Billy volunteered to take the children home, Vassar waved his farewell
to the crowd and hurried to the waiting automobile.
Virginia presented him to the banker.
“Our irreconcilable foe, Mr. Waldron!”
The millionaire merely touched his hat with the barest suggestion of a
military salute and Vassar bowed. It was not until they were seated in
the car that Waldron spoke--the same cold smile about his lips.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, Mr. Vassar--”
“I’m surprised to hear that,” was the light reply. “Our views could
hardly be the same on any subject within my scope of knowledge--”
Waldron smiled patronizingly.
“Anyhow, let us hope that we’ll get together today--”
“We must,” Virginia responded.
The one thing Vassar couldn’t endure was patronage. The tone Waldron
assumed was offensive beyond endurance. If he tried it again the young
leader had made up his mind to find an excuse, stop the car and go back
to his office.
To his relief the man of money made no further attempt at conversation,
save for an occasional whispered order to his liveried chauffeur.
Vassar’s eyes rested on the military cut of this chauffeur’s clothes
with new resentment. The gilded coat of arms on the door of the tonneau
had not escaped him as he took his seat beside Virginia. Nor was the
lordly manner in which the new master of men condescended to talk with
his servant at the wheel lost on the young leader of democracy.
He wondered what Virginia Holland could see in such a man. He refused
utterly to believe that she could love him. Elemental brute strength and
stark physical courage he undoubtedly possessed. The solid mass of his
bull neck and the cold brilliance of his gray eyes left no doubt on that
score.
There could be but one explanation of her association with Waldron. He
had generously loosed his purse strings and given her cause the
unlimited credit needed under modern conditions to conduct a great
political movement. No one could blame her for that. It was good
politics.
All the same he would give a good deal just now to know whether she
cared for the man. He must yield the devil his due. Waldron was the
type of domineering brute that appealed to many women. He wondered if
Virginia Holland had felt the spell of his commanding character.
For the hundredth time he asked himself the question why should he care.
There was the rub. Devil take it, he did care. He had never been so
foolishly happy in his life as in the hours he had spent by this girl’s
side. It infuriated him to think how easy had been his conquest. But
yesterday he had scorned her name. They had met and talked a few hours
and he had become her lackey. At her bidding he was now on his way to
the house of the man he hated.
He caught himself grinning for sheer joy to find himself seated close
beside her in the smooth gliding car of his enemy. He could have enjoyed
this wonderful ride had they been alone.
The afternoon was one of glorious beauty. The rains of the first days of
July had swept the city clean. The sun had broken the clouds into
billowing banks of snow-white against the dazzling azure of the skies. A
brisk inspiriting breeze swept in from the sea and rippled the waters of
the North River into little white lines of foam. The trees along the
Drive flashed in splendor.
The temptation was all but resistless to touch her hand. He started
with terror at the crazy thought. She was anything but an Amazon, but he
could see her pitching him headforemost into the road for daring the
impertinence. He glanced at her furtively, alarmed lest she had read his
thoughts.
Well, there was no help for it now. He was in for a fight for his life
with this demure, quiet, dangerous little woman, who could sit calmly by
his side mistress of her thoughts and no doubt perfectly conscious of
her power over his.
Anyhow she was worth a fight. It was worth any man’s best to win the
heart of such a woman and to make her his own. Could any man really do
it? Of course he could! With the next breath he doubted it, and trembled
at the happiness he felt bubbling in his soul when he felt the nearness
of her exquisite figure.
“Why so grave, Mr. Congressman?” she asked banteringly.
“To tell you the truth, I’m scared,” he answered in low tones.
“Of the great man in front?” she whispered.
Vassar’s jaw closed with decision.
“Far from it, I assure you!”
“You’re not afraid of an automobile?”
“One more guess--”
“You couldn’t be afraid of little me?” she asked demurely.
“Yesterday I would have said no with a very loud emphasis. I’m free to
confess the more I’ve seen of you the more I dread your opposition--”
She laughed in his face with a deliberate provoking challenge.
“Now that’s unkind of you! I expected a much more gallant answer from a
tall handsome apostle of romance and chivalry.”
“Perhaps I was afraid you’d laugh at me--”
“No. I hold that the age of true chivalry is only dawning--the age in
which man will honor woman by recognizing her as worthy to be his pal
and best friend as well as his toy.”
There was something so genuine to the appeal of her personality that the
man who intellectually disagreed with her philosophy yet found himself
in foolish accord with every demand she made.
Vassar was silent a moment, and glanced at her to see if she were
chaffing or sparring to uncover his defenses.
He was about to say too much--to confess too much and do it clumsily in
the presence of the man he hated when the machine suddenly swung toward
the cliff, swept up to a massive iron gate and stopped.
The chauffeur sounded his horn and an old man dressed in the peasant
costume of the lodge-keeper of a feudal estate of Central Europe emerged
from the cottage built into the walls of the cliff and opened the gates
without a word. He bowed humbly to the lord of the manor. Waldron nodded
carelessly.
The banker’s medieval castle, perched on the highest hill on upper
Manhattan, was one of the sights of the metropolis. Vassar lifted his
eyes and caught the majestic lines of the granite tower thrusting its
grim embattlements into the skies. An ocean-going yacht lay at her
anchor in the river like a huge swan with folded wings. The Italian
boathouse which he had built at the water’s edge was connected with his
castle by an underground passage bored through the granite cliff into a
hall cut out of the stone a hundred feet beneath the foundations of the
structure above. A swift elevator connected this hall with the house.
The machine shot gracefully up the steep winding roadway and stopped
beneath the vaulted porte-cochère.
Liveried flunkies hurried down the stone landing to greet their master
and his guests. There was nothing for them to do but open the door of
the tonneau with obsequious bows.
“Will you kindly make our prisoner as comfortable as possible, Miss
Holland,” Waldron said in his even metallic voice, “while I give some
orders outside. You’ll find the library at your disposal.”
“Thank you,” Virginia answered, mounting the steps without further
ceremony.
A feeling of resentment swept John Vassar. How dare this bully assume
such familiarity with Virginia Holland! She had met him as a patron of
the cause of woman’s suffrage. One would think he had the right to her
soul and body by the way he asked her to act as the hostess of his
establishment. The thought that enraged him was that the banker was so
cocksure of himself, his position. No robber baron of the Middle Ages
could have felt more irresponsible in the exercise of his power. The
consciousness of this power oozed from the fat pores of Waldron’s skin.
He exuded the idea as he breathed.
Vassar’s first impression on entering the great house confirmed his idea
of the man’s character. The whole conception of the place rested
squarely on the royal splendors of the Old World. The lines of the huge
building were a combination of two famous castles of medieval France,
both the homes of kings. The great hall was an exact copy in form and
decoration of the throne room of Napoleon in the palace at Versailles.
His library walls above the bookcases bristled with arms and armor.
Anything more utterly undemocratic could not have been found in the
centers of Europe.
The atmosphere of the place was stifling.
Vassar turned to Virginia with a movement of impatience.
“You like this?” he asked.
“I think it very imposing,” was the diplomatic answer.
“So do I,” he snapped, “and that’s why I loathe it. Such ostentation in
a democracy whose life is just beginning can mean but one thing. The man
who built this castle to crown the highest hill of a city is capable of
building a throne in the East Room of the White House if the time ever
comes that he dares--”
Virginia shook her head good-humoredly.
“I’m afraid you’re prejudiced against our patron saint.”
“No,” Vassar answered steadily, “I’m not prejudiced. I hate him with the
hatred that is uncompromising--that’s all. There’s not room for the two
things for which we stand in this republic. One of us must live, the
other die.”
“I suppose a woman doesn’t look on such a house as this with your eyes,”
she answered smiling.
“No, that’s just it--you don’t--and it’s one of the reasons why I’m
afraid of you--”
Vassar turned to examine the collection of chain armor at the end of the
room without waiting for her answer. He was in a bad humor. The place
had gotten on his nerves.
When he returned again, regretting his curt speech, she was standing at
the entrance talking in low tones to Waldron. His footstep had made no
sound on the cushion of oriental rugs which covered the inlaid marble
floor.
Without so much as a look his way she passed Waldron and left the
library.
The banker walked briskly toward Vassar and waved his short, heavy arm
toward a chair.
“Won’t you sit down, sir?” he asked coldly.
With mechanical precision he opened a jeweled cigarette box and extended
it.
“Thanks,” Vassar answered carelessly, “I have a cigar.”
He struck a match on his heel, lit the cigar and seated himself
leisurely.
Waldron sat down opposite and began his attack without delay.
“Miss Holland has just informed me that you are unalterably opposed to
woman’s suffrage?”
“Until I see it differently, I am,” was the tense reply.
“I take it then that it will be a waste of words for us to discuss that
question?”
“Yes--and before we waste words on any other question I must ask whom
you represent in this conference concerning my career?”
“I’ll tell you with pleasure,” was the quick answer. “I am perhaps the
largest contributor to the cause of woman’s suffrage--”
“Do you believe in it?” Vassar interrupted sharply.
Waldron weighed his answer and spoke with metallic emphasis.
“Whether I do or do not is beside the mark for the moment. You have
settled that issue between us, and my views are of no importance. I am
pressing for a woman’s victory for a more important reason than my faith
in her ballot or my lack of faith in its ultimate effects. The immediate
result of women’s vote will be to make war remote. My big purpose is to
prevent this nation from sinking into the abyss of militarism in which
Europe now flounders--”
“In other words,” Vassar broke in, “you mean to prevent this country
from preparing to defend herself from the power of Imperial Europe?”
Waldron searched his opponent for a moment of intense silence and slowly
answered:
“If you care to put it that way--yes. I represent the combined forces
of peace and sanity in this nation. We have determined that America
shall not be cursed by the military caste. We are determined that our
country shall not follow in the mad blind race of the Old World in
building armaments with which to murder our fellow men. I have made no
secret of my purpose and I am going to win. I am going to defeat your
bill to place our army and navy on the footing of war-cursed Europe--”
“My bill does not propose to establish a military caste,” Vassar
protested. “It only demands a trained citizen soldiery for adequate
defense, armed and ready to enter the field, an effective wall of
patriotic fire if we are assailed. I ask a navy that will be absolutely
sure to sink the fleet of any power that may attack us. I do not ask
that this fleet shall be in constant commission, only that it shall be
built and ready for service.”
“Your demand is preposterous,” Waldron coldly answered. “You ask for a
bond issue of $500,000,000 for naval purposes only--”
“Anything less will be inadequate. We are behind the world in guns,
behind the world in aircraft, behind the world in submarines. We
invented the aeroplane. We invented the machine gun. We invented the
iron-clad. We invented the submarine. We must lead the world in these
arms of defense--not follow, the last lame duck in the march! An
_inadequate_ navy no matter how great its size is worse than none. It
will merely lead us into trouble and murder our defenders. War is now a
merciless science. Skill, not physical courage, wins. The machine has
become the master of the world--”
“Please!” Waldron cried with hand uplifted in a gesture of impatience.
“I know your speech by heart. It’s old. It doesn’t interest me. Come to
the point. If you’ll agree as chairman of the Committee on Military
Affairs to modify your bill to train and arm a million citizen soldiers,
and reduce your naval programme to two battleships, four cruisers,
twenty-four submarines and twenty-four aeroplanes, we can come to
terms--”
Vassar rose, fixed his opponent with a searching look and said:
“I’ll see you in hell first--”
“All right,” Waldron snapped. “I’m going to wipe you off the map.
There’ll be a new chairman of your Committee when Congress meets in
December--”
Vassar held his enemy with a steady gaze.
“You haven’t enough dirty money to buy my district, Waldron,” he
answered. “We’re a humble people on the East Side, but I’ll show you
that there are some things in this town that are not for sale--”
A smile of contempt played about the banker’s cold lips as he rose.
“I’ll be there when you make the demonstration,” he responded with
careful emphasis.
“You’ll excuse me now?” Vassar said politely.
“Certainly. My car will drop you at any address you name.”
“Thank you, I prefer the subway.”
“As you like,” the metallic voice clicked.