Speaker 1: This is section twelve of The Gilded Age, A Tale
Speaker 1: of to Day. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Speaker 1: The Gilded Age, A Tale of to Day by Mark
Speaker 1: Twain and C. D. Warner, Chapter twelve. Oh, it's easy
Speaker 1: enough to make a fortune, Henry said. It seems to
Speaker 1: be easier than it is. I begin to think, replied Philip, Well,
Speaker 1: why don't you go into something you'll never dig it
Speaker 1: out of the astor library. If there be any place
Speaker 1: and time in the world where and when it seems
Speaker 1: easy to go into something, it is in Broadway on
Speaker 1: a spring morning, when one is walking cityward and has
Speaker 1: before him the long lines of palace shops with an
Speaker 1: occasional spire seen through the soft haze that lies over
Speaker 1: the lower town. And here's the roar and hum of
Speaker 1: its multitudinous traffic to the young American. Here or elsewhere,
Speaker 1: the paths to fortune are innumerable and all open. There
Speaker 1: is invitation in the air and success in all his
Speaker 1: wide horizon. He is embarrassed which to choose, and is
Speaker 1: not unlikely to waste years in dallying with his chances
Speaker 1: before giving himself to the serious tug and strain of
Speaker 1: a single object. He has no traditions to bind him
Speaker 1: or guide him, and his impulse is to break away
Speaker 1: from the occupation his father has followed and make a
Speaker 1: new way for himself. Philip Sterling used to say that
Speaker 1: if he should seriously set himself for ten years to
Speaker 1: any one of the dozen projects that were in his brain,
Speaker 1: he felt that he could be a rich man. He
Speaker 1: wanted to be rich. He had a sincere desire for
Speaker 1: a fortune, but for some unaccountable reason, he hesitated about addressing
Speaker 1: himself to the narrow work of getting it. He never
Speaker 1: walked Broadway, a part of its tide of abundant, shifting life,
Speaker 1: without feeling something of the flush of wealth, and unconsciously
Speaker 1: taking the elastic step of one well to do in
Speaker 1: this prosperous world, especially at night in the crowded theater.
Speaker 1: Philip was too young to remember the old Chambers Street box,
Speaker 1: where the serious Burton led his hilarious and pagan crew
Speaker 1: in the intervals of the screaming comedy, when the orchestra
Speaker 1: scraped and grunted and tooted its desolate tunes. The world
Speaker 1: seemed full of opportunities to Philip, and his heart exalted
Speaker 1: with the conscious ability to take any of its prizes
Speaker 1: he chose to pluck. Perhaps it was the swimming ease
Speaker 1: of the acting on the stage, where virtue had its
Speaker 1: reward in three easy acts. Perhaps it was the excessive
Speaker 1: light of the house, or the music, or the buzz
Speaker 1: of the excited talk between acts. Perhaps it was youth,
Speaker 1: which believed everything. But for some reason, while Philip was
Speaker 1: at the theater, he had the utmost confidence in life
Speaker 1: and his ready victory in it. Delight full illusion of
Speaker 1: paint and tinsel and silk attire, of cheap sentiment and
Speaker 1: high and mighty dialogue. Will there not always be rosen
Speaker 1: enough for the squeaking fiddle bow? Do we not all
Speaker 1: like the maudlin hero who is sneaking around the right
Speaker 1: entrance in wait to steal the pretty wife of his
Speaker 1: rich and tyrannical neighbor from the pasteboard cottage at the
Speaker 1: left entrance, And when he advances down to the footlights
Speaker 1: and defiantly informs the audience that he who lays his
Speaker 1: hand on a woman except in the way of kindness,
Speaker 1: do we not all applaud so as to drown the
Speaker 1: rest of the sentence. Philip never was fortunate enough to
Speaker 1: hear what would become of a man who should lay
Speaker 1: his hand on a woman with the exception named. But
Speaker 1: he learned afterwards that the woman who lays her hand
Speaker 1: on a man, without any exception whatsoever, is always acquitted
Speaker 1: by the jury. The fact was, though Philip Sterling did
Speaker 1: not know it, that he wants want, did several other
Speaker 1: things quite as much as he wanted wealth. The modest
Speaker 1: fellow would have liked fame thrust upon him for some
Speaker 1: worthy achievement. It might be for a book, or for
Speaker 1: the skillful management of some great newspaper, or for some
Speaker 1: daring expedition like that of Lieutenant Strain or doctor Kane.
Speaker 1: He was unable to decide exactly what it should be.
Speaker 1: Sometimes he thought he would like to stand in a
Speaker 1: conspicuous pulpit and humbly preach the gospel of repentance. And
Speaker 1: it even crossed his mind that it would be noble
Speaker 1: to give himself to a missionary life, to some benighted
Speaker 1: region where the date palm grows and the nightingale's voices
Speaker 1: in tune, and the bull bull sings on the off nights.
Speaker 1: If he were good enough, he would attach himself to
Speaker 1: that company of young men in the theological seminary who
Speaker 1: were seeing New York life in preparation for the ministry.
Speaker 1: Philip was a New England boy and had graduated at Yale.
Speaker 1: He had not carried off off with him all the
Speaker 1: learning of that venerable institution, but he knew some things
Speaker 1: that were not in the regular course of study. A
Speaker 1: very good use of the English language and considerable knowledge
Speaker 1: of its literature was one of them. He could sing
Speaker 1: a song very well, not in time, to be sure,
Speaker 1: but with enthusiasm. He could make a magnetic speech at
Speaker 1: a moment's notice in the class room, the debating society,
Speaker 1: or upon any fence or dry goods box that was convenient.
Speaker 1: He could lift himself by one arm and do the
Speaker 1: giant swing in the gymnasium. He could strike out from
Speaker 1: his left shoulder. He could handle an oar like a professional,
Speaker 1: and pull stroke in a winning race. Philip had a
Speaker 1: good appetite, a sunny temper, and a clear, hearty laugh.
Speaker 1: He had brown hair, hazel eyes set wide apart, a
Speaker 1: broad but not high forehead, and a fresh winning face.
Speaker 1: He was six feet high, with broad shoulders, long legs,
Speaker 1: and a swinging gait. One of those loose jointed, capable
Speaker 1: fellows who saunter her into the world with a free
Speaker 1: air and usually make a stir in whatever company they enter.
Speaker 1: After he left college, Philip took the advice of friends
Speaker 1: and read law. Law seemed to him well enough as
Speaker 1: a science, but he never could discover a practical case
Speaker 1: where it appeared to him worth while to go to law.
Speaker 1: And all the clients who stopped with this new clerk
Speaker 1: in the ante room of the law office where he
Speaker 1: was writing, Philip invariably advised to settle, no matter how,
Speaker 1: but settle greatly to the disgust of his employer, who
Speaker 1: knew that justice between man and man could only be
Speaker 1: attained by the recognized processes with the attendant fees. Besides,
Speaker 1: Philip hated the copying of pleadings, and he was certain
Speaker 1: that a life of whereases and aforesaids and whipping the
Speaker 1: devil round the stump would be intolerable. Note these few
Speaker 1: paragraphs are nearly an autobiography of the life of Charles
Speaker 1: Dudley Warner, whose contributions to the story start here with
Speaker 1: Chapter twelve. D w his pen Therefore and whereas and
Speaker 1: not as aforesaid strayed off into other scribbling. In an
Speaker 1: unfortunate hour, he had two or three papers accepted by
Speaker 1: first class magazines at three dollars the printed page, and behold,
Speaker 1: his vocation was open to him. He would make his
Speaker 1: mark in literature. Life has no moment so sweet as
Speaker 1: that in which a young man believes himself called into
Speaker 1: the immortal ranks of the masters of literature. It is
Speaker 1: such a noble ambition that it is a pity it
Speaker 1: has usually such a shallow foundation. At the time of
Speaker 1: this history, Philip had gone to New York for a career.
Speaker 1: With his talent, he thought he should have little difficulty
Speaker 1: in getting an editorial position upon a metropolitan newspaper, not
Speaker 1: that he knew anything about newspaper work or had the
Speaker 1: least idea of journalism. He knew he was not fitted
Speaker 1: for the technicalities of the subordinate departments, but he could
Speaker 1: write leaders with perfect ease. He was sure the drudgery
Speaker 1: of the newspaper office was too distasteful, and besides, it
Speaker 1: would be beneath the dignity of a graduate and a
Speaker 1: successful magazine writer. He wanted to begin at the top
Speaker 1: of the ladder. To his surprise, he found that every
Speaker 1: situation in the editorial department of the journals was full,
Speaker 1: always had been full, was always likely to be full.
Speaker 1: It seemed to him that the newspaper managers didn't want genius,
Speaker 1: but mere plodding and grubbing. Philip therefore read diligently in
Speaker 1: the Astor library, planned literary works that should compel attention,
Speaker 1: and nursed his genius. He had no friend wise enough
Speaker 1: to tell him to step into the dorking convention, then
Speaker 1: in session, make a sketch of the men and women
Speaker 1: on the platform and take it to the editor of
Speaker 1: the Daily Grapevine and see what he could get a
Speaker 1: line for it. One day he had an offer from
Speaker 1: some country friends who believed in him to take charge
Speaker 1: of a provincial daily newspaper, and he went to consult
Speaker 1: mister Gringo Gringo, who years ago managed the Atlas, about
Speaker 1: taking the situation. Take it, of course, says Gringo. Take
Speaker 1: anything that offers. Why not. But they want me to
Speaker 1: make it an opposition paper. Well, make it that that
Speaker 1: party is going to succeed, it's going to elect the
Speaker 1: next president. I don't believe it, said Philip stoutly. It's
Speaker 1: wrong in principle, and it ought not to succeed. But
Speaker 1: I don't see how I can go for a thing
Speaker 1: I don't believe in, Oh, very well, said Gringo, turning
Speaker 1: away with a shade of contempt. You'll find, if you
Speaker 1: are going into literature and newspaper work, that you can't
Speaker 1: afford a conscience like that. But Philip did afford it,
Speaker 1: and he wrote, thanking his friends and declining because he
Speaker 1: said the political scheme would fail and ought to fail.
Speaker 1: And he went back to his books and to his
Speaker 1: waiting for an opening large enough for his dignified entrance
Speaker 1: into the literary world. It was in this time of
Speaker 1: rather impatient waiting that Philip was one morning walking down
Speaker 1: Broadway with Henry Brierly. He frequently accompanied Henry part way
Speaker 1: downtown to what the latter called his office in broad Street,
Speaker 1: to which he went or pretended to go, with regularity
Speaker 1: every day. It was evident to the most casual acquaintance
Speaker 1: that he was a man of affairs, and that his
Speaker 1: time was engrossed with the largest sort of operations about
Speaker 1: which there was a mysterious air his liability to be
Speaker 1: suddenly summoned to Washington or Boston or Montreal, or even
Speaker 1: to Liverpool was always imminent. He never was so summoned.
Speaker 1: But none of his acquaintances would have been surprised to
Speaker 1: hear any day that he had gone to Panama or Peoria,
Speaker 1: or to hear from him that he had bought the
Speaker 1: Bank of Commerce. The two were intimate at that time.
Speaker 1: They had been classmates, and saw a great deal of
Speaker 1: each other. Indeed, they lived together in Ninth Street, in
Speaker 1: a boarding house there which had the honor of lodging
Speaker 1: and partially feeding several other young fellows of like Kidney,
Speaker 1: who have since gone their several ways into fame or
Speaker 1: into obscurity. It was during the morning walk to which
Speaker 1: reference has been made, that Henry Brierly suddenly said Philip,
Speaker 1: how would you like to go to Saint Joe? I
Speaker 1: think I should like it? Of all things, replied Philip,
Speaker 1: with some hesitation. But what for, Oh, it's a big operation.
Speaker 1: We are going a lot of US railroad men, engineers, contractors.
Speaker 1: You know my uncle is a great railroad man. I've
Speaker 1: no doubt I can get you a chance to go
Speaker 1: if you'll go. But in what capacity would I go? Well,
Speaker 1: I'm going as an engineer. You can go as one.
Speaker 1: I don't know an engine from a coal cart field
Speaker 1: and civil engineer. You can begin by carrying a rod
Speaker 1: and putting down the figures. It's easy enough. I'll show
Speaker 1: you about it. We'll get trot wine and some of
Speaker 1: those books. Yes, but what is it for? What is
Speaker 1: it all about? Why don't you see? We lay out
Speaker 1: a line, spot the good land, enter it up, know
Speaker 1: where the stations are to be, spot them, buy lots.
Speaker 1: There's heaps of money in it. We wouldn't engineer long.
Speaker 1: When do you go? Was Philip's next question, after some
Speaker 1: moments of silence. Tomorrow Is that too soon? No, it's
Speaker 1: not too soon. I've been ready to go anywhere for
Speaker 1: six months. The fact is, Henry, that I'm about tired
Speaker 1: of trying to force myself into things, and I'm quite
Speaker 1: willing to try floating with the stream for a while
Speaker 1: and see where I will land. This seems like a
Speaker 1: providential call. It's sudden enough. The two young men, who
Speaker 1: were by this time full of the adventure, went down
Speaker 1: to the Wall Street office of Henry's uncle and had
Speaker 1: a talk with that wily operator. The uncle knew Philip
Speaker 1: very well and was pleased with his Frank enthusiasm and
Speaker 1: willing enough to give him a trial in the Western venture.
Speaker 1: It was settled, therefore, in the prompt way in which
Speaker 1: things are settled in New York, that they would start
Speaker 1: with the rest of the company next morning for the West.
Speaker 1: On the way uptown, these adventurers bought books on engineering,
Speaker 1: and suits of India, rubber, which they supposed they would
Speaker 1: need in a new and probably damp country, and many
Speaker 1: other things which nobody ever needed anywhere. The night was
Speaker 1: spent in packing up and writing letters, for Philip would
Speaker 1: not take such an important step without informing his friends
Speaker 1: if they disapproved, thought he I've done my duty by
Speaker 1: letting them know, happy youth that is ready to pack
Speaker 1: its valise and start for Cathay on an hour's notice.
Speaker 1: By the way, calls out Philip from his bedroom to Henry,
Speaker 1: where is Saint Joe. Why it's in Missouri, somewhere on
Speaker 1: the frontier. I think, get a map. Never mind the map,
Speaker 1: we will find the place itself. I was afraid it
Speaker 1: was nearer home. Philip wrote a long letter, first of
Speaker 1: all to his mother, full of love and glowing anticipations
Speaker 1: of his new opening. He wouldn't bother her with business details,
Speaker 1: but he hoped that the day was not far off
Speaker 1: when she would see him return with a moderate fortune
Speaker 1: and something to add to the comfort of her advancing years.
Speaker 1: To his uncle, he said that he had made an
Speaker 1: arrangement with some New York capitalists to go to Missouri
Speaker 1: in a land and railroad operation, which would at least
Speaker 1: give him a knowledge of the world, and not unlikely
Speaker 1: offer him a business opening. He knew his uncle would
Speaker 1: be glad to hear that he had at last turned
Speaker 1: his thoughts to a practical matter. It was to Ruth
Speaker 1: Bolton that Philip wrote last. He might never see her again.
Speaker 1: He went to seek his fortune. He well knew the
Speaker 1: perils of the frontier, the savage state of society, the
Speaker 1: lurking Indians, and the dangers of fever. But there there
Speaker 1: was no real danger to a person who took care
Speaker 1: of himself. Might he write to her often and tell
Speaker 1: her of his life. If he returned with a fortune, perhaps,
Speaker 1: and perhaps if he was unsuccessful, or if he never returned,
Speaker 1: perhaps it would be as well. No time or distance, however,
Speaker 1: would ever, lessen his interest in her. He would say
Speaker 1: good night, but not good bye in the soft beginning
Speaker 1: of a spring morning, long before New York had breakfast,
Speaker 1: while yet the air of expectation hung about the wharves
Speaker 1: of the metropolis, our young adventurers made their way to
Speaker 1: the Jersey City Railway station of the Erie Road to
Speaker 1: begin the long, swinging, crooked journey over what a writer
Speaker 1: of a former day called a causeway of cracked rails
Speaker 1: and cows to the west. End of Chapter twelve,