Young Cowperwoods mind was working. He had no money with him; but his father was teller of the Third National Bank, and he could quote him as reference. He could sell all of his soap to the family grocer, surely; or, if not, to other grocers. Other people were anxious to get this soap at this price. Why not he?
The auctioneer paused.
Thirty-two once! Am I bid thirty-three? Thirty-two twice! Am I bid thirty-three? Thirty-two three times! Seven fine cases of soap. Am I bid anything more? Once, twice! Three times! Am I bid anything more? his hand was up again and sold to Mr. ? He leaned over and looked curiously into the face of his young bidder.
Frank Cowperwood, son of the teller of the Third National Bank, replied the boy, decisively.
Oh, yes, said the man, fixed by his glance.
Will you wait while I run up to the bank and get the money?
Yes. Dont be gone long. If youre not here in an hour Ill sell it again.
Young Cowperwood made no reply. He hurried out and ran fast; first, to his mothers grocer, whose store was within a block of his home.
Thirty feet from the door he slowed up, put on a nonchalant air, and strolling in, looked about for Castile soap. There it was, the same kind, displayed in a box and looking just as his soap looked.
How much is this a bar, Mr. Dalrymple? he inquired.
Sixteen cents, replied that worthy.
If I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just like this, would you take them?
The same soap?
Yes, sir.
Mr. Dalrymple calculated a moment.
Yes, I think I would, he replied, cautiously.
Would you pay me to-day?
Id give you my note for it. Where is the soap?
He was perplexed and somewhat astonished by this unexpected proposition on the part of his neighbors son. He knew Mr. Cowperwood well and Frank also.
Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day?
Yes, I will, he replied. Are you going into the soap business?
No. But I know where I can get some of that soap cheap. He hurried out again and ran to his fathers bank. It was after banking hours; but he knew how to get in, and he knew that his father would be glad to see him make thirty dollars. He only wanted to borrow the money for a day.
Whats the trouble, Frank? asked his father, looking up from his desk when he appeared, breathless and red faced.
I want you to loan me thirty-two dollars! Will you?
Why, yes, I might. What do you want to do with it?
I want to buy some soap seven boxes of Castile soap. I know where I can get it and sell it. Mr. Dalrymple will take it. Hes already offered me sixty-two for it. I can get it for thirty-two. Will you let me have the money? Ive got to run back and pay the auctioneer.
His father smiled. This was the most businesslike attitude he had seen his son manifest. He was so keen, so alert for a boy of thirteen.
Why, Frank, he said, going over to a drawer where some bills were, are you going to become a financier already? Youre sure youre not going to lose on this? You know what youre doing, do you?
You let me have the money, father, will you? he pleaded. Ill show you in a little bit. Just let me have it. You can trust me.
He was like a young hound on the scent of game. His father could not resist his appeal.
Why, certainly, Frank, he replied. Ill trust you. And he counted out six five-dollar certificates of the Third Nationals own issue and two ones. There you are.
Frank ran out of the building with a briefly spoken thanks and returned to the auction room as fast as his legs would carry him. When he came in, sugar was being auctioned. Hemade his way to the auctioneers clerk.
I want to pay for that soap, he suggested.
Now?
Yes. Will you give me a receipt?
Yep.
Do you deliver this?
No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-four hours.
That difficulty did not trouble him.
All right, he said, and pocketed his paper testimony of purchase.
The auctioneer watched him as he went out. In half an hour he was back with a drayman an idle levee-wharf hanger-on who was waiting for a job.
Frank had bargained with him to deliver the soap for sixty cents. In still another half-hour he was before the door of the astonished Mr. Dalrymple whom he had come out and look at the boxes before attempting to remove them. His plan was to have them carried on to his own home if the operation for any reason failed to go through. Though it was his first great venture, he was cool as glass.
Yes, said Mr. Dalrymple, scratching his gray head reflectively. Yes, thats the same soap. Ill take it. Ill be as good as my word. Whered you get it, Frank?
At Bixoms auction up here, he replied, frankly and blandly.
Mr. Dalrymple had the drayman bring in the soap; and after some formality because the agent in this case was a boy made out his note at thirty days and gave it to him.
Frank thanked him and pocketed the note. He decided to go back to his fathers bank and discount it, as he had seen others doing, thereby paying his father back and getting his own profit in ready money. It couldnt be done ordinarily on any day after business hours; but his father would make an exception in his case.
He hurried back, whistling; and his father glanced up smiling when he came in.
Well, Frank, howd you make out? he asked.
Heres a note at thirty days, he said, producing the paper Dalrymple had given him. Do you want to discount that for me? You can take your thirty-two out of that.
His father examined it closely. Sixty-two dollars! he observed. Mr. Dalrymple! Thats good paper! Yes, I can. It will cost you ten per cent., he added, jestingly. Why dont you just hold it, though? Ill let you have the thirty-two dollars until the end of the month.
Oh, no, said his son, you discount it and take your money. I may want mine.
His father smiled at his businesslike air. All right, he said. Ill fix it to-morrow. Tell me just how you did this. And his son told him.
At seven oclock that evening Franks mother heard about it, and in due time Uncle Seneca.
Whatd I tell you, Cowperwood? he asked. He has stuff in him, that youngster[15]. Look out for him.
Mrs. Cowperwood looked at her boy curiously at dinner. Was this the son she had nursed at her bosom not so very long before? Surely he was developing rapidly.
Well, Frank, I hope you can do that often, she said.
I hope so, too, ma, was his rather noncommittal reply.
Auction sales were not to be discovered every day, however, and his home grocer was only open to one such transaction in a reasonable period of time, but from the very first young Cowperwood knew how to make money. He took subscriptions for a boys paper; handled the agency for the sale of a new kind of ice-skate, and once organized a band of neighborhood youths into a union for the purpose of purchasing their summer straw hats at wholesale. It was not his idea that he could get rich by saving. From the first he had the notion that liberal spending was better, and that somehow he would get along.
It was in this year, or a little earlier, that he began to take an interest in girls. He had from the first a keen eye for the beautiful among them; and, being good-looking and magnetic himself, it was not difficult for him to attract the sympathetic interest of those in whom he was interested. <>
It was at seventeen that he decided to leave school. He had not graduated. He had only finished the third year in high school; but he had had enough. Ever since his thirteenth year his mind had been on finance; that is, in the form in which he saw it manifested in Third Street. There had been odd things which he had been able to do to earn a little money now and then. His Uncle Seneca had allowed him to act as assistant weigher at the sugar-docks in Southwark, where three-hundred-pound bags were weighed into the government bonded warehouses under the eyes of United States inspectors. In certain emergencies he was called to assist his father, and was paid forit. He even made an arrangement with Mr. Dalrymple to assist him on Saturdays; but when his father became cashier of his bank, receiving an income of four thousand dollars ayear, shortly after Frank had reached his fifteenth year, it was self-evident that Frank could no longer continue in such lowly employment.
Just at this time his Uncle Seneca, again back in Philadelphia and stouter and more domineering than ever, said to him one day:
Now, Frank, if youre ready for it, I think I know where theres a good opening[16] for you. There wont be any salary in it for the first year, but if you mind your ps and qs[17], theyll probably give you something as a gift at the end of that time. Do you know of Henry Waterman & Company down in Second Street?
Ive seen their place.
Well, they tell me they might make a place for you as a bookkeeper. Theyre brokers in a way grain and commission men. You say you want to get in that line. When schools out, you go down and see Mr. Waterman tell him I sent you, and hell make a place for you, I think. Let me know how you come out.
Uncle Seneca was married now, having, because of his wealth, attracted the attention of a poor but ambitious Philadelphia society matron; and because of this the general connections of the Cowperwoods were considered vastly improved. Henry Cowperwood was planning to move with his family rather far out on North Front Street, which commanded at that time a beautiful view of the river and was witnessing the construction of some charming dwellings. His four thousand dollars a year in these pre-Civil-War[18] times was considerable. He was making what he considered judicious and conservative investments and because of his cautious, conservative, clock-like conduct it was thought he might reasonably expect some day to be vice-president and possibly president, of his bank.
This offer of Uncle Seneca to get him in with Waterman & Company seemed to Frank just the thing to start him off right. So he reported to that organization at 74 South Second Street one day in June, and was cordially received by Mr. Henry Waterman, Sr. There was, he soon learned, a Henry Waterman, Jr., a young man of twenty-five, and a George Waterman, a brother, aged fifty, who was the confidential inside man. Henry Waterman, Sr., a man of fifty-five years of age, was the general head of the organization, inside and out traveling about the nearby territory to see customers when that was necessary, coming into final counsel in cases where his brother could not adjust matters, suggesting and advising new ventures which his associates and hirelings carried out. He was, to look at, a phlegmatic type of man short, stout, wrinkled about the eyes, rather protuberant as to stomach, red-necked, red-faced, the least bit popeyed, but shrewd, kindly, good-natured, and witty. He had, because of his naturally common-sense ideas and rather pleasing disposition built up a sound and successful business here. He was getting strong in years and would gladly have welcomed the hearty cooperation of his son, if the latter had been entirely suited to the business.
He was not, however. Not as democratic, as quick-witted, or as pleased with the work in hand as was his father, the business actually offended him. And if the trade had been left to his care, it would have rapidly disappeared. His father foresaw this, was grieved, and was hoping some young man would eventually appear who would be interested in the business, handle it in the same spirit in which it had been handled, and who would not crowd his son out.
Then came young Cowperwood, spoken of to him by Seneca Davis. He looked him over critically. Yes, this boy might do, he thought. There was something easy and sufficient about him. He did not appear to be in the least flustered or disturbed. He knew how to keep books, he said, though he knew nothing of the details of the grain and commission business. It was interesting to him. He would like to try it.
I like that fellow, Henry Waterman confided to his brother the moment Frank had gone with instructions to report the following morning. Theres something to him. Hes the cleanest, briskest, most alive thing thats walked in here in many a day.
Yes, said George, a much leaner and slightly taller man, with dark, blurry, reflective eyes and a thin, largely vanished growth of brownish-black hair which contrasted strangely with the egg-shaped whiteness of his bald head. Yes, hes a nice young man. Its a wonder his father dont take him in his bank.
Well, he may not be able to, said his brother. Hes only the cashier there.
Thats right.
Well, well give him a trial. I bet anything he makes good. Hes a likely-looking youth.
Henry got up and walked out into the main entrance looking into Second Street. The cool cobble pavements, shaded from the eastern sun by the wall of buildings on the east of which his was a part the noisy trucks and drays, the busy crowds hurrying to and fro, pleased him. He looked at the buildings over the way all three and four stories, and largely of gray stone and crowded with life and thanked his stars that he had originally located in so prosperous a neighborhood. If he had only brought more property at the time he bought this!
I wish that Cowperwood boy would turn out to be the kind of man I want, he observed to himself, meditatively. He could save me a lot of running these days.
Curiously, after only three or four minutes of conversation with the boy, he sensed this marked quality of efficiency. Something told him he would do well.
Chapter IV
The appearance of Frank Cowperwood at this time was, to say the least, prepossessing and satisfactory. Nature had destined him to be about five feet ten inches tall. His head was large, shapely, notably commercial in aspect, thickly covered with crisp, dark-brown hair and fixed on a pair of square shoulders and a stocky body. Already his eyes had the look that subtle years of thought bring. They were inscrutable. You could tell nothing by his eyes. He walked with a light, confident, springy step. Life had given him no severe shocks nor rude awakenings. He had not been compelled to suffer illness or pain or deprivation of any kind. He saw people richer than himself, but he hoped to be rich. His family was respected, his father well placed. He owed no man anything. Once he had let a small note of his become overdue at the bank, but his father raised such a row that he never forgot it. I would rather crawl on my hands and knees than let my paper go to protest[19], the old gentleman observed; and this fixed in his mind what scarcely needed to be so sharply emphasized the significance of credit. No paper of his ever went to protest or became overdue after that through any negligence of his.
He turned out to be the most efficient clerk that the house of Waterman & Co. had ever known. They put him on the books at first as assistant bookkeeper, vice Mr. Thomas Trixler, dismissed, and in two weeks George said: Why dont we make Cowperwood head bookkeeper? He knows more in a minute than that fellow Sampson will ever know.