A Man of Two Countries Part 27

"I tell you it would never do!" angrily. "Miss Blair had better suspect--than know," grimly. "What people don't see they can't prove."

"It might have been Arthur," still seeking justification.

"Well, it wasn't," replied the political manager, coolly. "Besides, he has a latch-key, and we should have heard its click. Now, let's get to work. I've got a dinner engagement with Charlie Blair to-night at eight-thirty. Here's the list. Let's check up."

The Honorable was very methodical, very systematic. He called off senators and representatives in alphabetical order, and checked or drew a line through their names as Eva told of her efforts in Burroughs'

behalf.

"How do you do it?" asked the man with admiration, as she reported that one particularly obdurate senator, too rich to be influenced by money, had promised his vote.

"I told him frankly that it was a personal affair," admitted the fair lobbyist. "He knows women well enough to understand why I have never been satisfied to live in this little hill city----"

"And he thought it his duty to see that your brilliancy lighted wider domains--I see." Moore finished the sentence to suit himself.

"He was very nice about it," returned Eva, haughtily. "He thinks that Arthur should have some recognition from the government for all that he has done for the party; and he added that Arthur was too big a legal light to be eclipsed by the shadow of Mount Helena." She paused, evidently hesitating to speak further. "Can't you get the others on the list yourself? I'm getting tired of----" She was shaken by the unexpected knock; suddenly, but too late, she was afraid of what her husband would think--would say. Her aspirations seemed of small account after that tap that could not be answered.

"Get Charlie Blair's promise, and we'll be satisfied," said Moore, not unkindly. "You have done very well."

"Will Mr. Burroughs keep his promise? He knows that I----" Eva could not speak to Moore of her fear of the man whose money she would accept.

"Burroughs is all right. Words don't count, these days; it's money that turns the trick."

"But I want more than money. I want that place for Arthur."

"My dear lady," urbane William rose and bowed. "If Robert Burroughs is elected to the United States Senate, the judge shall be Minister to Berlin. It is practically arranged already. Bob's a big man in his party. What he asks for he'll get, never you fear. That is--in Washington."

"I'm glad to be a.s.sured." Mrs. Latimer intimated by a look that the interview was over, and rose. But Moore did not choose to go.

"When do you think that you can get Senator Blair? Heaven knows you've spent more time on him than on all the rest put together."

"I begin to wish that I had never seen Charlie Blair," petulantly.

"Oh-h! It's that way, eh? He's getting a little--a lit----"

"Don't you dare!" flashed Mrs. Latimer. "You promised to ask no questions."

"Pardon me. I said I didn't care what means you used," corrected Moore, with delicate emphasis. He added, reflectively: "Blair has always been something of a recluse; but I've noticed that when a Puritan once feels a little of the warmth of the devil's presence that he's rather loath to step out into the cold again." The look of anger from Mrs. Latimer made him change both tone and words. "We have depended on you to get Charlie," he said, reproachfully. "I never wanted to tackle him. You know how it is? I've never had but one weakness----"

"Yes. She was here this afternoon when you signaled," interrupted Eva, glad to repay him in ever so little for his insult. "What a pity that you could not have known it. You might have come in."

"Thank G.o.d I didn't!"

"Winifred is too good for you. Senator Danvers is the sort she will marry."

Not relishing the information, Moore turned to go. But he had one more sting. "It'll be pretty hard for you to see Danvers married, won't it?"

Then, satisfied to see the quick flush on Eva's cheeks, he added casually: "I'll talk with Blair to-night. You needn't bother with him further." He knew how to frighten the woman. It was understood that she must follow instructions or receive no pay.

"Give me one more chance," begged Eva, trembling.

As Mr. Moore walked briskly toward the club where he was to have dinner with Blair he thought of all that underlay this winter's work, and it seemed but a continuance of the days of fur and whiskey smuggling in the Whoop Up Country. It was a series of wheels within wheels--this work of electing a man to Congress; and the man's soul reveled in the intrigue of it. He was quite content to be the one to superintend their revolutions and to watch the havoc which they might cause. Burroughs'

vaulting ambition was the greatest need of all, but revolving around it were the triple, lesser desires of the ex-trader; of wreaking vengeance on Judge Latimer through his wife's folly; of causing Charlie Blair's downfall, to repay the old grudge of the Queen's evidence; and of wounding the hated Danvers through his friends, as well as separating him from Winifred.

And now but one vote was needed to give Burroughs his heart's desire.

Moore had not told Eva this. But if Charlie could be secured to-night, to-morrow or the next day he would give the signal, and the men, bought but not yet delivered, would vote for Burroughs--and the battle be won!

Oh, it was glorious! Bob _was_ lucky. How often he had said it of himself. Yet sudden fear came. A certain Corsican had thought that he was the darling of the G.o.ds, and confused his luck with destiny. Had Burroughs made the same mistake? Certainly not. Moore's habitual confidence returned manifold. The opposition was divided among too many men to amount to anything more than to keep Burroughs in uncertainty, and no stretching of his imagination could conceive any one man fusing their warring elements. Moore already saw his winter's work crowned with success.

Blair was waiting on the club steps for his host, and the dinner was ready. They were unusually silent until the black coffee and the cigars were brought. Then Moore leaned forward to reach the cognac for his coffee and asked:

"How much does it cost you a year to live, Charlie? Expenses run pretty high?"

The questions were unexpected. Blair knew the motive of his host in giving a dinner, for Moore seldom entertained without an underlying reason. Certainly he never spent his own or Burroughs' money without expecting fair returns. But Charlie had thought the attack would be more direct. Therefore he answered lightly:

"I might reply as a colored man did who was asked how little he could live on. 'I live and work on three cents' worth of peanuts a day, but I'm a little hungry sometimes.'"

Mr. Moore smiled perfunctorily. He had no sense of humor.

"What have you been doing all summer?"

"Prospecting."

"Prospecting is like trying to raise money without security. Neither pans out."

"Precious little you know about either," retorted Blair.

"You're a poor man," said Moore, abruptly. The announcement struck the senator as superfluous. He nodded.

"I am familiar with the fact."

The Honorable William resolved to strike. He had never thought to speak to Charlie, but if Mrs. Latimer could not bring him to the point he would have to do it himself. One more member must be secured, and Blair was the only possible man. The other legislators who had not already succ.u.mbed seemed impregnable.

Moore became impatient as he remembered how easy it had seemed at first to secure enough votes to elect his chief.

"Charlie," he began, clearing his throat, "we want you in this fight we are making, and we want you hard. We are going to win. We are going to get the votes; if we don't get them one way, we're going to get them another."

"So I've understood."

The host felt on unstable ground at the noncommittal answer, but he boldly pushed ahead. No time to fear quicksands--the end of the session was too near! He dwelt on the good that Burroughs could do the State if he went to Congress, and finally repeated:

"Bob's going to be elected. He's gaining votes every day. But we need to get the thing over with, and--it will be to your financial interest to work with us." Moore played nervously with his teaspoon.

Senator Blair watched his smoke rings fade, and made no response. Both men were silent for a time. Moore occupied himself by placing, with infinite exactness, three cubes of sugar on his spoon and pouring brandy over them. When the liquor was fired the blue flame lighted his face weirdly. So might _Mephistopheles_ have looked when tempting _Faust_. He was thinking that Blair had always been a failure, and always would be--slow, methodical, too dull to see his best interests. He was a plodder, content with moderate means, when infinite opportunities in Montana waited a man's grasp--if he was sharp enough.

But silent Charlie was thinking that his opportunity had come. During the past weeks he had observed, with his usual calm, the trend of events. He had been inclined to promise Mrs. Latimer the boon she asked, for he would be glad to promote Judge Latimer's advancement (remembering the fine that Latimer had paid at Fort Macleod), even if in doing so he should aid the man he hated for stealing his squaw. But Charlie was beginning to forget the judge's kindness in his pa.s.sion for the judge's wife. He realized that as soon as he cast his vote for Burroughs all the advances and marks of favor which stamp a lobbyist of the s.e.x without a franchise would be a thing of the past--an episode to be forgotten. He had quite lost sight of the commandment, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife." Instead, he was dreaming over the fact of a possible possession.

Knowing too well the paucity of his bank account, he was tempted to play both sides--to make a big strike with Moore, and to press his half-repulsed, half-accepted pa.s.sion until Eva Latimer should consent to his plans for the future. To sum the matter up: He meant to get more than anyone else from this business of electing a United States senator.

Never mind Winifred. The lure of inviting eyes had so completely ensnared him that during these days of intrigue he had almost forgotten the existence of his sister in the alternate intoxication of Eva's companionship and the less dangerous one of liquor.

The host grew impatient as his guest made no effort to reopen the conversation. He drank his coffee with a jerk and drew an envelope from his pocket. It was stuffed with bills, and a torn corner showed the figures "1000." Moore pulled it out and threw it across the table.