The Cost Part 24

Larkin rose. "I've got to get to work. See you here to-morrow night at seven, Mr. Culver--seven sharp. I guess it'll be Judge Graney on the third ballot. On the first ballot the organization'll vote solid for Graney, and my fellows'll vote for John Frankfort. On the second ballot half my Frankfort crowd'll switch over to Graney. On the third I'll put the rest of 'em over, and that'll be enough to elect--probably the Scarborough crowd'll see it's no use and let us make it unanimous.

The losers are always hot for harmony."

"That sounds well," said Merriweather--his was a voice that left his hearers doubtful whether he meant what his words said or the reverse.

Culver looked with secret admiration from one man to the other, and continued to think of them and to admire, after they had gone. He felt important, sitting in and by proxy directing the councils of these powerful men, these holders and manipulators of the secret strings whereto were attached puppet peoples and puppet politicians. Seven years behind the scenes with Dumont's most private affairs had given him a thoroughgoing contempt for the ma.s.s of mankind. Did he not sit beside the master, at the innermost wheels, deep at the very heart of the intricate mechanism? Did not that position make him a sort of master, at any rate far superior to the princeliest puppet?

At five the next afternoon--the afternoon of the day before the convention--he was at the Eyrie, and sent a servant to say to Mrs.

Dumont that he would like to see her. She came down to him in the library.

"I'm only troubling you for a moment," he said.

"I'll relieve you of my package."

"Very well," said Pauline. "I haven't thought of it since day before yesterday. I'll bring it down to you."

She left him in the library and went up the stairs--she had been reading everything that was published about the coming convention, and the evident surprise of all the politicians at the strength Scarborough was mustering for ex-Governor Bowen had put her in high good humor.

She cautioned herself that he could not carry the convention; but his showing was a moral victory--and what a superb personal triumph! With everything against him--money and the machine and the skilful confusing of the issues by his crafty opponents--he had rallied about him almost all that was really intelligent in his party; and he had demonstrated that he had on his side a ma.s.s of the voters large out of all proportion to the number of delegates he had wrested away from the machine--nearly three hundred, when everybody had supposed the machine would retain all but a handful.

Money! Her lips curled scornfully--out here, in her own home, among these simple people, the brutal power of money was master just as in New York, among a people crazed by the pa.s.sion for luxury and display.

She was kneeling before the safe, was working the combination, paper in hand. The k.n.o.b clicked as the rings fell into place; she turned the bolt and swung the door open. She reached into the safe. Suddenly she drew her hand back and sat up on the floor, looking at the package.

"Why, it's for use in the convention!" she exclaimed.

She did not move for several minutes; when she did, it was to examine the time lock, to reset it, to close the door and bolt it and throw the lock off the combination. Then she rose and slowly descended to the library. As she reappeared, empty-handed, Culver started violently and scrutinized her face. Its expression put him in a panic. "Mrs.

Dumont!" he exclaimed wildly.

"Has it been stolen?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "It's there."

Trembling from weakness in the reaction, he leaned against the table, wiping his sweating brow with sweating hands.

"But," she went on, "it must stay there."

He looked open-mouthed at her.

"You have brought the money out here for use in the convention," she went on with perfect calmness. "You have tried to make me a partner in that vile business. And--I refuse to play the part a.s.signed me. I shall keep the money until the convention is over."

He looked round like a terror-stricken drowning man, about to sink for the last time.

"I'm ruined! I'm ruined!" he almost screamed.

"No," she said, still calm. "You will not be ruined, though you deserve to be. But I understand why you have become callous to the commonplace decencies of life, and I shall see to it that no harm comes to you."

"Mr. Dumont will--DESTROY me! You don't realize, Mrs. Dumont. Vast property interests are at stake on the result of this convention--that's our cause. And you are imperiling it!"

"Imperiling a cause that needs lies and bribes to save it?" she said ironically. "Please calm yourself, Mr. Culver. You certainly can't be blamed for putting your money in a safe place. I take the responsibility for the rest. And when you tell Mr. Dumont exactly what happened, you will not be blamed or injured in any way."

"I shall telegraph him at once," he warned her.

"Certainly," said Pauline. "He might blame you severely for failing to do that."

He paused in his pacing up and down the room. He flung his arms toward her, his eyes blazing.

"I WILL have it!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear me, I WILL! I'll bring men from down-town and have the safe blown open. The money is not yours--it is----"

She advanced to the bell.

"Another word, Mr. Culver, and I'll have the servants show you the door. Yours is a strange courage--to dare to speak thus to me when your head should be hanging in shame for trying to make such base use of me and my courtesy and friendliness."

His arms dropped, and he lowered his head.

"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I'm not myself. I think I'm going insane. PITY me!"

Pauline looked at him sadly. "I wish I had the right to. But--I SYMPATHIZE, and I'm sorry--so sorry--to have to do this." A pause, then--"Good afternoon, Mr. Culver." And she moved toward the door. At the threshold she turned. "I must say one thing further--THE CONVENTION MUST NOT BE PUT OFF. If it is adjourned to-morrow without making nominations, I shall understand that you are getting the money elsewhere. And--I shall be compelled to put such facts as I know in the possession of--of those you came to injure." And she was gone.

Culver went to Merriweather's office and sent out for him and Larkin.

When they arrived he shut the doors and told them what had happened--and in his manner there was not left a trace of the New Yorker and amba.s.sador condescending to westerners and underlings.

Larkin cursed; Merriweather gave no outward sign. Presently Merriweather said: "Larkin, you must adjourn the convention over to-morrow. Culver can go to Chicago and get back with the money by to-morrow night."

"No use," groaned Culver. And he told them the last part of his talk with Mrs. Dumont.

"She thought of that!" said Merriweather, and he looked the impartial admiration of the connoisseur of cleverness.

"But she'd never carry out her threat--never in the world!" persisted Larkin.

"If you had seen her when she said it, and if you'd known her as long as I have, you wouldn't say that," replied Culver. "We must try to get the money here, right away--at the banks."

"All shut," said Merriweather "I wonder how much cash there is at the Woolens and the Oil and Steel offices? We must get together as much as we can--quietly." And he rapidly outlined a program that put all three at work within fifteen minutes. They met again at seven. Culver had twenty-six hundred dollars, Larkin thirty-one hundred, Merriweather, who had kept for himself the most difficult task, had only twelve hundred.

"Sixty-nine hundred," said Merriweather, eying the heap, of paper in packages and silver in bags.

"Better than nothing," suggested Culver, with a pitiful attempt to be hopeful.

Merriweather shrugged his shoulders. "Let's get some supper," he said to Culver. Then to Larkin: "Well, Joe, you'll have to try promises.

Will you keep this cash or shall I?"

"You might as well keep it," replied Larkin, with a string of oaths.

"It'd be ruination to pay one without paying all. Perhaps you can use some of it between ballots to-morrow." Then, sharply to Culver: "You've telegraphed Mr. Dumont?"

"Of course," said Culver. "And it took some time as I had to put the whole story into cipher."

As Culver and Merriweather were seated, with the dinner before them which Culver did not touch, and which Merriweather ate placidly, Culver asked him whether there was "any hope at all."

"There's always hope," replied Merriweather. "Promises, especially from Joe Larkin, will go a long way, though they don't rouse the white hot enthusiasm that cold cash in the pocket does. We'll pull through all right." He ate for a while in silence. Then: "This Mrs. Dumont must be an uncommon woman." A few more mouthfuls and with his small, icy, mirthless laugh, he added: "I've got one something like her at home. I keep her there."

Culver decided to spend the night at the hotel. He hung round the hotel office until two in the morning, expecting and dreading Dumont's reply to his telegram. But nothing came either for him or for Merriweather. "Queer we don't get word of some sort, isn't it?" said he to Merriweather the next morning, as the latter was leaving for the convention.