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march solemnly away to the enlisting quarters. What was it that had caught this man, Frank
asked himself. How was he overcome so easily? He had not intended to go. His face was
streaked with the grease and dirt of his work--he looked like a foundry man or machinist, say
twenty-five years of age. Frank watched the little squad disappear at the end of the street round
the corner under the trees.
This current war-spirit was strange. The people seemed to him to want to hear nothing but the
sound of the drum and fife, to see nothing but troops, of which there were thousands now
passing through on their way to the front, carrying cold steel in the shape of guns at their
shoulders, to hear of war and the rumors of war. It was a thrilling sentiment, no doubt, great but
unprofitable. It meant self-sacrifice, and he could not see that. If he went he might be shot, and
what would his noble emotion amount to then? He would rather make money, regulate current
political, social and financial affairs. The poor fool who fell in behind the enlisting squad--no, not
fool, he would not call him that--the poor overwrought working-man--well, Heaven pity him!
Heaven pity all of them! They really did not know what they were doing.
One day he saw Lincoln--a tall, shambling man, long, bony, gawky, but tremendously
impressive. It was a raw, slushy morning of a late February day, and the great war President
was just through with his solemn pronunciamento in regard to the bonds that might have been
strained but must not be broken. As he issued from the doorway of Independence Hall, that
famous birthplace of liberty, his face was set in a sad, meditative calm. Cowperwood looked at
him fixedly as he issued from the doorway surrounded by chiefs of staff, local dignitaries,
detectives, and the curious, sympathetic faces of the public. As he studied the strangely rough-
hewn countenance a sense of the great worth and dignity of the man came over him.
"A real man, that," he thought; "a wonderful temperament." His every gesture came upon him
with great force. He watched him enter his carriage, thinking "So that is the railsplitter, the
country lawyer. Well, fate has picked a great man for this crisis."
For days the face of Lincoln haunted him, and very often during the war his mind reverted to
that singular figure. It seemed to him unquestionable that fortuitously he had been permitted to
look upon one of the world's really great men. War and statesmanship were not for him; but he
knew how important those things were--at times.
Chapter XI
It was while the war was on, and after it was perfectly plain that it was not to be of a few days'
duration, that Cowperwood's first great financial opportunity came to him. There was a strong
demand for money at the time on the part of the nation, the State, and the city. In July, 1861,
Congress had authorized a loan of fifty million dollars, to be secured by twenty-year bonds with
interest not to exceed seven per cent., and the State authorized a loan of three millions on
much the same security, the first being handled by financiers of Boston, New York, and
Philadelphia, the second by Philadelphia financiers alone. Cowperwood had no hand in this. He
was not big enough. He read in the papers of gatherings of men whom he knew personally or
by reputation, "to consider the best way to aid the nation or the State"; but he was not included.
And yet his soul yearned to be of them. He noticed how often a rich man's word sufficed--no
money, no certificates, no collateral, no anything--just his word. If Drexel & Co., or Jay Cooke &
Co., or Gould & Fiske were rumored to be behind anything, how secure it was! Jay Cooke, a
young man in Philadelphia, had made a great strike taking this State loan in company with
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