Part 28 (1/2)
”Everybody thinks there's some trickery in that suit,” she answered.
”Oh,” said Montague, ”I see. Well, they will find out. If it will help you any to know it, I've been having no end of scenes with my brother.”
”I'll believe you,” said Mrs. Billy, genially. ”But it seems strange that a man could have been so blind to a situation! I feel quite ashamed because I didn't help you myself!”
The carriage had stopped at Mrs. Billy's home, and she asked him to dinner. ”There'll be n.o.body but my brother,” she said,--”we're resting this evening. And I can make up to you for my negligence!”
Montague had no engagement, and so he went in, and saw Mrs. Billy's mansion, which was decorated in imitation of a Doge's palace, and met Mr. ”Davy” Alden, a mild-mannered little gentleman who obeyed orders promptly. They had a comfortable dinner of half-a-dozen courses, and then retired to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Billy sank into a huge easy chair, with a decanter of whisky and some cracked ice in readiness beside it. Then from a tray she selected a thick black cigar, and placidly bit off the end and lighted it, and then settled back at her ease, and proceeded to tell Montague about New York, and about the great families who ruled it, and where and how they had got their money, and who were their allies and who their enemies, and what particular skeletons were hidden in each of their closets.
It was worth coming a long way to listen to Mrs. Billy tete-a-tete; her thoughts were vigorous, and her imagery was picturesque. She spoke of old Dan Waterman, and described him as a wild boar rooting chestnuts.
He was all right, she said, if you didn't come under his tree. And Montague asked, ”Which is his tree?” and she answered, ”Any one he happens to be under at the time.”
And then she came to the Wallings. Mrs. Billy had been in on the inside of that family, and there was nothing she didn't know about it; and she brought the members up, one by one, and dissected them, and exhibited them for Montague's benefit. They were typical bourgeois people, she said. They were burghers. They had never shown the least capacity for refinement--they ate and drank, and jostled other people out of the way. The old ones had been boors, and the new ones were cads.
And Mrs. Billy sat and puffed at her cigar. ”Do you know the history of the family?” she asked. ”The founder was a rough old ferryman. He fought his rivals so well that in the end he owned all the boats; and then some one discovered the idea of buying legislatures and building railroads, and he went into that. It was a time when they simply grabbed things--if you ever look into it, you'll find they're making fortunes to-day out of privileges that the old man simply sat down on and held. There's a bridge at Albany, for instance, to which they haven't the slightest right; my brother knows about it--they've given themselves a contract with their railroad by which they're paid for every pa.s.senger, and their profit every year is greater than the cost of the bridge. The son was the head of the family when I came in; and I found that he had it all arranged to leave thirty million dollars to one of his sons, and only ten million to my husband. I set to work to change that, I can tell you. I used to go around to see him, and scratch his back and tickle him and make him feel good. Of course the family went wild--my, how they hated me! They set old Ellis to work to keep me off--have you met Judge Ellis?”
”I have,” said Montague.
”Well, there's a p.u.s.s.y-footed old hypocrite for you,” said Mrs. Billy.
”In those days he was Walling's business lackey--used to pa.s.s the money to the legislators and keep the wheels of the machine greased. One of the first things I said to the old man was that I didn't ask him to entertain my butler, and he mustn't ask me to entertain his valet--and so I forbid Ellis to enter my house. And when I found that he was trying to get between the old man and me, I flew into a rage and boxed his ears and chased him out of the room!”
Mrs. Billy paused, and laughed heartily over the recollection. ”Of course that tickled the old man to death,” she continued. ”The Wallings never could make out how I managed to get round him as I did; but it was simply because I was honest with him. They'd come snivelling round, pretending they were anxious about his health; while I wanted his money, and I told him so.”
The valiant lady turned to the decanter. ”Have some Scotch?” she asked, and poured some for herself, and then went on with her story. ”When I first came to New York,” she said, ”the rich people's houses were all alike--all dreary brownstone fronts, sandwiched in on one or two city lots. I vowed that I would have a house with some room all around it--and that was the beginning of those palaces that all New York walks by and stares at. You can hardly believe it now--those houses were a scandal! But the sensation tickled the old man. I remember one day we walked up the Avenue to see how they were coming on; and he pointed with his big stick to the second floor, and asked, 'What's that?' I answered, 'It's a safe I'm building into the house.' (That was a new thing, too, in those days.)--'I'm going to keep my money in that,' I said. 'Bah!' he growled, 'when you're done with this house, you won't have any money left.'--'I'm planning to make you fill it for me,' I answered; and do you know, he chuckled all the way home over it!”
Mrs. Billy sat laughing softly to herself. ”We had great old battles in those days,” she said. ”Among other things, I had to put the Wallings into Society. They were sneaking round on the outside when I came--licking people's boots and expecting to be kicked. I said to myself, I'll put an end to that--we'll have a show-down! So I gave a ball that made the whole country sit up and gasp--it wouldn't be noticed particularly nowadays, but then people had never dreamed of anything so gorgeous. And I made out a list of all the people I wanted to know in New York, and I said to myself: 'If you come, you're a friend, and if you don't come, you're an enemy.' And they all came, let me tell you! And there was never any question about the Wallings being in Society after that.”
Mrs. Billy halted; and Montague remarked, with a smile, that doubtless she was sorry now that she had done it.
”Oh, no,” she answered, with a shrug of her shoulders. ”I find that all I have to do is to be patient--I hate people, and think I'd like to poison them, but if I only wait long enough, something happens to them much worse than I ever dreamed of. You'll be revenged on the Robbies some day.”
”I don't want any revenge,” Montague answered. ”I've no quarrel with them--I simply wish I hadn't accepted their hospitality. I didn't know they were such little people. It seems hard to believe it.”
Mrs. Billy laughed cynically. ”What could you expect?” she said. ”They know there's nothing to them but their money. When that's gone, they're gone--they could never make any more.”
The lady gave a chuckle, and added: ”Those words make me think of Davy's experience when he wanted to go to Congress! Tell him about it, Davy.”
But Mr. Alden did not warm to the subject; he left the tale to his sister.
”He was a Democrat, you know,” said she, ”and he went to the boss and told him he'd like to go to Congress. The answer was that it would cost him forty thousand dollars, and he kicked at the price. Others didn't have to put up such sums, he said--why should he? And the old man growled at him, 'The rest have other things to give. One can deliver the letter-carriers, another is paid for by a corporation. But what can you do? What is there to you but your money?'--So Davy paid the money--didn't you, Davy?” And Davy grinned sheepishly.
”Even so,” she went on, ”he came off better than poor Devon. They got fifty thousand out of him, and sold him out, and he never got to Congress after all! That was just before he concluded that America wasn't a fit place for a gentleman to live in.”
And so Mrs. Billy got started on the Devons! And after that came the Havens and the Wymans and the Todds--it was midnight before she got through with them all.
CHAPTER XVIII
The newspapers said nothing more about the Hasbrook suit; but in financial circles Montague had attained considerable notoriety because of it. And this was the means of bringing him a number of new cases.
But alas, there were no more fifty-thousand-dollar clients! The first caller was a dest.i.tute widow with a deed which would have ent.i.tled her to the greater part of a large city in Pennsylvania--only unfortunately the deed was about eighty years old. And then there was a poor old man who had been hurt in a street-car accident and had been tricked into signing away his rights; and an indignant citizen who proposed to bring a hundred suits against the traction trust for transfers refused. All were contingency cases, with the chances of success exceedingly remote.
And Montague noticed that the people had come to him as a last resort, having apparently heard of him as a man of altruistic temper.