n cotton heels, practically. You
know that old gas crowd are still down on you, in spite of the fact
that you are one of their largest stockholders. Schryhart isn't at all
friendly, and he practically owns the Chronicle. Ricketts will just
about say what he wants him to say. Hyssop, of the Mail and the
Transcript, is an independent man, but he's a Presbyterian and a cold,
self-righteous moralist. Braxton's paper, the Globe, practically
belongs to Merrill, but Braxton's a nice fellow, at that. Old General
MacDonald, of the Inquirer, is old General MacDonald. It's all
according to how he feels when he gets up in the morning. If he should
chance to like your looks he might support you forever and forever
until you crossed his conscience in some way. He's a fine old walrus.
I like him. Neither Schryhart nor Merrill nor any one else can get
anything out of him unless he wants to give it. He may not live so
many years, however, and I don't trust that son of his. Haguenin, of
the Press, is all right and friendly to you, as I understand. Other
things being equal, I think he'd naturally support you in anything he
thought was fair and reasonable. Well, there you have them. Get them
all on your side if you can. Don't ask for the LaSalle Street tunnel
right away. Let it come as an afterthought--a great public need. The
main thing will be to avoid having the other companies stirring up a
real fight against you. Depend on it, Schryhart will be thinking
pretty hard about this whole business from now on. As for
Merrill--well, if you can show him where he can get something out of it
for his store, I guess he'll be for you."

It is one of the splendid yet sinister fascinations of life that there
is no tracing to their ultimate sources all the winds of influence that
play upon a given barque--all the breaths of chance that fill or desert
our bellied or our sagging sails. We plan and plan, but who by taking
thought can add a cubit to his stature? Who can overcome or even assist
the Providence that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may.
Cowperwood was now entering upon a great public career, and the various
editors and public personalities of the city were watching him with
interest. Augustus M. Haguenin, a free agent with his organ, the
Press, and yet not free, either, because he was harnessed to the
necessity of making his paper pay, was most interested. Lacking the
commanding magnetism of a man like MacDonald, he w