"That name describes its appearance admirably. It is the first one of
the kind in Benham, and naturally has excited much attention."
"Bradbury has promised me one for a birthday present."
"I have not ridden with Paul yet," said Mrs. Wilson a little wearily,
for the enthusiasm elicited appeared to her disproportionate to the
theme. "He has invited me once or twice, but somehow the spirit has
failed me."
Lucille gasped. "It's the greatest fun on earth, Mamma. They
annihilate time and distance, and you feel with the rush and the wind
in your face as though you were queen of the earth. If mine runs well
we intend to tour through the continent this summer. Fancy speeding
from one capital of Europe to another in a few hours!" She paused,
then after a moment's reverie continued, as though stating a really
interesting sociological conclusion, "I think it possible, Mamma, that
if automobiles had been invented earlier, Clarence and I might not have
bored each other. Which wouldn't have suited me at all," she added,
"for Bradbury is a thousand times nicer."
Mrs. Wilson was painfully conscious that Bradbury was infinitely nicer,
which increased the difficulties in the way of replying to this
incongruous observation. She decided to ignore it as essentially
flippant, and she rose to go. It was the nearest approach to a review
of the past which either had made during her stay in New York.
She hoped that Constance would not appreciate how completely Lucille
had rehabilitated herself in a worldly sense, and she tried to
counteract the effect of the evidence by letting fall a remark now and
again to show that the memory of her daughter's conduct was still a
thorn in her side. As a mother she could not but be thankful that her
daughter was far happier as Mrs. Bradbury Nicholson than she had been
as Mrs. Clarence Waldo. At the same time her being so was a blow to
the theory that the exchange of one husband for another ought to end
and ordinarily does end in misery; or, in other words, that divorced
people who marry again should be and are apt to be unhappy. To be
sure, it was early to judge, and the happiness might not last; and at
best it should be regarded as a sporadic case of contradiction, a
merciful exception to the general rule; but she was glad when the day
arrived for removing Constance from the sphere of this influence,
fearing perhaps some pointed question from her secretary which would
invite her to explain how it was that a person who had deserved so
little to be happy as Lucille should have found divorce and remarriage
a blessing, if the whole proceeding in deserving cases was
fundamentally opposed to the social well-being of civilization. As an
antidote, Mrs. Wilson took pains to enlighten her as to the rumored
depravity of Clarence Waldo and the late Mrs. Howard.
But Constance asked aloud no such question. Yet necessarily she
perceived that Lucille was in the best of spirits, and apparently had
suffered no loss of position by her conduct. Constance did not need,
however, any reminder from Mrs. Wilson that the late Mrs. Waldo was not
a person of the finest sensibilities; moreover she considered the point
as definitely settled for herself. Nevertheless as a spectator, if no
more, she noted the circumstance that Lucille was already a different
woman in consequence of her second marriage, and she detected her
reason challenging her conscience with the inquiry which Mrs. Wilson
had dreaded, how it appeared that the world would have been better off
if Lucille had simply left the husband who had been faithless to her,
and remained single instead of marrying. Constance was merely
collecting evidence, as it were. All was over between her and Gordon,
but as an intelligent, sentient human being she had no intention of
playing the ostrich, but insisted on maintaining an open mind.
It was now nearly a year since she had conversed with Gordon. Her
sentence had been perpetual banishment from his presence since the
fateful Sunday when they had parted. He had written to her that he
could not bear to resume the old relation, for now that they knew they
had been lovers in disguise, it could not be the old relation. He had
declared that the best thing for them both was never to meet, and she
had been forced to accept his decision, for he had not been to see her
since. Yet he had mitigated the rigor of her punishment, for she chose
to regard it as such, by occasional letters, written at irregular
intervals, letters which let her know beyond the shadow of a doubt that
the love he cherished for her was strong and deep as ever. He sent her
beautiful flowers on Christmas and her birthday, and in writing to her
he told her briefly whatever of special interest he had been doing.
Precious as these communications were to Constance, she was of several
minds as to whether to answer them. Her impulse always was to reply at
once, if only that she might draw forth another letter; but sometimes
her scruples forced her not to let him see how much she cared and to
feign indifference by silence. She knew, as Loretta said, that she had
only to whistle and he would come to her, and she felt that it would be
cruel to give him the smallest encouragement to believe that she could
ever alter her decision. This being so, she argued that he ought to
marry; he must forget her and chose someone else. She tried to believe
that she would rejoice to hear that he was engaged to another woman,
but when her thoughts got running in this channel she was apt to break
down and realize that she had been trying to deceive herself. In such
moments of revulsion she now and then would throw her scruples to the
winds and write him about herself and her doings. On two occasions she
had suddenly decided that it was necessary for her to see him again;
see him without his seeing her. Consequently she had frequented a spot
down-town where she knew he would pass, and each time had been rewarded
by a close and unobserved glimpse of his dear features. These
glimpses, the letters, and the flowers were the bright shining
milestones along the itinerary of her much occupied life. Busy and
interested as she was in her employment, it sometimes seemed to her
that she walked in a trance in the intervals between some word or sign
from him.
[Illustration: The flowers were the bright, shining milestone.]
Delighted as she had been to travel, to see such a diverse panorama of
national life as her trip to Florida and New York afforded, she was
glad to find herself again at home. She had not heard from Gordon
during her absence, and she was eager to see the Benham newspapers
again in order to ascertain what he had been doing in his new capacity
as a legislator. He had written to her the preceding autumn that he
had decided to allow the use of his name as a candidate for the State
Assembly, and subsequently he had been elected. Before her departure
in the early days of the session, she had kept her eyes and ears on the
alert for public mention of him, but had been informed that this was
the period for committee conferences and that the opportunity for
debate would come after the bills had been framed and were before the
house. Constance knew that Gordon had the strong support of the
Citizens' Club in his canvass, that Hall Collins, Ernest Bent and
others affiliated with that organization had conducted rallies in his
behalf, and that he was expected to favor progressive legislation.
There were certain philanthropic measures in which Mrs. Wilson was
interested also before the Assembly, and Constance had twice already
prepared letters from her employer to Gordon in reference to these,
which was another slight opportunity for keeping in touch with him.
Shortly after Mrs. Wilson's return from her vacation it happened that
Paul invited her again to ride in his automobile. Recalling Lucille's
enthusiasm, and having been partial all her life to new æsthetic
sensations, she concluded to test the exhilaration described by those
who doted on these machines. The afternoon chosen was one of those
days in the early spring when sky and wind combine to simulate the
balminess of summer. It was a satisfaction for Paul to have his aunt
beside him both because he admired her and because, seeing that he
regarded her as what he called a true sport at bottom, he felt
confident that she had only to experience the sensation of speed to
become an enthusiast like himself. Therefore, he let his red devil
show what it could do, in the hope of carrying her by storm. Equipped
with suitable wraps and a pair of goggles, Mrs. Wilson found the
process of whirling through the country at a breakneck pace, by the
mere compression of a lever, a weird and rather magnetic ordeal. These
were the adjectives which she employed to express her gratification to
her nephew. She was glad to have tried it, but in her secret soul she
had grave doubts if it were the sort of thing she liked. Nevertheless
she did her best to appear delighted, for she had in mind to drop a few
words of warning in Paul's ear to the effect that it was incumbent on
men of his class in the community to preserve their self-respect in the
matter of electioneering as an example to the country at large. In the
intervals when Paul moderated the speed she endeavored to convey to him
clearly but not too concretely the substance of her solicitude. She
let him realize that she had him and his campaign in mind, but that she
did not intend to meddle beyond the limit of emphasizing a principle
unless he were to ask her advice. Paul listened to what she had to say
with evident interest, and without interruption. He even let his
machine crawl along so as to get the complete benefit of her
exposition. When she had set forth her views she turned toward him and
said in conclusion, by way of showing that she made no charges but
simply desired to put him on his guard:
"Very likely you have thought this all out for yourself and intend to
see that every dollar you may use is expended legitimately."
Paul let the automobile come to a halt, and removing his goggles
proceeded to wipe off the dust and moisture.
"Aunt Miriam, every word which you've said is gospel truth; but--and it
is a large but--if I were to follow your advice to the letter there
would not be the slightest possibility of my securing the nomination.
I've thought it all out, as you say, and I'd give gladly to charity
twice the sum I shall be compelled to spend, if I could only confine my
outlay to legitimate expenses, stationery, printing and the hiring of a
few halls. I've no objection to explaining to you why I can't,
provided I wish to keep in the running. There are three men including
myself in this district," he continued, starting the lever, "who are
bidding for the nomination. Each of us has a machine, a machine the
function of which is to create enthusiasm. Ninety per cent. of the
candidates for public office do not inspire enthusiasm; they have to
manufacture it. And there are all sorts of ways of doing so; by paying
club assessments and equipping torch-light paraders with uniforms; by
invading the homes of horny-handed proletarians and sending tennis or
ping-pong sets to their progeny; or by the solider, subtler method of
large direct cash payments, which can never be detected, to a certain
number of local vampires as expenses for influence, and whose _quid pro
quo_ is the delivery of the goods at the polls. I have engaged a
smooth and highly recommended patriot at a high salary to conduct my
canvass. He has told me there will be large expenses. When he asks
for money I draw a check and ask no questions--a rank coward's way I
admit. I know nothing as to what he does with the money, and so I
salve my conscience after a fashion." Paul shrugged his shoulders and
applied a little more power to the automobile, while he chanted:
"Some naturalists observe the flea
Has smaller fleas on him to prey,
And these have smaller still to bite 'em,
And so proceed _ad infinitum_.
"Which means, my dear aunt," he continued, "that when a rich man runs
for office a certain proportion of the free-born consider that they are
entitled to direct or indirect pickings in return for a vote."
Mrs. Wilson sighed. "But is not the price too high for a free-born
citizen to pay? Why exchange private life and the herbs of personal
respect for publicity and a stalled ox which is tainted?"
"I've thought occasionally of getting out, but father would be
disappointed. I wish to go to Congress myself and the party wishes me
to go. And what would be the result if I retired? One of the other
two would win, and I don't throw any large bouquet at myself in stating
that I shall make a much more useful and disinterested Congressman than
either of them."
Mrs. Wilson shook her head, but at the same time she appreciated the
difficulties of the situation. For she herself desired to see her
nephew go to Washington. It was one thing to tell him to take a brave
stand and refuse to swerve from the path of highest political probity,
another to advise him in the midst of the canvass to dismiss his
manager and thus invite certain defeat. It sometimes seemed to her
that the ways of the world of men were past understanding. She
wondered whether, if human affairs were in the hands of women, the
rivalry of politics and the competition of commercialism would tolerate
the same army of highwaymen who held up would-be decent citizens as
successfully and appallingly as Dick Turpin and Claude Duval. She
liked to believe that complete purity would reign, and yet the memory
of what some women to her knowledge were capable of in the bitterness
of club politics served as a caveat to that deduction. Discouraging as
Paul's observations were, as bearing on the ethical progress of human
nature, and deeply as she deplored the fact that he appeared to be
winking at bribery, she recognized that she had shot her bolt, for she
was not sufficiently conversant with the different grades of
electioneering impropriety to be willing to take on herself the
responsibility of imploring him to retire, even if he would consent to
do so. But the confession had robbed the day of much of its beauty for
her. She glanced at the little clock in the dashboard, and remembering
that she desired to leave a message for her secretary, to whom she had
given an afternoon off, she asked Paul if he would return home by way
of Lincoln Chambers.
It happened that in turning something went wrong, so that the
automobile came to a stop. Paul was obliged to potter over the
mechanism a quarter of an hour before he was able to get the better of
the infirmity. Somewhat nettled, and eager to make up for lost time
and to demonstrate to his companion that in spite of this mishap a red
devil was the peer of all vehicles, he forced the pace toward Benham.
By the time he was within the city limits his blood was coursing in his
veins as the result of the impetus, and he felt on his mettle to amaze
the onlookers as he sped swiftly and dexterously through the streets.
Gliding from avenue to avenue without misadventure he applied a little
extra power as they flew down that street around one corner of which
stood Lincoln Chambers, in order to make an impressive finish. In
turning he described an accurate but short circle, so that the
automobile careened slightly, causing Mrs. Wilson to utter an
involuntary murmur. Paul, amused at her nervousness, suffered his
attention to be diverted for an instant; the next he realized that a
young child, darting from the sidewalk, was in the direct path of the
rapidly moving machine. He strained every nerve to prevent a
collision, shutting off the power and endeavoring to deflect the
vehicle's course so that it might strike the curbstone to their own
peril rather than the child's; but the catastrophe was complete almost
before he realized that it was inevitable. There was a sickening bump,
accompanied by the screams of women; the red devil had overwhelmed and
crushed the little victim, and stood panting and shaking like a rudely
curbed dragon.
Paul jumped from his seat and lifted the child from the gutter into
which it had been hurled and where it lay ominously still with its head
against the curbstone. He found himself face to face with two women,
in one of whom he recognized his aunt's secretary. The other with an
assertive agony which made plain her right to interfere, sought to take
the child from him--a flaxen-haired girl of about four--exclaiming:
"Oh, what have you done? You've killed her. You've killed her."
Meanwhile Mrs. Wilson, utterly shocked, sought to keep her head as the
only possible amelioration of the horror. She whispered in Paul's ear:
"There's a drug store opposite. We'll take her there first and send
for a doctor." At the same time she put her arm around the mother's
shoulder, and said, "Let him carry her, Loretta, dear. It is best so."
Loretta Davis desisted, though she stared wildly in her patron's face.
"The blood--the blood," she cried, pointing to the tell-tale streaks on
the child's head. "I'm sure she's dead."
Acting on his aunt's suggestion, Paul bounded across the way with the
limp form clasped in his arms. While those immediately concerned
endeavored with the aid of the apothecary to ascertain that the
injuries were not grave, a curious crowd began to gather in the store.
By the time that the trial of the ordinary restoratives had made clear
that the child was already beyond the aid of medicine, though Mrs.
Wilson and Constance wrung their hands and counted the seconds in hope
that the physician telephoned for would arrive, a reporter, a
policeman, and a doctor appeared on the scene. The physician, who
happened to be passing, was Dr. Dale, the oculist with the closely cut
beard and incisive manner who had attended Constance. A moment's
inspection sufficed him for a verdict.
"There is nothing to be done," he said.
At the fell words a wave of anguish passed through the group. Paul
allowed Mrs. Wilson to take the baby from him; and, overwhelmed beyond
the point of control, he bowed his head in his hands, and burst into
tears. His aunt reverently clasped the stiffening form to her bosom
regardless of the oozing blood which mottled her cloak.
"We must get Loretta home as quickly as possible," she whispered to
Constance, and she started to lead the way so as to save the situation
from further publicity.
But now that the doctor's usefulness was at an end, the two other
representatives of social authority advanced their claims for
recognition. The police officer, having relegated the gaping
spectators to a respectful distance, began to inquire into the
circumstances of the accident, in which he was ably surpassed by the
agent of the press, who, note-book in hand, had already been collecting
material from the bystanders and composing a sketch of the surroundings
before interviewing the principals. Paul gave his name and address,
and made no attempt to disguise his responsibility for the tragedy.
Mrs. Wilson, finding her way barred by the two functionaries,
grudgingly gave similar information in the hope that they would be
allowed to escape. As she bore the victim in her arms, this would have
been the result had not Loretta, who was following close behind under
the supervision of Constance, and who up to this point had seemed dazed
by the proceedings, suddenly realized what was taking place. She
clutched Constance's arm.
"Will it be in the newspapers?" she inquired with feverish interest.
The reporter overheard her inquiry. "You are the mother of the little
girl, madam?" he asked, addressing her, pencil in hand.
"Yes. She is my only child."
"Your name is?"
"Loretta Davis."
"And the child's?"
"Tottie. She would have been five in a few weeks."
The reporter perceived that he had found a responsive subject. "I lost
a little girl of just that age two years ago," he volunteered
sympathetically. "Is there a photograph of Tottie which you could let
me have for the press? The public would like to see what she looked
like."
Loretta's eyes sparkled. She thrust her hand in her pocket and drew
forth a photographer's envelope. "Isn't it lucky," she cried, "I got
these proofs only yesterday, and they're the living image of my baby."
As she hastily removed the package from her pocket, together with her
handkerchief, Loretta let a small bottle slip to the floor. Constance,
who was spellbound with dismay at the turn of affairs, stooped
mechanically to pick it up. She recognized the pellets lauded by
Loretta. In doing so her head nearly bumped against that of Dr. Dale,
who was intent on a similar purpose. He got possession of the bottle,
and instinctively he glanced at the label before transferring it to
Constance. She observed that he shrugged his shoulders. As she put
out her hand to take it from him, she said in a low, resolute tone:
"Will you tell me what those are?" Then as the physician regarded her
searchingly, she added, "I have a special reason for asking. I wish to
befriend her."
"Cocaine tablets," answered Dr. Dale. "The woman has the appearance of
a drug habitué."