Produced by Charles Aldarondo and the Online Distributed Proofreading team THE MONEYCHANGERS By Upton Sinclair New York 1908 To Jack London CHAPTER I “I am,” said Reggie Mann, “quite beside myself to meet this Lucy Dupree.” “Who told you about her?” asked Allan Montague. “Ollie's been telling everybody about her,” said Reggie. “It sounds really wonderful. But I fear he must have exaggerated.” “People seem to develop a tendency to exaggeration,” said Montague, “when they talk about Lucy.” “I am in quite a state about her,” said Reggie. Allan Montague looked at him and smiled. There were no visible signs of agitation about Reggie. He had come to take Alice to church, and he was exquisitely groomed and perfumed, and wore a wonderful scarlet orchid in his buttonhole. Montague, lounging back in a big leather chair and watching him, smiled to himself at the thought that Reggie regarded Lucy as a new kind of flower, with which he might parade down the Avenue and attract attention. “Is she large or small?” asked Reggie. “She is about your size,” said Montague,--which was very small indeed. Alice entered at this moment in a new spring costume. Reggie sprang to his feet, and greeted her with his inevitable effusiveness. When he asked, “Do you know her, too?” “Who? Lucy?” asked Alice. “I went to school with her.” “Judge Dupree's plantation was next to ours,” said Montague. “We all grew up together.” “There was hardly a day that I did not see her until she was married,” said Alice. “She was married at seventeen, you know--to a man much older than herself.” “We have never seen her since that,” added the other. “She has lived in New Orleans.” “And only twenty-two now,” exclaimed Reggie. “All the wisdom of a widow and the graces of an ingénue!” And he raised his hands with a gesture of admiration. “Has she got money?” he asked. “She had enough for New Orleans,” was the reply. “I don't know about New York.” “Ah well,” he said meditatively, “there's plenty of money lying about.” He took Alice away to her devotions, leaving Montague to the memories which the mention of Lucy Dupree awakened. Allan Montague had been in love with Lucy a half a dozen times in his life; it had begun when she was a babe in arms, and continued intermittently until her marriage. Lucy was a beauty of the creole type, with raven-black hair and gorgeous colouring; and Allan carried with him everywhere the face of joy, with the quick, mobile features across which tears and laughter chased like April showers across the sky. Lucy was a tiny creature, as he had said, but she was a well-spring of abounding energy. She had been the life of a lonely household from the first hour, and all who came near her yielded to her spell. Allan remembered one occasion when he had entered the house and seen the grave and venerable chief justice of the State down upon his hands and knees, with Lucy on his back.