"Good----" Rockwell began as they stopped at the main floor, but he
paused on the first word with his mouth open.
A very large man, large every way, in evening clothes, with a fine head
of white hair and an air of conscious distinction, was stepping into the
car. He saw Merriam and Rockwell. Then instantly he appeared not to
have observed them, hesitated, backed gracefully out of the little group
that was entering the elevator, and was gone.
The car smoothly ascended.
"Three!" said Rockwell to the elevator man. Then to Merriam he
whispered, "That was the Mayor! He's got away from Murray."
"Ask for your key," whispered Rockwell, as they stepped out.
For five protracted steps Merriam's mind struggled frantically after the
room number. He had just grasped it (3-2-3!) when he perceived that his
perturbation had been unnecessary.
For the floor clerk--a pretty blonde of about thirty--was looking at him
with her sunniest smile.
"Your key, Senator?"
"Yes, please," he managed to say.
As she handed him the key her fingers lightly touched his for a second,
and she said in a low tone, "The violets are lovely."
He saw that she was wearing a large bunch of those expensively modest
flowers at her waist and understood that his cousin's extra-marital
interests might not be limited to Madame Couteau.
He lingered just a moment and replied in a tone as low as her own, "They
look lovely where they are now."
But an appalling difficulty loomed over him even as he murmured. For he
did not know whether Room 323 lay to the right or the left, and if he
should start in the wrong direction----
But Rockwell knew and was already moving to the left. Merriam followed.
In his relief he smiled brightly back at the floor clerk.
At the corner where the hall turned Rockwell stopped, and Merriam,
coming up with him, read "323" on the door before them. Both men looked
up at the transom. It was dark.
"In!" said Rockwell.
Merriam inserted the key, turned it, and cautiously opened the door a
couple of inches, becoming, as he did so, thrillingly conscious of the
burglarious quality of their enterprise.
No light or sound came from within.
For only three or four seconds Rockwell listened. Then he pushed the
door wide, stepped past Merriam, and felt for the switch.
"You haven't invited me in, Senator," he said as the room went alight,
"but I'm a forward sort of fellow.--Come inside, and close the door," he
added.
Merriam pushed the door shut behind him and stared about. The apartment
was probably the most gorgeous he had ever seen. The walls were a soft
cream colour, the woodwork white, the carpet and hangings and lampshades
rose. Most of the furniture was mahogany, some of it upholstered in
rose-coloured tapestry. On a table half way down one side of the room
stood a bowl of red roses. In the wall opposite Merriam, between the
windows, was a fireplace of white marble, containing a gas log, with a
large mirror above the mantel in a frame of white and gold. Before this
fireplace stood a huge upholstered easy chair, with a pink-shaded floor
lamp on one side of it and a small mahogany tabaret on the other.
While Merriam was endeavouring to appreciate this magnificence, Rockwell
quickly crossed the sitting room and passed through a door at one side.
After a moment he returned, crossed the room again, and disappeared
through a second door. Reemerging, he announced triumphantly, "No one in
the bedrooms!"
But Merriam's eyes rested, fascinated, on a garment which Rockwell had
brought back with him from the second bedroom--a luxurious smoking
jacket of a most lurid crimson colour, which clashed outrageously with
the rose and pinks of the senatorial sitting room.
Rockwell grinned at the look on Merriam's face.
"A historic garment, sir," he declared. "The Boy Senator's crimson
smoking jacket is a household word with most of the six million souls of
this commonwealth of Illinois. Off with your tails, sir, and into it!"
"Hurry!" he cried, as Merriam hesitated. "The Mayor will be here any
minute."
"Why didn't he come up in the elevator with us?" Merriam asked while
changing.
"All because of me, sir," replied Rockwell, in excellent spirits. "The
Mayor abhors me and all my works so sincerely that I feel I have not
lived in vain.--Now, then, sit in that big chair before the fireplace.
Here, light this cigar. I'll start the gas log going and bring in the
tray with the siphon and glasses and rye that I saw in the other
room.--Ah!"
The telephone had rung, and Merriam had leapt out of his chair.
"Answer it," said Rockwell.
Merriam stepped to the telephone, which was on the wall, laid down his
cigar, gripped his nerve hard, and put the receiver to his ear:
"Hello!"
A deep voice, boomingly suave, replied:
"Senator Norman?"
"Yes."
"This is Mr. Black. Have you got rid of Rockwell yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Well, can't you throw him out? I am due at the Council meeting at
nine, of course. And I don't care to discuss--matters--with you in his
presence, naturally. When shall I come up?"
Now the Mayor's rather long speech had given Merriam time to think. He
recalled his great idea, and a new inspiration, as to ways and means,
came to him.
"Eight-thirty," he replied curtly.
"But, good God!" cried the Mayor, "that gives us so little time. Can't
you----"
"I said eight-thirty, damn you!"
And Merriam hung up and turned to face Rockwell at his elbow.
"But why eight-thirty?" demanded the latter as soon as he understood
that it had been the Mayor. "Man alive, we ought to be gone by then!
What are we to do with the next twenty minutes? You must have lost your
head. Call him again. Call the desk and have him paged and told to
come right up."
Without a word Merriam turned to the telephone again and asked for the
desk.
But a moment later he gave Philip Rockwell one of the major surprises of
the latter's life. For what he said was:
"Please page Mrs. George Norman, with the message that Senator Norman
would like to see her right away in their rooms. Repeat that,
please.--That's right. Thank you!"
"What in hell!" cried Rockwell, belatedly released by the click of the
receiver from a paralysis of astonishment.
Merriam picked up his cigar, walked back to the easy chair, and seated
himself comfortably. He was excited now to the point of a quite
theatrical composure.
"Nothing in hell," he said. "Quite the contrary, in fact. I want to
have a few minutes' conversation with Mrs. Norman. That's all."
"See here!" said Rockwell. "What funny business is this? I won't
have----"
"Won't you? All right. Just as you say. If you don't like the way I'm
playing my part, I'll drop it and walk right out of that door. I have a
ticket for the theater to-night. I can still be in time."
The other man stared and gulped. It was hard for him to realise that
this young cub was master of the situation, and not he, Rockwell.
"But this is serious!" he cried. "The Ordinance! The Reform League!
The whole city of Chicago! You can't risk these for----"
He stopped. Then:
"Do you realise, you young fool, that if we're caught in this room, it
will mean jail for both of us?"
But Merriam in his present mood was incapable of realising anything of
the sort. In his mind's eye he saw Mollie June stepping into the
elevator and saving in a voice of heavenly sweetness to the happy
elevator man, "Three, please!"
An outer crust of his consciousness made pert reply to Rockwell:
"That would be bad for the Reform League, wouldn't it?" and added, "But
you're willing to risk it for the Ordinance?"
"Yes, I am," began Rockwell, "but----"
"Would you risk it for Alicia?" Merriam interrupted.
"What has Alicia got to do with it?"
But he understood, and knew that argument was useless, and stared in
helpless anger and alarm while the younger man carefully, grandly blew a
beautifully perfect smoke ring into the air.
It was the youngster who spoke, still theatrically calm:
"You'd better go into the bedroom. She'll be here in a moment. Shut
the door, please. And keep away from it!"
It was one of the secrets of Philip Rockwell's success in politics that,
masterful as he was, he knew when to yield. He took a step towards one
of the bedrooms.
"Make it short," he pleaded.
"Eight-thirty!" said Merriam.
A gentle knocking sounded at the door.
Merriam was on his feet without volition of his own, while Rockwell,
almost as instinctively, slipped into the bedroom.
Then the younger man recovered himself, sat down, his feet to the gas
log and his back to the door, and called, "Come in!"
*CHAPTER VII*
*BOY AND GIRL*
The door was opened and closed. John Merriam's straining ears could
catch no definite sound of footsteps or skirts, and he did not dare to
look around. Yet by some sixth sense, it seemed, he was aware of Mollie
June's progress half way across the room and aware that she had stopped,
some feet away from him.
"What is it--George?" she asked.
It was only too clear that Mollie June's lord and master was not in the
habit of sending for her.
"Where is--Miss Norman?"
Merriam was conscious that Senator Norman probably did not refer to his
sister in that fashion, but he did not know her given name.
"Aunt Mary? I left her in the lobby. Did you want her too?"
There was a note of eagerness in the question.
"No!"
Silence. Mollie June stood waiting in the center of the room. The
significance of her failure to approach her husband was unmistakable.
Then he said: "Would you very much mind if you should miss the theater
to-night?"
"Why--no. Is there anything the matter, George?"
"Not for me," said Merriam, and he rose and faced her.
"I was afraid--" She stopped, looked hard.
"George, you look--oh!"
She passed her hand across her eyes. It was a stage gesture, but when
stage situations occur in real life the conventional "business" of the
boards is often justified.
She looked again.
"Mr. Merriam!"
John Merriam stepped quickly forward. It occurred to him that she might
faint. He had read many novels.
But Mollie June did nothing of the sort.
"Mr. Merriam!" she cried again. "How do you come here? Where is--Mr.
Norman? How did you get in _that_?"
She pointed to the famous smoking jacket. Her bewilderment was
increasing. She looked nervously about, as if suspecting that Merriam,
for the sake of the crimson garment, had murdered her husband and
concealed his body.
Merriam had stopped. Almost he might have wished that she had fainted.
It would have been delicious to carry her in his arms and place her in
the Senator's easy chair and bring water and when her eyes opened
wonderingly upon him softly whisper her name. As it was he could only
say formally:
"Let me take your cloak--Mrs. Norman--won't you? And sit down."
Mechanically she let him take the opera cloak from her shoulders, and
when he caught hold of the senatorial chair and swung it around and
pushed it towards her she sat tremblingly erect on the edge of it. Her
eyes dwelt upon his face as if fascinated.
"Isn't it funny you look so _much_ alike? I never realised it--so much.
But--where is _he_? Why----?"
Merriam caught up a small chair, placed it in front of hers, and sat
down.
"Listen, Mollie June," he said pleadingly, using unconsciously the name
that ran in his thoughts.
His plan, as it had taken shape while he talked with Mayor Black on the
telephone, was to tell her in advance of Rockwell's plot and to carry it
through only with her approval or consent--for was not his first loyalty
to her? His original idea, and his real motive, of course, had been
only to see her. And now that he had her there he found he hated to
waste time on explanations. But there was nothing for it. She could
not be at ease or clear in her mind until she understood. So, rapidly
and candidly, he related how at the instance of Mr. Rockwell the Senator
had been decoyed away, while he was there to impersonate him with Mayor
Black, so that the latter should sign instead of vetoing the Traction
Ordinance. Then he waited for he knew not what--amazement, fright,
anger, dissuasion.
But Mollie June did not seem much interested in traction ordinances.
Presumably Senator Norman had not cared to educate his young wife about
political matters.
"Why did you send for _me_?" she asked.
Her question was almost too direct for him. He could not say, to ask
her approval of the plan against her husband.
"I had to see you," was all he could reply.
"Why?"
But she knew the real reason. The turning of her eyes away from him
confessed it.
It was his chance to say, "Because I love you." An older man might have
said it. But the young are timid and conventional--not bold and
reckless, as is alleged. He remembered that she was another man's wife
and only spoke her name:
"Mollie June!"
Perhaps that did as well. In fact it was, in the reticent dialect of
youth, the same thing.
She looked at him a moment, then quickly away again.
"You never called me that but once before--to-night," she said.
At first he found no answer. His mind scarcely sought one. He was
absorbed in merely looking at her. She was indeed girlishly perfect as
she sat there, almost primly upright, in her white frock, her slender
figure framed in the rose-coloured tapestry of the big chair's back and
arms, which gave an effect as of a blush to her cheeks and to the white
shoulders which he had never seen before except across the spaces of the
Peacock Cabaret. To the eyes of middle age she would have been,
perhaps, merely "charming." In his she shone with the divine radiance
of Aphrodite. And his were right, of course.
He was almost trembling when at length he said:
"That was on--that last night."
"Yes," said Aphrodite, who is always chary of speech.
Suddenly he saw that her averted face was wistful, sad.
"Are you happy, Mollie June?" he cried.
Though she turned only partly to him he saw that her eyes were more a
woman's eyes than he had known them and were full of tears.
"Not--very," she said.
He sat dumbly on his chair, full of pain for her, yet not altogether
saddened that she should not be entirely happy with another man.
But now her face was fully towards him, and her eyes had become dry and
looked past him.
"Oh, Mr. Merriam--you don't know! I can't tell you----"
He was filled with horror--almost boyishly terrified--by such dim
visions as a man may have of what her lot might be.
"If I could only help you!" he cried, as earnestly as all the other
separated lovers in the world have said those very words.
The eyes that looked beyond him came back to his face. The Mollie June
whom he had known had had her girlish poise, and this more tragic Mollie
June did not lose her self-control for long.
"You _have_ helped me--Mr. Merriam. Oh, I am glad you brought me here!
When I saw you in--the Cabaret, I just ran away from you. I couldn't
even let you speak to me. Afterwards I waited upstairs in the lobby. I
thought--I might see you there. But you didn't come. Then I thought
George had sent for me!"
She stopped as if that was a climax.
Merriam leaned forward. He wanted to put his hand over one of hers that
lay on the arm of her chair, but did not dare to. His tongue, however,
was released at last.
"If ever I can help you in any way, Mollie June, you must let me know.
I would do anything for you. I will always be ready."
He paused abruptly, though only for a second. A dark thought had crossed
his mind: after all the "Boy Senator" was an old man (from the
standpoint of twenty-eight), and leading a life unhealthy for old men.
He hurried on:
"I will wait for you always. Perhaps some day----"
Did she comprehend his meaning? He could not tell, and he did not know
whether to hope she did or did not. But stress of conflicting emotions
made him venturesome. He did put his hand over hers.
Hers did not move.
His fingers slipped under hers, ready to raise her hand.
"That last night in Riceville, Mollie June, I kissed your--glove.
To-night I want to kiss your hand--to make me yours--if you should need
me."
She did not draw her hand away, but she said:
"You oughtn't to--now--Mr. Merriam."
The formal name by which she had continually addressed him pricked.
"Won't you call me 'John,' Mollie June, just for this quarter of an hour
before the Mayor comes?"
"Oh, the Mayor!" she cried in alarmed remembrance.
"Call me 'John,' dear--for fifteen minutes!"
In his voice and eyes were both entreaty and command, and Mollie June
could not resist them.
"John!" she whispered.
And he raised her hand and bent quickly forward, and his lips pressed
her fingers. A bare second. Yet it was in his mind a solemn, a
sacramental kiss. He straightened up triumphant, happy. Youth asks so
little.
"Now you know you have a right to me!" he cried. "To send for me. To
use me any way, any time!"
There came a loud knocking at the door.
Mollie June started half way out of the chair and then sank back.
Merriam, on his feet and part way across the floor, stopped confused.
He perceived that he ought to get Mollie June out of the room.
The knocking resounded again. And immediately the door was tried and
opened, and a man stepped in. It was the large man with the white hair
who had started to enter the elevator--Mayor Black.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*PASSAGES WITH MAYOR BLACK*
Mayor of the great city of Chicago was hurriedly apologetic:
"I beg your pardon, Senator. You said eight-thirty, you know, and it's
that now. I came up and knocked. Evidently you did not hear. A man I
met in the lobby told me that you had left the hotel in a taxi half an
hour ago. He said he saw you go. So I tried the door and when it opened
stepped in, just to make sure. I am sorry to have intruded."
Apparently, however, he did not intend to withdraw.
Mollie June crouched frightened in her chair, but Merriam was rapidly
pulling himself together.
"It is I who should apologise for keeping you waiting, Mayor Black," he
said. "I will ask Mrs. Norman to excuse us. Will you step into the
next room for a few minutes, Mollie June? We shall not be long."
He went back to her chair and held out his hand.
She took it and rose. Her spirit, too, was reasserting itself. She
faced the Mayor with a smile:
"Good evening, Mr. Black."
"Good evening, Mrs. Norman." He bowed gallantly. "I am very sorry----"
"Oh," she cried lightly, one would have said happily, "business is
business, I know." Then to Merriam: "You won't belong?"
"Only a minute--dear."
(Perhaps we can hardly blame him for profiting by the license his role
gave him to address her so.)
He moved to the door opposite to that through which Rockwell had slipped
away fifteen minutes earlier and opened it for her. She passed through
into the darkness of the other room. He felt for the switch and pushed
it.
As the light went on she turned and smiled at him:
"Thank you."
For an instant it seemed to him--perhaps to both of them--that she was
really his wife, who was leaving him for a few minutes only, whom he
would soon rejoin.
Then he turned to face Mayor Black.
"I need stay only a minute, Senator," the Mayor was saying. "If I had
known you were engaged with Mrs. Norman, I shouldn't have bothered you.
It wasn't really necessary. I met Mr. Crockett downstairs while I was
waiting. He told me the answer. But since I had the engagement with
you I came up. If I may, I'll write the veto right here, and then I can
go on to the Council meeting."
As he spoke he drew a thick roll of paper from his overcoat pocket,
unfolded it, opened it at the last sheet, and laid it on a small writing
table.
"I shan't give any reasons," he added, sitting down and picking up a
pen. "Least said, soonest mended--eh, Senator?"
"But you're not to veto! You're to sign!" cried Merriam.
Perhaps if he had more fully grasped the significance of the other's
statement about Mr. Crockett he would have been less abrupt; but that
mighty financier was only a dim name to his mind.
"What?" said Black, turning in his chair.
The Mayor's tone gave Merriam some realisation of the seriousness of the
new situation. But he could only stand to his guns.
"You're to _sign_! I don't care what Crockett said. I don't care a
damn what he said," he corrected himself. "You do what I say, damn
you!"
"But how is this?" exclaimed the Mayor. "Crockett said you fully agreed
that the best interests----"
He stopped, looking intently at Merriam.
In the excitement of the dialogue which had followed Merriam's sending
for Mollie June Rockwell had neglected the precaution he had had in mind
of having only side lights on. Rockwell had planned, also, that Merriam
should sit facing the gas log with his back to the room and look at the
Mayor as little as possible. Now the boy stood where the full glare of
the chandelier shone on his face. Perhaps, too, the emotions of a
youthful love scene, such as he had just passed through, were not the
best preparation in the world for counterfeiting the slightly worn
cheeks and slightly tired eyes of an elderly if well-preserved
politician.
"Who in hell are you?" gasped the Mayor.
Merriam was certainly startled. Perhaps he showed it just a little.
But he stood up bravely.
"You know damn well who I am. And you do as I say or get out of Chicago
politics. I'll attend to Crockett," he added. "That's my affair."
"Is that so? Well, I guess it's my affair who makes a monkey of me!
I----"
Again the Mayor stopped abruptly and stared. Then suddenly he rose.
"I was told the Senator had left the hotel. I think I was correctly
informed. What sort of a trick is this? Who _are_ you?"
"Damn you----" Merriam began, with realistic sincerity, but with the
vaguest ideas as to what more substantial statement should follow.
At this moment, however, Rockwell opened his door and stepped into the
room.
"Aha!" cried the Mayor. No stage villain could have said it better.
"Mr. Rockwell! Of the Reform League, I believe!" He bowed
sardonically. "'One-Thing-at-a-Time Rockwell!' Well, one thing at a
time like this"--he pointed at Merriam--"ought to be enough for a
reformer!"
"Good evening, Mayor Black," said Rockwell. "I believe you were about to
sign the Ordinance."
"I was _not_. In spite of the _Senator_ here. I don't get a chance to
defy Senator Norman every day. I rather enjoy it!--And let me tell
you," he added, "if you and your friends in that damned League make any
more trouble for me or Senator Norman or the Ordinance or anything else
after this--if you don't shut up and lie low and keep pretty damn quiet,
we'll show you up, my boy. This would make a pretty little story for the
newspapers--and for the State's Attorney, too! We might call it 'The
Ethics of Reform!' Oh, we have you where we want you now, Mr. Reformer!
As for this young impostor here, we'll have to look him up a bit. A
very promising young gentleman!"
The Mayor evidently enjoyed the center of the stage. He towered tall
and imposing and righteous, and looked triumphantly from Rockwell to
Merriam and back again.
"I really think you'd better sign it," said Rockwell. He spoke rather
low.
"What do you mean?" cried the Mayor.
Then he thought he saw.
"Oh, it's strong-arm work next, is it?"
There was a note of alarm mingled with his irony, and the magnificence
of his pose weakened a little. Rockwell was a determined-looking
fellow, and there was Merriam to help him, and the Mayor was not really
a very brave man. But he went on talking to save his face:
"You certainly are a jewel of a reformer, Rockwell!"
Then he saw a point and quickly recovered his full grandeur.
"I don't quite see how you're going to manage, though. Of course, if it
were a case of _preventing_ me from signing, you might do it--the two of
you! But signing's rather different, isn't it? You can lead a horse to
water---- Of course, you can club me or hold a revolver to my head.
But, you see, I know you wouldn't dare to fire a revolver here in this
room. So just how will you force my fingers to form the letters? Or
perhaps you will try forgery? Is forgery the next act, Mr. Reformer?"
Rockwell smiled. He was in no hurry to reply. Merriam still stood, as
he had throughout this unforeseen dialogue, a rigid spectator.
Then, in the moment's silence, very inopportunely, a clock, somewhere
outside, struck the hour--a quarter to nine.