XIV
On the morning after the convention Douglas Briggs sat in his study, looking over his letters. He heard a tap at the door, and Michael entered with two telegrams.
“If any callers come,” said Briggs, “take them into the reception room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And give these telegrams to Sam.”
Michael nodded gravely; but he did not stir.
“That’s all,” said Briggs, without looking up.
“It’s glad I am, sir, yer got ahead o’ them div’ls last night,” said Michael.
“Thank you, Michael. We had a hard fight.”
“Sure, that was a fine speech yer made, sir.”
Briggs raised his head. “I’m glad you heard it.” He glanced sharply at Michael. “Were you there?”
“No, sir, but me cousin Ned was, that works forMr.Barstow over the way. He told me aboutit this mornin’, an’ I’ve read it in the mornin’ papers.”
“I haven’t had time to look at the papers yet,” Briggs remarked, absently.
“Here they are, sir.”
“All right.”
Michael kept his position. “Ned said it was fine the way yer drove the lies down their throats, sir.”
“Oh, well, I had to get back at ’em somehow,” Briggs replied, carelessly.
Michael assumed a more familiar attitude. “Sure, it’s a shame the things they say about a man when he’s in politics. There was Miles O’Connor, over in the Ninth Ward, one of the foinest men——”
“I guess that’ll do, Michael,” Briggs interrupted. “Have those telegrams sent as soon as you can.”
Michael hurriedly left the room. “Yes, sir,” he said at the door.
Briggs passed one hand over his forehead. “God!” he muttered. “I have to keep up this bluff even before my servants.” Just as he resumed work he heard Michael’s tap again. “Come in,” he cried, impatiently.
“Here’s something that just come by messenger, sir,” said Michael.
“Put it on the table, and don’t interrupt me again till I ring. Keep any other letters and telegrams tillMr.Fullerton comes down.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, sir,” said Michael. “Mr.West called you up on the telephone a little while ago.”
Briggs looked surprised. “Mr.Franklin West?” he asked, with a frown.
“Yes, sir.”
“From Washington, do you mean? Why didn’t you let me know?”
“No, sir, not from Washington. He’s here in town, sir. He told me not to wake you up.”
“Where is he?” Briggs asked.
“He’s stoppin’ at a hotel, sir.”
Briggs hesitated. “At a hotel?” he repeated. “What did he go to a hotel for? He always stays here when he comes to town.”
“He come over last night on the midnight train, sir. Here’s the telephone number. He said perhaps ye’d be kind enough to call him up this mornin’ and let him know when it would be most convenient for yer to see him.”
“Strange,” Briggs remarked, thoughtfully.Then he turned to Michael. “Did he say that anyone was with him?”
Michael shook his head. “He only said he’d wait at the hotel till he heard from yer, sir.”
Briggs stood for a moment thinking. Then he said, with two fingers on his lips: “You tell Sam to drive down right off and bringMr.West up here. Tell him to bringMr.West’s luggage, too, and ask him to say toMr.West that there’s a room all ready for him, as usual. This is a funny time for him to stand on ceremony with me.”
Michael started to go out; then turned back. “I suppose yer didn’t know Miss Fanny came last night, sir.”
“I thought she wasn’t coming till next week.”
“She arrived last night, sir, at nine o’clock. She sat up for yer, sir, till she fell asleep in the chair, and Mrs. Briggs made her go to bed.”
“Good girl,” said Briggs. “I suppose she hasn’t come down yet.”
“No, sir.”
A half-hour later Briggs heard the rustle of skirts outside the study door. Then the door opened softly. He went on busily writing. Light steps crossed to the chair behind him.
“Ahem!”
“Oh, hello, Fanny!” he said, without looking up.
“How did you know it was me?” cried Fanny, in a tone of disappointment.
Briggs leaned back in his chair and received an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Well, I don’t know anyone else who’d steal in just like that.”
“Michael told you, didn’t he?”
“Perhaps.”
“He didn’t want to let me come in.” Fanny sat on the edge of the desk. “He said you were busy. You—busy!”
Douglas Briggs smiled. “Well, I don’t seem to be busy whenever you’re around, do I? Still, I have to do a little work now and then.”
“I think there’s too much work in the world,” Fanny pouted. “Now there’s poor Guy. Think how he works!”
“Guy! Why, at this minute he’s sound asleep, and it’s nearly ten o’clock.”
“But think how he worked at that old nomination meeting of yours! He didn’t get home till nearly morning.”
“Well, I didn’t, either.”
“But you’re tough, Uncle Doug; Guy is delicate.”
“They generally are, at his age,” Briggs acknowledged, dryly, “especially when they have just come out of college.”
“I think you’re horrid to say such things about Guy, when he helps you so, too. I’ve just been up to see him.”
Briggs sat back in his chair. “W-h-hat!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, you needn’t be shocked! I justpeekedin. He was sound asleep, with his head resting on one hand, just like this, and the sweetest little blush on his face, and his hair in the cunningest little bang on his forehead. I was so relieved about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Fanny looked stealthily around the room. “He doesn’t snore!” she said, with her hand over her mouth.
“Oh! But suppose he had snored?”
Fanny slid from the desk and drew herself up. “Then, of course, I should have been obliged to—well, to break the——”
“Do you mean to say there’s an engagement between you two?”
Fanny held her hand over her uncle’s lips. “’Sh! No, not that. What would dad say if heheard you? Only he’s been writing me the loveliest letters this Summer. M’m!”
“I shall have to congratulate Guy on not snoring. But suppose,” Briggs continued, confidentially, “suppose I should tell you that sometimes he did snore?”
Fanny tossed back her head. “Well, that wouldn’t make any difference, either. Come to think of it, if Guy had snored this morning, his snoring would have been nice. Funny about love, isn’t it, Uncle Doug?” Fanny added, pensively.
“What is?”
“It makes everything nice.”
“In the one you love, you mean?”
Fanny nodded. “M’m—h’m!”
“Then you’re really in love with Guy?”
Fanny danced away. “Oh, I didn’t say that.”
“Fanny,” said Briggs, gently.
Fanny edged toward the table. “Well?” She still kept out of reach.
“Come over here,” Briggs urged.
Fanny stood at her uncle’s side, with one hand on the desk; Briggs let his hand rest on hers. “If you and Guy are really in love with each other, I have a bit of advice to give you.”
“Oh, you’re going to tell me how foolish it isto get married, aren’t you? That’s the way married people always talk.”
Briggs smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that.”
“Well? Wait till Guy gets rich, I suppose.” Fanny sighed. “Then I know I shall die an old maid!”
“No, I don’t mean that, either.”
“What do you mean, then?” Fanny said, severely.
“Make him give up the foolish notion he has of going into politics.”
“Oh, Uncle Doug!” Fanny exclaimed, reproachfully.
“Guy is a good, clean-hearted young fellow. You don’t want him to become cynical and hypocritical and deceitful, do you? You don’t want him to believe there’s no such thing as unselfishness in the world, that whenever a man turns his hand he expects to be paid for it ten times over?”
Fanny looked with astonishment at her uncle. “Well, what in the world is the matter with you?” she said, after a moment.
Briggs patted her hand. “There, there! I won’t preach any more. But I mean what I say.”
When Fanny spoke again there were tears in her voice. “Isn’t he a good secretary?”
“Oh, yes, good enough.”
“You’re mad because he’s staying in bed so late.”
“Nonsense! I told Michael myself not to call him. He’s worked himself to death during the past few weeks. I had to fight for my renomination, you know.”
“You did?” said Fanny, with a change of tone. “Why, I thought you were the most popular man in New York.”
“Well, the most popular men have enemies,” Briggs replied, grimly.
Fanny suddenly became affectionate, almost pathetic. “And I never congratulated you! I was so sure you’d be nominated—why, I took it as a matter of course.”
Briggs looked away. “Yes, you women folks always do,” he said, bitterly. “It is only the disappointments in life that you don’t take as matters of course.”
Fanny clapped her hands. “Uncle Doug, now I know what the trouble is. You haven’t had any breakfast. Dad’s always as cross as two sticks till he’s had his.”
“Yes, I have. I’m tired, that’s all. Now, run along, like a good girl. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Oh!” Fanny tossed her head, rose lightly on tiptoe and, swaying back and forth, started for the door. There she turned. “You forget I’ve had a birthday since I saw you last,” she said, haughtily.
Douglas Briggs had begun to write again. “Did you? What was it—fourteen, fifteen—?”
Fanny stiffened her fingers and held them before her eyes. “Ugh!” she exclaimed.
As she started to open the door she was thrust rudely back. Someone had pushed the door from the other side. She turned quickly and met the astonished face of Guy Fullerton.
“Fanny!” Guy cried, joyously. “When in the world did you get here?”
Fanny held out both hands. Guy seized them and tried to draw her toward him. She stopped him with a warning gesture, and glanced at her uncle.
“Go ahead,” said Douglas Briggs. “I’m not looking.”
Guy and Fanny embraced silently.
Fanny glanced at the shoulders bent over the table. “Thank you, sir,” she said, meekly.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” Guy cried, reproachfully.
“Because I thought I’d give you a surprise, sleepy-head.”
Briggs turned on his swivel-chair. “I guess you two’d better go into the other room.”
“Can’t I do anything for you, sir?” Guy asked. “The correspondence?”
“No hurry about that. I’ll ring when I need you. Oh, Fanny, you might ask your aunt to look in here a moment. I want to speak to her.”
“All right.” Fanny danced radiantly out of the room, followed by Guy. A moment later Briggs heard her call up the stairs: “Oh, auntie, Uncle Doug wants you.”
He listened and heard his wife descending. The sound of her footsteps gave him a strange feeling of mingled pleasure and discomfort. He had begun to resent her treatment of him. “Good-morning,” he said, cheerfully, as she entered. He rose quickly and offered her a chair.
“Did you wish to see me?” Helen asked, still standing.
“Yes. There were one or two things I wanted to talk over. Won’t you sit down?”
Helen took the seat. “Thank you,” she said. They had become very ceremonious.
“How are the children this morning?”
“I’ve just left them in the nursery. They are perfectly well.”
“Hasn’t Miss Munroe taken them out yet?”
Helen met his look. “Miss Munroe is leaving to-day,” she replied.
“What?” he cried, astonished.
“I told you several weeks ago that she was going to leave.”
“But I didn’t think you’d—” Briggs turned away and rested his head on his hand, with his elbow on the table. “Will you be kind enough to tell me why you have sent Miss Munroe away?” he asked, in a tone that showed he was trying to control himself. “She’s been with the children ever since they were born. You can’t get anyone to fill her place.”
“I sent her away because we couldn’t afford to keep her,” Helen replied.
“What do you mean bywe?”
“BecauseIcouldn’t afford to keep her, then.”
“And you think that I don’t count at all!” He laughed bitterly. “Those children are as much my children as yours, and I propose to have somethingto say about the way they are taken care of.” He glanced angrily at Helen, who remained silent. “You can be pretty exasperating at times, Helen. What do you propose to do with the children when we go back to Washington?”
“I am not going back to Washington,” she replied, in a low voice.
“What?” he exclaimed in astonishment.
“I am not going back to Washington.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We can’t afford——”
“Can’t afford! I’m sick of hearing that expression. You’ve used it a thousand times in the past six months. You make me feel as if I were a pauper or a thief.”
“I was going to say that we couldn’t afford to live in Washington as we’ve been living,” she continued, as if she had not heard him. “When you leave here I shall take the children to my place in Waverly and pass the Winter there.”
“Myplace!” he repeated, coldly. He turned away. “Yes, it is your place.”
“Did you send for me to speak about the children?”
“No, I wanted to consult you about the house in Washington. I have a chance to lease it fortwo years. Senator Wadsworth is looking for a place, and he said the other day he’d take the house whenever I wanted to rent it. I had told him I didn’t feel sure of going back, and, of course, I knew how you hated the place,” he concluded, harshly. “If you prefer to live somewhere else, I’m willing.”
“I have made up my mind not to go back,” said Helen.
“And may I ask how long you propose to keep away from Washington? Do you intend to cut yourself off from my political life altogether?”
“You know why I want to cut myself off from it,” Helen replied, her voice trembling.
“I should think I did! You’ve rubbed that in enough. I suppose you realize what people will say?”
“There are plenty of Congressmen’s wives who don’t go to Washington with their husbands.”
“But you’ve taken part in the life. You’ve been conspicuous.”
“You can say that I didn’t feel equal to entertaining this Winter, and I stayed at home to take care of my children. It will be true, too.”
He looked at her with solicitude in his face. “Do you mean that you are ill, Helen?”
“I’m sick. I’m sick of living,” she broke out. “But for the children, I could wish that I——”
“ThenIdon’t count in your feelings or in your life?” He hesitated, and when he spoke again it was in a tone of patience that betrayed the restraint he was putting on himself. “Helen, I think I have been pretty lenient with you so far, and if I let go now and then you can’t blame me. Since that night in Washington, the night of your ball, you’ve been a changed woman. You keep the children away from me as if you were afraid I’d contaminate them. You have cut down our expenses and forced us all to live as if we were on the verge of poverty. You’ve made our house as gloomy as a tomb. Now, I warn you, look out! Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And you propose to go on in this way?”
“That is one reason why I have decided not to go to Washington.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Because I saw how unhappy I made you. I thought you would be happier without me. And I can’t be different—I can’t!” she broke out, passionately.“I can’t live as we used to live, knowing that the money I spend——”
She checked herself. Douglas Briggs waited. “Well?” he said.
“Knowing where it comes from, Douglas,” she went on, lowering her voice. He made no comment, and she added, with a change of tone: “I had hoped things might be different this morning.”
He looked mystified. “Different?” he repeated.
“I hoped that you wouldn’t have to go back to Washington—except for the rest of your present term.”
“That I shouldn’t get the nomination, do you mean?” Then he laughed. “You’re a nice wife. I wonder how you’d feel if you knew what the loss of that nomination would mean to me?”
“If it meant poverty or humiliation I should have been glad to share it with you, Douglas.”
He turned away from her with the impatient movement of his head that she had so often seen Jack make. “Now, please don’t waste any heroics on me. But let me tell you one thing, Helen. If I hadn’t been re-nominated last night I should be a ruined man. Just at present I haven’t fivethousand dollars in the world. I told you last Spring how much it cost us to live. True, last year I made twice as much as I’d made the year before; but during the past few months I’ve lost every cent of it.”
Helen looked incredulous. Of late she often assumed an expression of mistrust at his statements that secretly enraged him. “How have you lost it?” she asked, fixing her eyes on him.
Briggs shrugged his shoulders. “By trying to make a fortune quick, just as many another man has done. I took greater risks—that’s all. Perhaps you’d like to know why I did that? I did it in order to make myself independent of those men in Washington—the men you’re so down on. I hoped that I could throw them off and go to you and say that I was straight.”
“And you thought that would please me?” Helen asked, in a tone of deep reproach.
He drew a long breath. “Well, I don’t know that anything will please you nowadays, Helen, but I thought it might.”
“That the money gained by such means——”
“You don’t mean to say that speculating is dishonest, do you?” he asked, with a harsh laugh.
“If the money that you speculated with hadbeen honestly earned it would be bad enough, but money—Oh, why do you force me to say these things? You know perfectly well what I think.”
He turned away, with disappointment and resentment in his face. “I see that it’s useless to try to please you. Perhaps it’s just as well that you’re not going to Washington with me.”
She rose from her seat and started to leave the room; but, on an impulse, she stopped. “I suppose a woman’s way of looking at these things is different from a man’s, Douglas. A woman can’t understand how hard it is for a man—how many temptations he has. Oh, I don’t blame you, Douglas; your doing all that for me—taking all those risks, and losing everything—I do appreciate it. But if I could only make you see that it is all wrong, that I’d love you poor and disappointed, a thousand times more than successful and——”
“And dishonest!” he interrupted. “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? Well, I guess it’s impossible for us to agree about these matters. Anyway, I’ve got the nomination, and that means my re-election. We’ve got to take things as they come in this world.”
Helen walked slowly toward the door.
“Then you’ve made up your mind?” he said, thinking she might weaken.
“I have made up my mind not to return to Washington,” she replied, without meeting his look.
Briggs turned away impatiently. “Very well, then. I’ll take rooms again at the club.”
When Helen had closed the door behind her Douglas Briggs sank into his chair and covered his face with his hands. After his work and worry of the past few weeks it seemed hard to him that he should be obliged to go through such a scene with his wife. For a few minutes he tortured himself with self-pity. He heard a rap at the door; but he paid no attention. He was in the mood where he wished to speak to no one, to see no one.