"It looks that way. But you must not go away without giving me another
chance to talk with you. Will you promise that?" he demanded, abruptly,
passionately. "I have something to say to you."
"I dare not promise," she responded, and her words chilled him even more
than her action as she turned away to the door. "How slowly he walks!
Poor old papa! You shouldn't have done this, popsey," she cried, as she
met him with a kiss on his cheek.
Curtis walked away, leaving them alone, a hand of ice at his heart.
Brisbane took her kiss without changing to lighter mood.
"Why didn't you follow out my orders?" he demanded, harshly. "You see
what I've had to go through just because you are so foolishly
obstinate. That ride is enough to kill a man."
Her throat swelled with anger, but she choked it down and replied very
gently. "Come into the studio and let me clean off the dust. I'm sorry."
He followed her in and sank heavily upon a chair. "I wouldn't take that
journey again for ten thousand dollars. Why didn't you come to the
railway as I ordered?"
"Because I saw no good reason for it. I knew what I was doing. Captain
Curtis assured me--"
"Captain Curtis!" he sneered. "You'd take his word against mine, would
you?"
"Yes, I would, for he is on the ground and knows all the conditions. He
has the outbreak well in hand. You have seen only the outside
exaggeration of it. He has acted with honor and good judgment--"
"Oh, he has, has he? Well, we'll see about that!" His mind had taken a
new turn. "He won't have anything in his hand six months from now. No
West Point dude like him can set himself up against the power of this
State and live."
"Now, papa, don't start in to abuse Captain Curtis; he is our host, and
it isn't seemly."
"Oh, it isn't! Well, I don't care whether it is or is not; I shall speak
my mind. His whole attitude has been hostile to the best interests of
the State, and he must get off his high horse."
As he growled and sneered his way through a long diatribe, she brought
water and bathed his face and hands and brushed his hair, her anger
melting into pity as she comprehended how weak and broken he was. She
had observed it before in times of great fatigue, but the heat and dust
and discomfort of the drive had reduced the big body, debilitated by
lack of exercise, to a nerveless lump, his brain to a mass of incoherent
and savage impulses. No matter what he said thereafter, she realized his
pitiable weakness and felt no anger.
As he rested he grew calmer, and at last consented to lie down while she
made a little tea on an alcohol lamp. After sipping the tea he fell
asleep, and she sat by his side, her mind filled with the fundamental
conception of a daughter's obligation to her sire. To her he was no
longer a great politician, no longer a powerful, aggressive business
man--he was only her poor, old, dying father, to whom she owed her every
comfort, her education, her jewels, her art. He had never been a
companion to her--his had been the rule absolute--and yet a hundred
indulgences, a hundred really kind and considerate acts came thronging
to her mind as she fanned his flushed face.
"I must go with him," she said; "it is my duty."
Curtis came to the door again and tapped. She put her finger to her
lips, and so he stood silent, looking in at her. His eyes called her and
she rose and tiptoed to the door.
"I came to ask you both to dinner," he whispered.
Her eyes filled with quick tears. "That's good of you," she returned, in
a low voice. "But he would not come. He's only a poor, old, broken man,
after all." Her voice was apologetic in tone. "I hope you will not be
angry." They both stood looking down at him. "He has failed terribly in
the last few weeks. His campaigning will kill him. I wish he would give
it up. He needs rest and quiet. What can I do?"
Curtis, looking upon the livid old man, inert and lumpish, yet venerable
because of his white hairs--and because he was the sire of his
love--experienced a sudden melting of his own resolution. His throat
choked, but he said:
"Go with him. He needs you."
At the moment words were unnecessary. She understood his deeper meaning,
and lifted her hand to him. He took it in both his. "It may be a long
time before I shall see you again. I--I ought not--" he struggled with
himself and ceased to speak.
Her eyes wavered and she withdrew her hand. "My duty is with him now;
perhaps I can carry him through his campaign, or dissuade him
altogether. Don't you see that I am right?"
He drew himself up as though his general-in-chief were passing. "Duty is
a word I can understand," he said, and turned away.