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Thus from his reappraisal of Philadelphia had Abraham Lockwood gone to a realistic appreciation of his own situation. And realistic it was, for he saw that only as an upstater coming to Philadelphia could he count on the continuing friendship of his University chums, friendship that could be extremely useful in a business way; and he now was determined to make money and look toward Gibbsville for a suitable partner in marriage. He came home from the army, and delighted his father with the announcement that he had decided to cast his lot with the Lockwood enterprises.

Abraham Lockwood was so much smarter than the men with whom he was soon doing business that he found that he could afford to be somewhat less ruthless than his father had become. The result of his calculated kindness was that people preferred to do business with him. He made no large-scale moves without his father’s approval; now it was a case of building a more amicable relationship—good will, it was called—while the methods and aims remained essentially the same. Abraham Lockwood did not foreclose as quickly as his father and grandfather had done, but a farmer who needed more time would find that in exchange for time he had given time and money. The interest rate would be the same; the farmer would simply go on paying it an extra year or two, and en passant be advised to make all purchases—harness, gunpowder, tobacco, salt, nails, molasses—through the Swedish Haven Mercantile Company, a Lockwood concern.

The establishment of a bank was long overdue in Swedish Haven; it could not, however, be established without the knowledge of the Lockwoods, father and son, who were themselves very much in the business of lending money. They were therefore prepared for the invitation to discuss the formation of a bank, and when the invitation came they surprised the somewhat timid merchants by agreeing to participate. The new institution was an accomplished fact before the merchants fully realized that the Lockwoods controlled it, while continuing their own business of lending money at higher rates. The bank got exactly as much business as the Lockwoods chose to allow it, and no one would be so foolish as to dream that Swedish Haven could support a second bank.

If only indirectly, every citizen of the borough and its environs contributed to the financial well-being of the Lockwoods. Three years after Appomattox, Abraham Lockwood decided that things were going well enough for him to reinvest some of the family cash. His father demurred; he knew the value of a front foot on Dock Street and an acre of high timberland in the Richter Valley, but he was suspicious of the world of stocks and bonds. He had seen where waste and graft and plain theft reduced the profits of the railways and the canal, and as for buying shares in far-off enterprises, he protested that it was giving strangers the combination of your safe. “You forget that I have friends,” said Abraham Lockwood. “I wouldn’t be going to strangers. They would be men who would want to make a profit out of us, but they’re entitled to it if our profit is bigger.”

“I would like to see the money stay here. Maybe we could build a factory around here.”

“Later on, Father. Let’s stay in the money business for the time being.”

Abraham Lockwood, not to show his hand, waited for the annual dinner of alumni members of The Ruffes. Half the members had married since leaving the University and for most of them the intimate frolics were a thing of the past (and possibly of the future). This circumstance was a fortuitous one for Abraham Lockwood, in that his reunion with his friends was conducted on more dignified terms, and the conversation quickly got around to the kind of life the clubmates were living and thus to talk of business. “I have my fingers in a lot of pies,” said Abraham Lockwood, when it came his turn. “My father and I of course have the bank, and I’ve got him to put his money in this and that. Nothing that would seem big to you fellows, but in our part of the world a man with a thousand dollars is very well off.”

Among his listeners were young men who knew a great deal about his part of the world through their holdings in coal and railways. One friend in particular, Harry Penn Downs, admitted to having passed through Swedish Haven twice in the past year while on business in Gibbsville. He was mildly apologetic for not having stopped over in Swedish Haven. “Oh, I understand, Harry. And even if you’d stopped over I might not have been there. I’m away a lot, looking at this and that for possible investment.” He did not mind lying to Harry Penn Downs if a lie asserted his independence of Philadelphia and Gibbsville. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been here a few times on my way to New York. Just between trains.”

“New York?” said Downs.

“Philadelphia isn’t the only place. And I doubt if the Drexels are aware that my father and I exist.”

“Well, the Drexels aren’t the only bankers in Philadelphia. You ought to know that.”

“Are there others? One thing they all have in common with the Drexels—they’ve never heard of us either. On the other hand, we’ve had very pleasant dealings with a New York concern.”

“What concern, may I ask?” said Downs.

“You may not. And in any event, why are we mixing business with pleasure? At home all I ever get to talk about is business. Harry, you? What do you do for relaxation?”

“Oh, I imagine I’m like the others here. Morris has his City Troop, and we all see each other at the dancing parties. But most of us are like you. Working hard. This is the time, you know. The next ten years tell the story, wouldn’t you say, fellows?”

The others agreed.

“What story?” said Abraham Lockwood.

“Well, this is the time of our lives when our families overload us with work. Make us learn the game. And what we do now, the next ten years, determines a man’s ultimate future. Not that it’s all business.”

“No, indeed,” said someone.