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The Floating Press - Theodore Dreiser

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407 pages

English

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Acclaimed American journalist and fiction writer penned a number of noteworthy classics in his day, including Sister Carrie and An American Tragedy. His 1912 novel The Financier was the first in a trilogy of works following the life and career of Frank Cowperwood, a Philadelphia-born entrepreneur whose rising fortunes and intermittent disasters are emblematic of many of those who populated nineteenth-century America.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 2011
Nombre de lectures	5
EAN13	9781775450634
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE FINANCIER
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THEODORE DREISER

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The Financier First published in 1912 ISBN 978-1-775450-63-4 © 2011 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Chapter XXXV Chapter XXXVI Chapter XXXVII Chapter XXXVIII Chapter XXXIX Chapter XL Chapter XLI Chapter XLII Chapter XLIII Chapter XLIV Chapter XLV Chapter XLVI Chapter XLVII Chapter XLVIII Chapter XLIX Chapter L Chapter LI Chapter LII Chapter LIII Chapter LIV Chapter LV Chapter LVI Chapter LVII Chapter LVIII Chapter LIX Concerning Mycteroperca Bonaci The Magic Crystal
Chapter I
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The Philadelphia into which Frank Algernon Cowperwood was born wasa city of two hundred and fifty thousand and more. It was set withhandsome parks, notable buildings, and crowded with historic memories.Many of the things that we and he knew later were not then inexistence—the telegraph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer,city delivery of mails. There were no postage-stamps or registeredletters. The street car had not arrived. In its place were hosts ofomnibuses, and for longer travel the slowly developing railroad systemstill largely connected by canals.
Cowperwood's father was a bank clerk at the time of Frank's birth,but ten years later, when the boy was already beginning to turn a verysensible, vigorous eye on the world, Mr. Henry Worthington Cowperwood,because of the death of the bank's president and the consequent movingahead of the other officers, fell heir to the place vacated by thepromoted teller, at the, to him, munificent salary of thirty-fivehundred dollars a year. At once he decided, as he told his wifejoyously, to remove his family from 21 Buttonwood Street to 124 NewMarket Street, a much better neighborhood, where there was a nice brickhouse of three stories in height as opposed to their present two-storieddomicile. There was the probability that some day they would come intosomething even better, but for the present this was sufficient. He wasexceedingly grateful.
Henry Worthington Cowperwood was a man who believed only what he saw andwas content to be what he was—a banker, or a prospective one. He was atthis time a significant figure—tall, lean, inquisitorial, clerkly—withnice, smooth, closely-cropped side whiskers coming to almost the lowerlobes of his ears. His upper lip was smooth and curiously long, andhe had a long, straight nose and a chin that tended to be pointed. Hiseyebrows were bushy, emphasizing vague, grayish-green eyes, and his hairwas short and smooth and nicely parted. He wore a frock-coat always—itwas quite the thing in financial circles in those days—and a high hat.And he kept his hands and nails immaculately clean. His manner mighthave been called severe, though really it was more cultivated thanaustere.
Being ambitious to get ahead socially and financially, he was verycareful of whom or with whom he talked. He was as much afraid ofexpressing a rabid or unpopular political or social opinion as he wasof being seen with an evil character, though he had really no opinionof great political significance to express. He was neither anti- norpro-slavery, though the air was stormy with abolition sentiment and itsopposition. He believed sincerely that vast fortunes were to be madeout of railroads if one only had the capital and that curious thing, amagnetic personality—the ability to win the confidence of others. Hewas sure that Andrew Jackson was all wrong in his opposition to NicholasBiddle and the United States Bank, one of the great issues of the day;and he was worried, as he might well be, by the perfect storm of wildcatmoney which was floating about and which was constantly coming to hisbank—discounted, of course, and handed out again to anxious borrowersat a profit. His bank was the Third National of Philadelphia, located inthat center of all Philadelphia and indeed, at that time, of practicallyall national finance—Third Street—and its owners conducted a brokeragebusiness as a side line. There was a perfect plague of State banks,great and small, in those days, issuing notes practically withoutregulation upon insecure and unknown assets and failing and suspendingwith astonishing rapidity; and a knowledge of all these was an importantrequirement of Mr. Cowperwood's position. As a result, he had become thesoul of caution. Unfortunately, for him, he lacked in a greatmeasure the two things that are necessary for distinction in anyfield—magnetism and vision. He was not destined to be a greatfinancier, though he was marked out to be a moderately successful one.
Mrs. Cowperwood was of a religious temperament—a small woman, withlight-brown hair and clear, brown eyes, who had been very attractive inher day, but had become rather prim and matter-of-fact and inclinedto take very seriously the maternal care of her three sons and onedaughter. The former, captained by Frank, the eldest, were a source ofconsiderable annoyance to her, for they were forever making expeditionsto different parts of the city, getting in with bad boys, probably, andseeing and hearing things they should neither see nor hear.
Frank Cowperwood, even at ten, was a natural-born leader. At the dayschool he attended, and later at the Central High School, he was lookedupon as one whose common sense could unquestionably be trusted in allcases. He was a sturdy youth, courageous and defiant. From the verystart of his life, he wanted to know about economics and politics. Hecared nothing for books. He was a clean, stalky, shapely boy, witha bright, clean-cut, incisive face; large, clear, gray eyes; awide forehead; short, bristly, dark-brown hair. He had an incisive,quick-motioned, self-sufficient manner, and was forever asking questionswith a keen desire for an intelligent reply. He never had an ache orpain, ate his food with gusto, and ruled his brothers with a rod ofiron. "Come on, Joe!" "Hurry, Ed!" These commands were issued in norough but always a sure way, and Joe and Ed came. They looked up toFrank from the first as a master, and what he had to say was listened toeagerly.
He was forever pondering, pondering—one fact astonishing him quite asmuch as another—for he could not figure out how this thing he had comeinto—this life—was organized. How did all these people get into theworld? What were they doing here? Who started things, anyhow? His mothertold him the story of Adam and Eve, but he didn't believe it. There wasa fish-market not so very far from his home, and there, on his way tosee his father at the bank, or conducting his brothers on after-schoolexpeditions, he liked to look at a certain tank in front of one storewhere were kept odd specimens of sea-life brought in by the Delaware Bayfishermen. He saw once there a sea-horse—just a queer little sea-animalthat looked somewhat like a horse—and another time he saw an electriceel which Benjamin Franklin's discovery had explained. One day he sawa squid and a lobster put in the tank, and in connection with them waswitness to a tragedy which stayed with him all his life and clearedthings up considerably intellectually. The lobster, it appeared fromthe talk of the idle bystanders, was offered no food, as the squid wasconsidered his rightful prey. He lay at the bottom of the clear glasstank on the yellow sand, apparently seeing nothing—you could nottell in which way his beady, black buttons of eyes were looking—butapparently they were never off the body of the squid. The latter, paleand waxy in texture, looking very much like pork fat or jade, movedabout in torpedo fashion; but his movements were apparently never out ofthe eyes of his enemy, for by degrees small portions of his body beganto disappear, snapped off by the relentless claws of his pursuer. Thelobster would leap like a catapult to where the squid was apparentlyidly dreaming, and the squid, very alert, would dart away, shooting outat the same time a cloud of ink, behind which it would disappear. It wasnot always completely successful, however. Small portions of its bodyor its tail were frequently left in the claws of the monster below.Fascinated by the drama, young Cowperwood came daily to watch.
One morning he stood in front of the tank, his nose almost pressed tothe glass. Only a portion of the squid remained, and his ink-bag wasemptier than ever. In the corner of the tank sat the lobster, poisedapparently for action.
The boy stayed as long as he could, the bitter struggle fascinating him.Now, maybe, or in an hour or a day, the squid might die, slain bythe lobster, and the lobster would eat him. He looked again at thegreenish-copperish engine of destruction in the corner and wondered whenthis would be. To-night, maybe. He would come back to-night.
He returned that night, and lo! the expected had happened. There was alittle crowd around the tank. The lobster was in the corner. Before himwas the squid cut in two and partially devoured.
"He got him at last," observed one bystander. "I was standing right herean hour ago, and up he leaped and grabbed him. The squid was too tired.He wasn't quick enough. He did back up, but that l