"isn't it all right, john?" she asked anxiously "what else should i get?"
"leave it to the cook, laura—i mean the chef. that's what he's paid for. is there anything too good for us?"
"not for you, john. but i sometimes think," she went on slowly after a while, "that i'm not entitled to so much as we have, when others have so little—the same sort of people that we once were. i don't understand it. i don't see where we earned it. why, back there where we came from, life is very likely just as hard as it ever was."
"haven't earned it!" gasped john rawn—"i haven't earned it? well, listen at that, to my face! well, i'd like to ask you, laura, if i haven't earned this, what man ever did earn his money?"
"don't take me wrong, john dear. i was just wondering how anybody could ever earn so much."
"well, don't get the habit of wondering."
"i like my things," said she softly, gazing about her. "i've always wanted nice things, of course. i never thought we'd have a place like this. then the trees, and the lake—why, it's like fairyland to me!"
iv
but rawn turned a discontented face around at the ill-assorted furnishings of graystone hall—as he had named his quasi-country place. as in the case of the architect, the house decorator and furnisher had had full license, and each had done his worst.
"somehow these things don't seem just the way they are down at the club!" he grumbled. "i've been at other houses along in here, once in a while, and somehow our things don't seem just like theirs. it's not my fault. surely you must see how busy i am all the time—i've not got the time to take care of household matters, too."
he got up and took a turn or so about, gazing with dissatisfaction at his household goods. "they tell me that j. pierpont morgan picks up what they call collector's pieces. i've heard that lots of the big men have in their houses these collector's pieces. we've got to have some of them here. it won't do to have them say of us that we're anything back of morgan or anybody else. if they think that of me, they don't know john rawn."
"dinner is served, mrs. rawn," said a low voice at the farther side of the room. the butler stood respectful, at attention.
"mrs. rawn!" grumbled the master of the place. "i'll train him different! why don't he tell me?"
they passed into the wide dining-room, the butler now silently drawing together the double curtains which covered the windows fronting the lake. rawn seated himself frowningly at the table, with the customary grumbling comment which he used to conceal his own lack of ease. in truth, he had never yet enjoyed a meal in his great house, and would at this moment have been far more comfortable in his shirt sleeves at the little table in kelly row, with the nearest butler a thousand miles away for all of him. the presence of this shaven, priest-like personage behind him always sent a chill up his spine. he half jumped now as that icy individual coughed at his side, poured a little wine into his first glass, and passed on to mrs. rawn. laura rawn declined, as was her custom, and the butler turned to fill his master's glass.
"you ought to drink wine, laura," said the owner of graystone hall, regardless of the butler's presence. "practically all the women do, i notice. some smoke—cigarettes, i mean; not a corn-cob pipe. but then—" he raised his own glass and drained it at a gulp. the butler filled it again, and passed silently in quest of the beginnings of the banquet whose pièce de résistance had caused him and the second maid to exchange wide grimaces of mirth beyond the door.
v
it could not have been called a wholly happy family gathering, this at graystone hall. indeed, it lacked perhaps three generations, possibly three aeons, of being happy.
with little more speech after the evening meal than they had had before, an hour, perhaps, was passed in the room which the architect called the library, mrs. rawn called the parlor, and mr. rawn called the gold room. then laura rawn, as was her wont, passed silently up-stairs to her own apartments—or her bedroom, as she called it—widely removed, in the architect's plans, from those of her husband. one room, one couch, had served for both in kelly row.
the gray lake throbbed along its shore. night came down and softened the ragged outlines of the scrawny trees which stood sentinels along the front of this pile of stone and steel and concrete and wood, which paid men had striven so hard to render into lines of home-likeness. a soft wind passed, sighing. the lights of graystone hall went out, one by one, while the evening still was young.
