CLOUDS.
But a month later he was far happier, for one morning towards the end
of August, his mail brought him a letter from Watts, announcing that
they had been four days installed in their Newport home, and that Peter
would now be welcome any time. “I have purposely not filled Grey-Court
this summer, so that you should have every chance. Between you and me
and the post, I think there have been moments when mademoiselle missed
‘her friend’ far more than she confessed.”
“Dat’s stronory,” thought Jenifer. “He dun eat mo’ dis yar hot mo’nin’
dan he dun in two mumfs.”
Then Jenifer was sent out with a telegram, which merely said: “May I
come to-day by Shore line limited? P.S.”
“When you get back, Jenifer,” said Peter, “you may pack my trunk and
your own. We may start for Newport at two.” Evidently Peter did not
intend to run any risks of missing the train, in case the answer should
be favorable.
Peter passed into his office, and set to work to put the loose ends in
such shape that nothing should go wrong during his absence. He had not
worked long, when one of the boys told him that:
“Mr. Cassius Curlew wants to see you, Mr. Stirling.”
Peter stopped his writing, looking up quickly: “Did he say on what
business?”
“No.”
“Ask him, please.” And Peter went on writing till the boy returned.
“He says it’s about the convention.”
“Tell him he must be more specific.”
The boy returned in a moment with a folded scrap of paper.
“He said that would tell you, Mr. Stirling.”
Peter unfolded the scrap, and read upon it: “A message from Maguire.”
“Show him in.” Peter touched a little knob on his desk on which was
stamped “Chief Clerk.” A moment later a man opened a door. “Samuels,”
said Peter, “I wish you would stay here for a moment. I want you to
listen to what’s said.”
The next moment a man crossed the threshold of another door.
“Good-morning, Mr. Stirling,” he said.
“Mr. Curlew,” said Peter, without rising and with a cold inclination of
his head.
“I have a message for you, Mr. Stirling,” said the man, pulling a chair
into a position that suited him, and sitting, “but it’s private.”
Peter said nothing, but began to write.
“Do you understand? I want a word with you private,” said the man after
a pause.
“Mr. Samuels is my confidential clerk. You can speak with perfect
freedom before him.” Peter spoke without raising his eyes from his
writing.
“But I don’t want any one round. It’s just between you and me.”
“When I got your message,” said Peter, still writing, “I sent for Mr.
Samuels. If you have anything to say, say it now. Otherwise leave it
unsaid.”
“Well, then,” said the man, “your party’s been tricking us, and we
won’t stand it.”
Peter wrote diligently.
“And we know who’s back of it. It was all pie down to that dinner of
yours.”
“Is that Maguire’s message?” asked Peter, though with no cessation of
his labors.
“Nop,” said the man. “That’s the introduction. Now, we know what it
means. You needn’t deny it. You’re squinting at the governorship
yourself. And you’ve made the rest go back on Maguire, and work for you
on the quiet. Oh, we know what’s going on.”
“Tell me when you begin on the message,” said Peter, still writing.
“Maguire’s sent me to you, to tell you to back water. To stop bucking.”
“Tell Mr. Maguire I have received his message.”
“Oh, that isn’t all, and don’t you forget it! Maguire’s in this for fur
and feathers, and if you go before the convention as a candidate, we’ll
fill the air with them.”
“Is that part of the message?” asked Peter.
“By that we mean that half an hour after you accept the nomination,
we’ll have a force of detectives at work on your past life, and we’ll
hunt down and expose every discreditable thing you’ve ever done.”
Peter rose, and the man did the same instantly, putting one of his
hands on his hip-pocket. But even before he did it, Peter had begun
speaking, in a quiet, self-contained voice: “That sounds so like Mr.
Maguire, that I think we have the message at last. Go to him, and say
that I have received his message. That I know him, and I know his
methods. That I understand his hopes of driving me, as he has some,
from his path, by threats of private scandal. That, judging others by
himself, he believes no man’s life can bear probing. Tell him that he
has misjudged for once. Tell him that he has himself decided me in my
determination to accept the nomination. That rather than see him the
nominee of the Democratic party, I will take it myself. Tell him to set
on his blood-hounds. They are welcome to all they can unearth in my
life.”
Peter turned towards his door, intending to leave the room, for he was
not quite sure that he could sustain this altitude, if he saw more of
the man. But as his hand was on the knob, Curlew spoke again.
“One moment,” he called. “We’ve got something more to say to you. We
have proof already.”
Peter turned, with an amused look on his face. “I was wondering,” he
said, “if Maguire really expected to drive me with such vague threats.”
“No siree,” said Curlew with a self-assured manner, but at the same
time putting Peter’s desk between the clerk and himself, so that his
flank could not be turned. “We’ve got some evidence that won’t be sweet
reading for you, and we’re going to print it, if you take the
nomination.”
“Tell Mr. Maguire he had better put his evidence in print at once. That
I shall take the nomination.”
“And disgrace one of your best friends?” asked Curlew.
Peter started slightly, and looked sharply at the man.
“Ho, ho,” said Curlew. “That bites, eh? Well, it will bite worse before
it’s through with.”
Peter stood silent for a moment, but his hands trembled slightly, and
any one who understood anatomy could have recognized that every muscle
in his body was at full tension. But all he said was: “Well?”
“It’s about that trip of yours on the ‘Majestic.’”
Peter looked bewildered.
“We’ve got sworn affidavits of two stewards,” Curlew continued, “about
yours and some one else’s goings on. I guess Mr. and Mrs. Rivington
won’t thank you for having them printed.”
Instantly came a cry of fright, and the crack of a revolver, which
brought Peter’s partners and the clerks crowding into the room. It was
to find Curlew lying back on the desk, held there by Peter with one
hand, while his other, clasping the heavy glass inkstand, was swung
aloft. There was a look on Peter’s face that did not become it. An
insurance company would not have considered Curlew’s life at that
moment a fair risk.
But when Peter’s arm descended it did so gently, put the inkstand back
on the desk, and taking a pocket-handkerchief wiped a splash of ink
from the hand that had a moment before been throttling Curlew. That
worthy struggled up from his back-breaking attitude and the few parts
of his face not drenched with ink, were very white, while his hands
trembled more than had Peter’s a moment before.
“Peter!” cried Ogden. “What is it?”
“I lost my temper for a moment,” said Peter.
“But who fired that shot?”
Peter turned to the clerks. “Leave the room,” he said, “all of you. And
keep this to yourselves. I don’t think the other floors could have
heard anything through the fire-proof brick, but if any one comes,
refer them to me.” As the office cleared, Peter turned to his partners
and said: “Mr. Curlew came here with a message which he thought needed
the protection of a revolver. He judged rightly, it seems.”
“Are you hit?”
“I felt something strike.” Peter put his hand to his side. He
unbuttoned his coat and felt again. Then he pulled out a little sachet
from his breast-pocket, and as e did so, a flattened bullet dropped to
the floor. Peter looked into the sachet anxiously. The bullet had only
gone through the lower corner of the four photographs and the glove!
Peter laughed happily. “I had a gold coin in my pocket, and the bullet
struck that. Who says that a luck-piece is nothing but a superstition?”
“But, Peter, shan’t we call the police?” demanded Ogden, still looking
stunned.
Curlew moved towards the door.
“One moment,” said Peter, and Curlew stopped.
“Ray,” Peter continued, “I am faced with a terrible question. I want
your advice?”
“What, Peter?”
“A man is trying to force me to stand aside and permit a political
wrong. To do this, he threatens to publish lying affidavits of
worthless scoundrels, to prove a shameful intimacy between a married
woman and me.”
“Bosh,” laughed Ray. “He can publish a thousand and no one would
believe them of you.”
“He knows that. But he knows, too, that no matter how untrue, it would
connect her name with a subject shameful to the purest woman that ever
lived. He knows that the scavengers of gossip will repeat it, and gloat
over it. That the filthy society papers will harp on it for years. That
in the heat of a political contest, the partisans will be only too glad
to believe it and repeat it. That no criminal prosecution, no court
vindication, will ever quite kill the story as regards her. And so he
hopes that, rather than entail this on a woman whom I love, and on her
husband and family, I will refuse a nomination. I know of such a case
in Massachusetts, where, rather than expose a woman to such a danger,
the man withdrew. What should I do?”
“Do? Fight him. Tell him to do his worst.”
Peter put his hand on Ray’s shoulder.
“Even if—if—it is one dear to us both?”
“Peter!”
“Yes. Do you remember your being called home in our Spanish trip,
unexpectedly? You left me to bring Miss De Voe, and—Well. They’ve
bribed, or forged affidavits of two of the stewards of the ‘Majestic.’”
Ray tried to spring forward towards Curlew. But Peter’s hand still
rested on his shoulder, and held him back, “I started to kill him,”
Peter said quietly, “but I remembered he was nothing but the miserable
go-between.”
“My God, Peter! What can I say?”
“Ray! The stepping aside is nothing to me. It was an office which I was
ready to take, but only as a sacrifice and a duty. It is to prevent
wrong that I interfered. So do not think it means a loss to me to
retire.”
“Peter, do what you intended to do. We must not compromise with wrong
even for her sake.”
The two shook hands, “I do not think they will ever use it, Ray,” said
Peter. “But I may be mistaken, and cannot involve you in the
possibility, without your consent.”
“Of course they’ll use it,” cried Ogden. “Scoundrels who could think of
such a thing, will use it without hesitation.”
“No,” said Peter. “A man who uses a coward’s weapons, is a coward at
heart. We can prevent it, I think.” Then he turned to Curlew. “Tell Mr.
Maguire about this interview. Tell him that I spared you, because you
are not the principal. But tell him from me, that if a word is breathed
against Mrs. Rivington, I swear that I’ll search for him till I find
him, and when I find him I’ll kill him with as little compunction as I
would a rattlesnake.” Peter turned and going to his dressing-room,
washed away the ink from his hands.
Curlew shuffled out of the room, and, black as he was, went straight to
the Labor headquarters and told his story.
“And he’ll do it too, Mr. Maguire,” he said. “You should have seen his
look as he said it, and as he stood over me. I feel it yet.”
“Do you think he means it?” said Ray to Ogden, when they were back in
Ray’s room.
“I wouldn’t think so if I hadn’t seen his face as he stood over that
skunk. But if ever a man looked murder he did at that moment. And quiet
old Peter of all men!”
“We must talk to him. Do tell him that—”
“Do you dare do it?”
“But you—?”
“I don’t. Unless he speaks I shall—”
“Ray and Ogden,” said a quiet voice, “I wish you would write out what
you have just seen and heard. It may be needed in the future.”
“Peter, let me speak,” cried Ray. “You mustn’t do what you said. Think
of such an end to your life. No matter what that scoundrel does, don’t
end your life on a gallows. It—”
Peter held up his hand. “You don’t know the American people, Ray. If
Maguire uses that lying story, I can kill him, and there isn’t a jury
in the country which, when the truth was told, wouldn’t acquit me.
Maguire knows it, too. We have heard the last of that threat, I’m
sure.”
Peter went back to his office. “I don’t wonder,” he thought, as he
stood looking at the ink-stains on his desk and floor, “that people
think politics nothing but trickery and scoundrelism. Yet such vile
weapons and slanders would not be used if there were not people vile
and mean enough at heart to let such things influence them. The fault
is not in politics. It is in humanity.”