Chapter 8

by Upton Sinclair

　　It was now well on in May, and most of the people of Montague'sacquaintance had moved out to their country places; and those whowere chained to their desks had yachts or automobiles or privatecars, and made the trip into the country every afternoon. Montaguewas invited to spend another week at Eldridge Devon's, where Alicehad been for a week; but he could not spare the time until Saturdayafternoon, when he made the trip up the Hudson in Devon's newthree-hundred-foot steam-yacht, the Triton. Some unkind person haddescribed Devon to Montague as "a human yawn"; but he appeared tohave a very keen interest in life that Saturday afternoon. He hadbeen seized by a sudden conviction that a new and but littleadvertised automobile had proven its superiority to any of theseventeen cars which he at present maintained in his establishment.He had got three of these new cars, and while Montague sat upon thequarter-deck of the Triton and gazed at the magnificent scenery ofthe river, he had in his ear the monotonous hum of Devon's voice,discussing annular ball-bearings and water-jacketed cylinders.

　　One of the new cars met them at Devon's private pier, and swept themover the hill to the mansion. The Devon place had never looked morewonderful to Montague than it did just then, with fruit trees infull blossom, and the wonder of springtime upon everything. Formiles about one might see hillsides that were one unbroken stretchof luscious green lawn. But alas, Eldridge Devon had no interest inthese hills, except to pursue a golf-ball over them. Montague neverfelt more keenly the pitiful quality of the people among whom hefound himself than when he stood upon the portico of this house--aportico huge enough to belong to some fairy palace in a dream--andgazed at the sweeping vista of the Hudson over the heads of Mrs.Billy Alden and several of her cronies, playing bridge.

　　* * *

　　After luncheon, he went for a stroll with Alice, and she told himhow she had been passing the time. "Young Curtiss was here for acouple of days," she said.

　　"General Prentice's nephew?" he asked.

　　"Yes. He told me he had met you," said she. "What do you think ofhim?"

　　"He struck me as a sensible chap," said Montague.

　　"I like him very much," said Alice. "I think we shall be friends. Heis interesting to talk to; you know he was in a militia regimentthat went to Cuba, and also he's been a cowboy, and all sorts ofexciting things. We took a walk the other morning, and he told mesome of his adventures. They say he's quite a successful lawyer."

　　"He is in a very successful firm," said Montague. "And he'd hardlyhave got there unless he had ability."

　　"He's a great friend of Laura Hegan's," said Alice. "She was overhere to spend the day. She doesn't approve of many people, so thatis a compliment."

　　Montague spoke of a visit which he had paid to Laura Hegan, at oneof the neighbouring estates.

　　"I had quite a talk with her," said Alice. "And she invited me toluncheon, and took me driving. I like her better than I thought Iwould. Don't you like her, Allan?"

　　"I couldn't say that I really know her," said Montague. "I thought Imight like her, but she did not happen to like me."

　　"But how could that be?" asked the girl.

　　Montague smiled. "Tastes are different," he said.

　　"But there must be some reason," protested Alice. "For she looks atmany things in the same way that you do. I told her I thought shewould be interested to talk to you."

　　"What did she say?" asked the other.

　　"She didn't say anything," answered Alice; and then suddenly sheturned to him. "I am sure you must know some reason. I wish youwould tell me."

　　"I don't know anything definite," Montague answered. "I have alwaysimagined it had to do with Mrs. Winnie."

　　"With Mrs. Winnie!" exclaimed Alice, in perplexing wonder.

　　"I suppose she heard gossip and believed it," he added.

　　"But that is a shame!" exclaimed the girl. "Why don't you tell herthe truth?"

　　"_I_ tell her?" laughed Montague. "I have no reason for telling her.She doesn't care anything in particular about me."

　　He was silent for a moment or two. "I thought of it once or twice,"he said. "For it made me rather angry at first. I saw myself goingup to her, and startling her with the statement, 'What you believeabout me is not true!' Then again, I thought I might write her aletter and tell her. But of course it would be absurd; she wouldnever acknowledge that she had believed anything, and she wouldthink I was impertinent."

　　"I don't believe she would do anything of the sort," Alice answered."At least, not if she meant what she said to me. She was talkingabout people one met in Society, and how tiresome and conventionalit all was. 'No one ever speaks the truth or deals frankly withyou,' she said. 'All the men spend their time in paying youcompliments about your looks. They think that is all a woman caresabout. The more I come to know them, the less I think of them.'"

　　"That's just it," said Montague. "One cannot feel comfortableknowing a girl in her position. Her father is powerful, and some dayshe will be enormously rich herself; and the people who gather abouther are seeking to make use of her. I was interested in her when Ifirst met her. But when I learned more about the world in which shelives, I shrank from even talking to her."

　　"But that is rather unfair to her," said Alice. "Suppose all decentpeople felt that way. And she is really quite easy to know. She toldme about some charities she is interested in. She goes down into theslums, on the East Side, and teaches poor children. It seemed to mea wonderfully daring sort of thing, but she laughed when I said so.She says those people are just the same as other people, when youcome to know them; you get used to their ways, and then it does notseem so terrible and far off."

　　"I imagine it would be so," said Montague, with a smile.

　　"Her father came over to meet her," Alice added. "She said that wasthe first time he had been out of the city in six months. Just fancyworking so hard, and with all the money he has! What in the world doyou suppose he wants more for?"

　　"I don't suppose it is the money," said he. "It's the power. Andwhen you have so much money, you have to work hard to keep otherpeople from taking it away from you."

　　"He certainly looks as if he ought to be able to protect himself,"said the girl. "His face is so grim and forbidding. You would hardlythink he could smile, to look at him."

　　"He is very pleasant, when you know him," said Montague.

　　"He remembered you, and asked about you," said she. "Wasn't it hewho was going to buy Lucy Dupree's stock?"

　　"I spoke to him about it," he answered, "but nothing came of it."

　　There was a moment's pause. "Allan," said Alice, suddenly, "what isthis I hear about Lucy?"

　　"What do you mean?" he asked.

　　"People are talking about her and Mr. Ryder. I overheard Mrs. Landisyesterday. It's outrageous!"

　　Montague did hot know what to say. "What can I do?" he asked.

　　"I don't know," said Alice, "but I think that Victoria Landis is ahorrible woman. I know she herself does exactly as she pleases. Andshe tells such shocking stories--"

　　Montague said nothing.

　　"Tell me," asked the other, after a pause, "because you've given upLucy's business affairs, are we to have nothing to do with her atall?"

　　"I don't know," he answered. "I don't imagine she will care to seeme. I have told her about the mistake she's making, and she choosesto go her own way. So what more can I do?"

　　* * *

　　That evening Montague found himself settled on a sofa next to Mrs.Billy Alden. "What's this I hear about your friend, Mrs. Taylor?"she asked.

　　"I don't know," said he, abruptly.

　　"The fascinating widow seems to be throwing herself away," continuedthe other.

　　"What makes you say that?" he asked.

　　"Vivie Patton told me," said she. "She's an old flame of StanleyRyder's, you know; and so I imagine it came directly from him."

　　Montague was dumb; he could think of nothing to say.

　　"It's too bad," said Mrs. Billy. "She is really a charming creature.And it will hurt her, you know--she is a stranger, and it's a trifletoo sudden. Is that the Mississippi way?"

　　Montague forced himself to say, "Lucy is her own mistress." But hisfeeble impulse toward conversation was checked by Mrs. Billy'sprompt response, "Vivie said she was Stanley Ryder's."

　　"I understand how you feel," continued the great lady, after apause. "Everybody will be talking about it.--Your friend Reggie Mannheard what Vivie said, and he will see to that."

　　"Reggie Mann is no friend of mine," said Montague, abruptly.

　　There was a pause. "How in the world do you stand that man?" heasked, by way of changing the conversation.

　　"Oh, Reggie fills his place," was the reply. And Mrs. Billy gazedabout the room. "You see all these women?" she said. "Take them inthe morning and put half a dozen of them together in one room; theyall hate each other like poison, and there are no men around, andthere is nothing to do; and how are you to keep them fromquarrelling?"

　　"Is that Reggie's role?" asked the other.

　　"Precisely. He sees a spark fly, and he jumps up and cracks a joke.It doesn't make any difference what he does--I've known him to crowlike a rooster, or stumble over his own feet--anything to raise alaugh."

　　"Aren't you afraid these epigrams may reach your victim?" askedMontague, with a smile.

　　"That is what they are intended to do," was the reply.

　　"I judge you have not many enemies," added Mrs. Billy, after apause.

　　"No especial ones," said he.

　　"Well," said she, "you should cultivate some. Enemies are the spiceof life. I mean it, really," she declared, as she saw him smile.

　　"I had never thought of it," said he.

　　"Have you never known what it is to get into a really good fight?You see, you are conventional, and you don't like to acknowledge it.But what is there that wakes one up more than a good, vigoroushatred? Some day you will realise it--the chief zest in life is togo after somebody who hates you, and to get him down and see himsquirm."

　　"But suppose he gets you down?" interposed Montague.

　　"Ah!" said she, "you mustn't let him! That is what you go into thefight for. Get after him, and do him first."

　　"It sounds rather barbarous," said he.

　　"On the contrary," was the answer, "it's the highest reach ofcivilisation. That is what Society is for--the cultivation of theart of hatred. It is the survival of the fittest in a new realm. Youstudy your victim, you find out his weaknesses and his foibles, andyou know just where to plant your sting. You learn what he wants,and you take it away from him. You choose your allies carefully, andyou surround him and overwhelm him; then when you get through withhim, you go after another."

　　And Mrs. Billy glanced about her at the exquisite assemblage in Mrs.Devon's Louis Seize drawing-room. "What do you suppose these peopleare here for to-night?" she asked.