Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
Cowperwood, Senior, saw a great future for this thing; but he did not
see as yet how the capital was to be raised for it. Frank believed that
Tighe & Co. should attempt to become the selling agents of this new
stock of the Fifth and Sixth Street Company in the event it succeeded
in getting a franchise. He understood that a company was already
formed, that a large amount of stock was to be issued against the
prospective franchise, and that these shares were to be sold at five
dollars, as against an ultimate par value of one hundred. He wished he
had sufficient money to take a large block of them.
Meanwhile, Lillian Semple caught and held his interest. Just what it
was about her that attracted him at this age it would be hard to say,
for she was really not suited to him emotionally, intellectually, or
otherwise. He was not without experience with women or girls, and still
held a tentative relationship with Marjorie Stafford; but Lillian
Semple, in spite of the fact that she was married and that he could
have legitimate interest in her, seemed not wiser and saner, but more
worth while. She was twenty-four as opposed to Frank’s nineteen, but
still young enough in her thoughts and looks to appear of his own age.
She was slightly taller than he—though he was now his full height (five
feet ten and one-half inches)—and, despite her height, shapely,
artistic in form and feature, and with a certain unconscious placidity
of soul, which came more from lack of understanding than from force of
character. Her hair was the color of a dried English walnut, rich and
plentiful, and her complexion waxen—cream wax—-with lips of faint pink,
and eyes that varied from gray to blue and from gray to brown,
according to the light in which you saw them. Her hands were thin and
shapely, her nose straight, her face artistically narrow. She was not
brilliant, not active, but rather peaceful and statuesque without
knowing it. Cowperwood was carried away by her appearance. Her beauty
measured up to his present sense of the artistic. She was lovely, he
thought—gracious, dignified. If he could have his choice of a wife,
this was the kind of a girl he would like to have.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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