Didactic fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
That would be capital! The lack of capital had tripped him at every
turn. With that amount of money, he could plant his feet firmly on the
earth and prepare to spring still higher.
"Of course," Graves continued, "you'd stand by me--help me out with the
trustees if there was any kick."
In other words, for the term of a year or eighteen months he would be
this contractor's creature. But the architect was thinking of
something else....
The line between what is honest and dishonest in business is a
difficult one to plot. From generation to generation standards alter
in the business world as elsewhere, and to-day men will do
unblushingly, and with the approval of their fellows, that which in
another generation will, doubtless, become a penitentiary offence.
Business is warfare, and whatever men may say on Sundays, the hardy man
of business will condone a thrifty sin of competition sooner than any
other sin. Every one of the fighters in the battle knows how hard it
is to make a dollar honestly or dishonestly, and he prefers to call
certain acts "indelicate" or "unprofessional," rather than dishonest.
Of such "unprofessional" conduct Hart had been guilty a number of
times, and the matter had not troubled him greatly. But this
arrangement, which the contractor was urging, was of more positive
stripe. Although it was not clear how close a connivance with fraud
would be necessary, it might involve outright rascality, which, if it
became known in the community, would ruin his professional standing for
life. He would be taking a great risk to grasp that promised lump of
money. While Graves talked in his thick, guttural tones, Hart was
weighing this risk. The whiskey that he had been drinking had not
obscured his vision in the least, although it shed a rosier glow over
the desired capital. It must be admitted that the architect gave
little consideration to the trustees or to his uncle's bequest. It
would have pleased him, if he had thought much about it, to make a good
round hole in his uncle's millions, of which the old man had deprived
him. And as for the trustees, they were shrewd men of the world, quite
able to take care of themselves.
But, instinctively, he recoiled from the act. He would much prefer a
clean, honorable, "high-class" career. If he could have secured money
enough to satisfy his ambitions, to lead the kind of life he liked,
without resort to such knavery as this, it would have been much
pleasanter. But in one way or another he must make money, and make it
more rapidly and more abundantly than he had been doing. That was
success. When he had come to this point, he had already consented with
himself....
They had been sitting there nearly two hours, but latterly little had
been said. The contractor was patient and diplomatic. Finally he
asked, "Well, Hart, what do you say?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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