Labouring evidently under the stress of some new and strange
excitement, a man strode swiftly through the darkness of the night.
He was a tall, spare individual, clothed from neck to heel in a long,
loose raincoat that clung closely to his body, though the ends flapped
freely in the wind. It was a dark, stormy night early in November, and
although the storm pelted his uplifted face as he sped along, he never
heeded the elements; nor did he notice that few pedestrians were abroad
on a night that, had the weather been more propitious, would have been
a gala night. As it was, the crowds were under cover. Street-cars were
loaded to their limit, taxi-cabs and hansoms by the hundreds passed
and repassed, so that any time he might have escaped this drenching
by lifting his finger. But the storm, after all, was what he wanted;
it cooled and steadied him; and as he went along he laughed gently to
himself from time to time.
"I got away from them, all right," he murmured, half-aloud.
"Them" had been a mob of men at the Barristers' Club. They had
surrounded him suddenly with outstretched hands, dragging him
unmercifully about. But at last, though this demonstration had made
him happy, he had torn himself away to enjoy a greater happiness--one
that meant all the world to him.
At the foot of a long hill he stopped and glanced toward its summit. To
him, somehow, it seemed typical of his own career--a slow climb, but
with a vision of glory at the top. And before he knew it he had mounted
the summit and was waiting to be admitted into the presence of the one
woman he loved.
"This way, sir," Jeffries whispered in his ear.
With a hasty movement Beekman flung off his dripping raincoat, dashed
the drops from his face with a flirt of his handkerchief, and the next
instant he was standing face to face with Leslie, who came toward him,
smiling as she exclaimed:
"Where have you been hiding? I've kept the wires going all this
afternoon and evening trying to find out about you."
"Leslie," he answered, his face ruddy with the swift walk and dampness,
"they piled on top of me down at the club, but I got away from
them--nearly tore the clothes from me, the beggars! You know what's
happened, don't you?"
For answer she looked at him critically, bursting out with:
"Indeed I do! Stand off a moment--let me look at you--Governor
Beekman."
He laughed soberly.
"It sounds fine, doesn't it?"
Leslie continued to gaze at him with pride.
"Do you know, Leslie," he went on, "I can't realise it--can't
understand why Broderick--why the organisation picked me of all men for
the office. Wanted a clean man, they said--the wave of reform demanded
it, and they didn't know anyone who would fill the bill as well as I."
Leslie sobered.
"It's destiny," she said. "You were meant to go up, up, up...."
"Stop!" he called out with a well-feigned frightened look on his face.
"I'm high enough now."
"Wouldn't it be fine," she continued with girlish enthusiasm, "if,
after this, you could be United States Senator, Vice-President, and
after that possibly----"
"The Big Job?" He laughed. "Why, I haven't even been sworn in yet." He
stopped suddenly. "But I want to see your father, Leslie," his voice
losing its note of gaiety, "I want to tell him----"
Leslie, too, left laughter behind her.
"Father's in his Den," she said quietly, "smoking his quota of big
black cigars. The poor old dear feels pretty blue. The Appellate
Division decision...."
On his way to the Den Beekman stopped and turned round, saying:
"I can't for the life of me understand, Leslie, why they affirmed that
sentence. If they only half read Colonel Morehead's brief, or even
mine, they surely would have been convinced.... What do you suppose it
is--whose influence is behind this thing?"
Leslie shrugged her shoulders.
"Father says that the National Banks have set their face against the
Trust Companies--and it looks as if he were to be the victim of the
clash."
"Ground between the upper and nether mill-stones," mused Beekman,
shaking his head in genuine anguish of mind. Then he stiffened and
his eyes flashed. "It will never stand, Leslie; nor can I see how
Ougheltree of the National Bank clique can have any weight with the
courts. But at any rate, when this thing gets up at Albany before
the Court of Appeals, all local influence will fade away. Peter V.
Wilkinson will get justice there. The other side are fighting only for
money, but with us, Durand, Morehead and myself, why it's a fight for
life, almost--and we'll beat 'em out."
Beekman's outburst took Leslie quite by storm. She had never seen him
so roused, so strong, so fine.
"You make me sorry that you're Governor, Eliot," she said, her heart
beating fast, "for I suppose now you're unable to be my father's
counsel--or does a governor still practise law?"
Beekman's head drooped.
"You're right," he said at length, "I suppose I'm out of the fight. But
the others are just as determined to win."
"How I wish father could have heard you a moment ago!" cried the girl,
wistfully. "He would then understand what genuine loyalty is. He thinks
every man he knows, and every woman, too, I guess, save me, is a time
server. Every man has his price, according to his idea. I don't believe
he thinks that he has a genuine friend in all the world--not one. Isn't
it hopeless to suspect everyone like that?"
"How can he help it?" returned Beekman, pointedly. "Just what I told
you about the rich American girl--how is she going to know, understand
the motives of men ...?"
Leslie's face went suddenly white; then she suggested almost too
hastily, so she reflected later:
"If you want to see my father, remember he's in the Den." And an
instant later Beekman found himself standing in the presence of Peter
V. Wilkinson.
In his exuberance of joy Wilkinson almost flung himself at Beekman. He
grasped the other's hand with both of his, then clapped him heavily on
the shoulder.
"Governor, my boy, you made a grand fight--a great fight! You're the
right man in the right place! Proud of you, I am."
"Now about the Appellate Division ..." began Beekman, but Wilkinson
would have none of it.
"Not on your life!" said he. "Never mind me! No troubles to-night--only
wine and wassail. All Governor and nothing else. The returns are all
in, aren't they? No contests--nothing doubtful--sure thing--you're
Governor and no mistake?"
"No mistake, Mr. Wilkinson," smiled Beekman. "It's all right."
For an instant Beekman hesitated and glanced about the room as though
for inspiration, then his eyes settled down once more on Peter V.
"Mr. Wilkinson," he stammered, "I'm a bit old-fashioned, I suppose,
all wrong, from the modern point of view, but I've got something on my
mind--something----"
"Out with it," laughed the older man.
The Governor-elect gulped.
"It's--your--your daughter Leslie," he went on, still floundering. "I
want to marry her--thought I'd ask you first."
"Ask me first?" exploded Peter V. Wilkinson. "Haven't you asked her
yet?"
"Her money--I've always been afraid of people with a lot of money,
and----"
"You needn't be afraid of me," gurgled Wilkinson; "I haven't any left."
"But the principle is the same," insisted Beekman. "I wanted to be
sure, that's all."
"Suppose I refuse?"
"Oh, in that case, I should ask her anyway--and get her too, I think.
I'm merely trying to do my duty by you, don't you see."
Wilkinson raised his hand and brought it down heavily upon the
Governor's shoulder once more.
"Governor," he said, "you've always done right by me, and I believe you
always will--I've that much faith in you. As for the rest, I don't know
of any man that I'd rather trust my daughter Leslie to, than you."
Beekman's blood rushed tumultuously through his veins.
"I don't deserve----" he began quite formally, but Wilkinson cut him
off.
"You understand," said he, searching his face, "that your being
Governor makes no difference to me. I give you Leslie because I like
you--I think you're a man."
Beekman left the room intoxicated with success. Indeed such was the
magnetism of Peter V. that Beekman left his presence, like many a man
before him, with a feeling that he would be willing to face death, if
necessary, in Wilkinson's defence.
The girl was waiting where he had left her.
"Leslie," he began and got no further, for the words that he had
planned to say would not come to him. Finally he stammered out: "It's
this way, you see. We're equals now--that is, you're the daughter of
Peter V. Wilkinson and I'm the Governor of the State. Consequently I
dare--oh, I want you--there!"
Leslie tried to pass him, but he was too quick for her. He caught her
and drew her close to him, and for one instant his lips met hers. Then
she wrenched herself away.
"Tell me what you want of me, Eliot, quick," she panted, a new, wild,
haunting expression in her eyes.
"My wife," he stammered, swiftly advancing toward her. "My wife--I know
that you--that you----"
Her eyes sought the pattern of the Kirzan underneath their feet.
"You know nothing," she said, her hands tightly clenched, the colour
coming and receding on her face.
"I--I saw it in your eyes," he pleaded.
"You saw nothing in my eyes," she answered, speaking very determinedly.
Beekman paused. Presently he drew from his pocket a trinket and held it
out.
"Leslie," he whispered, "perhaps I've been presumptuous, but you know I
have always told you that I am old-fashioned. I got this for you."
"It's just like you," she said, taking the trinket for an instant.
"There's not a man in all New York who would have thought of buying the
ring before--perhaps I like you for it, though."
"But what will you think of me when I tell you that I had an
inscription put on the inner circle? You had better read it, hadn't
you?"
For an instant Leslie felt herself weakening as she saw their initials
on the ring. With difficulty she restrained her tears, and it was with
a sad little smile that she now handed him back the ring.
Then she shook her head.
"Eliot," she said in an unnatural voice, "I'm not blaming you. You did
only what you thought you had the right to do. More than that, I may
have led you on. But it can never be. No, don't come near me, please,
I mean it. You don't know; you can't understand; things happen very
suddenly, sometimes. I can't marry you, Eliot, that's all. I can't ...
I can't...."
Beekman's face became scarlet, for there was something of the
determination of her father in her voice.
"You've got to," he insisted, for he refused to believe that she was
not for him.
But still she retreated before him.
"I can't talk about it," she repeated wearily, stubbornly.
"Will you tell me why?" he asked, forcing himself to be calm.
Leslie gave him a quick glance. His question came as a relief to her.
She seemed on the point of answering it.
"Yes," she began, and then pressed her hand against her lips. "I
mean, no--I can't tell you anything except--that the whole thing is
absolutely impossible. You would not understand if I told you. I should
never want you to understand it."
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Because the instant that you understood it, you would find that you
couldn't understand it," she told him enigmatically. "And yet," she
murmured as though to herself, "it's all so clear, so plain to me."
Beekman quickly caught her by the wrist. Her hand still clenched
itself, and he could feel her nerves throbbing as with pain.
"Your father tells me it's all right," he went on, his voice growing
hoarser as he proceeded, for he couldn't see that he was making any
headway with the girl; "he approves, gives his consent, all that sort
of thing. He seemed glad, friendly. It seemed to be what he wanted. Why
do you hesitate?"
"I don't hesitate," she answered, though uncertainly. All the time she
was praying that he would let her go. She wanted to escape. All that
she wished for now was to get to her room at the top of the house,
where in solitude she could rest and weep.
"My father," she resumed, "knows nothing--nothing of my reasons. This
is a matter of my own. Even he couldn't understand...."
Beekman dropped her hand and said:
"Leslie, tell me one thing: Is there some one else?"
Leslie looked down without immediately replying and gradually grew
pale. Then with one of her quick changes she looked up and her eyes met
his in a clear, straight glance.
"Yes," she said, tossing her head in the air, "there is some one else."
"Who?" he demanded in a voice that was distinctly authoritative.
The girl drew herself up to her full height and quietly reminded him
that he had no right to ask the question. But when Beekman had gone,
Leslie's face showed a peculiar change; the hardness dropped from it,
and was replaced by a look of intense sadness.
At the door of the Den she stopped to bid her father good-night.
"Well," he called out cheerfully, motioning her to come in, "it's all
over then?"
Leslie seated herself upon the knee he offered her. She was pale and
very tired.
"Yes, it's all over--all over."
Wilkinson was watching her closely.
"You seem to take it hard, girlie," he returned, puzzled.
"Yes," she sighed.
He drew her girlish head down against his breast.
"He's a bully boy for you, Leslie. Mrs. Governor Beekman, eh? Not bad!
It's a good thing to have money, but it's a great thing to be a Mrs.
Governor, too, and especially when the Governor happens to be a man and
not one of those cheap politicians. I congratulate you, little one."
"You never used to think much of him," she faltered.
"True. But I didn't know him. I didn't know the stuff he was made of.
Colonel Morehead sized him up right from the start. But he's the man
for me, now, Beekman is, and no mistake."
Leslie closed her eyes and whispered softly, her hand creeping about
his neck:
"Good-night, father."
The next moment she rose and slowly started to the door and then as
slowly came back, thinking to herself:
"I might as well get it over once for all, so that to-morrow there'll
be nothing to tell, nothing to do but to take up the routine of life
again." And when she reached her father's side, she said bravely but
with a little sigh:
"Father, I'm not going to marry Eliot Beekman."
"Not going to----" spluttered Wilkinson. For the first time in months
his colour fled. "Didn't he--hasn't he asked you?"
"Yes, and I refused him."
"What?" he bellowed. "Why?"
"I had my own reasons," she replied, never flinching as her father
glowered upon her from his height.
"A woman's reason, I'll wager. What's the trouble? Some other chap?"
"No."
"Nobody else, eh? Then, what's up? Don't you like Beekman?"
"Yes."
"Oh, you like him, but don't love him, that is, well enough to marry
him. I don't care so much about the love. We'll leave love out of the
question--it's too ticklish a subject."
"I like him too well to marry him," she answered earnestly.
"A woman's reason all right enough," muttered her father. "Talk United
States, girlie. What's the trouble?"
Once more she clung to him, and said very tenderly, now:
"Father, won't you rest content, won't you let me stay with you always,
always taking care of you, doing for you--there's no one else...." She
caught his big hand in hers. "I want to go down the years with you,
hand in hand, never leaving you, father--never...." She choked suddenly.
"You can do that as Beekman's wife," he persisted.
"I shall not be Beekman's wife," she insisted, strangling a sigh.
"I want to know the reason," he demanded, with that veiled threat in
his tone which never failed of its results.
"Will you forgive if I tell you?"
"I won't forgive you if you don't!"
Leslie drew herself away and leaned against the door as though for
support, for strength.
"Father, Eliot Beekman wouldn't ask me to marry him until he had made
a position? for himself, had something to offer me. He has said it a
thousand times. He's got pride--too much pride, it seems to me. But
I've got pride, too. Months ago I would have married Eliot--he didn't
know that--any time he asked me. It's got beyond me now. He's got
everything to offer me, I've got nothing in return to offer him."
"Nonsense, child! You've got money," protested her father, puzzled, "at
least you have so long as I don't jump the bail."
"Oh, how I wish you would!" she cried, startled into sudden ecstasy
by the thought. Then she went on: "Money, what is money to me? What
was it to Eliot? Nothing save an obstacle. That isn't it; you haven't
understood; and to tell you I've got to hurt--I've got to say things
that--oh, don't misunderstand me, please...."
"I'll misunderstand you if you don't go on," blurted out Wilkinson,
unfeelingly. "Quick, now!"
"Why won't you understand, father, that it's because he has everything
to offer, while I have nothing. He's been given the highest office that
the State has to give--a position that he thought would entitle him to
me--and I, who am I ...?"
"You're the woman he wants, the woman he's earned, girlie," said her
father, his voice softening.
"I am the daughter of a convict," she went on swiftly, her tones
cutting into the air like frost.
Her father stared at her aghast for an instant. Then he slowly
returned to his seat at his desk and slumped into it heavily, and
groaned.
"Ye gods, but you're harsh!" he cried.
"You wanted to know why," she answered, "and now you do not
understand--you're everything to me, everything, father. But the
reason--the world, the people of whom Eliot is going to be governor,
they look only on the record, and I'm not his equal. Upon me rests this
taint--I'm not complaining--I'm glad to stand by you, father.... But I
have pride--how can I, with this disgrace upon us, give myself to Eliot
Beekman?"
"Nonsense, girl," said Wilkinson, pulling himself together, "I'll get
clear all right."
"When you do," she declared with a faint smile, "and if he then asks
me, I'll take him. If he does not...." A sigh of misery escaped her.
"You're a little fool! Confound it, Leslie, this thing was all cut
and----" He checked himself suddenly, remembering his promise to the
Colonel.
"Cut and dried," she echoed in surprise.
"Yes, this National Bank conspiracy," he mumbled in confusion, "the
courts here in the city are backing them up. But up there in Albany,
I'll get free, you'll see." And now with a sudden change of manner, he
continued: "Look here, Leslie, I've got reasons, too--reasons a darned
sight better than yours, why I want you to marry Eliot Beekman. Never
mind what they are. The fact is, I want you to be settled--I want it
all fixed.... I give you my word--the Colonel will give you his word
that I shall get clear. We know it, we've got it fixed.... It's all
right--there can't be a slip up. And now, besides my freedom, which
I'm going to get, there's only one thing in the world that I want, and
that is that you marry Eliot Beekman. Good heavens, girl, can't you
see--don't you see that this thing is vital to me? I'm no woman, and
I don't speak at random. You've got to marry Eliot Beekman; if you
don't----"
"But I can't," she returned simply; and from this decision there seemed
no appeal. "I can't accept him now, father."
Leslie rose and made a movement to go. But Wilkinson, feeling as though
the hangman's noose was already settling about his neck, snatched up
the receiver on his desk with one hand, while with the other he made an
authoritative gesture for the girl to resume her seat.
"Is Mr. Flomerfelt in the house?" he called through the instrument.
A look of pained surprise and annoyance at once crossed Leslie's face.
Heedless of it Wilkinson spoke again.
"In the library, you say? Give me that room and be quick about it."
There was a pause in which the eyes of both father and daughter
plainly showed to each other the strength of the will that lay behind
them.
"Hello--Hello," called Wilkinson, "is that you, Flomerfelt?"
"............"
"Look here, Flomerfelt, had you an idea that Beekman----" Then,
parenthetically, to Leslie, who was beating against her father's
intentions to betray her confidences with as much success as a bird
beating against the bars of its cage: "Of course, I'll tell him. Do
you think for one moment that the wishes of a silly girl like you will
be allowed to stand in the way of our well-laid plans--not much!"
Then through the phone: "Yes, this is Peter V. and.... Well, he has,
and Leslie has refused him.... What's that?... Yes, he's gone.... No,
she's here with me.... All right, I will." And with that he hung up the
receiver, and turning round and facing the girl he announced: "Now,
young woman, you will listen to my final word in this matter." But that
word was not spoken, for at that moment there came a knock at the door
and Jeffries, entering, announced a visitor for Miss Wilkinson.