A long conversation followed about the Northwest, its timber, wheat, land sales, cattle, and possible manufacturing plants.
What Fargo, Minneapolis, and Duluth were to be civically and financially were the chief topics of conversation.
Naturally, Mr. Rambaud, having under his direction vast railroad lines which penetrated this region, was confident of the future of it.
Cowperwood gathered it all, almost by instinct.
Gas, street-railways, land speculations, banks, wherever located, were his chief thoughts.
Finally he left the club to keep his other appointments, but something of his personality remained behind him.
Mr. Addison and Mr. Rambaud, among others, were sincerely convinced that he was one of the most interesting men they had met in years.
And he scarcely had said anything at all—just listened.
Chapter III. A Chicago Evening
After his first visit to the bank over which Addison presided, and an informal dinner at the latter’s home, Cowperwood had decided that he did not care to sail under any false colors so far as Addison was concerned.
He was too influential and well connected.
Besides, Cowperwood liked him too much.
Seeing that the man’s leaning toward him was strong, in reality a fascination, he made an early morning call a day or two after he had returned from Fargo, whither he had gone at Mr. Rambaud’s suggestion, on his way back to Philadelphia, determined to volunteer a smooth presentation of his earlier misfortunes, and trust to Addison’s interest to make him view the matter in a kindly light.
He told him the whole story of how he had been convicted of technical embezzlement in Philadelphia and had served out his term in the Eastern Penitentiary.
He also mentioned his divorce and his intention of marrying again.
Addison, who was the weaker man of the two and yet forceful in his own way, admired this courageous stand on Cowperwood’s part.
It was a braver thing than he himself could or would have achieved.
It appealed to his sense of the dramatic.
Here was a man who apparently had been dragged down to the very bottom of things, his face forced in the mire, and now he was coming up again strong, hopeful, urgent.
The banker knew many highly respected men in Chicago whose early careers, as he was well aware, would not bear too close an inspection, but nothing was thought of that.
Some of them were in society, some not, but all of them were powerful.
Why should not Cowperwood be allowed to begin all over?
He looked at him steadily, at his eyes, at his stocky body, at his smooth, handsome, mustached face. Then he held out his hand.
“Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, finally, trying to shape his words appropriately, “I needn’t say that I am pleased with this interesting confession.
It appeals to me. I’m glad you have made it to me.
You needn’t say any more at any time.
I decided the day I saw you walking into that vestibule that you were an exceptional man; now I know it.
You needn’t apologize to me.
I haven’t lived in this world fifty years and more without having my eye-teeth cut.
You’re welcome to the courtesies of this bank and of my house as long as you care to avail yourself of them.
We’ll cut our cloth as circumstances dictate in the future.
I’d like to see you come to Chicago, solely because I like you personally.
If you decide to settle here I’m sure I can be of service to you and you to me.
Don’t think anything more about it; I sha’n’t ever say anything one way or another.
You have your own battle to fight, and I wish you luck. You’ll get all the aid from me I can honestly give you.
Just forget that you told me, and when you get your matrimonial affairs straightened out bring your wife out to see us.”
With these things completed Cowperwood took the train back to Philadelphia.
“Aileen,” he said, when these two met again—she had come to the train to meet him—“I think the West is the answer for us.
I went up to Fargo and looked around up there, but I don’t believe we want to go that far.
There’s nothing but prairie-grass and Indians out in that country.
How’d you like to live in a board shanty, Aileen,” he asked, banteringly, “with nothing but fried rattlesnakes and prairie-dogs for breakfast?
Do you think you could stand that?”
“Yes,” she replied, gaily, hugging his arm, for they had entered a closed carriage;
“I could stand it if you could.
I’d go anywhere with you, Frank.
I’d get me a nice Indian dress with leather and beads all over it and a feather hat like they wear, and—”
“There you go!
Certainly!
Pretty clothes first of all in a miner’s shack.
That’s the way.”