“Why, that suit!”
“What about it?”
“Good God, man!” cried Oliver. “Do you mean that you really don’t know what you’ve done?”
Montague was staring at him. “I’m afraid I don’t,” said he.
“Why, you’re turning the world upside down!” exclaimed the other. “Everybody you know is crazy about it.”
“Everybody I know!” echoed Montague. “What have they to do with it?”
“Why, you’ve stabbed them in the back!” half shouted Oliver. “I could hardly believe my ears when they told me. Robbie Walling is simply wild—I never had such a time in my life.”
“I don’t understand yet,” said Montague, more and more amazed. “What has he to do with it?”
“Why, man,” cried Oliver, “his brother’s a director in the Fidelity! And his own interests—and all the other companies! You’ve struck at the whole insurance business!”
Montague caught his breath. “Oh, I see!” he said.
“How could you think of such a thing?” cried the other, wildly. “You promised to consult me about things—”
“I told you when I took this case,” put in Montague, quickly.
“I know,” said his brother. “But you didn’t explain—and what did I know about it? I thought I could leave it to your common sense not to mix up in a thing like this.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Montague, gravely. “I had no idea of any such result.”
“That’s what I told Robbie,” said Oliver. “Good God, what a time I had!”
He took his hat and coat and laid them on the bed, and sat down and began to tell about it. “I made him realize the disadvantage you were under,” he said, “being a stranger and not knowing the ground. I believe he had an idea that you tried to get his confidence on purpose to attack him. It was Mrs. Robbie, I guess—you know her fortune is all in that quarter.”
Oliver wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “My!” he said.—“And fancy what old Wyman must be saying about this! And what a time poor Betty must be having! And then Freddie Vandam—the air will be blue for half a mile round his place! I must send him a wire and explain that it was a mistake, and that we’re getting out of it.”
And he got up, to suit the action to the word. But half-way to the desk he heard his brother say, “Wait.”
He turned, and saw Montague, quite pale. “I suppose by ‘getting out of it,’” said the latter, “you mean dropping the case.”
“Of course,” was the answer.
“Well, then,” he continued, very gravely,—“I can see that it’s going to be hard, and I’m sorry. But you might as well understand me at the very beginning—I will never drop this case.”
Oliver’s jaw fell limp. “Allan!” he gasped.
There was a silence; and then the storm broke. Oliver knew his brother well enough to realize just how thoroughly he meant what he said; and so he got the full force of the shock all at once. He raved and swore and wrung his hands, and declaimed at his brother, saying that he had betrayed him, that he was ruining him—dumping himself and the whole family into the ditch. They would be jeered at and insulted—they would be blacklisted and thrown out of Society. Alice’s career would be cut short—every door would be closed to her. His own career would die before it was born; he would never get into the clubs—he would be a pariah—he would be bankrupted and penniless. Again and again Oliver went over the situation, naming person after person who would be outraged, and describing what that person would do; there were the Wallings and the Venables and the Havens, the Vandams and the Todds and the Wymans—they were all one regiment, and Montague had flung a bomb into the centre of them!
It was very terrible to him to see his brother’s rage and despair; but he had seen his way clear through this matter, and he knew that there was no turning back for him. “It is painful to learn that all one’s acquaintances are thieves,” he said. “But that does not change my opinion of stealing.”
“But my God!” cried Oliver; “did you come to New York to preach sermons?”
To which the other answered, “I came to practise law. And the lawyer who will not fight injustice is a traitor to his profession.”
Oliver threw up his hands in despair. What could one say to a sentiment such as that?
—But then again he came to the charge, pointing out to his brother the position in which he had placed himself with the Wallings. He had accepted their hospitality; they had taken him and Alice in, and done everything in the world for them—things for which no money could ever repay them. And now he had struck them!
But the only effect of that was to make Montague regret that he had ever had anything to do with the Wallings. If they expected to use their friendship to tie his hands in such a matter, they were people he would have left alone.
“But do you realize that it’s not merely yourself you’re ruining?” cried Oliver. “Do you know what you’re doing to Alice?”
“That is harder yet for me,” the other replied. “But I am sure that Alice would not ask me to stop.”
Montague was firmly set in his own mind; but it seemed to be quite impossible for his brother to realize that this was the case. He would give up; but then, going back into his own mind, and facing the thought of this person and that, and the impossibility of the situation which would arise, he would return to the attack with new anguish in his voice. He implored and scolded, and even wept; and then he would get himself together again, and come and sit in front of his brother and try to reason with him.
And so it was that in the small hours of the morning, Montague, pale and nervous, but quite unshaken, was sitting and listening while his brother unfolded before him a picture of the Metropolis as he had come to see it. It was a city ruled by mighty forces—money-forces; great families and fortunes, which had held their sway for generations, and regarded the place, with all its swarming millions, as their birthright. They possessed it utterly—they held it in the hollow of their hands. Railroads and telegraphs and telephones—banks and insurance and trust companies—all these they owned; and the political machines and the legislatures, the courts and the newspapers, the churches and the colleges. And their rule was for plunder; all the streams of profit ran into their coffers. The stranger who came to their city succeeded as he helped them in their purposes, and failed if they could not use him. A great editor or bishop was a man who taught their doctrines; a great statesman was a man who made the laws for them; a great lawyer was one who helped them to outwit the public. Any man who dared to oppose them, they would cast out and trample on, they would slander and ridicule and ruin.
And Oliver came down to particulars—he named these powerful men, one after one, and showed what they could do. If his brother would only be a man of the world, and see the thing! Look at all the successful lawyers! Oliver named them, one after one—shrewd devisers of corporation trickery, with incomes of hundreds of thousands a year. He could not name the men who had refused to play the game—for no one had ever heard of them. But it was so evident what would happen in this case! His friends would cast him off; his own client would get his price—whatever it was—and then leave him in the lurch, and laugh at him! “If you can’t make up your mind to play the game,” cried Oliver, frantically, “at least you can give it up! There are plenty of other ways of getting a living—if you’ll let me, I’ll take care of you myself, rather than have you disgrace me. Tell me—will you do that? Will you quit altogether?”
And Montague suddenly leaped to his feet, and brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang. “No!” he cried; “by God, no!”
“Let me make you understand me once for all,” he rushed on. “You’ve shown me New York as you see it. I don’t believe it’s the truth—I don’t believe it for one single moment! But let me tell you this, I shall stay here and find out—and if it is true, it won’t stop me! I shall stay here and defy those people! I shall stay and fight them till the day I die! They may ruin me,—I’ll go and live in a garret if I have to,—but as sure as there’s a God that made me, I’ll never stop till I’ve opened the eyes of the people to what they’re doing!”