masterful firmness, “there are going to be no more riddles here. You
must tell me the truth. I must have it--hear? Otherwise I shall take
steps to make you tell--and that may not be as confidential as a chat
here with me. I propose to know about my nephew's affairs, I inform you
once again!”
“My mother borrowed this money from him. She was in trouble. He helped
her.”
“Your mother needs a guardian. I beg your pardon! But I thought she had
had her lesson once before in her life. So my nephew loaned money to
your mother! Where did he get that money?”
“I do not--”
“Hold on! Wait before you say that, Miss Kilgour. I'll not endure
falsehoods from anybody just now. I have been lied to too much lately.
This is a matter of my own nephew. I command you to tell me the truth.”
She hesitated a long time, her countenance expressing her agony. “I
haven't any right to betray him, sir.”
“He did not get five thousand dollars by any honest means. The
reputation of the family is in jeopardy just now, Miss Kilgour. I want
to protect it for my own sake. He confessed to you, didn't he?”
“Yes.”
“I can better understand your sense of obligation now. When a man
commits a crime for a woman she gets some fool notions into her head
about standing by him. I know my nephew's extravagances, Miss Kilgour.
He had to steal to get five thousand dollars for your mother. There is
just one handy place where he could steal. He took that money from the
state treasury. He has told you so. Am I not right?”
“Yes.”
Colonel Dodd turned his back on her and looked up at his bouquets.
Perspiration streaked his thick neck. His jowls trembled. She pitied
this man, even in her own tribulation. She had never seen him moved
before.
“How did you get this money, Miss Kilgour?” he asked, after a time, his
voice very low.
“Must I tell you?”
“Certainly. We are going to the bottom of this thing.”
“I received a little legacy from my aunt a few years ago--I had put it
away in the bank. I had saved some money from the wages I got here.
My mother--I am sorry to say that she has been vain and extravagant,
sir--she had wasted money on jewels and dress, and now she has sold
everything. We have disposed of all our furniture and have gone to board
in a very cheap place. I have been able to make out the amount of the
debt. Here it is!” She placed it on his desk beside the flabby hand
which lay there.
He did not speak for a long time. “I am sorry for you,” he said at last.
“This is a wicked thing. But I know better than to tell you to keep this
money.”
“Thank you,” she said, quietly. “I know you understand!”
“I will put it in the place where it belongs. That's all!”
And when he kept his broad back to her she went out of the office, her
feet making no sound on the thick carpet.
XXXIII
ALL THE WORLD OUTSIDE
A good lawyer can accomplish much when men are willing to listen to
reason and to accept the proffer of reparation!
“All going to show,” declared the Honorable Archer Converse to his
young protege, after they had parted at last from Morgan Bristol in the
Western city, “that a thistle doesn't hurt much, after all, if you grab
it with all your might and vim. We have found honest gentlemen here,
thank God! It has been made plain to me, my boy, that they all knew you
better than you knew yourself and that's why they waited so patiently.
But, oh, that folly of yours!” However, he patted Thornton Bristol's
shoulder when he said it. “It's a good thing for a young man to have a
healthy debt when he starts out--a debt that's a joy to pay. Just look
on it as an incentive, boy! You simply mortgaged your future!”
“I am glad that I have been called on to pay for what I wasted,”
declared Bristol. “And I am not sorry, Mr. Converse, that my folly led
me out into the byways of this world. I'll know how to appreciate the
rest of life more highly.”
“Needs a hot fire to make good steel--that's so,” agreed his mentor.
“And speaking of fire--I reckon we're going to find it almighty hot when
we get back to the place where we're expected. Now that we're leaving
affairs all serene behind us, you must let me do a little careful
thinking about how to meet the situation that's ahead of us.”
Archer Converse reappeared in his home city as unobtrusively as he had
left it and he held the polished shield of his urbane reserve over any
vulnerable points which darts of questions might attack.
Mr. Breed, assuring himself that he had certain personal rights in
the matter, came with a veritable lance of interrogation, and thrust
tirelessly.
“It is the custom when a man has been nominated never to close an eye
or leave the job for a minute. You have broke over all rules and I have
been doing my best to fix up a story to account for it,” stated Mr.
Breed.
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Converse. “No doubt you have done a very good
job.”
“I done the best I could without knowing what I was talking about.”
“And the general comment--the run of talk was--what?”
“General talk was that you didn't seem to be worrying much about the
election.”
Mr. Converse turned a benignant smile on his new law partner.
“It's generally conceded, then, that I feel sure of being elected?”
“Why, they think you wouldn't have skyhooted off unless you were
confident.”
“Exactly! That attitude of mine takes care of the band-wagon crowd. They
have climbed aboard, I'm told.”
“Yes,” admitted Mr. Breed. “But the state committee has taken advantage
and has laid down on ye!”
“Breed, you run along and tell the chairman of that committee--from
me--that unless he gets busy with his crowd in every county of this
state inside of twenty-four hours I'll come out with a public statement
that I have been forced to run my own campaign in behalf of the people.
You don't think there'd be any doubt about my election after that
statement, do you?”
“Not a bit,” confessed Mr. Breed. “You're more of a politician than I
had any idea of. Excuse me for any other kind of remarks. I'll go shoot
a little hot lead in that chairman's left ear.”
“Ordinary intelligence and common honesty,” commented the Honorable
Archer Converse when Mr. Breed had departed. “They are such new elements
in running politics in this state that they seem to the crowd to be a
brand-new variety of political astuteness, Thornton! I'm not going to
be quite as frank and honest in some other statements I'm about to
make, under the circumstances. I don't believe my conscience is going to
trouble me a bit. We'll go over, if you please, and have a word or two
with Colonel Symonds Dodd.”
Mr. Converse's secretary prefaced that call by a telephoned request for
an appointment, and therefore Mr. Peter Briggs led them directly into
the presence of the colonel.
“This is my friend and law partner, Mr. Thornton Bristol,” said
Converse, apparently and blandly unconscious that he was tossing at the
magnate something much in the nature of a bomb.
Colonel Dodd came forward in his chair, his hands clutching the carved
mahogany of the desk in front of him.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Colonel,” purred Mr. Converse, amiably. “I
forget that you are not as familiar with Mr. Bristol's identity as I am.
You have known him merely as a stranger who has called himself Walker
Farr.”
“Yes, and he has registered himself on the voting-lists as Walker Farr,”
blustered Colonel Dodd. “Mr. Converse, something will drop in your camp
before long--and it won't be rose-leaves!”
Mr. Converse fixed a penetrating gaze on the angry man.
“Colonel,” he said, with meaning, “you are probably well aware that in
politics many things are done for a certain purpose--and many of those
things are a bit off color so far as the strict law is concerned. If you
particularly care about digging up the past of politics in this state I
will come with my own little shovel and assist with great pleasure.”
“You're making an ass of me with this peek-a-boo business.”
“Mr. Bristol,” continued the nominee, with composure, “after long study
abroad and at home has devoted himself enthusiastically to study in
sociology and economics, and has preferred to gain his knowledge about
conditions by first-hand observation. He came into this state in pursuit
of his object, and by force of circumstances was drawn into our state
upheaval.”
“Much more deeply than I intended to be drawn, Colonel Dodd,” stated the
young man, with dignity. “I think you will remember that I said as much
to you in an interview we had. I called myself a Voice, if you will
recollect, and humbly begged you to attend to certain reforms. Your
refusal, and the manner with which you refused, rather forced me into
your affairs.”
“And I give you warning right here and now,” blustered the colonel,
“that I'm going to force myself into _your_ affairs. I'm going to have
you investigated from puppyhood to the present, Mr. Whatever-your-name
is.”
“We may as well issue general warnings--all of us,” said Mr. Converse.
“I have prepared a statement for the newspapers regarding my friend, Mr.
Bristol, and he will add a statement of his own relative to his project
in regard to water districts. If you care to malign Mr. Bristol on the
heels of that, Colonel, you may go ahead. But if you choose weapons of
that sort in the conduct of this campaign we shall be forced to use
a few cudgels of our own--for instance, we might be able to give the
people considerable information as to how the state departments have
been managed under your general direction. The funds of the state
treasury--”
Converse was about to mention the matter of the usufruct of the state's
money deposited in the colonel's banks for the benefit of the syndicate.
Colonel Dodd pulled himself out of his chair and exhibited instant and
alarmed confusion. “We'd better make it a gentlemen's campaign,” he
broke in.
“Very well,” agreed Mr. Converse, politely. “And now that we are
proceeding toward such an amicable understanding, will you allow me to
express the hope that the Consolidated will meet us half-way in regard
to the legislation that is inevitable? I have no desire to use any of my
powers as the governor of this state to embarrass your interests; let
us trust that we can get to a prompt adjustment in the matter of the
water-plants. As a lawyer of some experience, I have to inform you,
Colonel Dodd, that the cities and towns of this state are going to own
their own systems. The city of Marion proposes to fight the first test
case through. You are a heavy taxpayer--I trust you will not help to run
your city into debt which is needless.”
“I will confer with you,” admitted the colonel, his manner subdued.
“I will ask you to confer with Mr. Bristol, my partner. He will
have full charge of the litigation. I am assured that the next city
government meeting will attend to the matter of choosing him as counsel,
with a suitable retaining fee,” said Mr. Converse, with pride. “I will
appreciate it personally and as chief executive if your interests will
favor the matter. It will be better all around.”
Colonel Dodd did not reply. But there was much significance in his bow
as they retired.
“I trust I did not intimate that I was employing any sort of threats,”
said Mr. Converse, when he and Bristol were on their way down-stairs.
“I think he understood, sir.”
“His suggestion that we have a gentlemen's campaign was very
significant, coming from Colonel Symonds Dodd. The outlook is very
hopeful,” stated the nominee. “We'll see the state committee
chairman to-morrow, Thornton. I feel quite sure that he will
have our speechmaking routes laid out. Mr. Breed is very
convincing--sometimes--when he discusses the political situation.”
When they were at the foot of the steps of the Mellicite Club, the young
man begged permission to go about some affairs of his own.
“But your own affairs must wait, my boy,” insisted Converse. “The party
claims you from now on.”
“I will do my duty, sir,” said Bristol, smiling; “but this evening I
must have for myself.”
“I have invited some gentlemen to dine with us. It's an important
conference.”
“The conference I hope to have, Mr. Converse, will be the most important
one of my life.”
The lawyer blinked, trying to understand.
“I will tell you to-morrow--I trust it will be the happiest news I ever
told to any person--I will tell you first.” He hesitated. “You have
always given me good advice, sir. One night you told me that only a
woman can listen with perfect sympathy and comfort a man's troubles
surely.”
Converse came close, put his hands on the young man's shoulders and
studied him with intent regard. “My boy,” he said, “go along--and God go
with you!”
Bristol tore his hand from the lawyer's clasp and hurried away.
But at the Trelawny he did not find the Kilgours' name on the directory
board. The elevator man, the janitor, the manager, told him the
same story with the same indifference. The Kilgours had sold their
possessions and had removed--they had left no address.
Bristol walked the streets and cursed the stilted folly that had made
his farewell to her a parting in which he had pledged nothing, had
promised nothing, had left no hopes for the future. He was not consoled
by the thought that his farewell to her had been for her own sake, as
he had viewed his situation. In the depths of his despair, when he
had released her hand at the little gate, he had grimly sacrificed
himself--had resolved to save her from himself by final and complete
separation.
And thinking of that parting at the little gate, hardly realizing where
his wanderings led him, he went down to the great mills which were dark
and silent under the shadows of the evening.
Old Etienne had brought a lamp from Mother Maillet's kitchen and had
set it on the stoop. He was whittling, and a little boy snuggled close,
fixing intent regard on the work.
The evening was bland after a balmy day of Indian summer.
Bristol stopped at the fence and called greeting.
The old man peered anxiously, shielding his eyes from the light of the
lamp.
“M'sieu'! M'sieu'!” He stammered, brokenly, gasping as he spoke the
words. His wrinkled face worked as if he were trying to keep back the
tears. His voice choked.
“You are surprised to see me back here, Etienne--is that it?”
“I am not surprised, m'sieu'. I knew you would come back. I am
glad--that's why the tear come up in my eye. I cannot help that.”
“You are working late, Uncle Etienne.”
“_Oui_, the odders are gone home. But this leetle boy--I take care till
his modder come from the shop. But you shall come in here, m'sieu'.”
“I cannot stop, Etienne. I am--” He could not finish the sentence. He
turned to go.
“I say you shall come in. You must come queeck!” The old man spoke in
a shrill whisper. He put aside his knife and stick and hurried to the
fence. He reached and caught Bristol's sleeve. “Ba gar!” he declared,
with as much impatience as anybody had ever heard in the tone of Etienne
Provancher, “even the poor habitant boy in the Tadousac country know
better how to love the nice girl as what you do, M'sieu' Farr.”
“My name is not Farr; it is--”
“I don't care what your name be,” snapped the old man. “Tell me that
some odder time. It's what _you_ be--that's what I care! And you don't
be good to nice girl.”
“I don't understand.”
“You go back there and rap on Modder Maillet's front door and then you
understand! I'm only poor mans, m'sieu', but I shall talk to you like I
spoke to the mans in the _hotel de ville_--and I shall not be scare when
I am right.”
“Look here, Etienne! What do you mean?”
“_La belle_ ma'm'selle--ba gar! you have to be hit with brick bang--dat
fine, pretty lady--she what tell me the good word to say to you about
the bad folks--you must know she leeve now in the good woman's house.”
Now it was Bristol's turn to grasp Etienne's arm. He shook the old man.
“Miss Kilgour--here? Speak up! Don't be so slow!”
“I have speak up. Odderwise you go off and be a big fool some more,”
retorted the rack-tender, boldly. “She's in there. She come here to live
because somet'ing has made her very poor--and very sad. And her modder
she cry all the time. And _la belle_ ma'm'selle she come to the big tree
and she ask me many things--”
While the old man chattered Bristol was yanking impatiently at the catch
of the gate. He could not find the latch in the dark and so he kicked
off a few more pickets from Mother Maillet's much-abused fence. He
crawled through and bumped against old Etienne, thrusting him from the
path, checking the flow of information.
The young man leaped up the steps, to the plain dismay of the little
boy, and beat upon the door.
“It is I, Kate!” he called. “I have come back.”
When she opened the door--half timorous, half eager, wholly beside
herself--he took her in his arms and kissed her, paying no heed to the
goggling eyes of childhood or the averted gaze of old age.
“But you left no word for me. Did you believe me when I said I would not
come back?”
“I knew you would come back,” she sobbed. “So I came here. I knew you
would find me here.”
Etienne drew near apologetically and picked up the little boy.
“Oh, my own girl, I have so much to tell you!” the lover murmured. “I
know you will listen.”
“We have so much to tell each other,” she said, her hands against his
cheeks.
The old man puffed out the lamp and set it to one side and tiptoed away,
the child in his arms.
“You ke'p your head under my coat--just so,” he commanded the struggling
and inquisitive youngster. “Your modder would not like to have you
breath in so much night air. We go find her!”
He heard the murmur of eager voices behind him, and then the door of
Mother Maillet's house was shut softly--and that left all the world
outside.