XX

On the night of the election Farley stood at the telephone in Douglas

Briggs’s library. “Oh, hello! hello!” he called. “Yes, this is Mr.

Briggs’s house. Yes, Congressman Briggs. What?” He glanced at Guy, who

sat at the table in the centre of the room. “They’ve shut me off!” he

said, disgusted. He rang impatiently. Then he rang again. “Hello! Is

this Central? Well, I want Central. Who are you? No, I rang off long

ago. Well then, ring off, can’t you?” He turned toward Guy. “Damn that

girl!” Then an exclamation in the telephone caused him to say, hastily,

“Oh, excuse me.” He smiled at Guy. “Telephones are very corrupting

things, aren’t they? What?” he continued, with his lips at the

transmitter. “What’s that about manners? Oh, I _never_ had any?

Excuse me, but I’m nervous. Yes, nervous. Well, give me the number,

won’t you? 9-0-7 Spring. Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were

Central.” He turned from the transmitter. “I’ve offended her again.

What? Yes. Well, excuse me, please. Well, I’ll try. Thank you. Thank

heaven, she’s rung off! Women ought never to be allowed to get near

telephones.” He rang again. “Is this Central? Oh, yes, thanks. 9-0-7

Spring, please. Now for a wait!” He leaned weakly against the wall.

Guy rose quickly. “Here, let me hold it for you awhile. You take a

rest.”

“Thanks.” Farley sank into Guy’s chair. “I’ve spent most of the day at

that ’phone,” he said, with a long sigh.

“Yes, waiting,” Guy was saying. “Eh? What a very fresh young person

that is, Farley. Yes,” he exclaimed, snappishly, “9-0-7. Yes,” he

repeated, loudly, “Spring. Who do you want, Farley?”

Farley stood up. “Give it to me.” As Guy returned to his seat, Farley

cried: “Hello! Is Harlowe there? Yes, J. B. Harlowe, your political

man. Well, ask him to come to the ’phone. Just listen to the hum

of that office, will you?” he said, dreamily. “I can hear the old

ticker going tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. The boys must be hustling

to-night.”

Guy, who had taken his place at the desk again, rested his head on both

hands. “You love newspaper work, don’t you, Farley?”

“I love it and I hate it. I wish I’d never gone into it, and I couldn’t

be happy out of it. It’s got into my blood, I suppose. They say it

always does if you stay in it long enough. I--Oh, hello, Harlowe!

Well, how goes it? Any returns down there? We haven’t heard a word

for an hour. Pretty quiet? Yes, this is just the time! What district?

235? Good! Funny we don’t hear. Oh, yes; just come in. We’ll get it

by messenger, I suppose. We’re ahead by 235 in the Ninth District,

Guy. What’s that?” Farley listened intently. “Well, I can tell you

this--you’ll waste your time if you send a man up here. Congressman

Briggs is asleep at this minute, and we don’t propose to wake him

up. He’s nearly dead. He’s been rushing it without a break since the

campaign opened. Seven speeches last night! Think of that! Eh? No, we

don’t propose to deny the story. We’ve had a string of reporters here

all day long, and we’ve steered them all off. They haven’t even seen

Briggs.” He burst out laughing. Then he suddenly became serious. “All

right. That’s the way to talk to ’em. Call me up if you get anything

important.”

“What story?” Guy asked, when Farley had rung off.

“That nasty lie published in the _Chronicle_ this morning,” Farley

replied, dropping into a big chair near the desk.

“Mrs. Briggs hasn’t seen it yet,” said Guy. “I hope she won’t hear

anything while she’s dining down at the hotel. I told Fanny and her

father to be careful.”

Farley sighed. “Well, I suppose she must find out some time. You know,

down in Washington they’ve connected her name with that fellow West’s

for a long time. The idiots!”

“You could see from the way she acted whenever he was around that she

hated him,” said Guy, with disgust in his voice.

“Oh, they’ll say anything about a woman as soon as she becomes

conspicuous,” Farley replied, with the older man’s philosophy.

“But weren’t they clever to spring that story on the very day of the

election?” Guy went on. “Look here. See what the _Evening Signal_

says:

“There is no doubt that the sensational story published in the

morning papers that Congressman Briggs has had a split with his former

backer because of an alleged insult to his wife, and was using the

Citizens’ Club as a catspaw, has cost him thousands of votes. The

reference to Mrs. Briggs may be set down as pure falsehood, introduced

to give romantic color to the story. But there is no doubt that

personal reasons of considerable interest led Congressman Briggs to

seek support of the very men who, till the present campaign, had been

his bitterest opponents.”

Farley’s eyes flashed. “That’s a damn lie!”

“Of course it is,” Guy exclaimed. “But I only hope all the men at the

Citizens’ Club will think so.”

The door was thrown open, and Briggs entered. His face was pale; his

eyes looked inflamed. “Well, boys, how are things going?”

“You got up too soon,” Farley replied. “Everything’s quiet.”

“No news?”

“The Ninth District has gone for you by 235,” said Farley.

Briggs lifted his eyebrows. “Two thirty-five? Is that all? I thought

we were sure of five hundred at least. Oh, well!”

“Things ought to begin to hum soon,” said Guy, rising to give up the

seat at the desk. As Briggs took the chair, Michael appeared at the

door.

“There’s a messenger outside with a letter, sir. He says he was told to

give it to you yourself, and to wait for an answer.”

“Tell him to come in. You’d better take a rest, Farley,” said Briggs.

“Don’t you newspaper men ever get tired?”

Farley smiled. “Not when there’s a little excitement in the air.”

A moment later a messenger followed Michael into the room. He was a

man of nearly forty, and his uniform gave him an air of youth that his

deeply lined face and his figure denied. He looked about aimlessly.

“Congressman Briggs?” he said.

“Yes.” Briggs extended his hand.

“Hello! from the Citizens’ Club,” he exclaimed, as he looked at the

envelope. “What’s this?” He glanced over the letter. “It’s from

Griswold. Listen to this, will you? ‘We have been talking over that

outrageous libel about you that appeared in the _Chronicle_ this

morning, and we think that you ought to take some notice of it. It is

too serious to be passed over. We hear that it also appeared in the

papers in Boston, Chicago and Washington.’ Here, you read the rest,

Farley.”

Farley read, with Guy looking over his shoulder. When he had finished,

he passed the letter back to Briggs. No one spoke.

At last Farley glanced at the uniformed figure. “The messenger is

waiting,” he said to Briggs.

Briggs swung in his chair and faced the desk. “Sit down here, Guy, and

write what I dictate. ‘Frazer Griswold, Esquire, the Citizens’ Club,

Fifth Avenue, New York. My dear Griswold: I see nothing in the article

you mention that requires a reply. If I knew the writer, I’d pay him

the compliment of thrashing him within an inch of his life.’ Give that

to the stenographer. Get her to run it off on the typewriter, and I’ll

sign it.”

“Respectfully yours?” Guy asked, busily writing.

Douglas Briggs smiled faintly. “Yes, very respectfully.”

As Guy left the room, Farley asked: “Any idea who did it, Mr. Briggs?

Someone down in Washington, of course.”

“I think I know who did it,” Briggs replied, quietly.

“Who?”

“No one we can get back at.”

“A woman?”

Briggs ran his fingers through his hair. He took a long breath. “Yes,”

he said, wearily. “Don’t you remember Miss Wing? She was at my wife’s

ball last Spring.”

“Yes,” Farley replied. “She was disgruntled because she’d been put into

a side room for supper with the rest of us newspaper people. Can that

have been the reason?”

“No; she had a better reason. But that supper arrangement was a

blunder, wasn’t it? I’ve heard from that a dozen times since. And Mrs.

Briggs and I knew nothing about it till the supper was all over.”

“But she was a friend of West’s,” Farley went on. “He came to her

rescue at the ball, I remember. He used to put himself out to do her

favors.”

“Yes, it’s one of his principles to be particularly civil to newspaper

people. I’ve often heard him say that. But she’s gone back on him.

She throws him down as hard in this article as she does me. Oh, well,”

Briggs added, stretching out his arms, “I sometimes think that these

things, instead of hurting a man, really do him good.”

“That’s pretty cynical, isn’t it?” said Farley, smiling. “It’s a little

hard on the rest of us in the newspaper line, too.”

Briggs rose and began to pace the room. “I’m out of sorts now, Farley.

Don’t mind what I say. Have you fellows had anything to eat?” he asked,

stopping suddenly.

“We had something brought in,” said Guy, returning with the typewritten

letter. “Didn’t have time to go out. Will you sign this?”

“Don’t you think you’d better get something?” Farley asked.

Douglas Briggs let the pen fall from his fingers. “No, I have no

appetite.” Guy gave the messenger the letter and followed him out of

the room. “We’re helter-skelter here now, aren’t we? Well, to-morrow

will be our last day in this old place.”

“You’re giving it up for good, then?” Farley asked.

“Yes, if we can get rid of it. But we haven’t had an offer for it yet.

Too bad!” he added, with a sigh.

Farley looked surprised. “Then you don’t want to go?”

Douglas Briggs hesitated. “Some of the happiest days of my life have

been spent here,” he said at last, “and some of the unhappiest, too,”

he added, turning his head away. “When I came into this house I felt I

had reached success. What fools we all are! Here I’ve been working for

years among big interests, and what thought do you suppose has been in

my mind all the time? To please my wife, to get money to surround her

with beautiful things, to place her in a beautiful house, to give her

beautiful dresses to wear. Bah!”

“Well, that isn’t altogether a bad ambition,” said Farley, cheerfully.

Briggs looked up quickly. “When you’ve got a wife who’s above all these

fripperies! Isn’t it?”

“But I always think of you as one of the happiest married men I know,”

said Farley. He began to glance over some papers he had taken from the

desk.

“I ought to be. I should be if I weren’t a fool.” He hesitated. “I

went into my wife’s room the other day while the maids were packing her

clothes and I saw a little sealskin coat that I gave her years ago. The

sight of that coat brought tears to my eyes. Ever since we were married

I’d been telling her that she must have a sealskin. That represented

my idea of luxury. It seemed to us then like a romantic dream. Well, I

made a little money and I blew it all on that coat. She’s kept it

ever since.”

Farley was sitting motionless. “That’s a very pretty story,” he said.

Briggs raised his hand warningly. “But it marked my first step in the

wrong direction. All those luxuries, instead of bringing me nearer my

wife, have taken me away from her. Sometimes I----”

They heard a voice in the hall and the sound of a girl’s laughter.

Briggs stopped speaking and listened. A moment later Fanny Wallace ran

in, followed by her aunt, her father and Guy Fullerton.

“Here we are at last!” said Fanny. “Missed us?” she went on, and she

gave her uncle a kiss on the chin. “Oh, we’ve had the loveliest dinner!

Terrapin and mushrooms and venison and--you should have seen dad when

he looked over the bill! Now, aren’t you sorry you didn’t come?” she

asked, turning to Guy.

“I was very sorry before you went,” Guy replied.

“What did _you_ have, Uncle Doug?”

“I didn’t have anything.”

Fanny stood still. “What?”

Helen interposed, as she was about to unpin her hat: “But I told Martha

to have some dinner for you.”

“I told her that I was going out, but I fell asleep,” Briggs explained.

“I’ll see about something.” Helen Briggs removed her hat and pinned her

veil on it.

Briggs shook his head. “No. I couldn’t eat now,” he said, with a scowl

of exhaustion.

Helen looked alarmed. “Aren’t you well?” she asked.

“Perfectly. Don’t worry about me. I’ll take a biscuit and a glass of

wine if I need anything. And if I’m elected we’ll all go out and blow

ourselves to a supper.”

Fanny’s eyes shone. “At the Waldorf-Astoria? Good! We’ll have some

lobster Newburg.”

Jonathan Wallace was drawing off his thick gloves. “Well, everything

looks cheerful for you, they say,” he remarked to Briggs. “I met

Harris, that political friend of yours, and he told me you were going

to have a big majority.”

“Oh, Harris always was an optimist,” said Briggs.

“And dad made him furious,” Fanny cried. “He told him that every time a

friend of his went into politics he felt like saying, ‘There’s another

good man gone wrong!’ and he said that if you got completely snowed

under it would be the best thing that could happen to you.”

Briggs smiled. “And what did Harris say to that?”

“He didn’t say anything. He just looked. Well, I’m going down stairs to

see if I can’t get something to eat for this gentleman. I’m going to

make him eat something. Think of his going without any dinner while we

were gorging! Want to come and help, Guy?”

“Take too long.”

Fanny looked injured. “Why, there isn’t anything for you to do here.”

“Well, there will be soon,” Guy replied.

“Then Uncle Doug can send for you--or Mr. Farley.” Fanny seized Guy by

the shoulders and pushed him out of the room. “Won’t you, Mr. Farley?”

she cried, from the hall.

“All right,” Farley replied, smiling.

“I think I’ll go up and take a nap,” said Wallace. “This New York pace

is a little too much for me.”

As Helen busied herself about the room the telephone rang. Farley

answered. “Hello!” he cried. “Who is it? Citizens’ Club? All right.

I’ll wait. Oh, hello, Gilchrist! Yes, this is Mr. Briggs’s house. We’ve

sent the reply by messenger. He says the libel isn’t worth replying to.

I might have told you that.” He listened for a few moments. Then he

turned to Briggs. “Great excitement over that matter down at the club.

They want me to come down.”

“Go along, then.”

“All right. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” said Farley, into the

telephone. As he hung up the receiver he remarked: “I’ll make short

work of them. Good-night, Mrs. Briggs,” he called from the hall.

“I’ll see you soon again, though. Perhaps I’ll bring you news of your

husband’s election.”