On the morning after the reception Franklin West sat at his desk in
his office in the Belmore Building. His head was bowed over a mass of
type-written sheets. He paid little attention to them, however. He
found it hard to work this morning. He was thinking, with considerable
disgust, that he had made himself ridiculous the night before. He had,
moreover, made a misstep that might lead to serious consequences.
Yes, he had certainly been a great ass. He had spoken to Mrs. Briggs
in a way he would never have thought of speaking if he had been in
his senses. However, now that the mischief was done, he must consider
how to meet the consequences. What would the consequences be? Would
she tell her husband? The answer to that question depended wholly on
whether she believed the charge he had made against her husband’s
integrity. West knew well enough that Mrs. Briggs had an absolute
belief in her husband, and this knowledge had often caused him a
contemptuous bitterness. Why should a man like Briggs be allowed to
deceive such a woman as that? If Mrs. Briggs still kept her faith in
her husband, there was no reason why she should not reveal the episode
of the previous night--none except the woman’s natural fear of creating
a scandal. This motive might be strong enough to keep her silent.
But, of course, he could never enter her house again. He might, it is
true--and the thought gave him a momentary relief--he might write her
an apology, and explain his behavior on the plea of his condition.
But that would be too humiliating, and it might give Briggs a hold
on him that would be decidedly disagreeable, and lead to disastrous
consequences. However, this expedient he could try as a final resort.
It was, of course, possible that Mrs. Briggs would believe what he
had said, or would make an investigation that would bring the truth
home to her. Here was an interesting problem. Once convinced that her
husband was a hypocrite, that he had made his money by means that she
considered dishonest, would she still respect and love him?
West took a satisfaction in thinking that if he had made himself
ridiculous, he might have at least ruined the happiness of the woman
who had repulsed him, and of the man for whom he had a covert hatred,
caused partly by jealousy, partly by an instinctive consciousness of
Briggs’s dislike, and partly by that natural aversion which all men
have for those associated with them in dealings that degrade them in
their own esteem.
The green door leading into the adjoining room opened, and the office
boy entered. “There’s a lady to see you, sir,” he said.
Franklin West looked up. “Who is she?”
“She told me just to say a lady wanted to see you.”
“All right.” West rose slowly and left the room. A moment later he was
greeting Miss Beatrice Wing.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said, with his large smile.
Miss Wing was radiant in a new Spring frock, a tight-fitting blue serge
suit, with a large hat, trimmed with blue flowers, resting jauntily on
her auburn hair.
“I don’t often come out so early,” she replied, “especially after such
late hours.” She looked as if she had had the night’s rest of a child.
“Come into my office, won’t you?” West led the way, and Miss Wing
followed, suggesting by her walk the steps of a dancer. As she passed
the clerks glanced up and smiled covertly at one another. When she had
seated herself she looked at West for a moment without speaking, her
face bright with good humor.
“I’ve come on a funny errand,” she said at last, rubbing her left arm
with her gloved hand.
“That’s interesting,” said West, cheerfully.
“I want you to do something for me.”
The smile disappeared from his face, but swiftly returned. West rarely
suffered more than a momentary eclipse. At this moment, however, his
instinct warned him of danger. “I shall be only too glad,” he began,
but Miss Wing cut him short.
“I want,” she said, waving one hand with the air of making a joke, “I
want to place my services at your feet.”
West continued to smile. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I want you to give me something to do. I want you to give me a share
in your enterprises. I know I can be useful to you.”
“But what about your own work--your newspaper work?”
Miss Wing snapped her gloved fingers. “What does that amount to? Why,
it hardly pays for my frocks. And to tell the truth,” she went on, her
manner growing more familiar, “I’m not at all clever at it. My editor
has to rewrite nearly everything I send him. By nature I’m a business
woman. Society reporting bores me. I like larger interests. That’s what
I came to Washington for.”
West showed that he was growing interested by slightly closing his left
eye. This gave him a curiously sinister expression, which Miss Wing
observed. “You want to do some political work--is that the idea?” he
asked.
Miss Wing sank back in her chair. “I want to get a little power if I
can, and to use it for my own advantage. Now, there’s frankness for
you. But I’m only a beginner. I’m just getting my start.”
West cleared his throat. “Since you’re so frank, Miss Wing,” he said,
pleasantly, “perhaps you’ll tell me just what you have in mind.”
On being confronted with this question Miss Wing flushed. “I think you
know perfectly well what I mean. I’ve told you that I want you to let
me into your schemes.”
West shrugged his shoulders; his face became almost sad. “I haven’t any
schemes of that sort,” he said, softly.
Miss Wing laughed outright. “You haven’t any interest in railroad
legislation?” she asked, with a lift of the eyebrows.
“It is true that I’m employed by a railroad. But as you aren’t a
lawyer, I don’t see how you could help me.”
Miss Wing looked at him for a long time, her smile hardening. “I’m
surprised that you should treat me like this.” Then her face softened.
“I’m a little hurt, too.”
“You wanted me to be frank,” West replied, gently.
Miss Wing hesitated. When she spoke it was with a complete change
of tone. “There’s really no use beating about the bush any longer.
Everybody in Washington knows what you do for that railroad. Everybody
knows that last year you spent more than a hundred thousand dollars
for it--right here in this city. And everybody knows that Congressman
Briggs is your tool. He is helping you push the bill through the House.
But everybody doesn’t know one other fact that I know.” She held her
head high and looked at West defiantly. She flushed, and the flowers
in her hat trembled.
“What may that be?” he asked, quietly.
She sank back in her seat and smiled. “If I were to publish an
article,” she went on, “showing that you had not only bribed
Congressman Briggs, but had taken advantage of your hold on him to make
love to his wife, that would make a dreadful scandal, wouldn’t it?”
West did not stir. He seemed even to control his breath. “I don’t know
what you are talking about,” he said, in a low voice.
Miss Wing smiled and watched him. She admired a man who could take
things so coolly. “I’ve suspected for a long time,” she explained,
lightly, “and when I saw you drinking all that punch last night, I knew
you were losing your head. Wasn’t it strong? I just sipped it. That
was enough. Oh, you _were_ amusing! You entertained me all the
evening.”
West looked at her without a change of expression. He was thinking
how pleasant it would be to take her by the throat and choke out her
silvery laugh. “You followed me about, then?” he asked.
Miss Wing looked injured. “Oh, dear, no--nothing so vulgar. But I saw
it all by the merest chance. I happened to be standing near the library
door at just the right angle. I saw you threaten Mrs. Briggs. There was
no need of hearing what you said. It was all as plain as daylight. Now,
what do you propose to do about it?”
West roused himself. “Do you realize,” he said, “that if you were to
start a story of that sort no one in Washington would believe you?”
Miss Wing looked hurt. “Then you want me to publish the article?” she
said, reproachfully. “How unkind of you!”
“Do as you please about that. It won’t be the first libel that has been
printed about me.”
“Perhaps you would prefer that I should inform Mr. Briggs of what I saw
last night,” she said. “That would be less public, wouldn’t it?”
“Tell him,” West replied, with a yawn, “and you’ll get turned out of
the house for your trouble. Besides, Mrs. Briggs would deny the story.
Then where would you be? No, my dear lady, you’ve made a false start.
You’ll have to try your game on a younger hand. I’ve been in Washington
too long to be afraid of a woman like you.” The smile had completely
faded from his face. He looked like a different man, and much older.
“Only, if I were you,” he went on, “I wouldn’t make the mistake of
bothering Congressman Briggs. That might be disastrous to your career
here.”
[Illustration: “‘_I shall give you a few days to think the matter
over._’”]
Miss Wing rose from her seat. “Thanks for your advice; it’s so
disinterested,” she said, with a bitter smile. “But I shall give you a
few days to think the matter over. The article will keep. In case you
should wish to write me----”
“I know the address,” West interrupted. “Going?” Miss Wing stood at
the green door. The toss of her head conveyed anger, resentment and
disappointment. “If I were you I’d stick to newspaper work,” West
called after her. “It pays best in the end.”