XI
On the morning after the reception Franklin West sat at his desk in his office in the Belmore Building. His head was bowed over a mass of type-written sheets. He paid little attention to them, however. He found it hard to work this morning. He was thinking, with considerable disgust, that he had made himself ridiculous the night before. He had, moreover, made a misstep that might lead to serious consequences.
Yes, he had certainly been a great ass. He had spoken to Mrs. Briggs in a way he would never have thought of speaking if he had been in his senses. However, now that the mischief was done, he must consider how to meet the consequences. What would the consequences be? Would she tell her husband? The answer to that question depended wholly on whether she believed the charge he had made against her husband’s integrity. West knew well enough that Mrs. Briggshad an absolute belief in her husband, and this knowledge had often caused him a contemptuous bitterness. Why should a man like Briggs be allowed to deceive such a woman as that? If Mrs. Briggs still kept her faith in her husband, there was no reason why she should not reveal the episode of the previous night—none except the woman’s natural fear of creating a scandal. This motive might be strong enough to keep her silent. But, of course, he could never enter her house again. He might, it is true—and the thought gave him a momentary relief—he might write her an apology, and explain his behavior on the plea of his condition. But that would be too humiliating, and it might give Briggs a hold on him that would be decidedly disagreeable, and lead to disastrous consequences. However, this expedient he could try as a final resort. It was, of course, possible that Mrs. Briggs would believe what he had said, or would make an investigation that would bring the truth home to her. Here was an interesting problem. Once convinced that her husband was a hypocrite, that he had made his money by means that she considered dishonest, would she still respect and love him?
West took a satisfaction in thinking that if hehad made himself ridiculous, he might have at least ruined the happiness of the woman who had repulsed him, and of the man for whom he had a covert hatred, caused partly by jealousy, partly by an instinctive consciousness of Briggs’s dislike, and partly by that natural aversion which all men have for those associated with them in dealings that degrade them in their own esteem.
The green door leading into the adjoining room opened, and the office boy entered. “There’s a lady to see you, sir,” he said.
Franklin West looked up. “Who is she?”
“She told me just to say a lady wanted to see you.”
“All right.” West rose slowly and left the room. A moment later he was greeting Miss Beatrice Wing.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said, with his large smile.
Miss Wing was radiant in a new Spring frock, a tight-fitting blue serge suit, with a large hat, trimmed with blue flowers, resting jauntily on her auburn hair.
“I don’t often come out so early,” she replied, “especially after such late hours.” She looked as if she had had the night’s rest of a child.
“Come into my office, won’t you?” West led the way, and Miss Wing followed, suggesting by her walk the steps of a dancer. As she passed the clerks glanced up and smiled covertly at one another. When she had seated herself she looked at West for a moment without speaking, her face bright with good humor.
“I’ve come on a funny errand,” she said at last, rubbing her left arm with her gloved hand.
“That’s interesting,” said West, cheerfully.
“I want you to do something for me.”
The smile disappeared from his face, but swiftly returned. West rarely suffered more than a momentary eclipse. At this moment, however, his instinct warned him of danger. “I shall be only too glad,” he began, but Miss Wing cut him short.
“I want,” she said, waving one hand with the air of making a joke, “I want to place my services at your feet.”
West continued to smile. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I want you to give me something to do. I want you to give me a share in your enterprises. I know I can be useful to you.”
“But what about your own work—your newspaper work?”
Miss Wing snapped her gloved fingers. “What does that amount to? Why, it hardly pays for my frocks. And to tell the truth,” she went on, her manner growing more familiar, “I’m not at all clever at it. My editor has to rewrite nearly everything I send him. By nature I’m a business woman. Society reporting bores me. I like larger interests. That’s what I came to Washington for.”
West showed that he was growing interested by slightly closing his left eye. This gave him a curiously sinister expression, which Miss Wing observed. “You want to do some political work—is that the idea?” he asked.
Miss Wing sank back in her chair. “I want to get a little power if I can, and to use it for my own advantage. Now, there’s frankness for you. But I’m only a beginner. I’m just getting my start.”
West cleared his throat. “Since you’re so frank, Miss Wing,” he said, pleasantly, “perhaps you’ll tell me just what you have in mind.”
On being confronted with this question Miss Wing flushed. “I think you know perfectly well what I mean. I’ve told you that I want you to let me into your schemes.”
West shrugged his shoulders; his face became almost sad. “I haven’t any schemes of that sort,” he said, softly.
Miss Wing laughed outright. “You haven’t any interest in railroad legislation?” she asked, with a lift of the eyebrows.
“It is true that I’m employed by a railroad. But as you aren’t a lawyer, I don’t see how you could help me.”
Miss Wing looked at him for a long time, her smile hardening. “I’m surprised that you should treat me like this.” Then her face softened. “I’m a little hurt, too.”
“You wanted me to be frank,” West replied, gently.
Miss Wing hesitated. When she spoke it was with a complete change of tone. “There’s really no use beating about the bush any longer. Everybody in Washington knows what you do for that railroad. Everybody knows that last year you spent more than a hundred thousand dollars for it—right here in this city. And everybody knows that Congressman Briggs is your tool. He is helping you push the bill through the House. But everybody doesn’t know one other fact that I know.” She held her head high and looked atWest defiantly. She flushed, and the flowers in her hat trembled.
“What may that be?” he asked, quietly.
She sank back in her seat and smiled. “If I were to publish an article,” she went on, “showing that you had not only bribed Congressman Briggs, but had taken advantage of your hold on him to make love to his wife, that would make a dreadful scandal, wouldn’t it?”
West did not stir. He seemed even to control his breath. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, in a low voice.
Miss Wing smiled and watched him. She admired a man who could take things so coolly. “I’ve suspected for a long time,” she explained, lightly, “and when I saw you drinking all that punch last night, I knew you were losing your head. Wasn’t it strong? I just sipped it. That was enough. Oh, youwereamusing! You entertained me all the evening.”
West looked at her without a change of expression. He was thinking how pleasant it would be to take her by the throat and choke out her silvery laugh. “You followed me about, then?” he asked.
Miss Wing looked injured. “Oh, dear, no—nothingso vulgar. But I saw it all by the merest chance. I happened to be standing near the library door at just the right angle. I saw you threaten Mrs. Briggs. There was no need of hearing what you said. It was all as plain as daylight. Now, what do you propose to do about it?”
West roused himself. “Do you realize,” he said, “that if you were to start a story of that sort no one in Washington would believe you?”
Miss Wing looked hurt. “Then you want me to publish the article?” she said, reproachfully. “How unkind of you!”
“Do as you please about that. It won’t be the first libel that has been printed about me.”
“Perhaps you would prefer that I should informMr.Briggs of what I saw last night,” she said. “That would be less public, wouldn’t it?”
“Tell him,” West replied, with a yawn, “and you’ll get turned out of the house for your trouble. Besides, Mrs. Briggs would deny the story. Then where would you be? No, my dear lady, you’ve made a false start. You’ll have to try your game on a younger hand. I’ve been in Washington too long to be afraid of a woman like you.” The smile had completely faded from his face. He looked like a different man, and much older. “Only, if Iwere you,” he went on, “I wouldn’t make the mistake of bothering Congressman Briggs. That might be disastrous to your career here.”
I shall give you a few days to think the matter over.
“‘I shall give you a few days to think the matter over.’”
Miss Wing rose from her seat. “Thanks for your advice; it’s so disinterested,” she said, with a bitter smile. “But I shall give you a few days to think the matter over. The article will keep. In case you should wish to write me——”
“I know the address,” West interrupted. “Going?” Miss Wing stood at the green door. The toss of her head conveyed anger, resentment and disappointment. “If I were you I’d stick to newspaper work,” West called after her. “It pays best in the end.”