The Ames building, a block from the Stock Exchange, was originally only five stories in height. But as the Ames interests grew, floor after floor was added, until, on the day that Mrs. Hawley-Crowles pointed it out to Carmen from the window of her limousine, it had reached, tower and all, a height of twenty-five stories, and was increasing at an average rate of two additional a year. It was not its size that aroused interest, overtopped as it was by many others, but its uniqueness; for, though a hive of humming industry, it did not house a single business that was not either owned outright or controlled by J. Wilton Ames, from the lowly cigar stands in the marble corridors to the great banking house of Ames and Company on the second floor. The haberdashers, the shoe-shining booths, the soda fountains, and the great commercial enterprises that dwelt about them, each and all acknowledged fealty and paid homage to the man who brooded over them in his magnificent offices on the twenty-fifth floor in the tower above.

It was not by any consensus of opinion among the financiers of New York that Ames had assumed leadership, but by sheer force of what was doubtless the most dominant character developed in recent years by those peculiar forces which have produced the American multimillionaire. “Mental dynamite!” was Weston’s characterization of the man. “And,” he once 101 added, when, despite his anger, he could not but admire Ames’s tactical blocking of his piratical move, which the former’s keen foresight had perceived threatened danger at Washington, “it is not by any tacit agreement that we accept him, but because he knows ten tricks to our one, that’s all.”

To look at the man, now in his forty-fifth year, meant, generally, an expression of admiration for his unusual physique, and a wholly erroneous appraisal of his character. His build was that of a gladiator. He stood six-feet-four in height, with Herculean shoulders and arms, and a pair of legs that suggested nothing so much as the great pillars which supported the facade of the Ames building. Those arms and legs, and those great back-muscles, had sent his college shell to victory every year that he had sat in the boat. They had won every game on the gridiron in which he had participated as the greatest “center” the college ever developed. For baseball he was a bit too massive, much to his own disappointment, but the honors he failed to secure there he won in the field events, and in the surreptitiously staged boxing and wrestling bouts when, hidden away in the cellar of some secret society hall, he would crush his opponents with an ease and a peculiar glint of satisfaction in his gray eyes that was grimly prophetic of days to come. His mental attitude toward contests for superiority of whatever nature did not differ essentially from that of the Roman gladiators: he entered them to win. If he fell, well and good; he expected “thumbs down.” If he won, his opponent need look for no exhibition of generosity on his part. When his man lay prone before him, he stooped and cut his throat. And he would have loathed the one who forbore to do likewise with himself.

In scholarship he might have won a place, had not the physical side of his nature been so predominant, and his remarkable muscular strength so great a prize to the various athletic coaches and directors. Ames was first an animal; there was no stimulus as yet sufficiently strong to arouse his latent spirituality. And yet his intellect was keen; and to those studies to which he was by nature or inheritance especially attracted, economics, banking, and all branches of finance, he brought a power of concentration that was as stupendous as his physical strength. His mental make-up was peculiar, in that it was the epitome of energy––manifested at first only in brute force––and in that it was wholly deficient in the sense of fear. Because of this his daring was phenomenal.

Immediately upon leaving college Ames became associated with his father in the already great banking house of Ames and Company. But the animality of his nature soon found the 102 confinement irksome; his father’s greater conservatism hampered his now rapidly expanding spirit of commercialism; and after a few years in the banking house he withdrew and set up for himself. The father, while lacking the boy’s fearlessness, had long since recognized dominant qualities in him which he himself did not possess, and he therefore confidently acquiesced in his son’s desire, and, in addition, gave him carte blanche in the matter of funds for his speculative enterprises.

Four years later J. Wilton Ames, rich in his own name, already becoming recognized as a power in the world of finance, with diversified enterprises which reached into almost every country of the globe, hastened home from a foreign land in response to a message announcing the sudden death of his father. The devolving of his parent’s vast fortune upon himself––he was the sole heir––then necessitated his permanent location in New York. And so, reluctantly giving up his travels, he gathered his agents and lieutenants about him, concentrating his interests as much as possible in the Ames building, and settled down to the enjoyment of expanding his huge fortune. A few months later he married, and the union amalgamated the proud old Essex stock of Ames, whose forbears fought under the Conqueror and were written in the Doomsday Book, to the wealthy and aristocratic Van Heyse branch of old Amsterdam. To this union were born a son and a daughter, twins.

The interval between his graduation from college and the death of his father was all but unknown to the cronies of his subsequent years in New York. Though he had spent much of it in the metropolis, he had been self-centered and absorbed, even lonely, while laying his plans and developing the schemes which resulted in financial preËminence. With unlimited money at his disposal, he was unhampered in the choice of his business clientele, and he formed it from every quarter of the globe. Much of his time had been spent abroad, and he had become as well known on the Paris bourse and the exchanges of Europe as in his native land. Confident and successful from the outset; without any trace of pride or touch of hauteur in his nature; as wholly lacking in ethical development and in generosity as he was in fear; gradually becoming more sociable and companionable, although still reticent of certain periods of his past; his cunning and brutality increasing with years; and his business sagacity and keen strategy becoming the talk of the Street; with no need to raise his eyes beyond the low plane of his material endeavors; he pursued his business partly for the pleasure the game afforded him, partly for the power which his accumulations bestowed upon him, and mostly because 103 it served as an adequate outlet for his tremendous, almost superhuman, driving energy. If he betrayed and debauched ideals, it was because he was utterly incapable of rising to them, nor felt the stimulus to make the attempt. If he achieved no noble purpose, it was because when he glanced at the mass of humanity about him he looked through the lenses of self. His glance fell always first upon J. Wilton Ames––and he never looked beyond. The world had been created for him; the cosmos but expressed his Ego.

On the morning after his conversation with the Beaubien regarding the social aspirations of Mrs. Hawley-Crowles, the financier sat at his rich mahogany desk on the top floor of the Ames building in earnest discussion with his lawyer, Alonzo Hood. The top floor of the tower was divided into eight rooms. Two of these constituted Ames’s inner sanctum; one was Hood’s private office; and the rest were devoted to clerks and stenographers. A telegrapher occupied an alcove adjoining Hood’s room, and handled confidential messages over private wires to the principal cities in the country. A private telephone connected Ames’s desk with the Beaubien mansion. Private lines ran to the Stock Exchange and to various other points throughout the city. The telegraph and telephone companies gave his messages preference over all others. At a word he would be placed in almost instant communication with New Orleans, San Francisco, London, Berlin, or Cairo. Private lines and speaking tubes ran to every room or floor of the building where a company, firm, or individual was doing business. At the office of the Telegraph Service up-town he maintained messengers who carried none but his own despatches. In the railroad yards his private car stood always in readiness; and in the harbor his yacht was kept constantly under steam. A motor car stood ever in waiting in the street below, close to the shaft of a private automatic elevator, which ran through the building for his use alone. This elevator also penetrated the restaurant in the basement of the building, where a private room and a special waiter were always at the man’s disposal. A private room and special attendant were maintained in the Turkish baths adjoining, and he had his own personal suite and valet at his favorite club up-town.

This morning he was at his desk, as usual, at eight o’clock. Before him lay the various daily reports from his mines, his mills, his railroads, and his bank. These disposed of, there followed a quick survey of the day’s appointments, arranged for him by his chief secretary. Then he summoned Hood. As the latter entered, Ames was absorbed in the legend of the stock ticker.

“C. and R. closed yesterday at twenty-six,” he commented. Then, swinging back in his chair, “What’s Stolz doing?”

“For one thing, he has made Miss Fagin his private stenographer,” replied Hood.

Ames chuckled. “Now we will begin to get real information,” he remarked. “Tell Miss Fagin you will give her fifty dollars a week from now on; but she is to deliver to you a carbon copy of every letter she writes for Stolz. And I want those copies on my desk every morning when I come down. Hood,” he continued, abruptly turning the conversation, “what have you dug up about Ketchim’s new company?”

“Very little, sir,” replied Hood with a trace of embarrassment. “His lawyer is a fledgeling named Cass, young, but wise enough not to talk. I called on him yesterday afternoon to have a little chat about the old Molino company, representing that I was speaking for certain stockholders. But he told me to bring the stockholders in and he would talk with them personally.”

Ames laughed, while the lawyer grinned sheepishly. “Is that the sort of service you are rendering for a hundred-thousand-dollar salary?” he bantered. “Hood, I’m ashamed of you!”

“I can’t blame you; I am ashamed of myself,” replied the lawyer.

“Well,” continued Ames good-naturedly, “leave Ketchim to me. I’ve got three men now buying small amounts of stock in his various companies. I’ll call for receiverships pretty soon, and we will see this time that he doesn’t refund the money. Now about other matters: the Albany post trolley deal is to go through. Also the potato scheme. Work up the details and let me have them at once. Have you got the senate bill drawn for Gossitch?”

“It will be ready this afternoon. As it stands now, the repealing section gives any city the right to grant saloon licenses of indefinite length, instead of for one year.”

“That’s the idea. We want the bill so drawn that it will become practically impossible to revoke a license.”

“As it now reads,” said Hood, “it makes a saloon license assignable. That creates a property right that can hardly be revoked.”

“Just so,” returned Ames. “As I figure, it will create a value of some twenty millions for those who own saloons in New York. A tidy sum!”

“That means for the brewers.”

“And distillers, yes. And if the United States ever reaches the point where it will have to buy the saloons in order to wipe them out, it will face a very handsome little expenditure.”

“But, Mr. Ames, a very large part of the stock of American brewing companies is owned in Europe. How are you––”

“Nominally, it is. But for two years, and more, I have been quietly gathering in brewing stock from abroad, and to-day I have some ten millions in my own control, from actual purchases, options, and so forth. I’m going to organize a holding company, when the time arrives, and I figure that within the next year or so we will practically control the production of beer and spirituous liquors in the United States and Europe. The formation of that company will be a task worthy of your genius, Hood.”

“It will be a pleasure to undertake it,” replied Hood with animation. “By the way, Mr. Ames, I got in touch with Senator Mall last evening at the club, and he assures me that the senate committee have so changed the phraseology of the tariff bill on cotton products that the clause you wish retained will be continued with its meaning unaltered. In fact, the discrimination which the hosiery interests desire will be fully observed. Your suggestion as to an ad valorem duty of fifty per cent on hose valued at less than sixty-five cents a dozen pairs is exceptionally clever, in view of the fact that there are none of less than that value.”

Ames laughed again. “Triumphant Republicanism,” he commented. “And right in the face of the President’s message. Wire Mall that I will be in Washington Thursday evening to advise with him further about it. And you will go with me. Hood, we’ve got a fight on in regard to the President’s idea of granting permission in private suits to use judgments and facts brought out and entered in government suits against combinations. That idea has got to be killed! And the regulation of security issues of railroads––preposterous! Why, the President’s crazy! If Mall and Gossitch and Wells don’t oppose that in the Senate, I’ll see that they are up before the lunacy commission––and I have some influence with that body!”

“There is nothing to fear, I think,” replied Hood reassuringly. “An important piece of business legislation like that will hardly go through this session. And then we will have time to prepare to frustrate it. The suggestion to place the New York Stock Exchange under government supervision is a much more serious matter, I think.”

“See here, Hood,” said Ames, leaning forward and laying a hand upon that gentleman’s knee, “when that happens, we’ll have either a Socialist president or a Catholic in the White House, with Rome twitching the string. Then I shall move to my Venezuelan estates, take the vow of poverty, and turn monk.”

“Which reminds me again that by your continued relations with Rome you are doing much to promote just that state of affairs,” returned the lawyer sententiously.

“Undoubtedly,” said Ames. “But I find the Catholic Church convenient––indeed, necessary––for the promotion of certain plans. And so I use it. The Colombian revolution, for example. But I shall abruptly sever my relations with that institution some day––when I am through with it. At present I am milking the Church to the extent of a brimming pail every year; and as long as the udder is full and accessible I shall continue to tap it. I tapped the Presbyterian Church, through Borwell, last year, if you remember.”

Willett, chief secretary to Ames, entered at that moment with the morning mail, opened and sorted, and replies written to letters of such nature as he could attend to without suggestions from his chief.

“By the way,” remarked Hood when he saw the letters, “I had word from Collins this morning that he had secured a signed statement from that fellow Marcus, who was crushed in the Avon mills yesterday. Marcus accepted the medical services of our physicians, and died in our hospital. Just before he went off, his wife accepted a settlement of one hundred dollars. Looked big to her, I guess, and was a bird in the hand. So that matter’s settled.”

“That reminds me,” said Ames, looking up from his mail; “we are going to close the mills earlier this year on account of the cotton shortage.”

Hood gave a low whistle. “That spells trouble, in capital letters!” he commented. “Four thousand hands idle for three months, I suppose. By George! we just escaped disaster last year, you remember.”

“It will be more than three months this time,” commented Ames with a knowing look. Then––“Hood, I verily believe you are a coward.”

“Well, Mr. Ames,” replied the latter slowly, “I certainly would hesitate to do some of the things you do. Yet you seem to get away with them.”

“Perk up, Hood,” laughed Ames. “I’ve got real work for you as soon as I get control of C. and R. I’m going to put you in as president, at a salary of one hundred thousand per annum. Then you are going to buy the road for me for about two million dollars, and I’ll reorganize and sell to the stockholders for five millions, still retaining control. The road is only a scrap heap, but its control is the first step toward the amalgamation of the trolley interests of New England. Laws are going to be violated, Hood, both in actual letter and in spirit. 107 But that’s your end of the business. It’s up to you to get around the Interstate Commerce Commission in any way you can, and buttress this little monopoly against competition and reform-infected legislatures. I don’t care what it costs.”

“What about Crabbe?” asked Hood dubiously.

“We’ll send Crabbe to the Senate,” Ames coolly replied.

“You seem to forget that senators are now elected by the people, Mr. Ames.”

“I forget nothing, sir. The people are New York City, Buffalo, and Albany. Tammany is New York. And Tammany at present is in my pocket. Buffalo and Albany can be swept by the Catholic vote. And I have that in the upper right hand drawer of my private file. The ‘people’ will therefore elect to the Senate the man I choose. In fact, I prefer direct election of senators over the former method, for the people are greater fools en masse than any State Legislature that ever assembled.”

He took up another letter from the pile on his desk and glanced through it. “From Borwell,” he commented. “Protests against the way you nullified the Glaze-Bassett red-light injunction bill. Pretty clever, that, Hood. I really didn’t think it was in you.”

“Invoking the referendum, you mean?” said Hood, puffing a little with pride.

“Yes. But for that, the passage of the bill would have wiped out the whole red-light district, and quartered the rents I now get from my shacks down there. Now next year we will be better prepared to fight the bill. The press will be with us then––a little cheaper and a trifle more degraded than it is to-day.”

A private messenger entered with a cablegram. Ames read it and handed it to his lawyer. “The Proteus has reached the African Gold Coast at last,” he said. Then he threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Do you know, Hood, the Proteus carried two missionaries, sent to the frizzle-topped Zulus by Borwell and his outfit. Deutsch and Company cable that they have arrived.”

“But,” said Hood in some perplexity, “the cargo of the Proteus was rum!”

“Just so,” roared Ames; “that’s where the joke comes in. I make it a point that every ship of mine that carries a missionary to a foreign field shall also carry a cargo of rum. The combination is one that the Zulu finds simply irresistible!”

“So,” commented Hood, “the Church goes down to Egypt for help!”

“Why not?” returned Ames. “I carry the missionaries 108 free on my rum boats. Great saving to the Board of Foreign Missions, you know.”

Hood looked at the man before him in undisguised admiration of his cunning. “And did you likewise send missionaries to China with your opium cargoes?” he asked.

Ames chuckled. “I once sent Borwell himself to Hongkong on a boat loaded to the rails with opium. We had insisted on his taking a needed vacation, and so packed him off to Europe. In Bombay I cabled him to take the Crotus to Hongkong, transportation free. That was my last consignment of opium to China, for restrictions had already fallen upon our very Christian England, and the opium traffic was killed. I had plans laid to corner the entire opium business in India, and I’d have cleaned up a hundred million out of it, but for the pressure of public sentiment. However, we’re going to educate John Chinaman to substitute whiskey for opium. But now,” glancing at the great electric wall clock, “I’ve wasted enough time with you. By the way, do you know why this Government withheld recognition of the Chinese Republic?”

“No,” replied Hood, standing in anticipation.

“Thirty thousand chests of opium,” returned Ames laconically. “Value, fifty million dollars.”

“Well?”

“Ames and Company had advanced to the English banks of Shanghai and Hongkong half this amount, loaned on the opium. That necessitated a few plain words from me to the President, and a quick trip from Washington to London afterwards to interview his most Christian British Majesty. A very pleasant and profitable trip, Hood, very! Now tell Willett I want him.”

Hood threw his chief another look of intense admiration, and left the room. Willett’s entrance followed immediately.

“Get Lafelle here some time to-day when I have a vacant hour,” commanded Ames. “Cable to acting-Bishop Wenceslas, of Cartagena, and ask him if an American mining company is registered there under the name of SimitÍ Development Company, and what properties they have and where located. Tell him to cable reply, and follow with detailed letter.”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “The Congregation of the Sacred Index has laid the ban on––what’s the name of the book?” He drew out a card-index drawer and selected a card, which he tossed to the secretary. “There it is. Get me the book at once.” He seemed to muse a while, then went on slowly. “Carlos Madero, of Mexico, is in New York. Learn where he is staying, and arrange an interview for me. Wire Senator Wells, Washington, that the bill for a Children’s 109 Bureau must not be taken from the table. That’s final. Wire the Sequana Coal Company that I want their report to-morrow, without fail. Wire Collins, at Avon, to tell the Spinners’ Union I have nothing to discuss with them. Now send Hodson in.”

As Hood was chief of the Ames legal department, and Willett the chief of his army of secretaries, so Hodson was the captain of his force of brokers, a keen, sagacious trader, whose knowledge of the market and whose ability in the matter of stock trading was almost uncanny.

“What’s your selection for to-day, Hodson?” asked Ames, as the man entered.

Hodson laid on his desk three lists of suggested deals on the exchanges of New York, London, and Paris. Ames glanced over them hurriedly, drawing his pencil through certain that did not meet his approval, and substituting others in which for particular reasons he wished to trade that morning. “What’s your reason for thinking I ought to buy Public Utilities?” he asked, looking up at his broker.

“They have the letting of the Hudson river tunnel contract,” replied Hodson.

Ames studied the broker’s face a moment. Then his own brightened, as he began to divine the man’s reason. “By George!” he ejaculated, “you think there’s quicksand along the proposed route?”

“I know it,” said Hodson calmly.

“Pick up ten thousand shares, if you can get them,” returned Ames quickly. Then––“I’m going to attend a meeting of the Council of American Grain Exchanges at two to-day. I want you to be just outside the door.”

Hodson nodded understandingly. Ames concluded, “I guess that’s all. I’m at the bank at ten; at the Board of Trade at ten-thirty; Stock Exchange at eleven; and lunch at Rector’s at twelve sharp, returning here immediately afterward.”

Hodson again bowed, and left the office to undertake his various commissions.

For the next half hour Ames pored over the morning’s quota of letters and messages, making frequent notes, and often turning to the telephone at his hand. Then he summoned a stenographer and rapidly dictated a number of replies. Finally he again called Willett.

“In my next vacant hour, following the one devoted to Lafelle, I want to see Reverend Darius Borwell,” he directed. “Also,” he continued, “wire Strunz that I want a meeting of the Brewers’ Union called at the earliest possible date. By the way, ask Lafelle if he can spend the night with me on board 110 the Cossack, and if so, notify Captain McCall. That will save an hour in the day. Here is a bundle of requests for charity, for contributions to hospitals, orphan asylums, and various homes. Turn them all down, regretfully. H’m! ’Phone to the City Assessor to come over whenever you can arrange an hour and go over my schedule with me. By the way, tell Hood to take steps at once to foreclose on the Bradley estate. Did you find out where Ketchim does his banking?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the secretary, “the Commercial State.”

“Very well, get the president, Mr. Colson, on the wire.”

A few moments later Ames had purchased from the Commercial State bank its note against the Ketchim Realty Company for ten thousand dollars. “I thought Ketchim would be borrowing again,” he chuckled, when he had completed the transaction. “His brains are composed of a disastrous mixture of hypocrisy and greed. I’ve thrown another hook into him now.”

At nine forty-five Ames left his private office and descended in his elevator to the banking house on the second floor. He entered the directors’ room with a determined carriage, nodding pleasantly to his associates. Taking his seat as chairman, he promptly called the meeting to order.

Some preliminary business occupied the first few minutes, and then Ames announced:

“Gentlemen, when the State of New York offered the public sixty millions of four per cent bonds last week, and I advised you to take them at a premium of six per cent, you objected. I overruled you, and the bank bought the bonds. Within forty-eight hours they were resold at a premium of seven per cent, and the bank cleared six hundred thousand. A fair two days’ business. Now let me suggest that the psychology of this transaction is worth your study. A commodity is a drug on the market at one dollar, until somebody is willing to pay a dollar and a half for it. Then a lot of people will want it, until somebody else offers a bid of two. Then the price will soar, and the number of those who covet the article and scramble for it will increase proportionably. Take this thought home with you.”

A murmur of admiration rose from the directors. “I think,” said one, “that we had better send Mr. Ames to Washington to confer with the President in regard to the proposed currency legislation.”

“That is already arranged,” put in Ames. “I meet the President next Thursday for a conference on this matter.”

“And if he proves intractable?” queried another.

“Why, in that case,” returned Ames with a knowing smile, 111 “I think we had better give him a little lesson to take out of office with him––one that will ruin his second-term hopes––and then close our bank.”

From the bank, the Board of Trade, the Stock Exchange, and his luncheon with Senator Gossitch, Ames returned to his office for the private interviews which his chief secretary had arranged. Then followed further consultations with Hood over the daily, weekly, and monthly reports which Ames required from all the various commercial, financial, and mining enterprises in which he was interested; further discussions of plans and schemes; further receipt and transmission of cable, telegraphic, and telephone messages; and meetings with his heads of departments, his captains, lieutenants, and minor officers, to listen to their reports and suggestions, and to deliver his quick, decisive commands, admonitions, and advice. From eight in the morning until, as was his wont, Ames closed his desk and entered his private elevator at five-thirty in the evening, his office flashed with the superenergy of the man, with his intense activity, his decisive words, and his stupendous endeavors, materialistic, absorptive, ruthless endeavors. If one should ask what his day really amounted to, we can but point to these incessant endeavors and their results in augmenting his already vast material interests and his colossal fortune, a fortune which Hood believed ran well over a hundred millions, and which Ames himself knew multiplied that figure by five or ten. And the fortune was increasing at a frightful pace, for he gave nothing, but continually drew to himself, always and ever drawing, accumulating, amassing, and absorbing, and for himself alone.

Snapping his desk shut, he held a brief conversation over the wire with the Beaubien, then descended to his waiting car and was driven hastily to his yacht, the Cossack, where Monsignor Lafelle awaited as his guest. It was one of the few pleasures which Ames allowed himself during the warm months, to drop his multifarious interests and spend the night aboard the Cossack, generally alone, rocking gently on the restless billows, so typical of his own heaving spirit, as the beautiful craft steamed noiselessly to and fro along the coast, well beyond the roar of the huge arena where human beings, formed of dust, yet fatuously believing themselves made in the image of infinite Spirit, strive and sweat, curse and slay, in the struggle to prove their doubtful right to live.