_Sharlee Weyland reads the Morning Post; of Rev. Mr. Dayne's Fight
at Ephesus and the Telephone Message that never came; of the
Editor's Comment upon the Assistant Editor's Resignation, which
perhaps lacked Clarity; and of how Eight Men elect a Mayor._
Next morning, in the first moment she had, Sharlee Weyland read the
Post's editorial on the reformatory. And as she read she felt as though
the skies had fallen, and the friendly earth suddenly risen up and
smitten her.
It was a rainy morning, the steady downpour of the night before turned
into a fine drizzle; and Sharlee, who nearly always walked, took the car
downtown. She was late this morning; there had been but flying minutes
she could give to breakfast; not a second to give to anything else; and
therefore she took the Post with her to read on the ride to "the"
office. And, seating herself, she turned immediately to the editorial
page, in which the State Department of Charities felt an especial
interest this morning.
Both the name and the position of the editorial were immediately
disappointing to her. It was not in the leading place, and its caption
was simply "As to the Reformatory," which seemed to her too colorless
and weak. Subconsciously, she passed the same judgment upon the opening
sentences of the text, which somehow failed to ring out that challenge
to the obstructionists she had confidently expected. As she read
further, her vague disappointment gave way to a sudden breathless
incredulity; that to a heartsick rigidity of attention; and when she
went back, and began to read the whole article over, slowly and
carefully, from the beginning, her face was about the color of the
pretty white collar she wore. For what she was looking on at was, so it
seemed to her, not simply the killing of the chief ambition of her two
years' work, but the treacherous murder of it in the house of its
friends.
As she reread "As to the Reformatory," she became impressed by its
audacious cleverness. It would have been impossible to manage a
tremendous shift in position with more consummate dexterity. Indeed, she
was almost ready to take the _Post's_ word for it that no shift at all
had been made. From beginning to end the paper's unshakable loyalty to
the reformatory was everywhere insisted upon; that was the strong
keynote; the ruinous qualifications were slipped in, as it were,
reluctantly, hard-wrung concessions to indisputable and overwhelming
evidence. But there they were, scarcely noticeable to the casual reader,
perhaps, but to passionate partisans sticking up like palm-trees on a
plain. In a backhanded, sinuous but unmistakable way, the _Post_ was
telling the legislature that it had better postpone the reformatory for
another two years. It was difficult to say just what phrase or phrases
finally pushed the odious idea out into the light; but Sharlee lingered
longest on a passage which, after referring to the "list of inescapable
expenditures published elsewhere," said:
Immediacy, of course, was never the great question; but it was a
question; and the _Post_ has therefore watched with keen regret the
rolling up of absolutely unavoidable expenses to the point where
the spending of another dollar for any cause, however meritorious
in itself, must be regarded as of dubious wisdom.
That sentence was enough. It would be as good as a volume to the
powerful opposition in the House, hardly repressed heretofore by the
_Post's_ thunders. The reformatory, which they had labored for so long,
was dead.
The thought was bitter to the young assistant secretary. But from the
first, her mind had jumped beyond it, to fasten on another and, to her,
far worse one, a burning personal question by the side of which the loss
of the reformatory seemed for the moment an unimportant detail.
_Which of the two men had done it?_
Rev. Mr. Dayne was sitting bowed over his desk, his strong head clamped
in his hands, the morning Post crumpled on the floor beside him. He did
not look up when his assistant entered the office; his response to her
"Good-morning" was of the briefest. Sharlee understood. It was only the
corporeal husk of her friend that was seated at the desk. All the rest
of him was down at Ephesus fighting with the beasts, and grimly resolved
to give no sign from the arena till he had set his foot upon their necks
for the glory of God and the honor of his cloth.
Sharlee herself did not feel conversational. In silence she took off her
things, and, going over to her own desk, began opening the mail. In an
hour, maybe more, maybe less, the Secretary stood at her side, his kind
face calm as ever.
"Well," he said quietly, "how do you explain it?"
Sharlee's eyes offered him bay-leaves for his victory.
"There is a suggestion about it," said she, still rather white, "of
thirty pieces of silver."
"Oh! We can hardly say that. Let us give him the benefit of the doubt,
as long as there can be any doubt. Let us view it for the present as a
death-bed repentance."
Him? Which did he mean?
"No," said Sharlee, "it is not possible to view it that way. The _Post_
has been as familiar with the arguments all along, from beginning to
end, as you or I. It could not be honestly converted any more than you
could. This," said she, struggling to speak calmly, "is treachery."
"Appearances, I am sorry to say, are much that way. Still--I think we
should not condemn the paper unheard."
"Then why not have the hearing at once? An explanation is--"
"I shall seek none," interrupted Mr. Dayne, quietly. "The _Post_ must
volunteer it, if it has any to offer. Of course," he went on, "we know
nothing of the history of that editorial now. Of one thing, however, I
feel absolutely certain; that is, that it was published without the
knowledge of Mr. West. Developments may follow.... As for instance a
shake-up in the staff."
That settled it. This good man whom she admired so much had not
entertained a doubt that the editorial was from the brain and pen of Mr.
Queed.