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Updated: June 25, 2025
The Major, who was a care-free bachelor, was there himself, and also Betty Wyman, who was making sprightly comments on the passers-by; and there strolled into the box Chappie de Peyster, accompanied by a young lady. So many people had stopped and been introduced and then passed on, that Montague merely glanced at her once. He noticed that she was tall and graceful, and caught her name, Miss Hegan.
Hegan said that Grimshaw and Hodgkins are in trouble. That it looks as if they are going to break. And he said something about protection." It was startling information. Both Unwin and Harrison represented big banking corporations, and Daylight knew that if the house of Grimshaw and Hodgkins went it would precipitate a number of failures and start a flurry of serious dimensions.
His manner, even more than his words, struck his companion. She glanced at him in surprise. "Why?" she began, and stopped. There was a silence. "Miss Hegan," he said at last, "I might make conventional excuses. I might say that I have engagements; that I am very busy. Ordinarily one does not find it worth while to tell the truth in this social world of ours.
Hegan had Celtic imagination and daring, and to such degree that Daylight's cooler head was necessary as a check on his wilder visions. Hegan's was a Napoleonic legal mind, without balance, and it was just this balance that Daylight supplied. Alone, the Irishman was doomed to failure, but directed by Daylight, he was on the highroad to fortune and recognition.
It was very easy to chat with Hegan; and yet underneath, in the other's mind, there lurked a vague feeling of trepidation, as he realized that he was chatting with a hundred millions of dollars.
There was a new battle on just at present, if one might believe the gossip of the Street; Hegan and Wyman were at each other's throats. They would fight out their quarrel, and there was no way to prevent them even though they pulled down the pillars of the nation about each other's heads. As to just what these men were doing in their struggles, Montague got new information every day.
"Are you sure?" she whispered. "Quite sure," said he. Again there was silence. "I do not know very much about my father's affairs," she began, at last. "I cannot reply to what you say. It is very dreadful." "Please understand me, Miss Hegan," said he. "I have no right to force such thoughts upon you; and perhaps I have made a mistake "
For forty years this man had toiled and fought in the arena of Wall Street, and with only one purpose and one thought in life, so far as Montague knew the piling up of money. Jim Hegan indulged himself in none of the pleasures of rich men. He had no hobbies, and he seldom went into company. In his busy times it was said that he would use a dozen secretaries, and wear them all out.
"Who is that stately creature you just bowed to?" inquired Lucy. "That?" said Montague. "That is Miss Hegan Jim Hegan's daughter." "Oh!" said Lucy. "I remember Betty Wyman told me about her." "Nothing very good, I imagine," said Montague, with a smile. "It was interesting," said Lucy. "Fancy having a father with a hundred millions, and talking about going in for settlement work!"
Also, he devoted himself to the endless writing of plays which never got beyond manuscript form, and, though Daylight only sensed the secret taint of it, was a confirmed but temperate eater of hasheesh. Hegan lived all his life cloistered with books in a world of agitation. With the out-of-door world he had no understanding nor tolerance.
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