A month had passed since the memorable meeting of the directors of the
Southern and Transcontinental Railroad in New York and during that time
neither John Burkett Ryder nor Judge Rossmore had been idle. The former
had immediately set in motion the machinery he controlled in the
Legislature at Washington, while the judge neglected no step to
vindicate himself before the public.
Ryder, for reasons of his own--probably because he wished to make the
blow the more crushing when it did fall--had insisted on the
proceedings at the board meeting being kept a profound secret and some
time elapsed before the newspapers got wind of the coming Congressional
inquiry. No one had believed the stories about Judge Rossmore but now
that a quasi-official seal had been set on the current gossip, there
was a howl of virtuous indignation from the journalistic muck rakers.
What was the country coming to? they cried in double leaded type. After
the embezzling by life insurance officers, the rascality of the
railroads, the looting of city treasuries, the greed of the Trusts, the
grafting of the legislators, had arisen a new and more serious
scandal--the corruption of the Judiciary. The last bulwark of the
nation had fallen, the country lay helpless at the mercy of legalized
sandbaggers. Even the judges were no longer to be trusted, the most
respected one among them all had been unable to resist the tempter. The
Supreme Court, the living voice of the Constitution, was honeycombed
with graft. Public life was rotten to the core!
Neither the newspapers nor the public stopped to ascertain the truth or
the falsity of the charges against Judge Rossmore. It was sufficient
that the bribery story furnished the daily sensation which newspaper
editors and newspaper readers must have. The world is ever more prompt
to believe ill rather than good of a man, and no one, except in
Rossmore's immediate circle of friends, entertained the slightest doubt
of his guilt. It was common knowledge that the "big interests" were
behind the proceedings, and that Judge Rossmore was a scapegoat,
sacrificed by the System because he had been blocking their game. If
Rossmore had really accepted the bribe, and few now believed him
spotless, he deserved all that was coming to him. Senator Roberts was
very active in Washington preparing the case against Judge Rossmore.
The latter being a democrat and "the interests" controlling a
Republican majority in the House, it was a foregone conclusion that the
inquiry would be against him, and that a demand would at once be made
upon the Senate for his impeachment.
Almost prostrated by the misfortune which had so suddenly and
unexpectedly come upon him, Judge Rossmore was like a man demented. His
reason seemed to be tottering, he spoke and acted like a man in a
dream. Naturally he was entirely incapacitated for work and he had
applied to Washington to be temporarily relieved from his judicial
duties. He was instantly granted a leave of absence and went at once to
his home in Madison Avenue, where he shut himself up in his library,
sitting for hours at his desk wrestling with documents and legal tomes
in a pathetic endeavour to find some way out, trying to elude this net
in which unseen hands had entangled him.
What an end to his career! To have struggled and achieved for half a
century, to have built up a reputation year by year, as a man builds a
house brick by brick, only to see the whole crumble to his feet like
dust! To have gained the respect of the country, to have made a name as
the most incorruptible of public servants and now to be branded as a
common bribe taker! Could he be dreaming? It was too incredible! What
would his daughter say--his Shirley? Ah, the thought of the expression
of incredulity and wonder on her face when she heard the news cut him
to the heart like a knife thrust. Yet, he mused, her very unwillingness
to believe it should really be his consolation. Ah, his wife and his
child--they knew he had been innocent of wrong doing. The very idea was
ridiculous. At most he had been careless. Yes, he was certainly to
blame. He ought to have seen the trap so carefully prepared and into
which he had walked as if blindfolded. That extra $50,000 worth of
stock, on which he had never received a cent interest, had been the
decoy in a carefully thought out plot. They, the plotters, well knew
how ignorant he was of financial matters and he had been an easy
victim. Who would believe his story that the stock had been sent to him
with a plausibly-worded letter to the effect that it represented a
bonus on his own investment? Now he came to think of it, calmly and
reasonably, he would not believe it himself. As usual, he had mislaid
or destroyed the secretary's letter and there was only his word against
the company's books to substantiate what would appear a most improbable
if not impossible occurrence.
It was his conviction of his own good faith that made his present
dilemma all the more cruel. Had he really been a grafter, had he really
taken the stock as a bribe he would not care so much, for then he would
have foreseen and discounted the chances of exposure. Yes, there was no
doubt possible. He was the victim of a conspiracy, there was an
organized plot to ruin him, to get him out of the way. The "interests"
feared him, resented his judicial decisions and they had halted at
nothing to accomplish their purpose. How could he fight them back, what
could he do to protect himself? He had no proofs of a conspiracy, his
enemies worked in the dark, there was no way in which he could reach
them or know who they were.
He thought of John Burkett Ryder. Ah, he remembered now. Ryder was the
man who had recommended the investment in Alaskan stock. Of course, why
did he not think of it before? He recollected that at the time he had
been puzzled at receiving so much stock and he had mentioned it to
Ryder, adding that the secretary had told him it was customary. Oh, why
had he not kept the secretary's letter? But Ryder would certainly
remember it. He probably still had his two letters in which he spoke of
making the investment. If those letters could be produced at the
Congressional inquiry they would clear him at once. So losing no time,
and filled with renewed hope he wrote to the Colossus a strong, manly
letter which would have melted an iceberg, urging Mr. Ryder to come
forward now at this critical time and clear him of this abominable
charge, or in any case to kindly return the two letters he must have in
his possession, as they would go far to help him at the trial. Three
days passed and no reply from Ryder. On the fourth came a polite but
frigid note from Mr. Ryder's private secretary. Mr. Ryder had received
Judge Rossmore's letter and in reply begged to state that he had a
vague recollection of some conversation with the judge in regard to
investments, but he did not think he had advised the purchase of any
particular stock, as that was something he never did on principle, even
with his most intimate friends. He had no wish to be held accountable
in case of loss, etc. As to the letter which Judge Rossmore mentioned
as having written to Mr. Ryder in regard to having received more stock
than he had bought, of that Mr. Ryder had no recollection whatsoever.
Judge Rossmore was probably mistaken as to the identity of his
correspondent. He regretted he could not be of more service to Judge
Rossmore, and remained his very obedient servant.
It was very evident that no help was to be looked for in that quarter.
There was even decided hostility in Ryder's reply. Could it be true
that the financier was really behind these attacks upon his character,
was it possible that one man merely to make more money would
deliberately ruin his fellow man whose hand he had grasped in
friendship? He had been unwilling to believe it when his friend
ex-judge Stott had pointed to Ryder as the author of all his
misfortunes, but this unsympathetic letter with its falsehoods, its
lies plainly written all over its face, was proof enough. Yes, there
was now no doubt possible. John Burkett Ryder was his enemy and what an
enemy! Many a man had committed suicide when he had incurred the enmity
of the Colossus. Judge Rossmore, completely discouraged, bowed his head
to the inevitable.
His wife, a nervous, sickly woman, was helpless to comfort or aid him.
She had taken their misfortune as a visitation of an inscrutable Deity.
She knew, of course, that her husband was wholly innocent of the
accusations brought against him and if his character could be cleared
and himself rehabilitated before the world, she would be the first to
rejoice. But if it pleased the Almighty in His wisdom to sorely try her
husband and herself and inflict this punishment upon them it was not
for the finite mind to criticise the ways of Providence. There was
probably some good reason for the apparent cruelty and injustice of it
which their earthly understanding failed to grasp. Mrs. Rossmore found
much comfort in this philosophy, which gave a satisfactory ending to
both ends of the problem, and she was upheld in her view by the rector
of the church which she had attended regularly each Sunday for the past
five and twenty years. Christian resignation in the hour of trial,
submission to the will of Heaven were, declared her spiritual adviser,
the fundamental principles of religion. He could only hope that Mrs.
Rossmore would succeed in imbuing her husband with her Christian
spirit. But when the judge's wife returned home and saw the keen mental
distress of the man who had been her companion for twenty-five long
years, the comforter in her sorrows, the joy and pride of her young
wifehood, she forgot all about her smug churchly consoler, and her
heart went out to her husband in a spontaneous burst of genuine human
sympathy. Yes, they must do something at once. Where men had failed
perhaps a woman could do something. She wanted to cable at once for
Shirley, who was everything in their household--organizer, manager,
adviser--but the judge would not hear of it. No, his daughter was
enjoying her holiday in blissful ignorance of what had occurred. He
would not spoil it for her. They would see; perhaps things would
improve. But he sent for his old friend ex-Judge Stott.
They were life-long friends, having become acquainted nearly thirty
years ago at the law school, at the time when both were young men about
to enter on a public career. Stott, who was Rossmore's junior, had
begun as a lawyer in New York and soon acquired a reputation in
criminal practice. He afterwards became assistant district attorney and
later, when a vacancy occurred in the city magistrature, he was
successful in securing the appointment. On the bench he again met his
old friend Rossmore and the two men once more became closely intimate.
The regular court hours, however, soon palled on a man of Judge Stott's
nervous temperament and it was not long before he retired to take up
once more his criminal practice. He was still a young man, not yet
fifty, and full of vigor and fight. He had a blunt manner but his heart
was in the right place, and he had a record as clean as his close
shaven face. He was a hard worker, a brilliant speaker and one of the
cleverest cross-examiners at the bar. This was the man to whom Judge
Rossmore naturally turned for legal assistance.
Stott was out West when he first heard of the proceedings against his
old friend, and this indignity put upon the only really honest man in
public life whom he knew, so incensed him that he was already hurrying
back to his aid when the summons reached him.
Meantime, a fresh and more serious calamity had overwhelmed Judge
Rossmore. Everything seemed to combine to break the spirit of this man
who had dared defy the power of organized capital. Hardly had the news
of the Congressional inquiry been made public, than the financial world
was startled by an extraordinary slump in Wall Street. There was
nothing in the news of the day to justify a decline, but prices fell
and fell. The bears had it all their own way, the big interests
hammered stocks all along the line, "coppers" especially being the
object of attack. The market closed feverishly and the next day the
same tactics were pursued. From the opening, on selling orders coming
from no one knew where, prices fell to nothing, a stampede followed and
before long it became a panic. Pandemonium reigned on the floor of the
Stock Exchange. White faced, dishevelled brokers shouted and struggled
like men possessed to execute the orders of their clients. Big
financial houses, which stood to lose millions on a falling market,
rallied and by rush orders to buy, attempted to stem the tide, but all
to no purpose. One firm after another went by the board unable to
weather the tempest, until just before closing time, the stock ticker
announced the failure of the Great Northwestern Mining Co. The drive in
the market had been principally directed against its securities, and
after vainly endeavoring to check the bear raid, it had been compelled
to declare itself bankrupt. It was heavily involved, assets nil, stock
almost worthless. It was probable that the creditors would not see ten
cents on the dollar. Thousands were ruined and Judge Rossmore among
them. All the savings of a lifetime--nearly $55,000 were gone. He was
practically penniless, at a time when he needed money most. He still
owned his house in Madison Avenue, but that would have to go to settle
with his creditors. By the time everything was paid there would only
remain enough for a modest competence. As to his salary, of course he
could not touch that so long as this accusation was hanging over his
head. And if he were impeached it would stop altogether. The salary,
therefore, was not to be counted on. They must manage as best they
could and live more cheaply, taking a small house somewhere in the
outskirts of the city where he could prepare his case quietly without
attracting attention.
Stott thought this was the best thing they could do and he volunteered
to relieve his friend by taking on his own hands all the arrangements
of the sale of the house and furniture, which offer the judge accepted
only too gladly. Meantime, Mrs. Rossmore went to Long Island to see
what could be had, and she found at the little village of Massapequa
just what they were looking for--a commodious, neatly-furnished
two-story cottage at a modest rental. Of course, it was nothing like
what they had been accustomed to, but it was clean and comfortable, and
as Mrs. Rossmore said, rather tactlessly, beggars cannot be choosers.
Perhaps it would not be for long. Instant possession was to be had, so
deposit was paid on the spot and a few days later the Rossmores left
their mansion on Madison Avenue and took up their residence in
Massapequa, where their advent created quite a fluster in local social
circles.
Massapequa is one of the thousand and one flourishing communities
scattered over Long Island, all of which are apparently modelled after
the same pattern. Each is an exact duplicate of its neighbour in
everything except the name--the same untidy railroad station, the same
sleepy stores, the same attractive little frame residences, built for
the most part on the "Why pay Rent? Own your own Home" plan. A healthy
boom in real estate imparts plenty of life to them all and Massapequa
is particularly famed as being the place where the cat jumped to when
Manhattan had to seek an outlet for its congested population and
ever-increasing army of home seekers. Formerly large tracts of flat
farm lands, only sparsely shaded by trees, Massapequa, in common with
other villages of its kind, was utterly destitute of any natural
attractions. There was the one principal street leading to the station,
with a few scattered stores on either side, a church and a bank.
Happily, too, for those who were unable to survive the monotony of the
place, it boasted of a pretty cemetery. There were also a number of
attractive cottages with spacious porches hung with honeysuckle and of
these the Rossmores occupied one of the less pretentious kind.
But although Massapequa, theoretically speaking, was situated only a
stone's throw from the metropolis, it might have been situated in the
Great Sahara so far as its inhabitants took any active interest in the
doings of gay Gotham. Local happenings naturally had first claim upon
Massapequa's attention--the prowess of the local baseball team, Mrs.
Robinson's tea party and the highly exciting sessions of the local
Pinochle Club furnishing food for unlimited gossip and scandal. The
newspapers reached the village, of course, but only the local news
items aroused any real interest, while the women folk usually
restricted their readings to those pages devoted to Daily Hints for the
Home, Mrs. Sayre's learned articles on Health and Beauty and Fay
Stanton's Daily Fashions. It was not surprising, therefore, that the
fame of Judge Rossmore and the scandal in which he was at present
involved had not penetrated as far as Massapequa and that the natives
were considerably mystified as to who the new arrivals in their midst
might be.
Stott had been given a room in the cottage so that he might be near at
hand to work with the judge in the preparation of the defence, and he
came out from the city every evening. It was now June. The Senate would
not take action until it convened in December, but there was a lot of
work to be done and no time to be lost.
The evening following the day of their arrival they were sitting on the
porch enjoying the cool evening air after dinner. The judge was
smoking. He was not a slave to the weed, but he enjoyed a quiet pipe
after meals, claiming that it quieted his nerves and enabled him to
think more clearly. Besides, it was necessary to keep at bay the
ubiquitous Long Island mosquito. Mrs. Rossmore had remained for a
moment in the dining-room to admonish Eudoxia, their new and only
maid-of-all-work, not to wreck too much of the crockery when she
removed the dinner dishes. Suddenly Stott, who was perusing an evening
paper, asked:
"By the way, where's your daughter? Does she know of this radical
change in your affairs?"
Judge Rossmore started. By what mysterious agency had this man
penetrated his own most intimate thoughts? He was himself thinking of
Shirley that very moment, and by some inexplicable means--telepathy
modern psychologists called it--the thought current had crossed to
Stott, whose mind, being in full sympathy, was exactly attuned to
receive it. Removing the pipe from his mouth the judge replied:
"Shirley's in Paris. Poor girl, I hadn't the heart to tell her. She has
no idea of what's happened. I didn't want to spoil her holiday."
He was silent for a moment. Then, after a few more puffs he added
confidentially in a low tone, as if he did not care for his wife to
hear:
"The truth is, Stott, I couldn't bear to have her return now. I
couldn't look my own daughter in the face."
A sound as of a great sob which he had been unable to control cut short
his speech. His eyes filled with tears and he began to smoke furiously
as if ashamed of this display of emotion. Stott, blowing his nose with
suspicious vigor, replied soothingly:
"You mustn't talk like that. Everything will come out all right, of
course. But I think you are wrong not to have told your daughter. Her
place is here at your side. She ought to be told even if only in
justice to her. If you don't tell her someone else will, or, what's
worse, she'll hear of it through the newspapers."
"Ah, I never thought of that!" exclaimed the judge, visibly perturbed
at the suggestion about the newspapers.
"Don't you agree with me?" demanded Stott, appealing to Mrs. Rossmore,
who emerged from the house at that instant. "Don't you think your
daughter should be informed of what has happened?"
"Most assuredly I do," answered Mrs. Rossmore determinedly. "The judge
wouldn't hear of it, but I took the law into my own hands. I've cabled
for her."
"You cabled for Shirley?" cried the judge incredulously. He was so
unaccustomed to seeing his ailing, vacillating wife do anything on her
own initiative and responsibility that it seemed impossible. "You
cabled for Shirley?" he repeated.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Rossmore triumphantly and secretly pleased that for
once in her life she had asserted herself. "I cabled yesterday. I
simply couldn't bear it alone any longer."
"What did you say?" inquired the judge apprehensively.
"I just told her to come home at once. To-morrow we ought to get an
answer."
Stott meantime had been figuring on the time of Shirley's probable
arrival. If the cablegram had been received in Paris the previous
evening it would be too late to catch the French boat. The North German
Lloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched at Cherbourg. She
would undoubtedly come on that. In a week at most she would be here.
Then it became a question as to who should go to meet her at the dock.
The judge could not go, that was certain. It would be too much of an
ordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know the lower part of the city well, and
had no experience in meeting ocean steamships. There was only one way
out--would Stott go? Of course he would and he would bring Shirley back
with him to Massapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and the
judge toiled preparing their case, which often necessitated brief trips
to the city, Mrs. Rossmore, seconded with sulky indifference by
Eudoxia, was kept busy getting a room ready for her daughter's arrival.
Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an Irish lady with a
thick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable enough so long as
things went to her satisfaction, but when they did not suit her she was
a termagant. She was neither beautiful nor graceful, she was not young
nor was she very clean. Her usual condition was dishevelled, her face
was all askew, and when she dressed up she looked like a valentine. Her
greatest weakness was a propensity for smashing dishes, and when
reprimanded she would threaten to take her traps and skidoo. This news
of the arrival of a daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm.
Firstly, it meant more work; secondly she had not bargained for it.
When she took the place it was on the understanding that the family
consisted only of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there was
practically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilege of
an evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium she soon
found Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughter was to be
foisted on her. No wonder hard working girls were getting sick and
tired of housework!
As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity among Massapequans
regarding their new neighbors from the city but some of the more
prominent people of the place considered it their duty to seek at least
a bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores by paying them a formal visit.
So the day following the conversation on the porch when the judge and
Stott had gone to the city on one of their periodical excursions, Mrs.
Rossmore was startled to see a gentleman of clerical appearance
accompanied by a tall, angular woman enter their gate and ring the bell.
The Rev. Percival Pontifex Beetle and his sister Miss Jane Beetle
prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in
Massapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev.
Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a
diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave a
comical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written all over his
person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to his
absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being several
sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinster
who had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk. She looked as if she
were constantly under self-restraint and was liable at any moment to
explode into a fit of rage and only repressed herself with considerable
effort. As they came up the stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs.
Rossmore, was ready for them. With her instinctive respect for the
priestly garb she was rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but she
brazened it out:
"Mr. Rossmore's not home." Then shaking her head, she added: "They
don't see no visitors."
Unabashed, the Rev. Deetle drew a card from a case and handing it to
the girl said pompously:
"Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as we came
along. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that the Reverend
Pontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to present their
compliments."
Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the Rev.
Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and took a
seat in the parlour.
"She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budged and who
stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card.
"Blame you? For what?" demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.
"She told me to say she was out--but I can't lie to a minister of the
Gospel--leastways not to his face. I'll give her your card, sir."
The reverend caller waited until Eudoxia had disappeared, then he rose
and looked around curiously at the books and pictures.
"Hum--not a Bible or a prayer book or a hymn book, not a picture or
anything that would indicate the slightest reverence for holy things."
He picked up a few papers that were lying on the table and after
glancing at them threw them down in disgust.
"Law reports--Wall Street reports--the god of this world. Evidently
very ordinary people, Jane."
He looked at his sister, but she sat stiffly and primly in her chair
and made no reply. He repeated:
"Didn't you hear me? I said they are ordinary people."
"I've no doubt," retorted Miss Deetle, "and as such they will not thank
us for prying into their affairs."
"Prying, did you say?" said the parson, resenting this implied
criticism of his actions.
"Just plain prying," persisted his sister angrily. "I don't see what
else it is."
The Rev. Pontifex straightened up and threw out his chest as he replied:
"It is protecting my flock. As Leader of the Unified All Souls
Baptismal Presbytery, it is my duty to visit the widows and orphans of
this community."
"These people are neither widows or orphans," objected Miss Deetle.
"They are strangers," insisted the Rev. Pontifex, "and it is my duty to
minister to them--if they need it. Furthermore it is my duty to my
congregation to find out who is in their midst. No less than three of
the Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who and what these people
are and whence they came."
"The Lady Trustees are a pack of old busybodies," growled his sister.
Her brother raised his finger warningly.
"Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmore people
have been here two weeks They have visited no one, no one visits them.
They have avoided a temple of worship, they have acted most
mysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is it fair to my
church, is it fair to my flock? It is not a bereavement, for they don't
wear mourning. I'm afraid it may be some hidden scandal--"
Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entrance of
Mrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get rid of
her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly as possible.
"Miss Deetle--Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too effusive
greeting.
The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression, was all
smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for the moment
ceased to worry him.
"The honour is ours," he stammered. "I--er--we--er--my sister Jane and
I called to--"
"Won't you sit down?" said Mrs. Rossmore, waving him to a chair. He
danced around her in a manner that made her nervous.
"Thank you so much," he said with a smile that was meant to be amiable.
He took a seat at the further end of the room and an awkward pause
followed. Finally his sister prompted him:
"You wanted to see Mrs. Rossmore about the festival," she said.
"Oh, of course, I had quite forgotten. How stupid of me. The fact is,
Mrs. Rossmore," he went on, "we are thinking of giving a festival next
week--a festival with strawberries--and our trustees thought, in fact
it occurred to me also that if you and Mr. Rossmore would grace the
occasion with your presence it would give us an opportunity--so to
speak--get better acquainted, and er--"
Another awkward pause followed during which he sought inspiration by
gazing fixedly in the fireplace. Then turning on Mrs. Rossmore so
suddenly that the poor woman nearly jumped out of her chair he asked:
"Do you like strawberries?"
"It's very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Rossmore, glad of the
opportunity to get a word in edgeways. "Indeed, I appreciate your
kindness most keenly but my husband and I go nowhere, nowhere at all.
You see we have met with reverses and--"
"Reverses," echoed the clerical visitor, with difficulty keeping his
seat. This was the very thing he had come to find out and here it was
actually thrown at him. He congratulated himself on his cleverness in
having inspired so much confidence and thought with glee of his triumph
when he returned with the full story to the Lady Trustees. Simulating,
therefore, the deepest sympathy he tried to draw his hostess out:
"Dear me, how sad! You met with reverses."
Turning to his sister, who was sitting in her corner like a petrified
mummy, he added:
"Jane, do you hear? How inexpressibly sad! They have met with reverses!"
He paused, hoping that Mrs. Rossmore would go on to explain just what
their reverses had been, but she was silent. As a gentle hint he said
softly:
"Did I interrupt you, Madam?"
"Not at all, I did not speak," she answered.
Thus baffled, he turned the whites of his eyes up to the ceiling and
said:
"When reverses come we naturally look for spiritual consolation. My
dear Mrs. Rossmore, in the name of the Unified All Souls Baptismal
Presbytery I offer you that consolation."
Mrs. Rossmore looked helplessly from one to the other embarrassed as to
what to say. Who were these strangers that intruded on her privacy
offering a consolation she did not want? Miss Deetle, as if glad of the
opportunity to joke at her brother's expense, said explosively:
"My dear Pontifex, you have already offered a strawberry festival which
Mrs. Rossmore has been unable to accept."
"Well, what of it?" demanded Mr. Deetle, glaring at his sister for the
irrelevant interruption.
"You are both most kind," murmured Mrs. Rossmore; "but we could not
accept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Paris next week."
"Ah, your daughter--you have a daughter?" exclaimed Mr. Deetle,
grasping at the slightest straw to add to his stock of information.
"Coming from Paris, too! Such a wicked city!"
He had never been to Paris, he went on to explain, but he had read
enough about it and he was grateful that the Lord had chosen Massapequa
as the field of his labours. Here at least, life was sweet and
wholesome and one's hopes of future salvation fairly reasonable. He was
not a brilliant talker when the conversation extended beyond Massapequa
but he rambled on airing his views on the viciousness of the foreigner
in general, until Mrs. Rossmore, utterly wearied, began to wonder when
they would go. Finally he fell back upon the weather.
"We are very fortunate in having such pleasant weather, don't you think
so, Madam? Oh, Massapequa is a lovely spot, isn't it? We think it's the
one place to live in. We are all one happy family. That's why my sister
and I called to make your acquaintance."
"You are very good, I'm sure. I shall tell my husband you came and
he'll be very pleased."
Having exhausted his conversational powers and seeing that further
efforts to pump Mrs. Rossmore were useless, the clerical visitor rose
to depart:
"It looks like rain. Come, Jane, we had better go. Good-bye, Madam, I
am delighted to have made this little visit and I trust you will assure
Mr. Rossmore that All Souls Unified Baptismal Presbytery always has a
warm welcome for him."
They bowed and Mrs. Rossmore bowed. The agony was over and as the door
closed on them Mrs. Rossmore gave a sigh of relief.
That evening Stott and the judge came home earlier than usual and from
their dejected appearance Mrs. Rossmore divined bad news. The judge was
painfully silent throughout the meal and Stott was unusually grave.
Finally the latter took her aside and broke it to her gently. In spite
of their efforts and the efforts of their friends the Congressional
inquiry had resulted in a finding against the judge and a demand had
already been made upon the Senate for his impeachment. They could do
nothing now but fight it in the Senate with all the influence they
could muster. It was going to be hard but Stott was confident that
right would prevail. After dinner as they were sitting in silence on
the porch, each measuring the force of this blow which they had
expected yet had always hoped to ward off, the crunching sound of a
bicycle was heard on the quiet country road. The rider stopped at their
gate and came up the porch holding out an envelope to the judge, who,
guessing the contents, had started forward. He tore it open. It was a
cablegram from Paris and read as follows:
Am sailing on the Kaiser Wilhelm to-day.
Shirley.