"SIR:—I have the honour to present my resignation as Secretary of Agriculture, to take effect at the earliest moment you may be able to relieve me of the duties of the office."With assurances of my highest consideration and sincerest good wishes for yourself and the success of your administration, I am"Your obedient servant,"W. E. BAXTER."At the bottom of the page there was added:"P.S.—I am willing to assign any plausible reason for this resignation that you may desire, or that may suggest itself to you as likely to relieve you of any embarrassment as a result of it. W.E.B."Mr. Phillips punctuated his first hasty perusal of the note with a snort of contempt, and checked an outburst of sarcastic, wrathful comment to read it over a second time. Fortunately at this moment Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods rose and apologized for having to withdraw in order to catch a train.Their host was loth to have them go, and expressed regret that they had not been able to arrive at some definite plan of campaign. He asked that they inform him if they should come to Washington, so that he might discuss the subject further with them. Expressing their great pleasure that the chief executive took such a lively and intelligent interest in the weal and progress of their race, the two negro worthies withdrew, Mrs. Phillips dismissing them with a formal bow and smile and Helen, following her father, giving them a cordial hand-shake as they retired.When they had gone Mr. Phillips thrust the letter of resignation at Mackenzie, and exploded:"Mac, just read that! The provincial, patronizing, postscript-writing popinjay! Could you have imagined the impudence of it! Does not wish me to be embarrassed as a result of his quitting us—the conceited ass! I wonder if he thinks I care a rap, or that the people care, for his cheap little melodramatics. I might have known that it was too much to have expected a sensible secretary from that cursed negro-phobia State! But he was so strongly pressed for a cabinet appointment, and really did appear to be such a strong fellow. I might have guessed his apparent excellences were too good to be true! Oh, but the patronizing insolence of his offer to hush it up for us! I swear it's unbearable. Damn the superior high-and-mighty airs these Southerners assume! My mother was a South Carolinian, but I can't feel a sympathetic tremor in my blood for any such damnable bigotry. I'll give Mr. Baxter and all his hide-bound, moss-backed, supercilious gang to know that this is one administration that proposes to make a democratic government a reality in this democratic country. A man shall be measured by the essential qualities of manhood he possesses, and dealt with accordingly, whatever his position, pull, size, sentiments, claims or colour! What do you think of that infernal note?""He does show great consideration for us—distinguished consideration, I may say. He will not tell it on us," sarcastically commented Mackenzie."The devil take his distinguished consideration!" snapped Mr. Phillips. "I'll accept his little resignation before he can wink, and give the papers a full statement of the circumstances just as they occurred. I'll show the upstart what a small potato he is—damn his impudence! And then just to think, Mac, of the inexpressible insult in refusing to lunch with persons that I deem worthy to dine with my wife and daughters! It really makes it almost too damnably personal to be overlooked. He must understand that respectability, presentability, acceptability, in my home is a matter that is as sacred to me as such things are to him with all his Bourbon notions!—but thank God he may understand also that such acceptability is based on true merit, and that a man's colour has absolutely nothing to do with it.... Come along with me to the library and we will accept this little resignation before it gets cold, and have it at his hotel before he gets cold!"CHAPTER XIVMrs. Phillips, ill at ease during the luncheon, had taken the opportunity to retire offered by the departure of the negro guests, and had taken Helen with her; but that young lady, feeling the electric condition of the atmosphere and full of lively curiosity, had returned to hover around the dining-room door and learn what all the row was about. She heard her father's outburst with great interest—being no little shocked at his sulphurous words, but no less deeply concerned at the suggestion of embarrassment to him politically, and forcibly and enthusiastically impressed with his fine scorn of subterfuge and manly decision to fight out his battles in the open.When President Phillips came in to dinner and asked for his daughters, their mother told him Helen was in her room and Elise had gone driving with Lola. "I did not like Elise's conduct at lunch. It was too pointed, entirely too pointed. I shall talk to the young lady very plainly.""Now, Hayne, don't worry the child with this affair. It is bad enough as it is. I hope—""Bad enough as it is! Why, one would think you wished to resign also. Were you insulted, too?""Not insulted, Hayne; but ever since you sent me to the pinelands of North Carolina that winter for Elise's throat I have not been able to think of a negro as I did before—and Elise feels the same way, I know. It is so plain down there: the negroes are so many and so—different. I can't receive them with any sort of pleasure. Just think of what the Southern papers will have to say. The awful things they said about your negro quartette were almost unbearable, and I know that was mild to what this will be. I do wish you had not brought them in to lunch, Hayne.""Why, May, you are surely not going over against me with those supercilious Southern fanatics?""Hayne! That is almost insulting. You know that I am for you against the world, whatever comes. No one, not even Elise or Helen, has ever heard me offer the least criticism of anything you have done—and no one ever will, my dearest"—she spoke simply and earnestly as she held her hands up toward him in a gesture eloquent of abiding love—"but I cannot have pleasure in receiving negroes. I have seen the negro as he really is, and I cannot feel that some soap and water and a silk hat make a—""Stop, May, right there"—Mr. Phillips' arms went about his wife in tenderness as he placed a hand upon her lips. "Listen to me. You dear women are creatures of impulse and sentiment—and thank Heaven for that, too: for when the time ever comes that you shall judge men from your heads instead of your hearts, woe to us!"—and he kissed her hair in reverent gentleness—-"but—""Well, this is an idyllic scene!" exclaimed Elise, coming into the room with Helen. "It is better than a play. Daddy dear, you do it beautifully. You should have gone on the stage."Mr. Phillips' state of mind, his bottled-up vexation because of Elise's behaviour at luncheon, his impatience at the interruption of his conversation with his wife at the point where she seemed to have made out her case against him and before he had opportunity to demolish her sentiment with masculine logic, added to Elise's lightness of manner and speech, which nettled him in his serious concern over Baxter's resignation, were, all together, too much for moderation."Now look here, young lady," he growled out ungraciously, "you have presumed entirely too much upon your privileges to-day. When did you become too good to dine with people your mother and sister were entertaining?""Why, papa!" the girl exclaimed in amazement at the roughness of his manner;—but the sternness of his face did not relax, and she stumbled along seeking some excuse. "Lola and I did not want any lunch, and all those men—""Stop! Don't be a dodger! You know very well, miss, that you declined to lunch because Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods were there. Now you must understand that I am as regardful of your honour as you are, that my life is at your service to protect it against the slightest affront, but that I will not be sponsor for any silliness, and will certainly not overlook or permit any high-flown impertinence that affronts me in the presence of guests of my choosing. What do you suppose Mr. Mackenzie thinks of your high-and-mighty rebuke to him for sitting at my table in that company? He must feel very properly subdued, I suppose you think. And the bishop and Doctor Woods—they are doubtless overcome with humiliation because of your refusal to meet them."He dropped his overbearing manner as Elise's face turned from crimson to white and her lips began to tremble—for he was a tender-hearted and gallant gentleman."Now let me say once for all, my daughter, that I must be the judge of who is a proper person to be entertained in this household, and I want no more such exhibitions of filial disrespect as you made to-day. I think no explanation is due: but I will tell you that one of the gentlemen who lunched with us to-day is a bishop in his church and a leader of ten million citizens of this country, while Doctor Woods is a graduate of Harvard and Heidelberg, a man whose learning is surpassed by that of very few men in America, and is the very best type of his own race and a creditable product of any race. Both these gentlemen are entirely worthy of your highest respect.""But, papa, they are negroes!" said Elise, emboldened to attempt a defence when her father dropped his browbeating tone and assumed to address her reason."Negroes?—and what of that? It is not the first time a negro has lunched with a President of the United States. Calm your misgivings by remembering that it is assuredly safe, either socially or politically, to follow any precedent set by Mr. Roosevelt. But further, my daughter, what does the term 'negro' impute to these men more than a colour of skin? Nothing. My child, 'the man's the thing,'—his colour is absolutely nothing. A negro must be judged individually, by his own character and ability—you judge white men so. He is not responsible for the whole race, but for himself, and must stand or fall upon his individual merit and not upon his colour or caste. It is the glory of our America that it has but one order of nobility—a man; and when that order is abolished or others established our democratic institutions will be a hollow pretence and our decadence have set in. Heaven defend a daughter of mine should be either dazzled by a tinselled rank or class pretension, or fail to appreciate simple, genuine, personal excellence."Elise was glad enough her father had calmed down and branched off into generalities. She was discreetly, not impudently, silent, and took the first opportunity to retire.* * * * *On that afternoon Elise had met Evans Rutledge and had really found pleasure in his friendliness. She speculated whether his manner would have been quite so cordial if he had known of the luncheon then but two hours past. She had seen no little of him in a casual way since living in Washington, for he was an acceptable visitor at most of the desirable places. With repeated meetings they had come to an unspoken truce, Elise being impelled to friendly simplicity by her very nature, and Rutledge by the love which would not permit him to deny himself any opportunity to be near her despite some rebellious notions of self-respect.Rutledge's vacillation of mind concerning Elise was evidenced by his presence in Cleveland. It comported very well with his former status as a freelance correspondent that in search of "copy" he should have followed the President out to Ohio, but he confessed to himself that it was somewhat below the dignity of his present position and standing as an editorial writer that he should have asked for the assignment as news representative allotted to his paper on the Presidential special. He called himself a fool, and—thought of many situations that might happen to evolve themselves on the train.... They didn't evolve.Only one paltry three minutes' talk with Elise did he win for all his journeying. He had stood by her carriage that afternoon as she waited for Lola DeVale in front of Vantine's, and they had talked in the unaffected manner of the first days of their acquaintance until Lola came out and invited him to join them on an evening at the end of the week at an informal gathering of young people at her home in Washington. He had accepted with what he afterward thought was childish and compromising eagerness."I like that Mr. Rutledge so much. I invited him for you, Elise," Lola said as they drove homeward."Why for me?" asked Elise."Perhaps I should say because of you. Can't you see the reason in his eyes every time he looks at you? I can.""You are mistaken there, my dear. I happen to know that Mr. Rutledge loves, or once loved, a young woman who has greatly disappointed him.""How?""He has learned that her family—and perhaps she—is impossible.""How did you know of his love for the girl?""He told me himself," Elise answered with a nonchalant air that proved her an actress of the finest art."He did! You were playing with fire, Elise. The sympathetic 'other girl' is always in a dangerous role. Did he tell you of his disappointment also?""Oh, no. But that was—and is—evident.""But the girl? Was she really—nice—better than her people?""Yes. No—yes—that is, nice. Of course you know Mr. Rutledge would not love a woman who was not—nice.""Oh, certainly; but if he was really disappointed in her, all the more reason he might find a solace in your smiles.""It was her family rather than herself, I think. He is uncertain about her—is afraid to love her.""He does seem to have an uncertain look at times that has puzzled me. I think you are responsible for some of his uncertainty, however; or perhaps the other girl makes him uncertain about you. If it were not for her you would have to look to your defences.... He must have loved her very much or he could not stand the temptation you are to him.... I'm glad you've solved the riddle, but very sorry you told me. I have liked Mr. Rutledge; but I despise any man who would not brush aside all obstacles to marry the woman he loves and who loves him. Don't you?""Oh," said Elise uncertainly, "but, really, it was—it may have been—because she did not love him. I do not think he lacks courage—exactly. He simply would not—pursue—the young woman because her father's—because the—the obstacle was—seemed—insurmountable,—but really I must not be violating confidences. There is no reason why you should not at least respect him, Lola. His course is not without some justification, for the objection, from his point of view, is—vital.""But what if the girl loves him? Does she love him?""Really, Lola, he—he did not inform me—whether she does or not. He has not made the slightest reference to the subject, nor spoken the smallest of confidences to me since that summer on the St. Lawrence.... I think he regrets ever having told me anything about his—heart's affairs. I suppose I should not repeat them—they were spoken under peculiar circumstances.""There is nothing peculiar, my dear. It is easy to see why a man who is not free to make love to you will choose the next best thing and talk of love with you.... You would better be careful of Mr. Rutledge, however, for I fear his loyalty to that first love totters on its throne every time he looks into your gray eyes. You must not shatter his faith in his own faithfulness."CHAPTER XVThe second morning's papers were aflame with the news of it! President Phillips, true to his outspoken character, himself had called in the Associated Press representative immediately on his return to Washington and dictated a concise statement of all the circumstances leading to Mr. Baxter's resignation. The Secretary's house was besieged by reporters, but all were referred to the White House for information. The daily newspapers featured the item in every conceivable style of display head-lines, and the affair was a nine-day sensation in Washington and a reverberating tempest throughout the South.Evans Rutledge by the force of his genius, his wide knowledge of men and affairs and the accuracy of his political information had gone rapidly toward the front rank in his profession. He was now the leading editorial writer on theWashington Mail, an anti-administration organ.Of that paper Elise sought the first issue with surreptitious eagerness. She picked it up fully expecting to read quite the most scathing philippic she had ever seen in print. She was surprised to find that the former correspondent had put off his extravagances for a more judicial editorial manner. She recognized his work by several phrases that had been in theChicago Americanarticle.The editorial was severe, but dignified and fairly respectful. Rutledge commended Secretary Baxter for his prompt and emphatic refusal to lunch with a negro even though at the table of a President of the United States and at the President's personal invitation or "command." He said the fact that Mr. Phillips had intended no insult made the insult no less real; and that Baxter had done the only possible thing—the duel being no longer in vogue—declined and resigned.He went on to say that there was an irreconcilable difference between the Northern and the Southern ideas of the social equality of the races; that the Southern man's idea was bred in the bone, and no amount of argument or abuse or lofty advice from the Northern press, or boyish impulsiveness in the President's chair, could change that idea one iota; that while their fears sometimes might be lulled to sleep, might be forgotten like other ills in the interest or excitement of other concerns, the black peril was their great Terror in both their waking and sleeping hours, and even when asleep they slept upon their arms.Elise read that in face of this Terror all other questions were insignificant, and all arguments, prejudices, passions,loves and hates(she put her fingertip on the words) among Southern gentlemen melted away or were fused into a mighty and unalterable sentiment to go down to death rather than to permit social intermingling with the negro race.The editorial concluded that the Southern feeling on this subject was ineradicable, and was so deep-seated and universal that it became a great Fact which any man of fair discretion and sensible purpose would have recognized and reckoned with; that no President with an abiding sense of the proprieties would have proposed the luncheon to Baxter, and no gentleman of the South would have hesitated for a moment in declining the insulting invitation. The subject was dismissed with the prediction that the cause of the negro immediate and remote would be damaged immeasurably by this act of the impulsive gentleman in the White House who would take the Southern situation by the seat of the trousers as though it were a self-willed small boy pouting in a cellar and yank it incontinently up the Phillips stairs of progress.There was no other subject discussed in hotel lobbies, committee-rooms or wherever else two or more men were gathered together on the day after the facts were known. In the afternoon in one of the committee-rooms of the Senate, Senators Ruffin and Killam, Representatives Smith and Calhoun of Killam's State, and Representative Hazard of a New York City district, were ventilating their views on the matter when Rutledge joined them, on the hunt for Calhoun.The comments on the President's negro luncheon were all adverse, though expressed in terms of varying elegance and force from the keen and polished irony of Mr. Ruffin to Mr. Killam's brutal outbursts and picturesque profanity. Mr. Hazard, not having the same sectional view-point as the others, though of the same political creed, was an interested listener. Senator Ruffin referred to the editorial inThe Mailand drew Evans into the discussion.The young man, glad to be untrammelled by editorial discretion, gave free rein to his indignation, but in deference to Mr. Hazard's presence was careful to make some allowance and excuses for the opinion of Northern people on the matter of social amenities to negroes. However, to compensate for this concession and leave no doubt of his opinion, he was even more picturesque than Mr. Killam, if not so profane—and consequently more forcible, Hazard thought—in paying his respects to Mr. Phillips' negro policy.But Senator Killam resented even the suggestion of excuse for Northern opinion, and opened up an even more choice and outrageous assortment of profanity and invective. Rutledge, Calhoun and Senator Ruffin were ashamed at his disregard of ordinary decencies, while Hazard assumed a look of polite amusement. Mr. Killam's satellite, Smith, however, was vastly tickled at his master's performance, and took pains to show his surpassing admiration. Smith was a raw-boned, half-washed giant with long hair that never knew a shampoo, who owed his election to Congress to a gift of stump-speaking and a consistent devotion to Senator Killam's political fortunes. He usually kept quiet when his chief was there to speak. He did so on that afternoon till, carried away by Mr. Killam's extravagances about niggers in white dining-rooms, he blurted out:"Yes; I suppose now Miss Elise Phillips will be getting sweet on Doctor Woods. The nig—"Smash!Rutledge struck him on the point of the jaw and he fell in an awkward heap between a chair and the wall. He was up in a moment growling like a mastiff, but was restrained by Calhoun and Hazard. Rutledge was standing perfectly still, his thumbs in his trousers pockets, showing no excitement save in the glint of his eye. Smith was muttering his desire to fight it out. He could not talk plainly, for the blow had unhinged his loosely clacking jaw. Hazard, Killam and Calhoun held him by force till he was quiet. It would have been impossible to prevent his forcing a further clash perhaps if Senator Ruffin had not insisted on ending the matter just there."Gentlemen!" he said, "this must stop right here. None of us can afford to pursue the miserable affair further. We should all be ashamed that a young lady's name has been used in this discussion at all, and especially in such a manner was it unpardonable! Mr. Smith certainly forgot himself; and while Mr. Rutledge acted from a chivalrous impulse he will learn when he is older that a blow usually advertises rather than suppresses an insult to a woman."It began to dawn upon Mr. Smith by this time that he had committed a woeful breach of good manners, and with a parvenu's awe of "propriety" he was more than anxious to have the affair hushed up. None the less did he wish to keep secret his knockdown. He got out as quietly as possible in search of a surgeon. Rutledge retired with Calhoun, who slapped him on the back as they went down the corridor and whispered, "Good old boy! Served him right, the damn dog."Senator Ruffin sent for the attendant who had left the committee-room as soon as quiet was restored, and bought his silence with a five-dollar bill. This honest man was true to his promise to keep his mouth shut, but he overlooked informing the Senator that he had already given the first of his co-labourers he met in the hall a fragmentary account of the mix-up. He had given the names only of Senators Ruffin and Killam, as he did not know the others, all of whom he thought were members of the Lower House.The reporters were on the trail in an hour. They interviewed the Senators, but these were dumb. They found that the Senate attendant who had his information second-hand was the only source of news supply. What this fellow lacked in knowledge, however, he supplied out of his imagination; and the details grew and multiplied as different reporters interviewed him. At best there was much to be supplied by the young gentlemen of the press, and the result was as many different stories as there were men on the job. The nearest any of them got to the truth was to say that two Congressmen had been discussing the negro question and had come to blows because some woman's name had been dragged in, and that one had broken the other's jaw. This much in the evening papers.By the next morning the newspaper ferrets had located all the actors and eye-witnesses and gave their names to the public. Fortunately the attendant had not caught Smith's remark but only his rebuke by Senator Ruffin. So that the public knew only that Evans Rutledge had unset or broken the jaw of Congressman Smith because of some improper use of a young lady's name. Whose, none of the gentlemen would say.* * * * *Evans Rutledge was in a fever of anxiety lest that name should get to the public. He was sure that he could not face Elise again if it did. Senator Ruffin's rebuke had sunk deep into his heart and he felt more guilty than Smith. He looked over the morning and evening papers very carefully to see whether they had discovered the young woman, before he finally decided to go to Senator DeVale's as he had promised Lola. When he arrived he found, beside Elise, only Alice Mackenzie, Hazard and young MacLane, an under-secretary of the British embassy. Others who were to come failed to appear.Elise was not pleased with the situation. She was quite willing to be ordinarily civil to Mr. Rutledge, but she knew that nothing could separate MacLane and Alice Mackenzie, and that Hazard had known Lola so long and had proposed to her so regularly and insistently that he was for her or for nobody. It looked a little too much, therefore, as if she had chosen Evans for her very own for the evening. She did not want him to think such a thing possible. She remembered his point-blank editorial utterance that those small sentiments—loves and hates—melted away before exhibitions of social equality with negroes—so at least she construed it—and she could not but resent it, though she would not admit she troubled herself to do that."Now, young people," said Lola, "as the programme has been spoiled we will make this an evening of do-as-you-please.""Good, very good," commented Hazard. "In that case you will please to come over here and take this chair and let's finish that conversation we were having last night when the unpronounceable Russian took you away from me.""I am afraid that conversation is a serial story," she laughed, taking the chair he placed for her.MacLane asked Alice Mackenzie some vague question about a song, which only she could interpret, and they by common impulse went through the wide door to the piano in the back parlour, where after she had hummed a short love ballad for him to piano accompaniment they dropped into a pianissimo duet of love without accompaniment.Elise, feeling that she was being thus thrown at Mr. Rutledge's head, came to the mark with spirit and kept him guessing for an hour. She resented his possible inference that she had chosen him for an evening'stête-à-tête, and set about to show him that such was not the fact by a display of perversity and brilliance which dazzled while it irritated him. She would assume for a moment an intimately friendly, even confiding, manner that like the breath of the honeysuckle at his Pacolet plantation home would set his senses a-swim,—and in the next moment chill his glowing heart with the iciest of conventional reserve or answer his sincerest speeches with the light disdain and indifference of a mocking spirit. At one time she would kindle his admiration for her quickness of thought and keenness of repartee; and again appear so dull and careless that he must needs explain his own essays at wit.Her caprices, so plainly intentional yet inexplicable, exasperated him almost to the point of open rebellion, and the more evident his perturbation became, the more spirit she put into the game. She won him back from a half-dozen fits of resentful impatience to the very edge of intoxication,—only to bait him again more outrageously.Lola DeVale, perfectly familiar with the theme of Oliver Hazard's serial, found time even while admiring Hazard's ability to decorate his story in ever-changing and ever pleasing colours, to note that Elise was giving Rutledge a tempestuous hour."It's a shame for her to treat him so," she said to Hazard, interpreting her meaning by a nod toward Elise and Evans."I hadn't noticed. What's she doing to him?""I believe he loves her, and she has been treating him shamefully all evening.""So that was it," murmured Hazard. "She certainly ought to be good to him.""Beg pardon, I didn't understand you," said Lola."I said she ought to be good to him.""I heard that. But the other remark you made?"Hazard caught himself, and looked at Lola steadily. "I was so bold as to express an opinion—which had not been requested—and to aver that—she—er—ought to be good to him," he repeated with an over-done blankness of countenance."You come on," said Lola as she rose. "We are going to scare up something for you people to eat," she remarked to the others."Now, sir," she said when she had gotten him into the dining-room, "I'll see what sort of a reporter I could be. Stand right there, and look at me. Now.—why did Mr. Rutledge knock Congressman Smith down? No, no, stand perfectly still—and no evasion.""What are you talking about?" asked Hazard."Don't be silly," the girl said impatiently. "I read something more than the society and fashion columns in the newspapers. Tell me. Why did he break Mr. Smith's jaw?—who was the young lady?—and what did Mr. Smith say of her? I know it was Elise; but tell me about it—and hurry, for those people are getting hungry.""I must not tell that, Lola," Hazard answered her seriously."A man should have no secrets from his—proposed—wife.""Make itpromisedwife and I'll agree," Hazard replied eagerly, taking her hand."No; we'll leave itproposedawhile longer," she answered him archly. "I've become so accustomed to it that way that I'd hate to change it." The smile she gave him as she slowly drew away her hand would have bribed any man to treason."But we will compromise it," Lola continued. "I will be real careful of your honour. I'll ask you a question, and if the answer isyesyou needn't answer it. Now—was it not an insult to Elise that Mr. Rutledge resented?""Lola, when you said that wordwifea moment since you were—heavenly.""Hush your nonsense, Ollie.... I knew it was Elise when you said that thing in the parlour.... Did Mr. Rutledge really break his jaw?""Oh, it was beautiful, beautiful," said Hazard with enthusiasm. "Such a clean left-hander! Dropped him like a beef—he's big as two of Rutledge—in a wink—before he could finish his sentence,—the low-bred dog! Yes, beautifully done, beaut—""Here they come," said Lola. She was busily breaking out the stores from the sideboard when Elise and Rutledge appeared."Here, Mr. Hazard, take this dish in to that mooning young couple in the back parlour. And you, Mr. Rutledge, just force them to eat enough of these pickles to keep their tempers in equilibrium."* * * * *"Oh, my dear," she exclaimed when the two men were gone, "I've discovered the name of the young woman Mr. Rutledge fought for. Ollie let it get away from him—not the name, but I figured it out. And for whom do you suppose it was?""I haven't the slightest idea," answered Elise in all truthfulness."Of all women you should. I told you I could see it in his eyes,"' laughed Lola."Not for me?" Elise cried in genuine surprise."For you.""What did the man say?" she asked quickly."Some caddish thing, of course. Men are so nasty. I didn't have time to get the particulars before you and Mr. Rutledge followed us in here. But Ollie says it was just b-e-a-u-t-iful the way Mr. Rutledge dropped him—and he's three times as big as Mr. Rutledge, too—""We've tried moral suasion, strategy, force, every expedient," interrupted Hazard as he and Rutledge came back into the dining-room, "but the Scotch lass and her laddie positively decline to be fed by us. They are fully supplied by their own ravings—ho! don't throw that salad at me!""Here, take a dose of celery quick—a biblical pun like that is a too serious tax upon the simple Congressional brain," said Lola.Hazard looked foolish, and he felt like a fool; but what real manly lover outside the story-books was ever else than foolish when love's fit was upon him?None of the quartette in the dining-room was the least bit hungry, and it was but a very few moments till the young hostess led the way back to the parlour, Elise and Rutledge following slowly. When they reached the stairway Elise seated herself on the third step and by the gesture with which she arranged her skirts invited Evans to a seat below her."Look at that," said Lola to Hazard, glancing over her shoulder as they passed into the parlour. "Now she's going to be good to him.""In the name of heavens, woman, you didn't tell her!""Why not? She's the very one that ought to know. She will not inform the reporters.""But what will she think of me?" asked Hazard in some concern."You? Why, you don't count! You are only a pawn in their game." As his eyes flashed she added, with a bewildering tilt of her chin: "I promise to make good all your losses.""May my losses prosper!" prayed Hazard audibly.* * * * *Elise used a makeshift conversation with Rutledge till she heard the humming accents of the others well going, and then—"Mr. Rutledge," she said. "I wish to speak to you of your defence of my name when that Mr. Smith—"The suddenness of it routed all Rutledge's cool senses."Oh, Miss Phillips," he broke in, "I am so sorry that I should have done anything to accentuate that abominable fellow's remark. I am so heartily ashamed of my unpardonable boyish thoughtlessness and lack of consideration that I cannot find words to express my contempt for myself," etc., to the same effect, without giving Elise a chance to speak, till she was surprised in turn, then amused, then annoyed. Finally, in order to bring him to a reasonable coherency, she interrupted his self-denunciations."What did Mr. Smith say of me, Mr. Rutledge?""I can't repeat that to you, Miss Phillips.""You must if the words are decent. Tell me at once. I must know.""He simply coupled your name with that of—Doctor Woods—the negro who—lunched at your home in Cleveland."Evans forced out the last half-dozen words with a visible effort—which the girl may have misinterpreted."Oh!" She dropped her face in her hands. She had not dreamed of that explanation. But she gathered herself in a moment. Every pennyweight of her admirable pride came to her support. At the mention of "negro luncheon" she was on guard against Rutledge, her kindly purpose forgotten. She sat straight up and with a perfect dignity said:"I thank you, Mr. Rutledge, for your well-meant efforts in my behalf, but my father is abundantly able both to choose the guests who shall dine at his table, and to protect my name, whenever indeed it shall need a champion." She closed the discussion by rising.Evans did not tarry long. He was too badly scattered. The other guests soon followed, except Elise, who remained overnight at Lola's insistence."Come right up to my room and tell me all about it.... Whatdidyou do to that miserable man? You ought to be spanked, Elise.""I did nothing to him.""And why didn't you? I said to Ollie when you sat down on the stairs, 'Now she's going to be good to him.' Did you tell him you knew?""Yes.""What did he say?""He—apologized," said Elise with a nervous laugh."Apologized! For mercy's sake!—and what else?""I accepted his apology—on condition he would not do it again;" and she broke out into real mirth at sight of Lola's scandalized face.CHAPTER XVIIfThe Mail'seditorial was conservative, other papers were not so respectful. It was worse even than Mrs. Phillips had predicted. All over the South the papers ran the whole gamut of indignation and abuse from lofty scorn all the way down to plain editorial fits. The entire Southern press, Democratic, Republican, and Independent, except a few sheets edited by negroes, were of one mind on the subject of negroes dining with white men. Papers that had supported Mr. Phillips heartily were all severe, some of them bitter, in their denunciations.The Wordyfellow element in the school-fund fight welcomed the President's act as a boon from heaven. They raised a howl that was heard in every nook and corner of the Southland, and that by the very thundering shock of its roar broke through and drove back the forces of the negro's friends. The weak-willed were borne down and the timid and the doubting were carried away by the purely physical force of noise or by having lashed to fury their sometimes latent but ever-present terror of the Black Peril. And not only the weak, indeed, and the timid and the doubting went in crowds to the Wordyfellow camp, but strong men, fearless men, men of the most philanthropic impulses toward the negro race, men who had fought openly and ably the Wordyfellow propaganda, became silent and began to waver, or deserted the negro's cause and unhesitatingly espoused the other side.In vain did the negro's staunchest friends proclaim their indignation at the President's lunching with Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods, and try to convince their people that the South should be true to its own interests and do simple justice to the negro despite any act of his fool friends. It was useless. The Southern people—the floating vote, the balance of power—were in no mood to draw fine distinctions, nor to listen to theories in face of facts. A careless hand had struck the wavering balance, and the beam went steadily down.Reports of defections began to come rapidly to Mr. Phillips. Those from the negroes in the South told of the losses faithfully, but gave any other than the true reason for the change of sentiment; while letters from his white advisers told him more or less plainly that his negro luncheon had done the damage and that the cause was as good as lost.These reports roused the President's fighting blood. He sent for Mackenzie."Read that stack of letters, Mac, and you will see that the negroes in the South are in a fair way to be trampled to death. Now I must head this thing off, and I want your help. I am determined to defeat that Wordyfellow movement if there is power in the Federal government. I'll not be content to have the laws annulled by the Federal Supreme Court after they are passed, even if that can be done. We must find some way to win this fightin the electionsand thus give the lie to these prophecies that that luncheon has lost the battle."So he and the astute Mackenzie rubbed their heads together for a week: and finally came to a remedy so simple that they were ashamed not to have thought of it at once. Simple indeed—if they could apply it. In less than another week, Mr. Hare, the recognized administration mouthpiece in the House, introduced a bill appropriating moneys from the national treasury to the States in proportion to population for purposes of public education. The milk in this legislative cocoanut was a provision that the money apportioned to each State should be so distributed among the individual public schools of the State that, when taken together with the State's own appropriation, all the schools in the State should be open for terms of equal length.From statistics carefully compiled in the office of the Commissioner of Education Mr. Phillips and Mr. Mackenzie had calculated the amount of the appropriation so that if the Southern States adopted the Wordyfellow plan the negro race would get virtually the whole of the appropriation from the national government.Elise Phillips, persuading herself that she was on the lookout for reasons to despise Mr. Rutledge, regularly read the editorial column ofThe Mail.There one morning she learned that "the immediate effect of the introduction of the Hare Bill in the House has been to transfer the fight from the South to Washington. True, the Wordyfellow speakers and press have raised a more ear-splitting howl, and opened up with every gun of argument, appeal, abuse, expletive and rant; but they see clearly that this bill if passed will bring all their schemes to naught, and that the issue has been taken out of their hands. It is tantalizingly uncertain to them whether the bill will become a law; for there are many incidental questions and considerations which complicate the issue here at Washington. But all men know that when Mr. Phillips sets his head for anything he will move heaven and earth to attain it. Few doubt his power to whip many Representatives and Senators into line or his readiness to wield the whip if the fate of any pet measure demands it. There is much of the Jesuit in Mr. Phillips' philosophy of life and action. When he believes a thing is right he believes that no squeamish notion should prevent his bringing it to pass. Keep your eyes on him! It is always interesting to see how he does it.""Pity he is not a Senator!" Elise commented with scornful impatience as she threw the paper down, "that papa might whip him into becoming modesty!"
"SIR:—I have the honour to present my resignation as Secretary of Agriculture, to take effect at the earliest moment you may be able to relieve me of the duties of the office.
"With assurances of my highest consideration and sincerest good wishes for yourself and the success of your administration, I am
"W. E. BAXTER."
At the bottom of the page there was added:
"P.S.—I am willing to assign any plausible reason for this resignation that you may desire, or that may suggest itself to you as likely to relieve you of any embarrassment as a result of it. W.E.B."
Mr. Phillips punctuated his first hasty perusal of the note with a snort of contempt, and checked an outburst of sarcastic, wrathful comment to read it over a second time. Fortunately at this moment Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods rose and apologized for having to withdraw in order to catch a train.
Their host was loth to have them go, and expressed regret that they had not been able to arrive at some definite plan of campaign. He asked that they inform him if they should come to Washington, so that he might discuss the subject further with them. Expressing their great pleasure that the chief executive took such a lively and intelligent interest in the weal and progress of their race, the two negro worthies withdrew, Mrs. Phillips dismissing them with a formal bow and smile and Helen, following her father, giving them a cordial hand-shake as they retired.
When they had gone Mr. Phillips thrust the letter of resignation at Mackenzie, and exploded:
"Mac, just read that! The provincial, patronizing, postscript-writing popinjay! Could you have imagined the impudence of it! Does not wish me to be embarrassed as a result of his quitting us—the conceited ass! I wonder if he thinks I care a rap, or that the people care, for his cheap little melodramatics. I might have known that it was too much to have expected a sensible secretary from that cursed negro-phobia State! But he was so strongly pressed for a cabinet appointment, and really did appear to be such a strong fellow. I might have guessed his apparent excellences were too good to be true! Oh, but the patronizing insolence of his offer to hush it up for us! I swear it's unbearable. Damn the superior high-and-mighty airs these Southerners assume! My mother was a South Carolinian, but I can't feel a sympathetic tremor in my blood for any such damnable bigotry. I'll give Mr. Baxter and all his hide-bound, moss-backed, supercilious gang to know that this is one administration that proposes to make a democratic government a reality in this democratic country. A man shall be measured by the essential qualities of manhood he possesses, and dealt with accordingly, whatever his position, pull, size, sentiments, claims or colour! What do you think of that infernal note?"
"He does show great consideration for us—distinguished consideration, I may say. He will not tell it on us," sarcastically commented Mackenzie.
"The devil take his distinguished consideration!" snapped Mr. Phillips. "I'll accept his little resignation before he can wink, and give the papers a full statement of the circumstances just as they occurred. I'll show the upstart what a small potato he is—damn his impudence! And then just to think, Mac, of the inexpressible insult in refusing to lunch with persons that I deem worthy to dine with my wife and daughters! It really makes it almost too damnably personal to be overlooked. He must understand that respectability, presentability, acceptability, in my home is a matter that is as sacred to me as such things are to him with all his Bourbon notions!—but thank God he may understand also that such acceptability is based on true merit, and that a man's colour has absolutely nothing to do with it.... Come along with me to the library and we will accept this little resignation before it gets cold, and have it at his hotel before he gets cold!"
CHAPTER XIV
Mrs. Phillips, ill at ease during the luncheon, had taken the opportunity to retire offered by the departure of the negro guests, and had taken Helen with her; but that young lady, feeling the electric condition of the atmosphere and full of lively curiosity, had returned to hover around the dining-room door and learn what all the row was about. She heard her father's outburst with great interest—being no little shocked at his sulphurous words, but no less deeply concerned at the suggestion of embarrassment to him politically, and forcibly and enthusiastically impressed with his fine scorn of subterfuge and manly decision to fight out his battles in the open.
When President Phillips came in to dinner and asked for his daughters, their mother told him Helen was in her room and Elise had gone driving with Lola. "I did not like Elise's conduct at lunch. It was too pointed, entirely too pointed. I shall talk to the young lady very plainly."
"Now, Hayne, don't worry the child with this affair. It is bad enough as it is. I hope—"
"Bad enough as it is! Why, one would think you wished to resign also. Were you insulted, too?"
"Not insulted, Hayne; but ever since you sent me to the pinelands of North Carolina that winter for Elise's throat I have not been able to think of a negro as I did before—and Elise feels the same way, I know. It is so plain down there: the negroes are so many and so—different. I can't receive them with any sort of pleasure. Just think of what the Southern papers will have to say. The awful things they said about your negro quartette were almost unbearable, and I know that was mild to what this will be. I do wish you had not brought them in to lunch, Hayne."
"Why, May, you are surely not going over against me with those supercilious Southern fanatics?"
"Hayne! That is almost insulting. You know that I am for you against the world, whatever comes. No one, not even Elise or Helen, has ever heard me offer the least criticism of anything you have done—and no one ever will, my dearest"—she spoke simply and earnestly as she held her hands up toward him in a gesture eloquent of abiding love—"but I cannot have pleasure in receiving negroes. I have seen the negro as he really is, and I cannot feel that some soap and water and a silk hat make a—"
"Stop, May, right there"—Mr. Phillips' arms went about his wife in tenderness as he placed a hand upon her lips. "Listen to me. You dear women are creatures of impulse and sentiment—and thank Heaven for that, too: for when the time ever comes that you shall judge men from your heads instead of your hearts, woe to us!"—and he kissed her hair in reverent gentleness—-"but—"
"Well, this is an idyllic scene!" exclaimed Elise, coming into the room with Helen. "It is better than a play. Daddy dear, you do it beautifully. You should have gone on the stage."
Mr. Phillips' state of mind, his bottled-up vexation because of Elise's behaviour at luncheon, his impatience at the interruption of his conversation with his wife at the point where she seemed to have made out her case against him and before he had opportunity to demolish her sentiment with masculine logic, added to Elise's lightness of manner and speech, which nettled him in his serious concern over Baxter's resignation, were, all together, too much for moderation.
"Now look here, young lady," he growled out ungraciously, "you have presumed entirely too much upon your privileges to-day. When did you become too good to dine with people your mother and sister were entertaining?"
"Why, papa!" the girl exclaimed in amazement at the roughness of his manner;—but the sternness of his face did not relax, and she stumbled along seeking some excuse. "Lola and I did not want any lunch, and all those men—"
"Stop! Don't be a dodger! You know very well, miss, that you declined to lunch because Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods were there. Now you must understand that I am as regardful of your honour as you are, that my life is at your service to protect it against the slightest affront, but that I will not be sponsor for any silliness, and will certainly not overlook or permit any high-flown impertinence that affronts me in the presence of guests of my choosing. What do you suppose Mr. Mackenzie thinks of your high-and-mighty rebuke to him for sitting at my table in that company? He must feel very properly subdued, I suppose you think. And the bishop and Doctor Woods—they are doubtless overcome with humiliation because of your refusal to meet them."
He dropped his overbearing manner as Elise's face turned from crimson to white and her lips began to tremble—for he was a tender-hearted and gallant gentleman.
"Now let me say once for all, my daughter, that I must be the judge of who is a proper person to be entertained in this household, and I want no more such exhibitions of filial disrespect as you made to-day. I think no explanation is due: but I will tell you that one of the gentlemen who lunched with us to-day is a bishop in his church and a leader of ten million citizens of this country, while Doctor Woods is a graduate of Harvard and Heidelberg, a man whose learning is surpassed by that of very few men in America, and is the very best type of his own race and a creditable product of any race. Both these gentlemen are entirely worthy of your highest respect."
"But, papa, they are negroes!" said Elise, emboldened to attempt a defence when her father dropped his browbeating tone and assumed to address her reason.
"Negroes?—and what of that? It is not the first time a negro has lunched with a President of the United States. Calm your misgivings by remembering that it is assuredly safe, either socially or politically, to follow any precedent set by Mr. Roosevelt. But further, my daughter, what does the term 'negro' impute to these men more than a colour of skin? Nothing. My child, 'the man's the thing,'—his colour is absolutely nothing. A negro must be judged individually, by his own character and ability—you judge white men so. He is not responsible for the whole race, but for himself, and must stand or fall upon his individual merit and not upon his colour or caste. It is the glory of our America that it has but one order of nobility—a man; and when that order is abolished or others established our democratic institutions will be a hollow pretence and our decadence have set in. Heaven defend a daughter of mine should be either dazzled by a tinselled rank or class pretension, or fail to appreciate simple, genuine, personal excellence."
Elise was glad enough her father had calmed down and branched off into generalities. She was discreetly, not impudently, silent, and took the first opportunity to retire.
* * * * *
On that afternoon Elise had met Evans Rutledge and had really found pleasure in his friendliness. She speculated whether his manner would have been quite so cordial if he had known of the luncheon then but two hours past. She had seen no little of him in a casual way since living in Washington, for he was an acceptable visitor at most of the desirable places. With repeated meetings they had come to an unspoken truce, Elise being impelled to friendly simplicity by her very nature, and Rutledge by the love which would not permit him to deny himself any opportunity to be near her despite some rebellious notions of self-respect.
Rutledge's vacillation of mind concerning Elise was evidenced by his presence in Cleveland. It comported very well with his former status as a freelance correspondent that in search of "copy" he should have followed the President out to Ohio, but he confessed to himself that it was somewhat below the dignity of his present position and standing as an editorial writer that he should have asked for the assignment as news representative allotted to his paper on the Presidential special. He called himself a fool, and—thought of many situations that might happen to evolve themselves on the train.... They didn't evolve.
Only one paltry three minutes' talk with Elise did he win for all his journeying. He had stood by her carriage that afternoon as she waited for Lola DeVale in front of Vantine's, and they had talked in the unaffected manner of the first days of their acquaintance until Lola came out and invited him to join them on an evening at the end of the week at an informal gathering of young people at her home in Washington. He had accepted with what he afterward thought was childish and compromising eagerness.
"I like that Mr. Rutledge so much. I invited him for you, Elise," Lola said as they drove homeward.
"Why for me?" asked Elise.
"Perhaps I should say because of you. Can't you see the reason in his eyes every time he looks at you? I can."
"You are mistaken there, my dear. I happen to know that Mr. Rutledge loves, or once loved, a young woman who has greatly disappointed him."
"How?"
"He has learned that her family—and perhaps she—is impossible."
"How did you know of his love for the girl?"
"He told me himself," Elise answered with a nonchalant air that proved her an actress of the finest art.
"He did! You were playing with fire, Elise. The sympathetic 'other girl' is always in a dangerous role. Did he tell you of his disappointment also?"
"Oh, no. But that was—and is—evident."
"But the girl? Was she really—nice—better than her people?"
"Yes. No—yes—that is, nice. Of course you know Mr. Rutledge would not love a woman who was not—nice."
"Oh, certainly; but if he was really disappointed in her, all the more reason he might find a solace in your smiles."
"It was her family rather than herself, I think. He is uncertain about her—is afraid to love her."
"He does seem to have an uncertain look at times that has puzzled me. I think you are responsible for some of his uncertainty, however; or perhaps the other girl makes him uncertain about you. If it were not for her you would have to look to your defences.... He must have loved her very much or he could not stand the temptation you are to him.... I'm glad you've solved the riddle, but very sorry you told me. I have liked Mr. Rutledge; but I despise any man who would not brush aside all obstacles to marry the woman he loves and who loves him. Don't you?"
"Oh," said Elise uncertainly, "but, really, it was—it may have been—because she did not love him. I do not think he lacks courage—exactly. He simply would not—pursue—the young woman because her father's—because the—the obstacle was—seemed—insurmountable,—but really I must not be violating confidences. There is no reason why you should not at least respect him, Lola. His course is not without some justification, for the objection, from his point of view, is—vital."
"But what if the girl loves him? Does she love him?"
"Really, Lola, he—he did not inform me—whether she does or not. He has not made the slightest reference to the subject, nor spoken the smallest of confidences to me since that summer on the St. Lawrence.... I think he regrets ever having told me anything about his—heart's affairs. I suppose I should not repeat them—they were spoken under peculiar circumstances."
"There is nothing peculiar, my dear. It is easy to see why a man who is not free to make love to you will choose the next best thing and talk of love with you.... You would better be careful of Mr. Rutledge, however, for I fear his loyalty to that first love totters on its throne every time he looks into your gray eyes. You must not shatter his faith in his own faithfulness."
CHAPTER XV
The second morning's papers were aflame with the news of it! President Phillips, true to his outspoken character, himself had called in the Associated Press representative immediately on his return to Washington and dictated a concise statement of all the circumstances leading to Mr. Baxter's resignation. The Secretary's house was besieged by reporters, but all were referred to the White House for information. The daily newspapers featured the item in every conceivable style of display head-lines, and the affair was a nine-day sensation in Washington and a reverberating tempest throughout the South.
Evans Rutledge by the force of his genius, his wide knowledge of men and affairs and the accuracy of his political information had gone rapidly toward the front rank in his profession. He was now the leading editorial writer on theWashington Mail, an anti-administration organ.
Of that paper Elise sought the first issue with surreptitious eagerness. She picked it up fully expecting to read quite the most scathing philippic she had ever seen in print. She was surprised to find that the former correspondent had put off his extravagances for a more judicial editorial manner. She recognized his work by several phrases that had been in theChicago Americanarticle.
The editorial was severe, but dignified and fairly respectful. Rutledge commended Secretary Baxter for his prompt and emphatic refusal to lunch with a negro even though at the table of a President of the United States and at the President's personal invitation or "command." He said the fact that Mr. Phillips had intended no insult made the insult no less real; and that Baxter had done the only possible thing—the duel being no longer in vogue—declined and resigned.
He went on to say that there was an irreconcilable difference between the Northern and the Southern ideas of the social equality of the races; that the Southern man's idea was bred in the bone, and no amount of argument or abuse or lofty advice from the Northern press, or boyish impulsiveness in the President's chair, could change that idea one iota; that while their fears sometimes might be lulled to sleep, might be forgotten like other ills in the interest or excitement of other concerns, the black peril was their great Terror in both their waking and sleeping hours, and even when asleep they slept upon their arms.
Elise read that in face of this Terror all other questions were insignificant, and all arguments, prejudices, passions,loves and hates(she put her fingertip on the words) among Southern gentlemen melted away or were fused into a mighty and unalterable sentiment to go down to death rather than to permit social intermingling with the negro race.
The editorial concluded that the Southern feeling on this subject was ineradicable, and was so deep-seated and universal that it became a great Fact which any man of fair discretion and sensible purpose would have recognized and reckoned with; that no President with an abiding sense of the proprieties would have proposed the luncheon to Baxter, and no gentleman of the South would have hesitated for a moment in declining the insulting invitation. The subject was dismissed with the prediction that the cause of the negro immediate and remote would be damaged immeasurably by this act of the impulsive gentleman in the White House who would take the Southern situation by the seat of the trousers as though it were a self-willed small boy pouting in a cellar and yank it incontinently up the Phillips stairs of progress.
There was no other subject discussed in hotel lobbies, committee-rooms or wherever else two or more men were gathered together on the day after the facts were known. In the afternoon in one of the committee-rooms of the Senate, Senators Ruffin and Killam, Representatives Smith and Calhoun of Killam's State, and Representative Hazard of a New York City district, were ventilating their views on the matter when Rutledge joined them, on the hunt for Calhoun.
The comments on the President's negro luncheon were all adverse, though expressed in terms of varying elegance and force from the keen and polished irony of Mr. Ruffin to Mr. Killam's brutal outbursts and picturesque profanity. Mr. Hazard, not having the same sectional view-point as the others, though of the same political creed, was an interested listener. Senator Ruffin referred to the editorial inThe Mailand drew Evans into the discussion.
The young man, glad to be untrammelled by editorial discretion, gave free rein to his indignation, but in deference to Mr. Hazard's presence was careful to make some allowance and excuses for the opinion of Northern people on the matter of social amenities to negroes. However, to compensate for this concession and leave no doubt of his opinion, he was even more picturesque than Mr. Killam, if not so profane—and consequently more forcible, Hazard thought—in paying his respects to Mr. Phillips' negro policy.
But Senator Killam resented even the suggestion of excuse for Northern opinion, and opened up an even more choice and outrageous assortment of profanity and invective. Rutledge, Calhoun and Senator Ruffin were ashamed at his disregard of ordinary decencies, while Hazard assumed a look of polite amusement. Mr. Killam's satellite, Smith, however, was vastly tickled at his master's performance, and took pains to show his surpassing admiration. Smith was a raw-boned, half-washed giant with long hair that never knew a shampoo, who owed his election to Congress to a gift of stump-speaking and a consistent devotion to Senator Killam's political fortunes. He usually kept quiet when his chief was there to speak. He did so on that afternoon till, carried away by Mr. Killam's extravagances about niggers in white dining-rooms, he blurted out:
"Yes; I suppose now Miss Elise Phillips will be getting sweet on Doctor Woods. The nig—"
Smash!
Rutledge struck him on the point of the jaw and he fell in an awkward heap between a chair and the wall. He was up in a moment growling like a mastiff, but was restrained by Calhoun and Hazard. Rutledge was standing perfectly still, his thumbs in his trousers pockets, showing no excitement save in the glint of his eye. Smith was muttering his desire to fight it out. He could not talk plainly, for the blow had unhinged his loosely clacking jaw. Hazard, Killam and Calhoun held him by force till he was quiet. It would have been impossible to prevent his forcing a further clash perhaps if Senator Ruffin had not insisted on ending the matter just there.
"Gentlemen!" he said, "this must stop right here. None of us can afford to pursue the miserable affair further. We should all be ashamed that a young lady's name has been used in this discussion at all, and especially in such a manner was it unpardonable! Mr. Smith certainly forgot himself; and while Mr. Rutledge acted from a chivalrous impulse he will learn when he is older that a blow usually advertises rather than suppresses an insult to a woman."
It began to dawn upon Mr. Smith by this time that he had committed a woeful breach of good manners, and with a parvenu's awe of "propriety" he was more than anxious to have the affair hushed up. None the less did he wish to keep secret his knockdown. He got out as quietly as possible in search of a surgeon. Rutledge retired with Calhoun, who slapped him on the back as they went down the corridor and whispered, "Good old boy! Served him right, the damn dog."
Senator Ruffin sent for the attendant who had left the committee-room as soon as quiet was restored, and bought his silence with a five-dollar bill. This honest man was true to his promise to keep his mouth shut, but he overlooked informing the Senator that he had already given the first of his co-labourers he met in the hall a fragmentary account of the mix-up. He had given the names only of Senators Ruffin and Killam, as he did not know the others, all of whom he thought were members of the Lower House.
The reporters were on the trail in an hour. They interviewed the Senators, but these were dumb. They found that the Senate attendant who had his information second-hand was the only source of news supply. What this fellow lacked in knowledge, however, he supplied out of his imagination; and the details grew and multiplied as different reporters interviewed him. At best there was much to be supplied by the young gentlemen of the press, and the result was as many different stories as there were men on the job. The nearest any of them got to the truth was to say that two Congressmen had been discussing the negro question and had come to blows because some woman's name had been dragged in, and that one had broken the other's jaw. This much in the evening papers.
By the next morning the newspaper ferrets had located all the actors and eye-witnesses and gave their names to the public. Fortunately the attendant had not caught Smith's remark but only his rebuke by Senator Ruffin. So that the public knew only that Evans Rutledge had unset or broken the jaw of Congressman Smith because of some improper use of a young lady's name. Whose, none of the gentlemen would say.
* * * * *
Evans Rutledge was in a fever of anxiety lest that name should get to the public. He was sure that he could not face Elise again if it did. Senator Ruffin's rebuke had sunk deep into his heart and he felt more guilty than Smith. He looked over the morning and evening papers very carefully to see whether they had discovered the young woman, before he finally decided to go to Senator DeVale's as he had promised Lola. When he arrived he found, beside Elise, only Alice Mackenzie, Hazard and young MacLane, an under-secretary of the British embassy. Others who were to come failed to appear.
Elise was not pleased with the situation. She was quite willing to be ordinarily civil to Mr. Rutledge, but she knew that nothing could separate MacLane and Alice Mackenzie, and that Hazard had known Lola so long and had proposed to her so regularly and insistently that he was for her or for nobody. It looked a little too much, therefore, as if she had chosen Evans for her very own for the evening. She did not want him to think such a thing possible. She remembered his point-blank editorial utterance that those small sentiments—loves and hates—melted away before exhibitions of social equality with negroes—so at least she construed it—and she could not but resent it, though she would not admit she troubled herself to do that.
"Now, young people," said Lola, "as the programme has been spoiled we will make this an evening of do-as-you-please."
"Good, very good," commented Hazard. "In that case you will please to come over here and take this chair and let's finish that conversation we were having last night when the unpronounceable Russian took you away from me."
"I am afraid that conversation is a serial story," she laughed, taking the chair he placed for her.
MacLane asked Alice Mackenzie some vague question about a song, which only she could interpret, and they by common impulse went through the wide door to the piano in the back parlour, where after she had hummed a short love ballad for him to piano accompaniment they dropped into a pianissimo duet of love without accompaniment.
Elise, feeling that she was being thus thrown at Mr. Rutledge's head, came to the mark with spirit and kept him guessing for an hour. She resented his possible inference that she had chosen him for an evening'stête-à-tête, and set about to show him that such was not the fact by a display of perversity and brilliance which dazzled while it irritated him. She would assume for a moment an intimately friendly, even confiding, manner that like the breath of the honeysuckle at his Pacolet plantation home would set his senses a-swim,—and in the next moment chill his glowing heart with the iciest of conventional reserve or answer his sincerest speeches with the light disdain and indifference of a mocking spirit. At one time she would kindle his admiration for her quickness of thought and keenness of repartee; and again appear so dull and careless that he must needs explain his own essays at wit.
Her caprices, so plainly intentional yet inexplicable, exasperated him almost to the point of open rebellion, and the more evident his perturbation became, the more spirit she put into the game. She won him back from a half-dozen fits of resentful impatience to the very edge of intoxication,—only to bait him again more outrageously.
Lola DeVale, perfectly familiar with the theme of Oliver Hazard's serial, found time even while admiring Hazard's ability to decorate his story in ever-changing and ever pleasing colours, to note that Elise was giving Rutledge a tempestuous hour.
"It's a shame for her to treat him so," she said to Hazard, interpreting her meaning by a nod toward Elise and Evans.
"I hadn't noticed. What's she doing to him?"
"I believe he loves her, and she has been treating him shamefully all evening."
"So that was it," murmured Hazard. "She certainly ought to be good to him."
"Beg pardon, I didn't understand you," said Lola.
"I said she ought to be good to him."
"I heard that. But the other remark you made?"
Hazard caught himself, and looked at Lola steadily. "I was so bold as to express an opinion—which had not been requested—and to aver that—she—er—ought to be good to him," he repeated with an over-done blankness of countenance.
"You come on," said Lola as she rose. "We are going to scare up something for you people to eat," she remarked to the others.
"Now, sir," she said when she had gotten him into the dining-room, "I'll see what sort of a reporter I could be. Stand right there, and look at me. Now.—why did Mr. Rutledge knock Congressman Smith down? No, no, stand perfectly still—and no evasion."
"What are you talking about?" asked Hazard.
"Don't be silly," the girl said impatiently. "I read something more than the society and fashion columns in the newspapers. Tell me. Why did he break Mr. Smith's jaw?—who was the young lady?—and what did Mr. Smith say of her? I know it was Elise; but tell me about it—and hurry, for those people are getting hungry."
"I must not tell that, Lola," Hazard answered her seriously.
"A man should have no secrets from his—proposed—wife."
"Make itpromisedwife and I'll agree," Hazard replied eagerly, taking her hand.
"No; we'll leave itproposedawhile longer," she answered him archly. "I've become so accustomed to it that way that I'd hate to change it." The smile she gave him as she slowly drew away her hand would have bribed any man to treason.
"But we will compromise it," Lola continued. "I will be real careful of your honour. I'll ask you a question, and if the answer isyesyou needn't answer it. Now—was it not an insult to Elise that Mr. Rutledge resented?"
"Lola, when you said that wordwifea moment since you were—heavenly."
"Hush your nonsense, Ollie.... I knew it was Elise when you said that thing in the parlour.... Did Mr. Rutledge really break his jaw?"
"Oh, it was beautiful, beautiful," said Hazard with enthusiasm. "Such a clean left-hander! Dropped him like a beef—he's big as two of Rutledge—in a wink—before he could finish his sentence,—the low-bred dog! Yes, beautifully done, beaut—"
"Here they come," said Lola. She was busily breaking out the stores from the sideboard when Elise and Rutledge appeared.
"Here, Mr. Hazard, take this dish in to that mooning young couple in the back parlour. And you, Mr. Rutledge, just force them to eat enough of these pickles to keep their tempers in equilibrium."
* * * * *
"Oh, my dear," she exclaimed when the two men were gone, "I've discovered the name of the young woman Mr. Rutledge fought for. Ollie let it get away from him—not the name, but I figured it out. And for whom do you suppose it was?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," answered Elise in all truthfulness.
"Of all women you should. I told you I could see it in his eyes,"' laughed Lola.
"Not for me?" Elise cried in genuine surprise.
"For you."
"What did the man say?" she asked quickly.
"Some caddish thing, of course. Men are so nasty. I didn't have time to get the particulars before you and Mr. Rutledge followed us in here. But Ollie says it was just b-e-a-u-t-iful the way Mr. Rutledge dropped him—and he's three times as big as Mr. Rutledge, too—"
"We've tried moral suasion, strategy, force, every expedient," interrupted Hazard as he and Rutledge came back into the dining-room, "but the Scotch lass and her laddie positively decline to be fed by us. They are fully supplied by their own ravings—ho! don't throw that salad at me!"
"Here, take a dose of celery quick—a biblical pun like that is a too serious tax upon the simple Congressional brain," said Lola.
Hazard looked foolish, and he felt like a fool; but what real manly lover outside the story-books was ever else than foolish when love's fit was upon him?
None of the quartette in the dining-room was the least bit hungry, and it was but a very few moments till the young hostess led the way back to the parlour, Elise and Rutledge following slowly. When they reached the stairway Elise seated herself on the third step and by the gesture with which she arranged her skirts invited Evans to a seat below her.
"Look at that," said Lola to Hazard, glancing over her shoulder as they passed into the parlour. "Now she's going to be good to him."
"In the name of heavens, woman, you didn't tell her!"
"Why not? She's the very one that ought to know. She will not inform the reporters."
"But what will she think of me?" asked Hazard in some concern.
"You? Why, you don't count! You are only a pawn in their game." As his eyes flashed she added, with a bewildering tilt of her chin: "I promise to make good all your losses."
"May my losses prosper!" prayed Hazard audibly.
* * * * *
Elise used a makeshift conversation with Rutledge till she heard the humming accents of the others well going, and then—
"Mr. Rutledge," she said. "I wish to speak to you of your defence of my name when that Mr. Smith—"
The suddenness of it routed all Rutledge's cool senses.
"Oh, Miss Phillips," he broke in, "I am so sorry that I should have done anything to accentuate that abominable fellow's remark. I am so heartily ashamed of my unpardonable boyish thoughtlessness and lack of consideration that I cannot find words to express my contempt for myself," etc., to the same effect, without giving Elise a chance to speak, till she was surprised in turn, then amused, then annoyed. Finally, in order to bring him to a reasonable coherency, she interrupted his self-denunciations.
"What did Mr. Smith say of me, Mr. Rutledge?"
"I can't repeat that to you, Miss Phillips."
"You must if the words are decent. Tell me at once. I must know."
"He simply coupled your name with that of—Doctor Woods—the negro who—lunched at your home in Cleveland."
Evans forced out the last half-dozen words with a visible effort—which the girl may have misinterpreted.
"Oh!" She dropped her face in her hands. She had not dreamed of that explanation. But she gathered herself in a moment. Every pennyweight of her admirable pride came to her support. At the mention of "negro luncheon" she was on guard against Rutledge, her kindly purpose forgotten. She sat straight up and with a perfect dignity said:
"I thank you, Mr. Rutledge, for your well-meant efforts in my behalf, but my father is abundantly able both to choose the guests who shall dine at his table, and to protect my name, whenever indeed it shall need a champion." She closed the discussion by rising.
Evans did not tarry long. He was too badly scattered. The other guests soon followed, except Elise, who remained overnight at Lola's insistence.
"Come right up to my room and tell me all about it.... Whatdidyou do to that miserable man? You ought to be spanked, Elise."
"I did nothing to him."
"And why didn't you? I said to Ollie when you sat down on the stairs, 'Now she's going to be good to him.' Did you tell him you knew?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He—apologized," said Elise with a nervous laugh.
"Apologized! For mercy's sake!—and what else?"
"I accepted his apology—on condition he would not do it again;" and she broke out into real mirth at sight of Lola's scandalized face.
CHAPTER XVI
IfThe Mail'seditorial was conservative, other papers were not so respectful. It was worse even than Mrs. Phillips had predicted. All over the South the papers ran the whole gamut of indignation and abuse from lofty scorn all the way down to plain editorial fits. The entire Southern press, Democratic, Republican, and Independent, except a few sheets edited by negroes, were of one mind on the subject of negroes dining with white men. Papers that had supported Mr. Phillips heartily were all severe, some of them bitter, in their denunciations.
The Wordyfellow element in the school-fund fight welcomed the President's act as a boon from heaven. They raised a howl that was heard in every nook and corner of the Southland, and that by the very thundering shock of its roar broke through and drove back the forces of the negro's friends. The weak-willed were borne down and the timid and the doubting were carried away by the purely physical force of noise or by having lashed to fury their sometimes latent but ever-present terror of the Black Peril. And not only the weak, indeed, and the timid and the doubting went in crowds to the Wordyfellow camp, but strong men, fearless men, men of the most philanthropic impulses toward the negro race, men who had fought openly and ably the Wordyfellow propaganda, became silent and began to waver, or deserted the negro's cause and unhesitatingly espoused the other side.
In vain did the negro's staunchest friends proclaim their indignation at the President's lunching with Bishop Martin and Doctor Woods, and try to convince their people that the South should be true to its own interests and do simple justice to the negro despite any act of his fool friends. It was useless. The Southern people—the floating vote, the balance of power—were in no mood to draw fine distinctions, nor to listen to theories in face of facts. A careless hand had struck the wavering balance, and the beam went steadily down.
Reports of defections began to come rapidly to Mr. Phillips. Those from the negroes in the South told of the losses faithfully, but gave any other than the true reason for the change of sentiment; while letters from his white advisers told him more or less plainly that his negro luncheon had done the damage and that the cause was as good as lost.
These reports roused the President's fighting blood. He sent for Mackenzie.
"Read that stack of letters, Mac, and you will see that the negroes in the South are in a fair way to be trampled to death. Now I must head this thing off, and I want your help. I am determined to defeat that Wordyfellow movement if there is power in the Federal government. I'll not be content to have the laws annulled by the Federal Supreme Court after they are passed, even if that can be done. We must find some way to win this fightin the electionsand thus give the lie to these prophecies that that luncheon has lost the battle."
So he and the astute Mackenzie rubbed their heads together for a week: and finally came to a remedy so simple that they were ashamed not to have thought of it at once. Simple indeed—if they could apply it. In less than another week, Mr. Hare, the recognized administration mouthpiece in the House, introduced a bill appropriating moneys from the national treasury to the States in proportion to population for purposes of public education. The milk in this legislative cocoanut was a provision that the money apportioned to each State should be so distributed among the individual public schools of the State that, when taken together with the State's own appropriation, all the schools in the State should be open for terms of equal length.
From statistics carefully compiled in the office of the Commissioner of Education Mr. Phillips and Mr. Mackenzie had calculated the amount of the appropriation so that if the Southern States adopted the Wordyfellow plan the negro race would get virtually the whole of the appropriation from the national government.
Elise Phillips, persuading herself that she was on the lookout for reasons to despise Mr. Rutledge, regularly read the editorial column ofThe Mail.
There one morning she learned that "the immediate effect of the introduction of the Hare Bill in the House has been to transfer the fight from the South to Washington. True, the Wordyfellow speakers and press have raised a more ear-splitting howl, and opened up with every gun of argument, appeal, abuse, expletive and rant; but they see clearly that this bill if passed will bring all their schemes to naught, and that the issue has been taken out of their hands. It is tantalizingly uncertain to them whether the bill will become a law; for there are many incidental questions and considerations which complicate the issue here at Washington. But all men know that when Mr. Phillips sets his head for anything he will move heaven and earth to attain it. Few doubt his power to whip many Representatives and Senators into line or his readiness to wield the whip if the fate of any pet measure demands it. There is much of the Jesuit in Mr. Phillips' philosophy of life and action. When he believes a thing is right he believes that no squeamish notion should prevent his bringing it to pass. Keep your eyes on him! It is always interesting to see how he does it."
"Pity he is not a Senator!" Elise commented with scornful impatience as she threw the paper down, "that papa might whip him into becoming modesty!"