The Americans Page 29

  Roosevelt whipped off his big sombrero and wigwagged it in farewell. The other cowboys waved their hats too. Roosevelt’s voice boomed as the train pulled away. “Delighted to have had you with us! Deeeee—” The rest was lost in the howl of the whistle.

  CHAPTER XIII

  WHAT GIDEON SAID

  i

  GIDEON LIKED TO INSTALL the latest conveniences in his suite at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He felt it was his duty as a newspaper publisher to stay abreast of the inventions that were appearing at a dizzying rate, and he had the money to buy anything when it was new and hence at its most expensive. Some of the conveniences didn’t always prove to be convenient, however.

  He was on the telephone, approving a long list of stock purchases one by one. The voice at the other end of the connection began to fade. Then, in a burst of crackling, it died altogether. A moment later the crackling was replaced by silence.

  “Daniel? Can you hear me, Daniel?”

  The instrument emitted a low buzz.

  Gideon cursed. He’d been speaking with Daniel Rothman, the eldest son of his Boston banker, Joshua Rothman. The Wall Street firm of Rothman Frères had been started by Daniel and his younger brother, Micah, just five years ago. It was already one of the most successful brokerage houses in New York.

  Now Gideon’s attention—and his wrath—were fixed on the telephone. Timing was essential to the success of a large-scale maneuver in the stock market, and the telephone had just caused his timing to misfire. He tore the instrument from its mounting, yanked the wires out of the wall and hurled the whole clanging mess on the floor.

  “Good heavens,” Julia cried. “What on earth are you doing?” She was just coming through the foyer, her arms full of Lord and Taylor parcels.

  “Destroying Mr. Bell’s infernal machine.” Gideon pointed to the wreckage. “That’s the fourth time in two days it’s betrayed me. The last time, too.”

  He wrenched the crank of another recently installed device, the telegraph call box. Then he snatched a Western Union blank from a desk pigeonhole and scribbled on it.

  D. ROTHMAN, ROTHMAN FRERES, WALL ST CITY. BUY ALL ON LIST AT PRICES QUOTED. TELEPHONE NO LONGER OPERATING. USE MESSENGER HENCEFORTH.

  He signed his initials, cursing under his breath. “Calm down, dear,” Julia said. “Surely something can be done to protest such bad service—” Gideon’s face lit with inspiration. “You’re absolutely right.” He grabbed another blank and wrote a message to the telephone company.

  TAKE OUT YOUR DAMNABLE MACHINE.

  To that one he signed his full name.

  Julia bent over his shoulder, watching. The touch of her breast stirred him in a familiar but pleasurable way. She tapped a finger on the second telegram.

  “I don’t believe they’ll transmit profanity, dear.”

  “I know. But it will get their attention.”

  Julia suppressed a smile and walked to the window. The late summer sunshine lent a golden cast to Madison Square, and to the suite’s large sitting room. As she let the curtain fall, she asked, “Is Will home yet?”

  “No. He promised to be here by five.” Gideon indicated a book on the floor next to his favorite chair. “I’m ready for him.”

  “Dear—” She faced him, her dark eyes luminous in the muted light. “I’m sorry to say this, but I can’t see the sense of what you’re planning to do.”

  “You can’t see the sense?” he exclaimed. “Julia, his chosen profession is one which is in complete disarray!”

  “Even so, we both feel—”

  “Please, Julia,” he interrupted, almost testily. “Let me handle it my way. Will’s decision is extremely important to all of us.”

  That, she understood. Gideon was constantly worrying about who would head the family when he was gone, and Will was his father’s brightest hope. She supposed that explained all the reading and research Gideon had done in preparation for the forthcoming talk—and his nervousness now.

  “By the way, you should read this.” He showed her a letter. “It arrived in the afternoon delivery. It’s from Theodore. He’s back at Sagamore Hill and may go to Europe. To see Miss Carow, I suspect.”

  She read the letter, her face brightening. “Oh, Gideon, how grand. He’s absolutely glowing in his praise of Will’s work this summer.”

  Gideon nodded. Will had been home for a couple of weeks; two days earlier, the family had steamed down to New York aboard Auvergne.

  “The trip worked miracles on his attitude,” Julia went on.

  “More than I could have hoped for,” Gideon agreed. “I never imagined Dakota would give a direction to his life, but it did. That’s why I’m so anxious for him not only to make the right decision, but to stick with it. A wrong choice now could ruin everything.”

  He strode to the window, whipped the curtain aside. “Where the devil is he, anyway?”

  “It’s a long way to the Annexed District, remember.” She was referring to the section of the city which lay beyond the Harlem River in Westchester County. It was open country for the most part, popular with young sportsmen. Gideon kept one of his carriages, the expensive Brewster, at the city stables of the Coaching Club. Will had taken the carriage for the day, hired four horses at a livery stable, and gone to the Annexed District to practice four-in-hand driving.

  “And coaches do break down,” Julia added.

  “Yes, but—”

  He started at the sound of knocking. Of course it wouldn’t be Will; he’d have walked right in.

  It was the messenger boy from the neighborhood telegraph office, responding to Gideon’s signal on the call box. The boy took the two printed messages. He was all smiles until he saw the second one.

  “Oh, sir, it isn’t permissible to send—”

  “Just make sure you give it to your supervisor. I wish to have this thing removed as soon as possible.” He kicked the wreckage of the phone, producing a feeble ping from the bell.

  A tip pacified the shocked boy. Just as the messenger was leaving, Will walked out of the elevator and into the foyer. Julia spied him and gasped.

  Will’s suntanned face was filthy. There were big black stains on his bottle green coat, gold waistcoat, and white trousers. His boots were dirty, and a fine rust-colored powder had sifted through his hair. The messenger boy gaped as Will said, “Those damned elevated railways will kill us all.”

  “What happened to you?” Julia asked.

  “Nothing happened to me. Oh, I got shaken up a little, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  Gideon shut the door in the messenger’s face. “You didn’t have an accident with the carriage—?”

  Glum, Will nodded. “The Third Avenue Railroad’s the culprit. I made the mistake of returning that way. The usual deluge of cinders, oil, and sparks came down. The off leader took a hot coal on his neck and bolted. The horses are all right—” He dropped into a chair, sighing. “But the Brewster’s a total wreck. I seem to make a botch of everything.”

  ii

  At first Gideon was upset that one of his best carriages had been overturned and wrecked. Will was apologetic, and repeatedly promised to earn the money for a new vehicle. Somewhat testily, Gideon replied that a Brewster wasn’t the same as the bakery wagon Carter had destroyed, and that unless his son had an income comparable to Jay Gould’s, he might be a long time paying off the debt.

  A moment after he’d made the remark, he apologized. He knew Will was a first-class whip, a fast driver but not a reckless one. And runaway horses were a frequent sight on the streets beneath the Third, Sixth, and Ninth Avenue Elevated Railroads. Once Gideon calmed down, he was inclined not to blame his son for the accident. He finally said so.

  Will was grateful. He told his father that immediately after the wreck, he’d sent a bootblack to fetch the stable owner. From that individual he’d obtained a written statement acknowledging the horses were returned unhurt. He passed the paper to his father. “Now he won’t try to sue you for trumped-up injuries to his anima
ls.”

  Next Will had squared matters with a policeman from the patrol district in which the accident had occurred. The policeman had been sympathetic, and had helped Will find and hire some men with a wagon to remove the wreckage of the coach from Third Avenue.

  Gideon was pleased by the presence of mind his son had displayed. It was a characteristic new to Will’s personality—surely one of the beneficial results of his summer with Roosevelt. Another result of that summer remained to be discussed.

  “I’m thankful you weren’t injured,” Julia was saying.

  Gideon nodded. “So am I. Do you want some whiskey?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Care to get rid of that coat? I’d like to have a talk with you.”

  “A talk? What about?”

  “Your plans.”

  Will stuck his scuffed boots out in front of him. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re settled. I don’t want to enter Harvard as a regular undergraduate. I want to take the fall entrance exams for the medical school.”

  “You mean it isn’t too late?” Julia asked.

  “No,” Will answered. “They’re given just before the term starts at the end of September. If I pass and the school still has an opening, I can enroll right away. I want to.”

  Gideon sat in his chair, facing his son. He laced his fingers between his knees as he leaned forward.

  “I appreciate the sincerity of your wish. I appreciate that you met a man out West whose work you thought important, and worthy of emulation. I had a high regard for the one doctor I knew well—Cincinnatus Lemon, the man who took care of me when my eye was put out at Fort Delaware. But the worthiness of the work doesn’t change the nature of the medical profession—or the way the public perceives it. Medicine has never been an altogether respectable calling. Have you ever read the apocryphal books of the Bible?”

  “No, sir.”

  “In Ecclesiasticus, the author says, ‘He that sinneth before his Maker—let him falleth into the hands of the physician.’ ”

  Julia smiled. But Will didn’t. He propped his elbow on the chair arm and put his chin on the heel of his palm, watching his father warily.

  “Since that uncomplimentary statement was made centuries ago,” Gideon went on, “there’s been very little reason for anyone to amend it. Medicine has always been a haven for idiots and charlatans. It still is. This sterling work”— he picked up the book at his side—“is Dr. Paul’s Remedy Compendium. It was published just last year.”

  He opened the book. “I quote. ‘Sleeplessness. Take half a pound of fresh hops and put into a small pillow case and use for a pillow.’ ”

  He turned the page. “ ‘Moles—to remove. Apply nitric acid with a pointed quill toothpick.’ I’m sure that will remove moles, all right. Half your skin, too.” Another page. “ ‘Baldness—to cure. One pound pressed hemlock bark—’ ”

  He snapped the book shut. “I needn’t go on. The point’s obvious. Here, we are in the modern world, and someone who styles himself a doctor is writing prescriptions that are mostly nonsense, and in some cases downright harmful.” He waved the book. “Unfortunately, this is all too typical of the profession.”

  “I admit the truth of what you say, Papa. I just don’t know why you’re saying it.”

  “I should think that would be obvious.”

  Ignoring Gideon’s sharp tone, Will shook his head. “I watched Lon Adam cure sickness and help people who were suffering. When I saw that, I saw something I admired. I also discovered I could do it. I mean I have the stomach for the grisly part. The sight of blood doesn’t bother me. I want to go to medical school and I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “But you must have all the facts before you commit yourself,” Gideon insisted, jumping up and beginning to pace. “Medical education in this country is a joke. Anyone who apprentices for a few weeks can obtain an impressive-looking degree from a diploma mill.”

  Will nodded. “Adam had one of those.”

  “The medical schools aren’t much better than the apprentice programs. Charles Eliot has made some improvements at Harvard since he took over as president, but professors of the caliber of Oliver Holmes are rare.”

  “Then if Harvard isn’t all that good, I should have no trouble getting in. I can enter without regular college training so long as I pass the tests.”

  “But you have to be twenty-one to graduate,” Gideon countered. “I know that for a fact.”

  “Harvard has a four-year program. If I enroll in that, I’ll get more thorough training than I would in their three-year program, and I’ll be just the right age at graduation.”

  Grudging admiration showed on Gideon’s face for an instant. “All right—let’s grant that you can earn your degree. What can you look forward to then? Damned little except grueling work. Most doctors have to turn to something else to earn a living.”

  Will was growing exasperated with Gideon’s negative thinking. “I know that.”

  “As for earning the respect of society in general—you might as well hope to have Lillian Russell fly through that window in the next thirty seconds. A few, a very few, doctors are lucky enough—or well-connected enough—to have a practice that gives them both a good income and some social standing. Such practices don’t aid and comfort the suffering masses, however. Far from it. In a profitable practice, the doctor only treats a few wealthy households— servants included. All his work is performed in the mansions of his clients. Open an office for anything besides scheduling your time or handling your accounts and you’re telling the world you’re second rate. To use an office to treat ordinary folk—or to work in a hospital or free clinic— either one’s an outright admission of failure.”

  “Papa, let me ask you something. Whatever happened to the idea of people in this family helping others—regardless of the economic consequences?”

  “That idea is very much alive.”

  “How can that be? You obviously don’t want me to go to medical school—”

  “On the contrary, sir!” Gideon retorted. “I said no such thing!”

  Their voices had risen, and now a fist hammered the wall of one of the adjoining bedrooms. “Quiet down or we’ll call the manager!”

  Ignoring the complaint, Will scowled at his father. “By God, sir, you’ve got me confused. Just what the hell is it you want of me?”

  iii

  Gideon drew a long breath. He avoided Julia’s eyes; her face showed her disapproval of the way he’d allowed the discussion to become a shouting match. He resumed his pacing, but more slowly, and said, “I apologize for raising my voice. I had no intention of starting a quarrel. I simply don’t want you to decide to go into medicine, then belatedly recognize its negative aspects and quit.”

  “I recognize every one of them right now,” Will declared. Gideon didn’t believe him. Still, he was greatly encouraged by the conviction in his son’s voice. When he spoke, his warm tone showed it.

  “Just one final word, then. Your stepmother and I really don’t want to discourage you. The fact is, if you do go ahead, it will make us extremely proud. Despite all the drawbacks, a career as a doctor would be in the best tradition of this family.”

  Will’s jaw had fallen. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, Papa, you have a damned strange way of encouraging someone.”

  Smiling again, Julia said, “Your father felt it was his duty to make certain you understood what you were undertaking.”

  “I do,” Will told her. “I know it won’t be easy to make a handsome living as a doctor. But I think I can do it. In any case, I’ll bear all the risks involved in the decision.”

  In fact, some of his father’s remarks had come as a happy revelation. Gideon had mentioned the very kind of doctor he wanted to be—one who served a select group of affluent patients, and grew rich and renowned in the process.

  I’ll keep the, promise. You’ll see, Carter.

  Gideon strode forward and clasped his son’s arm. “I know you can handle the
course work at Harvard, no matter how diffi—oh good God.”

  He drew his hand away from Will’s sleeve. His fingers were sticky with a dark brown substance.

  “Axle grease,” Will said with a rueful smile. “That’s about all that’s left of the Brewster.”

  “It makes no difference. None!”

  Father and son embraced. Julia could see her husband’s face over Will’s shoulder. Gideon looked happy for the first time in months.

  CHAPTER XIV

  A SUCCESSFUL MAN

  i

  AT FIRST WILL WAS ecstatic over his father’s endorsement of the decision to go to medical school. Then memories of some of Gideon’s statements about the security of a medical career began to erode that enthusiasm. Forty-eight hours after the discussion, he was again in a doubtful frame of mind.

  Despite a steady rain, he set out to walk and think. From Madison Square he headed up Broadway—the Rialto, New Yorkers called it. Here you found all the best theaters, some with their marquees already electrified.

  One day Eleanor’s name might appear on the gaudy posters pasted up in front of a New York playhouse. She might even have her name listed above the title of the show—a sign of true eminence. His sister, at least, was sure of the rewards that her profession offered.

  Of course she’d never be respectable. The best people considered actors and actresses no better than those who earned a living in trade. If a Society hostess invited the cast of a hit play to perform for her guests, the cast members were never allowed to dine or mingle with the regular guests.

  I want more than that, he thought as he passed the Standard Theater at Thirty-third Street. I don’t want just the sufferance of the best people. I want acceptance.

  A roast chestnut vendor was closing up his little cart at the corner of Thirty-fourth. The vendor gave Will a puzzled stare as he hurried by, a faraway look on his face. To the vendor it seemed as if Will was trying to gaze all the way to the rocky ledges of Central Park, where wild goats wandered.