Suddenly a helpful thought occurred to him. Butler and Mollenhauer and Simpson were long on local street-railways. They must combine to support the situation and protect their interests. They could see the big bankers, Drexel & Co. and Cooke & Co., and others and urge them to sustain the market. They could strengthen things generally by organizing a buying ring, and under cover of their support, if they would, he might sell enough to let him out, and even permit him to go short and make something—a whole lot. It was a brilliant thought, worthy of a greater situation, and its only weakness was that it was not absolutely certain of fulfillment.
He decided to go to Butler at once, the only disturbing thought being that he would now be compelled to reveal his own and Stener’s affairs. So reentering his runabout he drove swiftly to the Butler home.
When he arrived there the famous contractor was at dinner. He had not heard the calling of the extras, and of course, did not understand as yet the significance of the fire. The servant’s announcement of Cowperwood brought him smiling to the door.
“Won’t you come in and join us? We’re just havin’ a light supper. Have a cup of coffee or tea, now—do.”
“I can’t,” replied Cowperwood. “Not to-night, I’m in too much of a hurry. I want to see you for just a few moments, and then I’ll be off again. I won’t keep you very long.”
“Why, if that’s the case, I’ll come right out.” And Butler returned to the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen, who was also dining, had heard Cowperwood’s voice, and was on the qui vive to see him. She wondered what it was that brought him at this time of night to see her father. She could not leave the table at once, but hoped to before he went. Cowperwood was thinking of her, even in the face of this impending storm, as he was of his wife, and many other things. If his affairs came down in a heap it would go hard with those attached to him. In this first clouding of disaster, he could not tell how things would eventuate. He meditated on this desperately, but he was not panic-stricken. His naturally even-molded face was set in fine, classic lines; his eyes were as hard as chilled steel.
“Well, now,” exclaimed Butler, returning, his countenance manifesting a decidedly comfortable relationship with the world as at present constituted. “What’s up with you to-night? Nawthin’ wrong, I hope. It’s been too fine a day.”