Chương Chương 27 · For three years now Lester had been happy in the companionship of

Jennie. Irregular as the connection might be in the eyes of the church

and of society, it had brought him peace and comfort, and he was

perfectly satisfied with the outcome of the experiment. His interest

in the social affairs of Cincinnati was now practically nil, and he

had consistently refused to consider any matrimonial proposition which

had himself as the object. He looked on his father's business

organization as offering a real chance for himself if he could get

control of it; but he saw no way of doing so. Robert's interests were

always in the way, and, if anything, the two brothers were farther

apart than ever in their ideas and aims. Lester had thought once or

twice of entering some other line of business or of allying himself

with another carriage company, but he did not feel that ha could

conscientiously do this. Lester had his salary--fifteen thousand

a year as secretary and treasurer of the company (his brother was

vice-president)--and about five thousand from some outside

investments. He had not been so lucky or so shrewd in speculation as

Robert had been; aside from the principal which yielded his five

thousand, he had nothing. Robert, on the other hand, was

unquestionably worth between three and four hundred thousand dollars,

in addition to his future interest in the business, which both

brothers shrewdly suspected would be divided somewhat in their favor.

Robert and Lester would get a fourth each, they thought; their sisters

a sixth. It seemed natural that Kane senior should take this view,

seeing that the brothers were actually in control and doing the work.

Still, there was no certainty. The old gentleman might do anything or

nothing. The probabilities were that he would be very fair and

liberal. At the same time, Robert was obviously beating Lester in the

game of life. What did Lester intend to do about it?

There comes a time in every thinking man's life when he pauses and

"takes stock" of his condition; when he asks himself how it fares with

his individuality as a whole, mental, moral, physical, material. This

time comes after the first heedless flights of youth have passed, when

the initiative and more powerful efforts have been made, and he begins

to feel the uncertainty of results and final values which attaches

itself to everything. There is a deadening thought of uselessness

which creeps into many men's minds--the thought which has been

best expressed by the Preacher in Ecclesiastes.

Yet Lester strove to be philosophical. "What difference does it

make?" he used to say to himself, "whether I live at the White House,

or here at home, or at the Grand Pacific?" But in the very question

was the implication that there were achievements in life which he had

failed to realize in his own career. The White House represented the

rise and success of a great public character. His home and the Grand

Pacific were what had come to him without effort.

He decided for the time being--it was about the period of the

death of Jennie's mother--that he would make some effort to

rehabilitate himself. He would cut out idling--these numerous

trips with Jennie had cost him considerable time. He would make some

outside investments. If his brother could find avenues of financial

profit, so could he. He would endeavor to assert his

authority--he would try to make himself of more importance in the

business, rather than let Robert gradually absorb everything. Should

he forsake Jennie?--that thought also, came to him. She had no

claim on him. She could make no protest. Somehow he did not see how it

could be done. It seemed cruel, useless; above all (though he disliked

to admit it) it would be uncomfortable for himself. He liked

her--loved her, perhaps, in a selfish way. He didn't see how he

could desert her very well.

Just at this time he had a really serious difference with Robert.

His brother wanted to sever relations with an old and well established

paint company in New York, which had manufactured paints especially

for the house, and invest in a new concern in Chicago, which was

growing and had a promising future. Lester, knowing the members of the

Eastern firm, their reliability, their long and friendly relations

with the house, was in opposition. His father at first seemed to agree

with Lester. But Robert argued out the question in his cold, logical

way, his blue eyes fixed uncompromisingly upon his brother's face. "We

can't go on forever," he said, "standing by old friends, just because

father here has dealt with them, or you like them. We must have a

change. The business must be stiffened up; we're going to have more

and stronger competition."

"It's just as father feels about it," said Lester at last. "I have

no deep feeling in the matter. It won't hurt me one way or the other.

You say the house is going to profit eventually. I've stated the

arguments on the other side."

"I'm inclined to think Robert is right," said Archibald Kane

calmly. "Most of the things he has suggested so far have worked

out."

Lester colored. "Well, we won't have any more discussion about it

then," he said. He rose and strolled out of the office.

The shock of this defeat, coming at a time when he was considering

pulling himself together, depressed Lester considerably. It wasn't

much but it was a straw, and his father's remark about his brother's

business acumen was even more irritating. He was beginning to wonder

whether his father would discriminate in any way in the distribution

of the property. Had he heard anything about his entanglement with

Jennie? Had he resented the long vacations he had taken from business?

It did not appear to Lester that he could be justly chargeable with

either incapacity or indifference, so far as the company was

concerned. He had done his work well. He was still the investigator of

propositions put up to the house, the student of contracts, the

trusted adviser of his father and mother--but he was being

worsted. Where would it end? He thought about this, but could reach no

conclusion.

Later in this same year Robert came forward with a plan for

reorganization in the executive department of the business. He

proposed that they should build an immense exhibition and storage

warehouse on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and transfer a portion of

their completed stock there. Chicago was more central than Cincinnati.

Buyers from the West and country merchants could be more easily

reached and dealt with there. It would be a big advertisement for the

house, a magnificent evidence of its standing and prosperity. Kane

senior and Lester immediately approved of this. Both saw its

advantages. Robert suggested that Lester should undertake the

construction of the new buildings. It would probably be advisable for

him to reside in Chicago a part of the time.

The idea appealed to Lester, even though it took him away from

Cincinnati, largely if not entirely. It was dignified and not

unrepresentative of his standing in the company. He could live in

Chicago and he could have Jennie with him. The scheme he had for

taking an apartment could now be arranged without difficulty. He voted

yes. Robert smiled. "I'm sure we'll get good results from this all

around," he said.

As construction work was soon to begin, Lester decided to move to

Chicago immediately. He sent word for Jennie to meet him, and together

they selected an apartment on the North Side, a very comfortable suite

of rooms on a side street near the lake, and he had it fitted up to

suit his taste. He figured that living in Chicago he could pose as a

bachelor. He would never need to invite his friends to his rooms.

There were his offices, where he could always be found, his clubs and

the hotels. To his way of thinking the arrangement was practically

ideal.

Of course Jennie's departure from Cleveland brought the affairs of

the Gerhardt family to a climax. Probably the home would be broken up,

but Gerhardt himself took the matter philosophically. He was an old

man, and it did not matter much where he lived. Bass, Martha, and

George were already taking care of themselves. Veronica and William

were still in school, but some provision could be made for boarding

them with a neighbor. The one real concern of Jennie and Gerhardt was

Vesta. It was Gerhardt's natural thought that Jennie must take the

child with her. What else should a mother do?

"Have you told him yet?" he asked her, when the day of her

contemplated departure had been set.

"No; but I'm going to soon," she assured him.

"Always soon," he said.

He shook his head. His throat swelled.

"It's too bad," he went on. "It's a great sin. God will punish you,

I'm afraid. The child needs some one. I'm getting old--otherwise

I would keep her. There is no one here all day now to look after her

right, as she should be." Again he shook his head.

"I know," said Jennie weakly. "I'm going to fix it now. I'm going

to have her live with me soon. I won't neglect her--you know

that."

"But the child's name," he insisted. "She should have a name. Soon

in another year she goes to school. People will want to know who she

is. It can't go on forever like this."

Jennie understood well enough that it couldn't. She was crazy about

her baby. The heaviest cross she had to bear was the constant

separations and the silence she was obliged to maintain about Vesta's

very existence. It did seem unfair to the child, and yet Jennie did

not see clearly how she could have acted otherwise. Vesta had good

clothes, everything she needed. She was at least comfortable. Jennie

hoped to give her a good education. If only she had told the truth to

Lester in the first place. Now it was almost too late, and yet she

felt that she had acted for the best. Finally she decided to find some

good woman or family in Chicago who would take charge of Vesta for a

consideration. In a Swedish colony to the west of La Salle Avenue she

came across an old lady who seemed to embody all the virtues she

required--cleanliness, simplicity, honesty. She was a widow,

doing work by the day, but she was glad to make an arrangement by

which she should give her whole time to Vesta. The latter was to go to

kindergarten when a suitable one should be found. She was to have toys

and kindly attention, and Mrs. Olsen was to inform Jennie of any

change in the child's health. Jennie proposed to call every day, and

she thought that sometimes, when Lester was out of town, Vesta might

be brought to the apartment. She had had her with her at Cleveland,

and he had never found out anything.

The arrangements completed, Jennie returned at the first

opportunity to Cleveland to take Vesta away. Gerhardt, who had been

brooding over his approaching loss, appeared most solicitous about her

future. "She should grow up to be a fine girl," he said. "You should

give her a good education--she is so smart." He spoke of the

advisability of sending her to a Lutheran school and church, but

Jennie was not so sure of that. Time and association with Lester had

led her to think that perhaps the public school was better than any

private institution. She had no particular objection to the church,

but she no longer depended upon its teachings as a guide in the

affairs of life. Why should she?

The next day it was necessary for Jennie to return to Chicago.

Vesta, excited and eager, was made ready for the journey. Gerhardt had

been wandering about, restless as a lost spirit, while the process of

dressing was going on; now that the hour had actually struck he was

doing his best to control his feelings. He could see that the

five-year-old child had no conception of what it meant to him. She was

happy and self-interested, chattering about the ride and the

train.

"Be a good little girl," he said, lifting her up and kissing her.

"See that you study your catechism and say your prayers. And you won't

forget the grandpa--what?--" He tried to go on, but his

voice failed him.

Jennie, whose heart ached for her father, choked back her emotion.

"There," she said, "if I'd thought you were going to act like

that--" She stopped.

"Go," said Gerhardt, manfully, "go. It is best this way." And he

stood solemnly by as they went out of the door. Then he turned back to

his favorite haunt, the kitchen, and stood there staring at the floor.

One by one they were leaving him--Mrs. Gerhardt, Bass, Martha,

Jennie, Vesta. He clasped his hands together, after his old-time

fashion, and shook his head again and again. "So it is! So it is!" he

repeated. "They all leave me. All my life goes to pieces."