“It will not.”
“In the next place, it is understood, is it, that you won’t make it any easier than you can possibly help for the North and West Side companies to get ordinances extending their lines, or anything else, from now on?
I shall want to introduce some franchises for feeders and outlying lines myself.”
“Bring in your ordinances,” replied McKenty, “and I’ll do whatever you say.
I’ve worked with you before. I know that you keep your word.”
“Thanks,” said Cowperwood, warmly.
“I know the value of keeping it.
In the mean while I’ll go ahead and see what can be done about the other matter.
I don’t know just how many men I will need to let in on this, or just what form the organization will take.
But you may depend upon it that your interests will be properly taken care of, and that whatever is done will be done with your full knowledge and consent.”
“All very good,” answered McKenty, thinking of the new field of activity before them.
A combination between himself and Cowperwood in a matter like this must prove very beneficial to both.
And he was satisfied, because of their previous relations, that his own interests would not be neglected.
“Shall we go and see if we can find the ladies?” asked Cowperwood, jauntily, laying hold of the politician’s arm.
“To be sure,” assented McKenty, gaily.
“It’s a fine house you have here—beautiful.
And your wife is as pretty a woman as I ever saw, if you’ll pardon the familiarity.”
“I have always thought she was rather attractive myself,” replied Cowperwood, innocently.
Chapter XXII. Street-railways at Last
Among the directors of the North Chicago City company there was one man, Edwin L.
Kaffrath, who was young and of a forward-looking temperament.
His father, a former heavy stockholder of this company, had recently died and left all his holdings and practically his directorship to his only son.
Young Kaffrath was by no means a practical street-railway man, though he fancied he could do very well at it if given a chance.
He was the holder of nearly eight hundred of the five thousand shares of stock; but the rest of it was so divided that he could only exercise a minor influence.
Nevertheless, from the day of his entrance into the company—which was months before Cowperwood began seriously to think over the situation—he had been strong for improvements—extensions, more franchises, better cars, better horses, stoves in the cars in winter, and the like, all of which suggestions sounded to his fellow-directors like mere manifestations of the reckless impetuosity of youth, and were almost uniformly opposed.
“What’s the matter with them cars?” asked Albert Thorsen, one of the elder directors, at one of the meetings at which Kaffrath was present and offering his usual protest.
“I don’t see anything the matter with ’em.
I ride in ’em.”
Thorsen was a heavy, dusty, tobacco-bestrewn individual of sixty-six, who was a little dull but genial.
He was in the paint business, and always wore a very light steel-gray suit much crinkled in the seat and arms.
“Perhaps that’s what’s the matter with them, Albert,” chirped up Solon Kaempfaert, one of his cronies on the board.
The sally drew a laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know.
I see the rest of you on board often enough.”
“Why, I tell you what’s the matter with them,” replied Kaffrath.
“They’re dirty, and they’re flimsy, and the windows rattle so you can’t hear yourself think.
The track is no good, and the filthy straw we keep in them in winter is enough to make a person sick.
We don’t keep the track in good repair.
I don’t wonder people complain.
I’d complain myself.”
“Oh, I don’t think things are as bad as all that,” put in Onias C.
Skinner, the president, who had a face which with its very short side-whiskers was as bland as a Chinese god. He was sixty-eight years of age.
“They’re not the best cars in the world, but they’re good cars.
They need painting and varnishing pretty badly, some of them, but outside of that there’s many a good year’s wear in them yet.
I’d be very glad if we could put in new rolling-stock, but the item of expense will be considerable.
It’s these extensions that we have to keep building and the long hauls for five cents which eat up the profits.”
The so-called “long hauls” were only two or three miles at the outside, but they seemed long to Mr. Skinner.
“Well, look at the South Side,” persisted Kaffrath.
“I don’t know what you people are thinking of.
Here’s a cable system introduced in Philadelphia.