A hall suitable for conventions, for promenade
concerts, for mass-meetings, for horse shows--in short, something after
the fashion of that magnificent thing in New York."
"The Madison Square Garden?" asked Bates. "You're perfectly right."
"Now that Garden," pursued Bingham, "is not exactly a paying
investment--wasn't meant to be. The last time I was down East--"
"Yes--"
--"some fellows there quoted it to me as an evidence of public
spirit--the spirit that we here suppose not to exist in New York at all.
The men who put it up could easily have got more on their money; but
there it stands, one of the most useful and beneficent features of the
whole city."
"We ought to have one here," declared Bates.
"And I should like to build it," declared Bingham. "The man who would
give such a thing to Chicago, or who would even take the headship of it
and make a suitable contribution, would be doing as much for himself and
for the town as any one man well could."
"But don't look at me," said Bates. "My wife has drained me: dry--you
know about her dormitory and all her other schemes. Look at--well, look
at Marshall. What is Marshall doing for the good of the city?"
Marshall lowered his eyes and fingered the broad foot of an empty
wineglass. He sat between two of the great powers of the town, and he had
never felt smaller. He wondered whether he had deserved his success; he
wondered if he himself had really made it.
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