Colonel Symonds Dodd sat at his desk in the First National block and clutched helplessly at the dragging ends of events. He failed to get firm hold on anything and irefully informed Judge Warren that the whole situation was a “damnation nightmare.”
“Well,” affirmed the judge, who had been pricked in his legal pride by his master's tongue, “the Consolidated has eaten some pretty hearty meals. It's no wonder it is having bad dreams right now.”
“You're squatting down like an old rooster in a dust-heap,” raged the colonel, too angry to be choice in his language. “You, a twenty-five-thousand-dollar lawyer, come in here to me and say that you can't block the confiscatory scheme of a bounder—a nobody—a black-leg stranger in this state!”
“I'll carry on the fight if you order me to do so,” said the corporation lawyer. “That's my business. We can lobby in the next legislature. We can fight the laws that Archer Converse's legislature is bound to pass, for they're after us, Colonel Dodd. We can carry the thing to the highest tribunal—and then we can fight the appraisals on every water-plant in the state, but—”
“Well, but what?”
“One by one they'll pry loose every finger we have got hooked on to our proposition. I have submitted that water-district plan to the acid test, Colonel. It was my duty to do it. A lawyer must keep cool while his bosses curse and disparage. I have the opinions of the law departments of three leading colleges on the scheme. They all say that such a plan, if properly safeguarded by constitutional law, will get by every blockade we can erect. Now if you want to spend money I'll help you spend all you care to appropriate,” concluded the judge, grimly.
“We'll fight,” was the dictum of the master.
“Then I take it that you have definitely decided to give up your political control, Colonel! A certain amount of popularity is needed to cinch any man in politics. You're going to be the most unpopular man in this state if you start in to fight every town and city simply for the purpose of piling up costs and clubbing them away from their own as long as you have the muscle to do it.”
“I don't care about politics—politics has gone to the devil in this state already. They'll get tired of chasing fox-fires through a swamp following after such lah-de-dahs as Arch Converse, and will come back and be good. I'll wait for 'em to come back. But in the mean time I'm going to have the courts say whether our property can be confiscated. I'll take a few pelts while they're trying it on!”
Judge Warren bowed stiffly and retired from the interview.
Day after day passed and Colonel Dodd was more than ever convinced that the nightmare was continuing. Politicians agreed with him—all of them with amazement, many of them with wrath.
Because the Honorable Archer Converse and the man who had called himself Walker Farr had dropped completely out of sight, leaving no explanation of any sort.
“They didn't even tellme,” confessed Daniel Breed, “and I'm their chief fugler, and here's the November election right plunk on top of us—and even the Apostle Paul would have to do at least four weeks of spry campaigning in this state to be sure of being elected if a state committee was getting ready to lay down on him like ours seems to be doing. I'm jogafferbasted. I can't express myself no other way.”
Mr. Breed, in moments of especial anxiety and despondency when he reviewed the situation, darkly hinted that the grand jury ought to look into the thing. The Consolidated had done about everything up to date except assassinate and abduct, he averred, and everybody knew Colonel Dodd's present state of mind.
However, Colonel Dodd did receive Miss Kate Kilgour politely when she came to him; he had always held her in estimation next to the bouquets in his office.
“I have come to you,” she explained, “because I could not get the information anywhere else. I have tried. I do not want to bother you, sir.”
The girl was pitifully broken, her voice trembled.
“Well, well, what is it?” he demanded, impatiently, and yet with a touch of kindly tolerance. “You needn't be afraid of me even if you did leave me in hop-and-jump style, Miss Kilgour.”
“Where is your nephew, Richard?”
And then, in spite of his assuring statement, Miss Kilgourwasafraid of him.
His square face was suffused with red, he thwacked his fist on his desk and leaped out of his chair and stamped away from her, cursing viciously.
“Who sent you here to ask me that question?” he shouted, advancing on her from the window.
“It's my own business—I came on my own account,” she stammered.
“How comes it to be your business, miss?”
“I gave him my promise to marry him.”
“If you did you made a devil of a mistake; I can tell you that, young woman!”
“I realize it, Colonel Dodd. I want to know where he is. I want to take back that promise.”
He controlled himself and stared at her. “Take my advice and consider your contract with Richard Dodd annulled—for good and sufficient reasons, Miss Kilgour. I don't want to say any more. I can't say any more. This thing touches me on a sore spot. Don't be afraid. I'm not angry at you. But just forget that fellow and go on about your own business.”
“I will do so, Colonel Dodd, after I have settled certain business with him.”
“What business?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You'll have to tell me,” he insisted, roughly. “I'm now engaged in looking into my nephew's affairs. I want all the information I can get.”
“I can only ask you—implore you to tell me where he is.”
“I'd like to know, myself,” he retorted, bluntly. “I'd give considerable to know. You needn't look at me as if you think I'm lying! Now you may as well be frank with me, Miss Kilgour. I'm going to be frank with you. I have always found you to be a young woman of prudence and caution. I'll take a chance and tell you something which I have been keeping to myself. I want you to know why you needn't feel bound to keep any promise you have made to my nephew. He has played a despicable trick on me, his own uncle, after all the help I have given him. He practically stole five thousand dollars from me and has run away, and I don't know where he is. Now, what have you to tell me?”
“I want to put this in his hands, sir.” She produced a packet, at which the colonel peered with curiosity. “You will certainly find out where he is. I want you to give it to him.”
“Oh, love-letters, eh?”
“No, sir!”
With shaking fingers she untied the cord and displayed the contents. The packet was money, many bills stacked neatly, and the size of the bundle made the colonel open his eyes very wide.
“We—I—we owe it to him, sir. There are five thousand dollars here.”
“So that's what he did with my money, eh? Well, I'll take it.”
“I don't think it is your money, Colonel Dodd. I have good reason to feel sure that it is not. I have not seen your nephew since the day of the convention, and then only at a distance. And this money—it was borrowed a long time ago.”
“Borrowed by whom—by you?”
“No, sir. I cannot tell you the circumstances. I simply want you to give it back to him. I shall feel that I am released from my obligation.”
“Look here, my dear young woman,” said the colonel, with all his 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.
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 intoyouraffairs. 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 whatyoube—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 thehotel de ville—and I shall not be scare when I am right.”
“Look here, Etienne! What do you mean?”
“La bellema'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. Andla bellema'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.