Miss Jennie Brewster was very much annoyed at being interrupted, and she
took no pains to conceal her feelings. She was writing an article
entitled 'How People kill Time on Shipboard,' and she did not wish to be
disturbed; besides, as she often said of herself, she was not 'a woman's
woman,' and she neither liked, nor was liked by, her own sex.
'I desire a few moments' conversation with you, if I have your
permission,' said Edith Longworth, as she closed the door behind her.
'Certainly,' answered Jennie Brewster. 'Will you sit down?'
'Thank you,' replied the other, as she took a seat on the sofa. 'I do not
know just how to begin what I wish to say. Perhaps it will be better to
commence by telling you that I know why you are on board this steamer.'
'Yes; and why am I on board the steamer, may I ask?'
'You are here, I understand, to get certain information from Mr.
Wentworth. You have obtained it, and it is in reference to this that I
have come to see you.'
'Indeed! and are you so friendly with Mr. Wentworth that you----'
'I scarcely know Mr. Wentworth at all.'
'Then, why do you come on a mission from him?'
'It is not a mission from him. It is not a mission from anyone. I was
speaking to Mr. Kenyon, or, rather, Mr. Kenyon was speaking to me, about
a subject which troubled him greatly. It is a subject in which my father
is interested. My father is a member of the London Syndicate, and he
naturally would not desire to have your intended cable message sent to
New York.'
'Really; are you quite sure that you are not speaking less for your
father than for your friend Kenyon?'
Anger burned in Miss Longworth's face, and flashed from her eyes as
she answered:
'You must not speak to me in that way.'
'Excuse me, I shall speak to you in just the way I please. I did not ask
for this conference; you did, and as you have taken it upon yourself to
come into this room uninvited, you will have to put up with what you
hear. Those who interfere with other people's business, as a general
thing, do not have a nice time.'
'I quite appreciated all the possible disagreeableness of coming here,
when I came.'
'I am glad of that, because if you hear anything you do not like, you
will not be disappointed, and will have only yourself to thank for it.'
'I would like to talk about this matter in a spirit of friendliness if I
can. I think nothing is to be attained by speaking in any other way.'
'Very well, then. What excuse have you to give me for coming into my
state-room to talk about business which does not concern you?'
'Miss Brewster, it _does_ concern me--it concerns my father, and that
concerns me. I am, in a measure, my father's private secretary, and am
intimately acquainted with all the business he has in hand. This
particular business is his affair, and therefore mine. That is the reason
I am here.'
'Are you sure?'
'Am I sure of what?'
'Are you sure that what you say is true?'
'I am not in the habit of speaking anything but the truth.'
'Perhaps you flatter yourself that is the case, but it does not deceive
me. You merely come here because Mr. Kenyon is in a muddle about what I
am going to do. Isn't that the reason?'
Miss Longworth saw that her task was going to be even harder than she
had expected.
'Suppose we let all question of motive rest? I have come here--I have
asked your permission to speak on this subject, and you have given me the
permission. Having done so, it seems to me you should hear me out. You
say that I should not be offended----'
'I didn't say so. I do not care a rap whether you are offended or not.'
'You at least said I might hear something that would not be pleasant.
What I wanted to say is this: I have taken the risk of that, and, as you
remark, whether I am offended or not does not matter. Now we will come to
the point----'
'Just before you come to the point, please let me know if Mr. Kenyon told
you he had spoken to me on this subject already.'
'Yes, he told me so.'
'Did he tell you that his friend Wentworth had also had a conversation
with me about it?'
'Yes, he told me that also.'
'Very well, then, if those two men can do nothing to shake my purpose,
how do you expect to do it?'
'That is what I am about to tell you. This is a commercial world, and I
am a commercial man's daughter. I recognise the fact that you are going
to cable this information for the money it brings. Is that not the case?'
'It is partly the case.'
'For what other consideration do you work, then?'
'For the consideration of being known as one of the best newspaper women
in the city of New York. That is the other consideration.'
'I understood you were already known as the most noted newspaper woman in
New York.'
This remark was much more diplomatic than Miss Longworth herself
suspected.
Jennie Brewster looked rather pleased, then she said:
'Oh, I don't know about that; but I intend it shall be so before a
year is past.'
'Very well, you have plenty of time to accomplish your object without
using the information you have obtained on board this ship. Now, as I was
saying, the _New York Argus_ pays you a certain amount for doing this
work. If you will promise not to send the report over to that paper, I
will give you a cheque for double the sum the _Argus_ will pay you,
besides refunding all your expenses twice over.'
'In other words, you ask me to be bribed and refuse to perform my duty to
the paper.'
'It isn't bribery. I merely pay you, or will pay you, double what you
will receive from that paper. I presume your connection with it is purely
commercial. You work for it because you receive a certain amount of
money; if the editor found someone who would do the same work cheaper, he
would at once employ that person, and your services would be no longer
required. Is that not true?'
'Yes, it is true.'
'Very well, then, the question of duty hardly enters into such a compact.
They have sent you on what would be to most people a very difficult
mission. You have succeeded. You have, therefore, in your possession
something to sell. The New York paper will pay you a certain sum in cash
for it. I offer you, for the same article, double the price the _New York
Argus_ will pay you. Is not that a fair offer?'
Jennie Brewster had arisen. She clasped and unclasped her hands
nervously. For a small space of time nothing was said, and Edith
Longworth imagined she had gained her point. The woman standing looked
down at the woman sitting.
'Do you know all the particulars about the attempt to get this
information?' asked Miss Brewster.
'I know some of them. What particulars do you mean?'
'Do you know that a man from the _Argus_ tried to get this information
from Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth in Canada?'
'Yes; I know about that.'
'Do you know that he stole the reports, and that they were taken from him
before he could use them?'
'Yes.'
'Do you know he offered Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth double the price the
London Syndicate would have paid them, on condition they gave him a
synopsis of the reports?'
'Yes, I know that also.'
'Do you know that, in doing what he asked, they would not have been
keeping back for a single day the real report from the people who engaged
them? You know all that, do you?'
'Yes; I know all that.'
'Very well, then. Now you ask me to do very much more than Rivers asked
them, because you ask me to keep my paper completely in the dark about
the information I have got. Isn't that so?'
'Yes, you can keep them in the dark until after the report has been given
to the directors; then, of course, you can do what you please with the
information.'
'Ah, but by that time it will be of no value. By that time it will have
been published in the London financial papers. At that time anybody can
get it. Isn't that the case?'
'I suppose so.'
'Now, I want to ask you one other question, Miss--Miss--I don't think you
told me your name.'
'My name is Edith Longworth.'
'Very well, Miss Longworth. I want to ask you one more question. What do
you think of the conduct of Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth in refusing to
take double what they had been promised for making the report?'
'What do I think of them?' repeated the girl.
'Yes; what do you think of them? You hesitate. You realize that you are
in a corner. You think Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Kenyon did very nobly in
refusing Rivers' offer?'
'Of course I do.'
'So do I. I think they acted rightly, and did as honourable men should
do. Now, when you think that, Miss Longworth, how dare you come and offer
me double, or three times, or four times, the amount my paper gives to me
for getting this information? Do you think that I am any less honourable
than Kenyon or Wentworth? Your offer is an insult to me; nobody but a
woman, and a woman of your class, would have made it. Kenyon wouldn't
have made it. Wentworth wouldn't have made it. You come here to bribe
me. You come here to do exactly what J. K. Rivers tried to do for the
_Argus_ in Canada. You think money will purchase anything--that is the
thought of all your class. Now, I want you to understand that I am a
woman of the people. I was born and brought up in poverty in New York.
You were born and brought up amid luxury in London. I have suffered
privation and hardships that you know nothing of, and, even if you read
about them, you wouldn't understand. You, with the impudence of your
class, think you can come to me and bribe me to betray my employer. I am
here to do a certain thing, and I am going to do that certain thing in
spite of all the money that all the Longworths ever possessed, or ever
will possess. Do I make myself sufficiently plain?'
'Yes, Miss Brewster. I don't think anyone could misunderstand you.'
'Well, I am glad of that, because one can never tell how thickheaded some
people may be.'
'Do you think there is any parallel between your case and Mr.
Wentworth's?'
'Of course I do. We were each sent to do a certain piece of work. We
each did our work. We have both been offered a bribe to cheat our
employers of the fruits of our labour; only in my case it is very much
worse than in Wentworth's, because his employers would not have suffered,
while mine will.'
'This is all very plausible, Miss Brewster, but now allow me to tell you
that what you have done is a most dishonourable thing, and that you are a
disgrace to our common womanhood. You have managed, during a very short
acquaintance, to win the confidence of a man--there is a kind of woman
who knows how to do that: I thank Heaven I am not of that class; I prefer
to belong to the class you have just now been reviling. Some men have an
inherent respect for all women; Mr. Wentworth is apparently one of those,
and, while he was on his guard with a man, he was not on his guard with a
woman. You took advantage of that and you managed to secure certain
information which you knew he would never have given you if he had
thought it was to be published. You stole that information just as
disreputably as that man stole the documents from Mr. Kenyon's pocket.
_You_ talk of your honour and your truth when you did such a contemptible
thing! _You_ prate of unbribeableness, when the only method possible is
adopted of making you do what is right and just and honest! Your conduct
makes me ashamed of being a woman. A thoroughly bad woman I can
understand, but not a woman like you, who trade on the fact that you
_are_ a woman, and that you are pretty, and that you have a pleasing
manner. You use those qualities as a thief or a counterfeiter would use
the peculiar talents God had given him. How dare you pretend for a moment
that your case is similar to Mr. Wentworth's? Mr. Wentworth is an
honourable man, engaged in an honourable business; as for you and your
business, I have no words to express my contempt for both. Picking
pockets is reputable compared with such work.'
Edith Longworth was now standing up, her face flushed and her hands
clenched. She spoke with a vehemence which she very much regretted when
she thought of the circumstance afterwards; but her chagrin and
disappointment at failure, where she had a moment before been sure of
success, overcame her. Her opponent stood before her, angry and pale. At
first Edith Longworth thought she was going to strike her, but if any
such idea passed through the brain of the journalist, she thought better
of it. For a few moments neither spoke, then Jennie Brewster said, in a
voice of unnatural calmness:
'You are quite welcome to your opinion of me, Miss Longworth, and I
presume I am entitled to my opinion of Kenyon and Wentworth. They are
two fools, and you are a third in thinking you can control the actions of
a woman where two young men have failed. Do you think for a moment I
would grant to you, a woman of a class I hate, what I would not grant to
a man like Wentworth? They say there is no fool like an old fool, but it
should be said that there is no fool like a young woman who has had
everything her own way in this world. You are----'
'I shall not stay and listen to your abuse. I wish to have nothing more
to do with you.'
'Oh, yes! you will stay,' cried the other, placing her back against the
door. '_You_ came here at your own pleasure; you will leave at mine. I
will tell you more truth in five minutes than you ever heard in your life
before. I will tell you, in the first place, that my business is quite as
honourable as Kenyon's or Wentworth's. What does Kenyon do but try to get
information about mines which other people are vitally interested in
keeping from him? What does Wentworth do but ferret about among accounts
like a detective trying to find out what other people are endeavouring to
conceal? What is the whole mining business but one vast swindle, whose
worst enemy is the press? No wonder anyone connected with mining fears
publicity. If your father has made a million out of mines, he has made it
simply by swindling unfortunate victims. I do my business my way, and
your two friends do theirs in their way. Of the two, I consider my
vocation much the more upright. Now that you have heard what I have to
say, you may go, and let me tell you that I never wish to see you or
speak with you again.'
'Thank you for your permission to go. I am sure I cordially echo your
wish that we may never meet again. I may say, however, that I am sorry I
spoke to you in the way I did. It is, of course, impossible for you to
look on the matter from my point of view, just as it is impossible for me
to look upon it from yours. Nevertheless, I wish you would forget what I
said, and think over the matter a little more, and if you see your way to
accepting my offer it will be always open to you. Should you forego the
sending of that cablegram, I will willingly pay you three times what the
_New York Argus_ will give you for it. I do not offer that as a bribe; I
merely offer it so that you will not suffer from doing what I believe to
be a just action. It seems to me a great pity that two young men should
have to endure a serious check to their own business advancement because
one of them was foolish enough to confide in a woman in whom he
believed.'
Edith Longworth was young, and therefore scarcely likely to be a mistress
of diplomacy, but she might have known the last sentence she uttered
spoiled the effect of all that had gone before.
'Really, Miss Longworth, I had some little admiration for you when you
blazed out at me in the way you did; but now, when you coolly repeat
your offer of a bribe, adding one-third to it, all my respect for you
vanishes. You may go and tell those who sent you that nothing under
heaven can prevent that cablegram being sent.'
In saying this, however, Miss Brewster somewhat exceeded her knowledge.
Few of us can foretell what may or may not happen under heaven.