CHAPTER I THE LETTER THAT SAID COME
As
the character of a woman may be accurately deduced from her
handkerchief, so a man’s mental status is evident from the way he
opens his mail.Curtis
Keefe, engaged in this daily performance, slit the envelopes neatly
and laid the letters down in three piles. These divisions represented
matters known to be of no great interest; matters known to be
important; and, third, letters with contents as yet unknown and
therefore of problematical value.The
first two piles were, as usual, dispatched quickly, and the real
attention of the secretary centred with pleasant anticipation on the
third lot.
“Gee
whiz, Genevieve!”As
no further pearls of wisdom fell from the lips of the engrossed
reader of letters, the stenographer gave him a round-eyed glance and
then continued her work.Curtis
Keefe was, of course, called Curt by his intimates, and while it may
be the obvious nickname was brought about by his short and concise
manner of speech, it is more probable that the abbreviation was
largely responsible for his habit of curtness.Anyway,
Keefe had long cultivated a crisp, abrupt style of conversation. That
is, until he fell in with Samuel Appleby. That worthy ex-governor,
while in the act of engaging Keefe to be his confidential secretary,
observed: “They call you Curt, do they? Well, see to it that it is
short for courtesy.”This
was only one of several equally sound bits of advice from the same
source, and as Keefe had an eye single to the glory of
self-advancement, he kept all these things and pondered them in his
heart.The
result was that ten years of association with Lawyer Appleby had
greatly improved the young man’s manner, and though still brief of
speech, his curtness had lost its unpleasantly sharp edge and his
courtesy had developed into a dignified urbanity, so that though
still Curt Keefe, it was in name only.
“What’s
the pretty letter all about, Curtie?” asked the observant
stenographer, who had noticed his third reading of the short missive.
“You’ll
probably answer it soon, and then you’ll know,” was the reply, as
Keefe restored the sheet to its envelope and took up the next letter.Genevieve
Lane produced her vanity-case, and became absorbed in its
possibilities.
“I
wish I didn’t have to work,” she sighed; “I wish I was an opera
singer.”
“‘Cromwell,
I charge thee, fling away ambition,’ murmured Keefe, his eyes still
scanning letters; ‘by that sin fell the angels,’ and it’s true
you are angelic, Viva, so down you’ll go, if you fall for
ambition.”
“How
you talk! Ambition is a good thing.”
“Only
when tempered by common sense and perspicacity—neither of which you
possess to a marked degree.”
“Pooh!
You’re ambitious yourself, Curt.”
“With
the before-mentioned qualifications. Look here, Viva, here’s a line
for you to remember. I ran across it in a book. ‘If you do only
what is absolutely correct and say only what is absolutely
correct—you can do anything you like.’ How’s that?”
“I
don’t see any sense in it at all.”
“No?
I told you you lacked common sense. Most women do.”
“Huh!”
and Genevieve tossed her pretty head, patted her curly ear-muffs, and
proceeded with her work.Samuel
Appleby’s beautiful home graced the town of Stockfield, in the
western end of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Former Governor
Appleby was still a political power and a man of unquestioned force
and importance.It
was fifteen years or more since he had held office, and now, a great
desire possessed him that his son should follow in his ways, and that
his beloved state should know another governor of the Appleby name.And
young Sam was worthy of the people’s choice. Himself a man of
forty, motherless from childhood, and brought up sensibly and well by
his father, he listened gravely to the paternal plans for the
campaign.But
there were other candidates, and not without some strong and definite
influences could the end be attained.Wherefore,
Mr. Appleby was quite as much interested as his secretary in the
letter which was in the morning’s mail.
“Any
word from Sycamore Ridge?” he asked, as he came into the big,
cheerful office and nodded a kindly good-morning to his two
assistants.
“Yes,
and a good word,” returned Keefe, smiling. “It says: ‘Come.’”
The secretary’s attitude toward his employer, though deferential
and respectful, was marked by a touch of good-fellowship—a not
unnatural outgrowth of a long term of confidential relations between
them. Keefe had made himself invaluable to Samuel Appleby and both
men knew it. So, as one had no desire to presume on the fact and the
other no wish to ignore it, serenity reigned in the well-ordered and
well-appointed offices of the ex-governor.Even
the light-haired, light-hearted and light-headed Genevieve couldn’t
disturb the even tenor of the routine. If she could have, she would
have been fired.Though
not a handsome man, not even to be called distinguished looking,
Samuel Appleby gave an impression of power. His strong, lean face
betokened obdurate determination and implacable will.Its
deep-graven lines were the result of meeting many obstacles and
surmounting most of them. And at sixty-two, the hale and hearty frame
and the alert, efficient manner made the man seem years younger.
“You
know the conditions on which Wheeler lives in that house?” Appleby
asked, as he looked over the top of the letter at Keefe.
“No,
sir.”
“Well,
it’s this way. But, no—I’ll not give you the story now. We’re
going down there—to-day.”
“The
whole tribe?” asked Keefe, briefly.
“Yes;
all three of us. Be ready, Miss Lane, please, at three-thirty.”
“Yes,
sir,” said Genevieve, reaching for her vanity-box.
“And
now, Keefe, as to young Sam,” Appleby went on, running his fingers
through his thick, iron-gray mane. “If he can put it over, or if I
can put it over for him, it will be only with the help of Dan
Wheeler.”
“Is
Wheeler willing to help?”
“Probably
not. He must be made willing. I can do it—I think—unless he turns
stubborn. I know Wheeler—if he turns stubborn—well, Balaam’s
historic quadruped had nothing on him!”
“Does
Mr. Wheeler know Sam?”
“No;
and it wouldn’t matter either way if he did. It’s the platform
Wheeler stands on. If I can keep him in ignorance of that one
plank——”
“You
can’t.”
“I
know it—confound it! He opposed my election on that one point—he’ll
oppose Sam’s for the same reason, I know.”
“Where
do I come in?”
“In
a general way, I want your help. Wheeler’s wife and daughter are
attractive, and you might manage to interest them and maybe sway
their sympathies toward Sam——”
“But
they’ll stand by Mr. Wheeler?”
“Probably—yes.
However, use your head, and do all you can with it.”
“And
where do I come in?” asked Genevieve, who had been an interested
listener.
“You
don’t come in at all, Miss. You mostly stay out. You’re to keep
in the background. I have to take you, for we’re only staying one
night at Sycamore Ridge, and then going on to Boston, and I’ll need
you there.”
“Yes,
sir,” and the blue eyes turned from him and looked absorbedly into
a tiny mirror, as Genevieve contemplated her pleasant
pink-and-whiteness.Her
vanity and its accompanying box were matters of indifference to Mr.
Appleby and to Keefe, for the girl’s efficiency and skill
outweighed them and her diligence and loyalty scored one hundred per
cent.Appleby’s
fetish was efficiency. He had found it and recognized it in his
secretary and stenographer and he was willing to recompense it duly,
even generously. Wherefore the law business of Samuel Appleby, though
carried on for the benefit of a small number of clients, was of vast
importance and productive of lucrative returns.At
present, the importance was overshadowed by the immediate interest of
a campaign, which, if successful would land the second Appleby in the
gubernatorial chair. This plan, as yet not a boom, was taking shape
with the neatness and dispatch that characterized the Appleby work.Young
Sam was content to have the matter principally in his father’s
hands, and things had reached a pitch where, to the senior mind, the
coöperation of Daniel Wheeler was imperatively necessary.And,
therefore, to Wheeler’s house they must betake themselves.
“What
do you know about the Wheeler business, kid?” Keefe inquired, after
Mr. Appleby had left them.Genevieve
leaned back in her chair, her dimpled chin moving up and down with a
pretty rhythm as she enjoyed her chewing-gum, and gazed at the
ceiling beams.Appleby’s
offices were in his own house, and the one given over to these two
was an attractive room, fine with mahogany and plate glass, but also
provided with all the paraphernalia of the most up-to-date of office
furniture. There were good pictures and draperies, and a wood fire
added to the cheer and mitigated the chill of the early fall weather.Sidling
from her seat, Miss Lane moved over to a chair near the fire.
“I’ll
take those letters when you’re ready,” she said. “Why, I don’t
know a single thing about any Wheeler. Do you?”
“Not
definitely. He’s a man who had an awful fight with Mr. Appleby,
long ago. I’ve heard allusions to him now and then, but I know no
details.”
“I,
either. But, it seems we’re to go there. Only for a night, and
then, on to Boston! Won’t I be glad to go!”
“We’ll
only be there a few days. I’m more interested in this Wheeler
performance. I don’t understand it. Who’s Wheeler, anyhow?”
“Dunno.
If Sammy turns up this morning, he may enlighten us.”Sammy
did turn up, and not long after the conversation young Appleby
strolled into the office.Though
still looked upon as a boy by his father, the man was of huge
proportions and of an important, slightly overbearing attitude.Somewhat
like his parent in appearance, young Sam, as he was always called,
had more grace and ease, if less effect of power. He smiled genially
and impartially; he seemed cordial and friendly to all the world, and
he was a general favorite. Yet so far he had achieved no great thing,
had no claim to any especial record in public or private life.At
forty, unmarried and unattached, his was a case of an able mentality
and a firm, reliable character, with no opportunity offered to prove
its worth. A little more initiative and he would have made
opportunities for himself; but a nature that took the line of least
resistance, a philosophy that believed in a calm acceptance of things
as they came, left Samuel Appleby, junior, pretty much where he was
when he began. If no man could say aught against him, equally surely
no man could say anything very definite for him. Yet many agreed that
he was a man whose powers would develop with acquired
responsibilities, and already he had a following.
“Hello,
little one,” he greeted Genevieve, carelessly, as he sat down near
Keefe. “I say, old chap, you’re going down to the Wheelers’
to-day, I hear.”
“Yes;
this afternoon,” and the secretary looked up inquiringly.
“Well,
I’ll tell you what. You know the governor’s going there to get
Wheeler’s aid in my election boom, and I can tell you a way to help
things along, if you agree. See?”
“Not
yet, but go ahead.”
“Well,
it’s this way. Dan Wheeler’s daughter is devoted to her father.
Not only filial respect and all that, but she just fairly idolizes
the old man. Now, he recips, of course, and what she says goes.
So—I’m asking you squarely—won’t you put in a good word to
Maida, that’s the girl—and if you do it with your inimitable
dexterity and grace, she’ll fall for it.”
“You
mean for me to praise you up to Miss Wheeler and ask her father to
give you the benefit of his influence?”
“How
clearly you do put things! That’s exactly what I mean. It’s no
harm, you know—merely the most innocent sort of electioneering——”
“Rather!”
laughed Keefe. “If all electioneering were as innocent as that, the
word would carry no unpleasant meaning.”
“Then
you’ll do it?”
“Of
course I will—if I get opportunity.”
“Oh,
you’ll have that. It’s a big, rambling country house—a
delightful one, too—and there’s tea in the hall, and tennis on
the lawn, and moonlight on the verandas——”
“Hold
up, Sam,” Keefe warned him, “is the girl pretty?”
“Haven’t
seen her for years, but probably, yes. But that’s nothing to you.
You’re working for me, you see.” Appleby’s glance was direct,
and Keefe understood.
“Of
course; I was only joking. I’ll carry out your commission, if, as I
said, I get the chance. Tell me something of Mr. Wheeler.”
“Oh,
he’s a good old chap. Pathetic, rather. You see, he bumped up
against dad once, and got the worst of it.”
“How?”Sam
Appleby hesitated a moment and then said: “I see you don’t know
the story. But it’s no secret, and you may as well be told. You
listen, too, Miss Lane, but there’s no call to tattle.”
“I’ll
go home if you say so,” Genevieve piped up, a little crisply.
“No,
sit still. Why, it was while dad was governor—about fifteen years
ago, I suppose. And Daniel Wheeler forged a paper—that is, he said
he didn’t, but twelve other good and true peers of his said he did.
Anyway, he was convicted and sentenced, but father was a good friend
of his, and being governor, he pardoned Wheeler. But the pardon was
on condition—oh, I say—hasn’t dad ever told you, Keefe?”
“Never.”
“Then,
maybe I’d better leave it for him to tell. If he wants you to know
he’ll tell you, and if not, I mustn’t.”
“Oh,
goodness!” cried Genevieve. “What a way to do! Get us all excited
over a thrilling tale, and then chop it off short!”
“Go
on with it,” said Keefe; but Appleby said, “No; I won’t tell
you the condition of the pardon. But the two men haven’t been
friends since, and won’t be, unless the condition is removed. Of
course, dad can’t do it, but the present governor can make the
pardon complete, and would do so in a minute, if dad asked him to.
So, though he hasn’t said so, the assumption is, that father
expects to trade a full pardon of Friend Wheeler for his help in my
campaign.”
“And
a good plan,” Keefe nodded his satisfaction.
“But,”
Sam went on, “the trouble is that the very same points and
principles that made Wheeler oppose my father’s election will make
him oppose mine. The party is the same, the platform is the same, and
I can’t hope that the man Wheeler is not the same stubborn,
adamant, unbreakable old hickory knot he was the other time.”
“And
so, you want me to soften him by persuading his daughter to line up
on our side?”
“Just
that, Keefe. And you can do it, I am sure.”
“I’ll
try, of course; but I doubt if even a favorite daughter could
influence the man you describe.”
“Let
me help,” broke in the irrepressible Genevieve. “I can do lots
with a girl. I can do more than Curt could. I’ll chum up with her
and——”
“Now,
Miss Lane, you keep out of this. I don’t believe in mixing women
and politics.”
“But
Miss Wheeler’s a woman.”
“And
I don’t want her troubled with politics. Keefe here can persuade
her to coax her father just through her affections—I don’t want
her enlightened as to any of the political details. And I can’t
think your influence would work half as well as that of a man.
Moreover, Keefe has discernment, and if it isn’t a good plan, after
all, he’ll know enough to discard it—while you’d blunder ahead
blindly, and queer the whole game!”
“Oh,
well,” and bridling with offended pride, Genevieve sought refuge in
her little mirror.
“Now,
don’t get huffy,” and Sam smiled at her; “you’ll probably
find that Miss Wheeler’s complexion is finer than yours, anyway,
and then you’ll hate her and won’t want to speak to her at all.”Miss
Lane flashed an indignant glance and then proceeded to go on with her
work.
“Hasn’t
Wheeler tried for a pardon all this time?” Keefe asked.
“Indeed
he has,” Sam returned, “many times. But you see, though
successive governors were willing to grant it, father always managed
to prevent it. Dad can pull lots of wires, as you know, and since he
doesn’t want Wheeler fully pardoned, why, he doesn’t get fully
pardoned.”
“And
he lives under the stigma.”
“Lots
of people don’t know about the thing at all. He lives—well—he
lives in Connecticut—and—oh, of course, there is a certain
stigma.”
“And
your father will bring about his full pardon if he promises——”
“Let
up, Keefe; I’ve said I can’t tell you that part—you’ll get
your instructions in good time. And, look here, I don’t mean for
you to make love to the girl. In fact, I’m told she has a suitor.
But you’re just to give her a little song and dance about my
suitability for the election, and then adroitly persuade her to use
her powers of persuasion with her stubborn father. For he will be
stubborn—I know it! And there’s the mother of the girl . . .
tackle Mrs. Wheeler. Make her see that my father was justified in the
course he took—and besides, he was more or less accountable to
others—and use as an argument that years have dulled the old feud
and that bygones ought to be bygones and all that.
“Try
to make her see that a full pardon now will be as much, and in a way
more, to Wheeler’s credit, than if it had been given him at
first——”
“I
can’t see that,” and Keefe looked quizzical
“Neither
can I,” Sam confessed, frankly, “but you can make a woman swallow
anything.”
“Depends
on what sort of woman Mrs. Wheeler is,” Keefe mused.
“I
know it. I haven’t seen her for years, and as I remember, she’s
pretty keen, but I’m banking on you to put over some of your clever
work. Not three men in Boston have your ingenuity, Keefe, when it
comes to sizing up a situation and knowing just how to handle it.
Now, don’t tell father all I’ve said, for he doesn’t especially
hold with such small measures. He’s all for the one big slam game,
and he may be right. But I’m right, too, and you just go ahead.”
“All
right,” Keefe agreed. “I see what you mean, and I’ll do all I
can that doesn’t in any way interfere with your father’s
directions to me. There’s a possibility of turning the trick
through the women folks, and if I can do it, you may count on me.”
“Good!
And as for you, Miss Lane, you keep in the background, and make as
little mischief as you can.”
“I’m
not a mischief-maker,” said the girl, pouting playfully, for she
was not at all afraid of Sam Appleby.
“Your
blue eyes and pink cheeks make mischief wherever you go,” he
returned; “but don’t try them on old Dan Wheeler. He’s a morose
old chap——”
“I
should think he would be!” defended Genevieve; “living all these
years under a ban which may, after all, be undeserved! I’ve heard
that he was entirely innocent of the forgery!”
“Have
you, indeed?” Appleby’s tone was unpleasantly sarcastic. “Other
people have also heard that—from the Wheeler family! Those better
informed believe the man guilty, and believe, too, that my father was
too lenient when he granted even a conditional pardon.”
“But
just think—if he was innocent—how awful his life has been all
these years! You bet he’ll accept the full pardon and give all his
effort and influence and any possible help in return.”
“Hear
the child orate!” exclaimed Sam, gazing at the enthusiastic little
face, as Genevieve voiced her views.
“I
think he’ll be ready to make the bargain, too,” declared Keefe.
“Your father has a strong argument. I fancy Wheeler’s jump at the
chance.”
“Maybe—maybe
so. But you don’t know how opposed he is to our principles. And
he’s a man of immovable convictions. In fact, he and dad are two
mighty strong forces. One or the other must win out—but I’ve no
idea which it will be.”
“How
exciting!” Genevieve’s eyes danced. “I’m so glad I’m to go.
It’s a pretty place, you say?”
“Wonderful.
A great sweep of rolling country, a big, long, rambling sort of
house, and a splendid hospitality. You’ll enjoy the experience, but
remember, I told you to be good.”
“I
will remember,” and Genevieve pretended to took cherubic.