Chapter 23

by Upton Sinclair

　　Montague had taken a couple of days to think over Lucy's lastrequest. It was a difficult commission; but he made up his mind atlast that he would make the attempt. He went up to Ryder's home andpresented his card.

　　"Mr. Ryder is very much occupied, sir--" began the butler,apologetically.

　　"This is important," said Montague. "Take him the card, please." Hewaited in the palatial entrance-hall, decorated with ceilings whichhad been imported intact from old Italian palaces.

　　At last the butler returned. "Mr. Ryder says will you please see himupstairs, sir?"

　　Montague entered the elevator, and was taken to Ryder's privateapartments. In the midst of the drawing-room was a great librarytable, covered with a mass of papers; and in a chair in front of itsat Ryder.

　　Montague had never seen such dreadful suffering upon a humancountenance. The exquisite man of fashion had grown old in a week.

　　"Mr. Ryder," he began, when they were alone, "I received a letterfrom Mrs. Taylor, asking me to come to see you."

　　"I know," said Ryder. "It was like her; and it is very good of you."

　　"If there is any way that I can be of assistance," the other began.

　　But Ryder shook his head. "No," he said; "there is nothing."

　　"If I could give you my help in straightening out your ownaffairs--"

　　"They are beyond all help," said Ryder. "I have nothing to beginon--I have not a dollar in the world."

　　"That is hardly possible," objected Montague.

　　"It is literally true!" he exclaimed. "I have tried every plan--Ihave been over the thing and over it, until I am almost out of mymind." And he glanced about him at the confusion of papers, andleaned his forehead in his hands in despair.

　　"Perhaps if a fresh mind were to take it up," suggested Montague."It is difficult to see how a man of your resources could be leftwithout anything--"

　　"Everything I have is mortgaged," said the other. "I have beenborrowing money right and left. I was counting on profits--I wascounting on increases in value. And now see--everything is wipedout! There is not value enough left in anything to cover the loans."

　　"But surely, Mr. Ryder, this slump is merely temporary. Values mustbe restored--"

　　"It will be years, it will be years! And in the meantime I shall beforced to sell. They have wiped me out--they have destroyed me! Ihave not even money to live on."

　　Montague sat for a few moments in thought. "Mrs. Taylor wrote methat Waterman--" he began.

　　"I know, I know!" cried the other. "He had to tell her something, toget what he wanted."

　　Montague said nothing.

　　"And suppose he does what he promised?" continued the other. "He hasdone it before--but am I to be one of Dan Waterman's lackeys?"

　　There was a silence. "Like John Lawrence," continued Ryder, in a lowvoice. "Have you heard of Lawrence? He was a banker--one of theoldest in the city. And Waterman gave him an order, and he defiedhim. Then he broke him; took away every dollar he owned. And the mancame to him on his knees. 'I've taught you who is your master,' saidWaterman. 'Now here's your money.' And now Lawrence fawns on him,and he's got rich and fat. But all his bank exists for is to lendmoney when Waterman is floating a merger, and call it in when he isbuying."

　　Montague could think of nothing to reply to that.

　　"Mr. Ryder," he began at last, "I cannot be of much use to you now,because I haven't the facts. All I can tell you is that I am at yourdisposal. I will give you my best efforts, if you will let me. Thatis all I can say."

　　And Ryder looked up, the light shining on his white, wan face."Thank you, Mr. Montague," he said. "It is very good of you. It is ahelp, at least, to hear a word of sympathy. I--I will let youknow--"

　　"All right," said Montague, rising. He put out his hand, and Rydertook it tremblingly. "Thank you," he said again.

　　And the other turned and went out. He went down the great staircaseby himself. At the foot he passed the butler, carrying a tray withsome coffee.

　　He stopped the man. "Mr. Ryder ought not to be left alone," he said."He should have his physician."

　　"Yes, sir," began the other, and then stopped short. From the floorabove a pistol shot rang out and echoed through the house.

　　"Oh, my God!" gasped the butler, staggering backward.

　　He half dropped and half set the tray upon a chair, and ran wildlyup the steps. Montague stood for a moment or two as if turned tostone. He saw another servant run out of the dining-room and up thestairs. Then, with a sudden impulse, he turned and went to the door.

　　"I can be of no use," he thought to himself; "I should only dragLucy's name into it." And he opened the door, and went quietly downthe steps.

　　In the newspapers the next morning he read that Stanley Ryder hadshot himself in the body, and was dying.

　　And that same morning the newspapers in Denver, Colorado, told ofthe suicide of a mysterious woman, a stranger, who had gone to aroom in one of the hotels and taken poison. She was very beautiful;it was surmised that she must be an actress. But she had left not ascrap of paper or a clew of any sort by which she could beidentified. The newspapers printed her photograph; but Montague didnot see the Denver newspapers, and so to the day of his death henever knew what had been the fate of Lucy Dupree.

　　The panic was stopped, but the business of the country lay in ruins.For a week its financial heart had ceased to beat, and through allthe arteries of commerce, and every smallest capillary, there wasstagnation. Hundreds of firms had failed, and the mills andfactories by the thousands were closing down. There were millions ofmen out of work. Throughout the summer the railroads had beencongested with traffic, and now there were a quarter of a millionfreight cars laid by. Everywhere were poverty and suffering; it wasas if a gigantic tidal wave of distress had started from theMetropolis and rolled over the continent. Even the oceans had notstopped it; it had gone on to England and Germany--it had been felteven in South America and Japan.

　　One day, while Montague was still trembling with the pain of hisexperience, he was walking up the Avenue, and he met Laura Hegancoming from a shop to her carriage.

　　"Mr. Montague," she exclaimed, and stopped with a frank smile ofgreeting. "How are you?"

　　"I am well," he answered.

　　"I suppose," she added, "you have been very busy these terribledays."

　　"I have been more busy observing than doing," he replied.

　　"And how is Alice?"

　　"She is well. I suppose you have heard that she is engaged."

　　"Yes," said Miss Hegan. "Harry told me the first thing. I wasperfectly delighted."

　　"Are you going up town?" she added. "Get in and drive with me."

　　He entered the carriage, and they joined the procession up theAvenue. They talked for a few minutes, then suddenly Miss Hegansaid, "Won't you and Alice come to dinner with us some evening thisweek?"

　　Montague did not answer for a moment.

　　"Father is home now," Miss Hegan continued. "We should like so muchto have you."

　　He sat staring in front of him. "No," he said at last, in a lowvoice. "I would rather not come."

　　His manner, even more than his words, struck his companion. Sheglanced at him in surprise.

　　"Why?" she began, and stopped. There was a silence.

　　"Miss Hegan," he said at last, "I might make conventional excuses. Imight say that I have engagements; that I am very busy. Ordinarilyone does not find it worth while to tell the truth in this socialworld of ours. But somehow I feel impelled to deal frankly withyou."

　　He did not look at her. Her eyes were fixed upon him in wonder."What is it?" she asked.

　　And he replied, "I would rather not meet your father again."

　　"Why! Has anything happened between you and father?" she exclaimedin dismay.

　　"No," he answered; "I have not seen your father since I had lunchwith you in Newport."

　　"Then what is it?"

　　He paused a moment. "Miss Hegan," he began, "I have had a painfulexperience in this panic. I have lived through it in a very dreadfulway. I cannot get over it--I cannot get the images of suffering outof my mind. It is a very real and a very awful thing to me--thiswrecking of the lives of tens of thousands of people. And so I amhardly fitted for the amenities of social life just at present."

　　"But my father!" gasped she. "What has he to do with it?"

　　"Your father," he answered, "is one of the men who were responsiblefor that panic. He helped to make it; and he profited by it."

　　She started forward, clenching her hands and staring at him wildly."Mr. Montague!" she exclaimed.

　　He did not reply.

　　There was a long pause. He could hear her breath coming quickly.

　　"Are you sure?" she whispered.

　　"Quite sure," said he.

　　Again there was silence.

　　"I do not know very much about my father's affairs," she began, atlast. "I cannot reply to what you say. It is very dreadful."

　　"Please understand me, Miss Hegan," said he. "I have no right toforce such thoughts upon you; and perhaps I have made a mistake--"

　　"I should have preferred that you should tell me the truth," shesaid quickly.

　　"I believed that you would," he answered. "That was why I spoke."

　　"Was what he did so very dreadful?" asked the girl, in a low voice.

　　"I would prefer not to answer," said he. "I cannot judge yourfather. I am simply trying to protect myself. I'm afraid of the gripof this world upon me. I have followed the careers of so many men,one after another. They come into it, and it lays hold of them, andbefore they know it, they become corrupt. What I have seen here inthe Metropolis has filled me with dismay, almost with terror. Everyfibre of me cries out against it; and I mean to fight it--to fightit all my life. And so I do not care to make terms with it socially.When I have seen a man doing what I believe to be a dreadful wrong,I cannot go to his home, and shake his hand, and smile, and exchangethe commonplaces of life with him."

　　It was a long time before Miss Hegan replied. Her voice wastrembling.

　　"Mr. Montague," she said, "you must not think that I have not beentroubled by these things. But what can one do? What is the remedy?"

　　"I do not know," he answered. "I wish that I did know. I can onlytell you this, that I do not intend to rest until I have found out."

　　"What are you going to do?" she asked.

　　He replied: "I am going into politics. I am going to try to teachthe people."