THE WOMAN
 
 ' We'll get you. It may take time, but we'll do it.'
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 A NO VEL 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE 
 
 FOUNDED ON 
 
 WILLIAM C. DE MILLE'S PLAY 
 
 OF THE SAME NAME 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 W. B. KING 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1912 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPAKY 
 
 By special arrangement with The DeMille Publishing Company
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I FIVE YEARS BEFORE . . .- .-. 1 
 
 II THE GIRL AND THE BOY . . >; >: . 21 
 
 III THE MACHINE . >.- . 42 
 
 IV THE CLASH . . . ..>:.. .65 
 V JIM BLAKE ..... .- . 76 
 
 VI A FAMILY Row 97 
 
 VII THE TRAP Ill 
 
 VIII THE TRAP is SPRUNG . .... 125 
 
 IX A LION IN A RABBIT TRAP .... 136 
 
 X THE GENTLE ART OF FILIBUSTERING . .. . 141 
 
 XI IN THE DAY OF BATTLE . . . > . 154 
 
 XII THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT . . . : > ; . 164 
 
 XIII BEFORE THE STORM .... > ; . 180 
 
 XIV THE FORLORN HOPE x > : . 187 
 XV LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? . . ... > ; . 203 
 
 XVI AN ODD ALLIANCE . . . > : . : . 223 
 
 XVII A WASTED PLEA > : > ; . 232 
 
 XVIII SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY . . : . ; > ; . 240 
 
 XIX PREPARING THE GRILL . > : ; ., w . 259 
 
 XX THE THIRD DEGREE . . . > ; > : . 263 
 
 XXI REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL . > : . 284 
 
 XXII THE LAST CARD . . >. w > ; . 304 
 
 XXIII JIM BLAKE, LOSER . . M : . : w . 316 
 
 XXIV THE HOUR OF RECKONING x >.- . 327 
 XXV THE VICTOR? 337 
 
 1824030
 
 THE WOMAN
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 THE Woman looked up from her task of fitting 
 the trunk tray into exact position. SUndish 
 noted vaguely that the effort of packing had not 
 made her red or frowsy. Even as she sat there on 
 the floor beside the nearly-full trunk, with a litter 
 of garments about her, her pose was not ungraceful. 
 Yet her face was oddly tense, and her clenched 
 hands spoke of self-control hard to maintain. 
 
 "No," she said patiently, as though trying to teach 
 a lesson to some rather stupid child, "that isn't what 
 I mean, at all. I mean, it's over. Can't you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Why, yes," answered Standish, "of course I 
 understand. Why shouldn't I ? It's over. You will 
 
 i
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 be safe at your aunt's house by six o'clock this even- 
 ing, and you will start for Europe to-morrow, just 
 as you arranged. And .our wonder-week is ended. 
 But there was no need to remind me, was there? 
 For the past six days I've been counting off every 
 hour as they say a condemned man does. And for 
 the next three months I'll be counting every " 
 
 "Oh !" interrupted the Woman, her hard-worn pa- 
 tience going to pieces. "Won't you understand ? I 
 said it was over. Over! Not for three months or 
 for any other time. But for always. Why do you 
 make me put it this way ? I tried to say it more " 
 
 Standish had crossed the room in three steps. He 
 lifted the Woman to her feet, and he looked into her 
 eyes searchingly, bewildered; seeking to read there 
 a subtle joke whose point his grosser masculine mind 
 had missed. The Woman was forever dazzling and 
 mocking him with quick unexpected shifts of 
 thought which his slower perceptions took long to 
 grasp. It used to remind him of an owl flapping in 
 pursuit of a humming-bird. He had said so once. 
 And the Woman had laughed, well pleased. 
 
 But there was no laughter now in her deep eyes. 
 
 2
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 No more light. They were dully resolute, hard with 
 a sort of sullen grief. They were the eyes of one 
 who enters a dentist's office mounts the witness- 
 stand against his own interest; must break dire 
 news to a recipient unfit to bear it; what you will 
 the look of one who hates the duty assigned, but 
 who has absolutely no idea of flinching from it. 
 And, behind all, lurked pain that external stoicism 
 could have masked from no one except a man. 
 
 And Standish, at last reading in part the expres- 
 sion, felt his own face grow blank and flaccid. Even 
 now, he could not comprehend. But something, of 
 a sudden, lay like hot lead within him. And he 
 dimly knew the 'something' was his heart. 
 
 "You don't mean" he began thickly, his throat 
 sanded and sore. 
 
 The Woman nodded. 
 
 "But," he protested lamely, "it it can't be. Why, 
 girl, you love me !" 
 
 "I don't," she answered, her voice dreary and flat. 
 "I don't love you. And and now I know I never 
 did. It is horrible, isn't it? I'm so sorry." 
 
 "You speak as if you'd broken a cut-glass dish,'* 
 
 3
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 said Standish, his senses rallying after the primal 
 blow. "Will you please tell me just what you 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Is it necessary?" she asked wearily. "Can't we 
 spare each other needless pain?" 
 
 "Needless pain," he echoed; "when the ship has 
 sunk what is the sense in saving the anchor? You 
 say you don't love me. Then why ?" 
 
 "I thought I did. Oh, I was so sure I did ! But 
 little by little, for days, I've begun to understand. I 
 lay awake all last night forcing myself to see things 
 just as they are. And by the time daylight came, it 
 was all clear to me. Don't look at me like that ! Do 
 you suppose I enjoy talking so? It has to be said. 
 And you're not making it a bit easy for me." 
 
 "Forgive me," he answered, a bitter note creeping 
 into his heavy voice. "You are wrecking me. You 
 are smashing all I hold dear. You are making my 
 future as barren as a rainy sea. Forgive me for not 
 making the process a bit easy for you." 
 
 "You have no right to say such things!" she 
 flared. "It is cowardly. It is ungenerous." 
 
 "Why? Because you are a woman? A woman 
 4
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 may flay a man. She may break his life to pieces 
 for her own amusement. If he dares to protest, he 
 is cowardly and ungenerous. Because she is a 
 woman. A man's hands are tied behind him by that 
 asinine old tradition. How about the woman who 
 pommels a man when she knows his hands are so 
 tied ? Isn't she as 'cowardly' and 'ungenerous' as I 
 would be if I thrashed a cripple? And yet women 
 clamor for their 'rights !' Rights ! With one-tenth 
 of the 'rights' that silly chivalry showers upon 
 women, I could conquer the whole world !" 
 
 "But you could not conquer one woman. If I 
 begged you to avoid a scene it was as much for your 
 own sake as for mine. Since you will have one, let's 
 get it over with as quickly as we can. Here is the 
 situation in a handful of words: I met you. You 
 weren't like any other man I'd ever known. You 
 didn't fall down and worship me at sight or pre- 
 tend to, which comes to the same thing. It didn't 
 seem to interest you that I had money and that other 
 men made fools of themselves over me. And then 
 your Quixotic ideas about politics and government 
 and all that sort of thing, appealed to me. These 
 
 5
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 and other reasons of the same kind made me think 
 I was in love with you." 
 
 "You didn't think. You were ! And " 
 
 "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Does it matter now? 
 Isn't that also an effort to save the anchor after the 
 wreck? But never mind. I thought I loved you. 
 With your impractical high-souled ideas about po- 
 litical reform and the people's wrongs you seemed to 
 me a modern Galahad; instead of just a Don 
 Quixote." 
 
 "Akf" 
 
 "I'm sorry it makes you wince. But it's the truth. 
 And the truth is generally painful." 
 
 "You are right," he agreed. "In fact I know of 
 only one thing more painful. And that is a lie. Is 
 it a lie you are speaking now ? Or was it a lie you've 
 been living for the past week ?" 
 
 "Neither, I think," said the Woman. "But that 
 isn't the point. When you wanted to marry me, I 
 felt as though a demigod had stooped to earth. 
 That isn't the way to feel when one marries. I 
 didn't know it then. I do, now. And perhaps the 
 knowledge that I would not be allowed to marry you 
 
 6
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 just yet, or even acknowledge our engagement, 
 helped strengthen the infatuation. Then when I 
 found I must go to Europe so soon, and you begged 
 me to give you just this one 'perfect week', it all 
 seemed so natural so right so beautiful " 
 
 "I was wrong!" he cried. "I was insane. I had 
 no right to suggest it. I had no right to let you con- 
 sent." 
 
 But, womanlike, she would not let him blame him- 
 self. 
 
 "It was not your fault," she cried. "Or if there 
 were fault at all it was mine as much as yours. I 
 say you 'begged' me to come here. You did not. 
 At your first hint I was as eager as you. Perhaps," 
 she added with a return of her forced hardness, "it 
 was not quite the way one would expect a Galahad 
 or a Quixote to spend a week. But the blame is as 
 much mine as yours. So don't let's talk of that. 
 Can't we both forget it?" 
 
 "Forget it? Why, girl, it's my whole life." 
 
 "It is an episode whose memory can be sweet or 
 bitter as we choose to make it. We were clever 
 enough to leave no trace when we went away. I'm 
 
 7
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 supposed to be on a visit and your worthy con- 
 stituents were told that their congressional repre- 
 sentative was going away to recuperate, somewhere 
 in the mountains. You will return from your vaca- 
 tion much benefited if a little vague as to its de- 
 tails. And I will go back to my aunt's to-night, pre- 
 pared to start happily on my European trip to-mor- 
 row morning. That is all." 
 
 "All?" 
 
 Standish gasped the monosyllable, horrified at 
 her light matter-of-fact tone and too masculine to 
 see with what fearful effort it was assumed. Blankly 
 ignorant of women he did not seek to read below 
 the surface composure. The horror of misery that 
 lay behind the wide hard eyes told him nothing. 
 Then, with a sharp revulsion his nerves gave way. 
 He broke into a rough choking laugh. 
 
 "Oh, the comic-opera situation !" he gurgled. "In 
 melodrama, it is the black-mustached seducer who 
 lures the pale-faced village belle into an unlicensed 
 honeymoon and then casts her off with a few well 
 chosen words of cynicism. And generally she per- 
 ishes in a convenient snow-storm. But look at the 
 
 8
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 modern turn you give the old situation ! At the end 
 of one glorious week you turn me out-of-doors and 
 prepare to take up the thread of life where you left 
 it off, just as if nothing had broken that smug 
 thread." 
 
 "Nothing has broken it," she declared. "I don't 
 mean that anything shall. I have a right to be 
 happy. And I am going to be. I could let this blast 
 my whole future if I chose. I could suffer like 
 Hester Prynne and all the rest. Or, even after 
 finding I don't love you, I could marry you in order 
 to win back a name that no one shall ever know that 
 I have lost. But being neither a fool nor a martyr, 
 I shall not become a second Hester Prynne. And I 
 most assuredly shall not become your wife. What is 
 left? Why, to be sane and to get what legitimate 
 pleasure and interest out of life I can. And that is 
 what I am going to do. If you are wise you will 
 follow my example." 
 
 "Pleasure? Interest?" he repeated, his momen- 
 tary hysteria leaving him apathetic and hopeless. 
 "God grant you may find both ! 7 can look forward 
 to neither. Oh, girl, I love you ! You are mad * 
 
 9
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 insane to talk this way to plan what you are plan- 
 ning. Can't you see it? Won't you give me a 
 chance to get back your love ? I had it once I can 
 get it again if you will give me the chance. I know 
 I can make you happy." 
 
 A smile that savored of the rack twisted her set 
 lips and died before it reached her eyes. 
 
 "No, dear," she contradicted gently, "you can't 
 make me happy. I doubt if you can make any 
 woman happy. A woman one who didn't know 
 the un-Galahad side of you as I do might respect 
 or even reverence you. But you couldn't hold her 
 love. No woman ever really loved a man because 
 he was good ; or because he fought against political 
 evils or slew dragons. She might admire him for 
 it. But admiration and reverence are pretty poor 
 every-day fare. When your wife wanted you to say 
 crazy adoring things to her, you would be thinking 
 out a new insurgent plan by which you could block 
 the machine in congress. When she wanted you to 
 notice her new dress or the new way she had fixed 
 her hair, you'd be scheming how to break up sena- 
 torial graft by direct elections. When she hoped 
 
 10
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 you'd buy her some candy or a few flowers on your 
 way home from the Capitol, you'd be too busy fram- 
 ing your next speech to think of such trifles. Those 
 same trifles and his wild extravagance of praise 
 and the quick noticing of anything she puts on to 
 please him, are the cords that lash a woman's heart 
 to a man's. Not her pride in the way he is fighting 
 his country's political battles." 
 
 "Listen!" pleaded Standish. "I'll give it all up: 
 my seat in congress, my fight for the people, my 
 political hopes everything! Everything that I 
 have worked for until it has all grown dearer to me 
 than life. I'll give it all up all if you will marry 
 me and give me a chance to make you love me 
 again." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. And the hard light 
 in her eyes softened ever so little. 
 
 "You mean it!" she exclaimed. "You honestly 
 mean it. And and perhaps you'd do it. Oh, if 
 you had talked like that, sooner, it might have 
 changed everything." 
 
 "It isn't too late!" he urged vehemently, almost 
 incoherent, "I'll do all I said. And I'll do anything 
 
 II
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 else you want. I'm talking like a schoolboy, I know ; 
 but, sweetheart, you must see I'm in earnest. Just 
 give me the chance. Just the chance!" 
 
 But the brave tortured eyes were hard again. 
 And he knew, even before she spoke, that his appeal 
 had failed. 
 
 "It's no use," she returned. "For the moment 
 you almost carried me off my feet. I can under- 
 stand now why your speeches that read so stupidly, 
 can sway people. But it's only an impulse. Inside 
 of an hour you would question it. Inside of a day 
 you would regret it " 
 
 "No! No!" 
 
 "And inside of a week you would be secretly read- 
 ing every scrap of congressional news and cursing 
 your lot at being out of the fight. It would be like 
 all sacrifices. In time one gets to hating the person 
 one made them for. Every time a president was 
 elected you'd say to yourself: 'But for my wife / 
 might be in his shoes !' Oh, it would be misery for 
 us both! It would be even worse than this week." 
 
 "This week? This week that was so wonderful to 
 me!" 
 
 12
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 "It was wonderful to me, at first. But do you 
 remember the evening I put on the fluffy tea-gown 
 the gray chiffon one with the shell-pink sleeve lining 
 and facing? You don't. Of course not I put it 
 on the third evening we were here. I'd saved it 
 as a surprise for you, for it was the prettiest thing 
 I'd brought with me." 
 
 "I don't think I remember it. But what has that 
 got to do with ?" 
 
 "I put it on. And I came and stood in front of 
 you. You were glancing over a newspaper that had 
 just come in. You looked up at me. Your eyes 
 were all alight. I was so glad you liked the gown. 
 I waited to hear the beautiful things you'd say about 
 the way I looked in it. Then you spoke. You said : 
 'By the gods, the machine has got poor Kelly at last ! 
 They've smashed him. And he has a wife and 
 daughters, too. Poor devil! He might have ex- 
 pected it the stupid way he tried to fight them. 
 They'll never get me!' Do you remember?" 
 
 "Remember?" cried Standish. "I do, indeed. 
 Kelly had no brains. Nothing but his honesty. And 
 his attack on the machine was like a child's battering 
 
 13
 
 a wall with bare fists. I told him long ago that 
 Now, what have I said to rile you?" he broke off 
 as the Woman turned away in mock despair. 
 
 "Oh, nothing!" she answered. "Nothing except 
 to prove how right I was." 
 
 "You "were talking about a tea-gown, weren't 
 you?" he asked, trying to gather up the strands of 
 conversation. 
 
 "Was I?" she replied wearily. "Well, Fm not, 
 now. I was trying to prove that you aren't the sort 
 of man to hold a woman's love. Not my love, any- 
 how. And I've proved it. Don't ask me how. You 
 wouldn't understand." 
 
 "Then give me a chance to. As far as I can make 
 out, you won't marry me because I didn't think to 
 admire a pink-and-gray dress and because you're 
 afraid I wouldn't bring you candy and flowers. For 
 a grown woman to " 
 
 "When one walks out of one's way to avoid a 
 'Danger' sign," she said, "it is not from fear of the 
 board and the painted words on it; but what they 
 stand for. Yet it would be hard to explain that to a 
 savage." 
 
 14
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 "And" 
 
 "I could weary us both by piling up reason on 
 reason for not marrying you," she went on. "But 
 what would be the use ? It would only bring us both 
 to the starting-point of 'I don't love you'. It's an 
 old copy-book maxim, for instance, that respect is 
 the only sure foundation for marriage. Like most 
 foundations it is buried so deep that one knows it's 
 there only because the house doesn't collapse. But 
 it must be there. And what respect could either 
 of us have for the other, in later saner days; when 
 we remembered this past week ? It seemed a glori- 
 ous thing. For we were crazy. But I am sane again. 
 And so will you be, in the course of time. We would 
 both feel self-loathing whenever memory chanced to 
 bring this week back to us. And no loathing is ever 
 confined to one's self. You can see how it would 
 be." 
 
 "No!" he denied, "you are wrong. We would 
 never regret this week. You are ten thousand times 
 dearer to me for " 
 
 "To-day, yes; to-morrow, no. And to-day will 
 die ; but there would be many thousand to-morrows. 
 
 15
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 I am not going to take that chance. I am not going 
 to let you take it. I would not, even if I loved you. 
 I didn't see all this in time. I do, now. I am not 
 going to try to tell you what the knowledge the 
 realization of our madness means to me. But if 
 there is a blacker hell, the Old Testament neglects to 
 describe it. It will be with me as long as I live and 
 no matter how I live. Waking or sleeping, under- 
 neath everything else, will live that one vile, crawl- 
 ing, shameful memory. And yet you wonder why 
 I refuse to add to its horror by bringing still more 
 misery into my life? You don't understand why I 
 mean* to seize all the happiness I can, as a man in 
 mortal pain will fight to get even a partial anes- 
 thetic? You don't understand ?" 
 
 "To-day there seems much I don't .understand," 
 he retorted. "But one thing is very clear to me : the 
 course you've chosen is an impossible one for you. 
 You must marry me. If not for love, then because 
 it is the right thing to do. I do not ask you to care 
 for me or even to live in the same house with me. 
 But for your own sake you must " 
 
 "It is for my own sake that I must do nothing of 
 16
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 the sort. You get your ideas of life from books. 
 Too many people do that. From books whose au- 
 thors are no wiser than their readers. I am not 
 going to let this one mistake ruin every bit of my 
 future. I won't let one moment of folly blot all 
 my life. Men don't. Why should women? There 
 is still much in the world for me. And for you, too, 
 if you'll look at it sanely. Oh, I know my kind of 
 sanity shocks you. But it is sanity. You are held 
 back by centuries of traditions. Your father began 
 life as a millionaire's son. Mine began it in an Irish 
 orphanage. Your grandfather was a supreme court 
 judge. I don't know who mine was. There must be 
 something, after all, in this talk of heredity. And 
 I'm glad if my ancestry or lack of it lets me live 
 sensibly and not according to cast-iron family tradi- 
 tion. For instance, I don't suppose there's a girl in 
 all your sisters' set who would have consented to 3 
 'honeymoon' like ours, is there? Your sisters 
 wouldn't have done such a thing, would they?" 
 
 "No !" he exclaimed in involuntary disgust. 
 
 At his word and tone a faint red showed across 
 the Woman's face as if he had struck her lightly 
 
 17
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 with his open hand. But at once she recovered her- 
 self. 
 
 "Let's say good-by and part as friends," she sug- 
 gested. "No irremediable harm is done. So long 
 as one's own personal actions don't hurt others, they 
 can't be called wrong. And, except for myself, you 
 are the only person hurt. You'll have to stand that 
 as part of the price of " 
 
 "You are mistaken, 1 ' he broke in. "Others, be- 
 sides myself, are affected." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "I don't know. But this I do know: No one 
 can live to himself or herself. No one can say : 'My 
 fault or folly hurts me alone.' In this miserable old 
 world of ours, we are all tangled up in one another's 
 destinies. And when one tears loose the cord that 
 binds him, the vibration of that wrench will soon 
 or late reach and affect people whom he perhaps does 
 not even know." 
 
 "The cord you speak of," she mocked, "is that 
 holy bond known as Conventionality, isn't it? The 
 bugbear that the weak and the prim have raised to 
 scare the strong and the courageous." 
 
 18
 
 FIVE YEARS BEFORE 
 
 "No. The beaten path that ten billion failures 
 and tragedies since the birth of Time have shown to 
 be the only safe one. Conventionality's path may 
 seem to the near-sighted to be twisted foolishly, and 
 unnecessarily long. But each of those twists rep- 
 resents the place where the Man in Front wisely 
 stepped aside to avoid the pitfall into which the man 
 ahead of him had tumbled. And the short cuts in 
 the long tortuous road are white with the bones of 
 failures." 
 
 "I'm going to walk over those same whitened 
 bones in my short cut from one point of Convention- 
 ality's twisted path to another. I'm going to walk 
 back from a union that would mean misery to me 
 back to the pleasant home life and social life I love 
 and don't mean to lose. Don't worry. No whitened 
 bones will turn under me and bring me a fall. I can 
 defy the bogy, Conventionality, and still live happy." 
 
 "Others have defied the bogy. You are not the 
 first nor the millionth. To most of them it seemed 
 as safe as it seems to you." 
 
 "Yes? I should like to meet them and compare 
 notes." 
 
 19
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You will not meet them," he answered grimly, 
 "but you will tread on their bones in the short cut 
 Even as some future challenger of Conventionality 
 shall one day tread on yours."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 THE Hotel Keswick telephone girl was a char- 
 acter. Even the politicians who made the big 
 Washington caravansary their headquarters recog- 
 nized that. Some of them had sought to unbend 
 from their labors at law-building and law-sapping 
 long enough to try to improve their casual acquaint- 
 anceship with her. But they had one and all aban- 
 doned the effort. 
 
 Not that Miss Wanda Kelly was in the very least 
 shy. Nor did she, after the manner of some of her 
 kind, employ stiffness as the nearest procurable sub- 
 stitute for dignity ; even as she used imitation " Val" 
 instead of Irish lace on her collars. No, Miss Kelly 
 had a responsive word for everybody. Only, some- 
 times that word had a queer way of searing instead 
 of flattering. 
 
 "If Joan of Arc had been brought up in the 
 21
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 alleys," once observed the Honorable Tim Neligan, 
 "and if she'd been nursed on iron tonic and learned 
 her alphabet from George Ade's fables, she'd have 
 been a dead ringer for Wanda Kelly." 
 
 To which the more or less Honorable Jim Blake 
 had made reply: 
 
 "Maybe that hello girl was all Wanda when she 
 started out. But a Keswick switchboard course has 
 made her all Kelly. I don't know why no one re- 
 ports her for being fresh. Except, maybe, ihat he'd 
 have to tell what he said to her to bring out the 
 fresh come-back." 
 
 In any case, no one did report Wanda Kelly. 
 And while men continued to be drawn by her sur- 
 face familiarity and to be sent scuttling back to 
 cover again by her aggressive power to take her 
 own part, she continued to reign supreme at the 
 switchboard of the Keswick. 
 
 There, in an alcove under the great garish stair- 
 way, she sat day after day manipulating her racks of 
 switches. To her left were the telephone booths ; to 
 her right the corridor where all the political world 
 passed her in review. Behind her and, when 
 
 22
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 voices chanced to be raised in eagerness or dispute, 
 in easy ear-shot was a spot where far more history 
 was made than in the Capitol itself. 
 
 This historic place was a deep niche known to 
 local fame as "the amen corner". It was off the 
 beaten track of the corridor, yet a vantage-point 
 whence everything was visible. Here Jim Blake 
 long, lean, saturnine master of the machine had a 
 way of sitting, his eternal cigar in one corner of his 
 mouth, his slouch hat aslant on his head or under his 
 chair. And here, like filings to the magnet, the men 
 who gleaned in Jim's wake, and whose political life 
 hung on his curt nod, would cluster. 
 
 Sometimes the amen corner would be packed with 
 them. At such times Wanda Kelly scarcely troubled 
 to listen to the talk that so easily reached her. For 
 she knew it would be of no import, a few question- 
 able stories, some generalizing as to political moves, 
 much adulation of the grim inscrutable boss to 
 whose ears such praise was idler than the buzz of 
 summer flies. 
 
 But at other times there would be only three or 
 four men grouped around the boss. Then, as 
 
 23
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Wanda used to say, "the hearing was good". For 
 such conclaves meant live-wire work. And daring 
 or ignorant, indeed, was the passing politician who 
 ventured to break in on the little amen-corner group. 
 
 One evening as the dinner crowd was drifting 
 along the corridor toward the huge dining-rooms, 
 Wanda noted that the amen corner held but two 
 men. Both of them she knew, and both were very 
 evidently awaiting Jim Blake's return from the 
 Capitol. More than one passer-by along the cor- 
 ridor nudged his companions and pointed out the 
 elder of the corner's two occupants. 
 
 The object of , these surreptitious glances was a 
 fine-looking, rather portly man of early middle age 
 the Honorable Mark Robertson, former gov- 
 ernor of New York, present representative in con- 
 gress from the same state and equally important 
 Jim Blake's son-in-law. More he was the man 
 whom the machine, at its master's orders, had slated 
 as next speaker of the house. Yes, and perhaps if 
 all one heard were true, for a far higher office later 
 on. 
 
 Wanda Kelly knew this. And, thanks to over- 
 24
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 heard scraps of amen-corner talk, she knew much 
 more. She had often seen Robertson. Now and 
 then she had received a careless nod from him or 
 from his stately young wife, Blake's only daughter, 
 who so often while congress was in session ran down 
 from the Robertson house in New York for a so- 
 journ of a day or two with her husband and father 
 at the capital. 
 
 Yet Wanda wasted fewer thoughts just now on 
 the celebrity than on the much younger man with 
 whom he was talking. And perhaps her thoughts 
 had telepathic power. For, as Robertson strolled 
 out into the foyer, his companion crossed directly to 
 the switchboard rail and stood looking down at the 
 girl. 
 
 Wanda did not see him. Or, if she did, it was not 
 with her eyes. And before he could speak, the tele- 
 phone buzzer rasped out. 
 
 "H'lo!" she droned in the professionally nasal 
 tones of her trade. "Yes'm Suite three forty-five 
 yes'm. Can't get what? Oh, the five middle 
 hooks. Of course not No one could. Wait and I'll 
 send a maid up to you. Not at all. Right off." 
 
 25
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Sticking a plug in another hook, she droned : 
 
 "Three forty-five wants to be hooked up the back. 
 Yes, Suite three forty-five. No, I don't know why 
 folks who can afford a suite can't afford a maid of 
 their own. You'd better ask her. I " 
 
 Buz-z-zl 
 
 Another change of plugs, an instant of sympa- 
 thetic listening, then : 
 
 "Yes, sir. I know how awful it must be. No, I 
 don't use 'em, myself, but I can understand. And 
 it came apart just as you'd got one-half your face 
 shaved? Yes, sir. I understand you. What? 'Do 
 
 well with all safety-razors?' Oh ! 'To with all 
 
 safety razors!' you said? I don't blame you. Wait 
 till I connect you with the barber shop. What's 
 
 that? 'Hurry like ?' Say! I'll stand for your 
 
 sending safety-razors there if you like, but you can't 
 order me there, too. Oh, that's all right. 'Pology's 
 accepted. I'll connect you with the barber shop. 
 Barbers love to hear safety-razors sworn at." 
 
 "Wanda!" said the young man who was leaning 
 over the rail. 
 
 26
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 It was the third time he had broken in. But, busy 
 rattling the switch pegs, she did not hear. 
 
 "Wanda Kelly!" he exclaimed, exasperated. 
 
 She looked up with a suddenness that startled 
 him. 
 
 "Well?" she asked sharply. 
 
 "Will will you marry me?" he blurted, her un- 
 expected word and look driving the speech from 
 his lips as though he had been struck between the 
 shoulders. 
 
 "What?" she queried in polite surprise. 
 
 "I asked," he said, trying to cover up his impetu- 
 osity with a weak show of irony, "I asked if you are 
 going to marry me or not." 
 
 "No," she answered, unruffled. "I am not. That's 
 the answer. Same as when you asked me before. 
 And the time before that. And so on back to the 
 beginning. And then some until you can learn 
 to take 'No' for an answer." 
 
 "I can't take it," he returned glumly, "and I 
 won't take it. Maybe you think I get a lot of fun 
 being thrown down like this. It means more to me
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 than you've got patience to hear. I'm going all to 
 smash. Even the fellows at the office are on to it. 
 And Mark Robertson was guying me about it, not 
 five minutes ago. He said 'Who's the girl ?' What 
 do you think of that? When a man's own brother- 
 in-law notices things about him Oh, you needn't 
 laugh. It isn't so funny to me." 
 
 "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know it meant so 
 much to you." 
 
 "Do you suppose I enjoy perching up on this rail 
 like a google-eyed Poll-parrot and squeaking 
 'Wanda, will you marry me?' and getting a lemon 
 each time instead of a cracker?" 
 
 "But no one asks you to. I haven't 'led you on', 
 as they say in books. At first you used to talk a 
 whole lot about what a fine splendid thing it was for 
 a fellow and a girl to be jolly good friends, as you 
 and I were, with no silly sentimentality. And then, 
 before I knew it " 
 
 "Well, I didn't know it either," he growled. "It 
 just happened. What's friendship between a man 
 and a girl, anyway? It's just a trick to catch one 
 or both of them with their guard down. That's 
 
 28
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 what it's done to me. When I met you here last 
 fall and we got to talking about Chicago and found 
 we were both homesick for the old place, I thought 
 you were the dandiest girl ever. And I wanted to 
 be friends with you. And you let me chat with you 
 here, sometimes, and I kept thinking how platonic 
 and unslushy it all was. And then, before I'd fairly 
 got those bearings, I was off on another tack and 
 crazy in love with you." 
 
 "It wasn't my fault." 
 
 "It sure wasn't any one else's. And it's played 
 horse with me. When I first knew you, I was a 
 man. And now what am I? You've got three 
 guesses. / don't know." 
 
 "When is a man not a man?" she asked with a 
 lightness that a closer observer of women might 
 have fancied was forced. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Bones," he grumbled in sorry jest, 
 "when is a man not a man ? When he's in love, I 
 suppose. Then he's a measly door-mat. And I'm 
 not flattering the door-mat, at that. But it's what 
 I am. I lie down and let you wipe your little feet on 
 my heart. I hate it and I wouldn't stop it if I 
 
 29
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 could. Say, Wanda, the first time you said you 
 wouldn't marry me or maybe it was the second 
 time I got a rush of self-respect to the head. I 
 made up my mind I'd forget you and put you clean 
 out of my life and never see you or think of you 
 again. So I came trotting meekly back and asked 
 you once more. And I'll keep on asking, till the end 
 of the chapter. I don't want to. I wish I had a 
 third foot, so I could kick myself for doing it. But 
 I have to. And " 
 
 "Excuse me," interrupted Wanda as the buzzer 
 purred noisily. 
 
 Then, dropping intp her professional drone, she 
 said: 
 
 "H'lo! What? Best show in town? Depends 
 on whether you're here with the Baptist Conference 
 or the Liquor Dealers' Convention. Hold the wire 
 a second. I'll give you Information. I what? 
 No, thanks. I've got another engagement. No, I 
 can't break it. Nice of you to ask me. No. Noth- 
 ing doing. Yes, that's final. Final. G'by." 
 
 "There !" she continued, turning from the board, 
 30
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 "a perfectly good invitation for dinner and a show 
 and supper afterward. And I had to throw it down. 
 'Heaven will protect the woiking goil' but it won't 
 give her many good times." 
 
 "Who was he?" demanded the youth peremp- 
 torily. 
 
 " ' "Oh kind sir I do not know" said 
 she with a patient smile/ " lisped Wanda. 
 "Except that he speaks English with a Philadelphia 
 accent and called up his wife over long distance, an 
 hour ago, and told her he'd be detained in Washing- 
 ton all night on business. Poor fellow ! He says 
 he's lonesome and " 
 
 "The cur! Give me his number and I'll go around 
 and push his impudent face in !" 
 
 "Don't bother. I just told you 'Heaven will pro- 
 tect the woiking goil'. Without any strong-arm help 
 from you. Oh, don't look so cross! It's all in the 
 day's work." 
 
 "It's horrible that you should be subjected to that 
 sort of thing!" he declared. "Wanda, why won't 
 you let me marry you and take you away from it 
 all? You surely can't like this sort of life!"
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 It would have needed keener ears than his to catch 
 the undercurrent of weariness in her voice as she 
 made answer: 
 
 "Why shouldn't I like it? It's full of excitement. 
 And there's lots of responsibility attached to it." 
 
 "But why won't you ?" he began. 
 
 To turn the talk away from its old trend, she 
 broke in, almost at random : 
 
 "You don't realize the power of a phone girl's 
 job. No outsider does. Nowadays there's nothing 
 from love-affairs to market orders that isn't trans- 
 mitted over the phone. People from a thousand 
 different points call up people at a thousand other 
 points. Every pair of people thinks they are talking 
 unheard by the world at large and that just they two 
 can hear each other. Each of those thousands 
 thinks that. But the telephone girl hears them all. 
 I read in an old book once about a demon named 
 Asmodeus who used to flit about by night and lift 
 the roofs off of houses to see what people were do- 
 ing. If he were living now he could save a lot of 
 time and work and bother by getting a job at central. 
 
 32
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 Buss-z! 
 
 "H'lo!" droned Wanda. "No. Mr. Blake hasn't 
 come in yet. Any message ? A'riV 
 
 "Yes," she went on in her own voice ; "what the 
 telephone girl doesn't hear isn't worth the hearing. 
 We know more than the secretary of state and the 
 whole secret service put together. Because we hear 
 both sides." 
 
 "But," urged the man, a little flustered as he re- 
 called torrid telephonic talks of his own, "aren't 
 people careful not to ?" 
 
 "Careful?" she mocked. "On the phone f Not 
 one in forty. And the 'careful' ones are the easiest 
 of all. They mostly forget that central is a live girl 
 and not a machine. If there's anything a telephone 
 girl doesn't know it's because it isn't worth know- 
 ing." 
 
 "But doesn't the law forbid telephone girls to 
 listen or repeat ?" 
 
 "The law? When a law is made that can stop a 
 woman from using her ears and her tongue " 
 
 "We're getting away from what I was saying to 
 you," suggested he. "Why won't you ?" 
 
 33
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "And," Wanda hurried on, forestalling him, 
 "sometimes the things we pick up on the wire are as 
 good as any best seller. I had a couple once that 
 I followed all the way from the first talk to the 
 divorce. He called up one day to ask if he could 
 come and see her that evening. And next morning 
 when he phoned, he called her sweetheart and told 
 her he'd been in a dream of paradise ever since he 
 said good night to her. And so it went on for 
 months till it's a wonder the wire didn't get sugar- 
 coated. Then he called up the minister and the 
 florist. And the day after the honeymoon he be- 
 gan calling her up again. If he had to work at the 
 office in the evening, he'd phone her to see if she 
 was all right. Then another man began to phone 
 her to see if hubby was away. And one evening 
 hubby left for New York and missed his train and 
 phoned that he was coming back home for the night 
 and would start next morning instead. A servant 
 took the message. I guess she forgot to deliver it 
 to Mrs. Wife. For the next morning friend hubby 
 was on the phone making a date for a talk with a 
 big divorce lawyer." 
 
 34
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 "And that's the dirty side of life you have to 
 listen to, day in and day out ? It's shameful !" 
 
 "It doesn't leave one with many illusions. But 
 that's only the worst part of it. There's a lot more. 
 Each of the big centrals is the whole world boiled 
 down and filtered through the switchboard. And 
 the hello girl gets the essence of it all. Every bit 
 of it comes to her. The good and the bad, the wis 
 and the foolish, the order for a rib-roast with the 
 bone sent along and the queer sobby call of the 
 woman who tells the doctor her baby is dying and 
 won't he please hurry? A man hiccups a lie to 
 his wife about being kept late at work and a finan- 
 cier speaks ten words that sends Wall Street screech- 
 ing up a tree. Everything goes to the switchboard : 
 engagement announcements and death notices, win- 
 ners and losers, great moments and twaddle. And 
 the operator gets it. She is a sort of Fate that sees 
 that the right people meet one another. Then, again 
 like Fate, having put them in touch, she has to let 
 them work out their own affairs. Oh, the trouble 
 \ve could save sometimes by butting in with a few 
 sentences that would straighten out the ugliest tan- 
 
 35
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 gies! It's hard not to interfere when I've got the 
 whole world under my two hands." 
 
 "The whole world under your two little, little 
 hands !" he said softly, reaching for one of them as 
 he spoke. 
 
 But the buzzer rushed to the rescue of its high 
 priestess with a sudden noisy purr. 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson?" droned Wanda to the trans- 
 mitter. "No'm. Mrs. Robertson is not at the Kes- 
 wick. Did you wish to be connected with Governor 
 Robertson's suite? No'm. I don't know whether 
 she's expected in Washington soon or not. A'ri." 
 
 "Friend of your sister's," she explained, turning 
 from the transmitter. "She said Mrs. Robertson 
 wrote her she was coming down from New York 
 some day this week." 
 
 "Grace spends more time on the trains during the 
 session than she does at home," laughed the youth. 
 "She wanted to close the New York house and 
 come down here to stay all winter. But Mark won't 
 let her. He knows how fond she is of old Manhat- 
 tan and what a lot of friends she has there. So she 
 compromises by living in both places and in neither. 
 
 36
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 But, Wanda, you've simply got to listen to me," he 
 went on with a return of his boyish impulsiveness. 
 "I love you. And I" 
 
 "Mr. Blake!" she protested, half laughing, half 
 distressed, "I" 
 
 "Mr. Blake!" he echoed ruefully. "How long 
 since I've been Mr. Blake, to you ? Haven't I begged 
 you to call me Tom'? It's a bum name and it 
 hasn't an ounce of romance in it. But when you 
 say it, it kind of sounds as if Handel had built it 
 out into an oratorio. I always call you 'Wanda'. 
 Why can't you call me ?" 
 
 "I am a telephone operator," she said with mis- 
 chievous demureness, "and you are Mr. Thomas 
 Blake, prominent on the district attorney's staff, 
 only son of the great Jim Blake, and brother to a 
 woman the Sunday papers call a society queen." 
 
 "Lord !" he growled, "are you trying to ring so- 
 cial standing in on me at this stage of the game?" 
 
 "If you care to put it that way," she answered 
 more seriously, "I certainly am." 
 
 "What rot!" 
 
 "Yes? Yet I notice you didn't come across to 
 37
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 speak to me until Governor Robertson had gone 
 away. And you never have thought to introduce 
 him to me when you and he have passed here to- 
 gether. He has been governor of New York. He 
 may some day be president. Would it make any 
 sort of hit with him to have his brother-in-law 
 marry a telephone girl that half his political friends 
 have always been trying to jolly? Would he care 
 to say to Mr. Neligan, for instance: 'Remember 
 that little hello girl you wanted to kiss and who 
 slapped your face for it? Well, she's my wife's 
 sister-in-law/ ' 
 
 "Don't!" exclaimed Tom Blake. "It isa't true. 
 And" 
 
 "And," pursued Wanda, "would your sister call 
 on me at my boarding-house? Would she ask me 
 to come and see her?" 
 
 "Would she?" cried Tom, blustering to drown 
 a twinge of treasonable doubt. "You bet she would ! 
 You don't know Grace. She's all right. As white 
 as they make them. If she knew I loved any girl 
 at all no matter who she'd be the very first to 
 put her arms around her and and 
 
 38
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 "Then," said Wanda gently, "don't tell her; and 
 keep your ideal." 
 
 "Oh!" he scoffed, nettled, "you think?" 
 
 "I think," she finished, "we belong in the twen- 
 tieth century and not in a Laura Jean Libbey novel. 
 I like you. You're all right except what hap- 
 pened to you. But I'm not in your class. A lot 
 of things count besides birth and education nowa- 
 days. I've got both of them, all right, even if I've 
 learned to talk as if I had neither. I had an educa- 
 tion. A real one. A pretty good school and all that 
 before father died. But it's hard cash that scores 
 every time over education. All education can do 
 for a girl to-day is to make her sick to get out of 
 the class her bank account puts her in. That's why 
 I'm here and why I've got to talk and act like 
 this. It makes it easier. It's a sort of armor. 
 Things don't hurt so much." 
 
 "Don't say such things. They hurt. Isn't there 
 any more congenial work that you could take up? 
 With your education, you could " 
 
 "I could starve in a dozen daintily genteel ways. 
 . I started my professional life as a stenographer. 
 
 39
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 But I soon found it was pleasanter to work for a 
 corporation. You see, a corporation doesn't try to 
 kiss you or want to take you out to lunch. Don't 
 look disgusted please. I'm right in not marrying 
 you. I've got as much pride in my own way, I 
 guess, as you have. Maybe more." 
 
 "Pride doesn't come on in this scene at all!" he 
 protested. "Look here, Wanda, I hate to repeat 
 myself so often and to make a specialist of myself 
 on a single subject. But you've got to marry me. 
 I love you. And I'm going to keep right on get- 
 ting more and more in love with you. And I've got 
 a fine working idea that you care just a little bit for 
 me. So just say yes and save us both a whole lot 
 of trouble. Please!" 
 
 She shook her head until the metal band that held 
 the receiver to her ear threw off a dozen silvery re- 
 flections from the dusk of her hair. 
 
 "Then," he demanded, "give me one good sane 
 reason for saying 'no'." 
 
 "Oh, haven't I given you enough reasons?" 
 
 "Punk reasons, every one of 'em. A good reason, 
 I said." 
 
 40
 
 THE GIRL AND THE BOY 
 
 "There is one great reason," she said slowly. 
 "One that I haven't told you." 
 
 "You mean you don't care for me?" 
 
 "I didn't say so. We needn't go into that. But 1 
 I" 
 
 Buz-z-z! 
 
 With a little sigh she turned to the transmitter. 
 
 "Yes," she droned. "Yes. Mr. Standish is stop- 
 ping here. No. I don't think he's come back from 
 the Capitol yet. No. I'm sure he hasn't. Shall I 
 tell him to call you up when he conies in? No? 
 A'ri'."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 "'TpHE reason!" insisted Tom, "you haven't 
 J- told me yet." 
 
 "The reason," she answered quietly, "is that you 
 are Jim Blake's son." 
 
 "What's that got to do with it?" he asked, puz- 
 zled. 
 
 "Everything. When I met you I didn't know he 
 was your father. If I had " 
 
 "But what difference does it make? He's one of 
 the biggest men in Washington just now, of course. 
 Perhaps the biggest. But if you're going to rake up 
 that silly subject of social standing again " 
 "I'm not." 
 
 "Then why does the fact that I'm his son " 
 "Did you ever hear your father speak of Frank E. 
 Kelly?" she asked; and the slangy light manner 
 had fallen away from her. 
 
 "Frank E. Kelly?" repeated Tom. "No. Not 
 42
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 that I remember. He's a novelty to me. Who was 
 he? A 'white hope,' or ?" 
 
 "He was my father." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean to So dad knew your 
 father, did he?" 
 
 "Yes. My father was a congressman. From 
 New York. Just about the time when Mr. Blake's 
 organization was first getting its teeth into the coun- 
 try's throat. Unluckily for my father, he was hon- 
 est. Of course Mr. Blake and the rest didn't know 
 that when they put him in office, or they " 
 
 "Oh, come now ! That's rather rough on " 
 
 "When one of their crooked bills came up a bill 
 as crooked as this Mullins bill that every one is so 
 excited over, this session when such a bill came 
 up, father refused to vote for it. The trouble with 
 him was he was an insurgent who tried to insurge a 
 few years too soon; before Mr. Standish welded 
 the unorganized insurgents into a compact fighting 
 force. It was a close fight, and father's vote, with a 
 few more that he influenced, beat the bill. So Blake 
 and the others made an example of him 'for the 
 good of the party', as they expressed it." 
 
 43
 
 She broke into a little laugh that was not good to 
 hear. Tom Blake winced. But before he could 
 speak, she continued. 
 
 " 'The good of the party!' That was the phrase. 
 They cooked up some bribery business and saddled 
 the blame on him. They disgraced him. They 
 broke him body and soul. For being honest! He 
 died before he could win back the good name they 
 stole from him. And the Honorable Jim Blake was 
 running the party machine then, as he is to-day." 
 
 She ceased speaking. And a little silence rested 
 between them. Then Tom said in a voice none too 
 steady : 
 
 "I wish I could tell you I know you're mistaken. 
 But I'm afraid you're not. I know they do those 
 things as you said 'for the good of the party!' 
 Oh," he broke out fiercely, "it's that sort of game I 
 can't understand. I can never understand. I know 
 them all. And personally they're white men, ten- 
 der-hearted, clean, honorable. But professionally 
 Why, for instance, there's my brother-in-law, Mark 
 Robertson. He and Grace have been married over 
 three years now, and his love for her is still a sort 
 
 44
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 of adoration. He's the perfect lover-husband. But 
 as a lawyer he won the name of being a bloodhound. 
 And, as a politician, well, he's like the rest. They'll 
 all resort to the dirtiest trickery, the rottenest sort 
 of corruption. I can't make it out. Half the time 
 I feel as if there wasn't a decent man among them. 
 And, the other half, I'm proud to have such gener- 
 ous big-hearted chaps in my acquaintance list. But 
 why should dad's political deal affect you and me? 
 I'm not to blame if " 
 
 "And I'm not blaming you. But I've been 
 brought up to hate Jim Blake and his crowd and to 
 pray for a chance to get back at them. I know that 
 isn't a meek and womanly way to talk. But it's the 
 way I feel. I I loved my father so! My square, 
 honest, white father. And they killed him. Ah, 
 there's something coming to that crowd ! To Blake 
 and all of them! And it's coming from me. Some 
 day I may be able to deliver the goods! I I 
 oughtn't to talk so to you," she caught herself up, 
 half apologetically. "I'm afraid I hurt you. Per- 
 haps you didn't fully know " 
 
 "I've been finding out," answered Tom. "These 
 45
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 last few months since I've been in the thick of 
 .Washington politics have opened my eyes to a lot of 
 things I wish I'd never seen. But none of those 
 things has a right to come between you and me, 
 Wanda. The machine's done harm enough without 
 breaking up our two lives. And if you really like 
 me" 
 
 "I do," she said, with a momentary return of her 
 old manner. "But we don't marry every one we 
 like unless we happen to travel in the Newport set. 
 If I married you," she continued more gravely, "it 
 would look as if I were forgiving what they did. 
 And I'll never do that. I lived too close to the 
 horror of it all. I don't want restitution from them. 
 There is no restitution. I want to get square with 
 them. I want it more than everything else on earth. 
 And as long as I keep on feeling that way I can 
 never " 
 
 "Why in blazes did it have to be your father, of 
 all men, that they chose to !" 
 
 "It didn't. He was just one of hundreds that the 
 party machine smashed. He used to say the ma- 
 chine was like the Juggernaut car, crushing every- 
 
 46
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 thing that dared stand in its path. Jim Blake guides 
 that car. And he guides it over the bodies of better 
 men. He and his crowd prosper. But something's 
 coming to them, just the same. One man can do 
 wrong, perhaps, now and then, and get away with it. 
 But a whole crowd can't go on ruining decent men's 
 lives for years and trampling on the country's rights, 
 without one or two of them some day suffering for 
 it." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "The machine has tried to run over the wrong 
 man at last. And its joints and wheels are rattling 
 with fear. Standish became an insurgent. But he 
 had the cleverness and the strength not to be 
 crushed. And he has rallied weaker stupider in- 
 surgents around him, till he has formed an obstacle 
 the machine can't override. He's done more. He's 
 roused the whole people. And the people are watch- 
 ing their representatives so closely, at last, that a I 
 lot of crooks have to play fair or lose their jobs. 
 Oh, I'm following Standish's work! When he 
 clashed horns with Jim Blake over this Mullins rail- 
 road bill it did me good all over. For when Stand- 
 
 47
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 ish defeats the Mullins bill he'll break the backbone 
 of Jim Blake's political power. Yes, and he'll 
 smash Jim Blake's plan to put Governor Robertson 
 in the speaker's chair. He'll keep Robertson out. 
 And he'll sit there himself. And when he doejj his 
 gavel blows will beat the Juggernaut car into scrap- 
 iron." 
 
 "Wanda!" protested Tom, amazed at her tirade. 
 "Haven't we better things to talk than politics? I'll 
 tell dad about your father and see if he won't " 
 
 "No! You mustn't. You must promise not to 
 tell him who I am. Promise !" 
 
 "Oh, I promise, if you like. But I can't bear to 
 have you go on hating dad. He's the kindest, dear- 
 est old chap alive. Maybe he didn't know " 
 
 "Does the organization do anything Jim Blake 
 doesn't know and dictate?" 
 
 "Mister Thomas Blake !" paged a liveried boy, at 
 the far end of the corridor. "Mister Thomas 
 Blake!" 
 
 Tom caught sight of a telegram on the tray the 
 lad carried. But before he could signal the boy 
 himself, the latter had gone out of sight. 
 
 48
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 "He's carried it to the bar with all the unerring 
 instinct of a homing dove !" grumbled Tom. "And 
 he'll bawl 'Mister Thomas Blake!' in that disrepu- 
 table place for a solid hour if I don't go and choke 
 him off!" 
 
 Wanda watched her suitor hurry away in search 
 of his quarry, and her dark eyes took on a tenderer 
 light than ever he had seen in them. Then, at sound 
 of a chance word behind her, she became all at once 
 her alert businesslike self again. She glanced into 
 a little mirror that swung obliquely from the top of 
 the switchboard. In this bit of glass, without turn- 
 ing, she could command a full view of the amen 
 corner a few feet to the rear of the switchboard rail. 
 
 Three men had seated themselves there. One she 
 recognized as the Honorable Tim Neligan; and a 
 second as the Honorable Silas Gregg, a leggy and 
 tow-headed representative from Kansas. The third 
 of the trio was an iron-gray man of clean-cut face 
 and scrupulously well groomed aspect. 
 
 Wanda knew him well, by sight. For whenever 
 political crises swept Washington he was as certain 
 to appear as are vultures to congregate for the feast. 
 
 49
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 He was Ralph Van Dyke, a New Yorker, and coun- 
 sel for a great railroad. His was one of the shrewd- 
 est legal minds in America. And he had so carefully 
 trained that mind to the million dark intricacies of 
 corporation law as to be doubly worth the annual 
 fortune he reaped for the 'interests'. 
 
 Ralph Van Dyke might have been governor, sen- 
 ator anything he chose. Where he could not have 
 stormed his way he could have wormed it. But he 
 preferred to pull the strings and to use his almost 
 uncannily agile brain in making the puppets dance 
 and in shaping a nation's straight laws to fit his 
 crooked will. What Jim Blake was in politics, 
 Ralph Van Dyke was in corporation law. The 
 chance word Wanda had just overheard had been 
 spoken by him. 
 
 "Are things still going as badly with the Mullins 
 bill as when you wired me to-day?" he had asked 
 Neligan. 
 
 "Worse!" grunted the latter. "And then some. 
 What are politics coming to, anyhow? In the old 
 days the game was worth while. A man took his 
 share and no questions asked." 
 
 50
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 "But the bill" said Van Dyke. 
 
 "Well, we got the house adjourned without com- 
 ing to a vote. That's the best I can report. At that, 
 it's only adjourned till ten o'clock to-night." 
 
 "All-night session," observed Gregg. "And I 
 hate sleeping at my desk. The chairs are so small 
 and so hard, they " 
 
 "If things are going so badly," struck in Van 
 Dyke, "Jim Blake ought to have foreseen the 
 trouble. He ought not to have let the Mullins bill be 
 reported from committee." 
 
 "Oh," returned Neligan, "we had the house 
 cinched when it was reported. We'd have passed 
 it, hands down, if we could have jammed it through 
 then. But now we may as well stand up to facts 
 we're as good as licked." 
 
 "So," sneered Van Dyke, "you're giving up the 
 ship like that?" 
 
 "We don't need to," retorted Neligan. "The 
 ship's giving us up. I can smell the salt water com- 
 ing over the rail. If they defeat this pretty little 
 bill of ours, Mr. Van Dyke, we'll all be splashing 
 around in the drink." 
 
 51
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "A year ago," mused Van Dyke, "I should have 
 laughed at any man who could have prophesied such 
 a thing." 
 
 "A year ago," said Gregg, "Standish hadn't got 
 his insurgents so well in hand. And, what's a lot 
 more to the point, he didn't have the whole sheep- 
 faced public behind him as he has now. He's the 
 greatest fighter, ever. And to think when the party 
 elected him we thought he'd come in and be counted, 
 as meek as Moses." 
 
 "But, gentlemen," urged Van Dyke impatiently, 
 "this bill has to pass." 
 
 "Sure it has," gloomily assented Neligan. "Only 
 it can't. Unless something explodes Standish be- 
 fore it comes to a vote. Oh, it's the people ! They're 
 reform-crazy. They don't know what they want, 
 and nine years out of ten they don't want anything 
 except to stay asleep and let the right crowd handle 
 the country. But when a man like Standish gets 
 them to listen to him, they all wake up and yell for 
 reform and purity in politics as hard as a waking 
 baby squalls for its bottle. They've made him a pop- 
 ular idol." 
 
 52
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 'The people !" scoffed Van Dyke. "They make 
 an idol one minute and overturn it the next" 
 
 "That's right," agreed Gregg, "but the Mullins 
 bill will be defeated before they get time to over- 
 turn Standish. Take my own case. I'm as good an 
 organization man as any one. It'd be a lot to me 
 to vote for the Mullins bill. But I daren't. The 
 folks out home are watching me like cats at a mouse- 
 hole. I'm getting hundreds of letters and telegrams 
 from 'em every day telling me what'll happen to me 
 if I don't Vote with Standish against the bill. If I 
 vote for it I lose my job. This'll be my last glimpse 
 of good old Washington. And a lot of the rest are 
 in the same boat. They've got to vote against the 
 Mullins bill or lose their jobs. The people are 
 awake. They really seem to have an idea we ought 
 to keep some of our promises. And, say! After 
 all, we did promise them a lot of things." 
 
 "Did we?" echoed Neligan. "We made our plat- 
 form look like a cross-section of the Ten Command- 
 ments, fringed with pages of Pilgrim's Progress. 
 Yah! That's the trouble. We're over-promised." 
 
 "Standish is doing his share of promising, too," 
 53
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 observed Van Dyke. "Yet I notice the people seem 
 to believe him, even now that they've stopped be- 
 lieving you gentlemen." 
 
 "He's new," snapped Neligan. "That's why. 
 Folks'll always believe anything new. If the Bible 
 could be sprung on 'em as a twentieth-century find, 
 the millennium would be here before Decoration 
 Day. Standish is the newest man. And he's honest, 
 too. We've got to hand him that. He is honest. 
 And somehow, people fall for honesty. It's the best 
 graft in the whole bag. That honesty of his has 
 caught the crowd. What he says the crowd believes. 
 And what the crowd believes, the papers print. See 
 the afternoon papers, to-day, either of you? Why, 
 when I got through reading about myself, it was all 
 I could do to keep from yelling, 'Help! P'lice! 
 Catch me and run me in before I tear away from 
 myself and commit a new batch of crimes!' ' 
 
 "If I didn't know you, Neligan," said Van Dyke 
 coldly, "I should say you had an acute attack of 
 nervousness. You " 
 
 "Who? Me? Nervous? Not I. Not a speck 
 nervous. Only scared. Just scared to a frazzle, 
 
 54
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 that's all. Standish has got us running so fast that 
 there's no stopping to think about bum nerves. He 
 lands on us everywhere, till " 
 
 "And you've grown too timid or too peaceful or 
 too awkward to hit back ?" queried Van Dyke. "Is 
 that it?" 
 
 "No," said Neligan, not in the least ruffled by the 
 affront in words and voice. "It isn't a question of 
 that. We can't find a place to hit him. He's solid 
 to the core. Not a soft spot on him." 
 
 "In the old days," reminisced Gregg sadly, as he 
 gorged a truly wondrous quantity of loose chewing 
 tobacco from a tarnished nickel box. "In the old 
 days, it didn't used to matter if a man had a soft 
 spot or not. We could lam him just the same till he 
 got one. But I don't know what's come over the 
 people. They used to swaller whole every juicy 
 p'litical story we'd feed 'em. Nowadays the story's 
 got to be so true that it reads like a 'rithmetic book 
 before they'll believe a word of it. Every detail's 
 got to be proved and all garnished with affidavits 
 before the public'll eat it or the papers dare print it. 
 And there's no such story we can get on Mat 
 
 55
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Standish. In the good old times we could have 
 made the public believe he'd killed his grandmother 
 for the amalgam fillings in her teeth, easier'n we 
 could make 'em believe to-day that he'd stayed home 
 from prayer-meeting one rainy night when he had 
 pneumonia. Lord! To think the day has come 
 when campaign stories have got to be true!" 
 
 "It's the churches!" supplemented Neligan. 
 "That's what's licking us all across the board. Stand- 
 ish has got every parson and priest in America 
 rooting for him and telling their flocks what a splen- 
 did fellow he is and how he's purifying congress. 
 Why, in a lot of churches, I hear, they are praying 
 for him and against us. Say, it sure gets my goat 
 to be prayed against ! Makes me feel kind of shiv- 
 ery like those chaps in Richelieu when the old 
 cardinal hands out his curse-of-Rome speech." 
 
 "Nonsense!" laughed Van Dyke in contempt. 
 "Your nerves " 
 
 "Nonsense, is it?" retorted Neligan. "Maybe the 
 the One who hears all those prayers knows it isn't 
 nonsense. That's what's scaring me." 
 
 Van Dyke looked at him in crass amazement. 
 56
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 Neligan shifted uneasily in his seat and reddened 
 shamefacedly. 
 
 "If we could loosen Standish's pull with the par- 
 sons," he blustered to cover his momentary weak- 
 ness, "we'd have him against the ropes in one 
 round." 
 
 "Now you are talking sanity," approved the 
 lawyer. "That was just what I was waiting to 
 suggest." 
 
 "Well, we didn't wait for you to suggest it," re- 
 torted Neligan. "We aren't corporation law-con- 
 tortionists, perhaps, but we've got a few grains of 
 gray matter left. That's the first stunt we tried. 
 We put good men on the case to look up Standish's 
 record to find one break that we could hang a 
 story on." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, from their reports, Standish seems to have 
 led a life that would make Saint Anthony and Sir 
 Galahad and the Pilgrim fathers look like a bunch 
 of soused Tenderloin rounders." 
 
 "You're sure your men left nothing uncovered?" 
 
 "Do you think we'd overlook anything when the 
 57
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 whole game hangs on it? Do you suppose we don't 
 know what we're up against? Why, Van Dyke, if 
 we lose this fight if Standish and his crowd once 
 get control of the house they'll begin digging up 
 some of the pleasant little deals we buried so care- 
 fully. And then a lot of us will spend the rest of our 
 lives in Europe. Yes. It'll be first steamer to Eng- 
 land' for the Man Higher Up. And first patrol 
 wagon to jail for the Man Lower Down." 
 
 "That's right, Van Dyke," supplemented Gregg. 
 "We've been over Standish's record with a micro- 
 scope. He's cost us enough to make the search 
 mighty careful. Even if you don't give us credit for 
 sense enough to probe the business, you'll have to 
 allow that Mark Robertson's no fool. And Robert- 
 son's moved heaven and hell to get something on 
 Standish. But he can't. Robertson's got more at 
 stake than any of us. If Standish licks him in this 
 fight and gets the speakership it'll cost Mark Rob- 
 ertson more than most people could understand. 
 Self-respect and ambition and future and " 
 
 "It sure will," agreed Neligan. "Let's see it 
 must be close on five years, now, that Standish and 
 
 5S
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 Robertson have been at each other's throats. Five 
 years no, six. Ever since Robertson ran for gov- 
 ernor and Standish dug up that smelly franchise deal 
 against him. Robertson's had it in for him ever 
 since. And now that Mark's a candidate for the 
 speakership and Standish is bossing the insurgents 
 gee! They'll make the Kilkenny cats look like a 
 Methodist Sunday-school." 
 
 "I'll have a pleasant time explaining this business 
 to Wall Street," muttered Van Dyke. "They still 
 think everything is fixed to rush the bill straight 
 through " 
 
 "So everything was," declared Gregg, "till Stand- 
 ish butted in. I suppose you understand, Van Dyke, 
 what all of us down here understand: if Standish 
 defeats our Mullins railroad bill, he'll have control 
 of the house. He'll be the next speaker. And 
 then good-by to us! We won't be able to do your 
 crowd any more favors, Van Dyke, and " 
 
 "But," protested the lawyer, "on the strength of 
 Jim Blake's advice, my clients the N. Y. & N. 
 and others too have loaded up for a rise. If the 
 bill doesn't pass " 
 
 59
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Oh, you needn't rub it in. Don't you know we 
 chaps have a few shares, too? But what does 
 Standish care for a clean-out in Wall Street ? He's 
 out for the presidency. And he knows the speaker- 
 ship's the sure road to the White House." 
 
 "But the machine's strong enough " 
 
 "No, it isn't. It was. But it isn't. A lot of our 
 best men are just like poor old Gregg here. The 
 'old folks at home' are watching 'em. They've got 
 to vote against the bill or else lose their jobs. Say !" 
 with a weak burst of fury, "why in blazes can't a 
 man's constituents mind their own business and not 
 go getting nosy?" 
 
 "Just when I'm all loaded up to the guards with 
 perfectly good stock that will go to pieces like a card 
 house when the bill fails!" wailed Gregg. "And 
 here, to keep my constituents from snowing me 
 under, I've got to go broke and get myself called a 
 quitter by voting against my own interests. And 
 there's dozens more of us in the same leaky boat." 
 
 "Cut out the whine!" ordered Neligan. "You 
 aren't the only man who's bought stock that Stand- 
 ish will turn into waste paper. Oh, that man 
 
 60
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 Standish! He's got the country running after him 
 like a flock of hens after the farmer at feeding-time. 
 They think his private life's got Saint Peter and An- 
 thony Comstock lashed to the mast and that his poli- v 
 tics are so pure they'd make Abraham Lincoln feel 
 like a ward heeler. He's no man. He's a bloodless 
 saint. I don't believe he ever so much as squeezed 
 a woman's hand in his life or swigged anything 
 stronger than sarsaparilla. How are we going to 
 get the hooks into a fellow like that?" 
 
 "I don't know how !" flared Van Dyke. "But it's 
 Jim Blake's business to know. He was supposed to 
 be running the house and holding our men to- 
 gether. .What's Jim been doing to let things get 
 away from him like this ?" 
 
 "Ah, can it!" snarled Neligan, at once up in arms 
 in defense of his adored leader. "Throw the blame 
 all over the shop if you've got to. Rub it into our 
 hair. But don't spill any of it on Jim Blake. It's;! 
 easy enough for you to sit in your Broadway offices 
 and send out your orders to the United States House 
 of Representatives and make your tame senators 
 sit up and bark at the right minute. But we who do 
 
 61
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 the real work down here we know the conditions. 
 And it isn't up to you or your Wall Street employers 
 to call down a man like Jim Blake because those 
 jsame conditions happen to be too big for even his 
 brain to manage. Tell me this, before you hand out 
 any more kindly criticisms : did Jim ever lose a 
 trick that any mortal man could have taken? Did 
 he? Isn't he the best house leader the organization 
 ever had ? Hasn't he put you people into the way of 
 grabbing millions ?" 
 
 "He never lost anything by that," answered Van 
 Dyke with a significance that did not escape the 
 ever-angrier Neligan. 
 
 "Never lost anything by it, didn't he?" mimicked 
 the latter. "Why should he? You're not his 
 mother and father. He " 
 
 "Steady, Tim! Steady !" warned Gregg, who had 
 had some experience with the feats his colleague's 
 wild Irish tongue could achieve under provocation. 
 "Go easy!" 
 
 "Easy nothing!" stormed Neligan. "Hasn't Jim 
 got as much at stake in this deal as all you smug 
 gray Wall Streeters? Yes, and hasn't he more? 
 
 62
 
 THE MACHINE 
 
 Don't he know the speakership will mean the presi- 
 dency ? And don't he want it for Mark Robertson, 
 so his own daughter Grace will be the 'first lady of 
 the land' ? And with all that in the jack-pot, d'you 
 s'pose he isn't doing everything he can to win the 
 hand? If any man could save your rotten bill " 
 
 "Come, come !" urged Van Dyke with an effort of 
 lofty patronage. "Don't lose your temper, man." 
 
 "Why in blue blazes shouldn't I lose it?" roared 
 Neligan. "What use is it to me ? Maybe you think 
 I'm content to lie down and let you kick me for not 
 obeying orders, when Jim and I and all of us have 
 been working our heads off to do it. I don't mind 
 for myself. But when you come down here and say 
 Jim Blake's not on the job, then I see red. They 
 can call him the most corrupt politician in Washing' 
 ton and a lot of them do. They can yell 'grafter 1 
 at him till they're black in the face. Let 'em. Jim 
 don't care and I don't care. But when you hint that 
 he isn't doing what you bargained with him to do " 
 
 "Cool off, Neligan," laughed Van Dyke. "Why, 
 good lord, Tim, I think as much of Jim Blake as 
 you do. He's a splendid upright man and " 
 
 63
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "He is not!" fiercely contradicted Neligan. "He's 
 a grafter. And everybody knows it. But, by the 
 powers, he's the very best grafter in the business. 
 And, what's more, he's my friend. And " 
 
 "And the best way to show we agree on at least 
 one thing," said Van Dyke, rising and laying a hand 
 on each of his companions' shoulder, "is to adjourn 
 to the bar and see what effect three or four cocktails 
 will have on the Department of the Interior. Come 
 along. We can leave word to be sent for when Jim 
 comes in." 
 
 Having thus calmed the.storm in the one possible 
 fashion, he led the way toward the bar, the two 
 others following amicably enough. As they passed 
 the switchboard Wanda Kelly's voice was droning : 
 
 "H'lo. No. Mr. Standish isn't in yet. Yes. 
 A'riV
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 THE telephone girl looked up a minute later to 
 see Tom Blake hanging once more over the 
 rail. 
 
 "I got a telegram from Grace," said he. "She 
 sent it to me, I suppose, instead of to dad or Mark 
 because she knew I'd be loafing around the hotel at 
 this hour and she didn't know when either of them 
 would be back from the Capitol. Says she'll be in 
 Washington at eight. But, being a woman or else 
 thinking I'm a mind-reader, she doesn't say whether 
 it'll be eight this evening or eight to-morrow morn- 
 ing. I've been looking everywhere, since I got it, to 
 find Mark and Excuse me !" 
 
 Ex-governor Robertson was crossing the corridor 
 toward them and Tom hurried to meet him with the 
 telegram. Robertson's cold face, as he read the des- 
 
 65
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 patch, softened in a way that would have amazed 
 his political foes. 
 
 "Good!" he said emphatically. "But why doesn't 
 she tell whether she means to-night or in the morn- 
 ing? Isn't that just like Grace? It doesn't seem to 
 occur to her that I'll want to meet her at the train 
 and that I won't know which train to meet." 
 
 "Why not call her up on long distance?" sug- 
 gested Tom. "If she'll be here at eight to-night 
 she'll have left New York long before now. And if 
 she isn't coming till morning " 
 
 "Good idea !" assented Robertson, starting for the 
 telephone alcove. "Sometimes you actually show a 
 gleam of human intelligence, Tom, in spite of the 
 way you've taken to mooning around lately. I'll " 
 
 He stopped short, and the unwonted look of hap- 
 piness froze from his face. He and Tom, on their 
 way to the alcove, were passing the short flight of 
 steps that led down from the outer foyer to the cor-j 
 ridor. 
 
 And a man was coming down those steps. A 
 tall man, whose shoulders were slightly stooped, 
 whose dark hair was beginning to grizzle at the 
 
 66
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 temples, whpse swarthy and somewhat heavy face 
 was lined and hardened by marks that did not seem 
 to have come from Time's brush alone. 
 
 At sight of him Robertson halted. His face 
 darkened and his hands involuntarily clenched. The 
 newcomer glanced across and his eye met the ex- 
 governor's lowering gaze ; then passed carelessly on 
 to Tom. 
 
 "Good evening, gentlemen," he said. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Standish," answered Tom. 
 
 Robertson barely returned the other's nod. But 
 as Standish made as though to pass on, he took 
 an impulsive step toward the insurgent chief. 
 
 "Well, Standish," he observed, steadying his voice 
 by a palpable effort into some semblance of civility, 
 "I understand the fight's on for to-night." 
 
 "Yes," answered Standish, pausing as though 
 merely to wait until the other should move from his 
 path. "An all-night session, probably." 
 
 Again, with a nod, he started toward the dining- 
 room. But once more Mark Robertson's voice 
 checked him. 
 
 "Did it ever occur to you, Standish," demanded 
 67
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Mark, "that by opposing the Mullins bill you are 
 betraying the party that elected you?" 
 
 Standish regarded him a moment with somber 
 eyes from which all personal emotions seemed long 
 since to have been burned away. Then he said in 
 the heavy measured voice that had for years been 
 characteristic of him : 
 
 "Did it ever occur to you, Robertson, that by 
 trying to force the Mullins bill through, you are 
 betraying the people who voted for you?" 
 
 "Even if it had not occurred to me," replied Rob- 
 ertson in icy sarcasm, "you have dinged it into my 
 ears often enough from the floor of the house. And 
 in the daily papers, too. You have called your 
 former friends every opprobrious name from high- 
 class grafters to ordinary second-story men. Stand- 
 ish," with palpable struggle between wrath and 
 diplomacy, "what is the sense in splitting the party 
 wide open the way you're trying to ? We've got the 
 others to fight without fighting each other. Can't 
 we present a front as solid as ?" 
 
 "As two packs of wolves over the carcass of a 
 68
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 nation?" suggested Standish. "We could. But we 
 will not." 
 
 "Oh, be sensible!" urged Robertson; and Tom, 
 who knew his brother-in-law, noted the mighty 
 effort with which the attempt at conciliation was kept 
 up. "We're both politicians. There's no sense in 
 spouting noble sentiments for my benefit. Keep them 
 for your parsons. I was promised the speakership. 
 And to get it away from me you turned insurgent. 
 The Mullins bill to-night's battle means nothing 
 to you but a test of power. There's no principle in- 
 volved. If you can kill the bill it will prove only 
 you're strong enough to depose our speaker and put 
 yourself in his chair. That's your game. Why 
 pose as a reformer?" 
 
 "You're quite wrong," said Standish, with a cer- 
 tain irritating patience, "I haven't any pose. If I 
 had I should not bother to display it for your bene- 
 fit. I am not hypocrite enough to say I don't want 
 every legitimate political reward I can earn. Who 
 doesn't ? But that's not why I'm fighting this Mul- 
 lins bill of yours. And at heart you know it isn't. 
 
 69
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 I'm trying to kill this bill because it is an offense to 
 the country's nostrils. The bill is innocent enough 
 on its face. Van Dyke and the rest saw to that, I 
 suppose. But when I looked at it more closely I saw 
 it was framed to legalize the over-capitalization of 
 every railroad in the United States and to undo 
 what little good a few decent lawmakers have been 
 struggling for years to accomplish." 
 
 "Then" 
 
 "You know I'm right That is the Mullins bill's 
 real object. That is why you people tried to rush 
 it through before we could have a chance to pick it 
 apart and to hunt for the 'nigger in the wood-pile'. 
 Well, I've studied it closely enough to make sure 
 the pile contains very little except niggers. And I've 
 made the public see it, too." 
 
 "Never mind bringing in your services to the dear 
 public. You get your pay for that from them, not 
 from me. The point is, you are lining up with our 
 enemies. Standish, I'm not given to threatening; 
 but from now on you're going to have an active 
 life." 
 
 "I understand. And I look for nothing else. If 
 70
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 the party that elected me is betraying the people, 
 then I must fight that party. As a white man I have 
 no other recourse. And naturally that brings me up 
 against you and your associates who have been rob- 
 bing the country for years. That sort of thing is 
 going to stop. One after another, I'm digging up 
 and bringing to view such of your past transactions 
 as were never meant to see the light: the Manhat- 
 tan Railway deal, the B. T. G. bond issue, the 
 Metropolis Gas Company failure, the New Electric 
 franchise and the rest of the sorry lot. I've only 
 just started in, Robertson; but already I've found 
 out enough to know there's sufficient material to 
 blow up the whole capital if I can get at it all. And 
 I'm going to. Understand me clearly. I'm going 
 to." 
 
 And the heavy slow voice held no note of threat, 
 nor did it show the faintest tinge of excitement. To 
 Tom Blake, the conversation's non-combatant, the 
 insurgent's rather turgid words carried far stronger 
 message for this very absence of emotion. But they 
 served merely to strip from Mark Robertson his last 
 shreds of diplomatic armor. 
 
 71
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You talk like a reform candidate for poundmas- 
 ter at Pompton, N. J. !" he retorted. "I've done 
 nothing every one else isn't doing every day. Noth- 
 ing that the custom of centuries hasn't legitimated ; 
 and nothing, I believe, that you haven't done. 
 You've been tricky enough to cover your own tracks 
 and now you come around and brand a better man 
 with your 'holier-than-thou' epithets. You've made 
 the people think you're a little tin god. But you 
 can't make me think it." 
 
 "I can't now remember," said Standish wearily, 
 "having tried to." 
 
 "Well, you probably know it would be time 
 wasted," snapped Robertson. "There must be some- 
 thing, somewhere or other, in your past life, that 
 wouldn't shine out to any advantage in print. Jim 
 Blake says no one could be as good as you seem to 
 be. And he is right. You're a man, like the rest of 
 us. You've too much brains and too broad shoulders 
 and too big a neck to be a bloodless saint. I'm go- 
 ing to camp on the trail of your past performances. 
 And when I strike the crooked by-path I'm looking 
 for, I'll" 
 
 72
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 "Steady, Mark!" warned Tom. "That's no way 
 for a white man to talk." 
 
 Mark Robertson brushed aside the interruption 
 angrily. But Standish was wholly unruffled. 
 
 "I expected some such graceful attention from 
 the machine," said he, "and I am not in the least 
 troubled by it. You are a clever criminal lawyer, 
 Robertson. But with all your cleverness you'll have 
 a hard time dragging out any skeleton in my life, 
 between this and to-morrow. And after that, it will 
 be too late. For the Mullins bill will have been de- 
 feated." 
 
 "Don't be too sure I can't find the 'skeleton' m 
 time. I get what I go after. And I'm going after 
 you. I'll find that skeleton if it costs a million dol- 
 lars to do it. I'll find it and drag it out of its smug 
 hiding-place and rattle it before the whole grinning 
 world. You've been in too many interests not to 
 have gotten your rake-off somewhere. You've 
 walked on too many smooth places not to have had 
 your foot slip at least once. I'll find it. It's there 
 and I'll find it. You say I'm a thief. Well, if I am, 
 then the biggest men in this country are thieves." 
 
 73
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "That is the first logical thing you've said," com- 
 mented Standish. "Robertson, you're known as 
 one of the foremost lawyers in New York. And, 
 like many another great lawyer, you're using your 
 genius to rob the people. I can't reform you. I 
 wouldn't if I could. But I can and will reform the 
 conditions that make you possible. I am already 
 doing that. When the Mullins bill comes up to- 
 night" 
 
 "Never mind all that. I am not interested in your 
 dreams of reform. When you first began to block 
 our way I warned you we'd drive you out of politics. 
 And we will. You don't seem to realize the mighty 
 power that is against you. You've opposed us be- 
 fore. But never against big enough stakes to make 
 it worth our while to turn the whole organization's 
 resources into the effort at smashing you. Now 
 that time's come. And you'll find we'll get you. 
 | We'll get you. It may take time, but we'll do it." 
 
 Standish's dark face broke into a smile. The red 
 angry politician's threats seemed to strike within 
 the insurgent some genuine chord of merriment. 
 
 "In that case, Governor Robertson," he said pleas- 
 74
 
 THE CLASH 
 
 antly, "I advise you to waste not one minute of time 
 in setting to work. Because, though I've been able 
 to upset several pet plans of yours during the past 
 six years, you'll find everything I've done to you 
 will be as mere child's play compared to what I'll 
 do as soon as I'm in the speaker's chair." 
 
 "The speaker's chair!" roared Mark, diplomacy, 
 caution, and even a cool righting knowledge thrown 
 to the four winds. "The speaker's chair! You'll 
 never sit in it ! Never in ten thousand years. Not 
 if I have to " 
 
 "Why, hello, boys!" drawled a voice from the 
 doorway. 
 
 A man came leisurely down the stairs and laid one 
 hand on Robertson's arm. Voice and action were 
 calm, even pacific. Yet they slammed shut the New 
 Yorker's floodgates of wrath and left him speech- 
 less, nervous, almost apologetic. 
 
 A hundred pairs of eyes from all parts of the 
 long corridor turned as by occult attraction and 
 fixed themselves in wide interest upon the newcomer.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 THE man whose advent in the Keswick cor- 
 ridor caused more attention among the loung- 
 ers than would the arrival of a stage beauty, had at 
 first glance little about him to justify such interest. 
 He was long rather than tall, thin with a wiry com- 
 pactness, and of a pleasant non-committal face. His 
 age might have been fifty. But a closer glance at his 
 half -shut eyes always gave an odd impression that 
 they were fully a thousand years old. Perhaps this 
 was why Jim Blake seldom opened them wide. 
 
 He had strolled in from the foyer as if he had not 
 a care or an interest on earth. His expression as he 
 had seen the trio of men in front of him had be- 
 tokened no excitement. It was the gaze of a rathef 
 bored man at three casual acquaintances. His dry 
 drawling voice, too, had been quite void of color. 
 Yet his greeting and his friendly touch on Robert- 
 
 76
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 son's taut arm had been more effective in quieting 
 the rising quarrel than would have been the charge 
 of a police squad. 
 
 "Hello, boys," repeated Jim Blake, glancing ge- 
 nially and inexpressively from one to the other, from 
 beneath his hanging lids. "Seemed to me I smelt 
 something burning. How are you, Standish? 
 What's up, Tom?" 
 
 "Why," answered Tom, vaguely embarrassed, 
 "nothing very much. Just a little political discus- 
 sion." 
 
 "So I gathered," yawned Blake. "Mark, you 
 seemed to have been supplying the fireworks for it. 
 I don't suppose it occurred to you that the whole 
 surrounding landscape is fairly crawling with re- 
 porters? Nice little story for the morning papers, 
 hey? 'High Words Between Speakership Aspirants 
 in Kesurick Lobby'. And a half column more of 
 what you both would have said if you'd said what 
 the reporters thought maybe you might have said. 
 Fine business. Especially at this time." 
 
 "He called me" burst forth Mark. 
 
 "And you showed your hand?" hazarded Blake. 
 77
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Good poker, Mark. But punk politics. Standish," 
 he went on, smiling benevolently upon the insurgent, 
 "you two youngsters put me in mind of the time 
 poor old Larry Connor and I were both running for 
 sheriff. Out in Chicago. Back in the eighties. The 
 names Larry and I called each other, in public, dur- 
 ing that hectic little campaign would have set a canal- 
 boat captain to saying his prayers. Real, juicy, 
 man's-size, far- West line of insults. Gun-play talk. 
 But not one atom of hard feeling behind it. Not a 
 speck of it. I'd always do Larry a good turn, on 
 the quiet, if I could, and he'd do the same by me. 
 Then" 
 
 "If you will excuse me " began Standish courte- 
 ously. 
 
 But Blake did not heed him. He had broken into 
 a gentle reminiscent laugh like that of a child who 
 recalls a wondrous Christmas tree. 
 
 "Poor old Larry!" Blake rambled on amusedly. 
 "I sure got the joke on him before that campaign 
 was over. I got the goods on him and I had him 
 sent to the pen at Joliet for a full three-year 
 stretch."
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 "And that strikes you as humorous?" asked Stand- 
 ish in disgust. 
 
 "Not a bit. It won me the election. That was 
 all. The humorous part of it was that no one knew, 
 but Larry and me, how all-fired near he came to 
 sending me to the pen instead. If the district attor- 
 ney had happened to be his man instead of mine 
 Oh, poor Larry could never get over that part of it. 
 Just about broke his heart, I guess. For he didn't 
 do a thing but die before his prison term was up. 
 Funny, wasn't it ? When you stop to think it might 
 just as well have been I, instead." 
 
 "Screamingly funny," said Standish gravely. 
 "But I'm afraid we take things a little more seri- 
 ously nowadays, Mr. Blake." 
 
 "I know you do," agreed Blake. "That's why 
 you earnest young men captains of industry and 
 reformers and other leaders never have any appe- 
 tites and why you look sixty before you are forty. 
 And, speaking of appetite, Mark; I'm afraid we're 
 keeping Mr. Standish from his dinner." 
 
 "Good night," replied Standish, taking the broad 
 hint with no show of feeling. 
 
 79
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Good night till the house meets at ten o'clock," 
 said Blake. "I suppose you'll lead your gallant in- 
 surgent cohorts in person this evening?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Don't want to call it off and come into the fold 
 again, I s'pose?" suggested Blake quizzically. 
 
 "No, thanks," smiled the insurgent, and passed 
 on toward the dining-room. 
 
 Jim Blake watched Standish out of ear-shot, from 
 between drowsy lids. But his eyes had a queer little 
 glint in them as he turned to face Robertson. 
 
 "Now then, Mark," he said with the mildly re- 
 proachful air of an overindulgent teacher whose pu- 
 pils have been caught skylarking during lesson hours, 
 "look here! What's the sense of my working my 
 hands to the bone and thinking the hair off my scalp, 
 to boost you into the speaker's chair? What's the 
 use, I say, if you're going to blow up and make toad 
 pie of everything, the first minute my back's turned ? 
 I gave you credit once for having a few grains of 
 political sense. But every time you come within 
 shouting distance of that man Standish, you make 
 
 80
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 a wall-eyed idiot of yourself. Lord! I like a good 
 criminal, but I sure hate a fool." 
 
 Mark reddened, and he answered half timidly : 
 "I know it was bad politics. But a man has to be 
 human once in a century. I feel like running amuck 
 every time I see Standish. Besides," he went on in 
 eager boyish self-defense that sat ill on his impos- 
 ing personality, "he's hurt you just as much as 
 he's hurt me." 
 
 "Quite so," assented Blake. "He's a clever boy. 
 And that's why you don't see me scattering gun- 
 powder and lighted matches all over the shop when I 
 meet him. It's risky. And you, too, Tom," he 
 interrupted himself, turning abruptly pn his son, 
 "you stood by, I take it, and never did a thing to 
 stop Mark. Haven't I brought you up better than 
 to keep your mouth and your hands out of commis- 
 sion while your own brother-in-law is acting like a 
 year-old bull-pup and making hash of his own 
 chances ? Hey ? Oh, I'll never be able to teach you 
 boys politics. You'll both keep right on disgracing 
 me. There's nothing in the Bible about the bone- 
 Si
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 headedness of the children being visited on the 
 fathers. And I don't see why I should have been 
 picked out as the goat. Hello, Van Dyke !" he broke 
 off as the lawyer, with Neligan and Gregg in tow, 
 came along the corridor toward them, from the bar. 
 "What brings you to Washington? What's up?" 
 
 "That's what I'm trying to find out," answered 
 Van Dyke, shaking hands with Blake and instinct- 
 ively leading the way to the adjacent amen corner. 
 "What is up ? You're supposed to be managing this 
 fight, Jim. And here we find ourselves in the very 
 worst hole we've been in since ninety-seven. You 
 seem to have let this Standish chap win every single 
 trick in the game so far, without so much as playing 
 such cards as you surely must have in your hand. 
 If you and I hadn't fought shoulder to shoulder for 
 years and years, I'd be tempted to say you were 
 lying down." 
 
 Neligan's brow knitted. Even Robertson glanced 
 wrathfully at the New York lawyer who dared ad- 
 dress the mighty house leader as though the latter 
 were a lazy office boy. Jim Blake alone remained 
 quite undisturbed. Thoughtfully he drew forth a 
 
 82
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 very long cigar, bit off its end, stuck it in one corner 
 of his thin-lipped mouth, lighted it, shook out the 
 match, picked out the most comfortable chair in 
 sight and lounged into it. 
 
 "Yes," he drawled at last, "you might say I was 
 'lying down'. But I notice you don't." 
 
 "Of course I don't," agreed Van Dyke with sus- 
 picious eagerness. "But but the crowd down on 
 Broadway doesn't like the way you've let the house 
 get out of control. And " 
 
 "The crowd down on Broadway," answered 
 Blake, "have handed us a raw proposition in this 
 Mullins bill. The bill smells so rank that even the 
 dear, dear public have got a whiff of it. And when 
 the public does get its sense of smell into good work- 
 ing order Oh, what's the use, Van Dyke ? You can 
 see what we're up against. You know the temper of 
 the country. We can't even defend that bill of 
 yours. And this is no time to put over such a raw 
 one. It's like experimenting with gasoline the day 
 after your insurance has lapsed. We'll have to fall 
 back on talking about the 'Grand Old Party' or " 
 
 "Still," argued Van Dyke, "you said you'd be able 
 83
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 to put the deal through. And there's surely enough 
 in it for us all." 
 
 "I said I could put it through. And I could- 
 when we started. But Standish wasn't fighting it 
 then. This isn't the Bill versus the People. It's 
 Mat Standish versus the Organization. And Stand- 
 ish has the people the waked-up people behind 
 him. He's their idol. He's the parsons' pet. They 
 look on him as the Worthy Young Man who couldn't 
 do wrong if he tried and who isn't wicked enough to 
 try. In other words, he's never been found out. 
 There's only two classes of men that I ever met 
 the sort that have been found out and the sort that 
 haven't. If we can damage Standish in the eyes of 
 the people if we can make the clergy repudiate 
 him" 
 
 "That's just the point," cried Van Dyke. "Why 
 haven't you been able to do that, instead of sitting 
 
 peacefully to one side and waiting for him to wreck/ 
 
 i 
 
 himself? He's no fool. Do you expect him to play 
 into your hands by robbing a poor-box or writing a 
 Black Hand letter, now while the eyes of the whole 
 country are bulged out watching him?" 
 
 84
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 "We've had detectives on him," put in Neligan. 
 "I told you all that, Van Dyke." 
 
 "Detectives?" snorted the lawyer. "What good 
 is that ? Your detectives will charge you seven dol- 
 lars a day and expenses mostly expenses for giv- 
 ing you a full report of the way Standish spends the 
 day and what he has to eat and the number of cigars 
 he smokes and the addresses of some of the letters 
 he writes. You'll never get Standish that way. If 
 ever he's broken a law and most men have " 
 
 "Oh, not so many," gently contradicted Blake. 
 "Two jails would be plenty large to hold all the 
 folks who have broken any law. And the two 
 jails could be built real easy just by running a high 
 wall around the equator. But you're right in one 
 thing, Van Dyke. We'll never get Standish in 
 the way these boys have been going about it. So, 
 it's lucky I happened to put a man of my own on 
 the job." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes. While I've been 'lying down', as you call 
 it." 
 
 "I didn't say you had been " 
 85
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "No. But you thought it. Just because I don't 
 run around in circles, barking, and now and then 
 biting a piece out of the ceiling, you folks think I'm 
 doing nothing. And I'll never teach you any better." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I put a man of my own on to Standish's 
 record. I told him not to bother about anything that 
 had happened during the last three or four years. 
 Your men would be busy on that; and there'd be 
 nothing to find, anyhow. Standish has been too 
 much in the lime-light during that time. So I set my 
 man to scratching up ancient history. I told him to 
 go back and back and back, in Standish's record; 
 and to keep on going back till he found something." 
 
 "Well?" chorused the others as Blake paused and 
 searched his clothes with maddening slowness for a 
 match. 
 
 "Well," drawled Blake, "he's found it." 
 
 "No?" chuckled Neligan, wildly elated. 
 
 "Best news of the year!" laughed Robertson, 
 gleefully gripping his strong hands together. 
 
 "What was it?" demanded Van Dyke. "What 
 has your man found ?" 
 
 86
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 "He has found the past, gentlemen," replied 
 Blake. "The great and glorious if somewhat re- 
 grettable past. The past is the place where we've all 
 made our mistakes. And the past is the place to 
 look for their record. It took my man some time. 
 But he's landed it. I didn't get the story from him 
 till half an hour ago. That's why I'm so late. 
 He" 
 
 "What has Standish done?" insisted Van Dyke. 
 "What is the story ?" 
 
 "The story is long," said Blake; "but I can 
 shorten it up considerably for you. Along about five 
 years ago friend Standish fell in love with a girl. 
 Right sort of a girl, you know. Good family. 
 Father rich and all that. Standish wasn't very well- 
 off he was always honest, you know. And he and 
 she were going to get married on the quiet and keep 
 their marriage secret until 
 
 "Is that all?" grunted Van Dyke in dire disap- 
 pointment. "There's no campaign story in that." 
 
 "No? Maybe there's one in what's coming. I 
 drew the facts out of his former secretary. And I 
 used hundred-dollar bills as corkscrews to do it. I'm 
 
 87
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 not the sort of man who spends perfectly good soft 
 money just to learn about a three-pictures-to-the- 
 page Robert Chambers love story. There's more to 
 come/' 
 
 "Go on !" begged Van Dyke, subsiding. 
 
 "She and Standish were going to be married 
 secretly, just as I told you. But she had to go to 
 Europe. And for some reason or other the secre- 
 tary didn't know why and it doesn't matter, anyhow 
 the wedding was sidetracked. Instead, they took 
 a notion to run off to a little country hotel, for one 
 of those honeymoons that that never came through 
 the custom-house." 
 
 "Nof 
 
 "Yes. And, as an afterthought, yes, again. I 
 can show you the hotel register with " 
 
 "The fool didn't register under his own name, did 
 he?" demanded Gregg, from a newly-acquired 
 worldly wisdom which he assuredly had not brought 
 with him from Kansas. 
 
 "No," said Blake. "Registered under the name 
 of Fowler. But any handwriting expert can prove 
 he wrote it, and the hotel manager can swear Stand-
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 ish was the man. The manager is ready to swear 
 Standish called the woman his wife, too." 
 
 "Oh, the jay !" grinned Gregg, the worldling. 
 
 "You see," went on Blake, "he really expected to 
 marry her. They were just taking time by the fore- 
 lock. And then here's the queerest tangle of all > 
 after that week there, it seems she backed out and 
 wouldn't marry him at all. No, Gregg, it wasn't he 
 that threw her over. That happens in the 'Town- 
 Hall-To-night' shows, out in Kansas, I know. And 
 sometimes, maybe, in real life. But this was the 
 other way around. The Woman jilted him and went 
 back to her family. One week of Standish was 
 about all she was up to. And she balked at making 
 a life job of it. I don't wonder." 
 
 "But didn't her family find out?" 
 
 "It seems not. They thought she had been away 
 visiting a girl friend in the country. She got home 
 safe, and everything looked proper as a rainy Sun- 
 day in a graveyard. Some women sure have luck." 
 
 "But," asked Gregg, "how did the secretary find 
 out?" 
 
 Blake laughed indulgently at the artless question. 
 89
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Son," said he, "the man who thinks he can fool 
 his secretary had better try it sometime." 
 
 "Go on," urged Van Dyke. 
 
 "That's about all," finished Blake. "She woke 
 up, as I told you, to find it was all-a-mistake-and-no- 
 harm-done-thank-heaven. And as far as I can 
 make out, they haven't seen each other since. I 
 won't swear to that part of it. But if they have, his 
 secretary doesn't know it. Nor " 
 
 "Who was the Woman ?" queried Robertson. 
 
 "That," answered Blake reluctantly, "is the one 
 thing left to find out" 
 
 "But, good lord!" exploded Van Dyke. "That's 
 the one thing we must know. The story's worthless 
 without her name. No one would believe it. It 
 would sound like one of the good old political lies 
 that nobody listens to nowadays." 
 
 "Doesn't the secretary know who she is?" asked 
 JRobertson. 
 
 "He says not. The correspondence was signed 
 by initial and " 
 
 "It's my opinion," said Gregg wisely, "the secre- 
 tary's holding out on you for a bigger price." 
 
 90
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 "Price !" snorted Blake. "Not he. I offered him 
 a price that sounded like a page from the history of 
 the Standard Oil Company. No. He doesn't know." 
 
 Van Dyke fairly groaned. 
 
 "Then," he demanded, "how is this miserable 
 story going to help us?" 
 
 "Oh," replied Blake, "the net's closing around 
 her. I hope to have her name to-night." 
 
 "To-night! We've got to have it to-night. Be- 
 fore the Mullins bill comes up. The name's no use 
 to us after that." 
 
 "But," asked Robertson, "even if we do get it to- 
 night, what use can we make of it? The house will 
 be on the final debate of the bill by ten o'clock. By 
 making use of every trick we know, we can fix only 
 a few hours' delay at most. What good ?" 
 
 "What good?" retorted Blake. "Just this: Stand- 
 ish's long suit is morality. A lot of us have had 
 smirches on our names from time to time. He 
 never has. So the clergy are for him and the people 
 swear by him. It's his chief pull with both church 
 and public. Now if we can get this story, prop- 
 erly authenticated, on the floor of the house to-night,
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 it'll give a lot of men Gregg, here, for instance 
 an excuse to swing over to us." 
 
 "That's right!" cried Gregg, in sudden compre- 
 hension. "My constituents can't expect me to sup- 
 port a man of abandoned moral character. If 
 Standish is really such a blackguard I'll be doing the 
 country a service by backing any bill he opposes. 
 That's right. And there are dozens of others who 
 will see it as I do. My, but this takes a load off 
 my mind ! Anybody got any eating tobacco ?" 
 
 "It will bring so many men over to us," continued 
 Blake, unheeding, "that we'll be strong enough to 
 force another adjournment. And during that same 
 adjournment we can get this story scattered all over 
 the country. It'll force Standish out of politics. 
 And then we can pass the Mullins bill at our leisure." 
 
 "You're right! You're always right!" approved 
 Robertson. "The public won't stand for an im- 
 moral man leading a moral reform. I don't see why 
 not ; but it won't. 'Conventionality, that shrieks by 
 day at what it does by night !' " 
 
 "The public will let dyspeptics cook its dinners, 
 and tone-deaf men criticize its music, and failures 
 
 92
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 write its Guides to Success," supplemented Blake. 
 "But it won't stand for its interests being repre- 
 sented in the government by a man whose life isn't 
 a Christian Endeavor tract. Mention a woman's 
 name in connection with a statesman and he may as 
 well put up the shutters. Look how the Mrs. O'Shea 
 story put Parnell out of parliament, and how near 
 a dead-and-gone affair with a woman came to mak- 
 ing the greatest statesman since Lincoln lose the 
 presidential election. Oh, there are hundreds of 
 such cases. And Standish's will be just one more. 
 People don't vote for principles. They vote for per- 
 sonalities. We'll make Standish the laughing-stock 
 of Washington. He'll be driven so far out of poli- 
 tics that he'll discover a new street. And all because 
 he couldn't foresee five years ago that he might some 
 day need to use his past in his business. The people 
 won't stand for his leadership three minutes after 
 they learn about the Woman." 
 
 " 'Who rules o'er freemen'," grandiloquently 
 quoted Gregg from his store of hard-learned cam- 
 paign phrases, " 'should himself be free!' ' 
 
 " 'Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat'," 
 93
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 followed Blake. "And the man who thinks he's 
 planted his past is likely some day to acquire a fine 
 healthy belief in ghosts." 
 
 "Oh, we've got him ! We've got him !" muttered 
 Robertson once more, his usually quick mind loafing 
 blissfully over the single grand idea. 
 
 "Yes," amended Van Dyke dryly, "we've got 
 him if we can get the Woman's name in time. It 
 all depends on that. Without it, our story is worth- 
 less. Thus far, it seems, no one knows her name." 
 
 "Except Standish," corrected Blake. 
 
 "What good does that do us? He won't tell." 
 
 "What one man knows," returned Blake senten- 
 tiously, "another can find out." 
 
 "And," put in Gregg, lowering his voice, "speak- 
 ing of 'finding out', reminds me. That little devil 
 of a telephone girl over there Do you suppose she 
 could have heard anything we've been saying?" 
 
 "If she has a whole pair of ears," answered Blake, 
 sinking his own voice, "she surely could. Especially 
 what I've been saying. For I've been straining my 
 voice to talk loud enough for her to catch what I 
 said, ever since we sat down here." 
 
 94
 
 JIM BLAKE 
 
 "The deuce you have?" exclaimed Van Dyke. 
 "What for?" 
 
 "For the same reason I've been 'lying down'," 
 returned Blake. "Don't worry over that. A man 
 whose voice is as tired as mine isn't straining that 
 throat unless it's for a good cause. And you can 
 leave the finding of the Woman's name to me, too, 
 I guess. Now trot along, all of you. Mark, go in 
 and order dinner. I'll be there in five minutes. I've 
 a couple of things to attend to first. You'll join 
 us, Neligan?" 
 
 "No, thanks, Jim. I had the best part of dinner 
 in there at the bar just now. And I'm content for a 
 while to chew on the good news you've given us." 
 
 "Yes," smiled Van Dyke. "That is something we 
 can get our teeth into. I was beginning to think 
 Standish was really sound to the core, as you said 
 he was." 
 
 "No man is," sneered Robertson. "At least none 
 I've ever met in politics. This story will make some 
 of Standish's preacher friends sit up and take notice, 
 I fancy. And if we get the Mullins bill through the 
 house, the senate is easy." 
 
 95
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Yes," said Blake, "the senate is easy. But 
 it is not on the free list. The high cost of living has 
 put senators up, along with other necessaries. Hey, 
 Van Dyke ? They cut into dividends terribly, don't 
 they?" 
 
 The group began to drift across the corridor in 
 the direction of the dining-room. Blake detached 
 himself from the rest and started back toward the 
 telephone switchboard. But Tom, noting his fath- 
 er's move, intercepted him. The young fellow's 
 face looked worried and his manner had lost some 
 of its wonted buoyancy. 
 
 "Dad," he said. 
 
 "Hey?" asked Blake, stopping and turning to- 
 ward his son. 
 
 Reading Tom's face, as he was accustomed by 
 instinct sto read every countenance that came into 
 his range of notice, Jim nodded and led the way to 
 the amen corner. 
 
 "Now, then," he demanded, half -guy ingly, half- 
 anxiously, "what's on your mind? Speak up, son. 
 There never yet was a delicate subject that wasn't 
 the better for getting aired."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 "^T^HIS this story about Standish," began 
 
 *- Tom uncomfortably; then paused involun- 
 tarily as Blake leaned back with a grunt of relief. 
 
 "That all?" asked the father. "I was afraid I 
 was going to get another call-down from my wise 
 son on my follies and sins. Honestly, Tom, I don't 
 know how I ever got through the first quarter-cen- 
 tury of my life without your holy guidance and cor- 
 rection." 
 
 "Is that quite necessary?" said Tom. "I only 
 wanted to ask you " 
 
 "Of course you did. You wanted to ask me some 
 question in politics. And instead of being glad that 
 you are beginning to show an intelligent interest in 
 my affairs at last, I made fun of you. I'm sorry, 
 son. I'm an old crank. Go ahead with your ques- 
 tion. You were asking about this Standish story?" 
 
 "Yes. I suppose it will give us the fight." 
 97
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Looks that way from where I sit," replied Blake. 
 "Such pretty romances have wrecked many a man as 
 strong as Standish and stronger. Folks kind of 
 like to show their own goodness by denouncing 
 things of that sort and by crucifying men and 
 women women especially who put convention- 
 ality in second place instead of first. If a man robs 
 a bank or a woman has chronic cleptomania, the 
 world will overlook it after a while. But the \vorld 
 never forgives or forgets when a woman makes such 
 a break as this girl of Standish's did. It forgives 
 the man as long as he stays in private life. But, 
 once let him lift his head above the crowd and 
 then look out for the moral brickbats to come a-fly- 
 ing ! That's what's coming to friend Standish in the 
 next few hours." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Tom, almost shuddering, "I 
 wish you wouldn't do this thing." 
 
 "What thing?" queried the father, perplexed at 
 his son's sudden vehemence. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't use blackmail to win your 
 fight." 
 
 "Blackmail?" echoed Blake slowly. 
 98
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 Then he paused. The rugged mask of a .face had 
 not changed. But the pupils of the half -shut eyes 
 had suddenly contracted as though a blinding light 
 had been flashed before them. Yet, a second later, 
 when Blake spoke again, there was no trace of pain 
 or resentment in his dry drawling voice. 
 
 "Blackmail?" he said once more. "How about 
 the way Standish dragged up that franchise affair 
 of mine last year? What was that but blackmail?" 
 
 "Well," demanded Tom, in the stark merciless- 
 ness of youth, "you were stealing the franchise, 
 weren't you, dad ?" 
 
 "Yes," asserted Blake with a delightful absence 
 of all false modesty, "I sure was. And I was do- 
 ing it neatly, too. Not a ripple, not a kick, till 
 Standish butted in with his measly reformers and 
 queered the whole job and cost us a half million dol- 
 lars. Son, every time I think of that, I want to 
 chase some one with an ax. What in blazes is the 
 use of a man's wasting time and genius and cash 
 in framing up a dandy deal like that, if a Hurrah- 
 f or- Reform crowd is going to sail in and spoil it all? 
 I don't lie awake nights thinking how cunning our 
 
 99
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 friend Standish would look with seaweed in his 
 hair and sand under his nails. But I keep that fran- 
 chise memory and a few others fresh on the ice. 
 And it sure doesn't break my heart to have a chance 
 now of getting back at him." 
 
 "But," persisted Tom, "that was a public matter. 
 It doesn't justify you in dragging his private life 
 into the lime-light." 
 
 "The deuce it doesn't? Who told you that?" 
 
 "My self-respect." 
 
 "Oh! I thought maybe you might have got the 
 tip from some reliable source. Go ahead, son. 
 Doesn't justify me, hey?" 
 
 "No, dad, if you want the truth, it doesn't. It 
 isn't clean !" 
 
 "Clean ? Say, son, this is politics. Not a prayer- 
 meeting. You've got in the wrong pew." 
 
 "If the right pew justifies dirty work like that," 
 flashed the boy, "I'm glad I have. And I want to 
 stay there. This business of making political cap- 
 ital of a man's dead-and-buried sins is enough to 
 turn the stomach of a camel. A thousand times 
 more so when one considers the Woman." 
 
 100
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 "Well," queried Blake, in high good humor, as 
 he always was when he could stir up a quarrel be- 
 tween his adored only son and himself. "What 
 'about her." 
 
 "She's a woman. And " 
 
 "Sure she is. Did you suppose I mistook her for 
 a Senegambian chimpanzee? Of course she's a 
 woman. That's what makes the story worth while." 
 
 "That's what makes the story damnable !" retorted 
 Tom. "Don't you understand, dad? She is a 
 woman and " 
 
 "So you said before," answered Blake wearily. 
 "To save argument, I'll waive all objections and ad- 
 mit the point. She's a woman. Now go ahead. 
 What's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "Everything. She made a fool of herself. Pre- 
 sumably when she was young. She has probably 
 repented it bitterly, ten thousand times. She may 
 have atoned for what, she did. She may even be a 
 wife and mother, now. Respected, loved. All the 
 world and Heaven, besides, to her husband and chil- 
 dren. And, just to pass a rotten railroad bill, you 
 are going to drag her out into the glare of the news- 
 
 101
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 paper world and crucify her! You are going to 
 strip from her her husband's love ; you are going to 
 make her friends shun her as an outcast; you're 
 throwing black shame on her innocent children's 
 name. You are " 
 
 "Excuse me, son," interrupted Blake. "But I'm 
 not doing a single one of those terribly dramatic 
 things. Standish is doing it or, rather, he has done 
 it. Not/. Catch the idea ? If Standish committed 
 a murder and I found the body, would you call me 
 a murderer ? Hey ? Well, that's what has happened 
 this time. When Standish took the lady on that 
 little left-handed wedding trip, five years ago in 
 March, he rendered her liable to all that and worse. 
 A man doesn't think of such things at the time. 
 Neither does a woman, I guess. This one sure 
 didn't, or she'd never have thrown over her one hope 
 of safety by jilting him." 
 
 "But that doesn't" 
 
 "Doesn't make me any less at fault? Maybe so. 
 Maybe not. I'm not losing sleep in worrying. Say, 
 Tom, that was a great little oration you just handed 
 me about all the things that are due to happen to the 
 
 1 02
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 Woman when we spring this story. I didn't make 
 any mistake in having you study law. You sure can 
 talk plenty hectic when you have to. Like a ten- 
 twent-thirt hero. Only louder." 
 
 "You can guy me all you like," said Tom, flushing 
 hotly. "But the fact remains: you've no right to 
 make this unknown Woman's heart a stepping-stone 
 to your victory." 
 
 "I'm not going to 'make this unknown Woman's 
 heart' all those things. I'm going to wait till I know 
 who she is. And that's going to be in the next hour. 
 Afterward, Mr. Standish will take up a graceful and 
 conspicuous position in the pillory." 
 
 "Oh, it is so vile so !" 
 
 "We must take what Providence gives us," 
 smirked Blake with sanctimonious unction; adding 
 briskly, "and be thankful to get it. Why, if Stand- 
 ish licks us now, Tom, we're goners. The whole 
 bunch of us. Why, boy, you don't realize how much 
 there is to this fight! It's not only the Mullins bill 
 that's at stake. It's the control of the whole party 
 organization. If once Standish gets us going, we 
 might just as well pack and start back for Illinois. 
 
 103
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 It's good night to my political life and to yours, too, 
 Tom. And Mark's and " 
 
 "Better go back clean than stay here to " 
 
 "Oh, cut out the sentiment ! Save it for the dis- 
 trict attorney's office or for stump speeches. 'Go 
 back/ hey? Not Jim Blake. I haven't been a big 
 figure in the house for fifteen years to be licked by a 
 youngster like Standish. Blackmail, is it? In poli- 
 tics, all is fair and then some. If you don't think 
 so, drop out. The organization papers won't exactly 
 go into mourning borders for your loss, sonny." 
 
 "Listen, dad," returned Tom, choking back a hot 
 answer. "Ever since you brought me here into the 
 thick of the fight, you and I haven't agreed about 
 politics. But I've stood with you, through and 
 through. I've worked hard for the party, because I 
 felt I was working for you. But well this time 
 I'd rather be working for the other side. Because I 
 believe they're right and we are wrong/' 
 
 "Well, then," blazed his father, in a dry gust of 
 unwonted wrath, "why don't you work for the other 
 side ? Go ahead ! It's no great loss to us." 
 
 104
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 "You know perfectly well why I don't. It's be- 
 cause you are on this side the wrong side just 
 now." 
 
 "Go over to them !" snapped Blake, his rare anger 
 still unspent. "They'd be glad enough to get you. 
 Not that you'd be worth a hoot in hell to them in 
 actual value. But the fact that you're the worthy 
 son of your unworthy blackmailing father would 
 make you welcome. Go ahead! Lord, but I won- 
 der what I ever did in the old days to be punished by 
 having a canting reformer for a son ! This is what 
 I get for putting you in the district attorney's office 
 and trying to make a he-man of you and Well, 
 why don't you go over to them?" 
 
 "Because," answered Tom, growing cooler in 
 ratio to his father's increasing heat, "only because 
 I'd be fighting against you, dad. And I'd sooner be 
 at your side in a crooked game than against you in a 
 straight one. You know what I think of machine 
 politics. And when I go over to the other side, I 
 want you to come with me." 
 
 "Me?" shrilled Blake, aghast. "Me? Want me 
 
 105
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 to work against the old party? Why, boy, if you 
 had a little more sense you'd be half-witted. The 
 party's been father and mother to me. And when I 
 leave the party, I'll I'll take it with me." 
 
 "You might just as well," observed Tom. "It 
 seems to belong to you all right. It must, when you 
 can make it stand for this this " 
 
 ' 'Blackmail' was the word you used, I think/* 
 supplied Blake, as his son hesitated. " 'Blackmail* 
 was the word. And 'dirty work' and " 
 
 "Dad! I" 
 
 "Oh, don't hesitate!" laughed Blake mirthlessly. 
 "I'm only your father." 
 
 "Don't!" begged Tom. "Oh, dad, why do you 
 and I always get into a scrap every time we try to 
 talk seriously? You pretend to think I'm a fool. 
 But at heart you know I'm not. And I get riled at 
 the things you say. But, deep inside, I know you're 
 the dandiest whitest father that ever came down the 
 pike. We're fonder of each other, in a way, than 
 either of us is of any one else. Yet, we always 
 quarrel, at the drop of the hat. I wonder why." 
 
 "I s'pose," replied Blake, touched more deeply 
 1 06
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 than he dared show, yet too stubborn to let so goodly 
 a supply of paternal anger be dissipated all at once, 
 "I s'pose it's because I'm too old or too stupid to 
 learn the new fashion of having children instruct 
 their parents what to do and what not to do." 
 
 "Just as you say," answered Tom with a philo- 
 sophic shrug of the shoulders. "Good night." 
 
 "Where are you off to, now?" grunted Blake in- 
 differently, albeit there was a glint of wistfulness in 
 the half-shut, steely old eyes. 
 
 "To the club. To dinner," said Tom, moving 
 away. 
 
 "To the club, hey?" growled Blake, detaining 
 him. "Huh! Afraid it'll hurt your spotless repu- 
 tation to be seen dining here with a 'blackmailer' ?" 
 "You have a positive genius for choosing the 
 rottenest, most disagreeable thing to say," remarked 
 Tom; and there was a note of hurt in his voice that 
 somehow reached the far-hidden and tortuous re- 
 cesses where Jim Blake's battered old heart was 
 supposed to be. 
 
 "Well," vouchsafed the father grumpily, "maybe 
 that was just a trifle swift. Look here, lad," he 
 
 107
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 went on, a soft, almost tender tone creeping into his 
 dry voice, as he laid his hand on Tom's shoulder, 
 "I'm the only father you've got. And you may as 
 well make the best of it." 
 
 "You're the only father I want, dad. But " 
 
 "There! There!" hastily admonished Blake. 
 "Don't go spoiling it with 'huts' ! You know what 
 you are to me, boy. I guess I don't need to 
 get mush-headed and try to tell you. And and," 
 he repeated, hiding his momentary tenderness under 
 a cloud of made-to-order impatience, "that's why I 
 hate to see you loading up your alleged brain with 
 these fool ideas about " 
 
 "Let it go at that, dad," laughed Tom. 
 
 "Oh, all right. I will, if you like. And you'll 
 stay to dinner ?" 
 
 "Why, of course," quickly assented Tom. 
 
 "That's better," approved Blake. "Now, run in 
 and start with Mark. I'll be with you in a minute or 
 two. And say if Mark and I should get to talk- 
 ing politics at dinner " 
 
 "Don't worry," returned Tom, smiling. "I'm 
 getting quite used to my muzzle. But Mark won't 
 
 1 08
 
 A FAMILY ROW 
 
 be as likely to be wrapped up in politics as he usu- 
 ally is. Grace is coming down." 
 
 "No!" cried Blake, his face alight with pleasure. 
 "Good for her! When?" 
 
 "At eight o'clock. But she didn't bother to men- 
 tion whether it was eight this evening or eight to- 
 morrow morning. Mark was just going to call her 
 up on long distance to find out, when we happened 
 to meet Standish. And I suppose the prospect of a 
 clash with Standish quite drove a minor matter like 
 his wife out of his thoughts." 
 
 "You're wrong there," dissented Blake. "There's 
 nothing on earth can drive Grace out of Mark Rob- 
 ertson's head. He's as crazy in love with her as he 
 was the day he married her. If he didn't telephone 
 her before he went in to dinner it's a cinch he'll do 
 it the minute he comes out. He wouldn't miss the 
 chance of meeting her at the train for a small for- 
 tune. Queer old Mark ! Grace is the one thing that 
 makes him human. Chase on in, and order for me." 
 
 Dismissing his son with a slap on the shoulder, 
 Blake strode across to the telephone alcove. Wanda 
 
 109
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Kelly looked up inquiringly from the novel she was 
 reading between telephone calls. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said Jim, "will you kindly connect 
 me with the hotel office ?" 
 
 He sprawled into a vacant seat at her side, caught 
 up the extra receiver and called : 
 
 "That the office? Perry? Hello, Perry. This is 
 Blake. Jim Blake. Yes. In two minutes I want 
 you to send word to Mr. Standish that he's wanted 
 on the phone here. Yes. Here. Not in his room. 
 Here at the phone booths. Fix it any way you like. 
 Only get him here inside of five minutes. No, no! 
 Do as I say, I tell you. Good-by." 
 
 He hung up the receiver, rose and stood lounging 
 against the rail, looking down at Wanda from be- 
 tween his half -closed lids. 
 
 "Now, then, Miss Kelly," he began abruptly. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Blake ?" she interrogated as he paused.
 
 F 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 R a moment Blake did not answer. Nor 
 
 **- could Wanda read anything from his utterly 
 expressionless face. Then he said : 
 
 "Do you know why I did that?" 
 
 "Probably," replied Wanda gravely, "because 
 you wanted Mr. Standish to come here." 
 
 He eyed her searchingly. But her face gave no 
 sign that her reply had been intended as imperti- 
 nence. She was looking up at him with an inno- 
 cence that any one better acquainted with Wanda 
 Kelly would have recognized as quite preternatural. 
 
 "H'm !" he vouchsafed. "You're a bright girl." , 
 
 "Thank you, sir," she replied demurely. 
 
 Again he glanced at her moveless features in 
 quick doubt. Then, evidently making up his mind, 
 he went on : 
 
 "You heard the story I was telling those men 
 in
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 over there? The story about Standish and the 
 Woman?" 
 
 "I I happened to catch part of it." 
 
 "You happened to catch every word of it," he 
 corrected. "And now, why do you suppose I told 
 such an all-important secret loud enough for a tele- 
 phone girl to hear it ?" 
 
 "That's just what I've been wondering," she said 
 frankly. "But I can't figure it out." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you," retorted Blake, nodding ap- 
 proval at her unembarrassed candor. "What's the 
 one thing we need to turn that story from a windy 
 piece of campaign gossip into the deadliest weapon 
 ever forged in Washington?" 
 
 "The Woman's name," replied Wanda, at once. 
 
 "Good!" applauded Blake. "You've got a real 
 brain under that metal receiver you wear. You 
 seem to have this situation worked out as clear as I 
 have. Maybe, now, you can guess what that Wom- 
 an's name is worth to us. How about it ?" 
 
 Wanda rolled her big eyes ceilingward after the 
 manner of a stupid child who seeks in space the an- 
 swer to a teacher's question. 
 
 112
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 "Maybe maybe a a million dollars," she haz- 
 arded timidly, at length. 
 
 Blake grinned appreciation of the bit of acting, 
 and was not in the very least deceived by it as 
 Wanda had perfectly well known he would not be. 
 
 "Nothing stingy about your ideas, young lady!" 
 he commented. "Maybe I'd better put them straight. 
 Do you want to make a hundred dollars ?" 
 
 "A hundred dollars?" she echoed in a wide-eyed 
 wonder of innocence that Saint Cecelia at her best 
 could not possibly have equaled. "A whole hun- 
 dred dollars? Why, how could a poor telephone 
 operator like me make so much money ?" 
 
 Again Blake's eyes narrowed. And again the 
 grim smile twitched his lip corners. 
 
 "How could you make so much?" he repeated. 
 "In the easiest way in the world. Just by telling me 
 a phone number that you hear." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Blake!" protested Wanda, indescrib- 
 ably shocked. "Is it possible you don't know it's 
 against the rules of the company to tell ?" 
 
 "No," he snapped. "It isn't possible I don't know. 
 And it isn't possible I don't know that ten hello
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 girls out of eight break that rule a dozen times a 
 day. I want to get a certain telephone number." 
 
 Wanda reached uncertainly for the telephone di- 
 rectory that hung beside her. Then, apparently 
 seeing she had misunderstood Blake, she looked up 
 again with a helpless little laugh. 
 
 "You'll have to be a bit plainer, Mr. Blake," said 
 she. "I don't quite understand." 
 
 "Here's the idea," replied Blake, wearying of 
 matching a cudgel against a hatpin, and coming 
 straight to the pith of the matter. "I've sent for 
 Standish to come here because I want to have a talk 
 with him. When I'm through, I'll go away. And 
 the chances are that he'll go straight to the telephone 
 and call up some one. It's that 'some one's' number 
 I want." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Wanda, smiling brightly at her 
 own comprehension. "And that's worth a hundred 
 dollars?" 
 
 "Yes. And if you can hear what he says on the 
 phone I'll make it two hundred." 
 
 For an instant the innocent wondering smile 
 114
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 again illumined Wanda's upturned face. Then, like 
 Blake, she evidently wearied of futile word-fencing, 
 for she said, incisively : 
 
 "I see. I've got the idea. You'll spring this story 
 of the Woman on him. You'll make him think 
 you've almost got her in your net. You'll try to 
 scare him into hustling to the nearest telephone and 
 warning her. He'll know you're having him 
 watched. So he won't dare to go to her in person 
 with his warning or send her a letter. He's got too 
 much sense for that. And a telegram would be too 
 risky. So nothing's left but the phone. He'll call 
 her up. You'll get the number. And then it'll be a 
 cinch for your men to find the Woman's name in no 
 time, and all about her. The full story names and 
 all can be circulated on the floor as soon as the 
 house sits, to-night. And good-by then to Mr. 
 Standish." 
 
 "Say!" drawled Blake in genuine admiration. 
 "You've sure got a brain. We'll have to get you in 
 the secret service. Or, if you want a job in my office 
 at double what you're getting here but we can talk 
 about all that afterward. Will ?"
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Oh !" pleaded Wanda with a bewildering return 
 to her former sweet innocence. "Can't we talk 
 about it now?" 
 
 "No !" rapped out Blake. "We can't There's no 
 time. He'll be here any minute. Will you do what 
 I ask?" 
 
 "You're sure the number will give you the clue to 
 the Woman? 5 ' 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "And don't you think one little hundred dollars is 
 a pretty cheap price to pay for information that will 
 bring you millions ?" 
 
 Sheer innocence had reached its towering acme ' 
 the summit whereon rests pure wisdom. Blake re- 
 garded the girl from under his bushy brows. But 
 her face, in its different way, was as unreadable as 
 his own. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded, "if a 'whole hundred dol- 
 lars' has shrunk so quickly into a 'little hundred 
 dollars,' what price strikes you as fair?" 
 
 "Let's see!" pondered innocence's fair apostle, 
 "how about ten thousand dollars?" 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars?" shouted Blake, thrown 
 116
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 for once off his monumental balance. "Are you 
 crazy?" 
 
 "My head has felt a little queer sometimes," she 
 confided, "but I've always supposed it was from sit- 
 ting so close to the amen corner. Maybe if I went 
 to a doctor " 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars!" repeated Blake. "Rot! 
 Ten thousand dollars for for one measly telephone 
 number!" 
 
 "No!" contradicted Wanda, and her voice and 
 face were like chilled steel, "for a victory that saves 
 your leadership of the machine, that puts your son- 
 in-law in the speaker's chair, that smashes your 
 enemy and that means millions of dollars to you! 
 That's what the telephone number means to you, 
 Mr. Blake. That and a man's career a woman's 
 shame a girl's self-respect. Throw all that into 
 the balance and the price won't look so fancy." 
 
 "You're rating self-respect pretty high," retorted 
 Blake, though rather pleased than otherwise by her 
 quick grasp of the situation. "I could buy half a 
 state legislature for ten thousand dollars." 
 
 "Perhaps you could. You ought to know. But if 
 117
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 you want me to be your spy, you must pay me spy's 
 wages. And such spies as Wanda Kelly aren't on 
 the free list, Mr. Blake, any more than senators are. 
 The work is well worth ten thousand dollars and 
 more." 
 
 "My dear young lady," counseled Blake with his 
 most fatherly air, "believe me when I warn you 
 that there is such a thing as being just a trifle too am- 
 bitious. Women don't realize that. But it's so. 
 And that's why women have never got far in 
 politics. Still, there's no time to argue. Standish 
 ought to be here by now. Shall we say a thousand 
 dollars?" 
 
 "I I'll have to think it over," said Wanda con- 
 fusedly. "And, anyway," she added, "there's no use 
 making a price till I've got what you want, is there? 
 Besides," with an easy lapse into sweet innocence, 
 "Mr. Standish seems to be such a nice man. It's a 
 pity to " 
 
 "Oh, he's a nice man," laughed Blake. "Hell's 
 full of 'nice men'. But there's no time, now, to 
 haggle about prices. You get that number for me, 
 and you won't lose by it. And every word you can 
 
 118
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 overhear is worth a three-carat diamond. Steady, 
 there! He's coming." 
 
 Standish came toward the switchboard, from the 
 dining-room whither a page had at last tracked him. 
 He saw a most unruffled telephone girl absorbed in 
 a novel. Jim Blake was leaning negligently against 
 the switchboard rail, looking with dreamy half -shut 
 eyes along the nearly-deserted corridor. Standish 
 hurried across to Wanda. 
 
 "Some one wants me on the phone?" he asked. 
 
 "No," drawled Blake, before the girl could reply. 
 "Some one wants you over there in the amen corner 
 for a minute or two, if you can spare the time. I 
 took the liberty of sending that message about your 
 being wanted pn the phone, because," leading the 
 way to the amen corner, "I have a matter of private 
 business to talk over with you." 
 
 "Private business?" echoed the puzzled Standish, 
 instinctively following Blake to the corner. "Pri- 
 vate business? Between you and me?" 
 
 "Quite so," assented Blake, "although I s'pose I 
 shouldn't be talking to you about this. I don't know 
 what the boys would say if they knew I was blab- 
 
 119
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 bing," he continued guiltily. "But oh, hang it all, 
 you're a decent sort of chap, Standish, if you do 
 happen to be a rank insurgent ! And I don't want to 
 ruin any man's life without giving him at least a 
 chance to save himself. Lord, but Jim Blake's soft- 
 ening as old age comes on! And the softening 
 seems to have begun at the top. Have a cigar?" 
 
 "No, thanks," declined Standish curtly. "Will 
 you please explain why you have sent for me ?" 
 
 Blake looked at him with gentle pity, then shook 
 his head. 
 
 "My boy," said he, "the game is up." 
 
 "Please be more explicit. I don't care for mys- 
 teries." 
 
 "The game is up," repeated Blake. "The whole 
 show is over. We've found out all about that pretty 
 little affair of five years ago." 
 
 "What affair?" asked Standish, unmoved. "Please 
 explain. My time is limited." 
 
 "If you're referring to your time in politics, it is. 
 It ends to-night. There ! There ! Don't get huffy. 
 You've got nerve all right. I grant you that. 
 'What affair', hey ? Why, the affair with the Woman 
 
 1 20
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 whom you registered as your wife, under the name 
 of Fowler, at a country hotel up in New York state. 
 That's all. Hardly worth mentioning, hey?" 
 
 As he had talked, Blake had let his gaze wander 
 over the ceiling, the walls anywhere except at 
 Matthew Standish. Yet he had missed not one de- 
 tail of the younger man's expression. There was 
 nothing, however, to be read in that expression. 
 Standish's heavy face was mask-like, blank, save for 
 a faint tinge of polite bewilderment. 
 
 But Blake was far too wise a reader of men to go 
 by the sign in a face. He let his mildly wandering 
 glance shift, as if by accident, to Standish's hands. 
 They were tight-clenched. So tight that the knuckles 
 showed white from the convulsive pressure. 
 
 "Another campaign yarn," smiled Standish, and 
 his voice was as inexpressive as his face. "Isn't it 
 rather old-fashioned to spring lies of that sort? The 
 public doesn't stand for them nowadays. Proofs 
 are needed." 
 
 "Really?" drawled Blake. "Why, Standish, some- 
 times your knowledge of up-to-date conditions sim- 
 ply dazzles me. That's what it does. Dazzles me." 
 
 121
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "And now " pursued Standish, turning to go. 
 
 "And now," echoed Blake, "we've got you with 
 the goods. Don't bluff, man. No bluff ever won a 
 penny after the cards were laid face upward. And 
 they're face upward now. You know what I mean. 
 And you know we've got you dead to rights. Five 
 years ago you spent a week with a woman at a hotel 
 whose proprietor can and will identify you. Any 
 expert can swear that the registered name, 'Fowler,' 
 is in your handwriting. It was in March. Congress 
 was still in session. But you gave out word that 
 you'd gone to the mountains to rest. We've got the 
 dates. We've got every fact proved. Man, can't you 
 see I'm trying to help you ? Give me a chance to." 
 
 Standish, his face still a mask, was staring at the 
 floor. At last he raised his eyes the dark tired 
 eyes in whose depths Self and Love and Happiness 
 had so long age burned out. And, turning to Blake, 
 he said evenly : 
 
 "So you have dug all that up, have you ? I might 
 have expected it. In fact I have expected it. But it 
 hasn't worried me. Because you can't harm me with 
 such a story." 
 
 122
 
 THE TRAP 
 
 "No?" asked Blake, with real interest. "Why 
 not?" 
 
 "You know perfectly well why not," answered 
 Standish, "the story won't amount to the paper you 
 would print it on unless you can supply the name 
 of the Woman. And you can't do that" 
 
 "Are you so sure." 
 
 "Perfectly," said Standish. 
 
 And, Blake, a little to his own wonder, noticed 
 that Standish's hands were now lying loose and that 
 there was no sign of tension in his somewhat un- 
 gainly frame. 
 
 "What makes you think we can't supply the Wom- 
 an's name?" demanded Blake. "What makes you 
 think we haven't found her?" 
 
 "Because," began Standish ; then he checked him- 
 seif and said somewhat lamely, "because I have 
 good reasons for knowing you haven't." 
 
 "H'm ! Still keep as close in touch with her as all 
 that ? Mark's detectives must be foolish-house grad- 
 uates. Well, I'll admit we haven't found her yet. 
 But we will before midnight. You left some pretty 
 easy clues and they're being followed. That's the
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 trouble with a man who has something to hide. He'll 
 lock and double-bar nine doors to discovery; and 
 leave the tenth wide open with a 'Welcome' sign 
 over it. And that's just what you did. I was a 
 trifle late in striking the trail. Otherwise I'd have 
 headed you off, before. But by twelve o'clock to- 
 night we'll have her. Why, son," he went on, not- 
 ing Standish's half-smile of incredulity, "if I wasn't 
 dead sure of getting her, would I be such a fool as to 
 tell you all this? And whatever else Jim Blake's 
 been called, no one's yet tied 'fool' to his name. I 
 tell you once more, we'll have her name by mid- 
 night at the very latest. Of course she doesn't know 
 we're tracking her," he continued, chuckling as at 
 his own shrewdness. "I've seen to it that she hasn't 
 the slightest suspicion. And that makes our work 
 all the easier. She doesn't know. And there's no 
 one to warn her. It's a cinch !" 
 
 His voice trailed off into a self-satisfied laugh. 
 Nor was the laugh wholly assumed. For he sa\v 
 Standish's hands slowly clench again. And a few 
 beads of sweat were beginning to show themselves 
 upon the insurgent's forehead.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 THERE was a pause. Neither man seemed de- 
 sirous to be first to return to the attack. The 
 buzz of the city crept in from outside. The half- 
 stifled rhythm of the dining-room orchestra reached 
 them in snatches. 
 
 "H'lo !" droned Wanda Kelly at the switchboard. 
 "Yes'm. It's seven twenty-four. Yes'm. No. 
 That's right. Western Union time. Yes'm. It's 
 too bad your watch has stopped. Yes. They do 
 sometimes, I know. Especially if they don't get 
 wound up. I'm sure you're welcome." 
 
 Standish got to his feet; slowly and more like a 
 very old man than one in his prime. But he looked 
 down with crass stolidity at his tormentor. And in 
 his deep tones there was more of sorrow than of 
 nervous dread. 
 
 "Mr. Blake," he said, "there's one point I can't 
 125
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 quite grasp. Even your admiration for my worthy 
 qualities and your very kind desire to save me 
 trouble, can not wholly explain your action in telling 
 me. Why are you giving away your hand like this ?" 
 
 Blake looked pained. 
 
 "Can't a man do a decent thing for once," he 
 grumbled, "without having his motives picked 
 apart?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not in your case," answered Stand- 
 ish. 
 
 "All right," agreed Blake in no whit chagrined. 
 "Let's look at it from a business standpoint, then. 
 If you'll decide suddenly to let this Mullins bill pass, 
 and if you'll support Mark Robertson for the speak- 
 ership, everything will be perfectly smooth and har- 
 monious. And we won't have to use these painful 
 means " 
 
 "Oh, I see. A bargain?" 
 
 "One that you won't lose by," said Blake. "A 
 mighty good one, since it saves you your political 
 skin, instead of forcing us to nail it to the barn." 
 
 "But," argued Standish, "what explanation could 
 I give, for " 
 
 126
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 "That's up to you. There are a dozen ways out. 
 Get sick if you like. The country's fairly buzzing 
 with doctors who'll be glad to give you a certificate 
 for anything from gastralgia to housemaid's knee. 
 That's what doctors are for. Lots of men have 
 changed their views overnight. You can fix up a 
 good slick water-proof excuse, easy enough." 
 
 Standish did not answer. Blake, feeling victory 
 less near than he had hoped, put on the screws. 
 
 "Standish," said he, "I'd just naturally hate to 
 use this story. But I'm afraid we've got to. It's 
 eat or be eaten. And I always like to be on the chair 
 side of the dinner. This disgrace will put you down 
 and out forever, after all your cant about high 
 morals, and the preachers holding you up as a holy 
 example to the Y. M. C. A. boys, and all that. Oh, 
 it'll be a sweet-scented situation for you, all right, 
 all right!" 
 
 Despite his confidence Blake was vaguely wor- 
 ried. He knew men, as a pianist knows his key- 
 board. And now a subtle intuition, quite at variance 
 with all his keen logic, warned him that Standish 
 was not in the least frightened by the threat of po- 
 
 127
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 litical death. Knowing the insurgent's high ambi- 
 tions as he did, Blake could not account for this 
 absence of terror. So, feeling his way, he shifted to 
 the other tack. 
 
 "The Woman, too," he added. "Think of her!" 
 
 He grinned under his sparse mustache. For again 
 he saw Standish's hands clench. And he knew he 
 had struck the one right note. 
 
 "Yes," went on Blake. "Think of the Woman ! 
 She's walking blindly, unsuspectingly, right straight 
 into the trap we've set for her. It'll be hell for her. 
 Pure, unadulterated, sky-blue hell. If she's got a 
 husband or kids or parents it'll blacken the whole 
 world for them all. Oh, don't make us do this 
 thing, man! Think it over. Don't decide in a rush. 
 Take your time. By eleven o'clock or so I'll have 
 her name. Then it will be early enough for you to 
 tell me your decision. You'll find me somewhere 
 about the hotel, if I'm not over at the Capitol. Good- 
 by." 
 
 "One moment!" protested Standish. "How do 
 I know there's a chance of your finding the Woman 
 you speak of? How do I know this boast that you're 
 
 128
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 on her trail is just a trick to make me think you 
 know more than you do? I've nothing but your 
 word for it. And you'll pardon me, I'm sure the 
 collateral isn't quite good enough." 
 
 Blake smiled in apologetic patronage as might a 
 master-magician who is asked by a bumpkin to ex- 
 plain his choicest conjuring feats. 
 
 "Well, now, old man," he answered, laughing 
 amusedly, "you really don't expect me to give the 
 whole snap away, do you ? Not much. If you knew 
 what our trap is you might spring it prematurely 
 and give the poor mouse a chance to get away before 
 she nibbled at our bait. No, no. I'll leave all that 
 to your good sense. You know me. And if you 
 don't think I can make good, of course that's your 
 own affair. There's nothing in it for me, to come 
 and warn you like this. I don't like to think what 
 the boys would say if they knew I'd done it They 
 were all for leaving you in the dark. But I said: 
 'No, I'm no measly virgin, myself. It might have 
 happened to almost any one. I'm going to give the 
 boy his chance.' And I've done it. Take it or leave 
 it. I'm too tender-hearted, anyway, to be a good 
 
 129
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 politician. But I always feel better for having done 
 a kindness. Even to an enemy. By-by. I hope 
 I haven't spoiled your appetite." 
 
 He strolled off toward the dining-room. As he 
 passed Wanda he glanced covertly at her through 
 his lowered lids. She was raptly absorbed in the 
 novel she was reading. And her dainty lower jaw 
 moved slowly up and down in a gum-chewing ca- 
 dence that bespoke years of practise. 
 
 Standish watched Blake out of sight. His face, 
 now that the mask was no longer needful, worked 
 almost grotesquely. And his swarthy skin was a 
 pallid yellow. He looked like a pugilist who tries 
 dazedly to rise after a knock-out. 
 
 He was thinking rapidly ; despite his daze. After 
 a moment or two he crossed hastily to the telephone 
 switchboard. 
 
 "Get me a New York wire, please/' he said, look- 
 ing nervously down the corridor, "as quickly as you 
 can." 
 
 As he spoke he was running over the pages of one 
 of the telephone books on the desk. Wanda drove 
 a plug into the switchboard and droned : 
 
 130
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 "H'lo ! Long distance ? That you, Jessie ? This 
 is Wanda. Say, get me a New York wire on the 
 jump, please. Yes. Oh, have you? Good! Let 
 the other party wait, and give it to me, won't you ? 
 Thanks. I've got one already," she added, glancing 
 over her shoulder at Standish. "What number, 
 please?" 
 
 "One thousand and one, Plaza," he answered, 
 looking up from the directory. 
 
 "Plaza, one o o one!" she droned into the 
 transmitter. "Any name, Mr. Standish ?" 
 
 "No," he answered huskily. "Just the number." 
 
 "A'ri ! Here you are number one booth, please. 
 H'lo New York!" she continued into the transmit- 
 ter, shoving a plug in and out of the switchboard 
 three or four times, "Plaza one o o one. Yes, 
 Plaza one oo ONE!" 
 
 Standish had gone to the first of the numbered 
 booths. At its door he paused. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said he, "would you mind taking 
 that receiver off your head while I'm telephoning?" 
 
 "Certainly," she answered in evident ill-temper 
 at the slur implied by the request.
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 She carefully removed and hung up the metal 
 crescent that held the receiver to her left ear. Then 
 she raised both hands to make certain the removal 
 had not mussed her hair. Standish had closed the 
 booth door and, from the corner of her eye, Wanda 
 could see him through the glass pane, speaking into 
 the transmitter. But she had barely noted the first 
 movement of his lips when Blake and Mark Robert- 
 son appeared from the dining-room. She turned her 
 attention to them. 
 
 Blake glanced unobtrusively toward the row of' 
 telephone booths and his half -shut eyes lighted ever 
 so little as he made out Standish's figure behind the 
 glass. But he made no other sign that he noted the 
 successful springing of the trap he had so painstak- 
 ingly set. In fact, he was talking interestedly to 
 Robertson on indifferent topics. 
 
 "Tom tells me," Wanda heard him say, "that 
 Grace is coming down." 
 
 "Yes," answered Robertson, his face brightening 
 at mention of his wife's name, "either to-night or 
 to-morrow morning. And that reminds me: I 
 meant to call her up and ask which. I want to meet 
 
 132
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 her at the station. Miss Kelly," he went on, "can 
 you get me a New York wire ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Wanda ; "but it'll take a few min- 
 utes to get the connection." 
 
 "All right," replied Robertson, as she busied her- 
 self amid the labyrinth of switchboard plugs, "I'll 
 wait here for it. I " 
 
 He stopped as Standish came out of the booth and 
 laid down a bill for Wanda to change. Robertson, 
 the happy light of anticipation dying out of his face 
 at sight of his foe, turned his back ostentatiously 
 upon him. Nor did he speak again till Standish had 
 gone away. Then he looked around, to find his 
 father-in-law in eager conversation with the tele- 
 phone operator. 
 
 "Well," Blake was saying. "Could you hear any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "No," answered Wanda, still deeply offended at 
 Standish's request. "Not a word. He made me 
 hang up the receiver." 
 
 "Huh!" grunted Blake. "He's got more sense 
 than I thought. But the number? You got the 
 number, of course. Didn't you?" 
 
 133
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Oh, yes," she returned, "I got the number, all 
 right." 
 
 Blake unceremoniously reached over the rail and 
 picked up the pad on which a list of numbers was 
 jotted down. 
 
 "Is that the one?" he asked, pointing to tho last 
 number inscribed there. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Wanda, recovering her pad and 
 laying it back in its place on the desk, with a little 
 slam to emphasize Blake's rudeness in taking it 
 away. "That isn't the one. I'm leaving the line 
 blank, so I can fill in the number later. It's too 
 valuable to put on paper just yet." 
 
 "You're a born diplomat," he approved, a trifle 
 grudgingly. "Well, what was the number ?" 
 
 "Just a minute," she interrupted. "Wasn't there a 
 question of of ?" 
 
 "Of a thousand dollars for you. Yes, there was. 
 That goes." 
 
 "Does it?" she queried sweetly. "Not with -me, 
 k doesn't." 
 
 "Look here, young woman!" snarled Blake, his 
 habitual calm giving place to a sort of vulpine sav- 
 
 134
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 agery. "Don't you try to hold me up! If you do 
 you'll find you've got a wildcat by the tail." 
 
 "Dear me !" she cried in pretty terror. "Well, I'll 
 I'll have to think it over. Here's your New York 
 wire, Governor Robertson," she called to Mark. 
 "What was the number you wanted, please ?" 
 
 Robertson came across to the rail. 
 
 "Get Mrs. Robertson my wife on the phone," 
 said he. "If she's not in, get one of the servants. 
 I" 
 
 "You didn't tell me the number," she reminded 
 him. 
 
 "Oh," he laughed. "Careless of me ! I forgot I 
 wasn't talking to my secretary. He generally calls 
 up .ny New York home for me. The number is 
 ''.-^aza one double o one'." 
 
 There was an imperceptible pause. A momentary 
 contraction of Wanda's throat. Then, in her ever- 
 lasting professional monotone she droned into the 
 
 receiver : 
 
 
 
 "H'lo! New York? Plaza oneoo one!"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A LION IN A RABBIT TRAP 
 
 ARK hurried into the nearest telephone 
 booth. Wanda stared after him, in scared 
 fascination. Her face had turned oddly white. 
 
 "One o o one," she repeated to herself, daz- 
 edly, as she mechanically jotted down the number on 
 her pad. 
 
 "Now then!" Jim Blake was demanding at her 
 elbow, "you and I will settle this thing, my girl. I 
 want that number !" 
 
 "The one Governor Robertson just called up?" 
 she faltered, unconsciously sparring for time in 
 which to readjust the dizzy whirl of her ideas 
 around the one central theme that had leaped into 
 her mind. 
 
 "No. The number Standish called up. The num- 
 ber of the Woman whose name I'm after!" snarled 
 Blake. "What is it? Out with it, girl!" 
 
 136
 
 A LION IN A RABBIT TRAP 
 
 "Oh," laughed Wanda, nearer to hysterics than 
 ever before in her life, "I I couldn't give away a 
 number, Mr. Blake. It's against the rules, you 
 know. I was only joking about the money, and " 
 
 "Joking!" mocked Blake. "Well, you'll find it's the 
 painfulest, costliest joke you ever played, my young 
 friend ! If it's a joke, then the joke will be on you." 
 
 "But" she pleaded. 
 
 "You've got a bit of knowledge that we need 
 and need damned bad. A bit of knowledge we've got 
 to have and mean to have. Understand that ? And 
 what we've got to get, we get. Now, is it fight or 
 not? Will you take the money I've offered you or 
 will you run your silly young head into the hottest 
 bunch of trouble a girl ever met with? Which'll it 
 be? Speak out!" 
 
 "I I don't know. It'll disgrace the Woman, 
 won't it, if I tell?" 
 
 "It'll smash you if you don't! What is it to you 
 if she's disgraced or not?" 
 
 "That's so," purred Wanda, suddenly recovering 
 her shattered nerves. "What is it to me or to you 
 if she's destroyed, so long as the machine wins? 
 
 137
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 And it'd be perfectly terrible if the machine 
 shouldn't win. Now wouldn't it?" 
 
 "It'll be terrible for any one who tries to block it," 
 retorte 4 Blake, grim and wrathful. 
 
 "Well," sighed Wanda distractedly, "I'll just 
 have to think it over very carefully. Of course, I 
 like you, Mr. Blake. I've always admired you a lot. 
 You've got such a lovely personality and " 
 
 "Drop that !" he roared. 
 
 "And," pursued Wanda, "I've always admired 
 the machine a lot, too. It does things in such a busi- 
 nesslike way. But but, of course, I couldn't really 
 take money from you. If I tell that number it'll 
 just be because I want you to win. That's all. Just 
 because I want to see you win." 
 
 "That's better !" grunted Blake, his face clearing. 
 "You won't be sorry." 
 
 "You bet I won't !" she retorted, and her young 
 voice was as keen as a knife blade, and as hard. "I 
 won't be one bit sorry. And my conscience will be 
 clear. It'll be a load off my shoulders. But," she 
 ended, falling back on indecision, "I I must think 
 it over a while." 
 
 138
 
 A LION IN A RABBIT TRAP 
 
 "A while?" echoed Blake. "There's no time to 
 lose. You understand the situation. I've made it 
 all clear to you. If I don't get that Woman's name 
 before the Mullins bill comes up for a vote it will be 
 of no use to me. And we'll lose. I must know the 
 name to-night. I " 
 
 "I'll make up my mind to-night," answered 
 Wanda cryptically ; and she returned to her novel. 
 
 Blake glared at her in angry doubt. Before he 
 could speak again, Robertson came out of the booth. 
 
 "I must be off," said Mark. "My butler says 
 Grace took the train that's due to reach Washington 
 at eight this evening. I've no time to waste if I'm 
 to be at the station when it comes in." 
 
 He hurried off. After a second glance toward 
 the utterly oblivious Wanda, Blake followed him 
 from the corridor. Wanda did not look up. Her 
 eyes were still bent eagerly on her book. But the 
 type was a twisting blur to her senses. To herself 
 she was murmuring disjointedly : 
 
 "His own daughter Mark Robertson's wife 
 Tom's sister ! And Jim Blake moving heaven and 
 earth and a quarter-section of hell, too, to get her 
 
 139
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 name for a campaign scandal. If I give it to him, 
 I guess a big part of father's debt to the machine 
 will be paid off. If" 
 
 "Hello !" called Tom, crossing the corridor from 
 the dining-room. "What are you reading? By the 
 way you stare at that book it must have all the best 
 sellers looking like the Congressional Record. 
 What's it about ?" 
 
 She raised a blank drawn face to him. 
 
 "About?" she repeated absently. "Oh, it's it's 
 about a man who set a trap for a rabbit and caught 
 a lion in it."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GENTLE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 THE house of representatives sat at ten that 
 night. The reporters' gallery, up behind the 
 speaker's chair, was jammed. In the visitors' gal- 
 lery, across the way, a close-packed eager throng 
 peered down into the political amphitheater below. 
 
 For, as every newspaper had heralded, this was to 
 be a night of battle. And the eagles of the press, 
 together with the vultures of the sensation-loving 
 outer world, had flocked to the slaughter. 
 
 Yet to an unlearned observer, the spectacle would 
 not have been inspiring. Here, in brief, is the scene 
 such an outsider would have witnessed and the im- 
 pressions he would have drawn therefrom had a 
 wiser man been at his side to whisper an occasional 
 needful explanation: 
 
 A great desk-filled room, wherein lounged a 
 crowd of men ranging in years from youth to 
 gnarled age. A sprinkling of the delegates were in 
 
 141
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 evening dress, having come from dinners or other 
 functions. More were in frock suits. But the ma- 
 jority were in street attire. This latter form of cos- 
 tume varied from the artist- tailor's product on some 
 urban representative to the very palpable "This- 
 Nobby-Style-$i4.5o" garb of the backwoods dele- 
 gate. 
 
 A few men were poring over the sheafs of printed 
 bills at their desks. Many were gathered in knots 
 of three or four, talking earnestly. Others sprawled 
 back in their chairs palpably bored. One or two 
 would have had trouble in convincing any jury as 
 to their complete sobriety. A hum of talk neither 
 profound nor elevating rose to the galleries. 
 
 Then a few moments after the stroke of ten, the 
 speaker appeared from his office and mounted to his 
 desk. Neligan and one or two others who had ac- 
 companied him into the room, slouched to their 
 seats. The speaker smote the desk with his hard- 
 worked gavel and announced, nasally: 
 
 "The house will be in order!" 
 
 There was a leisurely breaking up of groups and 
 a straying back to desks. 
 
 142
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 "The clerk will call the roll of the house!" con- 
 tinued the speaker. 
 
 The clerk therewith proceeded to rattle off, at a 
 great rate, the roll of the members. Frequently a 
 member and always, in the case of a first-year man 
 responded to his name. But many paid no heed 
 whatever to the call. 
 
 "The fun is going to begin in a minute," said an 
 old Washingtonian in the gallery to a rural guest 
 whose ignorance of matters parliamentary was pro- 
 found. "Here's the idea: that Mullins bill I told 
 you about, is due to come to a vote to-night. Stand- 
 ish and his insurgents are strong enough to defeat 
 it now. And the machine men know it. That's why 
 they're going to try to put off the vote, every way 
 they can. Filibustering, you know. There are lots 
 of ways. And you're likely to hear all of them. The 
 speaker is in with the machine and he'll recognize 
 any one who rises to stave off the vote. They may 
 drag it on all night, with his help. The clerk over 
 there is a machine man, too. He'll do his share. 
 Wait and see how." 
 
 The clerk had finished buzzing his version of the 
 143
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 members' names and habitats. Scarcely had he done 
 so when Neligan was on his feet, "caught the speak- 
 er's eye," was duly "recognized", and forthwith 
 begged to call the chair's attention to the fact that 
 there was not a quorum present. 
 
 "But the place is nearly full !" whispered the old 
 Washingtonian's guest. 
 
 "The filibustering is on," answered his mentor. 
 "There are enough members here. Any one can see 
 that. But a good many didn't bother to answer the 
 roll. Most of those were machine men, of course. 
 Listen!" 
 
 There was a crash of bells throughout the ante- 
 rooms and halls. A count had been made of the roll. 
 And now swift and loud summonses were flashed 
 into committee rooms. Pages rushed through cor- 
 ridors, lounging-rooms and restaurant, squalling: 
 "Call of the house ! Roll-call! Roll-call! Call of 
 the house !" 
 
 From everywhere members poured into the room. 
 Some were yawning, some were wiping their 
 mouths, some finishing a heated dispute. They 
 drifted to their seats. Another calling of the roll 
 
 144
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 much more slowly this time and a prompt answer 
 from every one. 
 
 But the attention of the ignorant one wandered. 
 A nudge from his Washington host brought it back 
 again, as the speaker announced a little later : 
 
 "The house will proceed to the consideration of 
 the bill of the house of representatives, number 
 99,999,945." 
 
 "That's the Mullins bill," the Washingtonian in- 
 formed his guest. 
 
 "The bill," continued the speaker, "is before the 
 house for the third reading." 
 
 A half score men were on their feet, as he ceased. 
 But, foremost in the throng was Matthew Standish. 
 He had left his seat and had strode into the semi- 
 circular space in front of the speaker's desk. The 
 speaker was forced to recognize him and did so, a 
 trifle grudgingly, it appeared to the ignorant one. 
 
 Standish moved, in curt formal phrase, that the 
 bill be read "by title" ; in order to save the house the 
 fatigue of listening to a thirty-minute perusal of it 
 by the clerk. 
 
 "The gentleman from New Jersey," said the 
 145
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 speaker, "moves that the bill be read by title. Are 
 there any objections?" 
 
 There were objections. There were, in fact, so 
 many and such vociferous objections that for a space 
 the United States House of Representatives might 
 have been supposed to be practising for the Roman 
 mob scene in Julius C&sar. The machine men 
 were fairly howling objections. To gather from the 
 objectors' manner it was apparent none of them had 
 so much as heard of the Mullins bill ; and, as defend- 
 ers and wise builders of the nation's laws, they evi- 
 dently had no intention of committing themselves 
 to a vote on a bill of whose contents they were so 
 starkly ignorant. 
 
 "As a matter of fact," the Washingtonian was ex- 
 plaining to the ignorant one, "every man of 'em has 
 read and reread that bill fifty times and heard it dis- 
 cussed and pulled to pieces and tacked together 
 again. They could repeat it by heart. And, even if 
 they couldn't, there's a complete printed copy of it 
 on each man's desk." 
 
 As the tumultuous demand for enlightenment died 
 down, the speaker instructed the clerk to read the 
 
 146
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 bill. The clerk obeyed, reading slowly and with a 
 beautiful precision. But no one gave his reading 
 the heed that its excellence merited. No sooner had 
 he begun a perusal of the bill's first clause, than men 
 began to leave the room. 
 
 A number of the departing members were the 
 men who had yelled the loudest and most insistently 
 that the bill be read. Out they strolled. And pres- 
 ently, through the doorways of the adjacent loung- 
 ing-rooms, wreaths of tobacco smoke floated in. 
 
 The speaker himself left his place, beckoned to 
 several adherents and vanished with them into his 
 office. Among the members who were left in the 
 room, some read letters, some scribbled notes or 
 memoranda and some talked together in tones that 
 were not over-low. 
 
 "Delays the vote by half an hour," interpreted the 
 Washingtonian as the ignorant one looked on in 
 horror at such seeming boorishness on the part of 
 his country's representatives. 
 
 At length the dreary task of reading was accom- 
 plished. And the members returned to their places. 
 
 The next outburst came from the insurgents who 
 147
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 broke into a vociferous shout of "Question! Ques- 
 tion!" 
 
 "That means," whispered the Washingtonian, 
 "they want to bring the bill to a vote right away." 
 
 The speaker, after a gavel solo on his desk, hark- 
 ened to the cry and announced that the bill would 
 forthwith be brought to a vote. Instantly Tim Neli- 
 gan was on his feet. And with equal promptness 
 the speaker recognized him. 
 
 "I move the house now adjourn !" said Neligan. 
 
 "A motion to adjourn," translated the Washing- 
 tonian, "is always in order and never debatable. One 
 of the best of all filibustering tactics." 
 
 But the ignorant one did not hear him. At once, 
 on Neligan's words had followed an uproar that 
 drowned all lesser sounds. The insurgents were 
 voicing their protest against the motion. And some 
 of them, perhaps not trusting to the power of their 
 lungs, eked out the racket by beating their fists thun- 
 derously upon their desks. The babel was punctu- 
 ated by weary and perfunctory raps of the speaker's 
 gavel and by his totally unemotional calls for order. 
 
 148
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 In the midst of the turmoil the motion to adjourn 
 was seconded. 
 
 . . . "Moved and seconded," the ignorant one 
 heard disjbintedly, ". . . in favor . . . aye." 
 
 A bellow of "ayes" shook the room, each machine 
 man trying to swell the volume of assent into the 
 semblance of a larger number of voices. 
 
 At the call for negative opinion, a mighty and in- 
 dignant "No !" showed even to the ignorant one the 
 disposition of the house and the strength of the in- 
 surgents. Nor could the speaker himself ignore the 
 superiority of numbers. 
 
 "The 'noes' seem to have it," he ventured as if still 
 in doubt. 
 
 He got no further. All previous vocal and desk- 
 banging efforts had been as nothing by comparison 
 to the tempest of indignant protest that now rose 
 from the machine members at hearing such an opin- 
 ion from the chair. 
 
 When the gavel and exhaustion had combined to 
 calm the first storm of noise, Standish (who, with 
 a dozen or more excited gesticulating men, was in 
 
 149
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 the open space in front of the desks) caught the 
 speaker's eye, and requested a "rising vote". 
 
 The "ayes" were accordingly bidden to rise. And 
 while the clerks did the actual counting of the stand- 
 ing machine men, the speaker pointed the leveled 
 handle of his gavel at one man after another as 
 though making a personal tally of the score. 
 
 The same proceedings followed when the "noes" 
 a palpably larger number arose. 
 
 "On the motion to adjourn," declared the speaker, 
 when the count was complete, "one hundred and 
 twenty-one in favor. Two hundred and thirty-eight 
 oppose. The 'noes' have it." 
 
 Neligan was on his feet, clamoring for recogni- 
 tion. He received it with the customary prompti- 
 tude, and demanded a "vote by tellers". The house 
 laughed its appreciation. 
 
 "That means," construed the Washingtonian, 
 "that the chair will appoint one teller from each fac- 
 tion and that the ayes and noes will have to file, one 
 crowd after the other, like a bread line, between the 
 tellers. As they pass by, the tellers will bring down 
 their hands between every two men and count them
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 off. And the machine crowd won't move any too 
 fast, either; as you'll see." 
 
 "But what's the use of it all?" demanded the 
 ignorant one. "It sounds idiotic to me." 
 
 "It's already put off the vote by a full hour," 
 said the Washingtonian. "And the machine's got 
 other tactics just as good. Long-winded speeches, 
 for instance. And, remember, a motion to adjourn 
 is always in order. It can be made a dozen times in 
 a day, if the speaker will stand for it. And he will, 
 to-night. Then the same old proceedings have to be 
 gone over with each time. Good fun, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Yes," muttered the ignorant one, "about as 
 sprightly sport for onlookers as reading a page of 
 the city directory. What's up now?" 
 
 The tedious "vote by tellers" was at last over. 
 And the result, as every one had foreseen, tallied 
 precisely with that of the former count. Whereat, 
 another of Blake's mouthpieces demanded a "call of 
 the house on the motion to adjourn." There was 
 another rattling of desks accompanied by howls. 
 
 The speaker intoned his useless command for 
 order and thumped rhythmically with his gavel.
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 When quiet again settled down, the clerk obediently 
 reread the long roll-call. He read it with irritating 
 slowness ; then read the names of ' the absentees. 
 After which the speaker formally declared that the 
 motion to adjourn was lost. 
 
 The ignorant one, battling with sleepiness, heard 
 him ask : 
 
 "What . . . pleasure of ... house?" 
 
 Standish took the floor and offered a motion that 
 debate on the bill be limited to one hour. More up- 
 roar, opposition, and interminable delay in ascer- 
 taining the "pleasure of the house". 
 
 But before the debate could be instituted, another 
 machine man voiced the alluringly original motion 
 to adjourn. And once more the previous dreary per- 
 formance, sanctioned by parliamentary law, was en- 
 acted. 
 
 Standish, by infinite patience, at last brought the 
 house back to the verge of debate when a large and 
 preternaturally solemn wheel-horse of the machine 
 lifted himself to his feet. Far back in the crowd as 
 he was, he had the miraculous good fortune to catch 
 the speaker's eye before he was half out of his chair. 
 
 152
 
 THE ART OF FILIBUSTERING 
 
 The honorable member rose 'so the honorable 
 member announced to a question of personal privi- 
 lege. 
 
 "I was waiting for something like that," grinned 
 the Washingtonian. "A man must always be al- 
 lowed to speak on a question of personal privilege. 
 And that old guy will talk half the night." 
 
 The privilege-seeker begged to call the house's 
 attention to the lamentable fact that an alleged state- 
 ment of his had been misconstrued by one of the 
 newspapers into an expression of personal opinion 
 of the bill now under discussion. 
 
 "He'll talk until his tongue is paralyzed," said 
 the Washingtonian, "and then some one will move 
 to adjourn. And after that, some other machine 
 orator will find a parliamentary excuse to talk for 
 two hours more." 
 
 But the ignorant one did not hear the dire fore- 
 cast. He was sleeping sweetly. And in the golden 
 stretches of dreamland his mind forgot that his tired 
 body was still in the sacred halls to whose august 
 brotherhood's membership every worthy young man 
 is urged to aspire,
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 ALPH VAN DYKE, corporation lawyer, and 
 the railroads' mouthpiece in Washington, sat 
 by the desk lamp in the library of Mark Robertson's 
 Hotel Keswick suite, reading and here and there 
 altering several typewritten sheets. Across the 
 desk from him sat Jim Blake, cigar in one hand, a 
 telephone receiver held to his ear. 
 
 The master of the machine was not leading his 
 forces in person to-night. He seldom did so. The 
 commanding general's place is on a convenient hill- 
 top; not in the vulgar thick of the fray. And, for 
 divers reasons, Blake had chosen his son-in-law's 
 apartment, on this night, as his hilltop. The tele- 
 phone admirably filled for him the dual roles of 
 spy-glass and courier. Just now, he was listening 
 intently to a report from Tim Neligan at the Capitol. 
 
 "Good old Tim !" he broke out after a moment's 
 154
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 close attention to the receiver. "What d'ye think 
 of that, Van Dyke? We get the roll-call." 
 
 "Good!" pronounced Van Dyke, glancing up 
 from his reading. 
 
 "Standish still in his seat?" queried Blake into 
 the transmitter. "Yes? All right. Keep right on 
 with the program I gave you. No need to change it 
 unless something unexpected cuts loose. And it 
 won't. What? No. Not yet. Can't get a word 
 out of her. But we will. Don't you worry. So 
 long." 
 
 "Well," he added to Van Dyke, as he hung up the 
 receiver and pushed the telephone back on the table- 
 desk's flat surface. "This roll-call gives us another 
 hour to breathe in." 
 
 "We'll need it. And more," said Van Dyke, re- 
 turning to his reading. 
 
 Blake rose, stretched himself, and strolled across 
 to the window. Drawing aside the curtains he 
 looked out. Washington lay cold and beautiful un- 
 der the winter starlight. From the great bulk of 
 the Capitol blazed lines of white lights. 
 
 "H'm!" muttered Blake, glancing back at the desk 
 
 155
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 clock and then out again toward the spot where his 
 forces were battling. "I haven't seen those lights 
 burning so late since the night we lost Uncle Joe." 
 
 The lawyer did not answer. He was correcting 
 a sentence in the manuscript he held. Blake moved 
 across to him and glanced over his shoulder. 
 
 "Sure you're making that strong enough, Van 
 Dyke?" he asked. "Don't use the word 'utensil' 
 when 'spade' will do just as well. Cut out any flow- 
 ery stuff and bang away at the point." 
 
 "I have," replied Van Dyke, handing Blake the 
 edited pages. "Look it over and see how it strikes 
 you." 
 
 Blake took the manuscript and scanned its con- 
 tents from beneath his drooped lids. As he read, a 
 look of unqualified approval replaced the doubt on 
 his face. He nodded emphatically, once or twice. 
 In his interest he unconsciously muttered, half aloud, 
 certain disjointed phrases of what he was reading. 
 
 " 'Standish, the arch reformer,' " he murmured. 
 
 ' 'A moralist dethroned scandalous past of a house 
 
 leader brought to light disciple of purity in politics 
 
 156
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 convicted of dissolute private life' H'm! That's 
 the stuff. It'll make 'em sit up, I guess." 
 
 "If we can use it," corrected Van Dyke. "As it 
 stands, it represents nothing but three spoiled sheets 
 of white paper." 
 
 "It'll represent one perfectly good insurgent chief 
 split up the back, before another hour's past," re- 
 torted Blake. "I'll have the Woman's name by that 
 time." 
 
 "What is that stubborn little telephone girl hold- 
 ing out for, I wonder?" 
 
 "It's past me !" growled Blake. "If it was a man 
 I could size up the game at a glance and I'd know 
 just what move to make. Every man has always had 
 his price. Except One. And we crucified Him. 
 But with women it's different. You can't tell what 
 a woman's going to do. For the mighty good rea- 
 son that she doesn't know, herself. This Kelly girl's 
 got me guessing. She let me think I could buy her 
 dead easy. Then she played for time. And now 
 she's thrown us down altogether and won't say a 
 word." 
 
 157
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You've sent over to central for that duplicate list 
 of all the numbers that were called up from the Kes- 
 wick to-day? Let me look at them." 
 
 "They aren't here yet," replied Blake. "I only 
 sent for them a few minutes ago. You see, I thought 
 I could save a lot of time by getting the informa- 
 tion, direct, from the girl herself." 
 
 "The girl !" echoed Van Dyke disgustedly. "We've 
 already wasted too much time on her. Can't we get 
 hold of Standish?" 
 
 "He'll be along pretty soon." 
 
 "You've sent for him? You're sure he'll come 
 for your sending?" 
 
 "No," drawled Blake, "I didn't. And he wouldn't. 
 But Gregg started a whisper in the house that a 
 scandal will break before morning. And he threw a 
 hint of the same sort to the newspaper boys. Neligan 
 tells me you couldn't get another reporter into the 
 press gallery now with a shoe-horn. All that will 
 bring Standish here. To give him an excuse if he 
 wants one, and I don't think he will I'm sending 
 him a note " 
 
 "Oh, if we can publish this as it's written here," 
 158
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 broke in Van Dyke, "we've got him! This story 
 makes him out the lowest blackguard unhung." . 
 
 "And," amended Blake with ingenuous self-con- 
 gratulation, "there isn't a word in it that hasn't got 
 some sort of foundation on fact. That's saying a 
 whole lot for a campaign scandal. We've got facts 
 real facts. Maybe some of 'em are twisted 
 around so that you'd have to look at 'em twice be- 
 fore recognizing their dear familiar faces. But 
 they're facts, just the same." 
 
 "And they're useless," grumbled Van Dyke, "just 
 because the one fact we need we haven't got." 
 
 "You mean the Woman?" 
 
 "The Woman's name. We can't get any one to 
 believe a word of the story without that. What time 
 is it? Oh, I didn't notice the clock. The 
 time's getting short dangerously short. If we 
 want to get this story in any of to-morrow's 
 papers we must have her name mighty quick. As it 
 is, I'm afraid it'll be too late for anything but the 
 last editions of the morning papers. What did the 
 Associated Press people say, when you ?" 
 
 "Jennings promised to hold a wire till the last
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 minute. Better take the story around to him and tell 
 him to have it ready. He understands. But be sure 
 to tell him not to let it go till I give the word. A 
 false move just now would be a boomerang that 
 we couldn't stand. Come back as soon as you can. 
 We may need you." 
 
 Van Dyke, pocketing the typewritten sheets, de- 
 parted on his mission; almost colliding at the door 
 with Tom Blake, who was coming in. 
 
 "Hello, dad!" hailed Tom. "I just dropped in 
 on the way to the club to say 'howdy' to Grace. 
 Where is she? Turned in?" 
 
 "No. Hasn't even got in. The train's hours 
 late. Washout on the road somewhere. Mark tele- 
 phoned up from the station. He's gone back there. 
 They ought to be here any time now. Want to 
 wait?" 
 
 "Poor old Mark ! It's he who's doing the waiting. 
 He hates waiting for anything. I don't believe he'd 
 wait at a station half an hour for the czar of Russia. 
 But he'd wait there all night for the chance of seeing 
 Grace for half a minute. And he wouldn't be crank}' 
 
 160
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 about it, either. It's funny what love will do for 
 a man. Why ' 
 
 The jangling of the telephone interrupted him. 
 Blake picked up the instrument. 
 
 "Hello, Henderson," he said, in response to a 
 greeting from the other end of the wire. "Yes yes 
 All right. Say, did you get that information I told 
 you to? Good! No, no! Don't tell me anything 
 over the phone. Send word by Neligan when he 
 comes. By the way, just keep your eye on Standish, 
 will you? And let me know the minute he leaves 
 the Capitol. Good-by." 
 
 "Aren't you taking chances in being away from 
 the Capitol to-night, dad? Or can you handle the 
 fight just as well from here as from " 
 
 "I don't take chances, son. Sometimes they take 
 me and then I have to outwit them. If I could be 
 of any use at the Capitol, why I'd be as much a fix- 
 ture there, to-night, as the chamber of horrors the 
 state statues, I mean. But Winthrop will get the 
 floor after this roll-call. And he's got orders to 
 talk talk talk and then talk some more, and, after 
 
 161
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 that, to keep on talking until I send him word to 
 give his mouth a holiday. We're safe for a good 
 two hours." 
 
 "I'm sleepy!" yawned Tom. "Gee, but I wish 
 Grace would show up !" 
 
 "So does Mark," answered Blake. Then, after a 
 moment, a chuckle of genuine amusement startled 
 his son. 
 
 "What's the joke?" asked Tom. "Did I miss it?" 
 
 "Yes, you missed it, all right. Both you and 
 Grace always miss it. But I never do. I was just 
 thinking my little Grace my kid keeping the 
 former governor of New York cooling his heels 
 in a drafty railroad station. And, forty years 
 ago, her father was a barefoot kid with one sus- 
 pender, panhandling kind-hearted old folks in the 
 street with dying-mother stories and getting nickels 
 from 'em. And even as lately as twenty-two years 
 ago, what was I but a Chicago city clerk making an 
 honest living by keeping my eyes shut and my palm 
 open ?" 
 
 "Dad," complained Tom, "I can't make you out ! 
 You always seem to take a savage delight in rubbing 
 
 162
 
 IN THE DAY OF BATTLE 
 
 in the fact that everything we've got we owe to 
 graft." 
 
 "Well," asked Blake, puzzled, "don't we? If we 
 don't owe it to graft, what do we owe it to, I'd like 
 to know ?" 
 
 "Oh, we do, all right," muttered Tom. "But 
 what's the use of admitting it?" 
 
 "Why should I admit it? Because I'm not 
 ashamed of being a grafter. But I'd be ashamed to 
 look at myself in the glass, when I brush the hair 
 I haven't got any more, if I was a hypocrite. Lord, 
 but I do hate a hypocrite ! And if you've got any of 
 the old man's blood in you, you do, too." 
 
 "Of course yes but " 
 
 "Listen here, son: I'm going to waste four min- 
 utes' time in telling you just what a grafter is. Don't 
 go saying you know what it is. You don't. Not 
 one man in fifty does."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 TOM settled back in his chair half resignedly, 
 half expectant. It was not often that Jim 
 Blake volunteered to waste four entire minutes in 
 
 V 
 
 explaining anything to anybody. And the novelty 
 of the project aroused in his impatient son a faint 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Fire away!" said Tom. "The theme of the ser- 
 mon, I understand, is Graft, as set forth by its arch 
 exponent." 
 
 "If you like," vouchsafed Blake. "You can't 
 make me sore by calling me a grafter. Because I 
 belong to the right kind. You see, son, there's two 
 sorts of grafters. One sort thinks he is committing 
 a crime. Consequently, he's a criminal. The other 
 my sort, if you like knows that graft is a na- 
 tional institution in America. He knows that the 
 grafter's is a necessary public position and that it 
 ought to be filled by an honest man. So he takes 
 
 164
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 what the public kindly provides and proceeds to 
 get rich." 
 
 "There's one thing," corrected Tom, "that the 
 public doesn't provide him with. And that's its 
 respect" 
 
 "Its respect? Son, the public gives him that, even 
 before he's got half its cash." 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 "Oh, you're a kid ! Your silly head's stuffed with 
 a lot of fool notions that you've dug out of measly 
 books and pamphlets. If the folks who wrote that 
 stuff had the right dope, d'you suppose they'd be 
 wasting time and staying poor, by writing? Not 
 they ! They'd be living up to their own maxims and 
 coining incomes that would make John D. Rocke- 
 feller look like a poor relation. You've read their 
 books but you've never learned to read men. And, 
 till they teach that in the schools, the public is liable 
 to keep right on forgetting to sew up the hole in 
 its cash-pocket. Who is it that makes graft pos- 
 sible?" 
 
 "Who?" echoed Tom. "The machine, of course. 
 And the political ring in every country and city." 
 
 165
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You sound like a dinner-bell that doesn't tinkle 
 till dinner's over. There's only one crowd that lets 
 grafting keep on. And that crowd is made up of 
 the missing links between the sheep and the donkey 
 which same missing links we call, for lack of a 
 better name, the public." 
 
 "Surely" 
 
 "Yes, the public. Graft couldn't last as long as a 
 tallow dog chasing an asbestos cat through hell, if 
 the public didn't permit it. Gee! If I wasn't so 
 used to the idea I'd laugh myself sick over it Here's 
 the American public with more money and more 
 brains than every other nation on earth put together ! 
 And they're peaceably allowing themselves to be 
 fleeced year after year." 
 
 "Not 'peaceably*. Often they protest and " 
 
 "Oh, yes. They howl bloody murder, and yell: 
 Thieves! Help, I'm being robbed!' And at the 
 same time they sweep the sidewalk with their hats 
 every time one of the robbers passes them in the 
 street. Other nations have kings and nobility to 
 kotow to. We haven't. So we gratify our normal 
 
 166
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 craving for groveling by making idols of our biggest 
 grafters." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Yes. Not the pikers. Not the grocer who 
 charges creamery prices for the wooden box the 
 butter is weighed in. Not the butcher who weighs 
 his hand with the cold storage steak. But the really 
 big grafter. The man who plays for millions of 
 dollars at every throw. The public adores him. 
 Back comes Dick Croker from Ireland. The in- 
 telligent New York people yell themselves hoarse, 
 shouting : 'Welcome back to what you've left of our 
 city!' The big Wall Street grafters go to Europe, 
 and emperors pin fancy medals on 'em. The public 
 starts investigations about bad beef and the high 
 cost of living. That sort of thing costs the 
 grafters a bit of money. But they don't care. The 
 minute the squeal dies down they get all the cash 
 back again by putting up prices one notch higher. 
 The public screams and pays." 
 
 "But the people" 
 
 "The people elect a president to fight the grafters. 
 167
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 And the minute he gets busy at it he damn near 
 loses his job. Yes, sir, it's the people who want 
 graft and support it. If they didn't want it if 
 they'd get together and vote it down it wouldn't 
 last a minute. Could I or any other man go to a 
 fellow's house and pinch his watch and ring? Not 
 on your life! Why not? Because he doesn't want 
 us to. He'd shoot us or jail us. Can I get that 
 same man's bank roll by grafting ? I sure can. And 
 I do. Why? Because he wants me to. If he didn't 
 I couldn't get within a mile of it." 
 "But" 
 
 "They all want some crumbs of the cake, them- 
 selves. They hope, by petty grafting, to grow into 
 big grafters. In the meantime they look on the big 
 grafter as a demigod. Graft ! Why it's the main- 
 stay of the day's news. It's the one item everybody's 
 crazy to read. It's the bulwark of the magazines. 
 Why, look here," he went on, picking up at random 
 one of several magazines scattered on the table, and 
 running over its pages. "Look here ! The Shame 
 of the Cities Where Did You Get it, Gentlemen? 
 And a lot more. There's no country on earth where 
 
 168
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 graft flourishes as it flourishes here. And it's be- 
 cause the public doesn't think a man's worth a hoot 
 in Hades unless he can sell 'em a gold brick. Bah ! 
 Don't talk to me about the public! They've made 
 me rich. But they sure give me a pain." 
 
 "Dad," observed Tom as Blake paused for breath, 
 "I owe you an apology. I thought grafting was 
 only a failing with you. But I see it's a religion." 
 
 "It is," cheerfully assented Blake. "I'm a Util- 
 itarian. And the public is responsible for my con- 
 version to that same cozy creed. And the public is 
 responsible for " 
 
 "Yes. The public is responsible. Just as they're 
 responsible for the car of Juggernaut. Juggernaut ! 
 That's what a friend of mine called it to-day." 
 
 "Did, hey? Well, he wasn't so far wrong. If 
 I remember rightly, from the dreary Y. M. C. A. 
 stereopticon lecture on India that some of my con- 
 stituents coaxed me into frequenting last time I was 
 back home, the car of Juggernaut used to be dragged 
 along by the people themselves. And it's the same 
 in America. Only, here, the car's ropes are votes. 
 Every now and then, some poor devil of a fanatic, 
 
 169
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 looking for the road to Heaven, makes a noise like 
 a reformer and hurls himself in front of the car. 
 He gets crushed. But poor old Juggernaut can't 
 help it. He isn't pushing the car. He's only riding 
 in it. And no two or three men could budge it. 
 Nothing short of a noble army of voters could get it 
 into motion. So when I see the whole long-eared 
 population tugging at the ropes, I'd rather climb 
 into the car and get a free ride than to make my 
 mark in the world face down under the wheels." 
 
 "Don't deceive yourself into the idea that the 
 public won't wake up. The " 
 
 "Wake up? Of course the public will wake up. 
 It's liable to wake up any minute. And that's why 
 I want to get mine, first. Like my good 'hoot mon' 
 friend, Andy, once I've got enough for myself I'm 
 quite willing to 'take the duty off steel'." 
 
 "And turn reformer and philanthropist?" sneered 
 Tom. 
 
 "There you go !" retorted Blake. "There you go, 
 using a big mouthful of words, without having the 
 faintest idea of what they mean. W T hen you get to 
 theorizing, son, you always remind me of a gull 
 
 170
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 swimming on the Atlantic Ocean drawing four 
 inches of water and without the remotest notion of 
 the infinite depths beneath him. Reform and phi- 
 lanthropy! A reformer is a grafter out of a job. 
 And philanthropy is the bandage clapped over the 
 eyes of justice. Take your friend, Standish, for in- 
 stance. If he gets into power will he be a bit better 
 than we are?" 
 
 "Frankly," answered Tom, "I think he will." 
 "Why? Tell me that? Why do you think he 
 will?" 
 
 "Because," said Tom reluctantly, "he is honest." 
 "Oh, lord!" groaned Blake. "You're hopeless I 
 You're a big disappointment to me, Tom. I've got 
 plans for you. Wonderful plans. And sometimes 
 I'm afraid you won't make good. Why can't you 
 be more like Mark? Look what he's done for him- 
 self and the party in the past few years." 
 
 "Why shouldn't he? He's got you and the organ- 
 ization behind him. And scruples don't bother him. 
 He's got a machine instead of a heart. The only 
 human thing about him is his adoration for Grace." 
 "Yes, he worships her, all right. But he doesn't 
 171
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 let it interfere with his political plans. Now, in 
 your case " 
 
 "I don't want to disappoint you, dad," interrupted 
 Tom. "But before you go any further in your ar- 
 rangements for me, it's only fair to tell you I've 
 been making a few plans of my own." 
 
 "Have, hey?" queried Blake as though listening 
 to the prattle of a somewhat backward child of six. 
 "Such as what, for instance?" 
 
 "Well," answered Tom, trying not to show his 
 irritation at Blake's tone. "I the fact is I want to 
 get married." 
 
 "The blazes you do ! Is that a boast or a confes- 
 sion?" 
 
 "I don't quite understand you," said Tom stiffly. 
 
 "I mean," began his father, "I mean oh, never 
 mind all that. Who's the girl ?" 
 
 "Before I tell you," evaded Tom, "I'd like to get 
 your views on the proposition in general." 
 
 "In general ?" repeated Blake. "Son, marriage is 
 never a proposition in general! Because every 
 woman is an exception that proves no rule. You 
 can't classify 'em any more than you can classify 
 
 172
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 a nest of hornets that you happen to step into. Hell's 
 full of women. So's Heaven, I guess. But neither 
 class got to either place by following any 'proposi- 
 tion in general'. Tell me," he demanded, his philo- 
 sophical mood changing in a flash to one of almost 
 savage intentness, "is this girl the sort who can help 
 you in getting where I want to put you?" 
 
 "How can I tell? You've never told me just 
 where you intended to put me." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you now. There's no real need in 
 your sailing any farther under sealed orders. I've 
 made you a pretty fair lawyer. You'll have one 
 more term as assistant district attorney. Then one 
 as district attorney. Then as attorney-general. 
 After that a term or two in the cabinet just to get 
 the run of things " 
 
 "There's only one thing left," said Tom, almost 
 in awe, as his father hesitated. 
 
 "Yes?" replied Blake grimly. "Well, maybe that 
 won't be left when we get through. Now you can 
 see why the girl must be of good family and have 
 social position and breeding and all that kind of 
 thinr. Those are the things I'm shy on. And my 
 
 173
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 children must make it up for me. I've got Grace 
 started she's been governor and Why, look at 
 the style she lives in! And I can remember when 
 you and she slept in a trundle-bed in a tumble-down 
 Chicago tenement. Now that I've got Grace started 
 it is your turn. This girl you want to marry can 
 she help you? Can you take her with you right 
 up to the White House ?" 
 
 "I don't know," returned Tom. "You see, I've 
 never thought of her as a political asset. I want her 
 for a sweetheart not for a show-window. And 
 happiness means a good deal more to me than po- 
 sition. I've already told her so. I " 
 
 "Told her so? Then then, you've asked her to 
 marry you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And, of course, when she looked me up in Brad- 
 street and " 
 
 "She's refused me so far." 
 
 "Well!" grinned Blake, vastly relieved. "That's 
 far enough, I guess. Don't go overplaying your 
 luck." 
 
 "I'm going to stick at it till I win out !" declared 
 Tom. "And I'm" 
 
 174
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 "No, no ! Don't do a crazy thing like that, son," 
 
 pleaded Blake. "Take your medicine like a man. 
 
 i 
 
 Don't keep on pestering the poor girl. By the way, 
 you haven't told me who she is." 
 
 "She's " faltered Tom ; then, taking the plunge, 
 he blurted out: "she's Miss Kelly." 
 
 "Kelly?" repeated Blake, mystified. 
 
 "Yes. Wanda Kelly, the phone operator down- 
 stairs." 
 
 "What?" exploded Blake. 
 
 Then he collapsed in the nearest chair and stared 
 in blank helplessness at his son. 
 
 "Well," demanded Tom, instantly on the de- 
 fensive. 
 
 "It's it's a bum joke," growled Blake. "Maybe 
 it'd go better with the banjo. Stop guying me, boy> 
 and tell me who the girl really is." 
 
 "I told you," repeated Tom. "She is Wanda 
 Kelly." 
 
 There was a dead pause. Blake at last broke it. 
 
 "There's about forty-five million women in the 
 United States," he muttered dazedly, "and out of 
 that whole lot, you had to go and and fall in love 
 with"
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "That's right," laughed Tom. "It certainly looks 
 that way." 
 
 "Then," stormed Blake, "go take another look." 
 
 "What's your objection?" bristled Tom. "You 
 don't even know her, yet." 
 
 "I don't, hey?" retorted Blake. 
 
 Then, checking the impulse to tell his son the 
 story of his verbal tilt with Wanda, he added : 
 
 "Maybe I don't. But I know her kind. She's 
 after a rich man's son. She's an easy-mark hunter. 
 And she's found one all right, all right." 
 
 "That's absurd. You don't know " 
 
 "Absurd or not," snapped Blake, "it's got to 
 stop short! I'm not going to let you throw your- 
 self away on a girl like that. You shan't ruin your 
 life's happiness " 
 
 "Oh," cut in Tom, with angry sarcasm. "It's my 
 
 happiness you're thinking of, is it?" 
 
 * 
 
 "Yes, it is !" cried Blake. "And I'll secure your 
 happiness if I have to " 
 
 "You're bound you'll 'have peace, if you have to 
 lick every galoot in the valley to get it'," quoted 
 Tom, 
 
 176
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 But his father did not heed. 
 
 "Yes!" shouted Blake. "And if it comes to a 
 show-down, I'll withdraw my support from you. 
 And then what can you do? Hey? Answer me 
 that. Here I've given you the softest snap there is 
 a big salary for loafing around an office a few 
 hours a week. How much could you make by your 
 own law practise if once I take my hand from under 
 you ? You haven't got an earning ability of a thou- 
 sand dollars a year. And you know it. Suppose I 
 try that ; and see if she's so blooming anxious, then, 
 to marry you." 
 
 "I understand," said Tom bitterly. "You're so 
 keen on my being happy that you'll wreck my hap- 
 piness to make me so. But you're wrong. I didn't 
 ask your consent. I just told you what my plans 
 are. That's all." 
 
 "It's enough, I guess." 
 
 "Look here, dad. You spoke just now of coming 
 to a show-down. Also you claim I'm no good with- 
 out your backing. If I can't make a living on my 
 own hook, it's high time for me to begin to learn 
 how. If all the education and money and training 
 
 177
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 you've spent on me have fitted me for nothing except 
 to be a political catspaw for you, it's time I started 
 along a fresh line. If a man, nowadays, can't forge 
 ahead without being a time-server and a boot- 
 licker, I'll stay back with the people who keep their 
 self-respect. You've outlined my position pretty 
 clearly. And I'm going to make my own way with 
 the girl I mean to marry." 
 
 "Oh, you poor wall-eyed fool !" sighed Blake. 
 
 "If I'm a fool," flared Tom, "I inherit it!" 
 
 "Of all the senseless come-backs I ever heard/' 
 commented Blake disgustedly, "that's about the flat- 
 est and silliest! It'd be a dandy clue for a picture 
 puzzle of 'Find the Fool.' However, we understand 
 each other at last " 
 
 "I suppose," broke in Tom, with sulky contrition, 
 "I needn't have said that. I'm sorry." 
 
 "You needn't be. Maybe you were right. Per- 
 haps it wasn't such a punk come-back after all. But, 
 of course, it's tough for a man to see his only son 
 throw himself away on a " 
 
 "Steady, dad ! I won't stand for that sort of talk 
 about her. Not even from you." 
 
 178
 
 THE GOSPEL OF GRAFT 
 
 "Whether I say it or not," grumbled Blake, "you 
 know what I think. So what's the difference?" 
 
 "When you change your mind," answered Tom, 
 righting hotly for self-control, "you'll have less to 
 take back." 
 
 He jammed on his hat, flung open the door and 
 confronted a man and a woman who were entering. 
 
 The woman tall, slender, strikingly handsome- - 
 darted forward to where Jim Blake stood scowling 
 at his son. And at sight of her the scowl changed 
 to a light that few men had seen or suspected in 
 the grim old politician's face. 
 
 "Hello, Grace!" he exclaimed in delight. "Gee, 
 but you come like a bunch of sunshine after a Welsh- 
 rabbit nightmare ! Stand still and let's look at you ! 
 No, don't waste time kissing Tom. He's got other 
 people to kiss."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 "T T'S good to get a welcome at last," laughed 
 A Grace. "Mark's been as cross as a bear." 
 
 "I haven't !" declared Robertson. 
 
 "You have !" she insisted. "And just because the 
 train was a few minutes late. Oh, well a few 
 hours, then. When I got in you were stamping up 
 and down the platform surrounded by a blue haze ; 
 like Ajax defying the the B. & O. Really, I was 
 ashamed of you. If it hadn't been for the lovely 
 flowers you got me " 
 
 "What was the delay?" asked Blake. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered, laying aside her 
 wraps with Robertson's awkward if eager aid. "The 
 engine made too strenuous an effort to get out of 
 Baltimore. And it broke down. How are you, 
 
 dad?" 
 
 "Oh," grunted Blake, "as well as a man may hope 
 1 80
 
 BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 to be who never can hope to make himself worthy of 
 such a wonderful son. I " 
 
 "Tom!" cried Grace in jolly reproof. "There's 
 been another explosion ! What was it, this time ? 
 Tell me!" 
 
 "Politics," answered Blake before Tom could 
 speak. "I'm a wicked, hopeless, corrupt old guy, 
 And Tom's just discovered it for the thousandth 
 time. It's hurt his feelings something terrible." 
 
 "Nonsense, Tom!" said Grace lightly. "Politics 
 is a game. Not a tragedy." 
 
 "Gee !" approved Blake. "I wish you could have 
 been the son, Grace ; and Tom the daughter." 
 
 "Why do you boys quarrel so foolishly?" she de- 
 manded. "Neither of you ever quarrels with me. 
 I'm going to be an arbitration committee and a dove 
 of peace, all in one, and settle your grievances 
 when I get time." 
 
 "And, speaking of time," put in Mark, "I ought 
 to be at the Capitol this very minute. Coming?" 
 he asked, turning to Blake and Tom. 
 
 "In a little while," said Blake. "You two run on, 
 I want to speak to Grace." 
 
 181
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Tom led the way from the room. Mark, follow- 
 ing, paused an instant on the threshold. 
 
 "By the way, Grace," he called, over his shoulder, 
 "we've asked Standish to come here. It wouldn't 
 do for us to be seen conferring with him at the Cap- 
 itol or anywhere else in public. If he gets here be- 
 fore we're back, ask him to wait, won't you ?" 
 
 His wife's back had been turned toward him and 
 she was leaning over a table arranging flowers in a 
 vase. Her voice as she replied was quite indifferent. 
 
 "Certainly," she agreed. "Confer all night if you 
 want to, so long as you don't do it loudly enough to 
 keep me awake." 
 
 Robertson closed the door, leaving Grace and her 
 father alone together. Noting Blake's scowl, she 
 asked : 
 
 "How is the Mullins fight coming on ?" 
 
 "Twenty- fourth round," he replied. "Both men 
 
 groggy." 
 
 "You'll win, though!" she said; and there was 
 scarce a note of interrogation in her voice. 
 
 "It's a way I've got," bluffed her father; loath 
 that the daughter, whose faith in his powers was so 
 
 182
 
 BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 secure, should know of the straits in which he was 
 laboring. "Standish is doing his best to block us. 
 And he thinks he's done it. A lot of other folks 
 think so, too. But I'm fixing up a mine to spring 
 under him to-night. And after the explosion I guess 
 the air will clear for the Mullins bill. But that 
 wasn't what I wanted to speak to you about. It's 
 Tom." 
 
 "Tom?" 
 
 "Yes. He's in love." 
 
 "Is that all? Oh, I see. The quarrel was about 
 that. He came to you for sympathy and " 
 
 "Girl, there's four things no man can get sympa- 
 thy for. I don't know why, but he can't : having 
 his umbrella stolen; getting his best hat sat on; 
 a toothache; and falling in love. But it happens 
 Tom didn't come looking for sympathy. He just 
 handed me an ultimatum. And it didn't ultimate. 
 That's where I want you to help me." 
 
 "Who is she ? Do I know her ?" 
 
 "You've probably seen her here at the Keswick, 
 though I don't suppose you've noticed her. You 
 wouldn't be likely to. She's Wanda Kelly/' 
 
 183
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "'Not the phone girl?" asked Grace in dismay. 
 
 "You win. Real nice, ain't it? Makes an awful 
 hit with me, after all I've done and planned for that 
 boy, to have him tumble into an affair like this." 
 
 "But couldn't you make him see reason?" 
 
 "You didn't catch what I said, Grace. I've just 
 told you he's in love" 
 
 "And you shouted at him and got him stubborn 
 and angry, instead of ?" 
 
 "That's right. He and I always blaze up when 
 we get together. The boy takes after his father 
 too much. And he's always trying to strike out in 
 new roads for himself and thinking he knows more 
 than sane folks. Thank goodness, you never showed 
 any streak of that, girl. It's crazy for a man to 
 do it. But, for a woman, it's suicide. It's a family 
 failing and I'm grateful that it skipped you." 
 
 "But," evaded Grace, "what do you want me to 
 
 do?" 
 
 "Talk to the boy. Talk sense to him. He'll listen 
 to you. You've got a way with you. And you're 
 young. Young folks will always listen to young 
 
 184
 
 BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 folks. They're young themselves, so they think 
 maybe they're hearing wisdom when they listen to 
 one of their own sort. But they know all old folks 
 are fools. Tom will come to you for advice. He 
 always does. Advice is a thing every one asks, 
 every one gives and no one takes. But maybe you 
 can make him see a glimmer of light." 
 
 "I'll try. The whole thing is absurd and impos- 
 sible, of course. And it must be broken up at once. 
 I'll do my best." 
 
 "I know you will. You always did. Remember, 
 in the old tenement days, how I used to tell you not 
 to let him wade in the gutter? And you never did. 
 Well, keep him from wading in it now. Explain to 
 him that this Kelly girl's after my money. Tell him 
 she's just a common graf I mean a designing per- 
 son. You'll fix it, won't you? Good! Oh, but 
 you're sure a comfort to me, Grace! You're the 
 best ever!" 
 
 "Don't worry!" she reassured him. "There are 
 other ways of convincing a man especially a lover 
 than by storming at him. You know all about 
 
 185
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 politics, dad, and you can whip voters and congress- 
 men into line. But Tom needs a different line of 
 attack. And he's going to get it. From me." 
 
 "Say!" ejaculated Blake. "I wish there was a 
 man on earth I could turn a ticklish business over to, 
 with the same sureness that I can to you. You've 
 taken a three-ton load off my mind. By the way, 
 do you know anything about this Kelly girl ?" 
 
 "I've spoken to her once or twice. What about 
 her?" 
 
 "She isn't a fool. She's rather pretty, too. She's 
 got a strangle hold on Tom, with the idea that the 
 same strangle hold will choke some of my cash out 
 of my pocket. It won't. Tell Tom so. I tried to 
 tell him. But he got on the stump and made a 
 noise like a spread eagle spurning the home nest. 
 So long ! I've got to chase over to the Capitol. We'll 
 all be back in a little while for our confab with 
 Standish. You'll keep him here if he comes before 
 we get back ?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied a little wearily. "I'll keep him 
 here."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 7XDR a minute or so after her father had left her, 
 *" Grace Robertson busied herself in laying away 
 her hat and furs and in putting a stray feminine 
 touch here and there to various details of the room's 
 disarranged appointments. A man would have said 
 the place was in excellent order. The woman, who 
 had first planned and ordered its setting, instinct- 
 ively noted the various careless shifts made by un- 
 conscious masculine hands in her absence. And she 
 mechanically set about rectifying them. 
 
 But another woman could have seen how very 
 mechanical all Grace's movements were. At every 
 step in the hall outside the suite, she paused and 
 seemed to brace herself as for some ordeal. When 
 at last the electric buzzer announced a caller, she 
 moved with perfect calmness to the door, as though 
 to admit a stranger. But at sight of the figure on
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 the threshold of the opened door, her hard-won com- 
 posure changed to a frigid stiffness. For the visitor 
 was not Standish. 
 
 It was Wanda Kelly. 
 
 "May I come in, Mrs. Robertson?" asked the girl 
 nervously, glancing behind her as she spoke. 
 
 A cold inclination of the head gave the desired 
 permission. Wanda entered, looked about; then 
 waited while Grace closed the door. 
 
 "You know me ?" asked the girl. 
 
 "I think so," returned Grace, in no measure un- 
 bending. "You are Miss Kelly, aren't you? The 
 phone girl down-stairs?" 
 
 "Yes. I got one of the boys to mind the switch- 
 board while I came up. Is is any one in there?" 
 she continued, glancing toward the door that led to 
 the inner rooms of the suite. 
 
 "No one," said Grace. "Why do you ask? Is 
 your business with me so very private?" 
 
 "Yes. So private that I don't quite know how to 
 begin." 
 
 She paused. Grace would give her no assistance ; 
 but stood watching the younger woman with the air 
 
 188
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 of one who coolly waits for a dead-beat cc bring the 
 conversation to the begging point. 
 
 She felt certain of the reason for Wanda's visit. 
 Her father's tale of Tom's silly love-affair gave her 
 the clue. Wanda had doubtless heard, through Tom, 
 how Blake had received the news of the young 
 man's love. And now the girl had come to try to 
 enlist the sympathy and aid of the woman to whom 
 it was known Jim Blake could refuse nothing. 
 
 Contempt for the melodramatic, weakly senti- 
 mental appeal, which she was thoroughly prepared 
 to treat as it merited, showed in every line of Grace's 
 face. But Wanda was far too perturbed to note the 
 expression. 
 
 "I don't know how to begin," she faltered once 
 more. 
 
 "Indeed?" queried Grace. 
 
 "You haven't heard anything?" asked Wanda. 
 "They haven't told you? Your father hasn't told 
 you anything about me ?" 
 
 "Please be more explicit." 
 
 "You have heard !" exclaimed Wanda. "And yet 
 you can stand there as if nothing had happened." 
 
 189
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Nothing has happened that could cause any of us 
 real nervousness. This boyish folly of my broth- 
 er's" 
 
 "Your brother's?" echoed Wanda in a bewilder- 
 ment whose genuineness Grace could not doubt. 
 "Have they dragged him into it, too ?" 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said Grace, "we seem to be talking 
 at cross-purposes. Will you kindly come to the 
 point? What is it you think I have or haven't 
 heard?" 
 
 "About their scheme to wreck Mr. Standish " 
 
 "Mr. Standish!" 
 
 The exclamation was out before Grace was well 
 aware of it. But she managed, none the less, to 
 give the quickly spoken words a turn of civil inquiry, 
 and her face did not change. 
 
 "Yes," hurried on Wanda. "They're digging up 
 the old scandal. They've unearthed it all except the 
 Woman's name. They must get that before they 
 can go ahead. When they get that name they'll use 
 the story to ruin him and her/' 
 
 "Yes?" returned Grace, her sweet voice bare of 
 emotion and her expression one of polite boredom. 
 
 190
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 "And why should you come to me with this story? 
 I am not interested in the seamy side of politics." 
 
 "Don't !" cried the girl. "Don't try to bluff it out 
 like that, Mrs. Robertson. It's gone too far for that. 
 It's life or death for you. They're trying to get the 
 Woman's name out of me. If they can't do that, 
 there are other ways. Unless you can stop them. 
 Now that I've put you on your guard, perhaps " 
 
 "My dear Miss Kelly," said Grace patronizingly, 
 "you seem quite unstrung; and, if you will excuse 
 me for saying so, just a little hysterical and inco- 
 herent. As far as I can gather, you appear to be 
 hinting that I may know something of a scandal in 
 which Mr. Standish is implicated and " 
 
 "Don't you?" demanded the girl with a sudden- 
 ness that well-nigh threw the other off her splendid 
 poise. 
 
 "Your question is impertinent," reproved Grace. 
 "Kindly" 
 
 "Oh, all right," said Wanda despondently. "If 
 that's the way you take it, it's no business of mine. 
 But you're Tom Blake's sister and I couldn't let you 
 run into the trap without warning you. I've done it. 
 
 igi
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 And I've been called impertinent for my pains. 
 When I first found out it was you who were mixed 
 up in the case, I said to myself : 'Let Jim Blake go 
 ahead. Let him hit out in the dark at the Woman, 
 and smash his own heart with the blow. It'll be 
 fair.' Then, I got to thinking it over. And well, 
 I found I couldn't quite bring myself to pay off 
 my own debts by spoiling another woman's life. I 
 guess I'd be a failure at politics," she ended with a 
 little laugh of self-disgust. "That's all. Good-by." 
 
 "And so," said Grace slowly, "you came to me 
 just to help me?" 
 
 "What other reason could I have had?" asked 
 Wanda, puzzled. 
 
 "You didn't think for an instant," pursued Grace, 
 "that, out of gratitude, I might help you ?" 
 
 "Help me? How?" 
 
 "By making it easy for you to carry out your idea 
 of marrying my brother? Perhaps by using this 
 scandal story as a threat to force me into helping 
 you?" 
 
 Wanda looked at her for a full half-minute in 
 192
 
 'And why should you come to me with this story?"
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 blank silence. Then, turning to the door, she said: 
 
 "I guess I was a fool to butt in." 
 
 "One moment!" interposed Grace; adding, as 
 Wanda paused: "You you made certain insinua- 
 tions about me, just now. You must prove them 
 you must give me your reasons for the absurd sup- 
 position that I might know anything about this 
 Standish scandal." 
 
 "You mean," suggested Wanda, "how did I find 
 out that you ?" 
 
 "No. There was nothing at all to find out. But 
 I want to know how you are going to try to drag 
 me into this. What your supposed grounds may be 
 for" 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson," replied Wanda, her hand still 
 on the door-knob, "I'm not in your class. I don't 
 know just how women in your station of life manage 
 such things. But it seems rather tough that you can't 
 find a way to defend yourself without insulting me. 
 Let that go. You want to know how I found out? 
 I'll tell you. Early this evening Mr. Standish learned 
 of this scheme to wreck him. He knows the story 
 
 193
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 couldn't be used without the Woman's name. And 
 Blake bluffed him into believing the machine would 
 have the name before midnight. Mr. Standish's first 
 thought was to warn the Woman. Just as Blake 
 had known it would be. He called up your house 
 in New York" 
 
 "What of that? I was not at home this evening. 
 I was on my way here to " 
 
 "But Mr. Standish didn't know that." 
 
 "And," pursued Grace fiercely, "just because Mr. 
 Standish chanced to call up my husband's New York 
 home, you've evolved this insane theory. Mr. 
 Standish wanted to speak with my husband. He " 
 
 "He had just been speaking with him in the hotel 
 corridor." 
 
 "What proof is there beyond your unbacked 
 word that he called up my house?" 
 
 "The time-card at central. A list of all calls is 
 forwarded every evening to central and " 
 
 "That proves nothing!" declared Grace. "Noth- 
 ing at all. Oh, it's a pretty trick you're playing, 
 Miss Kelly. A very pretty trick. But it will fail. 
 You build it- all on the statement that some one 
 
 194
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 called up the house of Governor Robertson. Fifty 
 people call up our house every day. And on the 
 strength of that, his wife is to be involved in a story 
 of low intrigue Oh, it's outrageous! Do you sup- 
 pose a wild story like that would have any other 
 effect than to put you promptly in prison for black- 
 mail?" 
 
 "Will Mr. Standish explain to your husband why 
 he called you up?" 
 
 "He didn't call me up. Mr. Standish could have 
 had no possible reason to warrant him in telephon- 
 ing to me. At best, your theory is a miserable blun- 
 der. Mr. Standish had nothing to say to me. He'll 
 deny every charge you make. And my word will be 
 believed ahead of a blackmailing phone girl's. I 
 need simply say you tried to gain my help by means 
 of threats to " 
 
 "You need simply say it? Will you swear to it?" 
 
 "Yes!" flashed Grace. "If the need arises. A 
 woman's reputation isn't destroyed so easily as you 
 seem to think, Miss Kelly." 
 
 "And the country hotel proprietor?" asked 
 Wanda. "I forgot to say they've sent for him. He 
 
 195
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 can identify the Woman who was registered as 'Mrs. 
 Fowler' He" 
 
 "Do you suppose, for one moment," said Grace, 
 white to the lips, "that my husband would subject 
 me to the indignity of being looked over like a com- 
 mon criminal ? I need only tell the truth deny the 
 whole malicious lie and " 
 
 "Oh!" broke in Wanda, with reluctant admira- 
 tion, "you're brave, Mrs. Robertson! As brave as 
 they make them. You're putting up a glorious fight. 
 And I can't help liking you for it. Because I know 
 behind the brave front you're sick with fear." 
 
 "You think?" 
 
 "I know it. And believe me or not you've got 
 me sized up all wrong. I I'm not going to marry 
 your brother. But I don't want to see his sister get 
 into this mess. Why won't you trust me? You'll 
 need my help. You'll need every scrap of help you 
 can get from any one. You don't know the danger 
 you're in. For you've never been up against the 
 machine." 
 
 "Really" 
 
 "The machine !" rushed on Wanda. "It's got the 
 196
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 brains of all the men that are in it. And none of 
 the heart. It bums up everything that gets in its 
 path. And now it needs a woman's good name and 
 happiness to keep it in fuel. It's only square that 
 you should be the Woman. It'll let them see how 
 other people have felt when the machine crushed 
 them how my father felt when he came home that 
 horrible day, with death written in hib eyes, and said 
 to my mother : 'Molly, I'm done for. Blake and his 
 machine have got me!' That's, what he said. And 
 he was innocent." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "That's why I was going to let them get you, and 
 break Jim Blake's vile old heart. It's the chance I've 
 been waiting for, five endless years. I was waiting 
 and hoping and praying for them to strike a trail 
 that would lead to their own graft-bought homes. 
 To-night I saw God's justice begin to move, I saw 
 that Blake and his crowd were working out their own 
 damnation without any help from me. And then 
 Oh, I'm a fool! then, all at once I forgot the 
 justice part of it. And all I could see was that a 
 gang of strong, cruel, clever men were fighting one 
 
 197
 
 THE .WOMAN 
 
 unhappy woman. I I guess that's why Fve stayed 
 here, even after you called me a blackmailer." 
 
 "If there were any truth in your story," answered 
 Grace, and her voice was dead, "you'd surely have 
 your revenge in seeing my father's pride and his 
 life's happiness destroyed my home broken up 
 and my brother " 
 
 "Yes," said Wanda. "I thought of your brother, 
 too. I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings by talking 
 as I have about the machine your father controls. 
 Especially since your husband's in it, too. I don't 
 doubt they're all right in their homes. But they're 
 parts of the machine. It's like a gun : all the parts 
 of it are harmless, till they're put together. And 
 then" 
 
 "You're mistaken about me! I know nothing of 
 this Standish scandal. You're trying to trick me 
 into admitting something that isn't true. And you 
 actually think you can succeed in making out a case 
 against me? Don't you see how absurd it is for a 
 girl in your station to try such a trick? My name 
 and position alone are enough to " 
 
 "That's just it," retorted Wanda. "Your name 
 198
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 and position! Those two things take away your 
 only possible excuse for what you did and for what 
 you are doing now ! You had what the story books 
 call a 'sheltered life'. You had all the money you 
 could possibly spend. You had everything life could 
 give you. Yet you were tempted. And you went un- 
 der. Not blindly, either. For you had sense enough 
 to clear your own skirts afterward and to refuse to 
 abide by what you'd done. When a man does that, 
 you know well enough what they call him." 
 
 T 
 
 "I know lots of girls there are thousands of 
 them in this city who grind along, year after year, 
 working like slaves, on starvation wages often go- 
 ing without enough food or clothes or warmth 
 just to keep themselves straight. For every one of 
 them that loses the fight for decency, there are a 
 hundred that win out and stay clean. The fight kills 
 them sometimes. They can't earn enough cash to 
 live honestly. So they don't live at all. They get 
 consumption from undereating and overworking. 
 And they die alone in their cold hall bedrooms. 
 But they've won ! They've fought the good fight in 
 
 199
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 a way that would have sent a lot of those hairy old 
 Roman martyrs tumbling down for the count. 
 They've won, I tell you ! And that is the kind of girl 
 who knows what temptation really means. Not your 
 variety of temptation gold-plated and velvet lined ; 
 but the real sort of temptation cold iron with steel 
 teeth." 
 
 She checked her tirade a little ashamed of her 
 own vehemence. 
 
 "But your past's no business of mine," she went 
 on more quietly. "I just came to give you a warn- 
 ing. Take it or leave it. It's up to you." 
 
 "I don't want your warning," said Grace sullenly. 
 "I tell you, I admit nothing." 
 
 "Then I can't help you." 
 
 "I have not asked your help." 
 
 "Just as you like," sighed Wanda. "But the net's 
 closing tight around you, Mrs. Robertson. And if 
 you count on Mr. Standish to help you or to deny 
 anything, you're making a big mistake. The min- 
 ute he finds himself cornered, he'll throw you over 
 to save his own chances. Oh, won't you drop the 
 bluff, once and for all ? Won't you let me?'* 
 
 200
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE 
 
 "You have had my answer. There is not one sin- 
 gle fact on which to base this this attack. If you 
 try to drag my name into any unsavory scandal, so 
 much the worse for you. You think I am afraid of 
 you, and of your veiled threats, Miss Kelly ? Well, 
 then, if you dare make use of my name even indi- 
 rectly in connection with this case, I shall go to 
 my father, at once and tell him tell him that " 
 
 "Tell him what, Mrs. Robertson?" demanded 
 Wanda. . 
 
 "That you tried to get me to help you marry Tom. 
 And that when I refused you threatened to black- 
 mail me to brand me as the Woman he's been 
 hunting for. I " 
 
 A purring of the buzzer interrupted her. 
 
 "We will put it to the test now. 1 " Grace declared, 
 turning toward the door. "There are my husband 
 and father outside. 'Afraid/ am I? 'Sick with 
 fear ?' You shall see. You shall tell them, here and 
 now, that I'm the Woman they're trying to find. 
 Tell them and see what will happen. If you haven't 
 the courage to tell them I'll repeat your charges 
 myself." 
 
 20 1
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Don't ! Don't!" implored Wanda, as the buzzer 
 sounded once more. "Don't try it, Mrs. Robertson ! 
 You can't carry it through, I tell you. They have 
 too much proof." 
 
 "They won't apply their proof to me It is you 
 who will need proofs." 
 
 "Very good!" cried Wanda, in sudden anger. 
 "Go ahead and do it. My conscience is clear. I 
 wanted to help you and I got insulted for my pains. 
 Go as far as you like. I'm through." 
 
 "You are not through yet," denied Grace furi- 
 ously. "Stay where you are ! We'll settle this once 
 and for all." 
 
 She threw open the door. Matthew Standish 
 stood waiting on the threshold.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 WANDA, with a scared smile of recognition, 
 slipped past Standish and out into the hall. 
 
 "My father is expecting you, Mr. Standish," she 
 heard Grace say in a slightly raised tone, palpably 
 for Wanda's ears. "He told me to ask you to wait 
 for him here in case you should come before he got 
 back from the Capitol." 
 
 Then the door closed, and Wanda heard no more. 
 
 The moment she was alone with Standish, Grace 
 Robertson's bearing underwent an almost ludicrous 
 change. The air of defiance was lost, leaving her 
 face strangely drawn and haggard. Her muscles 
 relaxed as though a mainspring had snapped. She 
 dropped into a chair and pressed her hands across 
 her burning eyes. 
 
 Standish stood, still near the door, looking down 
 at her. His heavy dark mask of a face did not show 
 
 203
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 any emotion save that its premature lines seemed 
 all at once cut deeper. His somber eyes held no 
 light, his deep voice no expression as he said at last : 
 
 "You know, then?" 
 
 "Yes," returned Grace, starting up. 
 
 "I tried to warn you," said he. "How did you 
 find out?" 
 
 "The phone girl. Wanda Kelly." 
 
 "I see," he mused. "I ought to have guessed. 
 She is one of the machine's spies." 
 
 "No. She wanted to help me, she said. But 
 that isn't the point. She knows. And she is the 
 only person who does " 
 
 "What did you say to her when she ?" 
 
 "I denied everything, of course. What else was 
 there to do ?" 
 
 "There was nothing else to do. You were wise 
 while the affair is in its present state." 
 
 "It was wise in any case." 
 
 "Yes," he agreed. "It was wise for you. But I 
 suppose you haven't stopped to consider my position 
 in the matter?" 
 
 "Your position?" she repeated uncertainly. 
 204
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 "What do you mean? What is your position, ex- 
 cept to stand by me and save me?" 
 
 "Of course," he hesitated, "I'll help you as far 
 as I can. Believe that." 
 
 She nodded, reassured. With reassurance came 
 reaction. 
 
 "Do you remember," she asked suddenly, "a ser- 
 mon on Conventionality that you preached to me 
 five years ago? I thought it was rather prosy at 
 the time. But, somehow, I could never quite forget 
 it. And now its wretched prophecies have come 
 true. Do you remember?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I had told you," she went on, "that Conventional- 
 ity was a silly bogy who scared us into taking long 
 and tortuous roads instead of the easy short cuts. 
 You said each twist in the long road was made b> 
 some man ahead who turned aside to avoid the pit- 
 fall into which the man in front of him had tumbled. 
 I laughed and said I was going to choose the 'short 
 cut' to happiness. You told me the short cut was 
 white with the bones of people who had done the 
 same thing. And you said no one could defy Con- 
 
 205
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 ventionality without sometime hurting the lives of 
 other people besides himself. Well, if it's any com- 
 fort to you to know it, you were right." 
 
 "It is not a comfort to me," he answered. "I 
 would give my life to save you from the penalty of 
 it all." 
 
 He spoke slowly, in a heavy lifeless voice that 
 contrasted oddly with his words. She looked up, 
 startled. 
 
 "It won't be necessary to give your life," she re- 
 plied. "All you need to do is " 
 
 "It would be necessary to give something greater 
 than my life," he corrected. "Something I can not 
 give, because I have no right to." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "You forget that I owe a duty to the men who 
 have made me their leader in this fight; who have 
 staked everything on me." 
 
 "And to me ?" she cried shrilly. "To the Woman 
 who staked more than everything? Do you owe 
 nothing to me?" 
 
 "I do not want to think what I owe to you," he 
 206
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 evaded, his voice shaking ever so little. "I beg you 
 not to remind me of it." 
 
 "You repudiate the debt, then?" she sneered. 
 "You wish to forget that you owe me " 
 
 "That I owe you a broken life, dead hopes, 
 wrecked faith in women, loss of the one thing that 
 makes this black world worth living in !" he finished. 
 "Yes, I do want to forget it. And out of mercy to 
 you, I repudiate the debt. Please don't let us speak 
 of it again. You left me with nothing in life but 
 an empty career. In order not to go mad with 
 brooding over all that had been stricken from me, I 
 flung myself heart and soul into my work. It is 
 due to you that I am where I am to-day and that the 
 machine is at my mercy. And, now that my work 
 at last is nearing completion, you ask me to renounce 
 that, too. If I alone were concerned I would obey 
 you and go out into the world alone and broken. 
 But I have no right to obey you at the expense of 
 thousands of innocent people who rely on me as 
 their leader and their deliverer." 
 
 "You won't help me? You put these miserable 
 207
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 constituents and politicians of yours ahead of me?' 
 
 "If you put it that way, yes." 
 
 "Oh, most noble statesman !" she mocked, raging. 
 ! "Embodiment of all that is perfect and contempti- 
 ble ! I didn't marry you because I no longer loved 
 you and because I wouldn't add a blasphemous love- 
 less marriage to my other sin. If I had become your 
 wife even if it ruined both our lives you would 
 have felt it your duty to stand by me and defend me 
 against the entire world. But because I had the 
 courage to stop before I made us both miserable for 
 life, you can not in honor protect me ! I wonder if 
 you half realize how vile a thing you are !" 
 
 He did not answer. Nor did his somber eyes, 
 with their ashes of burned-out fires, falter in meet- 
 ing her blazing look. 
 
 "I wouldn't marry you," she went on, still swept 
 by wrath, "because I didn't love you. And now I 
 see how wise I was. I knew nothing of real love. 
 It wasn't until I met Mark that I really understood. 
 Up to then I'd felt no shame for what I'd done. But 
 when I found I loved him, I saw it all. I went 
 through a hell of shame that has never wholly left 
 
 208
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 "You love me?" she muttered.
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 me. I wanted to be cleansed, to be purified, to be 
 worthy. I wanted to tell Mark. I didn't dare. I 
 knew him well enough to be certain he'd turn from 
 me as if I were a leper. He'd do it, even now. No 
 one but a woman can understand what it means to 
 keep a secret from the man she adores. And in 
 those days I learned to hate you. Yes, to hate you. 
 You were part of the one barrier that made me un- 
 worthy to be Mark Robertson's wife." 
 
 She paused in her furious rambling talk, for 
 Standish's dark face had grown ghastly. Vaguely 
 she wondered why. And as if reading her thoughts, 
 he spoke. There was no thrill, no stir in the slow 
 lifeless depths of his voice : 
 
 "I love you. I have never loved any other woman 
 in all my miserable life. I shall keep on loving you 
 as long as I live. I do not want to. But it is past 
 my power. I would sooner have bitten out my 
 tongue than betray this secret of yours. All this can 
 not interest you. I tell you, so that you may know 
 the punishment is not all yours. You merely risk 
 losing what you have gained and cherished during 
 the past few years. 7 act with the certainty that by 
 
 209
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 doing my duty I must bring ruin and heart-break on 
 the woman whom I love more than I love my own 
 soul. Is my task easier than yours? Doesn't it 
 mean a lifetime of agony to me? A lifetime in 
 which to remember that you are unhappy and dis- 
 graced, and that I, who would blithely die for you, 
 will have made you so." 
 
 The utter ardor of his words, combined with the 
 dull lifelessness of his tone, was almost laughable. 
 Grace was gazing at him in blank astonishment. 
 
 "You love me?" she muttered. 
 
 "I have told you so," came the slow measured 
 answer. "You talk much of your love for Mark 
 Robertson. It is easy to love when love makes one 
 blissfully happy. But is your love worthy to be com- 
 pared with mine? With the love that brings only 
 an eternal gnawing anguish the love that can never 
 hope for one atom of requital and yet that can not 
 die the love that would sacrifice everything for 
 you and yet must endure sacrificing you?" 
 
 "You love me ?" she repeated ; and her voice had 
 all at once grown wondrous sweet and vibrant. "You 
 love me Matt?" 
 
 210
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 She had drawn closer to him as she spoke. Now 
 she was looking straight up into his wretched eyes ; 
 her own glowing like mist-haloed stars. So near 
 to him was she that the chiffon on her breast 
 touched the harsh texture of his coat. Her breath 
 played lightly on his face. The faint fragrance of 
 her hair rilled the man's nostrils. The warm magic 
 of her presence dazed him. 
 
 Matthew Standish stood, his eyes wide, his breath 
 coming fast, the sweat beads breaking from his fore- 
 head. The heavy mask of his face twisted itself 
 into a half -grotesque aspect of pain. 
 
 "You love me?" she murmured. 
 
 "Yes !" he groaned, his big voice breaking. "God 
 help me! Yes!" 
 
 "And you won't you can't destroy my whole 
 future. You can't, dear!" 
 
 "Ah? 
 
 It was the cry of revulsion that might break from 
 a forest-roamer who had all but trodden on a rattle- 
 snake. He recoiled a step, with a shudder as of 
 physical sickness. 
 
 "Was this needed ?" he raged. "Was it necessary 
 211
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 to defile my smashed idol still further? Wasn't it 
 enough that you long ago taught me to look on all 
 women as shadows ? Why must you turn misery into 
 nausea by playing Delilah ? My love was a tragedy. 
 Why must you profane it and make it foul?" 
 
 He mastered himself with an effort and fought 
 his way back to the wonted lifeless impersonality 
 that had become to him a second nature. 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson," he went on in his customary 
 measured slowness, "the case stands like this : your 
 father and husband are seeking to ruin me by raking 
 up a story of my past. That story involves you. 
 You ask me to protect you. You sink to unspeak- 
 able methods to make me do so. I shall protect you 
 as far as I can. I shall do so to the extreme, unless 
 such protection must involve the welfare of the 
 people who trust me. At that point my duty is to 
 them. Not to you. If it were only myself who 
 would be sacrificed " 
 
 "Sacrificed?" she echoed savagely. "Sacrifice is 
 not a monopoly with you. I " 
 
 "No. But it is a habit. And I never was forced 
 to exercise it one thousandth as strongly as at this 
 
 212
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 minute. All over the country, people are hailing me 
 as their champion. They are relying like children 
 on my promise to break the cords of the graft net 
 that has so cruelly bound them. Out of their scanty 
 savings, poor men have denied themselves to con- 
 tribute their mite to my campaign funds, the funds 
 that were to give them honest clean government. 
 Clergymen have acclaimed me the leader whom God 
 has chosen to lead the people out of political bond- 
 age. I could endure the shame of being thrown 
 from the pedestal on which the men have placed me. 
 I could endure to see their admiration turn to ridi- 
 cule to note the sorrow of the priests who have 
 held me up to their young men as an ideal of pure 
 manhood. All this I could and would endure, as 
 part of my punishment. But I will not stand by 
 meekly and see my life work for my country ruined. 
 I will not betray the trust of millions whose only 
 hope rests on me. This story your father has dug 
 up must not be made public. You understand me? 
 It must not be made public! At any cost to myself 
 or to you. Is that clear?" 
 
 "Yes, jt is clear. Abominably clear. But my own 
 213
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 course is just as clear. I shall deny deny deny! 
 For five years I have been rebuilding my life. And 
 I am not going to have it ruined now. I've paid! 
 Oh, I've paid a thousandfold. I have paid my debt 
 in the most terrible coin that was ever struck from 
 torture's mint in fear! Fear of losing my hus- 
 band's love and his respect. Fear that I might fall 
 ill and blurt out the horrible truth in my delirium. 
 Fear that some one who saw us during that week 
 might chance to confront me again. Once, in a the- 
 ater, a voice at my elbow said 'Good evening, Mrs. 
 Fowler'. It sent a knife of horror to my very heart. 
 The greeting was meant for another woman. But 
 I was ill for days afterward. Oh, I've paid! I've 
 paid every time my husband has kissed me. Every 
 time he has said to me the foolish divine things that 
 lovers say I felt as though I were secretly killing 
 a child who worshiped me." 
 
 "I know," began Standish sadly. 
 
 But she would none of his sympathy. 
 
 "I have prepared, hour after hour, for just this 
 sort of crisis," she continued. "I have schooled and 
 steeled and rehearsed myself for it. And now that 
 
 214
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 it's come I can go through with my part I can and 
 I shall. Why," she blazed forth, her voice rising, 
 strident and fierce, "do you suppose I'm going to 
 throw away the wonderful happiness I've fought so 
 hard to win and to hold ? The happiness I've bought 
 at a price that would have killed any other woman ? 
 I deserve that happiness. It is mine. And I am go- 
 ing to keep it. I know what real love is, now. And 
 it is too precious to lose. Oh, if only I had known 
 in time! I suppose," she caught herself up with a 
 mirthless laugh, "I suppose millions of women have 
 wished that." 
 
 "I am sorry," said Standish. "Sorrier than you 
 can know or care. But I have no right to think 
 of either your happiness or mine. If I am beaten 
 in this fight it means infinitely more than the ruin 
 of my own career. It means the ruin of my cause. 
 We won't be able again for years to put up so strong 
 a fight as we can to-day. It is the welfare of the 
 people that is at stake. Perhaps, indirectly, the fu- 
 ture of my country itself." 
 
 "Then," she asked in tired desperation, "what do 
 you mean to do?" 
 
 215
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Nothing at all," he returned, "so long as your 
 father and husband keep this story quiet." 
 
 "But surely they won't publish it without know- 
 ing my the Woman's name ?" 
 
 "That is what I'm beginning to be afraid of. 
 They may feel so absolutely certain of learning the 
 name later, that they will circulate the story on the 
 floor of the house to-night and in to-morrow's news- 
 papers. And then, when they find out who the 
 Woman really is, it will be too late to suppress it. 
 They will have told too much to be able to deny any- 
 thing afterward. And the reporters will find out 
 the rest. No, the story must be stopped at once. I 
 don't care how or by whom. You have tremendous 
 influence with your father. You must stop that 
 story. If it gets out I shall lose the fight. And 
 I can not do that, even to save you." 
 
 "In other words," she retorted, "to save yourself 
 you will hide behind me?" 
 
 "If you care to put it so." 
 
 "But," she urged, "I can't speak to father or 
 Mark about it. I'm not supposed to know anything 
 about it. Suppose suppose I can't stop it ?" 
 
 216
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 "You must. It's the only chance. They're de- 
 laying the house proceedings this minute just to get 
 their proofs in order to launch the story to-night. 
 They intend to use it to prevent my certain victory. 
 And they must not. At the first sign that they mean 
 to do so I shall have to go to your father and tell 
 him who the Woman is! I would rather be shot. 
 But" 
 
 "Oh," she burst out hysterically, "you wouldn't 
 you couldn't do that ! You're not so unutterably 
 low as to damn the future of a woman who once 
 trusted you who " 
 
 "I've told you," he replied, "that I am not in this 
 fight as a man, but as a leader. It is one woman's 
 good name against the welfare of a nation. I haven't 
 the right to protect you, Grace. I won't let my sin 
 as a man defeat the great principles I stand for." 
 
 "You coward ! You pitiful hypocritical coward," 
 she raged. "You haven't the manhood to stand by 
 your own past. You'll let a woman pay your debts 
 and pay them with everything that makes her life 
 worth living. In all these years I've felt that if a 
 moment like this should ever come, I could rely on 
 
 217
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 your honor. I've always believed you would at 
 least what is the old phrase? 'perjure yourself 
 like a gentleman !' ' 
 
 "Don't you suppose I realize all that? If there 
 were any way of saving you, I'd do it. There is 
 no way. I may be a coward But I've the courage 
 to do what I know is the right thing." 
 
 "Is it right to betray a woman's secret for your 
 own advancement?" 
 
 "Is it right to double-cross the men whom I've 
 taught to look to me for help?" 
 
 "It's easy enough," she flashed, "to save your- 
 self and call it a duty to the people. A coward can 
 always find an excuse. Oh, I could carry it all 
 through safely, even now, if only you were a man 
 instead of a block of stone." 
 
 "It is too late now for reproaches," he answered. 
 "For years I've been building up a fighting strength 
 waiting for the people's chance of victory. And 
 that chance has come. If they lose, it shall not be 
 because of their leader. I 5> 
 
 "A woman's reputation is worth more than any 
 mere political victory." 
 
 218
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 "Then," he commanded, "tell your father and 
 husband so. They are preparing to wreck a woman's 
 life to save themselves. No code of honor stands 
 in their way. They are out to win. To win at any 
 price. And it is only fair that the filthy methods 
 they use should come back on their own heads. If 
 some one must be betrayed, why should it be the 
 innocent? Why not the Woman who is guilty?" 
 
 "Matt!" she wailed, her defense all swept 
 away, in a breath, "if you let my husband know 
 do you realize what it would mean ? It would mean 
 a separation a divorce disgrace everlasting dis- 
 grace ! Am I to pay that price for your victory ?" 
 
 "That is for you to decide. I simply warn you 
 not to let your husband and father move against me 
 on these lines. That is all. Good-by. I will come 
 back later to see Mr. Blake." 
 
 "Wait!" she begged. "There is one thing you 
 can do one thing you must do. It won't endanger 
 your success. My father and Mark and some other 
 men are coming here for a conference. I want you 
 to meet them and to urge them not to use this hor- 
 rible story " 
 
 219
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "It would be useless," he objected, though moved 
 in spite of himself, by her absolute brokenness. "It 
 would do no good." 
 
 "I won't believe that," she protested. "They must 
 have some feeling of chivalry, some sense of mercy. 
 You can be eloquent when you choose. If you 
 put it to them in the right way and appeal to their 
 manhood they may consent to " 
 
 "There isn't one chance in a hundred," he said. 
 "But I'll try it if you want me to. Only don't 
 build on the hope. For it will fail. These men are 
 like bloodhounds on the trail of this Woman. 
 You've had no glimpse of that side of them. You'll 
 see it to-night. And then you'll see how hopeless 
 any appeal to their better decenter selves must be." 
 
 "But you'll try?" 
 
 "I'll try. I promise you. I'll try my best And 
 I will guard your secret as long as it can be guarded. 
 Until there is no other possible chance. Then well, 
 this story must be stopped. That is all. It is a 
 waste of words for me to say how sorry I am to 
 have made you so unhappy to-night. Good-by." 
 
 He was entirely master of himself now : cold, inv 
 220
 
 LAUNCELOT OR GALAHAD? 
 
 personal, phlegmatic. No one seeing him take his 
 leave at the door of the Robertson suite would have 
 guessed his brain contained a solitary thought be- 
 yond the possible winning of a move in his cherished 
 political game. 
 
 The moment Standish was gone, Grace collapsed. 
 She sank down beside the desk table, helpless to 
 move or think. Everything was in a black whirl. 
 Nothing came to her from the wild chaos save the 
 insistent fact that her hour was at last upon her. 
 The hour which for years she had dreaded; for 
 which she had so long and so carefully prepared. 
 
 And now after all her cleverly-reared defenses 
 had been ready and in perfect preparation against 
 attack those defenses were crumbling to ashes. 
 Vaguely she recalled something Standish had once 
 said about the folly of saving the anchor after the 
 ship was wrecked. 
 
 She moved convulsively. The motion brought 
 her hand in contact with the cold metal of the tele- 
 phone on the table before her. And with the touch 
 came inspiration. Catching up the instrument she 
 unhooked the receiver. 
 
 221
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Miss Kelly," she called tremulously. "Is that 
 you ? You know my voice. I I am alone here 
 Can you come, please ? At once. I must see you 
 Oh, thank you At once, please." 
 
 She rose unsteadily to her feet, as might a half- 
 senseless pugilist who will not yet give up a hope- 
 less fight.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 i 
 
 AN ODD ALLIANCE 
 
 THE sound of a step in the hall outside brought 
 Grace to the door. She opened it stealthily, as 
 though bent on some mission of dire peril. And, as 
 stealthily, Wanda slipped into the room, closing the 
 door behind her. The two women faced each other 
 in silence. It was Grace who spoke first. 
 
 "I I sent for you, Miss Kelly," she began un- 
 certainly, "because because oh, I'm hemmed in 
 everywhere ! I don't know which way to turn !" 
 
 "I see," said Wanda quietly. "Standish is going 
 to throw you over to save himself? I was afraid so." 
 
 "I I said some cruel abominable things to you 
 a little while ago, Miss Kelly," stammered Grace. 
 "Won't you forgive me? You see, I was fighting 
 for my very life. I'm sorry." 
 
 "Do you mean that ?" asked Wanda with painful 
 directness, "or do you say it because you happen to 
 
 need my help ?" 
 
 223
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "I mean it," repeated Grace, too broken to resent 
 the query. "I mean it. Because whether you'll 
 help me or not I'm afraid it's all over with me. 
 You were right. I can't fight the machine." 
 
 "That's all right," Wanda hastened to answer in 
 quick contrition. "I didn't mean to say anything 
 nasty. I was still a bit sore, I guess. I'm not, any 
 more." 
 
 "All those things you said about about tempta- 
 tion were just," went on Grace. "But I ask you 
 now not to be just. The world will show enough 
 justice without your joining in. The way you 
 looked at me a while ago showed me what my life 
 will be when people know. I don't want justice 
 from you. It's mercy I'm begging for. Mercy and 
 help. I'm not a wicked woman, Miss Kelly. I'm 
 not. For God's sake, don't judge me with the fear- 
 ful justice of the pure! If I did wrong I'm being 
 made to suffer enough now to satisfy the most rigid 
 saint. It was wrong. I see it at last. Yes, and I 
 saw it long ago. I've tried to 'go and sin no more'. 
 But they won't let me. And when my husband finds 
 out, he will despise me. Just as you do. He won't 
 
 224
 
 AN ODD ALLIANCE 
 
 understand it was because I loved him that I couldn't 
 tell him. I wanted his love and his respect. And 
 so I had to wrong him to keep his love. I had to 
 cheat him to keep his respect. And the more I loved 
 him the more I hated myself." 
 
 "You love him like that?" questioned Wanda, 
 coming a step nearer, the hard light dying from her 
 big eyes. 
 
 "That is what makes it so terrible. You don't 
 know what it is to realize that even confession is de- 
 nied you that the friends who care for you would 
 shun you if they knew the truth that the man you 
 adore doesn't love you, but a wonder-woman whom 
 he thinks is you. That is what I've been going 
 through ever since I met my husband. Do you 
 wonder I fought to keep my secret ?" 
 
 "I'm sorry I was cranky," said Wanda impul- 
 sively, "and I guess I understand all about it. I 
 thought first that Fate had let me in on this so that 
 I could show you up. But I think now it was so I 
 could be of some use to you. You see, there's only 
 we two women. And we've got to fight that whole 
 crowd." 
 
 225
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You'll help ? You'll stand by me ?" 
 
 "That's what I've been trying to tell you, Mrs. 
 Robertson. You've paid for all you did. And I 
 don't want you to pay any more. You're a ten times 
 better woman this minute than a lot who have 
 the law on their side. So forget all that and let's 
 see what we can do." 
 
 Grace, to Wanda's dismay, broke down and 
 sobbed in hopeless wretchedness. 
 
 "Don't! Don't!" pleaded the girl. "We'll 
 oh, dear !" a sob choking her. "Now you've got me 
 going! We must brace up and do something. 
 There's plenty of spare hours for crying. But this 
 isn't one of them. We've a bunch of trouble ahead 
 of us. But we're going to win out. So let's get 
 busy." 
 
 "Yes," panted Grace, striving to regain some sort 
 of control over her tears, "I've fought too long to 
 give up yet. What are you doing?" 
 
 "Locking the outer door in case any one should 
 butt in. Now, where shall we begin? With 
 Standish?" 
 
 "Yes. It's he that I'm afraid of. He says" 
 226
 
 AN ODD ALLIANCE 
 
 "You're right. He's the greatest danger. We 
 may be able to get away with the rest, somehow. 
 But if they get Standish's back to the wall, he'll 
 tell to save himself !" 
 
 "He told me he would," assented Grace. "Oh 
 "But if I've sized him up right," went on Wanda, 
 "he won't tell unless he has to and they've got to 
 be sure of landing the Woman before they go ahead. 
 They don't dare to move without having her name. 
 And they don't dare wait to get it. There's some 
 fireworks due here to-night, I'm thinking." 
 "They know you have the clue to my name " 
 "The phone number? Yes. They know I have. 
 But I've held them off. And they'll think of some 
 easier way to get it before they tackle me again." 
 "But what other ways could they try?" 
 "By this time, most likely, they've applied to 
 central for all the numbers called up from this hotel 
 since seven o'clock to-night. We have to turn in 
 our calls to central, you know. And one of those 
 numbers will be the one they want. But it'll be hard 
 for them to find which one. Yours would be the 
 very one they wouldn't think of." 
 
 227
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Can't we stop them from getting the list ?" 
 
 "No. Their pull is too strong. But it'll take time 
 to run all the numbers down. And time's the one 
 thing they haven't got. They may have to come to 
 me, after all. I can make them lose some more time, 
 if they do, by making them think I'm holding out 
 for a price. Time! That's our one card. They 
 want to use this story to-night. If we can keep 
 them from doing that " 
 
 "If worst comes to worst," exclaimed Grace, "I 
 can go to my father and tell him. He loves me 
 enough to keep it from every one. Even from 
 Mark. It'll break his heart. But it will stop the 
 story." 
 
 "No," decided Wanda, after a moment's thought, 
 "it's too late for that. The thing's gone too far. 
 Van Dyke and your husband and the rest are as 
 keen for the name as he is. If he pretended to 
 weaken or tried to stop them now, they'd push on 
 in spite of him." 
 
 "Then we've got to work alone. We've got to 
 keep them from finding out. We've got to ! We've 
 got to!" 
 
 228
 
 AN ODD ALLIANCE 
 
 "I'd give seven dollars to know what they're do- 
 ing now," mused Wanda. "It's tough to work in 
 the dark like this." 
 
 "Suppose," suggested Grace, in sudden dread, 
 "suppose they try to force you to tell? They're 
 clever and they're merciless. And " 
 
 "They'll have a sweet time. I'd like a colored 
 photograph of the bunch of men who can make me 
 talk if I don't want to. No, no! Don't you worry 
 about that, Mrs. Robertson. I only wish they'd try 
 it. I could make them lose barrels of time working 
 over me." 
 
 "It wouldn't be as easy as you think, I'm afraid. 
 They are so determined so " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it would be liable to spoil the 
 evening for them and make them real peevish. But 
 it would take up a lot of time they haven't got. Let 
 them have a try at cross-questioning me if they like." 
 
 "You won't let them break you down? Oh, I've 
 no right to allow you to endanger your welfare for 
 me ! When they find you won't tell, they may " 
 
 "Don't let that keep you awake, Mrs. Robertson. 
 I know I'm taking chances in bucking the machine. 
 
 229
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Lord knows what they'll do to me. But it's worth 
 the risk. And I'm going to stand by you till the 
 cows come home. We " 
 
 A rattling, as some one in the hall tried the outer 
 door of the suite, brought both women to their feet 
 in wordless fear. Then Mark Robertson's voice 
 reached them. 
 
 "Grace!" called Robertson from the hall. "Are 
 you asleep? The door's locked." 
 
 "This way," whispered Grace, pointing to the in- 
 ner rooms of the suite. "Go down the passage. 
 There's another door at the end of it, leading out 
 into the hall." 
 
 "All right," whispered Wanda in reply. "Good 
 luck to you. Keep your nerve. That's the main 
 thing. Just keep your nerve." 
 
 "Grace!" called Mark impatiently. 
 
 Grace crossed to the locked door, paused a mo- 
 ment until she heard the door at the far end of the 
 suite open and close, then unlocked the outer door. 
 
 "Did you fall asleep?" asked Mark, as he came in. 
 "How did the door happen to be locked?" 
 
 "I didn't know I'd locked it," replied Grace. "It 
 230
 
 AN ODD ALLIAINCE 
 
 was careless of me. It seems I'm fated this evening 
 to keep you waiting. First at the station. Then " 
 
 "It's queer," interrupted Mark. "I could have 
 sworn I heard a woman's voice not yours talking 
 in here, just as I tried the door. Probably it was 
 in the next suite." 
 
 "Probably. I'm all alone. And I'm not given to 
 soliloquy. How is the fight going?" 
 
 "Badly. But we'll win. We're delaying until 
 we can get certain material we need. We can hold 
 off for several hours yet, by forcing roll-calls and 
 all that kind of thing." 
 
 "When do you expect the others?" 
 
 "They'll be here in a minute. I came on ahead. 
 I'm a fool, I suppose. But whenever you're in 
 Washington, every minute I'm not with you seems 
 time lost. So I made some sort of an excuse and 
 hurried on. Why," he asked in sudden alarm, 
 "what's the matter?"
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A WASTED PLEA 
 
 GRACE started guiltily at her husband's 
 troubled question. He took her face between 
 his hands and raised it to the light. 
 
 "You're ill !" he exclaimed in quick dread. "You 
 look actually ghastly. Shall I send for a doctor?" 
 
 "What nonsense!" she laughed. "I'm all right. 
 Just a little tired. A good night's sleep will put me 
 on my feet again." 
 
 "But you are so pale and your eyes are so strange. 
 I never saw you like this before. Are you sure 
 you're all right ?" 
 
 "Of course I am. How silly of you to worry just 
 because a long railroad trip leaves me a little bit 
 tired!" 
 
 "I've buried myself so deep in politics," he 
 growled self-accusingly, "that I hadn't sense enough 
 to remember that you might be worn out and might 
 
 232
 
 A WASTED PLEA 
 
 want to go to bed. But I didn't notice that you 
 looked badly at the station. It wasn't till just now 
 when the light happened to strike your face Oh, 
 but I'm glad to see you here again, sweetheart!" 
 
 "Really?" she asked almost timidly; drinking in 
 her husband's words as a condemned man might 
 gaze on his last sunset. 
 
 "Glad?" he cried. "Indeed I am. I'm afraid 
 I'll never get past the honeymoon stage. You don't 
 want me to, do you?" 
 
 "What a question to ask a woman!" she ex- 
 claimed in an effort at lightness. 
 
 "It's queer," went on Mark, drawing her to him. 
 "We've been married three whole years and yet, 
 every day I'm more and more in love with you. 
 You've grown to mean more to me than ambition 
 and everything else." 
 
 To his dismay, she buried her face in his shoulder 
 and shook with a spasm of uncontrollable weeping. 
 
 "What is it?" he implored awkward, manlike 
 in his eager solicitude. "You are ill! What is it, 
 darling? Tell me!" 
 
 "Why," she laughed hysterically, "I'm unstrung, 
 
 233
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 I suppose, for some reason or other. And what 
 you said broke me down for a minute. That's all. 
 I'm ashamed to be so babyish." 
 
 "That's the woman of it," he said, holding her 
 close to him and smoothing her hair. "To cry be- 
 cause you've made a man impossibly happy. It looks 
 as if you hadn't quite got beyond the honeymoon 
 stage, either." 
 
 "I wonder," she faltered, " if you'd never met 
 me if you'd " 
 
 "I'd never have known what I missed. That's 
 where nature is kind. People who miss the real love 
 never know. We only know when we've found it." 
 
 "But," she pursued, "when people find out too 
 late afterward That's the bitterest thing in life, 
 I should think. It isn't easy to judge people 
 women, especially who find out too late and 
 and who try then to get their birthright of happiness 
 in spite of everything." 
 
 "Such people have lost their claim to the birth- 
 right," he answered. "They've sold it for a mess of 
 pottage. That's one of the problems of the ages, 
 
 234
 
 A WASTED PLEA 
 
 Grace. And man has made laws to govern it. Laws 
 that are wise and " 
 
 "And often bitterly cruel." 
 
 "Laws are for the many. Not for the few. And 
 the few must obey them for the good of the many. 
 But I didn't give the rest of the crowd the slip, just 
 to bore you by discussing ethics. Was it foolish of 
 me to run away, simply to have a few extra minutes 
 with you ? I've been fighting so hard " 
 
 "And fighting fairly, too, I know. Dear, you'd 
 never take an unfair advantage of " 
 
 "No advantage is unfair in politics. Every ad- 
 vantage is considered a legitimate weapon. But 
 there we go arguing ethics again ! I " 
 
 "But," she insisted, "surely it's finer to fight 
 fairly, to " 
 
 "Politics," answered Mark, "is war. And war 
 is the science of finding the weakest spot in your 
 enemy's armor and hammering away at it till he 
 yields. For instance, we've just found the weakest 
 sort of spot in Standish's armor and " 
 
 "You have? What is it?" 
 235
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "There are only two weak spots in most men's 
 armor. One is money crookedness. The other is 
 women. In Standish's case it was a woman. An 
 affair he got tangled up in five years ago." 
 
 "And you'll stoop to use such a weapon as that ?" 
 she cried indignantly. 
 
 "Why not? He'd use the same sort of weapon 
 against us, fast enough; if he had it." 
 
 "But that isn't fair fighting, Mark. It's disgusting 
 scandal." 
 
 "That's his lookout, not ours. If he chanced to 
 know something damaging in my private life, he'd 
 use it in a minute." 
 
 "But, Mark!" she pleaded, "you're a bigger, wiser> 
 greater man than he is. For my sake, don't lower 
 yourself to his level by such tricks as that! Don't 
 let father and the others do it." 
 
 "It isn't a pleasant task," admitted Robertson. 
 "And it's not the kind I enjoy. But we've got to 
 use what comes to our hands. We've got to win. 
 That makes it necessary to " 
 
 "But if / asked you if I begged you " 
 
 "Don't ask me, dear. This is one of the things 
 236
 
 A WASTED PLEA 
 
 you don't understand. You'll have to leave it to 
 me." 
 
 "Perhaps," she retorted desperately, "I may un- 
 derstand it far better than you do. You say there's 
 a woman concerned in it. This scandal will pillory 
 her and " 
 
 "That type of woman belongs in the pillory." 
 
 "Don't ! You have no right to judge. What can 
 you know of her? You say this was five years ago. 
 Perhaps she has repented and is trying to live down 
 what she did. Are you going to rob her of her one 
 chance just to win a political battle?" 
 
 "Dear," he said gently, "you know nothing about 
 ^men of that kind. It's mainly in story books that 
 they 'try to live down' the past. In real life, nine 
 times out of ten, they go from bad to worse. Where 
 one woman has the courage and the character to 
 retrieve a false step, fifty haven't. Most people real- 
 ize that. That's why they blame the man who is the 
 cause of the first step. And that is why the people 
 will repudiate Standish when they are told he was 
 the cause " 
 
 "You are cruel !" she cried. "You yourself admit 
 
 237
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 * 
 
 that there is a chance the Woman may have repented. 
 Are you going to refuse her the benefit of that 
 chance ?" 
 
 "The chance is too small to be considered. Don't 
 let's talk of it. You can't " 
 
 "Then," she continued, unheeding, "there's some- 
 thing else you don't consider. She may have mar- 
 ried. She may be the wife of some honorable man 
 who loves her and thinks she is perfect. All his 
 heart and all his ideals may be bound up in her. 
 Are you going to ruin his life, too?" 
 
 "Dear," sneered Mark, "the sort of fool who 
 marries women of that kind (like the man who 
 teaches his wife to be a 'dead game sport') deserves 
 what he gets. And generally he gets it. Though, 
 in both cases, he doesn't always find it out. Don't 
 waste sympathy on him. If he married her he prob- 
 ably knew what she was. If he didn't know, it's 
 time he learned. No sane man should want to live 
 in a fool's paradise." 
 
 "But her family! Her parents? Her brothers or 
 sisters ? Surely they aren't to blame. And they will 
 be disgraced, too." 
 
 238
 
 A WASTED PLEA 
 
 "Such things are rather apt to run in families. 
 Cankered flowers don't grow from clean roots. 
 You're wasting a lot of sympathy over a woman and 
 a man who are unworthy to speak your dear name. 
 There are your father and the rest, getting out of 
 the elevator now. Go to bed, dear girl, and try to 
 get a good rest. You're looking more and more 
 fagged out every moment. We'll try not to talk 
 loudly enough to disturb you. Don't sit up for me. 
 I'll probably be up all night on this Standish affair. 
 Good night, sweetheart." 
 
 As he bent to kiss her, her arms clung to his neck 
 like a frightened child's. She tried to speak, faltered, 
 and hurried from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 IN they trooped, Jim Blake at their head Van 
 Dyke, Neligan, Gregg, and (sulkily bringing up 
 the rear) Tom. Grace had quitted the library at 
 her husband's order. And kissing her good night, 
 with a parting reiteration of her need for a sound 
 sleep, Mark had closed the door behind her. 
 
 Now, starkly unashamed of the eavesdropper's 
 role, Grace Robertson was standing tense, expect- 
 ant, her ear to the closed door leading to the 
 inner rooms. Through the thin panel she could hear 
 every syllable from the library. Reckless of the 
 chance that her presence might be detected through 
 a possible opening of the door, powerless to move 
 or to do aught but listen with strained ears, she 
 crouched there. Her own name was the first word 
 she caught. 
 
 "Grace turned in?" Jim Blake was asking; and 
 
 Robertson replied: 
 
 240
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "Yes. She's all tired out. We can talk freely 
 here. No one will interrupt. Sit down. The cigars 
 are over there. And here's the Scotch." 
 
 "Has Standish been around yet?" queried Van 
 Dyke. 
 
 "Oh, he'll be here all right," vouchsafed Blake, 
 before Mark could answer. "He knows we've got 
 him in a hole. He'll" 
 
 "But have we?" argued Van Dyke. "As far as I 
 can see, it's still the other way around." 
 
 "Don't you lose sleep over that," counseled Blake. 
 "I'm not worried. And if I'm not, there's no need 
 for you boys to be. I wish your Wall Street crowd 
 could annex all the worry I haven't got. Just the 
 same, Van Dyke, when you get back, ask them what 
 the devil they mean by jamming down our throats 
 such a raw proposition as the Mullins bill, at a time 
 like this. And tell them they're worse idiots than 
 the guy who killed the golden-egg goose " 
 
 "I think I see myself saying that to the old man !" 
 chuckled Van Dyke. "He'd" 
 
 "Well, I'll say it to him," growled Blake. "And 
 if he doesn't like it he can " 
 
 241
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "In the meantime," hurriedly interposed Van 
 Dyke, to check any further expression of blasphemy 
 against his golden god, "we're held up. For how 
 much longer? There isn't a minute to throw away." 
 
 ""It's bad enough to be delayed by anything," 
 fumed Mark. "But it's ten times worse when we're 
 blocked by a damned little by the person who got 
 this information," he corrected himself, catching 
 a warning glint from Blake's half-shut eyes. 
 
 "Whatever the price is," suggested Gregg, "I say : 
 pay it ! Pay it and save time." 
 
 "No," contradicted Blake, his glance shifting as 
 if by accident to Tom. "Her the the price is too 
 high." 
 
 "Too high ?" snorted Neligan on whom the under- 
 current of Blake's refusal was entirely lost. "It's 
 the first time we've ever economized." 
 
 Before Blake could reply the buzzer sounded. 
 
 "There's Standish, now," said Jim. "Maybe he'll 
 save us the trouble by throwing up the sponge 
 if we work him right. Let him in, Neligan. Take 
 the lead from me, all of you. And don't disgrace 
 me by acting like wild asses of the desert." 
 
 242
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 Neligan, in obedience to his chief, had opened 
 the outer door. Standish, after a quick and seem- 
 ingly indifferent look that itemized the room's occu- 
 pants, walked forward. Neligan carefully closed 
 the door behind him. 
 
 The men nodded stiffly, uncomfortably, in re- 
 sponse to the visitor's slight bow. 
 
 "Good evening, gentlemen," said Standish pleas- 
 antly. "This setting of the stage seems to suggest 
 Daniel in the lions' den. I hope none of you has 
 made the error of casting me for the role of Daniel." 
 
 Neligan's lips flew apart with the force of a retort 
 that leaped to them. But the words were never 
 formulated. For Blake, beaming on the newcomer 
 like a father upon his dearest loved son, exclaimed 
 affectionately : 
 
 "Why, how are you, my boy? How arc you? 
 Take a chair. Neligan, get him a " 
 
 "Thanks," declined Standish. "I can talk better 
 on my feet." 
 
 "Oh !" deprecated Blake, in pathetic disappoint- 
 ment. "You've come to talk? I was hoping you 
 had come to " 
 
 243
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "To lie down ?" supplemented Standish. 
 
 "Well," answered Blake oracularly, "the man 
 who lies down can get up again. But the man who 
 is knocked down, is apt to take the count." 
 
 "The question is this, Mr. Standish," broke in 
 Mark, impatient at his father-in-law's slower method 
 of reaching the point. "Will you support us, or will 
 you not?" 
 
 "I will not," returned Standish. 
 
 "Or at least resign your leadership?" 
 
 "No. I thought we had settled all that." 
 
 "Then," asked Van Dyke, "you are prepared to 
 take the consequences, Mr. Standish ?" 
 
 "If there are consequences yes." 
 
 "Oh, there'll be consequences, all right," Blake as- 
 sured him. "Hell's full of 'consequences'. So you 
 won't even protect the Woman?" 
 
 "You haven't found her yet." 
 
 "No ?" smiled Blake. "Son, I told you there was 
 a trap. Well, it caught her. And we'll have her 
 name in half an hour at most. Probably sooner. 
 If you think that's a bluff, you're welcome to. But 
 you've only a half-hour to keep on thinking it." 
 
 244
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "Look here, gentlemen," said Standish, turning 
 to the others. "All this does not interest me in the 
 least. I came here to-night for just one reason 
 to appeal to your sense of justice." 
 
 A ripple of derision from his hearers stirred his 
 slow voice to slightly faster measure. 
 
 "You can't beat me," he went on. "And you 
 know it as well as I do. I am secure. But, for the 
 sake of others, I ask you not to make political cap- 
 ital out of something in my private life." 
 
 Gregg's loose mouth parted in a grin. Neligan 
 laughed aloud. But Mark Robertson could see no 
 humor in the situation. 
 
 "You're wrong, Standish," he declared. "This 
 scandal will beat you." 
 
 "Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that it 
 would," agreed Standish. "Can't I appeal to your 
 honor? Won't you fight fairly?" 
 
 "We'll publish the truth," retorted Mark. "If 
 that's unfair." 
 
 "It is unfair. If not to me, then to the Woman." 
 
 "It is too late to go into that matter now, Mr. 
 Standish. Your very presence here to-night is, by 
 
 245
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 itself, strong proof against you; if further proof 
 were needed." 
 
 Standish made a gesture of weary impatience. 
 
 "Proof?" he echoed. "I don't deny the story. 
 You wouldn't dare use it if you couldn't prove it. 
 But, gentlemen, there comes a time even in politics 
 when we've got to be men first and politicians 
 afterward." 
 
 "Then," suggested Blake, "be a man. Give up 
 the fight." 
 
 "No," replied Standish, "I won't be blackmailed. 
 This affair was over and done with before I asked 
 the people to accept me as their leader. Long be- 
 fore. It has no bearing on my present fitness." 
 
 "That's your misfortune," sneered Mark. "The 
 people have a right to know who represent them. In 
 the newspaper articles we have prepared, there are 
 no facts we can not prove: your affair with the 
 Woman your failure to carry out your pledge to 
 marry her " 
 
 "Then the story is written?" exclaimed Standish. 
 
 "It is in type," put in Van Dyke, "and waiting 
 our word to send it out to the whole country." 
 
 246
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "I see," mused Standish. "And I see how such a 
 story will be handled in print. You'll use every trick 
 of suggestion, every fact inferring a lie " 
 
 "And," cried Mark, "it will beat you. It will beat 
 you, man and that's what we've been working for, 
 for years." 
 
 "I'm not beaten yet," retorted Standish. "And 
 I advise you, Governor Robertson, to be careful " 
 
 "Oh, we shall be careful," returned Van Dyke. 
 "The proprietor of the hotel is coming to-night. The 
 hotel where Mr. and Mrs. Fowler were registered. 
 We may not need him to identify her. But he'll be 
 on hand in case we do. Take my word for it, Mr. 
 Standish, you'll save a great deal of unnecessary 
 trouble if you'll quietly step down and out." 
 
 "If I did," said Standish, "I would be politically 
 dead. You know that." 
 
 "You're politically dead, anyway," insisted Mark. 
 "If this story will beat you to-night it will beat you 
 twenty years from to-day. Particularly if this 
 Woman proves to be what shall we call it? a 
 trifle off color?" 
 
 "Robertson!" 
 
 247
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Ah! That hurts, does it? Then it's probably 
 true. If the Woman is the kind that that would 
 not do you credit, you can understand how much 
 more effective it will be." 
 
 "You are wrong!" denied Standish. "She is of 
 good family. She " 
 
 "She may have been a good woman when you 
 found her," said Mark. "But there must have been 
 a bad streak in her, somewhere. And it will have 
 shown before now. You deserted her. You left 
 her to sink as low as I expect to find her and " 
 
 "Drop that, Mark !" burst out Torn Blake, jump- 
 ing from his seat and confronting his brother-in-law. 
 "Don't ! I can't listen to it any longer. Standish is 
 right. What you men are doing is vile. If you've 
 got a scrap of manhood left in the whole bunch of 
 you, you won't drag this Woman into your dirty 
 schemes. I " 
 
 "Oh," drawled Blake with the air of a sleepy man 
 bothered by a fly, "for the love of Mike, don't you 
 butt in ! The situation's punk enough as it is, with- 
 out your laying your trophies of idiocy at its feet." 
 
 "Idiocy?" flared Tom. "Perhaps common decen- 
 248
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 cy's a better term. Or perhaps in your vocabulary 
 the two mean the same thing. You men are known 
 as political leaders. The public looks to you for 
 examples. And yet you stoop to a currish trick like 
 this ! Isn't there enough whiteness in the whole lot 
 of you for a single voice to protest against such use 
 of a woman's name? You've just been told she's of 
 good family. That she has a name to lose. And 
 you answer: 'Political necessity!' You know this 
 story will destroy at least two lives. Probably sev- 
 eral more. And again you answer : 'Political neces- 
 sity !' You have the power to ruin these lives. If 
 you use that power, I tell you now, one and all my 
 father as well as the rest I'm ashamed to have 
 breathed the same air with you !" 
 
 "Say!" roared Neligan. "Look here! You'll" 
 "Sit down, Neligan," drawled Blake. "One fool's 
 enough for a single room." 
 
 "This isn't a debating society, Tom," added Rob- 
 ertson. "We'll do as we think best. And 
 "Then," broke in Standish, "I warn you " 
 But Tom's torrent of noisy rage had not yet 
 exhausted itself. 
 
 249
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "I'm through with the lot of you!" he raged. 
 "I've stood for all this filthy work I'm going to. 
 If the winners have to use such means as these, I'd 
 rather count in with the losers. Mr. Standish, if 
 this foul story comes out, it may cost you some sup- 
 port, but it will gain you mine. And, dad " 
 
 "Good night, Tom," drawled Blake, not so much 
 as troubling to glance in his irate son's direction. 
 
 "No," corrected Tom, "good-6;y." 
 
 "It's up to you," yawned Blake. 
 
 "Good-by!" reiterated Tom, stamping from the 
 room and slamming the outer door of the suite be- 
 hind him. 
 
 The others stared after him in dull wonder. But 
 an exclamation from their host suddenly shifted 
 their attention. 
 
 "Grace!" cried Mark in surprised disapproval. 
 
 She had come, unnoticed, from her hiding-place 
 behind the inner door and was standing among them 
 before they were aware of her presence. 
 
 "Mark !" she panted. "I I heard what Tom said. 
 And he was right. You must not " 
 
 "Please keep out of this, Grace," requested her 
 250
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 husband in dire embarrassment. "You don't know 
 anything about it. You couldn't possibly " 
 
 "I do," she denied. "I've heard. And" 
 
 "Grace, dear girl," soothed Blake. "This is muddy 
 business at best. It's no time for you to be here. 
 You'll only soil those pretty hands of yours." 
 
 "It is the time for me to be here !" she declared. 
 "I can see this from the Woman's standpoint. You 
 men can't." 
 
 "There is nothing in common between your stand- 
 point and that of the Woman we are talking about," 
 protested Mark. 
 
 "Tom was right !" she persisted. "You must not 
 sink to using this story. If ' 
 
 The whirr of the buzzer interrupted her. At such 
 high tension were they all that the sound made them 
 turn as though to confront a physical presence. 
 Neligan strode to the door, conferred for an instant 
 with some one outside, then returned with a slip of 
 blue paper in his hand. 
 
 "The duplicate list of phone numbers from cen- 
 tral," he announced, turning over the paper to Van 
 Dyke. 
 
 251
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Good," approved Blake. "Now we'll get to what 
 we're chasing. And we'll get it mighty quick." 
 
 Van Dyke and Neligan were already poring over 
 the sheet of numbers that the lawyer had just spread 
 on the table under the lamp. 
 
 "Now, then, Standish," exulted Robertson; "we're 
 ready to begin. One of these numbers leads directly 
 to the Woman. We'll put a man to work tracing 
 each one of them. In a few hours at longest we will 
 have what we want. And when we find the Woman 
 we'll lay bare every soiled page in her life and in 
 yours. If the story turns out to be disgraceful it 
 won't be our fault," he added, in surly apology to 
 Grace, who stood staring dumbly at the numbered 
 list under the lamp-glare. 
 
 It was Standish who broke the moment's silence. 
 
 "Very well, Robertson," he said calmly. "I've 
 done what I promised to do. And I have failed. 
 You drive me now to the use of your own weapons. 
 I shall have to fight exposure with exposure." 
 
 "No, no!" moaned Grace, incoherent with fear. 
 
 Mark Robertson had caught up Standish's de- 
 fiance and had stepped forward to confront him. 
 
 252
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "In other words, Mr. Standish," he demanded, 
 "you threaten me? That's an empty threat. There 
 is nothing in my life you have not already shouted 
 from the housetops." 
 
 "Don't be too sure," warned Standish, meeting 
 Mark's scornful glare with unconcern. 
 
 "What do you mean ? Speak up !" 
 
 "Mr. Standish!" pleaded Grace. "I beg" 
 
 "Don't worry, dear," said Mark. "Let him bluff. 
 I'll call him. Mr. Standish, I give you full permis- 
 sion to use any weapon that I use. If you know 
 anything against me, tell it here and now. Here, in 
 my wife's presence. You know our cards. Show 
 yours." 
 
 Standish's gaze strayed, as if by chance, to 
 Grace's ghastly face. 
 
 "Well?" urged Mark. "Speak up! We're wait- 
 ing!" 
 
 At sight of the mortal terror in Grace's eyes, 
 Standish checked the words that were on his lips, 
 Turning away from the domineering man who SG 
 truculently confronted him, he muttered : 
 
 "I'll choose my own time !" 
 253
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "I thought so!" scoffed Mark. "You're licked. 
 This is your last fight. From to-night you're a dead 
 man, politically. And if we have to hunt out a 
 woman or two to keep you dead, we'll do it." 
 
 Van Dyke had glanced from the telephone list to 
 his watch. 
 
 "We've just time enough to catch the last editions 
 of the morning papers," said he. "I told Jennings 
 to hold a wire ready " 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Standish. "You'll go ahead 
 without the Woman's name ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Van Dyke. "Since we've an 
 absolute certainty, now, of getting it. We can 
 afford to do that and publish the name to-morrow. 
 That will be time enough. We're in time for New 
 York and Boston and Chicago and St. Louis. Mark, 
 get the Associated Press on the wire. Tell Jennings 
 to send out the story. Tell him we're holding the 
 Woman's name and that we won't give it out unless 
 Standish denies the story. By the time he can get 
 his denial in print we'll have the name." 
 
 "Good !" asserted Robertson, catching up the tele- 
 phone. "Hello ! Give me " 
 
 254
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "Mark!" begged Grace. "Oh, I implore you 
 don't" 
 
 "4400 Main." 
 
 "No, no!" reiterated Grace wildly, turning from 
 him to Blake. "Father! You won't allow this? 
 Please ! For my sake !" 
 
 "Hello!" Mark was calling into the transmitter. 
 "That you, Jennings? This is Robertson. Is that 
 Standish story ready? All right Can you surely 
 get in for the morning papers ? Last editions, el) ? 
 All right Yes In the big cities What's that ?" 
 
 "Mr. Standish !" appealed Grace brokenly. 
 
 "Blake!" exclaimed Standish. "You don't dare 
 publish that story without the Woman's name." 
 
 "In less than five minutes," retorted Blake, glan- 
 cing at the clock, "it'll be too late for the morning 
 papers. We'll take a chance." 
 
 "Remember !" answered Standish with sudden ve- 
 hemence, "I warn you " 
 
 "What's that, Jennings?" Mark was calling over 
 the wire. "Yes. I tell you I am Robertson and I 
 am speaking for Mr. Blake. What do you say you 
 want? I can't catch it?" 
 
 255
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Blake!" continued Standish. "I warn you I'll 
 deny the story. And if you get the Woman's name 
 you'll" 
 
 "Deny it, will you?" drawled Blake. "Hell! You 
 haven't time to get a wire before they go to press. 
 The story '11 be all over America before your denial 
 can leave Washington. And you know what that 
 means. 'Truth crushed to earth will rise again,' 
 but before it gets on its feet, the lie that knocked it 
 over will have traveled half the way around the 
 world." 
 
 "I tell you," Mark was roaring into the transmit- 
 ter, "that I'm speaking on Mr. Blake's authority. 
 Oh, all right, then ! Hold the wire. Jim," he went 
 on, turning to Blake, "Jennings says he won't send 
 out that story without your personal orders. He 
 knows your voice. He says if you'll tell him, over 
 the phone, that it is all right, he'll go ahead. Hurry. 
 There's only about a minute left." 
 
 He handed the instrument across the table to 
 Blake. 
 
 "Father!" entreated Grace, seizing Blake's arm. 
 "For my sake, you mustn't " 
 
 256
 
 SIXTY SECONDS LEEWAY 
 
 "Grace!" snapped Blake. "I'm plumb ashamed 
 of you. You're acting like a sick schoolgirl. Go to 
 your room. Hello, Jennings! This is Blake 
 Hello" 
 
 "Hold on, Blake!" ordered Standish. "I'll give; 
 you her name. She " 
 
 "Wait!" screamed Grace, beside herself with pain 
 and fear. 
 
 "Hello!" Blake was calling wrathfully. "Hello! 
 What in blue blazes is the matter? You've cut us 
 off, central. 'Wire won't work?' I tell you it's got 
 to work! Hey? What's that? 'Out of order?' 
 And I haven't sixty seconds to wait! I must! 
 What? Oh, a lot of good your being sorry does! 
 Say! Who am I talking to, anyway? Miss Kelly? 
 Well I'll be!" 
 
 Blake dropped the receiver on to its hook and set 
 down the instrument with the most profane bang 
 ever heard. "A damn without words," Neligan aft- 
 erward called it. Jim glanced again at his watch. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he announced with dangerous calm, 
 "we're too late. Miss Kelly has seen fit to interfere. 
 They'll have gone to press by now." 
 
 257
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Mr. Standish," cut in Van Dyke's suave voice, 
 "you were about to say ?" 
 
 "I've changed my mind," replied Standish, with 
 a covert glance at Grace, who was leaning for sup- 
 port on a corner of the desk. "Good night, gentle- 
 men." 
 
 He left the suite. Grace, more dead than alive, 
 made her way blindly across the library to the door 
 leading to her own rooms. 
 
 The others stood staring at one another. Down- 
 stairs Wanda Kelly smiled beatifically to herself and 
 fluffed out a strand of her hair that had strayed over 
 her forehead.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PREPARING THE GRILL 
 
 |" N the dumb disappointment that fell over the 
 * group in Mark Robertson's library, the men's 
 eyes gradually turned as by common consent upon 
 Jim Blake. Unruffled, he stood there, master of 
 them all and even master of himself. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he drawled at last, "we've got our 
 work cut out for us. We've missed the morning 
 papers. Now, it remains to get our story on the 
 floor of the house to-night. To force adjournment. 
 That will give us time." 
 
 "But," objected Van Dyke, pointing to the dupli- 
 cate telephone list, "we can't get those numbers 
 traced until to-morrow. And we've got to get the 
 name before we dare spread the story in the house. 
 It was different with the newspapers. But " 
 
 "We shall get the Woman's name in the next 
 hour," Blake assured him. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 259
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 i 
 
 "Through the only person left who can tell us 
 what the right number is. The phone girl who 
 interfered with our wire just now. Neligan, go 
 down and tell Perry I want to see Miss Kelly up 
 here at once. Bring her up, yourself. Now, then, 
 Mark," as Neligan departed on his errand, "it's up 
 to you. If the house knows we've got the goods on 
 Standish, fully twenty men like Gregg, here, will 
 weaken and vote for us. And then we can jam the 
 bill through. Get this Woman's name. Find the 
 number we want. You've got the reputation of be- 
 ing the best cross-examiner at the New York bar. 
 Show you deserve that reputation. Take this tele- 
 phone girl and turn her brains inside out. She 
 knows the number that will lead to the Woman. 
 You've got to get it from her. Don't handle her 
 with gloves or be afraid of making her cry. It's 
 life or death for us to know that number." 
 
 "If the number's in her brain," promised Mark 
 readily, "I'll get it out." 
 
 He moved to his big study chair, at the far end of 
 the table, turned on the drop-light above his head 
 and seated himself. 
 
 260
 
 PREPARING THE GRILL 
 
 "That's right," approved Blake, noting the magis- 
 terial pose and setting. "Boys, let Mark do the talk- 
 ing. He can do it. I've heard him make women 
 witnesses tell their real ages. If the insurgents had 
 had him in charge of their investigations they'd have 
 got us all in jail long ago." 
 
 There was a knock at the door. Gregg answered 
 it. Neligan entered, all but shoving Wanda Kelly 
 in ahead of him. 
 
 "Here she is," he reported. 
 
 Leaving her standing there, he turned and osten- 
 tatiously closed the door behind him. 
 
 The girl looked about at the faces that confronted 
 her on every side. Then she smiled. It was the 
 peaceful smile of the kitten that has. just emptied 
 the cream jug. In her throat her heart was ham- 
 mering to strangulation. 
 
 Mark Robertson, from his place at the head of the 
 table, was the first to speak. His voice was quiet, 
 his manner courteous. 
 
 "This is Miss Kelly?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the demure Wanda in her 
 most respectful and unnatural shop-girl accents. 
 
 261
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Miss Kelly," resumed Mark, "you are the tele- 
 phone operator, down-stairs ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You were at the switchboard a few minutes 
 ago?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Sit down, my dear girl !" beamed Blake tenderly, 
 as he indicated the chair that had been placed for 
 her. "We would like to ask you a few questions, 
 if you don't object." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Wanda seated herself on the edge of the chair 
 and looked around her with an expression of awed 
 interest that was worse than irritating. The other 
 men had seated themselves: Gregg, Van Dyke and 
 Neligan near Mark ; Jim Blake on the far side of the 
 room. 
 
 Midway between Blake and Robertson, Wanda 
 sat waiting. And, on the other side of the closed 
 door leading from the farther recesses of the suite, 
 Grace listened, breathless.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 "1VT ISS KELLY '" 
 
 ** minute of a silence that bit into Wanda's 
 very nerves, "you say you were at the switchboard 
 down-stairs a few moments ago?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "While I was talking to the Associated Press 
 office?" 
 
 "How can I tell, sir?" she asked with smiling 
 helplessness. "You know we're not allowed to lis- 
 ten to conversations over the wire." 
 
 "But you connected me when I called up 4400 
 Main just now ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 "H'm! You remember that, do you? Well, that 
 is the number of the Associated Press office. I 
 called up Jennings, the manager. I talked with him 
 
 263
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 a minute. Then he wanted to speak with Mr. 
 Blake." 
 
 "Yes, sir?" asked Wanda, who had been follow- 
 ing his recital with the wide-eyed delighted interest 
 of a child listening to a wondrous fairy tale. 
 
 "Mr. Blake took the telephone instrument from 
 my hands," pursued Mark, unheeding, "and spoke 
 into it." 
 
 Wanda turned slowly and gazed upon Blake in 
 pleased amazement that he could have performed so 
 sensational a feat as Mark had just described. Then 
 she looked back at Mark as though unwilling to miss 
 a single word of such an enthralling narrative. 
 
 "But," continued Mark, "when he tried to speak 
 to Jennings he found the connection had suddenly 
 been severed." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 There was a world of sympathetic regret in her 
 exclamation. 
 
 "He was told," said Mark slowly, "he was told 
 by you, Miss Kelly that the line was out of order." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she cried brightly. "And that must 
 264
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 have been why the connection was cut off. What a 
 shame ! Just when he wanted to talk, too !" 
 
 "Miss Kelly, how long have you been a telephone 
 operator?" 
 
 "Nearly five years, sir," simpered Wanda, giving 
 her hearers a fair sample of employment-agency 
 manner. 
 
 "Then," said Mark, with a swift change of man- 
 ner, "you are enough of an expert to know that the 
 line was not 'out of order', just now ?" 
 
 "Wasn't it?" she queried in profound disappoint- 
 ment. "It it wouldn't work." 
 
 "It was working," denied Mark. "It was work- 
 ing when the connection was broken. And broken 
 at your desk, Miss Kelly, as your voice showed." 
 
 "My voice, sir? Why, I just cut in to find out 
 what the trouble was." 
 
 "I see. The line was out of order and you cut in 
 to find out what the trouble was. Very kind. And, 
 of course, you are quite certain the line was out of 
 order?" 
 
 "Oh, quite certain, sir," she told him with a re- 
 assuring smile. 
 
 265
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "I suppose," said Mark carelessly, "if the line had 
 got out of order, the manager's office would know of 
 it by this time ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "Very good," reaching for the instrument. "I'll 
 call up the manager and ask about it." 
 
 "Oh, no !" she exclaimed, momentarily off guard. 
 "It's it's probably all right again by now." 
 
 "Very likely," was Mark's dry assent. "Then 
 you don't want me to call up the manager?" 
 
 "Don't bother to do that," she faltered in con- 
 fusion. "I I might possibly have knocked out the 
 plug by accident." 
 
 "And you might possibly have done it on pur- 
 pose," retorted Mark. 
 
 "I?" she asked, astounded. "Why should I do 
 such a foolish thing as that?" 
 
 "That's what we're going to find out. If it had 
 been an accident, you would have shoved the plug 
 back into place, immediately, when we told you. 
 Isn't that true?" 
 
 "I s'pose so," she admitted sulkily. 
 266
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 "Then, Miss Kelly, we are forced to believe that 
 you deliberately refused to transmit our message." 
 
 "You can believe anything you want to," she re- 
 turned spitefully. "I don't care what you believe!" 
 
 The line of questioning had thrown her off her 
 carefully prepared line of defense. She had ex- 
 pected merely an attempt more or less bullying 
 to gain from her the secret of the number she had 
 promised not to reveal. And, while massing her 
 forces to guard against such an effort, she had been 
 attacked and stormed at a totally undefended quar- 
 ter. Angry, confused, she tossed aside her useless 
 weapons and was for the instant merely a worried 
 and much-badgered little girl. 
 
 "Come to the point," urged Mark, reading her as 
 a printed book. "Will you answer my question or 
 will you not ?" 
 
 "I don't see why I should," she muttered. 
 
 "You will before you're through," dryly promised 
 Blake. 
 
 "I'm going!" she declared, getting wrathfully to 
 her feet and making for the door. "I'm not going 
 to stay here to " 
 
 267
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Neligan unobtrusively moved his huge bulk be- 
 tween her and the door, while Blake interposed, 
 without a trace of command in his voice, but as 
 though stating a simple truth : 
 
 "You can't leave this room till you've told us 
 what we want to know. And we won't stand for 
 any more freshness or acting. Go ahead, Mark." 
 
 "Is it not true," repeated Robertson in measured 
 query, "that you deliberately refused to transmit our 
 message just now?" 
 
 "I s'pose so," she vouchsafed. "I butted in. And 
 now I guess I've got to take my medicine." 
 
 "And," asked Mark, "do you happen to realize 
 what that medicine is?" 
 
 "Oh, I know, all right. I'll lose my job." 
 
 "Exactly. And you don't want to lose your job, 
 do you, Miss Kelly ?" 
 
 "No, I don't. I need the money." 
 
 "I see. Quite so. You need the money. Miss 
 Kelly, Mr. Blake has offered you a great deal of 
 money for a certain bit of information, hasn't he?" 
 
 "Yes. But Oh, what's the use? You can get 
 
 me fired. But I guess I can find another job!" 
 
 268
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 "It may not be necessary," suggested Mark. 
 "Miss Kelly, we don't want to harm your prospects 
 in any way. We wish merely to show you tliat it 
 is to your interest to work for us. Mr. Blake has 
 told you how necessary it is for us to gain the infor- 
 mation that you alone can give us. He will pay you 
 well. We have asked you to come up here to-night to 
 find out whether you will not accept this offer." 
 
 "Well," simpered Wanda, her old alert, resource- 
 ful self once more, now that the attack had shifted 
 to the field where her defenses were awaiting it, "I 
 I need time, you see. Time to think it over and 
 and" 
 
 "Time," returned Mark, "is the one thing we can 
 not give you." 
 
 "You can't?" she asked in sad surprise. 
 
 "No, we can't," snarled Blake from his far corner. 
 "And you knew damn well we couldn't when you 
 cut off our wire." 
 
 Wanda looked from one to the other in the pained 
 disapproval of a kitten whose paws have been 
 drenched. Then she sighed and leaned back in her 
 chair as though too tired to argue further. 
 
 269
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Well," she inquired in weary patience, "what is 
 it you want me to tell you?" 
 
 "We want you," replied Mark, "to tell us a num- 
 ber called up by Mr. Standish early this evening." 
 
 He paused for her answer. The others leaned 
 forward. Gregg, with unconscious throwback to 
 early camp-meeting days in Kansas, put one cupped 
 hand behind his ear. 
 
 Wanda alone was unconcerned. She was twisting 
 the little bracelet on her wrist and eying it with 
 new and happily absorbed interest from a dozen suc- 
 cessive points of view. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," demanded Mark, "will you tell 
 us that number or will you not ?" 
 
 "Why," answered Wanda with a charmingly fool- 
 ish smile of crass helplessness, "I really don't think 
 I can remember it." 
 
 "I think you can," contradicted Mark. "You 
 knew beforehand, from Mr. Blake, how much de- 
 pended on it. You surely remember." 
 
 "That's so," acceded Wanda, seeming to grasp the 
 strength of his argument as by inspiration. "I 
 surely must. But, you see, it's against the rules to 
 
 270
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 tell. Oh, gentlemen," she cried longingly, "I'd just 
 love to help you out. Anything I could do. Any- 
 thing at all. But we're not allowed to give any in- 
 formation like this. Oh, how I wish !" 
 
 "If you were allowed, then," asked Mark, "you'd 
 do it, wouldn't you ?" 
 
 "That'd be different, of course," she smiled. "But 
 you see how I'm fixed " 
 
 "That's too bad!" mused Mark. "Of course we 
 can't ask you to break the company's rules. But if 
 it were not against rules, you'd do it, would you?" 
 
 "Oh, in a second ! I'd be ever so glad to ; but, you 
 see, orders are orders. And " 
 
 "And," chimed in Mark, "luckily we knew how 
 faithful you are to your employers. And, as we an- 
 ticipated your objections, we took the trouble to re- 
 move all such difficulties from your path. Here," 
 taking a paper from a heap on the table, "is an order 
 from your general manager, authorizing you to give 
 us all the help in your power. Does that remove 
 your scruples?" 
 
 For an instant she sat genuinely dumfounded. 
 One by one her defenses were being shorn away. 
 
 271
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 These men, against whom she found herself pitted, 
 had foreseen everything, had allowed for every turn 
 of her agile brain. Their knowledge struck her as 
 almost uncanny. With a great effort she strove to 
 rally her pitiful little forces to meet the new on- 
 slaught. 
 
 "May I see that order, sir ?" she asked timidly. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mark, handing the paper across 
 to her. 
 
 Slowly, as she looked, a frown of painful perplex- 
 ity creased her forehead. She seemed to find the 
 briefly-phrased typewritten words as hard to read as 
 a cryptogram. Then, with a little impatient laugh 
 at her own stupidity, she seemed to perceive for the 
 first time that she was holding the page upside down. 
 Deliberately righting it, she began all over again her 
 task of reading it. With snail-like slowness and 
 with moving lips she deciphered each word. Then 
 she read it all over and again a third time. 
 
 "Yes," she said at last, returning the sheet to the 
 fuming cross-examiner, "it really seems to be all 
 right." 
 
 "Now, Miss Kelly," pressed Mark, "are you pre- 
 272
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 pared to take the responsibility of disobeying your 
 manager's commands ? Or will you tell us what we 
 ask?" 
 
 "But," babbled Wanda, in a peculiarly annoying 
 and whining tone of irresolution, "d'you think it'd 
 be square for me to tell? Ought I to give away a 
 customer's secrets? Now, honest, Governor Robert- 
 son, don't you think it'd be kind of mean of me? 
 Don't you?" 
 
 "Hell !" exploded Jim Blake. "The girl's kidding 
 you, Mark!" 
 
 "Please!" sternly interposed Mark, raising his 
 hand to silence Blake's impending torrent of abuse. 
 
 His father-in-law sank back, muttering. And 
 Robertson, turning back to Wanda, resumed in his 
 most conciliatory manner: 
 
 "Come, Miss Kelly ! Don't force us to use harsh 
 measures. You help us and we will help you. And 
 if" 
 
 "Oh, Governor Robertson," gushed Wanda, 
 "that's ever and ever so kind of you! You don't 
 know how a poor discouraged working girl appreci- 
 ates such " 
 
 273
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Miss Kelly !" rapped Mark, "I advise you to be 
 careful! You say your position is of value to 
 you " 
 
 "Of course, sir. But I can't bear to hurt your 
 feelings by refusing anything you gentlemen ask." 
 
 Another start from Blake was checked by a quick 
 glance from his son-in-law. Then Robertson con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "I asked you a few minutes ago if you were pre- 
 pared to assume full responsibility for disobeying 
 your manager's order? Are ?" 
 
 "First," she exclaimed remorsefully, "I want to 
 tell you all how awfully sorry I am that I interfered 
 with your telephone talk a while ago. I don't know 
 what made me do such an an impolite thing. 
 Really, I don't. Sometimes, you know, I act so 
 strange that I'm almost frightened at myself. I 
 wish" 
 
 "We will take that up presently, Miss Kelly. Un- 
 less you want to make everything all right now, by 
 helping us. Will you tell us that number?" 
 
 "Oh, sir, it doesn't seem quite fair for me to do a 
 thing like that. At least it doesn't seem so to me. 
 
 274
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 But, of course, you know more about right and 
 wrong than a poor " 
 
 "Come to the point, please!" reiterated Mark. 
 "Will you tell us or won't you ?" 
 
 "Oh, then," she broke down weakly, "I s'pose I'd 
 better tell you." 
 
 Her surrender snapped the tension. Blake nodded 
 grim approval. The other listeners relaxed. Even 
 Robertson's hard mouth softened in exultation. 
 
 "That's right !" applauded Mark. "You won't be 
 sorry for it." 
 
 "But understand one thing," stipulated Wanda 
 with shrill insistence : "I won't take any money for 
 telling you. Not one cent." 
 
 "We can arrange that later," broke in Blake. "Go 
 ahead." 
 
 She looked at him in open-eyed interest. And 
 when lie ceased to speak she still gazed as if hungry 
 to hear more. 
 
 "Well," asked Mark, "what was the number?" 
 
 "The number?" echoed Wanda absently. 
 
 Her face grew thoughtful, then puzzled. Her 
 eyes rolled about the room as if seeking something 
 
 275
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 that eluded her brain. She clasped her hand to her 
 brow in a strikingly dramatic struggle for memory. 
 Then she murmured apologetically, sweeping the cir- 
 cle with an air of plaintive regret : 
 
 "Now, that's queer! Would you believe it, I had 
 that number on the very tip of my tongue! Not 
 three minutes ago! And all those questions of yours 
 have driven it clean out of my head. Let me see, 
 now! What was the number?" 
 
 Another quite frightful spasm of unsuccessful 
 search in the recesses of a mazed brain. Then she 
 shook her head and looked at Robertson in despair. 
 
 "Was it a district number?" queried Mark, his 
 face giving no sign of anything but desire to refresh 
 her memory. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" cried Wanda, her eyes brightening. 
 "A district number. Yes. I remember that it was 
 a district number." 
 
 "What exchange?" 
 
 A further futile ransacking of the mind. 
 
 "Was it Main?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Cleveland?" 
 
 276
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 "N-no." 
 
 "Takoma?" 
 
 "Yes! Yes! It's all come back to me now, sir. 
 It was Takoma. That was it. Takoma. 678 Ta- 
 koma!" 
 
 "678 Takoma," repeated Mark, while Van Dyke 
 ran a searching finger down the list he held. "You 
 are quite sure, Miss Kelly, that it was 678 Takoma?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed!" Wanda assured him in eager 
 triumph. "678 Takoma. I remember " 
 
 "It wasn't 876 Takoma?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sir. 678." 
 
 Mark glanced at Van Dyke, who shook his head. 
 The cross-examiner's tone grew all at once as cold 
 as death. 
 
 "You have been playing with us long enough, 
 Miss Kelly," said he. "I let it go on until I was cer- 
 tain you meant to lead us on a wild-goose chase. 
 Now, if you please, we'll get down to business!" 
 
 "Why?" asked Wanda in marveling innocence. 
 "Wasn't that number the right one, after all ?" 
 
 "No. And you knew it was not. No such num- 
 ber was called from this hotel." 
 
 277
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Oh ! Then you got the duplicate slips from cen- 
 tral? Perhaps, if you'd let me look over them, I 
 could" 
 
 "Could send us on the wrong track? I have no 
 doubt you could. No, thank you. You see, we can 
 investigate these numbers without you. It's merely 
 a question of investigating each of them and " 
 
 "Then," demanded Wanda, "why did you bother 
 to ask me?" 
 
 "To save time." 
 
 "Oh ! And we've been saving time, have we, sir?" 
 
 "No," he returned with ominous calm, "we 
 haven't. But we've found out exactly where you 
 stand in the matter, Miss Kelly. We " 
 
 "Then," flashed Wanda, shaking her manifold 
 affectations from her like a garment, "then you 
 know I won't tell. And if I don't, you know you 
 can't find out. You haven't time. You said so 
 yourself. You've only got a few hours at most. 
 And before you can strike another trail the Woman 
 will be on her guard !" 
 
 "You state the case very clearly, Miss Kelly," 
 278
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 agreed Mark, unruffled. "You have evidently given 
 the matter some thought. By preventing us from 
 using the morning papers, you force us to get our 
 information for the house, to-night. What is your 
 motive in all this? Isn't our price high enough?" 
 
 "That's not it." 
 
 "Do you think, perhaps, that you can go to the 
 Woman and get a bigger price ?" 
 
 "A swell chance I'd stand!" sneered Wanda. 
 "Don't you suppose I know the minute I leave this 
 room I'll be shadowed?" 
 
 Mark glowered at her in silence. Then he picked 
 up the list that Van Dyke had just laid down. 
 
 "Many of these numbers," he said, half to himself, 
 "can be eliminated at once. For instance, here's my 
 own call to New York 1001 Plaza " 
 
 "They've charged you for two calls, Mark," com- 
 mented Van Dyke, glancing at the list over Robert- 
 son's shoulder. "See? Plaza 1001 twice. One di- 
 rectly under the other." 
 
 "Yes," said Mark, "they must have repeated it in 
 copying the list. That makes two less for us to look 
 
 279
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 up. We'll trace the number we want, sooner or latei . 
 Why won't you be sensible, Miss Kelly, and talk 
 terms?" 
 
 "Because I don't like the work. It looks too rank 
 for any one but a statesman. I'm not to be bought 
 for that kind of " 
 
 "I see," said Mark reflectively. "Now let us get 
 back to the other matter: to your interference with 
 our wire." 
 
 He hesitated, leaned across to Van Dyke and 
 whispered. Van Dyke nodded, rose and crossed to 
 a case tiered ceiling-high with law books. 
 
 "You spoke just now, Miss Kelly," continued 
 Robertson, "of taking your medicine. And I asked 
 you if you knew what sort of medicine it might be." 
 
 "Don't rub it in," she snapped. "I'm going to lose 
 my job. Let it go at that. A bunch of the nation's 
 representative men have combined, in an all-night 
 session, to throw a telephone operator out of work. 
 And they've succeeded. We'll take that for granted. 
 I'll leave you to do your celebrating of the mighty 
 victory without me. I'm going. I congratulate you 
 all. You've lost the Mullins bill fight. But, instead, 
 
 280
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 you've won in your great fight to make me lose my 
 job. That ought to help some. And it proves that 
 even if you can't lick a man like Standish you're 
 still live wires." 
 
 "One moment, Miss Kelly," intervened Mark, 
 opening the calfskin volume Van Dyke had just 
 brought him from the book-shelves. "You spoke of 
 losing your job. I'm afraid that isn't all you'll lose." 
 
 "No," she agreed, "I'll lose the blood money I 
 could have raked in if I'd sold you the Woman's 
 name." 
 
 "And your liberty." 
 
 "My my what?" 
 
 "Your liberty, Miss Kelly," repeated Mark, eying 
 the startled girl with stormy unconcern. 
 
 She whitened ever so little and into her big eyes 
 came a quick shadow like that in the eyes of a cor- 
 nered and outmaneuvered wild thing. But she 
 threw off the grip of fear and laughed impudently 
 into her inquisitor's stolid face. 
 
 "Say!" she grated. "D'you think I'm going to 
 fall for a bluff like that ? I'm not Looloo-From-the- 
 
 281
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Tall-Timber. And I don't screech every time I see 
 a cop. Lose my 'liberty', hey?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Kelly," said Mark gravely, "your lib- 
 erty." 
 
 And again his words, coupled with his quiet as- 
 surance of being in the right, fanned to life that dull 
 fear in her heart. 
 
 "You mighty finance jugglers live so long on the 
 razor edge of jail," she scoffed with a bravado that 
 somehow would not ring true, "that you ought to 
 be experts on all the stunts people can be locked up 
 for. But this time the bluff's too thin. You can't 
 put me into prison just for knocking out a phone 
 plug, and you know it." 
 
 Robertson did not answer at once. Indeed, he did 
 not seem to hear. He was turning the pages of the 
 law book before him. Presently he found what he 
 wanted. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," he said, "as a telephone operator, 
 you must have had your attention called to Section 
 641 of the Penal Code. Have you not ?" 
 
 "Yes," she returned defiantly, "I have." 
 282
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE 
 
 "Then," resumed Mark in the manner of a magis- 
 trate of the old school, "you must realize that by re- 
 fusing, as an operator, to transmit our message over 
 the telephone, you broke the law." 
 
 "But I" 
 
 "You have admitted in the presence of witnesses 
 that you interfered in the transmission of our mes- 
 sage. You are aware, by the terms of Section 641, 
 you have thus rendered yourself liable to " he 
 read from the volume, "a fine of one thousand dol- 
 lars or one year's imprisonment or both !" 
 
 "And your judge," she flared, her back to the 
 wall at last and the light of hopeless but unflinching 
 battle in her dark eyes, "your judge will see that I 
 get both! Is that what you're driving at? I'm to 
 get a year in jail and a thousand dollars fine just 
 for?" 
 
 "It is quite possible," dryly assented Robertson. 
 "So you see, Miss Kelly, you are in rather an awk- 
 ward fix." 
 
 "And," panted Wanda, "you'll do that to a phone 
 girl, just because she tries to be decent?" 
 
 "We don't want to," politely evaded Robertson.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 THE outer door opened with Jack-in-the-box 
 suddenness and Tom Blake was in the cleared 
 space where Wanda stood at bay. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he demanded of her ea- 
 gerly. "The clerk just told me they'd sent for you 
 to come up here. I was afraid it was about that 
 wretched number. So I came " 
 
 "You're a mind-reader," she sneered, nevertheless 
 looking up at him with a gratitude very like adora- 
 tion. "They've lost the chance to harm one woman. 
 They're taking out the grudge on another." 
 
 "So it was about the number?" 
 
 "It was. But it isn't. It's about my going to jail." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "For breaking the connection a while ago when 
 they were sending orders over the wire about the 
 Standish story. They've flashed Section 641 on me. 
 Jail or fine. I'm to get both !" 
 
 284
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 "You'll get neither," roared Tom. "You're a fine 
 line of men, all of you, to bully and browbeat one 
 poor kid of a girl. Well, you've done all of it you're 
 going to. I'm here now. And I'll " 
 
 "Oh, Tom," grunted Jim Blake in tired disgust, 
 "you're worse than a collie pup with fleas. Can't 
 you take your mouth out for a walk, and stop mixing 
 up with grown folks' business? Keep out of this." 
 
 "I won't. I've kept out of it too long. I won't 
 stand for the way you " 
 
 "Won't, hey?" drawled Blake. "Then what will 
 sonny do?" 
 
 "I'll act as her counsel, for one thing. She's got 
 a right to legal advice. It's the law. And " 
 
 "Hell's full of law," commented Blake. "What's 
 the law to us?" 
 
 "It's this much to you," answered Tom. "If you 
 dare carry out your bullying threats against Miss 
 Kelly, I'll raise a stir in the courts and the papers 
 that'll put you and the machine out of business." 
 
 "Try it, my boy," advised his father, as though 
 admonishing an unruly kindergarten child. "Try it. 
 She's broken the law. The case will be tried before
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 one of my own judges. I guess you can figure out 
 the answer. You know as well as I do what will 
 happen if I'm on one side and this Kelly person is 
 on the other. She'll stand about as much chance as 
 an Uncle Tom's Cabin show in Alabama in 1863." 
 
 "Miss Kelly," formally asked Tom, "may I act as 
 your counsel ?" 
 
 "You bet you can !" was the girl's fervid response. 
 
 "Very good," nodded Tom. "Then, gentlemen, 
 
 this investigation will be conducted not only on 
 
 strictly legal lines, but with due courtesy; or my 
 
 client will leave." 
 
 "Leave?" grinned Blake. "Not yet, she won't." 
 "We will bring suit, then for illegal " 
 "Bring it," retorted Blake, "and see what'll drop 
 on you. I'm Jim Blake. Every cop in Washington 
 salutes as I go by. My auto can sew buttons on the 
 speed ordinances and no one dare kick. Why. I could 
 kill a man in broad daylight ; and the coroner would 
 say 'self-defense'. I wouldn't even come to trial 
 for it. That's my power. And you know it. That's 
 the power you threaten to 'put out of business' ? No, 
 no, sonny. What you say sounds fine. But it doesn't 
 
 286
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 make sense. This girl's broken the law. And the 
 court undoubtedly will give her whatever term I say. 
 She" 
 
 At this point in his drawling exposition Blake 
 caught Mark Robertson's eye. And at a signal he 
 read there, the older man brought his jaws together 
 with a click, leaned back in his big chair and became 
 once more a spectator. 
 
 "Since you insist on interfering, Tom," said Rob- 
 ertson, "I consent to recognize you as counsel for 
 Miss Kelly. You are a lawyer and you know we 
 can do what your father has said we can. We can 
 legally send Miss Kelly to prison as an operator who 
 has violated the law. And, by the way, it will be a 
 decidedly good example to other phone girls who 
 talk too much and listen too much and who seem to 
 regard the secrecy clause in the telephone com- 
 pany's list of orders as a dead letter. Miss Kelly 
 has committed a penal offense. She has admitted 
 her guilt in the presence of witnesses " 
 
 "Lord! Why didn't I get here sooner?" 
 
 "I have, technically, a perfect case. Now, as her 
 counsel, do you want this matter settled privately, 
 
 287
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 here and now? Or do you prefer a formal charge 
 and a public trial?" 
 
 "You can't force the situation like this," cried 
 Tom. "It's conspiracy!" 
 
 "Is it?" retorted Mark coolly. "Very good. 
 Since you choose to take that tone, we will simply 
 call your bluff by arresting her. Neligan, go and get 
 a plain-clothes man. Tell the captain it's for Jim 
 Blake. Bring the man back with you and have him 
 within call." 
 
 "We're kind of up against it, aren't we, Tom?" 
 whispered Wanda as Neligan departed on his mis- 
 sion. 
 
 "They'll do it," returned Tom in the same tone. 
 "That's the worst part of it. I can smash one or two 
 of them, before they lay hands on you, girl. And 
 I shall. You can count on seeing the prettiest bit 
 of rough house ever pulled off in Washington. If 
 you go to jail, some one's going to the hospital, first. 
 But that won't save you. They've got the law with 
 them. Why won't you tell, Wanda? This Woman's 
 nothing to you. Why not save yourself by telling 
 her number?" 
 
 288
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 "Because," exclaimed Wanda stubbornly, "there's 
 nothing to tell. I just won't help them." 
 
 "But you're risking your liberty." 
 
 "I'm keeping my self-respect." 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said Mark, overhearing, as she un- 
 consciously raised her voice in the heat of dispute, 
 "these heroics are all very fine. But prison is not a 
 pleasant place. And your counsel knows we can put 
 you there." 
 
 "Oh, I grant that," retorted Tom. "You've got 
 everything. The police, the courts, the law every- 
 thing. But you haven't got her in prison yet, and 
 you won't until you have a chance, first, to send me 
 there, too, on a charge of assault with intent to kill. 
 If you think that's a bluff, go ahead and call it. You 
 are the men our country refers to as its 'Shining 
 Lights'! 'Shining Lights?' You're only 'Danger' 
 signals !" 
 
 "And," pursued Mark, paying absolutely no atten- 
 tion to the younger man's ravings, "when you have 
 served your prison term, Miss Kelly, I warn you 
 that you will find every door to an honest living 
 closed against you." 
 
 289
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "She won't need to make a living," vociferated 
 Tom. "If she'll let me, I'm going to " 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said Robertson, eying the girl 
 sharply, "I have conducted many cases, but I confess 
 this puzzles me. There is something in it I can not 
 understand. We offer you the alternative of prison 
 Mr. Blake has offered you money. And still you 
 refuse us. You are not the sort of girl to lose 
 so much for an abstract principle. No one but a 
 fool or a heroine would do it. And you're neither. 
 There's some strong personal motive that makes you 
 oppose us. Is ?" 
 
 "Oh, I've got motive enough in opposing the 
 machine, if it comes to that!" interrupted Wanda. 
 "In the first place, my father was Frank E. Kelly." 
 
 Mark's face stiffened with surprise. Gregg and 
 Van Dyke glanced at each other, half-awed. Jim 
 Blake alone gave no sign of disturbance. Glancing 
 amusedly at Wanda from between his slitted eyes, 
 he drawled: 
 
 "Frank E. Kelly, hey? So you're trying to get 
 back at me, young woman?" 
 
 "Put it that way if you like," returned Wanda 
 290
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 fiercely. "But there is more than that. I'm against 
 you and all the dirty machine in every way. Why ? 
 Because I've got the bad luck to be one of the people. 
 To be one of the public that you bleed and guy. I'm 
 a strap-hanger who pays five cents for a seat and 
 doesn't get it. I'm " 
 
 "We are not here to discuss socialism," interposed 
 Mark. "We" 
 
 "Socialism!" she mocked. "That's the fancy 
 word for anything that calls graft and rottenness by 
 their right names. The day's passing when you can 
 shut people's mouths by howling socialism at them. 
 I don't know what socialism is and I don't care. 
 But I do know " 
 
 The telephone jangled into the rush of her talk. 
 Jim Blake picked up the instrument. 
 
 "Hello," he queried, "that you, Burns? Instruc- 
 tions, hey? I gave 'em. Keep Winthrop talking 
 till he drops, then get Mullins recognized and let 
 him talk all night if he can ; or till I'm ready to break 
 in. Delay that's the idea delay! Hold the floor 
 and delay. What? Oh, in a little while, now, I 
 guess. Don't worry." 
 
 291
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Are things getting warm on the bill?" asked 
 Gregg as Blake hung up the receiver. 
 
 "Only so-so. It's all right. Only don't waste any 
 more time, Mark. Hit up the pace. Never mind if 
 the boiler explodes." 
 
 "Miss Kelly," said Mark, "you still refuse to an- 
 swer my questions?" 
 
 "I refuse everything," exulted Wanda. "You 
 and the machine are licked to a standstill. And / 
 helped to do it. That's easy worth a good whole 
 year in jail/' 
 
 "Your motives for working against us?" he in- 
 sisted. "You say you are doing it on account of 
 your father and because of your political beliefs?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There is no more personal motive ?" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "I mean, are you shielding any one?" 
 
 "Of course I am. I'm shielding the Woman 
 you're after." 
 
 "Do you know who she is?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Gregg," ordered Robertson, turning to the 
 292
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 highly-entertained Kansan, "will you go and get 
 Standish ? Ask him to come here." 
 
 "What in green-and-yellow Hades do you want 
 Standish for?" snorted Blake. 
 
 "And," supplemented Gregg, loath to miss the 
 rest of so diverting a scene of torture, "maybe I 
 couldn't find him. Or, if I could, how do you know 
 he'd come here.* We weren't what you'd call real 
 friendly with him when he was here, a while back." 
 
 "You'll find Hicks down-stairs," replied Mark. 
 "He and his men had orders to keep Standish in 
 sight. They'll tell you where he is if he isn't in the 
 house. As for making him come here, tell him he 
 may save this girl from prison. Then if she's in 
 his pay or if she is a friend of the Woman he'll 
 come." 
 
 "All right," ruefully assented Gregg, making 
 sadly for the outer door. 
 
 "And say, Gregg," Blake called after the depart- 
 ing recreation loser, "after you've sent Standish 
 here, go and report to Burns. He may have need 
 for your prairie lungs when Mullins and Winthrop 
 get hoarse." 
 
 293
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 The gate of a trouble-lover's paradise slamming 
 behind him, the Kansan departed a slave to ma- 
 chine duty. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," Mark had already resumed, "y u 
 say you don't know who this Woman is. Yet you 
 admit you are facing prison in order to protect her.' r 
 
 "No," returned Wanda easily, "I told you I'm 
 doing this to get back at you for rm$ father's " 
 
 "A revenge that will cost you your liberty." 
 
 "Folks can't get something for nothing except 
 you grafters." 
 
 "Don't try to stick it out, girl," exhorted Blake. 
 "You can't afford to get square with me at this 
 price." 
 
 "Can't I? Wait and see." 
 
 "Do you know Standish, personally?" called 
 Mark. 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 "You want him to win, then, just for political 
 reasons. 
 
 "That's it." 
 
 "If any other man than Standish were fighting 
 the organization, you would act as you are now ?" 
 
 294
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 "Yes," said Wanda, thankful to feel her feet 
 planted once more on solid ground, and breathing 
 the more easily for the safer turn the questions were 
 taking. 
 
 "And," continued Mark, "if any other woman 
 were in danger you would still oppose us in this 
 way?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then," cried Mark in quick triumph, "you do 
 know who she is !" 
 
 "I no I didn't say so!" murmured Wanda, 
 wholly at a loss. 
 
 "You didn't mean to say so," corrected Mark; 
 "but you admitted it." 
 
 "I didn't ! I didn't !" confusedly reiterated Wanda. 
 
 The long strain was telling on her. Her wits, 
 usually so agile, now moved with palpable effort. 
 The quick brain felt like hot lead. She was op- 
 pressed by a curious sense of physical nausea. Dimly 
 she began to realize how a victim of the third degree 
 may at last break down through sheer fatigue. Yet 
 she rallied her fagged-out forces, wearily repeating : 
 
 "I didn't." 
 
 295
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Don't fence with us. I say you know who the 
 Woman is this Woman for whom you are so eager 
 to sacrifice yourself. No one suffers as you are suf- 
 fering merely for political principle. You not only 
 know this Woman but you care enough for her to 
 suffer in her place." 
 
 His words, no longer inquisitorial, but beating 
 down with merciless victory upon her shattered de- 
 fenses, drove Wanda to her last refuge dull ob- 
 stinacy. 
 
 "If I did know," she muttered sullenly, "it 
 wouldn't do you any good. If I knew her name 
 you'd never get it out of me. I don't care what you 
 do, I'll never I I won't tell! / won't tell! I 
 WON'T TELL!" 
 
 Her voice, hysterics-torn, rose harsh and shrill as 
 the cry of a peacock. 
 
 "Wanda!" soothed Tom. "Don't, dear! Keep 
 cool. It's a vile outrage ! Mark, if you " 
 
 "Of course you understand, Miss Kelly/' went 
 on Mark, as gently now as if he were talking to a 
 child, "that the actual name is worth much more to 
 
 296
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 us than the clue the number would give. We will 
 pay you a thousand dollars " 
 
 "No! I tell you I won't! No!" 
 
 "We'll throw the limit into the waste basket," 
 drawled Blake. "I'll make it ten thousand. Ten 
 thousand dollars, Miss Kelly. I could buy a whole 
 pailful of congressman for less. But it's yours, for 
 that name." 
 
 "I won't tell !" panted Wanda, forcing each word 
 with pain from between convulsively clenched teeth. 
 "I won't tell!" 
 
 "Oh, come! Come!" coaxed Mark. "There's a 
 price for everything. We understand your feelings 
 of loyalty to this Woman. You don't want to give 
 her away. She's a dear friend of yours who 
 who made one mistake and then repented. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes !" exclaimed Wanda, striving to choke down 
 her growing horror for this smooth-voiced plump 
 man who was so inexorably wearing her nerves to 
 2hreds. "Yes, that's it. She's a good woman, now. 
 She's married. Happy, too. You'll make her life 
 
 297
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 a hell, just to win your fight. Don't you see I can't 
 do what you want ?" 
 
 "That's why we're trying to make it easy for you. 
 We don't want to prosecute you " 
 
 "It isn't prosecution!" shouted Tom. "It's per- 
 secution! Dirty low-down persecution of a kid 
 who's being square. You're a fine body of men to 
 bend all your weight and strength and skill to break- 
 ing a butterfly. You're trying to make her betray 
 a sacred trust. And in doing it you're betraying the 
 womanhood of the mothers that bore you. Lord ! , 
 I've seen forty-two pictures of Judas Iscariot; and 
 no two of them looked alike. But every one of 
 them looked like you curs !" 
 
 "I've never yet seen a picture of the Original 
 Damn Fool," sighed Blake, in contemptuous bore- 
 dom; "but I wish you'd have one taken, Tom." 
 
 "Miss Kelly," urged Mark, "your name won't ap- 
 pear in this. No one need know it was you who put 
 us on the track." 
 
 "I won't tell!" 
 
 "Then," Mark exclaimed roughly, "we can do 
 nothing more. Van Dyke, telephone down and see 
 
 298
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 if Oh, here you are, Neligan! Got that plain- 
 clothes man down-stairs?" 
 
 Neligan nodded. Meanwhile Tom was whisper- 
 ing frenziedly to Wanda. 
 
 "Tell me the name, dear. I won't tell the others. 
 But it may show me a way to help you out. And 
 we're in a horrible fix." 
 
 "I know that But I won't tell!" 
 
 "But if you won't even tell me why you refuse " 
 
 "If I told you, you couldn't help. You'd agree 
 I'm doing right." 
 
 Tom whirled about on the others. 
 
 "Dad! Mark!" he said. "Before you go any 
 further I want you to know I've asked Miss Kelly to 
 be my wife." 
 
 "No, no !" cried Wanda, trying to throw her open 
 hand across his mouth. "Don't " 
 
 "If she consents," rushed on Tom, "I'll marry her 
 at once ; whether in prison or out. I love her. For 
 my sake won't you ?" 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Tom," replied Mark, "but she's 
 not your wife, yet And she has her release in her 
 own hands. She has only to speak " 
 
 299
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Dad !" appealed the boy. 
 
 "Not on your worthless life," growled Blake. 
 ""That's the very thing she's been working up to all 
 the time. I knew it and I've been waiting for this. 
 Her price is my consent. And I won't pay it. 
 That's what I meant when I said the price was too 
 high. She wouldn't be the first girl or the mil- 
 lionth who's roped in a rich man's easy son and 
 held the father up and ruined the boy's future. Not 
 for mine, thanks. I stand pat." 
 
 "If you've any influence with her, Tom," re- 
 marked his brother-in-law, "you'll use it to make her 
 tell." 
 
 "He hasn't any influence!" retorted Wanda be- 
 fore Tom could speak. "Except that his standing 
 by me against you all proves to me I'm doing right. 
 And do you think, Jim Blake, that I'd marry a 
 son of yours? Not if he was John D. Rockefeller 
 and E. H. Sothern rolled into one. Not till I've 
 squared my account with you." 
 
 "You won't marry a son of Jim Blake's?" echoed 
 Tom. "Well, after to-night I'm not Jim Blake's son. 
 Here's where I cut loose and " 
 
 300
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 "Go as far as you like," vouchsafed his father, 
 outwardly unmoved. "But the girl tells us or else 
 she goes to jail." 
 
 "I won't tell!" 
 
 "Mark, ring for the officer " 
 
 "There he is at the door," answered Robertson 
 as the buzzer sounded. "Let him in, Neligan." 
 
 "I won't tell!" 
 
 Neligan opened the door. Standish stood on the 
 threshold. Tom, who had leaned forward pugna- 
 ciously, drew back. 
 
 "Come in, Mr. Standish," said Mark. "I suppose 
 Gregg explained the situation to you." 
 
 "That is why I am here," curtly answered Stand- 
 ish; his somber eyes traveling slowly about the 
 room and resting at last on Wanda's tense, haggard 
 little face. 
 
 "You know, then," went on Mark, "that she- is 
 ready to face imprisonment to shield you?" 
 
 "That is what Mr. Gregg told me. I don't under- 
 stand " 
 
 "Neither do we. But we thought you might feel 
 like saving her from punishment." 
 
 301
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By voting with us on the Mullins bill." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You will accept her sacrifice, then?" 
 
 "I I have no alternative." 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Mark with a shrug of his wide 
 shoulders, "but that seems to settle it, all around. 
 Neligan, tell them to send the plain-clothes man 
 here. We may as well wind this up at once." 
 
 "Wait, please," interposed Standish. 
 
 He crossed to where Wanda stood. 
 
 "Miss Kelly," he said gently, "why are you doing 
 this?" 
 
 "I promised her," said the girl. 
 
 "I don't see why you should have promised " 
 
 "No," replied Wanda, with a slight curl of her 
 lip. "You wouldn't see." 
 
 "Standish," observed Mark, "you speak as if you 
 were willing we should know the Woman's name." 
 
 "Not at all. I'm only sorry the machine has closed 
 its teeth on that poor little girl." 
 
 "Thanks!" jeered Wanda. "Now, then, Mr. 
 Blake, call your cop. I'm ready." 
 
 302
 
 REPRESENTED BY COUNSEL 
 
 Blake nodded to Mark, who picked up the tele- 
 phone instrument. 
 
 Then, before any of them knew of her presence, 
 Grace was in the room and had caught her husband's 
 arm as he lifted the receiver from the hook. 
 
 "You shan't do it!" she was crying. "You shall 
 not!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 TTTANDA was first to see her, even before 
 * * Mark felt the restraining clasp on his arm. 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson !" cried the telephone girl in ter- 
 ror; intuition telling her why Grace was there. 
 
 "Grace !" called Tom joyously. "Help us ! You'll 
 make everything right. You always do." 
 
 Mark Robertson's quick exclamation of annoy- 
 ance and Jim Blake's disgusted growl blended into 
 one chord of protest. 
 
 "Father," said Grace in eager appeal, "you won't 
 go on with this? It is abominable !" 
 
 "I'm sorry, daughter; but we've got to. I wish 
 you'd clear out. It's no place " 
 
 "But, father, can't you see? Miss Kelly is pro- 
 tecting some poor woman who has done wrong and 
 who has repented. Must she be punished so ? Must 
 the Woman's years of repentance all count for noth- 
 
 ing?' 
 
 304
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 "That's no concern of ours," said Mark. "The 
 \Yoman's possible repentance is between her and her 
 God. We" 
 
 "Then leave her punishment to God. It's not for 
 you to say how she shall suffer. How can a mortal 
 like yourself tell where her punishment lies? You 
 are striking with the blindness of a man; without 
 dreaming where the blow will fall." 
 
 "It will fall where it is deserved. I'm enough oi 
 a believer in divine justice to know that." 
 
 "It will fall on her husband more heavily than 
 on her." 
 
 "It will do him no harm to know the type of 
 woman he's married. If she was worth saving she 
 told him everything before she became his wife. If 
 she didn't, she doesn't merit any one's pity." 
 
 "It isn't fair! It isn't fair! Mark, your injustice 
 to this girl here is a thousandfold worse than your 
 cruelty to the Woman. It is wicked to punish 
 Wanda Kelly for her loyalty in trying to save a 
 friend from disgrace. It's cowardly unbelievable !" 
 
 "Steady, daughter! Steady!" admonished Blake, 
 amazed at his usually well-poised child's vehemence. 
 
 305
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "You're all worked up over this. It isn't like you 
 to" 
 
 "No," agreed Mark, "it isn't. That is what has 
 been puzzling me." 
 
 He was eying Grace strangely. The lightning 
 quick and accurate faculty of deduction that had 
 won his first success at the bar was stirring strongly 
 within him. 
 
 "Grace," he went on, as though feeling his way 
 through tortuous thought-passages by means of a 
 frail clue, "you've never before interfered with our 
 affairs. You have heard of just as unfortunate 
 cases as this; and yet you always seemed to take it 
 for granted we were doing right. Have you any 
 personal reason for defending this Woman against 
 your own husband and your father? Do you know 
 who she is?" 
 
 "That's absurd!" denied Grace with an effort at 
 derisive laughter that rang as false as a cracked 
 coin. "How could I possibly ?" 
 
 "This Kelly girl knows," insisted Mark. "And 
 she has told you. She has enlisted your aid. Isn't 
 that so?" 
 
 306
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 "Nonsense ! Would Miss Kelly be likely to come 
 to me a stranger and ?" 
 
 "Grace, when I came back from the Capitol a 
 while ago that door was locked. And I heard a 
 woman's voice. I thought then it was from the next 
 suite. But now I know better. This girl here was 
 with you, then ; appealing to you, winning your sym- 
 pathy for her friend. That's why you were all un- 
 strung and nervous when I came in. That's why you 
 talked to me so wildly about mercy and the power 
 of a woman to live down her past. You've known all 
 along. You saw the straits we were laboring in. 
 At a word you could have put victory into our 
 hands." 
 
 "I no I" 
 
 "Grace," he commanded, his voice still gentle, but 
 with a ring of iron behind its suavity, "look at me !" 
 
 Slowly, as by hard physical effort, she raised her 
 panic-widened eyes to meet his gaze. 
 
 "You know this Woman's name," he declared. 
 
 At the mastery that vibrated through his voice 
 and look, she faltered, through no conscious volition 
 of her own : 
 
 307
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a general movement. Neligan slapped 
 his great hand on his knee. Wanda took an im- 
 pulsive step toward Grace. 
 
 "You know the name," pursued Mark, still grip- 
 ping his wife's brain by the magnetism that was al- 
 most hypnotic power. "We still have time to use it. 
 Tell it to me." 
 
 "No no!" she murmured distractedly. "I I 
 can't. I won't. I " 
 
 "Grace!" and now the iron glinted more openly 
 through the velvet sheathing, "do you mean to say 
 you are going to let us face ruin when one word 
 from you -would " 
 
 "I tell you, I can't I can't!" 
 
 Mark shifted his attack with unexpected swift- 
 ness. 
 
 "Mr. Standish is willing," said he, "to see this 
 girl here terribly punished for protecting the guilty 
 Woman. Are youf" 
 
 "No, no! But" 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson!" broke in Wanda, first of all 
 to detect the note of weakening in Grace's voice. 
 
 308
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 "Don't tell! Don't tell! Keep your nerve. It's 
 all right. Never you mind what they threaten to do 
 to me. Don't give her away !" 
 
 "Shut up!" roared Neligan. 
 
 Grace had already turned to the girl, her eyes 
 swimming, her lips a-tremble. 
 
 "I can't let you pay such a price as that, Miss 
 Kelly," she expostulated. "I can't ! I can't do that !" 
 
 "Why not," stoutly demanded Wanda, "if I am 
 willing?" 
 
 "Oh what caw I do?" 
 
 "You can do your duty to your husband and 
 father," suggested Robertson. "Well," he added 
 coldly, as his wife looked at him in dull despair, 
 "I'm waiting for your answer." 
 
 "She'll keep her word to me!" cried Wanda, fore- 
 stalling Grace's half-formed reply. "She promised 
 me not to tell. And she won't. Come on, you cheap 
 blackmailers and take me to jail if you're going to. 
 I'm" 
 
 Mark's eyes had never for an instant left his 
 wife's face. At the horror that now deepened in it 
 he saw what his next and crowning move must be. 
 
 309
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Neligan," he ordered, "take this phone girl 
 down-stairs and turn her over to the officer who is 
 waiting. Van Dyke will be around at the station- 
 house in a few minutes to make the charge. And 
 he'll see that she is held in bail too heavy for her 
 friends to pay." 
 
 "Neligan !" yelled Tom, springing in front of the 
 giant henchman as the latter moved toward Wanda. 
 "If you put a finger on her I'll " 
 
 "No!" wailed Grace in the same breath. "You 
 shan't arrest her, Mark. I can't bear it ! I " 
 
 "You'll tell ?" asked Mark, exultant at the success 
 of his ruse. 
 
 "I yes!" 
 
 "No!" contradicted Wanda. 
 
 But this time Grace did not respond to the eager 
 appeal. And Mark knew that he had won. 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson!" implored Wanda. "Remem- 
 ber what you promised me ! Don't lose your nerve, I 
 tell you. Come on, Mr. Hired Man and turn me 
 over to the police. Tom, stand out of his way. It's 
 all right." 
 
 "Stop!" broke in Grace. "I must tell. I must!" 
 310
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 "Pardon me, Robertson," intervened Standish, as 
 he saw Grace's last barrier break down; "but I ad- 
 vise you to clear the room before you let her speak. 
 Three people here already know the name. I advise 
 you to keep the number as small as possible." 
 
 "That is our affair, not yours," retorted Mark. 
 "She shall tell us all. Inside of a few hours the 
 whole country is going to know that name." 
 
 "Mark," begged Grace, "let me tell it to you 
 alone!" 
 
 "No," refused the husband. "It's too late now to 
 spare any one's feelings. And witnesses are neces- 
 sary in an affair like this. It concerns us all. And 
 we must move quickly." 
 
 "Mrs. Robertson !" reiterated Wanda, "you prom- 
 ised" 
 
 "Grace," interrupted Mark, fearful lest the girl's 
 frenzied plea should make his wife waver, "you had 
 no right to give a promise that put you against me 
 and against your father. It is far worse to keep 
 such a promise than to break it. What is the 
 name?" 
 
 "Grace," pleaded Blake, as she still fought vainly
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 for words, "you've got the whole party in your 
 hands to-night ; Mark's future, my own power 
 
 "Grace," ordered Mark; "tell us! Every minute 
 is precious now." 
 
 "You've got to tell us," added Blake. "What are 
 you afraid of, girl? I'm behind you. Neligan," as 
 she still hesitated and glanced hopelessly at Wanda, 
 "take this phone girl away." 
 
 "No!" cried Grace, finding her tongue at last. 
 "I'll tell. I promise. I'll tell! Don't touch her." 
 
 "Good !" ejaculated Mark, understanding that the 
 victory was utterly his, past all further doubt. 
 
 "Mr. Standish," he went on with a savage joy 
 that rent away the last remnant of the velvet from 
 the iron beneath. "It's been a long fight. But you 
 couldn't beat the organization. And I told you you 
 couldn't. I warned you not to meddle with our 
 affairs. You have worried us at every turn. Now 
 you'll pay for it. And you'll get the same mercy you 
 offered us. Even if you offer to resign we won't 
 give you that alternative. You've been howling for 
 a fight to a finish. This is the finish." . 
 
 3 12
 
 "It is the finish," agreed Standish, his deep voice 
 infinitely sad. "And I am sorry for it. I don't think 
 you need me here any longer, gentlemen. And I will 
 barely have time to reach the Capitol before the bill 
 comes to a vote. Good night." 
 
 He looked furtively at Grace. But she was star- 
 ing blankly ahead of her with eyes that saw nothing. 
 
 "Good night/"' he repeated. "I would have spared 
 you, Robertson. But you would have it." 
 
 And he was gone. His words had fallen on deaf 
 ears. The men were leaning forward eagerly to 
 catch Grace's first syllable. 
 
 "And now," Mark demanded, as his wife still 
 hesitated, "who is she, Grace?" 
 
 Blake had forestalled her answer. He crossed the 
 room to the telephone. 
 
 "We win !" he was chuckling. "It's a way we've 
 got. Hell's full of losers. And I'm still loss-proof." 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" queried Van Dyke, 
 who had dropped back in his chair a few moments 
 earlier, taking no longer even a passive part in the 
 scene. 
 
 313
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "I'm going to phone Gregg to let the house know 
 the whole story; names, dates and all. By the time 
 I get him on the wire Grace will have told." 
 
 "Hold on, Jim," objected Van Dyke. "Not yet." 
 
 "Not yet? What d'ye mean ? Why not? We're 
 almost against the ropes over there at the Capitol. 
 This is our last punch and it's going to be a knock- 
 out." 
 
 "Wait, Jim!" begged Van Dyke. "Wait till you 
 hear the name." 
 
 "We've got the name. Grace is going to tell us." 
 
 "You've got it, yes. But you can't use it, Jim." 
 
 Blake, telephone instrument in hand, paused to 
 glare down in angry amazement at the saturnine 
 lawyer who so calmly opposed him in the hour of 
 victory. 
 
 "Why in blazes can't we use it?" he blustered. 
 "Are you weakening?" 
 
 He took the receiver from the hook. But Van 
 Dyke, with a peremptory gesture, halted him. 
 
 "Wait, I say !" ordered the lawyer. "Neligan, go 
 down-stairs and get rid of that officer. And don't 
 come back."
 
 THE LAST CARD 
 
 Blake and Robertson blinked in wonder at the 
 man who had so suddenly and inexplicably assumed 
 mastership of the situation. Neligan, doubtfully,, 
 yet obeying the note of imperative command in Van 
 Dyke's voice, moved toward the door. 
 
 "Go with him, Tom," whispered Wanda. "For my 
 sake. You don't want to hear the name." 
 
 "You're right," assented Tom, following in Neli- 
 gan's wake. "It's none of my business. Now that 
 you are safe " 
 
 The door closed behind the two departing men. 
 
 "Come, Grace," prompted Mark. "Who is she?' 1 ' 
 
 Grace's lips parted. But they were dry 
 cracked. Her tongue would not stir.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 \ ND so for an instant they stood. It was an odd 
 * ^ tableau : Grace, helpless, shaking, dumb ; 
 Wanda, her arms clasped protectingly about the un- 
 heeding Woman, who did not so much as realize 
 their presence nor feel the warm sympathy of their 
 embrace; Mark, his triumph tinged with impatience 
 at his wife's hesitation ; Blake, still gripping the tele- 
 phone and glowering in angry surprise at the law- 
 yer; Van Dyke grim, alert, master of the moment, 
 his lean face set in lines of unwonted sadness. 
 
 And it was Van Dyke who broke the brief silence. 
 His precise dry voice was tinged by a note of some- 
 thing almost solemn as he addressed Robertson. 
 
 "Mark," he said, "Miss Kelly has told us that she 
 promised the the Woman not to tell. When did 
 she make that promise ?" 
 
 316
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 "What does that matter now?" snapped Mark. 
 "We" 
 
 "She never heard of the affair until early this 
 evening. So it must be since then that she talked 
 with the Woman about it. Miss Kelly has been on 
 duty down-stairs ever since six o'clock. She has not 
 left this hotel. How could she have communicated 
 with the Woman ?" 
 
 "By telephone. If" 
 
 "I think not," denied Van Dyke, the cold sorrow 
 in his voice now apparent to every one. "The Wom- 
 an is here in this house." 
 
 "So much the better !" declared Blake, again pick- 
 ing up the telephone. 
 
 Van Dyke, in gloomy wonder, turned on his chief. 
 
 "You have often boasted, Jim," said he, "that you 
 owe your success to the fact you see things just a 
 second sooner than other people. Don't you under- 
 stand even yet ?" 
 
 "No," growled Blake, "I don't. Out with it, man ! 
 What are you trying to get at ? Don't beat about the 
 bush. You're wasting time that we haven't got." 
 
 Van Dyke faced Robertson ; his lean face working. 
 
 317
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Mark," he said, tapping the duplicate telephone 
 list, "your house in New York is charged here with 
 two calls. We thought it was a mistake " 
 
 A wordless gurgle from Jim Blake interrupted 
 him. The telephone was set down by a hand that 
 shook as though from palsy. For a single instant 
 the heavy-lidded eyes were wholly, starkly unveiled 
 in a glare of unbelieving horror. Then they turned 
 stupidly upon Grace who bowed her head in a spasm 
 of hysterical unchecked weeping before the panic 
 query in their gaze. 
 
 Wanda Kelly wound her arms tighter about the 
 heaving body. But Grace neither felt the contact 
 nor heard the whisper of eager futile comforting. 
 Blake stared open-mouthed, his face greenish and 
 flabby, the stern jaw loose, the keen eyes bulging. 
 Mark Robertson was still frowning perplexedly at 
 Van Dyke. 
 
 "Don't you understand ?" pleaded the latter. 
 
 "No, I don't," returned Mark. "What have the 
 two phone calls to my home got to do with ?" 
 
 "Suppose the second call were not a mistake ?" 
 hesitated Van Dyke.
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 Robertson's face went purple. The big veins near 
 his temples swelled grotesquely. He took an involun- 
 tary step toward Van Dyke. The latter raised a 
 protesting hand. 
 
 "Mark," he said, flinching not at all before the 
 bloodshot fury in the husband's little eyes, "we are 
 here as lawyers, making an investigation. At last 
 we have struck the right trail. I am sorry it leads 
 where it does. I " 
 
 He got no further. At a stride Robertson was be- 
 side his wife. Roughly brushing aside Wanda's em- 
 bracing arms he caught Grace by the shoulder and 
 held her. 
 
 "You hear what this man insinuates?" he cried 
 thickly. "I don't ask you to foul your lips by deny- 
 ing it. I'll attend to him later. But give me the right 
 to do that by telling the Woman's name at once." 
 
 "Grace !" croaked Blake, his throat sanded with a 
 horror that he would not confess, "don't you hear 
 what they're saying, girl ?" 
 
 In his harsh eagerness, Mark forcibly lifted his 
 wife's bent head and forced her eyes to meet his. 
 
 "What the matter?" he demanded sharply. "Why 
 319
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 don't you speak? Tell Van Dyke he lies. Tell hrm 
 he lies, I say! Oh!" 
 
 His fierce appeal broke off in a cry of pain. He 
 had at last raised her face and had read it. For the 
 briefest moment he stood stupefied, expressionless. 
 Then, cautiously, half-cringingly, as if expecting a 
 blow, he moved back to Van Dyke. 
 
 "Why, Grace!" expostulated Blake, in pitiful 
 bravado. "You're crazy! You don't know what 
 you're implying what you're letting them think. I 
 won't believe it. Not a word of it. It's a trick to 
 to" 
 
 She caught his shaking hand and murmured a 
 broken incoherent syllable or two amid the passion 
 of her sobs. 
 
 "Almighty!" 
 
 Blake's legs gave way and he sprawled inert into 
 a chair, his head on his breast. He had all at once 
 grown old very, very old. Meantime, Robertson 
 had forced his own dazed brain back into a sem- 
 blance of its former strong control. 
 
 "Van Dyke," he said as calmly as if he were giv- 
 ing a routine order, "you will have every trace of 
 
 320
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 this story destroyed to-night. It must never get be- 
 yond this room. I can count on you ?" 
 
 "Certainly," agreed Van Dyke with equal cool- 
 ness. 
 
 There was no hint in his voice or in his manner 
 that Mark's command entailed the defeat of a bill, 
 the collapse of millions of dollars worth of stocks, a 
 probable panic on Wall Street and the money in- 
 terests' total if temporary loss of power in con- 
 gress. For the moment, the great corporation lawyer 
 chanced to be also a man. Something of this Rob- 
 ertson seemed to feel as their hands met in the brief 
 tight clasp of reticent men who dread a show of 
 emotion. 
 
 On his way from the room, Van Dyke paused be- 
 side Blake's chair. 
 
 "Jim," he said hesitatingly, "I'm going over to 
 the Capitol. Shall I tell Mullins to let the bill come 
 to a vote?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Blake, without stirring or so 
 much as looking up. 
 
 "Yes," he said again, and his voice was dead. 
 "Yes I'm I'm licked." 
 
 321
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Van Dyke looked down at the sunken head, the 
 drooping shoulders ; and he was nearer to pity than 
 his New York masters could have dreamed. Sud- 
 denly awkward, abashed, the lawyer made his way 
 from the room. Passing Robertson, he hesitated 
 again, with a vague idea of consolation. 
 
 "Mark, old man," he began. "This is terrible. 
 I" 
 
 "Please go," said Robertson, without seeing the 
 outstretched hand or noting the wistful inflection in 
 the dry voice. 
 
 As Van Dyke opened the door, Wanda made as 
 though to follow him. 
 
 "If you don't need me any further, Mr. Blake," 
 she said gently, "I'll go." 
 
 Blake lifted a palsied hand in negation. 
 
 "In there," he muttered, pointing toward the door 
 that led to the inner rooms. "I must speak to you 
 afterward." 
 
 When the old man raised his eyes, Mark and 
 Grace alone were left in the room with him. Robert- 
 son was standing moveless, unseeing. Grace's sobs 
 broke the tense silence, as she fought weakly for 
 
 322
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 self-control. Blake crossed over to her. She rose at 
 his approach. 
 
 "Daughter," said Blake, almost timidly, "they've 
 all gone. None of them will tell. But there's one 
 thing we've got to know. I'm with you, no matter 
 what you've done. But but tell me that that 
 this was all over and and done with before you 
 married Mark!" 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 The Woman faced him in dry-eyed horror. Every 
 trace of weeping was seared away by the flame of 
 sudden indignation. And, at the sight, Jim Blake 
 gave a great wordless cry and gathered her into his 
 arms as though she were a baby. 
 
 "Oh, my little girl !" he choked, "Dad's own, own 
 little girl! We've been tearing your poor heart to 
 pieces and your old father was the bitterest against 
 you. It's all right, I tell you, girl. It's all right. 
 Dad'll see you through. You shan't be bothered. 
 There, there! Oh, don't cry like that, darling. 
 Don't!" 
 
 His voice grew husky. Leaving her abruptly, he 
 crossed to Robertson. 
 
 3 2 3
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 "Mark," he faltered, avoiding his son-in-law's eye, 
 "you promised to protect her. This is the time to do 
 it. It was 'for better, for worse'. If that vow is any 
 good at all, it's as good for 'worse' as for 'better'. 
 Mark be gentle with her, boy." 
 
 He seemed about to say more. But, glancing 
 furtively at Mark's set changeless face, he forebore. 
 
 Slowly, with bent shoulders and dragging step 
 Blake made his way to the big room's farthest end. 
 There, in the window's embrasure, out of ear-shot, 
 his back to the others, he halted. 
 
 Drawing aside the curtains he glanced out into 
 the night. The gloom of the sleeping city was be- 
 low and around him. But, in one black mass, tiers 
 upon tiers of garish lights glowed. There, in the 
 Capitol, the Mullins bill was coming to a vote. 
 There, Matthew Standish, freed by a miracle from 
 the toils that craftier men had woven about him, was 
 winning the victory which was to clear for him the 
 pathway to the very summit of political power. 
 
 There, too, the cunningly wrought power of Jim 
 Blake was falling to pieces, unhindered the power 
 that years of toiling, of planning, of waiting, of 
 
 3 2 4
 
 JIM BLAKE, LOSER 
 
 conscienceless master-strokes had welded so strong- 
 ly. It was forever disintegrating. And with that 
 power though only for the moment, since wrong 
 must thrive while earth endures the mighty and in- 
 tricate machine was lapsing into its helpless compo- 
 nent parts. 
 
 Blake realized it all. But just then the knowledge 
 carried no hurt. The spectacle of the downfall was 
 blurred for him by the mist of a Woman's tears. Its 
 crash and the yells of the conquered were less poign- 
 ant to his ears than was the echo of a Woman's 
 heart-wrecked sobbing. 
 
 "I'm licked," he told himself; trying thus to recite 
 his last bitterest lesson. 
 
 But the words meant nothing to him. And he tried 
 again to make clear the situation to his own stunned 
 senses. 
 
 "It's gone," he forced himself to say, half aloud. 
 "Everything's gone, for me: Washington the 
 crowd that would have followed me to hell and 
 that have all the gaudy careers I mapped out for 
 Mark and Tom. The organization the dandiest 
 graft that ever came to any man. It's gone. And 
 
 325
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 Jim Blake's a dead one forever and ever. And then 
 some." 
 
 But he found his subconscious self straying from 
 the picture he was so ruthlessly drawing. His mind 
 would not fix itself on the lighted Capitol and the 
 wreck of his life-work ; but crept ever back into the 
 dim room behind him. Even his tongue tricked 
 him. For when he would have made it recite further 
 the tale of his losses, it muttered brokenly : 
 
 "My own little girl ! Dad's own, own little girl !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE HOUR OF RECKONING 
 
 11 ,C ARK ROBERTSON and his wife, left alone, 
 -*--! together, in the other end of the great li- 
 brary, faced the situation for which Grace had so 
 long been preparing and for which her frightened 
 years of preparation had proved so useless. 
 
 He knew. That was all. And no word of hers 
 could gloss over or make bearable the truth. Where- 
 fore she spoke no word, but stood looking at him; 
 taking in every detail of the stout figure and the 
 strong commonplace face as though she wished to 
 carry with her forever their memory. 
 
 Mark strove for speech. But for the first time in 
 his roughly aggressive career, suitable words were 
 denied him. Alternately he longed to tell her in 
 naked terms what she was and how utterly he de- 
 spised her. Again, a gush of self-pity urged him to 
 reproach her for the wrecking of his ideals, the blast- 
 
 327
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 ing of his happiness. Vanity coming part way to 
 his aid, he framed and left unspoken a curt sen- 
 tence of farewell. And, in the end, all he could say 
 was: 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 It was not what he had intended to say. It was 
 banal. It expressed none of the stark moods that 
 seethed in him. Yet as she did not answer, he found 
 himself asking once more : 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 And now, unknown and unwished for, there crept 
 into his bald question a note that was almost of en- 
 treaty. And at the sound, the dumb devil that had 
 locked Grace's lips departed. 
 
 "Tell you?" she echoed. "Oh, if you knew how 
 I've wanted to !" 
 
 "Then" 
 
 "I didn't dare. I didn't dare." 
 
 "Truth and honor surely " 
 
 "Your love meant more to me than truth and 
 honor. I sacrificed them to keep it. I would sacri- 
 fice them and everything else to get it back. Is that 
 shameless? Perhaps. The truth usually is. If I had 
 
 328
 
 THE HOUR OF RECKONING 
 
 told you, you would never have forgiven me. You 
 know you wouldn't. If I've wronged you " 
 
 "Iff" he burst forth, in a gust of wrath. "// you 
 have wronged me? Can you doubt it? Every day 
 ard every year my faith and trust and love have 
 grown; until they became my whole life. My world 
 and my religion were yoii. And you have let me go 
 on that way until there was nothing else for me. 
 Then in a breath you wipe it all away. Wronged me ? 
 If you had told me at the very first, I could have 
 killed my love without killing myself. I would still 
 have had my ambition, my political hopes. But now, 
 when I lose you I lose everything." 
 
 "Do you lose more than I? Do you lose half as 
 much? It was my happiness I was fighting for. I 
 loved you so, Mark. I think, when a woman's real 
 love begins, her life begins, too. And everything 
 that went before seems a nightmare and unreal. 
 When I found you loved me, I couldn't let you go. 
 Then, the more utterly I loved you, the more I 
 wanted to clear away every shadow between us and 
 tell you everything. I couldn't, dear. Even though 
 the longing grew to be torture. By that time it 
 
 329
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 wasn't just a question of my own selfish happiness. 
 It was for your sake for your happiness too. 
 You must believe that." 
 
 "My happiness ? You have guarded it well ! You 
 talk much about loving me. If you had really loved 
 me, your love would have made you honest with 
 me. Love that leads a man into a fool's paradise 
 and then to a hell like this, goes by an uglier name 
 
 "Mark!" 
 
 "If you had loved me as a true woman loves, you 
 would have told me. You would have had to. You 
 could not have deceived me like this. Love doesn't 
 feed on lies. It was my right to know every- 
 thing, so that I could decide my own course. In- 
 stead, you have led me into this trap. There is. no 
 escape now. And it is too late to reproach you or to 
 try to make you realize what you have done. You 
 say your love for me kept you from telling? Be- 
 lieve that, if it is any comfort to you. I " 
 
 "You are right. We can neither of us see the 
 other's point of view. But yours is the accepted idea 
 and mine is not. Why waste breath in arguing? 
 
 330
 
 THE HOUR OF RECKONING 
 
 You will do what you and the world think right. 
 Divorce me, if you will. I'll make no defense." 
 
 "What good would divorce do ?" asked Robertson 
 miserably. "I could leave you, of course. But you'd 
 still be my wife. Always and always. The one 
 woman in the whole wretched world. Divorce ? Di- 
 vorce is for people who never loved. Not for people 
 whose love has died." 
 
 "You say I don't know what true love is," she 
 laughed bitterly. "I'm afraid I can never learn it 
 from you. So your love has died ? Love can't die, 
 any more than God can die. You have never loved 
 me." 
 
 T 
 
 "Never. I see now that you didn't. For you don't 
 know what love means. I lived for you. Every 
 thought and word and act of mine was shaped for 
 you. And for you alone. I knew you. I knew your 
 faults, your follies, your brute savagery. And I 
 loved you for them as well as for the good that was 
 in you. But what was it you loved ? The woman you 
 married or a snow-white saintly reputation? If 
 you cared only for the reputation that is gone for- 
 
 331
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 ever. But if you loved me the woman I am then 
 I've been everything you thought I was and wanted 
 me to be ever since the first moment you had the 
 right to think of me at all. I gave you my life, from 
 that time on and forever. And it has been all yours. 
 Before then, it was mine." 
 
 "And yet you let me believe it was everything 
 your whole life your first love." 
 
 "It was. All that was worth the giving. All that 
 had ever been worth the giving. It was my self. 
 Oh, can't you see that a woman's body and heart and 
 soul belong not to her first lover but to her first love? 
 No woman can even guess what love is until she has 
 found it. And I found it only when I knew you. I 
 gave you everything. I Oh," she broke off, her 
 vehemence changing all at once to utter weariness, 
 "what's the use of trying to explain to you? We're 
 speaking different languages, you and I. You were 
 eager a while ago to make Wanda Kelly and that 
 that man take their medicine, as you called it. 
 Yet they were innocent. Why should I expect that 
 you'll deal less brutally with me who am not? In 
 my case you have tenfold more reason to be merci- 
 
 332
 
 THE HOUR OF RECKONING 
 
 less. For your vanity is hurt. And a hurt to the 
 vanity is always infinitely harder to bear than a blow 
 on the bare heart. That is why husbands and wives 
 can forgive each other every crime except infidelity. 
 They can't pardon a loved one. for the mortal insult 
 of preferring anybody else. Go ahead and do what- 
 ever you will. I won't make it harder for us both 
 by whining for mercy. Jim Blake's daughter ought 
 to take her medicine at least as pluckily as a phone 
 girl." 
 
 "Grace," he interposed, jarred by her forced in- 
 difference and by a strain of hardness he had never 
 before found in her. "Don't make it " 
 
 "I'm trying to make it easy. We've never had a 
 real quarrel, you and I, Mark. So don't let us wind 
 up our married life with one, now. You are in the 
 right. I am hopelessly in the wrong. I have cheated 
 you. I admit it, and I'll accept the consequences. It 
 is in the blood. There is much in heredity. My fa- 
 ther is a politician. I don't know who my grand- 
 father was. And if he had been worth knowing 
 about, I'd know. There is a bad strain running 
 through the family. It cropped out in me. Yes, I 
 
 333
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 have cheated you. You had the right to demand in 
 our bargain the hard-and-fast terms the world has 
 decreed: all of a wife's life in exchange for a 
 frayed and battered remnant of her husband's. I 
 can't meet those terfns, though I tried to fool you 
 into believing I could. So I must meekly give up the 
 love whose price I can't pay. Don't let's make it 
 harder by having a scene over it. Good night. I'll 
 stay with father until you can decide just what you 
 want to do and on what basis we're to separate. If 
 it would do any good to ask your forgiveness I'd 
 ask it. That's all. Good night, Mark." 
 
 She held out her hand with a shy wist fulness. He 
 was staring straight into her tortured eyes and did 
 not see the gesture. The hand dropped back limply 
 to her side, and she moved to rejoin Blake. 
 
 But at the first step, Mark barred her way. She 
 looked at him in tired wonder. His face was set 
 and hard. He made no move to touch her. His 
 voice, when he spoke, grated like a file, as he forced 
 it between his unwilling lips. 
 
 "Grace," he began, "I've told you my love is dead. 
 And I lied when I said it. I planned to put you out 
 
 334
 
 THE HOUR OF RECKONING 
 
 of my life. And, even while I planned, I knew I 
 couldn't do it. It doesn't matter what I want to do 
 or what I ought to do. Out of all this hideous tan- 
 gle, blazes forth just one thing that I must do, 
 whether I want to or not. I must go on loving you 
 with all my strength and life." 
 
 "Mark ! Don't ! You can't mean " 
 
 "I love you," he went on dully, stubbornly, as if 
 stating some bitter truth. "I love you. There is 
 nothing but that anywhere. I love you. And my 
 love is a million times stronger than I am. It doesn't 
 matter what you are or what you have done. I love 
 you. When one looks truth straight in the eyes, it 
 isn't logic or right or wrong or good or bad that 
 counts. It is love. And I love you. Any man would 
 tell me I'm talking like a fool. I should have said 
 so myself an hour ago. But I see now it is the only 
 true wisdom that ever was wrung from my smug, 
 blind, self-satisfied brain." 
 
 "Do you mean," she panted wildly, "do you mean 
 that you can that you will " 
 
 "I mean," he cried, brokenly, his self-control 
 smashing to atoms under the hammer blows of his 
 
 335
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 heart, "I mean there is nothing in all this world for 
 me, dear love, away from you! I love you. And I 
 can't go on without you. You are earth and Heaven 
 and hell to me. I love you. And I have forgotten 
 everything but that. Girl of my heart, will you let 
 me make you forget, too? Oh, I love you! I love 
 you!"
 
 CHAPTER XXV] 
 
 THE VICTOR? 
 
 "^TMIEY didn't seem exactly to be Hankering 
 
 * after my society in there," observed Wanda 
 Kelly, "so I came back." 
 
 Jim Blake turned from the window at sound of 
 the telephone girl's purposely raised voice. Just 
 within the threshold from the inner rooms of the 
 suite, Wanda, with elaborate care, was shutting the 
 door behind her. 
 
 Blake glanced quickly about the room. 
 
 "Yes," said Wanda, answering the question in his 
 look and jerking her pretty head back in the direc- 
 tion of the rooms she had just quitted. "In there. 
 I wouldn't worry if I were you." 
 
 Jim Blake's grim face took on a light as incongru- 
 ous as the play of sunset rays on a mummy. The 
 mask of age and defeat seemed to melt beneath it. 
 He took an eager step toward the inner room. 
 
 337
 
 THE VICTOR? 
 
 "Just a minute," Wanda halted him. "You asked 
 me to wait. If you don't need me here any longer 
 
 "Yes/-' hesitated Blake, trouble flitting across the 
 new light in his eyes. "I wanted to ask you to 
 not to let Tom know about this. His sister " 
 
 "I'll never tell him," she promised. "I sent him 
 away so he wouldn't find out." 
 
 "You're white, clear through," grudgingly ad- 
 mitted Blake. "Will you do one thing more ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Bring him back to me." 
 
 "If I meet him again," she assented primly, "I'll 
 send" 
 
 "I didn't say 'send'," corrected Blake, "I said 
 'bring'.*' 
 
 "That's different I" 
 
 "I'm out of politics. My own game has broken 
 me at last. I'm old. I know it now. I never did till 
 to-night. I'm old and I want my children around 
 me." 
 
 "I'll tell Tom," she agreed, softened despite her- 
 self by the new suppliance in a voice that had never 
 before been turned to the uses of entreaty. "I'll tell 
 
 338
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 him. I'm sure he'll come back to you when he un- 
 derstands. Good night, Mr. Blake." 
 
 "There's another thing," he broke in roughly, 
 staying her departure, "a thing that isn't easy to 
 say." 
 
 "Then, why say it?" 
 
 "Because," he growled, "like all things that aren't 
 easy to say, it's a thing that's got to be said. Miss 
 Kelly, hasn't to-night pretty nearly squared the old 
 debt between you and me? You and yours have suf- 
 fered a lot at my hands. But, after what's happened 
 here this evening, I guess you'll admit, as far as 
 suffering goes, you haven't got much on me. 
 Haven't I paid ? Won't you say we're square ?" 
 
 "We're we're square, Mr. Blake," she returned 
 in a tone she could not make wholly steady nor im- 
 personal. 
 
 "And," pursued Blake, "and Tom?" 
 
 "That's different, too," she faltered. "I" 
 
 The jangle of the telephone interrupted her. 
 Blake, who was beside the desk, picked up the in- 
 strument. 
 
 "Hello," he called into the transmitter. "Yes 
 339
 
 THE VICTOR? 
 
 yes she's here. Who wants her? Oh! Yes, put 
 him on this wire." 
 
 He lowered the telephone. 
 
 "Some one to speak to you, Miss Kelly," he re- 
 ported. 
 
 Mechanically, she took up the receiver, and, by 
 long habit, her voice took its professional drone : 
 
 "Hello!" she called. 
 
 Then, turning on Blake, in surprise, she cried : 
 
 "Why, it's Tom!" 
 
 "Yes," drawled Blake. "So I gathered from the 
 name. I'm glad. Glad, clear down to the ground. 
 For both of you. Tell him so, won't you?" 
 
 The winter sun was butting its way over the east- 
 ern sky-line. The dawn was bitter-cold, mercilessly 
 clear. 
 
 And into the track of the first white glittering 
 rays walked a tired man. A man who that night 
 had won a mighty victory. A victory that fore- 
 shadowed the richest gifts his country could bestow. 
 Before him the future stretched bright as that win- 
 
 340
 
 Won't you say we're square?
 
 THE WOMAN 
 
 ter's dawn. As dazzlingly brilliant, and as cold and 
 starkly empty. 
 
 . In Matthew Standish's ears, as he returned toward 
 the loveless abode that he hated to call home, still 
 rang echoes of the pandemonium that had broken 
 loose in the house when the Mullins bill had gone 
 down to defeat. His arms still ached from the pump- 
 handling a host of shrieking admirers had forced 
 on him. 
 
 There was a memory of tossing glee-distorted 
 faces turned upward to him as to an adored leader. 
 Raucous voices had screamed his name in every 
 variant of crazy adulation. 
 
 He was the Conqueror. The Man of the Hour. 
 The Champion of the People. The Saint George 
 who had overwhelmed the dragon of corruption, and 
 had set a captive nation free. He was the next 
 speaker the next president anything that you may 
 choose. 
 
 And he was exhausted, sick to the soul, hope- 
 lessly miserable. For years he had worked steadily 
 toward this hour of crass triumph. And now its 
 taste was salt and ashes between his teeth. 
 
 341
 
 THE VICTOR? 
 
 He had crushed his enemies. And within him his 
 heart was heavy as lead for their shame. 
 
 He had won what? He had been strong and 
 had overcome. To what end ? 
 
 To know that the price of strength is loneliness. 
 To know that corruption can never wholly die. To 
 know that God will let Satan live until the Judgment 
 Day. To lift for a little moment his country from 
 the mire in which, within a few years at most, it 
 must again wallow, helpless. 
 
 "There is only one lasting victory," he muttered 
 disjointedly to himself, as he moved onward in the 
 dazzling ice-cold track of light. "At the last, it won't 
 be the world's applause that the world's great men 
 will remember. It will be the love smile of a Wom- 
 an. And I shall never have known that memory. 
 What is the rest worth ?" 
 
 THE END
 
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 DRAMATIZED NOVELS 
 
 THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY 
 t May to had wheravir books ara sold. Ask for Cresset ft Dunlap'a list 
 
 WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. 
 Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke. 
 
 This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran 
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 The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge 
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 WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY, By Robert Carlton Brown. 
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 The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played ia 
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 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. 
 Illustrated by John Rae, 
 
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 The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, 
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 THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.^ 
 
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 The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Ro* 
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 BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur 
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 AsJc /or compete fret list of G. & D. Popular Co^yrighed Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST.. NEW YORK
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 
 DRAMATIZED NOVELS 
 
 Original, sincere and courageous often amusing the 
 kind that are making theatrical history. 
 
 MADAME X. By Alexandra Bisson and J. W. McCoa 
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 TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace 
 
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