Chapter 16

by Upton Sinclair

　　Montague was now a gentleman of leisure, comparatively speaking. Hehad two cases on his hands, but they did not occupy his time as hadthe prospect of running a railroad. They were contingency cases, andas they were against large corporations, Montague saw a lean yearahead of him. He smiled bitterly to himself as he realised that theonly thing which had given him the courage to break with Price andRyder had been the money which he and his brother Oliver had won bymeans of a Wall Street "tip."

　　He received a letter from Alice. "I am going to remain a couple ofweeks longer in Newport," she wrote. "Who do you think has invitedme--Laura Hegan. She has been perfectly lovely to me, and I go toher place next week. You will be interested to know that I had along talk with her about you; I took occasion to tell her a fewthings that she ought to know. She was very nice about it. I amhoping that you will come up for another week end before I leavehere. Harry Curtiss is going to spend his vacation here; you mightcome with him."

　　Montague smiled to himself as he read this letter. He did not gowith Curtiss. But the heat of the city was stifling, and the thoughtof the surf and the country was alluring, and he went up by way ofthe Sound one Friday night.

　　He was invited to dinner at the Hegans'. Jim Hegan was therehimself--for the first occasion in three years. Mrs. Hegan declaredthat it was only because she had gone down to New York and fetchedhim.

　　It was the first time that Montague had ever been with Hegan for anylength of time. He watched him with interest, for the man was afascinating problem to him. He was so calm and serene--alwayscourteous and friendly. But what was there behind the mask, Montaguewondered. For forty years this man had toiled and fought in thearena of Wall Street, and with only one purpose and one thought inlife, so far as Montague knew--the piling up of money. Jim Heganindulged himself in none of the pleasures of rich men. He had nohobbies, and he seldom went into company. In his busy times it wassaid that he would use a dozen secretaries, and wear them all out.He was a gigantic engine which drove all day and all night--amachine for the making of money.

　　Montague did not care much for money himself, and he wondered aboutit. What did the man want it for? What did he expect to accomplishby it? What was the moral code, the outlook upon life, of a man whogave all his time to heaping up money? What reason did he give tohimself for his own career? Some reason he must have, or he couldnot be so calm and cheerful. Or could it be that he had no thoughtsabout it at all? Was it simply a blind instinct with him? Was he ananimal whose nature it was to make money, and who was untroubled byany scruples? This last idea seemed rather uncanny to Montague; hefound himself watching Jim Hegan with a kind of awe; thinking of himas some terrible elemental force, blind and unconscious, like thelightning or the tornado.

　　For Jim Hegan was one of the wreckers. His fortune had been made bythe methods which Major Venable had outlined, by buying aldermen andlegislatures and governors; by getting franchises for nothing andselling them for millions; by organising huge swindles and unloadingthem upon the public. And here he sat upon the veranda of his home,in the twilight of an August evening, smoking a cigar and tellingabout an orphan asylum he had founded!

　　He was cheerful and kindly; he was even benevolent. And could it bethat he had no idea of the trail of ruin and distress which he hadleft behind him? Montague found himself possessed by a sudden desireto penetrate beneath that reserve; to spring at the man and surprisehim with some sudden question; to get at the reality of him, to knowhim as he was. This air of power and masterfulness, surely that mustbe the mask that he wore. And how was he to himself? When he wasalone with his own conscience? Surely there must come doubt andwonder, unhappiness and loneliness! Surely, then, the lives that hehad wrecked must come back to plague him! Surely the memories oftreachery and cruelty must make him wince!

　　And from Hegan, Montague's thoughts went to his daughter. She, too,was serene and stately; Montague wondered what was in her mind. Howmuch did she know about her father's career? Surely she could nothave persuaded herself that all that she had heard was calumny.There might be question about this offence or that, but of the greatbroad facts there could be no question. And did she justify it andexcuse it; or was she, too, secretly unhappy? And was this thereason for her pride, and for her bitter speeches? It was acontinual topic of chatter in Society, how Laura Hegan had withdrawnherself from all of her mother's affairs, and was interestingherself in work in the slums. Could it be that Nemesis had overtakenJim Hegan in the form of his daughter? That she was the conscienceby which he was to be tormented?

　　Jim Hegan never talked about his affairs. In all the time thatMontague spent with him during his two days at Newport, he gave justone hint for the other to go upon. "Money?" he remarked, thatevening. "I don't care about money. Money is just chips to me."

　　Life was a game, and the chips were dollars! What he had played forwas power! And suddenly Montague seemed to see the career of thisman, unrolled before him like a panorama. He had begun life as anoffice-boy; and above him were all the heights of business andfinance; and the ladder by which to scale them was money. There wererivals with whom he fought; and the overcoming of these rivals hadoccupied all his time and his thought. If he had boughtlegislatures, it was because his rivals were trying to buy them. Andperhaps then he did not even know that he was a wrecker; perhaps hewould not have believed it if anyone had told him! He had travelledall the long journey of his life, trampling out opposition andcrushing everything before him, nourishing in his heart the hopethat some day, when he had attained to mastery, when there were nomore rivals to oppose and thwart him--then he would be free to dogood. Then he would no longer have to be a wrecker!

　　And perhaps that was the meaning of his pitiful little effort--anorphan asylum! It seemed to Montague that the gods must shake withOlympian laughter when they contemplated the spectacle of Jim Heganand his orphan asylum: Jim Hegan, who could have filled a score oforphan asylums with the children of the men whom he had driven toruin and suicide!

　　These thoughts were seething in Montague's mind, and they would notlet him rest. Perhaps it was just as well that he did not stay toolong that evening. After all, what was the use? Jim Hegan was whatcircumstances had made him. Vain was the dream of peace and welldoing--there was always another rival! There was a new battle onjust at present, if one might believe the gossip of the Street;Hegan and Wyman were at each other's throats. They would fight outtheir quarrel, and there was no way to prevent them--even thoughthey pulled down the pillars of the nation about each other's heads.

　　As to just what these men were doing in their struggles, Montaguegot new information every day. The next morning, while he wassitting on the piazza of one of the hotels watching the people, herecognised a familiar face, and greeted the young engineer,Lieutenant Long, who came and sat down beside him.

　　"Well," said Montague, "have you heard anything from our friendGamble?"

　　"He's back in the bosom of his family again," said the youngofficer. "He got tired of the splurge."

　　"Great fellow, Gamble," said Montague.

　　"I liked him very much," said the Lieutenant. "He's not beautiful tolook at, but his heart's in the right place."

　　Montague thought for a moment, then asked, "Did he ever send youyour oil specifications?"

　　"You bet he did!" said the other. "And say, they were great! TheDepartment will think I'm an expert."

　　"Indeed," said Montague.

　　"It was a precious lucky thing for me," said the officer. "I'd havebeen in quite a predicament, you know."

　　He paused for a moment. "You cannot imagine," he said, "the positionthat we naval officers are in. Do you know, I think some word musthave got out about that contract."

　　"You don't say so," said Montague, with interest.

　　"I do. By gad, I thought of writing to headquarters about it. I wasapproached no less than three times!"

　　"Indeed!"

　　"Fancy," said the officer. "A young chap got himself introduced tome by one of my friends here. He stuck by me the whole evening, andafterwards, as we were strolling home, he opened up on me in thisfashion. He'd heard from a friend in Washington that I was one ofthose who had been asked to write specifications for the oilcontracts of the Navy; and he had some friends who were interestedin oil, and who might be able to advise me. He hinted that it mightbe a good thing for me. Just think of it!"

　　"I can imagine it was unpleasant."

　　"I tell you, it sets a man to thinking," said the Lieutenant. "Youknow the men in our service are exposed to that sort of thing allthe time, and some of them are trying to live a good deal higherthan their incomes warrant. It's a thing that we've all got to lookout for; I can stand graft in politics and in business, but when itcomes to the Army and Navy--I tell you, that's where I'm ready tofight."

　　Montague said nothing. He could think of nothing to say.

　　"Gamble said something about your being interested in a fightagainst the Steel Trust," said the other. "Is that so?"

　　"It was so," replied Montague. "I'm out of it now."

　　"What we were saying made me think of the Steel Trust," said theLieutenant. "We get some glimpses of that concern in the Navy, youknow."

　　"I hadn't thought of that," said Montague.

　　"Ask any man in the service about it," said the Lieutenant. "It's anold scar that we carry around in our souls--it won't heal. I meanthe armour-plate frauds."

　　"Sure enough!" said Montague. He carried a long list of indictmentsagainst the steel kings in his mind; but he had forgotten this one.

　　"I know about it particularly," the other continued, "because myfather was on the board of investigation fifteen years ago. I amdisposed to be a little keen on the subject, because what he foundout at that time practically caused his death."

　　Montague darted a keen glance at the young officer, who sat gazingahead in sombre thought. "Fancy how a naval man feels," he said. "Weare told that our ships are going to the Pacific, and any hour thesafety of the nation may depend upon them! And they are covered withrotten armour plate that was made by old Harrison, and sold to theGovernment for four or five times what it cost. Take one case that Iknow about--the Oregon. I've got a brother on board her to-day.During the Spanish War the whole country was watching her andpraying for her. And I could go on board that battleship and put myfinger on the spot in her conning-tower that has a series of blow-holesstraight through the middle of it--holes that old Harrison had drilledthrough and plugged up with an iron bar. If ever that plate was struckby a shell, it would splinter like so much glass."

　　Montague listened, half dazed. "Can one see that?" he cried.

　　"See it? No!" said the officer. "It's all on the inside of theplate, of course. When they got through with their dirty work, theywould treat the surface, and who would ever know the difference?"

　　"But then, how can YOU know it?" asked Montague.

　　"I?" said the other. "Because my father had laid before him thehistory of that plate from the hour it was made until it was put in:the original copies of the doctored shop records, and the affidavitsof the man who did the work. He had the same thing in a hundredother cases. I know the man who has the papers at this day."

　　"You see," continued the Lieutenant, after a pause, "theGovernment's specifications required that each plate should undergoan elaborate set of treatments; and the shop records of each platewere kept. But, of course, it cost enormous sums to get thesetreatments right, and even then hundreds of the plates would be bad.So when the shop records came up to the office, young Ingham andDavidson would go over them and edit them and bring them up tostandard--that's the way those brilliant young fellows made all themoney that they are spending on chorus girls and actresses to-day.They would have these shop records recopied, but they did not alwaystear up the old ones, and somebody in the office hid them, and thatwas how the Government got hold of the story."

　　"It sounds almost incredible!" exclaimed Montague.

　　"Take the story of plate H619, of the Oregon," said the Lieutenant."That was one of a whole group of plates, which was selected for theballistic tests at Indian Head. After it had been selected, it wastaken back into the company's shops at night, and secretly retreatedthree times. And then of course it passed the tests, and the wholegroup was passed with it!"

　　"What was done about it?" Montague asked.

　　"Nothing much was ever done about it," said the other. "TheGovernment could not afford to let the real facts get out. But, ofcourse, the insiders in the Navy knew it, and the memory will lastas long as the ships last. As I say, it killed my father."

　　"But weren't the men punished at all?"

　　"There was a Board appointed to try the case, and they awarded theGovernment about six hundred thousand dollars' damages. There's aman here in this hotel now who could tell you that story straightfrom the inside." And the Lieutenant paused and looked about him.Suddenly he stood up, and went to the railing and called to a manwho was passing on the other side of the street.

　　"Hello, Bates," he said, "come here."

　　"Oh! Bates of the Express!" said Montague.

　　"You know him, do you?" asked the Lieutenant. "Hello, Bates! Havethey put you on the Society notes?"

　　"I'm hunting interviews," replied the other. "How do you do, Mr.Montague? Glad to see you again."

　　"Come up," said the Lieutenant, "and have a seat."

　　"I was talking to Mr. Montague about the armour-plate frauds," headded, when the other had drawn up a chair. "I told him you knew thestory of the Government's investigation. Bates comes from Pittsburg,you know."

　　"Yes, I know it," Montague replied.

　　"That was the first newspaper story I ever worked on," said Bates."Of course, the Pittsburg papers didn't print the facts, but I gotthem all the same. And afterwards I came to know intimately a lawyerin Pittsburg who had charge of a secret investigation; and everytime I read in the newspapers that old Harrison has given a newlibrary, it sets my blood to boiling all over again."

　　"I sometimes think," put in the other, "that if somebody could befound to tell that story to the American people, they would rise upand drive the old scoundrel out of the country."

　　"You could never bring it home to him," said Bates; "he's toocunning for that. He has always turned his dirty work over to otherpeople. You remember during the big strike how he ran away and leftthe job to William Roberts; and after it was all over, he came backsmiling."

　　"And then buying out the Government to keep himself from beingpunished!" said the Lieutenant, savagely.

　　Montague turned and looked at him. "What is that?"

　　"That is the story that Bates's lawyer friend can tell," was thereply. "The board of officers awarded six hundred thousand dollars'damages to the Government; and the case was appealed to thePresident of the United States, and he sold out the Navy!"

　　"Sold it out!" gasped Montague.

　　The officer shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I call it," hesaid. "One day old Harrison startled the country by making a speechin support of the President's policy of tariff reform; and the nextday the lawyer got word that the award was to be scaled down aboutseventy-five per cent!"

　　"And then," added Bates, "William Roberts came down from Pittsburg,and bought up the Democratic party in Congress; and so the countrygot neither the damages nor the tariff reform. And then a few yearslater old Harrison sold out to the Steel Trust, and got off with afour-hundred-million-dollar mortgage on the American people!"

　　Bates sank back in his chair. "It's not a very pleasant topic for aholiday afternoon," he said. "But I can't forget about it. It's thiskind of thing that does it, you know--this." And he waved his handabout at the gay assemblage. "The women spending their money ondresses and diamonds, and the men tearing the country to pieces toget it. You'll hear people talk about it--they say these idle richharm nobody but themselves; but I tell you they spread a trail ofcorruption wherever they go. Don't you believe that, Mr. Montague?"

　　"I believe it," said he.

　　"Take these New England towns," said Bates; "and look at the peoplein them. The ones who had any energy got up and went West years ago;and those who are left haven't any jaw-bones. Did you ever noticeit? And it's just the same, wherever this pleasure crowd comes; itturns the men into boarding-house keepers and lackeys, and the girlsinto waitresses and prostitutes."

　　"They learn to take tips!" put in the Lieutenant.

　　"Everything they've got is for sale to city people," said Bates."Politically, there isn't a rottener little corner in the wholeUnited States of America than this same Rhode Island--and how muchthat's saying, you can imagine. You can buy votes on election day asyou'd buy herrings, and there's not the remotest effort at reform,nor any hope of it."

　　"You speak bitterly," said Montague.

　　"I am bitter," said Bates. "But it doesn't often break out. I holdmy tongue, and stew in my own juice. We newspaper men see the game,you know. We are behind the scenes, and we see the sawdust put intothe dolls. We have to work in this rottenness all the time, and someof us don't like it, I can tell you. But what can we do?"

　　He shrugged his shoulders. "I spend my time getting facts together,and nine times out of ten my newspaper won't print them."

　　"I should think you'd quit," said the other, in a low voice.

　　"What better can I do?" asked the reporter. "I have the facts; andonce in a while there comes an explosion, and I get my chance. So Istick at the job. I can't but believe that if you keep putting thesethings before the people, sometime, sooner or later, they will dosomething. Sometime there will come a man who has a conscience and avoice, and who won't sell out. Don't you think so, Mr. Montague?"

　　"Yes," said Montague, "I think so."