The combination must be obviously advisable. Besides, he was
dealing for Butler in street-railway stocks, and if this particular line
were such a good thing Butler might wonder why it had not been brought
to him in the first place. It would be better, Frank thought, to
wait until he actually had it as his own, in which case it would be a
different matter. Then he could talk as a capitalist. He began to
dream of a city-wide street-railway system controlled by a few men, or
preferably himself alone.

Chapter XVII

The days that had been passing brought Frank Cowperwood and Aileen
Butler somewhat closer together in spirit. Because of the pressure of
his growing affairs he had not paid so much attention to her as he might
have, but he had seen her often this past year. She was now nineteen and
had grown into some subtle thoughts of her own. For one thing, she was
beginning to see the difference between good taste and bad taste in
houses and furnishings.

"Papa, why do we stay in this old barn?" she asked her father one
evening at dinner, when the usual family group was seated at the table.

"What's the matter with this house, I'd like to know?" demanded Butler,
who was drawn up close to the table, his napkin tucked comfortably under
his chin, for he insisted on this when company was not present. "I don't
see anything the matter with this house. Your mother and I manage to
live in it well enough."

"Oh, it's terrible, papa. You know it," supplemented Norah, who was
seventeen and quite as bright as her sister, though a little less
experienced. "Everybody says so. Look at all the nice houses that are
being built everywhere about here."

"Everybody! Everybody! Who is 'everybody,' I'd like to know?" demanded
Butler, with the faintest touch of choler and much humor. "I'm somebody,
and I like it. Those that don't like it don't have to live in it. Who
are they? What's the matter with it, I'd like to know?"

The question in just this form had been up a number of times before,
and had been handled in just this manner, or passed over entirely with a
healthy Irish grin. To-night, however, it was destined for a little more
extended thought.

"You know it's bad, papa," corrected Aileen, firmly. "Now what's the use
getting mad about it? It's old and cheap and dingy. The furniture is all
worn out. That old piano in there ought to be given away. I won't play
on it any more. The Cowperwoods--"

"Old is it!" exclaimed Bu