“You pay me well. I was only trying to be funny.”
“Can’t recognize humor. Another similarity.”
Now Charlotte was laughing. “Stop.”
“Lovesto hear himself talk.”
“Alright, now you’re spouting complete nonsense.” Arthur opened his mouth to say something in protest, but Charlotte’s threatening look stopped him, and he held up his hands in mocksurrender. She continued. “You arenothinglike your father. Other than the fact that your offspring could stand to be better behaved.”
Arthur sighed. “I know she could be. But, honestly, I’d rather her be rude to my face than try to sneak off behind my back. I’ll take honest eye rolls over false smiles every time.”
“I still want to talk to her. I want to make her see how lucky she is.”
“Nowyou’restarting to sound like my father.”
“I’m not referring to your family’s money. But the fact that youcarefor her.”
“Oh, yes, and I know what she’ll say. She’ll say that I’m too busy. She’ll tell you thatifI really cared, I’d spend more time here at home. I’d spend more timewith her. And the worst part is, she’ll be right.” Arthur paused to remove his spectacles—pince-nez-style frames that pinched the bridge of his nose—and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on. “I’m busy because when I’mnotbusy, I can’t stop thinking about how miserable I am. And I’m mostly only busying myself by either participating in events that I’m expected to participate in or tending to my investments and businesses. I know I should set more time aside to be with her.”
Charlotte’s expression softened, her eyebrows lifting, her brown eyes shining with unbridled kindness. “She’s still lucky. She’s lucky that you never fault her for her honesty, whether over her opinions or her emotions. And I want her to see that.”
“Best of luck to you, then,” Arthur said, a teasing edge to his voice. He took out his pocket watch to check the time. “I need to head over to Putnam Press. Soon to be... well, not Hughes Press because that’s taken, but something else, maybe.”
“Good luck to you, then, too.”
“None needed. I made an outlandish offer for his business last week, and Mr. Putnam said that he would happily sell. He’ll have the papers ready today. So, I better not be late.” He bowed his headslightly and started toward the hall before stopping to turn back around. “I should be back by six. Maybe seven. If you could tell Gertrude, that would be helpful. I’d rather not have her prepare dinner early only to have the food grow cold.”
Charlotte hooked her hands behind her back and nodded. “I’ll tell her.”
Arthur threw her a wink and left.
***
Five hours later, Arthur was having a meal with Harry and Grace Putnam, knowing full well that he ought to have refused their impromptu invitation but suffering through the visit nonetheless. Mostly because, well, he had just purchased the man’s business from him and he couldn’t seem to make himself not feel bad about it. It was clear to Arthur that Harry Putnam would have liked to have kept his print shop had he and his wife not needed to relocate to New York soon for personal reasons. Reasons that probably involved some sort of family matter, though Arthur wouldn’t pry to find out what it was. And so, feeling sorry for the man, Arthur had pretended to bethrilledto be invited over to eat with them (well, as “thrilled” as he had been able to muster, which had likely seemed more like “mildly pleased”).
Moving the roasted beef back and forth with his fork, Arthur wondered whether it might look like he had eaten more of his food if he piled the cubes together or if he spread them out. Arthur stabbed a piece of meat and suddenly remembered the time he hadshoved a handful of unwanted vegetables into his pocket as a boy to make it look as though he had finished them. Stifling a smile, he buried the urge to repeat the past with the hunks of beef and instead reached for the wine in front of him. As Arthur raised the glass to take a sip, Harry Putnam caught his eye.
“So, Mr. Hughes, you said you were hoping to exhibit in the fair?” the man asked.
Arthur nodded, swallowing the wine and setting his glass back on the table. “Yes, that’s right. I’ve been in talks with Mr. Burnham himself.”
Daniel Burnham was the chief organizer of the upcoming World’s Columbian Exposition. Arthur’s father had met him some years back, and Arthur, wanting to be part of history, had swallowed his pride and asked his father to introduce them.
Mrs. Putnam spoke up. “Will there really be exhibits featuring... print shops?”
“So I’m told,” Arthur replied. “Mr. Burnham wants to showcase the latest technology, whether from the printing business or transportation or farming. It will bespectacular.”
Arthur could scarcely contain his excitement. It flickered to life in his chest like electricity, making his heart stutter. Electricity!Anotherwonder that was to be shown at the fair! Mr. Burnham planned to have the entirety of the fairgrounds lit up, every building powered by generators. Arthur shifted in his seat, trying his best to keep his budding exuberance contained, not only because it wouldn’t have been proper for him to shout with uninhibited glee, but because he really didn’t want Mr. Putnam to regret selling his shop.
While Putnam Press focused mostly on smaller print jobs, Arthur’s other shop, now known as Hughes Press, printed a few of the larger periodicals that were in circulation throughout Chicago. Owning both of these print shops would mean that, between thetwo, Arthur would have access to every single major variation of printing presses that had been created and sold within the United States over the last forty years. Except for Linotype machines. Still, surely no other printing house owner in Chicago would be better suited to be part of the World’s Columbian Exposition.
Despite the fact that the fair’s organizers had implied that Arthur’s monetary offer hadn’t been as impressive as some others they’d received (something that Arthur had trouble believing, but tried not to question), he still felt confident that he would be the best choice.
At least, he hoped he was. He wanted to actuallyearnhis social status, as well as a permanent place amongst Chicago’s elite.
“It certainlysoundsspectacular,” Mrs. Putnam agreed. “Perhaps we’ll return for it in the summer, as long as we can manage the time away.”
Mr. Putnam smiled. “Yes, it would be interesting to see some of my old machinery up on some stage, being ogled by the public.” He raised his wineglass high. “I sincerely hope Mr. Burnham chooses your print shops to feature, Mr. Hughes.”
