THE POWER OF SUGGESTION
It is wearing when one's wishes travel faster than events, and have to
wait for time to catch up. Mrs. Harmon felt it so. "The days go too
slow," she declared to Ellis, a week after his visit to Chebasset.
"Not at all," he answered. "I think they go about right."
"You're like a cat," she said impatiently. "I watched one hunting a bird
once, and it took forever to make its spring."
"But it caught the bird. Then wasn't the time well spent, Lydia?"
"I'm not so cold-blooded," she replied. "I can't be deliberate. I must
have something going on."
"Therefore you listen for the door-bell," remarked he. "Lydia, he can't
come up to-night."
"Stephen!" she cried as if indignantly--yet she began to smile.
"Mather keeps fair track of him," said Ellis.
"I hate Mr. Mather!" declared the lady with energy.
"What's the use?" inquired the gentleman calmly.
"Upon my word, Stephen," exclaimed Mrs. Harmon, "if any one in this town
ought to hate him, it's you. He's the one man who stands between you
and--and everything you want."
Ellis smiled. "People say so?"
"It's true!" she insisted. "What are your friends in politics most
afraid of? That he will go in against them! Who can make the best stand
against your mayor? Mather, of course! With him as mayor--what then,
Stephen?"
"All talk," he answered, still smiling.
"Very well," she retorted. "But if ever it comes to Mather at city hall,
Doddridge as district attorney, and my husband on the bench, some people
will leave town hurriedly."
"You mean me?" he asked indifferently.
"Of course not," she answered. "But don't laugh, Stephen; there's really
something in all this. And in other matters, too. The Judge has sold his
street-railroad stock."
Ellis roused at once. "He has? To whom?"
"Mr. Pease."
"Well," and the promoter relaxed again. "I am glad that the Judge is out
of it, even if Pease is deeper in."
"Abiel kept back five shares," said the Judge's worthy wife, "and when
next it comes to a stockholders' meeting, he'll be there. I can't do
anything with him; you know that well enough. All I can do is to tell
you what he tells me. Stephen," and her voice became persuasive, "why
not take notice of complaints?"
"You mean transfers?" he inquired.
"Yes, and better service: more cars at the rush hours, and more
attention to the suburbs."
"Higher wages to the men, too, I suppose?" he asked.
"You don't want a strike?" she cried.
"Now stop worrying!" he commanded. "You hear the Judge at the breakfast
table, and never see my side. Who does he say are against me--Pease,
Fenno, Branderson--all their kind?"
She nodded. "Yes, every one of them."
"Well," he said, "if I have a majority of stock--either mine or
belonging to men who belong to me--all the rich swells in the State
can't touch me. Lydia, Mather made this street railroad for me; he
didn't know he was doing it, but he did it, and when I wanted it I took
it. It's the best thing I've struck yet, and I'm not going to let it go.
Nor the profits, either. Transfers and extra cars? I tell you the
public's got to ride, and ride in what I allow 'em."
"Very well," she replied. "You usually know what you're about. But the
papers----"
"Rot, rot, rot!" he interrupted. "You hear so much of this Mather talk
that you believe it. Do you read the _Newsman_?"
"Abiel won't have it in the house."
"Buy a copy once in a while, when you feel blue. You'll see that
Mather's a man of straw."
"Does Judith Blanchard think him so?"
He turned upon her. "Doesn't she?"
"I don't know what she thinks," she confessed.
"Then," he advised, softening his frown, "wait and watch. I tell you
it's going all right."
She wondered that he felt so sure, but she subsided; then other thoughts
came into her mind. "Stephen," she asked, "are you doing much now--on
the market, I mean?"
"Always doing a lot," he replied.
"What's safest and surest?"
"Government bonds," he answered with a smile.
"No, no," she said. "I mean surest to go up and do something quickly."
"Lydia," he responded, "if young Wayne wants to know anything from me,
let him ask me himself."
"Oh!" she cried, pouting, "how quick you are! Well, I did ask for Jim."
There was just a little hesitation as she spoke the name. "But he gets
so little chance to see you. Come, tell me something; give me a tip,
there's a good fellow."
"I calculated once," he replied, "that if I told every one who asked,
there would be just twice my capital in the market, after the things I
want. No, Lydia, let every man stand on his own feet; I do my hunting
alone."
"Stephen!" she coaxed. "Stephen! Oh, you obstinate thing! At least tell
me what you're buying."
"If you want to help young Wayne, don't ask that. I look long ways
ahead; sometimes I buy to hold, but he can't. I'm not afraid of a drop;
he is. Let him work out his get-rich-quick scheme by himself, and he'll
be better off than if I helped him."
"At least tell me what you think of Poulton?" But he was obdurate.
"Stephen, I'll never ask you a favour again!"
"With that pin at your throat you don't need to," he replied. "Lydia, I
never gave you that."
"I have a husband," and she affected indignation. "How can you
insinuate--oh, Stephen, you see too much. Well, what do you think of
it?"
"I think," he responded with deliberation, "that I've not seen Miss Beth
Blanchard wearing any new jewelry lately. Aren't you unkind?"
"No!" she pouted again. "I am his mother confessor." Which appeared so
humorous to them both that they laughed; and then, feeling that they had
been skating on rather thin ice, they left the subject. Only--Mrs.
Harmon wished she knew why Ellis was so sure of Judith.
Had she seen what Mather saw she might have guessed what Mather guessed.
Ellis lunching with the Colonel down town, at an out-of-the-way place,
to be sure, but lunching with him openly--that meant a good deal. It
was a French restaurant to which Mather went at times for the sake of
its specialties, but when from the door, one day, he saw the Colonel and
Ellis at one of the tables, he went away again; yet had been seen.
"He saw us," said Ellis. "And if he saw us, others will. What was the
use of insisting on such a meeting-place, Colonel?"
The Colonel was annoyed, confoundedly so.
"All very well," returned Ellis. "But our business is not secret, any
more than the transactions which go on in the open street. Come, Colonel
Blanchard, don't you think it's time for a different line of procedure?"
The Colonel apprehensively asked his meaning.
"I'll tell you," answered Ellis. "Don't think me rude, sir, if I speak
freely. All I've been thinking is that if I'm a business acquaintance
merely, keep me as such. But if I'm a little more, if I'm to come to
your house and your table, let us meet a little more openly--at the
Exchange Club, let us say. And if I dine at your house again, let's
have," the Colonel's head was bowed, and Ellis therefore spoke boldly,
"other people there."
The Colonel marked with his knife upon the cloth. Three times five
thousand, without security, meant that Ellis had passed beyond the stage
of business acquaintanceship. Well, never mind; Judith encouraged the
man, so where was the harm? The whole thing was the most natural in the
world.
"Why, Mr. Ellis," he said, looking up, "I like this little place to eat
in; it reminds me of Paris, you know. I hadn't thought we would seem to
be dodging people." ("Lies better than Wayne," thought Ellis.) "The
Exchange Club, of course, if you wish it; it's more convenient, anyway."
But Ellis's reminder, before they parted, the Colonel took hard. "And
perhaps we can have a little dinner-party soon, Colonel?"
"Yes," answered the Colonel. "Yes, yes." He was as near snappish as he
dared to be, vindicating his military character. Only the recollection
of his daughter's wishes kept him from being rude, downright rude. Thus
the Colonel to himself, as he went homeward alone. Yet, instead of
informing Judith that she was privileged to give a dinner-party, he was
much too absorbed to vouchsafe her any account of where he had been.
"Don't bother me," was his gentle reply when she asked if he had seen
any one down town.
"Father!" cried Judith, really hurt.
"But I heard this," said her father, stopping at the door of his study,
and giving his piece of news with an unction for which only the passions
of the natural man can account. "They say a street-railway strike is
coming surely, unless Mr. Ellis gives in."
Judith stood with her hands behind her back, regarding her parent
cheerfully. "Oh, well!" she said lightly.
"You don't believe it?" demanded the Colonel.
"Strikes never come as often as they are threatened," she replied.
"But this time the stockholders may have something to say."
"They need more votes for that," she answered.
The Colonel looked her over. "Ellis has been telling her what to think,"
he concluded. For a moment he entertained the impulse to propose the
dinner-party, but Ellis's virtual ordering of him rankled. He went into
his study.
Mather, on his part, took his lunch at another restaurant and then went
down to Chebasset. He felt somewhat depressed; life was not pleasant,
not with the sight of Ellis and the Colonel before his mental vision,
nor with the task he had to do. For the returns from the mill were
entirely inadequate, and Jim must be spoken to. Lecturing a sulky boy
promised to be unpleasant; besides, Jim would report it to Beth. Mather
would have given a good deal to put the matter off, if only for a day.
But Jim was not at the mill. "He has gone to Stirling, Miss Jenks?"
"Yes, sir, to the city. He had a telephone message from----" Miss Jenks
hesitated and stammered.
"Miss Blanchard? Oh, of course." And Mather, amused at the modesty of
the little stenographer, sat down at Jim's desk, which had once been his
own. "The daily reports, if you please, Miss Jenks." While she went for
them, he stared idly at the decorations by whose means Jim had sought to
domesticate himself at the mill: dance cards, an invitation, and
photographs of Beth, Jim's mother, and Mrs. Harmon. Mather frowned at
the presence of the last, in such company.
Armed with the daily reports, Mather went into the mill, and certain of
the men, at certain of the machines, heard words which were far from
pleasing. The words were not many, and were delivered quietly, but
backed by telling figures from the returns they were unanswerable. It
was a slight relief that so many men were visited in Mather's round, for
company made the misery a bit lighter, but the foreman trembled for his
turn. He took it in the office, alone with Mather and Miss Jenks. That
during the summer and fall so many pounds daily had been turned out, and
in the winter so many less, was laid before him. The foreman could
suggest only one excuse.
"Mr. Wayne, sir. The men--some of them don't like him, and some laugh at
him."
"You attend to your men, Waller, and Mr. Wayne and I will do our part.
Understand, I put the mill in your hands now; Mr. Wayne will attend
strictly to the office. If you bring the men up to the old mark, ten
dollars more for you in the month. If you don't----" And the manager
waved his hand. Waller, between fear and hope, withdrew to the safe side
of the door, and mopped his brow.
Mather also wiped his forehead; he was glad, after all, that Jim had not
been there; he would try running the mill on this system, and Beth for a
while, perhaps for good, could be spared unhappiness.
But when, after writing Jim a letter detailing the proposed change, he
rose from his chair, he found a workman standing by his side. The man,
with some appearance of unhappiness, touched his forelock. "Beg pardon,
sir, but the missis is sick."
"Your wife? I'm sorry. I suppose you've come for an advance of money."
"No, sir!" and the man showed pride. "I can get along, Mr. Mather, on my
regular pay."
"Then what can I do for you?"
"It's this new regulation, sir--fortnightly pay."
"Fortnightly pay!" echoed Mather.
"Yes, sir. It'll be all right usually, Mr. Mather, and none of the men
cares much."
There was a tightness in the manager's brain; he put up his hand and
stroked his lip. "Let me see, when did the new system begin?"
"Last week, sir. And as I say, I wouldn't care, sir, but just now it
comes so hard that I'm askin'--just as a favour, Mr. Mather--to be paid
weekly till the missis is well."
"So!" said Mather, recovering himself.
"I hope it's not too much to ask, sir?"
"No, no," and the manager turned to the safe.
What was he to find--an empty cash drawer? His hand trembled as he swung
open the heavy door; he thought of little Beth. If Jim had been so weak,
so ungrateful--it was all right! There lay the rolls of bills!
But not the same; the envelopes had been opened, the money mussed and
then crammed hastily back into the drawer again. Moreover, these were
not the fresh, crisp bills which Pease took pride in sending weekly to
the mill. Mather took the whole drawer to the desk and paid the workman.
"Make a note, Miss Jenks, that Swinton is to be paid weekly so long as
his wife is ill." The man, thankful, departed; but Mather sat over the
cash drawer, sorting the money and counting it. There were many bills of
the high denominations which never came to the mill, since they would be
of little use in paying the men. But it was all there, every cent. What
was the meaning of it? And now it was Miss Jenks who stood at Mather's
side, waiting to speak. He thrust the money again into the drawer.
"Miss Jenks?" As she did not speak at once he looked at her face, and
asked hastily: "Is anything wrong?"
"I've--I've got to leave here, Mr. Mather."
He rose and put the cash drawer in its place; then he went back to her.
"This is very astonishing. Why?"
"I must," was all she would say.
"Is it wages? Hours? Are you overworked?" To each question she shook her
head. "I consider you very valuable to us. I have thought of asking you
to come to the city office."
She looked up at him eagerly. "Oh, let me come!"
"Then there is some friction here?"
She looked down, blushing. "No friction."
"One question only, Miss Jenks. Is it Mr. Wayne?"
She nodded; Mather took his seat. Then she took a step nearer to him,
looking to see if he were angry. "Don't be put out with him. He--I--it's
nothing, Mr. Mather."
"So I should suppose," he answered grimly.
"Mr. Mather," she said suddenly, "when I worked for you here I got to
think of you almost as an older brother. Don't be offended." She made a
little gesture of one thin hand. "I have no mother. May I ask you if I
am doing right?"
He was touched, and rose again. "Certainly."
"Mr. Wayne," she began again slowly, "has been very--nice to me. I
didn't think about it; I got to like it very much. Yesterday he--kissed
me. Isn't he engaged to Miss Blanchard, sir?"
"He is."
"I thought so; and yet, Mr. Mather, I couldn't be offended. This
afternoon, when he went away, he came to kiss me again, and I couldn't
try to stop him. Was it shameful, sir?"
He ground his teeth. "Of him!"
"And he left me this." She opened the hand which she had held tight
closed, and showed a jewelled pin.
Mather took it; it was costly, very handsome. "Well, Miss Jenks?"
"I don't think I'm that kind of a girl, sir. And yet I'm frightened at
myself--for not being able to resist him, I mean. And so I've got to go,
sir." Up to this time she had spoken quietly, with little sign of
emotion, but now she clasped her hands together, and tears welled out on
her cheeks. "I cannot stay another day!"
He turned away from her, and for a space strode up and down the office,
cursing silently. Then he sat and tried to think. Jim, Jim!
"You're not offended, sir?" she asked.
"Offended? You poor little girl, it tears at my heart to see your face
and know what you feel. You're doing just right; yes, just right. You
shall come to me in the city, to-morrow if you wish. I know an old and
homely woman who will be glad of this place."
She shrank at the energy of his sneer. "You won't be angry with him,
sir?"
"Not angry?" he cried, astonished. Then he said quietly, "I shall do
nothing at once. But there are other considerations as well."
"Others?" she asked fearfully. "He isn't--going wrong, Mr. Mather?"
"What makes you think that?" he demanded.
"Perhaps," she said, "I'd better tell you something, if it will help you
help him. There's one man--oh, Mr. Mather, I've been so glad of the way
the papers speak of you--if you would only stand for mayor of Stirling,
sir! I dislike that Mr. Ellis. And it's he who's been here twice to see
Mr. Wayne, and telephoned him this afternoon to come to town."
"Of course you know there's no reason he shouldn't?"
"Only I don't like him, sir. And Mr. Wayne made something of a secret of
it, though he's been talking with me quite freely, lately. But I
couldn't help knowing, and I hope there's nothing wrong." She took a
step toward her desk. "If you've got nothing for me to do, sir, I'll go
now. To-morrow at your office, Mr. Mather?"
"To-morrow." He sank so deep in thought that he scarcely heeded her
good-bye, and leaving the pin on Jim's desk she slipped out of the
office with her hopes, fears, thanks, trembling on her lips but yet
unexpressed. She was glad to leave the little office where she had been
so frightened of herself. And since Mather had been always kind, she
felt sure he would be kind to Wayne.
Kind! Mather's fingers itched for Jim's collar. Perhaps he had intended
no harm with the girl, but such things went easily from bad to worse.
And what had he been doing with the money? But the only real reason for
complaint lay in the new system of fortnightly pay. Mather concluded
that he would wait till Saturday; then he would come down, see the men
paid, and have it out with Jim.