Books: The Lion and the Mouse
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Charles Klein >> The Lion and the Mouse
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Europe, thought Jefferson as he strode quickly along, pointed with
envy to America's unparalleled prosperity, spoke with bated breath
of her great fortunes. Rather should they say her gigantic
robberies, her colossal frauds! As a nation we were not proud of
our multi-millionaires. How many of them would bear the search-
light of investigation? Would his own father? How many millions
could one man make by honest methods? America was enjoying
unprecedented prosperity, not because of her millionaires, but in
spite of them. The United States owed its high rank in the family
of nations to the country's vast natural resources, its
inexhaustible vitality, its great wheat fields, the industrial and
mechanical genius of its people. It was the plain American citizen
who had made the greatness of America, not the millionaires who,
forming a class by themselves of unscrupulous capitalists, had
created an arrogant oligarchy which sought to rule the country by
corrupting the legislature and the judiciary. The plutocrats--
these were the leeches, the sores in the body politic. An
organized band of robbers, they had succeeded in dominating
legislation and in securing control of every branch of the
nation's industry, crushing mercilessly and illegally all
competition. They were the Money Power, and such a menace were
they to the welfare of the people that, it had been estimated,
twenty men in America had it in their power, by reason of the vast
wealth which they controlled, to come together, and within twenty-
four hours arrive at an understanding by which every wheel of
trade and commerce would be stopped from revolving, every avenue
of trade blocked and every electric key struck dumb. Those twenty
men could paralyze the whole country, for they controlled the
circulation of the currency and could create a panic whenever they
might choose. It was the rapaciousness and insatiable greed of
these plutocrats that had forced the toilers to combine for self-
protection, resulting in the organization of the Labor Unions
which, in time, became almost as tyrannical and unreasonable as
the bosses. And the breach between capital on the one hand and
labour on the other was widening daily, masters and servants
snarling over wages and hours, the quarrel ever increasing in
bitterness and acrimony until one day the extreme limit of
patience would be reached and industrial strikes would give place
to bloody violence.
Meantime the plutocrats, wholly careless of the significant signs
of the times and the growing irritation and resentment of the
people, continued their illegal practices, scoffing at public
opinion, snapping their fingers at the law, even going so far in
their insolence as to mock and jibe at the President of the United
States. Feeling secure in long immunity and actually protected in
their wrong doing by the courts--the legal machinery by its very
elaborateness defeating the ends of justice--the Trust kings
impudently defied the country and tried to impose their own will
upon the people. History had thus repeated itself. The armed
feudalism of the middle ages had been succeeded in twentieth
century America by the tyranny of capital.
Yet, ruminated the young artist as he neared the Ryder residence,
the American people had but themselves to blame for their present
thralldom. Forty years before Abraham Lincoln had warned the
country when at the close of the war he saw that the race for
wealth was already making men and women money-mad. In 1864 he
wrote these words:
"Yes, we may congratulate ourselves that this cruel war is nearing
its close. It has cost a vast amount of treasure and blood. The
best blood of the flower of American youth has been freely offered
upon our country's altar that the nation might live. It has been
indeed a trying hour for the Republic, but I see in the near
future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to
tremble for the safety of my country. As a result of the war,
corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high
places will follow and the money power of the country will
endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of
the people until all the wealth is aggregated in a few hands and
the Republic is destroyed."
Truly prophetic these solemn words were to-day. Forgetting the
austere simplicity of their forebears, a love of show and
ostentation had become the ruling passion of the American people.
Money, MONEY, _MONEY_! was to-day the only standard, the only god!
The whole nation, frenzied with a wild lust for wealth no matter
how acquired, had tacitly acquiesced in all sorts of turpitude,
every description of moral depravity, and so had fallen an easy
victim to the band of capitalistic adventurers who now virtually
ruled the land. With the thieves in power, the courts were
powerless, the demoralization was general and the world was
afforded the edifying spectacle of an entire country given up to
an orgy of graft--treason in the Senate--corruption in the
Legislature, fraudulent elections, leaks in government reports,
trickery in Wall Street, illegal corners in coal, meat, ice and
other prime necessaries of life, the deadly horrors of the Beef
and Drug Trusts, railroad conspiracies, insurance scandals, the
wrecking of savings banks, police dividing spoils with pickpockets
and sharing the wages of prostitutes, magistrates charged with
blackmailing--a foul stench of social rottenness and decay! What,
thought Jefferson, would be the outcome--Socialism or Anarchy?
Still, he mused, one ray of hope pierced the general gloom--the
common sense, the vigour and the intelligence of the true American
man and woman, the love for a "square deal" which was
characteristic of the plain people, the resistless force of
enlightened public opinion. The country was merely passing through
a dark phase in its history, it was the era of the grafters. There
would come a reaction, the rascals would be exposed and driven
off, and the nation would go on upward toward its high destiny.
The country was fortunate, too, in having a strong president, a
man of high principles and undaunted courage who had already shown
his capacity to deal with the critical situation. America was
lucky with her presidents. Picked out by the great political
parties as mere figureheads, sometimes they deceived their
sponsors, and showed themselves men and patriots. Such a president
was Theodore Roosevelt. After beginning vigorous warfare on the
Trusts, attacking fearlessly the most rascally of the band, the
chief of the nation had sounded the slogan of alarm in regard to
the multi-millionaires. The amassing of colossal fortunes, he had
declared, must be stopped--a man might accumulate more than
sufficient for his own needs and for the needs of his children,
but the evil practice of perpetuating great and ever-increasing
fortunes for generations yet unborn was recognized as a peril to
the State. To have had the courage to propose such a sweeping and
radical restrictive measure as this should alone, thought
Jefferson, ensure for Theodore Roosevelt a place among America's
greatest and wisest statesmen. He and Americans of his calibre
would eventually perform the titanic task of cleansing these
Augean stables, the muck and accumulated filth of which was
sapping the health and vitality of the nation.
Jefferson turned abruptly and went up the wide steps of an
imposing white marble edifice, which took up the space of half a
city block. A fine example of French Renaissance architecture,
with spire roofs, round turrets and mullioned windows dominating
the neighbouring houses, this magnificent home of the plutocrat,
with its furnishings and art treasures, had cost John Burkett
Ryder nearly ten millions of dollars. It was one of the show
places of the town, and when the "rubber neck" wagons approached
the Ryder mansion and the guides, through their megaphones,
expatiated in awe-stricken tones on its external and hidden
beauties, there was a general craning of vertebrae among the
"seeing New York"-ers to catch a glimpse of the abode of the
richest man in the world.
Only a few privileged ones were ever permitted to penetrate to the
interior of this ten-million-dollar home. Ryder was not fond of
company, he avoided strangers and lived in continual apprehension
of the subpoena server. Not that he feared the law, only he
usually found it inconvenient to answer questions in court under
oath. The explicit instructions to the servants, therefore, were
to admit no one under any pretext whatever unless the visitor had
been approved by the Hon. Fitzroy Bagley, Mr. Ryder's aristocratic
private secretary, and to facilitate this preliminary inspection
there had been installed between the library upstairs and the
front door one of those ingenious electric writing devices, such
as are used in banks, on which a name is hastily scribbled,
instantly transmitted elsewhere, immediately answered and the
visitor promptly admitted or as quickly shown the door.
Indeed the house, from the street, presented many of the
characteristics of a prison. It had massive doors behind a row of
highly polished steel gates, which would prove as useful in case
of attempted invasion as they were now ornamental, and heavily
barred windows, while on either side of the portico were great
marble columns hung with chains and surmounted with bronze lions
rampant. It was unusual to keep the town house open so late in the
summer, but Mr. Ryder was obliged for business reasons to be in
New York at this time, and Mrs. Ryder, who was one of the few
American wives who do not always get their own way, had good-
naturedly acquiesced in the wishes of her lord.
Jefferson did not have to ring at the paternal portal. The
sentinel within was at his post; no one could approach that door
without being seen and his arrival and appearance signalled
upstairs. But the great man's son headed the list of the
privileged ones, so without ado the smartly dressed flunkey opened
wide the doors and Jefferson was under his father's roof.
"Is my father in?" he demanded of the man.
"No, sir," was the respectful answer. "Mr. Ryder has gone out
driving, but Mr. Bagley is upstairs." Then after a brief pause he
added: "Mrs. Ryder is in, too."
In this household where the personality of the mistress was so
completely overshadowed by the stronger personality of the master
the latter's secretary was a more important personage to the
servants than the unobtrusive wife.
Jefferson went up the grand staircase hung on either side with
fine old portraits and rare tapestries, his feet sinking deep in
the rich velvet carpet. On the first landing was a piece of
sculptured marble of inestimable worth, seen in the soft warm
light that sifted through a great pictorial stained-glass window
overhead, the subject representing Ajax and Ulysses contending for
the armour of Achilles. To the left of this, at the top of another
flight leading to the library, was hung a fine full-length
portrait of John Burkett Ryder. The ceilings here as in the lower
hall were richly gilt and adorned with paintings by famous modern
artists. When he reached this floor Jefferson was about to turn to
the right and proceed direct to his mother's suite when he heard a
voice near the library door. It was Mr. Bagley giving instructions
to the butler.
The Honourable Fitzroy Bagley, a younger son of a British peer,
had left his country for his country's good, and in order to turn
an honest penny, which he had never succeeded in doing at home, he
had entered the service of America's foremost financier, hoping to
gather a few of the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table and
disguising the menial nature of his position under the high-
sounding title of private secretary. His job called for a spy and
a toady and he filled these requirements admirably. Excepting with
his employer, of whom he stood in craven fear, his manner was
condescendingly patronizing to all with whom he came in contact,
as if he were anxious to impress on these American plebeians the
signal honour which a Fitzroy, son of a British peer, did them in
deigning to remain in their "blarsted" country. In Mr. Ryder's
absence, therefore, he ran the house to suit himself, bullying the
servants and not infrequently issuing orders that were
contradictory to those already given by Mrs. Ryder. The latter
offered no resistance, she knew he was useful to her husband and,
what to her mind was a still better reason for letting him have
his own way, she had always had the greatest reverence for the
British aristocracy. It would have seemed to her little short of
vulgarity to question the actions of anyone who spoke with such a
delightful English accent. Moreover, he dressed with
irreproachable taste, was an acknowledged authority on dinner
menus and social functions and knew his Burke backwards--
altogether an accomplished and invaluable person.
Jefferson could not bear the sight of him; in fact, it was this
man's continual presence in the house that had driven him to seek
refuge elsewhere. He believed him to be a scoundrel as he
certainly was a cad. Nor was his estimate of the English secretary
far wrong. The man, like his master, was a grafter, and the
particular graft he was after now was either to make a marriage
with a rich American girl or to so compromise her that the same
end would be attained. He was shrewd enough to realize that he had
little chance to get what he wanted in the open matrimonial
market, so he determined to attempt a raid and carry off an
heiress under her father's nose, and the particular proboscis he
had selected was that of his employer's friend, Senator Roberts.
The senator and Miss Roberts were frequently at the Ryder House
and in course of time the aristocratic secretary and the daughter
had become quite intimate. A flighty girl, with no other purpose
in life beyond dress and amusement and having what she termed "a
good time," Kate thought it excellent pastime to flirt with Mr.
Bagley, and when she discovered that he was serious in his
attentions she felt flattered rather than indignant. After all,
she argued, he was of noble birth. If his two brothers died he
would be peer of England, and she had enough money for both. He
might not make a bad husband. But she was careful to keep her own
counsel and not let her father have any suspicion of what was
going on. She knew that his heart was set on her marrying
Jefferson Ryder and she knew better than anyone how impossible
that dream was. She herself liked Jefferson quite enough to marry
him, but if his eyes were turned in another direction--and she
knew all about his attentions to Miss Rossmore--she was not going
to break her heart about it. So she continued to flirt secretly
with the Honourable Fitzroy while she still led the Ryders and her
own father to think that she was interested in Jefferson.
"Jorkins," Mr. Bagley was saying to the butler, "Mr. Ryder will
occupy the library on his return. See that he is not disturbed."
"Yes, sir," replied the butler respectfully. The man turned to go
when the secretary called him back.
"And, Jorkins, you will station another man at the front entrance.
Yesterday it was left unguarded, and a man had the audacity to
address Mr. Ryder as he was getting out of his carriage. Last week
a reporter tried to snapshot him. Mr. Ryder was furious. These
things must not happen again, Jorkins. I shall hold you
responsible."
"Very good, sir." The butler bowed and went downstairs. The
secretary looked up and saw Jefferson. His face reddened and his
manner grew nervous.
"Hello! Back from Europe, Jefferson? How jolly! Your mother will
be delighted. She's in her room upstairs."
Declining to take the hint, and gathering from Bagley's
embarrassed manner that he wanted to get rid of him, Jefferson
lingered purposely. When the butler had disappeared, he said:
"This house is getting more and more like a barracks every day.
You've got men all over the place. One can't move a step without
falling over one."
Mr. Bagley drew himself up stiffly, as he always did when assuming
an air of authority.
"Your father's personality demands the utmost precaution," he
replied. "We cannot leave the life of the richest and most
powerful financier in the world at the mercy of the rabble."
"What rabble?" inquired Jefferson, amused.
"The common rabble--the lower class--the riff-raff," explained Mr.
Bagley.
"Pshaw!" laughed Jefferson. "If our financiers were only half as
respectable as the common rabble, as you call them, they would
need no bars to their houses."
Mr. Bagley sneered and shrugged his shoulders.
"Your father has warned me against your socialistic views." Then,
with a lofty air, he added: "For four years I was third groom of
the bedchamber to the second son of England's queen. I know my
responsibilities."
"But you are not groom of the bedchamber here," retorted
Jefferson.
"Whatever I am," said Mr. Bagley haughtily, "I am answerable to
your father alone."
"By the way, Bagley," asked Jefferson, "when do you expect father
to return? I want to see him."
"I'm afraid it's quite impossible," answered the secretary with
studied insolence. "He has three important people to see before
dinner. There's the National Republican Committee and Sergeant
Ellison of the Secret Service from Washington--all here by
appointment. It's quite impossible."
"I didn't ask you if it were possible. I said I wanted to see him
and I will see him," answered Jefferson quietly but firmly, and in
a tone and manner which did not admit of further opposition. "I'll
go and leave word for him on his desk," he added.
He started to enter the library when the secretary, who was
visibly perturbed, attempted to bar his way.
"There's some one in there," he said in an undertone. "Someone
waiting for your father."
"Is there?" replied Jefferson coolly. "I'll see who it is," with
which he brushed past Mr. Bagley and entered the library.
He had guessed aright. A woman was there. It was Kate Roberts.
"Hello, Kate! how are you?" They called each other by their first
names, having been acquainted for years, and while theirs was an
indifferent kind of friendship they had always been on good terms.
At one time Jefferson had even begun to think he might do what his
father wished and marry the girl, but it was only after he had met
and known Shirley Rossmore that he realized how different one
woman can be from another. Yet Kate had her good qualities. She
was frivolous and silly as are most girls with no brains and
nothing else to do in life but dress and spend money, but she
might yet be happy with some other fellow, and that was why it
made him angry to see this girl with $100,000 in her own right
playing into the hands of an unscrupulous adventurer. He had
evidently disturbed an interesting tete-a-tete. He decided to say
nothing, but mentally he resolved to spoil Mr. Bagley's game and
save Kate from her own folly. On hearing his voice Kate turned and
gave a little cry of genuine surprise.
"Why, is it you, Jeff? I thought you were in Europe."
"I returned yesterday," he replied somewhat curtly. He crossed
over to his father's desk where he sat down to scribble a few
words, while Mr. Bagley, who had followed him in scowling, was
making frantic dumb signs to Kate.
"I fear I intrude here," said Jefferson pointedly.
"Oh, dear no, not at all," replied Kate in some confusion. "I was
waiting for my father. How is Paris?" she asked.
"Lovely as ever," he answered.
"Did you have a good time?" she inquired.
"I enjoyed it immensely. I never had a better one."
"You probably were in good company," she said significantly. Then
she added: "I believe Miss Rossmore was in Paris."
"Yes, I think she was there," was his non-committal answer.
To change the conversation, which was becoming decidedly personal,
he picked up a book that was lying on his father's desk and
glanced at the title. It was "The American Octopus."
"Is father still reading this?" he asked. "He was at it when I
left."
"Everybody is reading it," said Kate. "The book has made a big
sensation. Do you know who the hero is?"
"Who?" he asked with an air of the greatest innocence.
"Why, no less a personage than your father--John Burkett Ryder
himself! Everybody says it's he--the press and everybody that's
read it. He says so himself."
"Really?" he exclaimed with well-simulated surprise. "I must read
it."
"It has made a strong impression on Mr. Ryder," chimed in Mr.
Bagley. "I never knew him to be so interested in a book before.
He's trying his best to find out who the author is. It's a jolly
well written book and raps you American millionaires jolly well--
what?"
"Whoever wrote the book," interrupted Kate, "is somebody who knows
Mr. Ryder exceedingly well. There are things in it that an
outsider could not possibly know."
"Phew!" Jefferson whistled softly to himself. He was treading
dangerous ground. To conceal his embarrassment, he rose.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll go and pay my filial respects upstairs.
I'll see you again." He gave Kate a friendly nod, and without even
glancing at Mr. Bagley left the room.
The couple stood in silence for a few moments after he
disappeared. Then Kate went to the door and listened to his
retreating footsteps. When she was sure that he was out of earshot
she turned on Mr. Bagley indignantly.
"You see what you expose me to. Jefferson thinks this was a
rendezvous."
"Well, it was to a certain extent," replied the secretary
unabashed. "Didn't you ask me to see you here?"
"Yes," said Kate, taking a letter from her bosom, "I wanted to ask
you what this means?"
"My dear Miss Roberts--Kate--I"--stammered the secretary.
"How dare you address me in this manner when you know I and Mr.
Ryder are engaged?"
No one knew better than Kate that this was not true, but she said
it partly out of vanity, partly out of a desire to draw out this
Englishman who made such bold love to her.
"Miss Roberts," replied Mr. Bagley loftily, "in that note I
expressed my admiration--my love for you. Your engagement to Mr.
Jefferson Ryder is, to say the least, a most uncertain fact."
There was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice that did not escape
Kate.
"You must not judge from appearances," she answered, trying to
keep up the outward show of indignation which inwardly she did not
feel. "Jeff and I may hide a passion that burns like a volcano.
All lovers are not demonstrative, you know."
The absurdity of this description as applied to her relations with
Jefferson appealed to her as so comical that she burst into
laughter in which the secretary joined.
"Then why did you remain here with me when the Senator went out
with Mr. Ryder, senior?" he demanded.
"To tell you that I cannot listen to your nonsense any longer,"
retorted the girl.
"What?" he cried, incredulously. "You remain here to tell me that
you cannot listen to me when you could easily have avoided
listening to me without telling me so. Kate, your coldness is not
convincing."
"You mean you think I want to listen to you?" she demanded.
"I do," he answered, stepping forward as if to take her in his
arms.
"Mr. Bagley!" she exclaimed, recoiling.
"A week ago," he persisted, "you called me Fitzroy. Once, in an
outburst of confidence, you called me Fitz."
"You hadn't asked me to marry you then," she laughed mockingly.
Then edging away towards the door she waved her hand at him
playfully and said teasingly: "Good-bye, Mr. Bagley, I am going
upstairs to Mrs. Ryder. I will await my father's return in her
room. I think I shall be safer."
He ran forward to intercept her, but she was too quick for him.
The door slammed in his face and she was gone.
Meantime Jefferson had proceeded upstairs, passing through long
and luxuriously carpeted corridors with panelled frescoed walls,
and hung with grand old tapestries and splendid paintings, until
he came to his mother's room. He knocked.
"Come in!" called out the familiar voice. He entered. Mrs. Ryder
was busy at her escritoire looking over a mass of household
accounts.
"Hello, mother!" he cried, running up and hugging her in his
boyish, impulsive way. Jefferson had always been devoted to his
mother, and while he deplored her weakness in permitting herself
to be so completely under the domination of his father, she had
always found him an affectionate and loving son.
"Jefferson!" she exclaimed when he released her. "My dear boy,
when did you arrive?"
"Only yesterday. I slept at the studio last night. You're looking
bully, mother. How's father?"
Mrs. Ryder sighed while she looked her son over proudly. In her
heart she was glad Jefferson had turned out as he had. Her boy
certainly would never be a financier to be attacked in magazines
and books. Answering his question she said:
"Your father is as well as those busybodies in the newspapers will
let him be. He's considerably worried just now over that new book
'The American Octopus.' How dare they make him out such a monster?
He's no worse than other successful business men. He's richer,
that's all, and it makes them jealous. He's out driving now with
Senator Roberts. Kate is somewhere in the house--in the library, I
think."
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