Chapter 14

WOMAN'S DISTRUST�AND TRUST

Having got what she wanted of Alois, Amy now permitted her better nature to reproach her for having absorbed him so long and so completely. She assumed Narcisse was blaming, was disliking, her for it; and, indeed, Narcisse had been watching the performance with some anger and more disgust. Before Alois came upon the scene, and while Amy was still in the first flush of enthusiasm for her new friend, Narcisse had begun to draw back. She saw that Amy, like everyone who has always had his own way and so has been made capricious, was without capacity for real friendship. If she had thought Amy worth while, she would have held her�for Narcisse was many-sided and could make herself so interesting that few indeed would not have seemed tame and dull after her. But she decided that Amy was not worth while; and to cut short Amy's constant attempts to interfere between her and her work, she emphasized her positive, even aggressive, individuality, instead of softening it. Servants, fortune-hunters, flatterers, the army of parasites that gathers to swoop upon anyone with anything to give, had made Amy intolerant of the least self-assertiveness; and to be a very porcupine of prickly points; Narcisse had only to give way to her natural bent for the candid.

For example, Narcisse had common sense�like most people of good taste; for, is not sound sense the basis of sound taste, indeed the prime factor in all sound development of whatever kind? Now, there is nothing more inflammatory than steadfast good sense. It rebukes and mocks us, making us seem as stupid and as foolish as we fear we are. Narcisse would not eat things that did not agree with her; it irritated self-indulgent Amy against her, when they lunched together and she refused to eat as foolishly as did Amy. Again, Narcisse would not drive when she could walk, because driving was as bad for health and looks as walking was good for them. Amy knew that, with her tendency to fat, she ought never to drive. But she was lazy, doted on the superiority driving seemed to give, was nervous about the inferiority "the best people" attached to a woman's walking. So she persisted in driving, and ruffled at Narcisse for being equally persistent in the sensible course. It is the common conception of friendship that one's friend must do what one wishes and is no friend if he does not; Amy felt that way about it.

Alois had come back from abroad just in time to save the Fosdick architectural trade to the firm. Narcisse would soon have alienated it�and would have been glad to see it go; in fact, since she had realized where the Fosdick money came from, she with the greatest difficulty restrained herself from bursting forth to Alois in "impractical sentimentalities" which she knew would move him only against herself.

Amy expected Narcisse's enthusiasm toward Overlook to be very, very restrained indeed. "She must be jealous," thought Amy, "because she has had so little to do with it, and I so much." But she had to admit that she had misjudged the builder. It is not easy satisfactorily to praise to anyone a person or a thing he has in his heart; the most ardent praise is likely to seem cold, and any lapse in discrimination rouses a suspicion of insincerity. If Narcisse had not felt the beauty of what her brother and Amy had done, she could not have made Amy's enthusiasm for her flame afresh, as it did. Before Narcisse finished, Amy thought that she herself had not half appreciated how well she and Alois had wrought. "But it would never have been anything like so satisfactory," said she in a burst of impulsive generosity, "if you hadn't started it all."

"I wish I could feel that I had some part in it," said Narcisse, "but I can't, in honesty."

And she meant it. Those who have fertile, luxuriant minds rarely keep account of the ideas they are constantly and prodigally pouring out. Narcisse had forgotten�though Amy had not�that it was she who was inspired by that site to dream the dream that her brother and Amy had realized. It was on the tip of Amy's tongue to say this; but she decided to refrain. "I probably exaggerate the influence of what she said," she thought. "We saw it together and talked it over together, and no doubt each of us borrowed from the other"�let him who dares, criticise this, in a world that shines altogether by reflected lights.

As the two young women talked on, the builder gradually returned to her constrained attitude. She saw that Amy was taking to herself the whole credit for Overlook, was looking on Alois as simply a stimulant to her own great magnetism and artistic sense, was patronizing him as a capable and satisfactory agent for transmitting them into action. And this made her angry, not with Amy but with Alois. "Amy isn't to blame," she said to herself. "It's his fault. To please her he has been exaggerating her importance to herself, and he has succeeded in convincing her. She has ended up just where people always end up, when you encourage them to give their vanity its head." She tried to devise some way of helping her brother, of reminding Amy that he was entitled to credit for some small part of the success; but she could think of nothing to say that Amy would not misinterpret into jealousy either for herself or for her brother. When she got back to the offices, she said to him:

"If I were you, I'd not let a certain young woman imagine she has all the brains."

"What do you mean?" said he, clouding at once. He showed annoyance nowadays whenever she mentioned the Fosdicks.

"She'll soon be thinking you couldn't get along without her to give you ideas," replied Narcisse. "It's bad all round�bad for the woman, bad for the man�when he gets her too crazy about herself. She's likely to overlook his merits entirely in her excitement about her own."

"You are prejudiced against her, Narcisse," said Alois angrily. "And it isn't a bit like you to be so."

Narcisse, not being an angel, flared. "I'm not half as prejudiced against her as you'd be three months after you married her," she cried. "But you'll not get her, if you keep on as you're going now. Instead of showing her how awed you are by her, you'd better be teaching her that she ought to be in awe of you, that it's what you give her that makes her shine so bright."

And she fled to her own office, fuming against the folly of men and the silliness of women, and thoroughly miserable over the whole situation; for, at bottom she believed that such a woman as Amy must have feminine instinct enough fairly to jump at such a man as Alois, if there was a chance to attach him permanently; and, the prospect of Alois marrying a woman who could do him no good, who was all take and no give, put her into such a frame of mind that she wished she had the mean streak necessary to intriguing him and her apart.

It was on one of the bluest of her blue days of forebodings about Alois and Amy that Neva came in to see her; and a glance at Neva's face was sufficient to convince her that bad news was imminent. "What is it, Neva?" she demanded. "I've felt all the morning that something rotten was on the way. Now, I know it's here. Tell me."

"Do you recall Mrs. Ranier? She was at my place one afternoon��"

"Perfectly," interrupted Narcisse, "Amy Fosdick's sister."

"She took a great fancy to you. And when she heard something she thought you ought to know, she came to me and asked me to tell you. She said she knew you'd be discreet�that you could be trusted."

"I liked her, too," said Narcisse. "I think she can trust me."

"It's about�about�those insurance buildings," continued Neva, painfully embarrassed. "I'm afraid I'm rather incoherent. It's the first time I ever interfered in anyone else's business."

"Tell me," urged Narcisse. "I suppose it's something painful. But I'm good and tough�-speak straight out."

"Mrs. Ranier's husband is in the furniture business, and through that he found out there's a scandal coming. She says those people downtown will drag you and your brother in, will probably try to hide themselves behind you. She heard last night, and came early this morning. 'Tell her,' she said, 'not to let her brother reassure her, but to look into it�clear to the bottom.'"

Narcisse was motionless, her eyes strained, her face haggard.

"That's all," said Neva, rising. "I shouldn't have come, shouldn't have said anything to you, if I had not known that Mrs. Ranier has the best heart in the world, and isn't an alarmist."

Narcisse faced Neva and pressed her hands, without looking at her.

"If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask," said Neva, going. She had too human an instinct to linger and offer sympathy to pride in its hour of abasement.

"There's one thing you can do," said Narcisse, nervous and intensely embarrassed.

Neva came back. "Don't hesitate. I meant just what I said�anything."

Narcisse blurted it out: "Is Horace Armstrong a man who can be trusted? Is he straight?" Then, as Neva did not answer immediately, she hastened on, "Please forget what I asked you. It really doesn't matter, and��"

Neva interrupted her with a frank, friendly smile. "Don't be uneasy," she said. "He and I are excellent friends. He calls often. I don't know a thing about him in a business way. But� Well, Narcisse, I'm sure he'd not do anything small and mean."

"That's all I wished to know."

A few minutes after Neva left, Narcisse, white but calm, sent for her brother. "How deeply have you entangled yourself in those fraudulent vouchers?" she asked, when they were shut in together.

He lifted his head haughtily. "What do you mean, Narcisse?"

"As we are equal partners, I have the right to know all the affairs of the firm. I want to see the accounts of those insurance buildings, at once�and to know the exact truth about them."

"You left that matter entirely to me," replied he, sullen but uneasy. "I haven't time to-day to go into a mass of details. It'd be useless, anyhow. But�I do not like that word you used�fraudulent."

She waved her hand impatiently. "It's the word the public will use, whatever nice, agreeable expression for it you men of affairs may have among yourselves. Have you signed vouchers, as you said you were going to do?"

"Certainly. And, I may add, I shall continue to sign them."

"Haven't you heard that that investigation is coming?"

He gave a superior, knowing smile. "Those things are always fixed up. There's a public side, but it's as unreal as a stage play. Fosdick controls this particular show."

"So I hear," said she, with bitter irony. "And he purposes to throw you to the wild beasts�you and me."

Siersdorf laughed indulgently. "My dear sister," he said, "don't bother your head about it." The idea seemed absurd to him: Fosdick sacrifice him, when they were such friends!�it was an insult to Fosdick to entertain the suspicion. "When the proper time comes," he continued, "I shall be away on business�and the matter will be sidetracked, and nothing more will be said about me. Trust me. I know what I am about."

"Yes, you will be away," cried she, suddenly enlightened. "And the whole thing will be exposed, and they'll have their accounts so cooked that the guilt will all be on you. And before you can get back and clear yourself, you will be ruined�disgraced�dishonored."

The situation she thus blackly outlined was within the possibilities; her tone of certainty had carrying power. A chill went through him. "Ridiculous!" he protested loudly.

"You have put your honor in another man's keeping," she went on. "And that man is a thief."

"Narcisse!"

"A thief!" she repeated with emphasis. "They don't call each other thieves downtown. They've agreed to call themselves respectabilities and financiers and all sorts of high-flown names. But thieves they are, because they're loaded down with what don't belong to them, money they got away from other people by lying and swindling. Is your honor quite safe in the keeping of a thief?"

"Narcisse!" repeated Alois, wincing again at that terse, plain word, rough and harsh, an allopathic dose of moral medicine, undiluted, uncoated.

"I don't think so," she pursued. "What precautions do you purpose to take?"

He looked at her helplessly. "If I say anything to Fosdick," said he, "he will be justified in getting furiously angry. He might think he had the right to act as you accuse him of plotting."

"But you must do something."

He shook his head. "I have trusted Fosdick," said he. "I still think it was wise. But, however that may be, the wise course now certainly is to continue to trust him."

"Trust him!" exclaimed Narcisse bitterly. "I might trust a thief who wasn't a hypocrite�he might not squeal on a pal to save himself. But not a Fosdick. A respectable thief has neither the honor of honest men nor the honor of thieves."

"Prejudice! Always prejudice, Narcisse."

"You will do nothing?"

"Nothing." And he tried to look calm and firm.

She went into her dressing room with the air of one bent on decisive action. He could but wait. When she came back she was dressed for the street.

"Where are you going?" he demanded in alarm.

"To save myself and�you," she replied with a certain sternness. It was unlike her to put herself first in speech�she who always considered herself last.

"Narcisse, I forbid you to interfere in this affair. I forbid you to go crazily on to compromising us both."

She looked straight into his eyes. "The time has come when I must use my own judgment," said she.

And, with that, she went; he knew her, knew when it was idle to oppose her. Besides�what if she should be right? In all their years together, as children, as youths, as workers, he had always respected her judgment, because it had always been based upon a common sense clearer than his own, freer from those passions which rise from the stronger appetites of men to befog their reason, to make what they wish to be the truth seem actually the truth.

"She's wrong," he said to himself. "But she'll not do anything foolish. She's the kind that can go in safety along the wrong road, because they always keep a line of retreat open." And that reflection somewhat reassured him.

Narcisse went direct to Fosdick at his office. As there was only one caller ahead of her, she did not have long to wait in the anteroom guarded by Waller of the stealthy, glistening smile. "Mr. Fosdick is very busy this morning," explained he. It was the remark he always made to callers as he passed them along; it helped Fosdick to cut them short. "The big railway consolidation, you know?"

"No, I don't know," replied Narcisse.

"Oh�you artists! You live quite apart from our world of affairs. But I supposed news of a thing of such tremendous public benefit would have reached everybody."

Narcisse smiled faintly. She could not imagine any of these gentlemen, roosted so high and with eyes training in every direction in search of prey, occupying themselves for one instant with a thing that was a public benefit, except in the hope of changing it into a "private snap."

"It's marvelous," continued Waller, "how Fosdick and these other men of enormous wealth go on working for their fellow men when they might be taking their ease and amusing themselves."

"Amusing themselves�how?" asked she.

"Oh�in a thousand ways."

"I'm afraid they'd find it hard to pass the time, if they didn't have their work," said she. "The world isn't a very amusing place unless one happens to have work that interests him."

"There's something in that�there's something in that," said Waller, in as good an imitation as he could give of his master's tone and manner. It had never before occurred to him to question the current theory that, while poor men toiled for bread and selfishness, rich men refrained from boring themselves to death in idling about, only because they passionately yearned to serve their fellow beings.

"Do you still teach a class in Mr. Fosdick's Sunday school?"

"I'm assistant superintendent now," replied he.

"That's good," said she, as if she really meant it. She was feeling sorry for him. He had worked so long and so hard, and had striven so diligently to please Fosdick in every way; Fosdick had got from him service that money could not have bought. And the worst of it was, Fosdick had never tried to find a money expression for it that was anything like adequate, but had ingeniously convinced poor Waller he was more than well paid in the honor of serving in such an intimate capacity such a great and generous man. The mitigating circumstance was that Fosdick firmly believed this himself�but Narcisse that day was not in the humor to see the mitigations of Fosdick.

And now Fosdick himself came hurrying in, eyes alight, strong face smiling�"Miss Siersdorf�this is a surprise! I don't believe I ever before saw you downtown�though, of course, you must have come." He looked at her with an admiration that was genuine. "Excuse an old man for saying it, but you are so beautifully dressed�as always�and handsome�that goes without saying. Come right in. You can have all the time you want. I know you�know you are a business woman. Now, that man who was just with me�Bishop Knowlton�a fine, noble man, with a heart full of love for God and his fellows�but not an idea of the value of a business man's time. Finally I had to say to him, 'I'll give you what you ask�and I'll double it if you don't say another word but go at once.'"

They were now in the innermost room, and Fosdick had bowed her into a chair and had seated himself. "I came to see you," said Narcisse, formal to coldness, "about the two office buildings�about the accounts our firm has been approving."

"Oh, but you needn't fret about them," said Fosdick, in his bluff, hearty, offhand manner. "Your brother is looking after them."

"Then they are all right?" she said, fixing her gaze on him.

"Why, certainly, certainly. I have absolute confidence in your brother. Have you seen Overlook? Yes�of course�my daughter told me. You delighted her by what you said. It is beautiful��"

"To keep to the accounts, Mr. Fosdick," Narcisse interrupted, "I am not satisfied with our firm's position in the matter."

"My dear young lady, talk to your brother about that. I've a thousand and one matters. I really know nothing of details, and, as you are perhaps aware, my interest in the O.A.D. is largely philanthropic. I can give but little of my time."

"I've come," said Narcisse, as he paused for breath, "to get from you a statement relieving us from all responsibility as to those accounts, and authorizing us to sign them as a mere formality, to expedite their progress."

Fosdick laughed. "I'd like to do anything to oblige you," said he, "but really, I couldn't do that. You must know that I have nothing to do with the buildings�with the details of the affairs of the O.A.D."

"You gave us the contracts," said Narcisse.

"Pardon me, I did not give you the contracts. They were not mine to give. What you mean to say is that I used for you what influence I have. It was out of friendship for you and your brother."

There he touched her. "We had every reason to believe that we got the contracts solely because our plans were the most satisfactory," said she coldly. "If we had suspected that friendship had anything to do with it, we should certainly have withdrawn. I assure you, sir, we feel under no obligation�and my present purpose is to prevent you from putting yourself under obligation to us."

"I don't quite follow you," said Fosdick, most conciliatory.

"There has been some kind of�'bookkeeping,' I believe you call it�in connection with the payments for the work on those buildings. If we were to aid you in your�'bookkeeping,' you would certainly be under heavy obligations to us. We cannot permit that."

Fosdick laughed with the utmost good nature. "I see you misunderstood some remarks I made to you and your brother one day at my house. However, anything to keep peace among friends. I'll do as you wish."

His manner was so frank and so friendly, and his concession so unreserved, that Narcisse was surprised into being ashamed of her suspicions. "I believe 'Lois is right," she said to herself. "I've been led astray by my prejudice."

Those shrewd old eyes of Fosdick's could not have missed an opportunity for advantage so plain as was written on her honest face. He hastened to score. "I'll dictate it to Waller," said he, rising, "when he comes in to round up the day. You'll get it in the early morning mail. Good-by. You don't come to see us up at the house nearly often enough�at least, not when I'm there." He had opened the door. "Waller, conduct Miss Siersdorf to the elevator. Good-by, again."

With nods and smiles he had cleared himself of her, easily, without abruptness, rather as if she were hurrying him than he her. And Waller, quick to take his cue, had passed her into the elevator before she was quite aware what was happening. Not until she was on the ground floor and walking toward the door did her mind recover. "What have you got?" it said, and promptly answered, "Nothing�for, what is a promise from Josiah Fosdick?" That seemed cynical, unjust; as Fosdick not only was by reputation a man of his word, but also had always kept his word with her. But she stopped short and debated; and it was impossible for her to shake her conviction that the man meant treachery. "He'll sacrifice us," she said to herself, "if it's necessary to save intact the name and fame of Josiah Fosdick�or even if he should think it would be helpful." What were two insignificant mere ordinary mortals in comparison with that name and fame, that inspiration to honesty and fidelity for the youth of the land, that bulwark of respectability and religion�for, as all the world knows, the eternal verities are kept alive solely by the hypocrites who preach and profess them; if those "shining examples" were exposed and disgraced, down would crash truth and honor. No, Josiah Fosdick was not one to hesitate before the danger of such a cataclysm. Further, she felt that he had been plotting while he and she were talking and had found some way to pinion her and her brother during the day he had gained. "To-morrow morning," she decided, "I'll not get the paper, and it'll be useless to try to get it. Something must be done, and at once."

She turned back, re�ntered the elevator. "To Mr. Armstrong," she said.

Armstrong, whom she knew but slightly, received her with great courtesy, and an evident interest that in turn roused her curiosity. "It's as if he knew about our affairs," she thought. To him she said, "I want to see you a few minutes alone."

He took her into his inner room. "Well, what is it?" he asked, with the sort of abruptness that invites confidence.

She had liked what she had seen of him; her good impression was now strengthened. She thought there was courage and honesty in his face, along with that look of experience and capacity which is rarely seen in young faces, except in America with its group of young men who have already risen to positions of great responsibility. There was bigness about him, too-bigness of body and of brow and of hands, and the eyes that go with large ways of judging and acting�eyes at once keen and good-humored. A man to turn a shrewd trick, perhaps; but it would be exceedingly shrewd, and only against a foe who was using the same tactics. Half confidences are worse than none, are the undoing weakness of the timid who, though they know they must play and play desperately, yet cannot bring themselves to play in the one way that could win. Narcisse flung all her cards upon the table.

"I've got to trust somebody," she said. "My best judgment is that that somebody is you. Here is my position." And she related fully, rapidly, everything except the source of her warning against Fosdick. She told all she knew about the unwarranted vouchers A. & N. Siersdorf had been approving�"at least, I think they are unwarranted," she said. "We know nothing about them."

"And why do you come to me?" said Armstrong when he had the whole affair before him from the first interview with Fosdick to and including the last interview.

"Because you are president of the O.A.D.," she replied. "We have nothing to conceal. You are the responsible executive officer. If you do not know about these things, you ought to be told. And I am determined that our firm shall not remain in its present false position."

Armstrong sat back in his chair, his face heavy and expressionless, as if the mind that usually animated it had left it a lifeless mask and had withdrawn and concentrated upon something within. No one ever got an inkling of what Armstrong was turning over in his mind until he was ready to expose it in speech. When he came back to the surface, he turned his chair until he was facing her squarely. His scrutiny seemed to satisfy him, for presently he said, "I see that you trust me," in his friendliest way.

"Yes," she replied.

"It's a great gift�a great advantage," he went on, "to make up one's mind to trust and then to do it without reserve.... I think you will not falter, no matter what happens."

"No," she said.

"Well�you came to just the right person. I don't understand it."

"Woman's instinct, perhaps."

He shook his head. "I doubt it. That's simply a phrase to get round a mystery. No, your judgment guided you somehow. Judgment is the only guide."

Narcisse had been debating; she could not see how it could possibly do any harm to mention Neva. "Before I came downtown," said she, "it drifted into my mind that I might have to come to you. So I asked Neva Carlin about you."

"Oh!" Armstrong settled back in his chair abruptly and masked his face. "And what did she say?"

"That she was sure you wouldn't do anything small or mean."

The big Westerner suddenly beamed upon her. "Well, she ought to know," said he with a blush and a hearty, boyish laugh. Then earnestly: "I think I can do more for you than anyone else in this matter�and I will. You must say nothing, and do nothing. Let everything go on as if you had no suspicion."

"But, when Mr. Fosdick does not send me the authorization?"

"Wait a few days; write, reminding him; then let the matter drop."

She reflected; the business seemed finished so far as she could finish it. She rose and put out her hand. "Thank you," she said simply, and again, with a fine look in her fine eyes, "Thank you."

"You owe me nothing," he replied. "In the first place, I've done nothing, and I can't promise absolutely that I can do anything. In the second place, you have given me some extremely valuable information. In return I merely engage not to use it to as great advantage as I might in some circumstances."

In the entrance hall once more, she wondered at the complete change in her state of mind. She now felt content; yet she had nothing tangible, apparently less than at the end of her interview with Fosdick�for he had promised something definite, while Armstrong had merely said, "I'll do my best." She wondered at her content, at her absolute inability to have misgiving or doubt.