When Douglas Briggs returned to the library he wore the cheerful look
of the man who has just accomplished a difficult task. “Well, I got
those fellows off at last,” he said.
“Who were they, Uncle Doug?”
Briggs smiled grimly. “They were gentlemen who are commonly known
as heelers. And they called to let me know that I hadn’t been quite
generous enough to them.”
Fanny looked mystified. Her eyes blinked. “How generous?”
“I hadn’t secured enough places for their friends--jobs.”
Fanny glanced dolefully at Guy. Then her eyes turned toward her
uncle. “It’s awful hard to get a job just now, isn’t it?” she asked,
pathetically.
“Is it?” said Briggs, in a tone of surprise. “Do you know of anybody
that wants one?”
“Yes, I do,” Fanny replied. “But he’s going to get it all right,” she
added, with confidence.
Briggs extended both hands. “If there’s anything I can do--” he said,
with a shrug of the shoulders.
“No. I guess you have trouble enough. Oh, yes, you can do something
nice--you can let Guy take me out for a drive.”
“But I’ve got a lot of work this morning,” Guy protested, with a look
in his face that revealed the spirit of the early martyrs.
Briggs had taken his seat at the desk and had begun to work again.
“Never mind,” he said. “It’ll keep. The drive’ll do you good.”
Guy hesitated between pleasure and duty. “Oh, well,” he said, glancing
from his employer to his employer’s niece.
“You come with us, auntie,” Fanny urged, with an air that made Guy’s
coming inevitable.
“No, I mustn’t,” Helen replied, decidedly. “I have too much to do this
morning.”
As Fanny turned to the door Michael entered. “Mr. Burrell’s in the
library, sir,” he said to Douglas Briggs. “He didn’t want to disturb
you till he was sure you weren’t busy. His wife is with him, and the
young ladies.”
“Ugh!” cried Fanny, seizing Guy by the arm. “Let’s get out, quick.”
Briggs rose. “I’ll go in,” he said, glancing at Helen with resignation
in his tone. “They’ll want to see you, too, Helen. I’ll bring them in
here.”
Mrs. Briggs turned to Michael. “You might bring some of the sherry,
Michael. Oh, I forgot--they won’t want anything. Never mind. Mr. Briggs
will ring if he wants something for Mr. Burrell. Here they are now.”
Helen walked forward and received Mrs. Burrell and the three daughters.
Mrs. Burrell was dressed with an elaborate adherence to the fashion
of the hour, which had the effect of making conspicuous her extreme
angularity. Carrie Cora wore a fantastic gown that betrayed fidelity to
the local dressmaker. The two younger girls, however, looked charming
in their pretty, tailor-made suits, plainly expressive of New York.
“This _is_ nice,” said Helen, offering her hand to Mrs. Burrell.
“When did you come to New York?”
“Just got here this morning,” Mrs. Burrell replied. “You see we didn’t
waste any time coming to see you.”
“It’s that confounded old law business again, Mrs. Briggs,” Burrell
explained, in his high voice. His spare figure had been almost hidden
by his eldest daughter’s ample proportions.
“I’ve done my best for you, Mr. Burrell,” Helen explained, smiling.
Mrs. Burrell raised her hand in a gesture of despair. “Father does
nothing but talk about that case. I declare I’m sick of hearing about
it!”
Burrell gave Helen a meaning look. “Well, I guess she’d be sicker if I
was to lose my patents,” he said, slowly. “I ain’t countin’ on goin’ to
the poorhouse yet awhile. You’d think, by the way Mrs. Burrell talks, a
little matter of a hundred thousand dollars wasn’t worth fightin’ over.”
“Does it mean as much as that to you?” asked Douglas Briggs,
astonished. He had never been able to adjust himself to the knowledge
that the little Congressman, so out of place in Washington, was a man
of wealth and, in his own city, of great importance.
“Well, I should think it did, and more, too,” Burrell replied. “If a
certain friend of mine was to take the case,” he went on, smiling at
Helen and nodding at her husband, “it would be worth a retainin’ fee of
five thousand dollars.”
Briggs shook his head. “That’s a great temptation. I need the money bad
enough.”
“Well, then, take the case,” Burrell exclaimed.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, do take it, Mr. Briggs!” Mrs. Burrell
interposed. “Father says if it was only in your hands he wouldn’t
worry. Then we’d have some peace in the family.”
Briggs looked amused. Secretly he enjoyed the flattery of the old
lady’s words. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take it----”
“Oh, good!” the girls cried, together.
“--if I’m beaten at the next election.”
The girls looked at each other with disappointment in their eyes. “Oh!”
they said.
Briggs put his hand on Burrell’s shoulder. “Can you wait?”
“Well, the case don’t come on till December,” Burrell replied. “I
guess I could wait all right, only the’ ain’t no chance of you gettin’
beaten.”
“Well, I guess we don’t want you to be beaten, Mr. Briggs,” Mrs.
Burrell cried, resentfully. “You’re forgettin’ your manners, father.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Briggs exclaimed, patting Burrell on the back.
“No harm done, Mrs. Burrell. This husband of yours overrates me, that’s
all. There are hundreds of men right here in New York who could handle
that case better than I could.” He took the old man affectionately by
the arm. “Look here, Burrell,” he said, confidentially, “don’t you
think we’re in the way of these ladies? They probably have a lot to
talk about that they don’t want us to hear.”
Burrell understood at once. “I was thinkin’ of that myself,” he replied.
Mrs. Burrell held up three fingers. “Now, father,” she cried, “you know
all you’ve had already.”
“My dear lady, don’t you be disagreeable,” said Briggs, smiling. “I
haven’t seen your husband for six months.”
Mrs. Burrell softened. “Well, just one, father, and put plenty of
soda-water in it.”
Briggs nodded his acknowledgment of the concession. “There! Come on,
Burrell.”
As the two men left the room Mrs. Burrell exclaimed: “I declare, Mrs.
Briggs, that husband of yours can just twirl me round his little
finger.”
“Come over here and sit down, Mrs. Burrell,” Helen said. “You have
something to tell me, haven’t you? I can see it in your face.”
Mrs. Burrell beamed. “I guess you can see it in Carrie Cora’s face. Eh,
girls?”
“I should think so!” Emeline and Gladys cried together.
“It’s true, then? There is something?” Helen asked.
Carrie Cora’s face flushed violently. “Yes,” the girl replied, lifting
her gloved hand to her forehead.
“Don’t be a ninny, Carrie Cora!” Mrs. Burrell exclaimed.
Helen held out her hand. “It’s all settled?” she asked.
Carrie Cora looked up shyly. “Yes.” Then she cast her eyes down again.
“I’m so glad, dear,” said Helen, bending forward and kissing her.
“Well, it was you that did it, Mrs. Briggs!” Mrs. Burrell cried, in a
loud voice, as if to keep the situation from becoming sentimental. “I
might as well give you the credit. That talkin’ to you gave me that
day after your ball just opened my eyes. I suppose I _am_ kind
of a cross old thing, and--well, I didn’t understand Rufus James. The
family’s always been poor and good-for-nothing. But Rufus, he’s got
lots of spunk. Why, at first he wouldn’t come to the house--even when I
said he could. You’d think he was a prince, the way he acted. And he’s
doin’ real well. He’s had a raise in his salary, and he ain’t lettin’
father do a thing for him.”
“And is it to be soon?” Helen asked.
“The third of next month,” Emeline and Gladys cried together.
“And we want you to come, Mrs. Briggs,” said Carrie Cora, recovering
from her embarrassment.
“It’s going to be a church affair,” said Mrs. Burrell, severely,
smoothing the front of her dress. This was one of the moments when Mrs.
Burrell betrayed that the possession of plenty of money was still novel
to her.
“Oh, do come, Mrs. Briggs,” Gladys pleaded.
“Yes, please,” Emeline echoed.
Helen hesitated. “I don’t know whether I can.”
“Oh, promise. Please promise,” Carrie Cora insisted.
“If I can, I will,” Helen replied, feeling ashamed. She knew that her
husband would not entertain the notion for an instant.
“And, of course, you’ll stay at our house,” Mrs. Burrell went on.
“We’ve had a wing built on this Winter. It’s just like that wing on
yours in Washington.”
“And the furniture’s just like yours, too,” said Carrie Cora. “We
got it in Portland. They say it’s real antique. Lots of it has come
from old houses in Portland and from all kinds of queer places in the
country.”
Mrs. Burrell looked proudly at her eldest daughter. “Ain’t she changed,
though?” she said, glancing at Helen. “You’d hardly know her, would
you? The way she’s brightened up since Rufus James began to come to the
house. Dear me! I used to say to father that I didn’t know what we was
goin’ to do with her.”
Helen smiled at Carrie Cora. “But we’ve always understood each other,
haven’t we, dear?”
“Yes, always, Mrs. Briggs,” the girl replied.
“And what d’you suppose?” Mrs. Burrell went on. “Rufus James didn’t
want Carrie Cora to have any trousseau. He said he didn’t propose to
have people say he was marryin’ her because her father had money. Did
you ever hear anything like that? Father was so mad! But I must say I
kind of liked him for it. But I up and told him I’d attend to all those
things myself, an’ it was none of his business, anyway. That’s what
we’re here in New York for,” she added, lowering her voice as if afraid
of being overheard by the men in the other room. “Father didn’t let
on, but he cares ever so much more about Carrie Cora than for that old
law case he’s always talkin’ about. It’s goin’ to be white satin--the
weddin’ dress--with real Valenceens lace, an’ she’s goin’ to come out
in pearl-colored silk.” Mrs. Burrell stopped at the sound of steps in
the hall. “Oh, here they are back again! It must be almost time for us
to be goin’! We’ve got lots of shoppin’ to do.”
Douglas Briggs walked over to Carrie Cora. “Well, young lady, I’ve
heard the news,” he said. He placed both hands on the big girl’s head.
“Now, I’m a good deal older than you, and you won’t mind,” he went on,
kissing her between the eyes. “I hope he’s worthy of you, my dear.”
“I hope I’m worthy of him, Mr. Briggs,” Carrie Cora stammered, through
her embarrassment. At that moment she looked pretty.
Briggs patted her hand. “My dear child, no man is worth half as much as
a nice girl like you.”
“Now, don’t you go to spoilin’ my children, Mr. Briggs,” Mrs. Burrell
exclaimed, rising. “Come on, father.”
Helen rose at the same moment. “But we’ll see you again, of course.
Come to dinner to-night, won’t you?”
The girls looked delighted. “Oh!” they exclaimed.
Mrs. Burrell assumed an expression of severity.
“No, we won’t. You’ve got enough on your hands, with all these
political people pilin’ in on you. I guess I know what it is. We’ll
come to say good-bye, if we can, to-morrow some time. Father says he’s
got to get back Thursday.”
“But we’d like to have you, really,” said Helen, smiling.
Mrs. Burrell remained firm. “No. You’re too good. That’s the only
trouble with you. Well, good-bye.”
“You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you, Mr. Briggs?” said Carrie Cora.
Briggs waved his hand toward Helen. “Ask the lady,” he said.
“She said she’d come if she could,” Carrie Cora declared.
“Well, I’ll come if I can. Good-bye.”
He followed them to the door, and he had the air of dismissing them
with an almost benign courtesy. When they had disappeared with Helen
his face took on an expression of utter weariness. “What a nuisance!”
he said to himself. “I sha’n’t get a stroke of work done to-day.” He
sat at his desk and pressed his fingers over his eyes. His little
exhibitions of hypocrisy made him very uncomfortable now, chiefly
because he knew that his wife took note of them. After a moment he sat
upright and nerved himself to go on with his work. But he had not been
alone for five minutes when Michael interrupted again.
“The gentlemen that left a few minutes ago have come back, sir.”
“They have?” he said, resentfully, as if Michael were to blame. “What
do they want?”
“They want to speak to you a minute, sir,” the servant replied, in a
defensive voice.
Briggs uttered an exclamation of impatience. “Show them in here,” he
said, looking down at the pile of letters on his desk. Then he stood
up and waited for his callers. They came in slowly, as if afraid of
treading on one another’s heels; that is, all but one, the youngest and
best dressed, a rather handsome fellow of about twenty-eight.
“Well, gentlemen?” Briggs remarked, pleasantly. The look of fatigue and
resentment had disappeared from his face. His eye singled out the young
fellow, as if expecting him to speak. But it was the oldest of the
group, a tall, thin man, with a smooth face and heavy, white hair, who
spoke first. He had a deprecating manner, a hoarse voice and a faint
brogue.
“We’ve come back to have another little talk with you, Mr. Briggs,” he
said.
“All right, Mr. Monahan. Sit down, gentlemen, won’t you?” They all
glanced at the chairs and remained standing.
“We didn’t know just what reply to make to your remarks a few minutes
ago till we put our heads together,” Monahan continued.
“Well, what decision have you come to?” Briggs asked, cheerfully.
Monahan hesitated. “Well, the fact is----”
The young fellow broke in. “We’re not satisfied,” he said, fiercely.
“We think you ought to make us a more definite promise.”
“That’s it,” Monahan cried, for an instant growing bolder.
They scowled at one another.
Mr. Briggs directed his look toward the young man. “I think I made no
promise to you, Mr. Ferris,” he said, in a low voice.
“That’s just the trouble,” Ferris exclaimed. “We worked hard for you
last night, and now we don’t propose to be put off with any vague
talk.” His lip curled scornfully and showed fine, white teeth.
“You’re a little indefinite yourself, now, Mr. Ferris.”
“Well, then, I won’t be,” Ferris cried. “We nominated and elected you
two years ago, and you went back on us.”
“How was that?” Briggs said, as if merely curious. His manner seemed to
exasperate Ferris.
“You didn’t do a thing for us. We asked you for places, and you let ’em
all go to the Civil Service men.”
“I had to observe the law,” Briggs answered, in the tone he had used
before.
“Aw!” Ferris exchanged glances with his companions. “You know just as
well as I do that you could have given those places to the men that had
worked for you. But we’ll say nothing about that just now,” he went
on, extending his right hand, with the palm turned toward the floor.
“That’s off. We would have paid you back all right last night if Mr.
Stone hadn’t promised you’d stand by us. He smoothed it over, and he
said you realized your mistake, and all that.”
“That’s right, he did,” Monahan corroborated, huskily.
“He said you told him yourself,” cried one of the others, a
sallow-faced man with thin, black hair.
“I did? When was that, Mr. Long?”
“Down in Washington,” Long replied. “The night you were having a
blow-out.”
For a moment Douglas Briggs was silent. “I don’t remember ever having
made such a promise,” he replied, thoughtfully.
Ferris laughed bitterly. “Listen to that, will you?”
“I should have no right to make any such promise,” Briggs continued.
“And I can only repeat what I said a few moments ago. I’ve pledged
myself to support the Civil Service. I told you that last night.”
“Oh, what did that amount to?” said Ferris, with disgust.
“That was just a bluff,” Long exclaimed.
Briggs smiled. “If you believe that was a bluff, I can’t see why you
should consider my promise worth anything.”
“Well, there are five of us here,” said Ferris, in a surly tone.
“I see. Witnesses!” Briggs shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll tell you what
I will do for you. If any places come my way that aren’t covered by the
Civil Service, you shall have them.”
Ferris looked at Briggs with open contempt. “We might as well tell you,
sir, we’re not satisfied with the way you’ve treated us. An’ with your
record, you’ve got no right to put on any high an’ mighty airs.”
Monahan turned to remonstrate with Ferris.
“What do you mean by that?” said Briggs, looking sternly at the young
fellow.
Monahan extended his hand toward Briggs. “He’s just talkin’ a little
wild, that’s all,” he said, bowing and gesticulating. “He don’t mean
anything. We wanted to let you know how we felt. We didn’t quite
explain that a few moments ago.”
“I understand very well how you gentlemen feel, and I’d help you if
I could. I only wish I could make you see that I can’t do what’s
impossible.”
Monahan started for the door, followed by the others, one of whom
stumbled over a piece of furniture. “Think it over, sir, think it
over,” he said, bowing and holding his cap in both hands.
“I can promise to do that,” Briggs replied.
For several moments after his visitors left Briggs stood motionless
at his table. He appreciated the full significance of the opposition
to him within his own party; it might mean his defeat; so far back as
the previous Spring Stone had foreseen this situation. But he said to
himself that he could not have acted differently. He had done his best
to serve the party in all legitimate ways; but those heelers cared
only for their own selfish interests. Then he realized bitterly that
he had made the mistake of trying to play a double game: he had been
a straddler. If he had followed a straight course, if he had acted on
his convictions, he might now have the satisfaction of feeling that
he had been too good for his party. It was chiefly in order to atone
to his own conscience for the dishonest work he had done that he had
refused to cater to the lower elements of the party. Now he saw that
his scrupulousness was less an expression of honesty than of pride.
He was in one of those moods when he judged himself far more harshly
than he would have judged another man in his own position, when he lost
faith in the sincerity of any of his motives. However, he thought, now
he had taken his stand he could maintain it. Those fellows would give
him a hard fight; but he was ready for it. His resentment was aroused;
he returned to his desk with new energy, as if the contest were already
begun.
A few minutes later Michael entered with a letter. “Sam just brought
this, sir,” he said, and left the room.
Briggs glanced at the address and recognized Franklin West’s
handwriting. He tore open the letter hastily. He had a feeling that it
might contain disagreeable news. His eyes ran swiftly over the lines.
“Your man has come just as I am leaving for Boston. Sorry I can’t go
back with him. I came over to New York for only a few hours. But I’ll
be back in three or four days, when, of course, I shall give myself the
pleasure of seeing you. Congratulations on your nomination, if you will
accept congratulations on a dead sure thing.”
For a moment Briggs had a sensation of chill. It was like a
premonition. Was it possible that Franklin West was going back on him,
too? But he put the thought aside as absurd. It would not have occurred
to him if he were not tired out and if he had not had that interview
with the heelers. Still, it was odd that West should have hurried
through New York without calling. It would have been simple and natural
for him to stop for breakfast at the house where he had so often
received hospitality. Still, Briggs thought, philosophically, it was a
relief not to be obliged to see him.
For the rest of the morning, however, he felt uncomfortable. At
luncheon he had an impulse to speak of West to his wife, but he checked
it. He found it hard to start any new subject with her now.