Curtis Jadwin was a man about thirty-five, who had begun life without a sou in his pockets.He was a native of Michigan.His people were farmers, nothing more nor less than hardy, honest fellows, who ploughed and sowed for a living.Curtis had only a rudimentary schooling, because he had given up the idea of finishing his studies in the High School in Grand Rapids, on the chance of going into business with a livery stable keeper.Then in time he had bought out the business and had run it for himself.Some one in Chicago owed him money, and in default of payment had offered him a couple of lots on Wabash Avenue.That was how he happened to come to Chicago.Naturally enough as the city grew the Wabash Avenue property--it was near Monroe Street--increased in value.He sold the lots and bought other real estate, sold that and bought somewhere else, and so on, till he owned some of the best business sites in the city.Just his ground rent alone brought him, heaven knew how many thousands a year.He was one of the largest real estate owners in Chicago.But he no longer bought and sold.His property had grown so large that just the management of it alone took up most of his time.He had an office in the Rookery, and perhaps being so close to the Board of Trade Building, had given him a taste for trying a little deal in wheat now and then.As a rule, he deplored speculation.He had no fixed principles about it, like Charlie.Only he was conservative;occasionally he hazarded small operations.Somehow he had never married.There had been affairs.Oh, yes, one or two, of course.Nothing very serious, He just didn't seem to have met the right girl, that was all.
He lived on Michigan Avenue, near the corner of Twenty-first Street, in one of those discouraging eternal yellow limestone houses with a basement dining-room.
His aunt kept house for him, and his nieces and nephews overran the place.There was always a raft of them there, either coming or going; and the way they exploited him! He supported them all; heaven knew how many there were; such drabs and gawks, all elbows and knees, who soaked themselves with cologne and made companions of the servants.They and the second girls were always squabbling about their things that they found in each other's rooms.
It was growing late.At length Mrs.Cressler rose.
"My goodness, Laura, look at the time; and I've been keeping you up when you must be killed for sleep."She took herself away, pausing at the doorway long enough to say:
"Do try to manage to take part in the play.J.made me promise that I would get you.""Well, I think I can," Laura answered."Only I'll have to see first how our new regime is going to run--the house I mean."When Mrs.Cressler had gone Laura lost no time in getting to bed.But after she turned out the gas she remembered that she had not "covered" the fire, a custom that she still retained from the daily round of her life at Barrington.She did not light the gas again, but guided by the firelight, spread a shovelful of ashes over the top of the grate.Yet when she had done this, she still knelt there a moment, looking wide-eyed into the glow, thinking over the events of the last twenty-four hours.When all was said and done, she had, after all, found more in Chicago than the clash and trepidation of empire-making, more than the reverberation of the thunder of battle, more than the piping and choiring of sweet music.
First it had been Sheldon Corthell, quiet, persuasive, eloquent.Then Landry Court with his exuberance and extravagance and boyishness, and now--unexpectedly--behold, a new element had appeared--this other one, this man of the world, of affairs, mature, experienced, whom she hardly knew.It was charming she told herself, exciting.Life never had seemed half so delightful.Romantic, she felt Romance, unseen, intangible, at work all about her.And love, which of all things knowable was dearest to her, came to her unsought.
Her first aversion to the Great Grey City was fast disappearing.She saw it now in a kindlier aspect.
"I think," she said at last, as she still knelt before the fire, looking deep into the coals, absorbed, abstracted, "I think that I am going to be very happy here."
