Just then there came a knocking at the hall door.
For an instant the boy and girl stared at each other as though in guilty
alarm. Merriam started to go to the door. But Mollie June had
recovered her wits.
"No," she said. "You must be careful about being seen. Sit there."
She pointed to the armchair which still faced the gas log between the
windows at the end of the room farthest from the hall. "I'll see who it
is."
It proved to be no one more dangerous than Simpson, who with an
assistant was prepared to set up a table in the sitting room and serve
the grapefruit.
And even while Mollie June was bidding him come in, Aunt Mary entered
from the bedroom. With her was Miss Alicia Wayward, apparently much
excited, with her hands full of newspapers.
Merriam stood up, and Alicia, catching sight of him, dropped on the
floor the paper she held in her right hand and advanced with an air of
eagerness.
"Oh, Mr.----," she began. Then, as Merriam took her hand, she stopped
short in her sentence, laughed, and said, "Who are you this morning?"
Merriam, whom Alicia always stimulated to play up, bowed over her hand
as elegantly as he could and replied:
"Senator Norman, I believe--at your service. Good morning, Miss Norman,"
he added, politely, to the older woman.
Aunt Mary merely nodded, rather grimly, and turned away as if to inspect
Simpson's preparation of the breakfast table. Merriam wondered how much
of Simpson's confession Rockwell had found time to report to her.
But Alicia gave him little time for speculation.
"Well, Senator," she rejoined, withdrawing her hand (you were always
conscious when Alicia gave her hand and when she withdrew it), "you and
the Mayor have made quite a noise in the world this morning. See!"
She displayed the newspaper which she still held in her left hand. It
was one of the leading Chicago dailies, which invariably prints one bold
black headline across the top of the entire front page. The topic may be
a world war or a dog fight, but the headline is always there in the same
size and startling blackness of type. This morning it read:
*Mayor Black Signs Ordinance*
And one of the columns below carried the further head:
_The Mayor and Senator Norman
Reported to Have Broken
With Traction Interests_
"Oh!" exclaimed Mollie June, who had approached and read these captions.
She looked at Merriam with wide-open eyes. I surmise that the newspaper
headlines gave her, as indeed they gave to Merriam himself, the first
actual realisation of the public interest attaching to what they had
really felt to be a little private drama of their own.
Aunt Mary had joined them.
"Mr. Black has definitely signed it, you see," she said, with a touch of
triumph in her tone.
It appeared that the Mayor had not gone to the Council meeting at all,
and the paper did not fail to point out that the Ordinance had become
law without his signature, under the provisions of the City Charter, at
nine o'clock; but late in the evening, shortly before the Council
adjourned, the document had arrived by a messenger, with the Mayor's
signature attached.
Reporters had immediately set out in relentless pursuit and had routed
the Mayor out of bed at his house between twelve and one o'clock and
obtained a brief interview; the substance of which was that the public
interest of the city demanded the improved conditions which the new law
would insure, and that he was proud to complete with his approval the
public-spirited action of the Councilmen in passing it.
The rest was mere rumour and speculation, interlarded with many prudent
"it is said's," but it seemed that some if not all of it must have been
inspired by the Mayor. "It was said" that an important representative
of the Traction interests had seen Senator Norman in his rooms at the
Hotel De Soto early in the evening and pleaded with him the cause of the
interested bondholders and stockholders, whose investments would be
imperilled by the changes involved, but that he had stood firm on the
ground of the public welfare. "It was said," too, that later Mayor
Black had had a long conference with the Senator--well, it _had_ been
rather long,--and that they had agreed that the interests of the plain
people of Chicago must at all costs decide the issue. "It was said,"
finally, that both Senator Norman and Mayor Black would probably join
forces with the Reform League, whose program they had finally so
powerfully supported, in demanding and obtaining other needed
improvements in municipal conditions.
From all of which it seemed to be clear that the Mayor, having taken an
hour or so to think over the situation in which he found himself, had
become convinced of the soundness of Aunt Mary's logic and had decided,
without waiting for any further communication from the Norman camp, to
claim the credit for the Ordinance and appeal for popular support
thereon, taking care, however, to involve Senator Norman's name so that
the real Norman should be compelled to join forces with him in his new
departure.
By the time the column of news and comment and a brief and cautious
editorial on the occurrence had been read out by Alicia and one or two
other papers glanced at, Simpson had set up and laid his table and had
his first course served. He respectfully approached and inquired if
they were ready for breakfast.
"Certainly!" said Aunt Mary.
Merriam looked at his watch. It was half past eight.
"I ought to send my telegram to Riceville first," he said, "to let them
know I shall be there on the noon train."
"After the grapefruit," said Aunt Mary, with a decided note in her voice
which led Merriam to look at her inquiringly.
But he desired to exhibit the coolness of a man of the world, to whom
telegrams were customary incidents of daily living and who habitually
ran close to the wind in the matter of trains. So he acquiesced with a
bookish "As you please," and moved with the others to the table.
Simpson had decorated the center of the board with one of the hotel's
slim glass vases holding a couple of pink carnations. Mollie June
regarded this ornament with disfavour.
"Let's have the roses instead, Mr. John," she said.
And Merriam, to the scandal of Simpson, himself removed the carnations
and set the bowl of roses in their place.
They said little over the grapefruit. Alicia added a few humorous
comments on points in the newspaper article, but Aunt Mary was divided
between an anxious absent-mindedness and a curious questioning scrutiny
of Merriam, and Merriam was distracted between a suppressed worry over
his telegram and approaching train time and the delight of stolen
glances at--Mrs. Senator Norman. As for Mrs. Senator Norman, she devoted
herself chiefly to the fruit. Once or twice, in looking up, she almost
unavoidably intercepted one of Merriam's guilty glances. When this
happened, she met his eyes frankly but with a gravity that was
pathetically, forgivingly rebuking.
Presently Simpson was removing the fruit rinds and placing finger bowls.
Merriam looked quickly at his watch again and spoke to the waiter:
"Bring me a telegraph form, please."
Aunt Mary's absent-mindedness instantly vanished.
"What message are you going to send?" she asked in a restrained voice.
"Missed night train. Will arrive at noon."
"No!" said Aunt Mary. "Mr. Merriam," she pursued quickly, "until George
is brought back here you must stay. After all this in the papers this
morning there will be scores of people to see him to-day. He is known
to be a late riser and never sees any one before ten or they would have
been here before this. In a very few minutes they will begin to come.
We will put off most of them, of course. But there are likely to be
some whom we can't put off. We can't tell where George is, and we can't
say we don't know where he is, and there will be one or two to whom we
can't say we won't tell where he is. We must have you in reserve. You
shall go to bed in George's room, ill with--with--lumbago. Dr. Hobart
will attend you. When absolutely necessary we can show a man into the
room, and you can say a few words. I will tell you what to say in each
case. You can have your head half way under the covers, and can make
your voice weak and husky. You will be safe enough from detection.
Then by this evening at the latest we shall bring George back, and you
can go down to Riceville on the night train. You will only have missed
one day, and you will have saved us from a most serious dilemma."
There was an appeal in the elderly woman's voice to which Merriam was
not insensible, though the pull of habitual regularity at his school was
strong in him.
It is to be feared that Alicia spoiled Aunt Mary's effect. Across the
table from Merriam, she was partly hidden from him by the flowers. But
she leaned forward, bringing her face almost beside the roses, and spoke
in her most honeyed tones:
"Oh, do, Mr. Merriam! How can you resist it?" she added. "If I were a
man and had the chance to be Mollie June's husband even for a day----"
She stopped with her archest smile.
Mollie June, with possibly the slightest augmentation of colour, brought
forward a practical argument.
"Since you will miss the morning anyway, it won't much matter if you
miss the whole day. You haven't but one class in the afternoon, have
you?"
"Only senior algebra," said Merriam.
"Miss Eldon can take that."
"I suppose she could," said Merriam, who was realising that on this
particular day advanced algebra would be to him the most distasteful of
all branches of human learning.
"Then you'll stay and help us--Mr. John!"
The reader will perceive that this simple appeal was really much
superior to any which the too sophisticated and calculating Alicia could
contrive. A touch of wistfulness came into Mollie June's face with the
word "help." His high promise of the night before was irresistibly
recalled. And "Mr. John" reminded him of the delightfulness of fresh
water for roses and of the unconscious confession which her compromise
name for him had implied. Alicia discreetly retired behind the roses,
and Aunt Mary waited with lips somewhat grimly pursed.
Then, while Merriam hesitated, with his eyes on Mollie June's face--we
must suppose that he was weighing her very practical argument,--the
telephone rang.
Simpson, with telegraph blanks in his hand, answered it, and reported
that Mr. Rockwell wished to speak to Senator Norman.
"This is--Norman," said Merriam cautiously into the telephone.
"Ah!" said Rockwell's voice. "Well, you'll be pleased to learn that you
are quieter. You aren't seeing things any more." (I'm not sure of
that, thought Merriam.) "But you, he has a severe cold--fever and a
cough--touch of bronchitis, probably. Hobart says he can't possibly be
moved till to-night. Anyway, I don't see how we could get him into the
hotel till then. You must stay, Merriam."
"All right," said Merriam, surprising his interlocutor by his ready
acquiescence, "I'll stay."
"Good! I'll be down at the hotel in half an hour." Rockwell rang off.
Merriam turned to face the three women.
When Aunt Mary heard the news about George, she held out her hand to
Simpson for the telegraph forms and wrote.
In a moment she read:
"'Ill with a touch of bronchitis. Hope to be back to-morrow. John
Merriam.' Will that do?"
"I suppose so," he assented.
His words were almost drowned by a loud knock at the door.
"Our day has begun," said Aunt Mary, rising with admirable composure.
She handed the telegram to Simpson. "Send it at once. Into the
bedroom, Mr. Merriam. Get into bed as soon as you can. You have
bronchitis, you know,--not lumbago."
But before Merriam could obey the door was suddenly opened.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*A CHANGE OF MANAGEMENT*
The man who thus burst into Senator Norman's sitting room at nine
o'clock in the morning without waiting for an invitation was an
unpleasant but important personage--none other than J. J. Thompson (one
never thought of calling him "Mr."), Norman's private political manager
in all matters that involved handling the people's vote.
He was a short, stoutish, belligerent type, about forty-five, with thin,
untidy hair, a thin, untidy moustache, and, somewhere between the
moustache and the hair, a pair of small blue eyes, which seemed
incapable of any other expressions than aggressiveness and anger.
Senator Norman--the real Norman--had long found him nearly as
disagreeable as the reader will find him, but so useful in many
political contingencies that he had never been able to bring himself to
dispense with him.
Having popped explosively into the room, Thompson stopped short at sight
of the three women. For the first instant or two he did not notice
Merriam, who had quietly slipped into the great armchair that faced the
gas log, with his back almost squarely to the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Thompson," said Aunt Mary. "We were just having
breakfast."
Alicia and Mollie June still sat at the table, and Simpson stood a
little at one side. Thompson knew who the two girls were, and they knew
who he was, but he had never been presented in Norman's family except to
Miss Norman--a fact which he resented keenly,--so they did not speak.
Alicia sat back in her chair and stared insolently, while Mollie June
leaned forward and rearranged a rose in the bowl.
"I'm sorry to break in this way," Thompson said--even he was slightly
abashed,--"but I've got to speak to the Senator."
"Come back a little later, Mr. Thompson," ventured Merriam in a hoarse
whisper.
The "Mr." was a false note, and its effect was to anger Thompson.
"No!" he cried, the pugnacious gleam that was never far below the
surface of his little eyes appearing in them. "I've got to speak to you
now! I've got a right to!"
He advanced. He would have passed the table so as to approach Merriam.
But there was only a narrow space on either side of it, and in one of
those avenues stood Simpson behind Alicia, while Aunt Mary had quietly
moved into the other, standing with her hand on the back of the chair in
which Merriam had been sitting. So Thompson found himself barricaded,
as it were, and stopped short and shouted across the table and over the
head of Mollie June.
"What in--what's the meaning of all this--this stuff in the papers?"
Thompson's difficulty in expressing himself under the handicap of the
interdiction against profanity imposed by the presence of the women was
a trifle ludicrous. But his tone and manner were almost as bad as an
oath would have been.
Alicia's eyebrows rose. She rose herself.
"Perhaps we had better withdraw," she said.
If Merriam, who had never seen her in any other than a gracious and
seductive mood, could have turned his head to look, he would have
marvelled at her freezing disdain. Mollie June imitated her in rising
and in a more youthful hauteur. Without waiting for any reply Alicia
turned and walked into the bedroom, and Mollie June followed.
But feminine disdain, however magnificent, had little effect on
Thompson. He was obviously relieved. He looked at Aunt Mary, plainly
desiring that she should go too.
"No, I think I'll remain, Mr. Thompson," she said pleasantly.
Then he looked at Simpson, and the latter cast an inquiring glance at
Aunt Mary.
"You may stay, please, Simpson," said she. "We shall be finishing our
breakfast presently."
Before Thompson could digest this snub Alicia reentered from the
bedroom. She carried a white knitted wool scarf, with which she went to
Merriam.
"Don't you feel chilly, George?" she asked. "You can't be too careful
with that throat."
She knelt down by his chair, put the scarf over his head, brought it
down past his cheeks, tied it loosely under his chin, and threw the ends
back over his shoulders.
"Now, lean back. Isn't that better? Mr. Norman has a severe cold," she
said in the general direction of Thompson. "The doctor is afraid of
bronchitis," she added, as she rose and drew the shades. "That light is
getting too bright for your eyes."
She flashed a glance at Aunt Mary and returned to the bedroom.
Merriam had been feeling that it was only a matter of minutes before
Thompson--whoever Thompson might be--would somehow force his way to his
side and look down into his face and, probably, perceive the imposture
as Mayor Black had done. But now, with the welcome aid of the scarf, he
had the bravado to turn partly in his chair and say throatily:
"What do you want?"
Thompson had remained a gaping spectator of the tying up of Merriam's
head, but this question enabled him to recover his natural
aggressiveness. With one defiant glance at Aunt Mary, he started forward
and pushed his way past Simpson, who could have stopped him only by an
actual physical offensive.
"What do I want?" he repeated sarcastically, as he stood looking down on
the senatorial head bundled in the scarf. "I want to know what the hell
you've gone and done--you and Black--without letting anybody know you
were going to! What about Crockett? Didn't you promise him at eight
o'clock last night that you would tell Black to veto? And then this!"
Thompson had drawn a folded newspaper from his coat pocket. He struck
it with his other hand.
"Is that the way to treat your friends who've stuck by you? What about
the election next week? What about the state machine? What about your
campaign fund? Have you gone nutty? Did you really do it, or is the
Mayor lying? That's what I want to know!"
"What business is it of yours?" asked the victim of this torrent of
questions as he stared from between the folds of his woolen scarf at the
unlighted gas log.
Merriam really was asking for information, but the politician could not
know this. It seemed to him the last insult--and repudiation. He fell
back a step dramatically.
"So that's it!" he cried. "After I've managed two campaigns for you!
I've done your dirty work for ten years! And now, over night, what
business is it of mine? You throw me over! And all your friends. The
men who sent you to the Senate of the United States and kept you there.
And what for? To join that fool Black! And the Reform League, I
suppose. Philip Rockwell and his gang of preachers and short-haired
women and long-haired mollycoddles! You'll appeal to the dear People!
Bah!"
Thompson had by this time apparently forgotten entirely the presence of
Aunt Mary and Simpson. He snatched a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and
bit the end off it, produced a match from somewhere, and lighted it,
emitting volumes of smoke. He thumped with his newspaper on the arm of
Merriam's chair and in an impressively lowered tone continued:
"Listen to me. It won't do, Senator. You can't get away with it. Not
you. Reform and the people and pure politics and all that. If you'd
started in on that line twenty years ago,--may be! I don't say it
couldn't be made to pay. But not by you, at this time of day. It's too
late. You've tied up with the other gang. They know you. They know
too much about you. They won't let you do it. It's no use trying. Of
course, if you're tired of your job--if you're hankering to quit--if you
want to go down in a grand smash,--all right! But if you want to stay
in the United States Senate, there's just one way you can do it, and
that's to play the old game in the old way with the old crowd. Savez?"
All this was a trifle hard on young Merriam. Thompson had told who he
was, so that the boy realised the critical character of the interview.
But there was so much else he needed to know. How had the real Norman
been in the habit of treating this man? How would he probably have
acted in such a situation as they were pretending? The only thing he
could do was to say as little as possible. Now that it was necessary to
make some response, what he said was:
"We'll see about that."
Thompson was rather encouraged than otherwise by this remark. He had
not, of course, expected any immediate acquiescence.
"You'll see all right if you keep on," he retorted with elephantine
irony. "But for God's sake, Senator, try to see things in time. It's
not too late yet. Turn the Mayor down. You aren't committed openly.
He is, but you aren't. Let him go smash alone. He was always a fool!
You can swear to Crockett that you told Black to veto. It don't matter
whether he believes you or not. He'll take you back. This Ordinance
business don't matter. They'll fix that some way. There are bigger
things than that coming, and they know how useful you can be. You can't
keep on with this other."
"Can't I?" asked Merriam, not unskillfully fishing for further
revelations.
"Listen to me, Senator. Didn't you accept fifty thousand dollars of
common stock in the United Traction Companies? Are you going to give
that back? Will Crockett _let_ you give it back? Not he! Have you
forgotten how we cornered the vote in Kankakee County when you ran six
years ago? Crockett knows about that. The whole crowd know it. And
what about that nice little honorarium you received for your vote in the
Senate on the last amendment to the Interstate Commerce Act? If you've
forgotten it, the men who put it up haven't! Do you think they'll let
you go off like this? As long as you play the game and keep your good
looks and can make your popular speeches they'll keep you in the Senate,
and the good things will come your way. They'll get you a Cabinet job
if you want it. Just say the word. But if you throw them over, they'll
turn on you. These little things I've been reminding you of will leak
out. Man alive, you're liable to end in the pen!"
"Perhaps," said Merriam, "but I shouldn't go alone. A man named
Thompson would go with me, eh? And maybe even Mr. Crockett. And others
I might name." (Merriam wished he _could_ name them.)
"That for your threats!" he finished grandly and snapped his fingers,
thanking heaven for the role of villain he had enacted in a certain
college melodrama, in connection with which he had, by diligent
practice, acquired the not common art of snapping one's fingers
effectively.
Thompson, who, had unwontedly removed his cigar from his mouth at
Merriam's speech, now backed away from the huddled figure.
"You think you'd do that!" he said, in a voice in which cynical scorn
contended with something a little like fright.
"Not unless I am forced to," said Merriam. "But I have chosen a new
course, and I mean to follow it."
But Thompson, standing solidly in the spot to which he had retreated, as
if he had "dug in" there, restored his cigar to the accustomed corner of
his face and narrowed his little eyes till they were hideously smaller
than usual.
"It's unfortunate, Senator," he said, with a kind of exaggerated
suavity, "that this reform in your public morals last night was not
accompanied by a corresponding change in your private morals."
"What do you mean?" asked Merriam quickly, and his voice faltered ever
so little, a fact which the other did not miss.
"Oh, you were known, you know, at Reiberg's Place. You told everybody
who you were, I understand. You must have been pretty gay. Celebrating
your new virtue, I suppose! But handing fifty-dollar bills to
dance-hall girls isn't quite the line for a Reform League hero, Senator!
And we know where you went afterwards. She's a pretty little thing, but
she's not in the Reform League picture! Suppose we say nothing about
the United Traction stock or the Kankakee County vote or the Interstate
Commerce business or any other little incidents of the past like that,
but just start with this little affair of last night. How will that mix
with pure politics, Senator?"
It was Thompson's turn to enjoy himself. He could not refrain from
following up this new vein.
"Your old friends are liberal-minded, Senator. But your new friends, the
great American people, are a little inclined to be narrow in matters of
private morality."
Thompson's follow-up attack was a mistake. It gave Merriam time to
think and decide upon his course.
"I was _not_ at Reiberg's last night," he said, recovering his loftiness
and adding coldness thereto. "Nor anywhere else. I spent the night in
this hotel."
Thompson stared. For a moment it almost seemed that his jaw would fall
and his precious cigar drop out. But he recovered himself with a sneer.
"You did, did you? In the company of your wife, I suppose! And that
thing about your head is really to keep you from catching cold and not
to keep your head from splitting open with the headache? You're pretty
fresh this morning, considering. I hand it to you there. But"--his
rising anger got the better of his unnatural affectation of suavity,
which he had maintained up to the limit of his endurance--"but that lie
won't go! You don't know what you did last night. You were stewed
right. You told every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and Mary and Jane at the
dance hall that you were Senator Norman. You fool!"
"After that," said Merriam, playing his part regally, or, let us say,
senatorially, "I can only suggest to you that behind you is a door which
I wish you would make use of as soon as possible."
Thompson seemed decidedly nonplused at this. The real Norman had always
been amenable to threats and on the whole patient under abuse.
"Do you mean," he burst out, "that I'm not to be your manager? You turn
me down cold?"
At this juncture there came a quick, light knock at the door to which
Merriam had just referred so grandly.
Simpson looked quickly at Aunt Mary and then at Merriam.
"Let me know who it is," said the latter, realising that he must seem to
be in command.
When Simpson opened the door it was Rockwell who pushed past him. He
stopped short before Thompson (with his cigar) in hostile confrontation.
Cautiously Merriam peered around the off side of his high backed chair.
"Mr. Thompson," he said, "you know Mr. Rockwell, I believe. My new
manager!"
For a moment Thompson stood. Once his mouth opened, almost certainly to
frame an oath. It is strange evidence of the survival of chivalry in
American life that Aunt Mary's presence restrained that outburst.
Instead, we must suppose, he took the stub of his cigar from his mouth
and dashed it on the carpet.
"I'm through!" he said. Then to Merriam: "I'll use your door all
right--for the last time--till you send for me!"
He caught up his hat and walked past Rockwell, within an inch of
brushing against him but not looking at him.
At the door he turned.
"You've read your morning papers, I suppose! Have you read _Tidbits_?
Take a look at it!"
The door slammed behind him.
*CHAPTER XIV*
*HOLDING THE FORT*
The reverberation of Thompson's slamming still echoed in the room when
the bedroom door opened and Alicia sailed in, followed more demurely by
Mollie June.
"Good morning, Philip," said Alicia to her fiance.
Then she turned to Merriam.
"Oh, you did splendidly!" she cried.
"Did I?" said Merriam, awkwardly trying to get the woolen scarf off his
head.
"Indeed you did. We listened to every word. I through the keyhole. And
Mollie June lay down on the floor and listened under the door. It was
mean of me to take the keyhole, but I'm too old and fat for the other
position."
Possibly Mollie June's recent prostration accounted for the color in her
cheeks.
"Help him off with that thing, dear," Alicia added, and herself advanced
to Rockwell and took his hands, offering to be kissed--an offer of which
Rockwell took advantage with some fervour.
"Yes, I'll help you," said Mollie June, moving somewhat timidly in
Merriam's direction.
He met her more than half way.
"Please," he said. "I'm all bound round with a woolen string."
Mollie June drew the ends of the scarf down off his shoulders and untied
the loose knot under his chin.
"There!" she said, looking up at him.
Merriam snatched the thing off his head, ruffling his hair.
"Thank you!"
Rockwell's voice reached them across the room. Aunt Mary had been
hurriedly narrating the happenings with Thompson. He now looked
approvingly at Merriam.
"That's all right," he said, reflectively. "Very good. Yes. Just as
well to defy him at once. Could hardly have been better. Ah, there's
Hobart now, I suppose," for a discreet knock had sounded at the hall
door.
Rockwell himself admitted the house physician, a bald, youngish man,
with nose glasses over slightly shifty eyes and a quite unprofessional
manner--the manner of a "smart" young business man.
Merriam and Mollie June joined the others for the introductions. These
formalities over, Dr. Hobart confirmed the report of Norman's condition
which Rockwell had given them over the telephone. He "was getting along
all right"--with a sidelong glance at Mollie June--"except for a touch
of bronchitis."
Mollie June betrayed an embarrassed uneasiness. Merriam wondered just
how much she knew of her husband's whereabouts--of his escapades in
general.
"Very well," said Aunt Mary briskly, "you must go right to bed, Mr.
Merriam, before some one else comes. You're ill with bronchitis, of
course. That scarf was a splendid idea, Alicia, but it was a close
shave. We mustn't run any more risks. You will attend him, Dr.
Hobart?"
"Of course," said the young physician, evidently much amused. "Mr.
Rockwell has told me the story. It's as good as a play. Mr. Merriam--I
mean, Senator,--I order you to bed at once."
"Very well," said Merriam and turned towards Senator Norman's bedroom.
"I'll show you where things are," said Rockwell, accompanying him. "I
explored a bit last night."
In the bedroom with the door closed behind them, Merriam hesitated.
"Better get your things off at once," said Rockwell, going to the bureau
and stooping to open the bottom drawer. "It's nearly ten o'clock," he
continued, rummaging. "The reporters will be here any minute. I'm
surprised some enterprising chap hasn't arrived already. We'll try to
keep them off, of course. But some of those fellows are mighty clever.
Here we are--pajamas," he added, pulling out the garments for which he
had been searching.
Then he crossed to a closet, from which in a moment he emerged with a
bath robe and a pair of bedroom slippers.
"I'll put these by the bed so that if there's any reason for you to get
up you can do so easily. But unless something happens to change our
plans, you're much too sick to get up to-day."
A knock sounded at the door into the sitting room. Rockwell answered it
and returned grinning.
"Aunt Mary says that Simpson shall bring you some ham and a cup of
coffee as soon as you're in bed. Why didn't you tell me you have had
nothing to eat but grapefruit?"
"I had forgotten," said Merriam, realising nevertheless that he was very
hungry.
Rockwell dropped into a comfortable chair. "It's rather good fun," he
said. "This conspiracy business. I do hope we can pull it through."
By this time Merriam was inside the senatorial pajamas. He approached
the bed, turned down the covers, and awkwardly climbed in, feeling for
all the world like a little boy who has been sent to bed in the daytime
for being naughty.
"Now about lights," said Rockwell rising. The window shades had not
been raised; they were using the chandelier. "Not these center lights,
nor the night lamp. Both are too bright on your face in case---- Let's
try this side light."
He turned on a light on the wall on the other side of Merriam's bed,
switched off the ceiling lights, and surveyed the effect.
"That's good," he said. "If we have to bring any one in, you can lie
looking this way and still your face will be in shadow. Lie well down
in with the covers up to your chin. Now I'll bring you some breakfast."
Merriam, left alone for a minute, wished he had been permitted to finish
his breakfast in the sitting room before being sent to bed. He had
counted on that breakfast, and the first course had been fully as
delightful as he had pictured it.
Rockwell soon returned, carrying a tray on which was a plate of really
fine ham, with rolls and butter and a cup of coffee.
"I guess I'm not too sick to sit up to eat, so long as only you're
here," said Merriam, suiting his posture to the word and falling to with
appetite.
Rockwell drew up a chair and for several minutes sat smoking in silence.
Then he said:
"Did you catch Thompson's parting shot about _Tidbits_?"
"Yes," Merriam replied, without interrupting operations. "What did he
mean?"
Rockwell drew a clipping from his pocket. "Listen," he said, and read
the following:
_The Senator's Night Off_
There was a dance last night at Reiberg's Place on the West
Side. Most of our readers do not know Reiberg's. It comprises
a dancing floor over a saloon, with a bar attached for the
convenience of patrons who may not be willing--or, as the
evening advances, able--to go downstairs to the saloon; also
certain small rooms where one may drink or otherwise enjoy
oneself quite privately. Its patrons, male and female, are
chiefly employees in the neighbouring factories.
But last night Reiberg's was honoured, we are credibly informed,
by a guest from quite a different sphere--no less than a Senator
of the United States. We are not able at present to give his
name with certainty, and of course we are not willing to give
names in such a case until we have verified our information with
scrupulous care. But he certainly announced himself as Senator
----, and he looked the part, and distributed money, presumably
from the salary paid to him out of public funds, with lavish
abandon.
Having tried to kiss one of the prettier girls and been knocked
down by her escort--who evidently knew naught of "senatorial
courtesies,"--he emphasised the sincerity of his tipsy apologies
by handing the lucky insulted one a fifty-dollar bill.
Later, it is said, he attached himself to another young woman,
unaccompanied, it would seem, by any pugnacious swain, with whom
he spent several hours, partly on the dancing floor and partly
elsewhere.
Finally, with we fear little of his money left about him, he was
charitably carried off by the chauffeur of his waiting taxi.
Well, well, after the arduous strain of legislative labours, one
doubtless feels the need of a little relaxation. We hope the
Senator enjoyed himself.
Rockwell folded up his clipping. "A tolerably close paraphrase of
Simpson's story," he remarked. "They have the facts pretty straight."
"What is this _Tidbits_?" asked Merriam, sitting on his pillow with the
tray in his lap. He had stopped eating.
"Oh, a dirty little sheet of scandal. Twice a week. But it's pretty
widely read. And they know his name, of course. In fact any one can
guess it, because Senator Norman is known to be in the city, and there
is no other United States Senator stopping here now, so far as any one
knows. It will be a bit nasty if they push this sort of thing. They'll
put it in the regular newspapers next--a straight news item with his
name in it."
"That article doesn't say where he went afterwards," said Merriam. "But
Thompson knew.
"They're keeping that in reserve. Listen!"
Male voices were audible from the sitting room.
"The reporters!" exclaimed Rockwell. "I'll take that tray. Lie down
and cover up. I must go and help Aunt Mary hold the fort."
Merriam finished his coffee in a gulp, and Rockwell set the tray on the
seat of a chair and hastily entered the sitting room.
There followed a long period--more than an hour, in fact--during which
Merriam lay in bed and listened to varied voices from the other room,
and speculated as to what was going on, and wondered what he should do
if the door should open and some irresistibly aggressive reporter or
irresistibly important political friend of Norman's be ushered in.
But Rockwell and Aunt Mary, with the occasional support of Dr. Hobart,
successfully withstood the army of reporters and a few minor politicians
who called, and at length the loud masculine voices from the other room
ceased, and Merriam lay still, somewhat fatigued by his prolonged strain
of apprehension, and waited.
Presently the door opened, and Aunt Mary and Rockwell entered. Merriam
had closed his eyes, but Rockwell speedily opened them.
"Oh, you can wake up," he said. "It's all right. The coast is clear."
Merriam rolled over so as to lie on his back. "Well, what next?" he
said.
Aunt Mary and Rockwell looked at each, other. Rockwell spoke:
"Miss Norman and I are going out. We shall drop in at the Mayor's for a
few minutes and then go on to a Reform League luncheon at the Urban
Club. I am due to act as toastmaster or chairman for the speeches
afterwards, and it will be just as well to have Miss Norman present.
She will symbolise the prospective new alliance. We are going to leave
you under the care of Alicia and Mrs. Norman. No one else is likely to
come for several hours now. We shall be back at about half past two or
three. Meanwhile luncheon. You didn't get a very big breakfast after
all. Simpson shall serve it here by your bed, and Alicia and Mollie
June can eat with you."
This disposition suited Merriam excellently well, but he made no
comment. He tried to decide whether Aunt Mary was really eyeing him
sharply or whether he only imagined it.
In any case she almost immediately added a rather formal "Good morning,"
and returned to the sitting room.
Rockwell lingered a moment.
"We're going to try to bring Norman back here this evening, you know.
If it's at all possible. If it shouldn't be--if he's too sick or
something, I suppose you could stay over another day still?"
Merriam thought with a panic of his school.
"Not unless it's absolutely necessary," he replied with a good deal of
emphasis.
"It probably won't be," said Rockwell reassuringly. "We're quite as
anxious to get rid of you, you know," he added smiling, "as you can be
to get away from us. A double's a horribly dangerous thing to have
around. Well, so long."
In less than five minutes after Rockwell's departure there came a knock
at that door upon which Merriam's attention was concentrated--a
distinctly feminine knock.
Merriam disposed himself as discreetly as possible under the bedclothes
and answered it.
Alicia opened the door and peeped. "May I come in?" She opened it
wider and came through. "I'm the chaperon, you know."
"Are you?" asked Merriam smiling.
Alicia was pleased by his smile and said so.
"I always like it when people laugh at the idea of my being a chaperon."
"Why?" said Merriam.
"Oh, so long as it seems funny for a woman to be a chaperon she's
young."
"It seems funny for you," said Merriam.
"That's very nicely said," returned Alicia. "Come in, Mollie June."
As Mollie June did not appear, Alicia looked into the sitting room.
"Why," she said, "she must have gone into her bedroom. I do believe
she's doing her hair over." And Alicia raised her eyebrows.
In spite of hope deferred Merriam was made happy. He recalled the
supreme necessity of shaving earlier that morning.
Alicia dropped into the chair by the bed in which Rockwell had sat and
pretended to scan the invalid's face solicitously.
"I should say, Senator," she remarked, "that you do not _look_ like a
very sick man. Your condition must be improving. We can hope you will
be able to take a little nourishment."
"You can hope that all right," grinned the invalid.
"I've ordered----" Alicia, making talk, plunged into the details of a
quite elaborate refection.
By the time she had finished and had replied to one or two humorous
comments from Merriam, whose spirits were certainly rising, Simpson
presented himself with the substantial fulfillment of her prospectus.
And not until then did Mollie June join them. Her coiffure, though
simple, was certainly faultless and so far as a masculine eye could
judge newly arranged.
Alicia caught Merriam's glance and read his thoughts and smiled.
"What is it?" asked Mollie June suspiciously.
"What is what?" said Merriam, lamely.
"The Senator has been very humorous over the meal I have ordered,"
explained Alicia more deftly.
"Don't call him the Senator!" cried Mollie June. "His name is"--her eyes
met Merriam's for an instant--"Mr. John."
"I see," said Alicia. In the dim light Merriam was not sure whether she
raised her eyebrows again or not, but he was afraid she did.
Simpson, intent only on the proper illumination of his carefully laid
cloth, but unwittingly conspiring with the elder gods (Fate and Destiny
and the like), had turned on the night lamp and set it on the corner of
the table next to Mollie June, and its radiance fell full on her
slender, erect figure, now arrayed in--Merriam had not the slightest
idea what kind of fabric it was, but it was creamy white, and at her
waist was one of the red roses he had helped to freshen. The circle of
bright light extended up to her white throat. Occasionally when she
leaned forward her face dipped into it, but for the most part showed
only dimly in the fainter glow that came through the shade of the lamp.
He could see her eyes, however, and not infrequently they rested on him.
His, it is to be feared, were on her most of the time.
When at length the luncheon was finished and Merriam had expressed
himself as disinclined for cigarettes and Simpson had removed his dishes
and his table and finally himself, Alicia, who was really a most
good-natured person--a pearl among chaperons,--yawned and announced that
she had a novel which she desired to finish, and that, if they didn't
mind, she proposed to retire to the sitting room to prosecute that
literary occupation.
"You can amuse him for a while, Mrs. Norman," she said, with a humorous
smile; Merriam did not venture to question what more subtle thoughts
that smile might veil. "He's your guest more than mine, seeing it's
your husband he's impersonating. If he gets too boring, you can come for
me and I'll spell you."
Neither Mollie June nor Merriam replied, but Alicia, still with that
amused smile, rose and calmly departed. She left the door open, of
course, between the two rooms.
Upon the two young people, thus abruptly left alone together, there
descended an embarrassed silence. For a minute or so they heard Alicia
moving about in the sitting room and then the small sounds which one
makes in adjusting one's self comfortably in an armchair with a
footstool and a book, ending in a pleasurable sigh.
Merriam was overwhelmed by the necessity of finding talk. He could not
lie there in bed and stare at Mollie June, however beatitudinous it
might have been to do so. Several seconds of prodigious intellectual
labour brought forth this polite question:
"Do you hear often from the girls in Riceville?"
"Not very often," said Mollie June.
We can hardly describe this reply as helpful.
Again he struggled mightily, with the banal kind of result that usually
follows such paroxysms conversational topic-hunting:
"You must find your life here and in Washington wonderful."
"It seemed so, at first," said Mollie June.
"But it didn't last?"
Merriam was conscious of danger on this tack but he must have a moment's
rest before he could wrestle with the void again.
"No," said Mollie June.
Merriam waited, not shirking his responsibilities but conscious that she
meant to continue. She was always deliberate of speech--a fact which
gave a piquant significance to her simplest words.
"You see," she said, "I didn't really care very much for George. I
thought I did at first, but I didn't. Papa really made me marry him.
And you know he is untrue to me."
Merriam could have gasped. He felt himself falling through the thin ice
of mere "conversation," on which he had tried so hard to skate, into the
depths of real talk. But it was good to be in the depths. And after
his first breathlessness he was filled with love and pity. How much the
brief, girlish sentences portrayed of disillusionment and tragedy!
"You know about that then?" he asked gently.
"Of course," said Mollie June, almost scornfully. "Before company Aunt
Mary and Alicia and Mr. Rockwell keep up the pretence that I can know
nothing about such things. I keep it up too! But Aunt Mary knows all
about them. George never can conceal anything from her. And I make her
tell me everything. Everything!"
Merriam, I suspect, hardly sensed the amount of intellect and character
which Mollie June's last statement betrayed--I use the word advisedly,
for, of course, intellect and character detract from a young girl's
charm, and if she desires to be pretty and alluring she should, and
usually does, carefully conceal whatever of such attributes she may be
handicapped with. But to "make" Aunt Mary disclose things she wished
not to disclose was no small achievement.
"You know about this Jennie Higgins?" Merriam asked.
"Yes. I've seen her and talked with her."
"How?" was Merriam's startled question.
"She's a manicurist, you know. She's employed at ----" Mollie June
mentioned a well-known establishment on Michigan Avenue, the name of
which for obvious reasons I suppress. "When I found that out, I went
there to have my nails done. I just asked for--Madame Couteau, and
waited till she was free. She didn't know me, of course. She's
pretty," said Mollie June, with judicial coldness.