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A Matter of Tunnels

           Hehadnodesiretodesertherasyet,thoughforsometimehehadbeengrowinginthefeelingthatRitawouldhavebeenamuchbettertypeofwifeforhim.Butwhathecouldnothave,hecouldnothave.Heturnedhisattentionwithrenewedforcetohisbusiness;butitwaswithmanyabackwardglanceatthoseradianthourswhen,withRitainhispresenceorenfoldedbyhisarms,hehadseenlifefromanewandpoeticangle.Shewassocharming,sonaive—butwhatcouldhedo?

           ForseveralyearsthereafterCowperwoodwasbusyfollowingtheChicagostreet-railwaysituationwithincreasinginterest.HeknewitwasuselesstobroodoverRitaSohlberg—shewouldnotreturn—andyethecouldnothelpit;buthecouldworkhard,andthatwassomething.Hisnaturalaptitudeandaffectionforstreet-railwayworkhadlongsincebeendemonstrated,anditwasnowmakinghimrestless.Onemighthavesaidofhimquitetrulythatthetinkleofcar-bellsandtheplopofploddinghorses’feetwasinhisblood.Hesurveyedtheseextendinglines,withtheirjinglingcars,ashewentaboutthecity,withanalmosthungryeye.Chicagowasgrowingfast,andtheselittlehorse-carsoncertainstreetswerecrowdednightandmorning—fairlybulgingwithpeopleattherush-hours.Ifhecouldonlysecureanoctopus-gripononeorallofthem;ifhecouldcombineandcontrolthemall!Whatafortune!That,ifnothingelse,mightsalvehimforsomeofhiswoes—atremendousfortune—nothingless.

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