Part 7

"In that role," he concluded, "George Norman will have to lead a strictly virtuous life. It will be the business of his friends and backers--my business, for example--to see that he does so. I will personally undertake to see that you get the money he promised you. All you will have to do is to make it up with Jennie. You may not be able or willing to do that right away. But in a few months---- There's no reason why you shouldn't be set up in a nice little business of your own--a delicatessen or caterer's, or a taxicab firm, or whatever you would like--in some other city, with Jennie for your wife. Will you think it over?"

Simpson looked at Rockwell and then at Merriam.

"You certainly are as like as two plates," he said irrelevantly to the latter.

"Won't you think it over?" returned Merriam, as persuasively as if he had been reasoning with some irate patron of the Riceville High School.

"Yes," said Simpson after a bit, "I'll think it over."

"In the meantime," said Rockwell, "you must keep still about all this, of course. And we may need your help again--for taxi driving and so forth."

"What if I choose to blow the whole thing?"

"In that case you will do more than any one else could to help Norman to the thing he will most want--a reconciliation with Crockett and the rest of the gang. And he will go on in his old ways--Jennie included."

Rockwell let Simpson digest that for a moment, and then said:

"Well, think it over as you have promised. And now we really do want breakfast."

Simpson got to his feet. He straightened the napkin on his arm and mechanically enunciated his servile formula:

"Yes, sir."

"And, Simpson!"

"Yes, sir?"

"I will talk with you again this afternoon. Till then, at least, keep your mouth shut and think. Think sensibly."

"Very good, sir."

Waiter No. 73 bowed gravely and left the bedroom.

*CHAPTER XII*

*GRAPEFRUIT AND TELEGRAMS*

When the door closed behind Simpson, Rockwell and Merriam naturally looked at each other.

"Poor fellow!" said Merriam.

In spite of himself his mind was visited by a tantalising recollection of Jennie's voice as it had come to him over the telephone. With no more evidence than that he was inclined to think that Simpson was right in saying that she would not have a waiter now. But it was impossible to speak of this to Rockwell.

The latter had apparently dismissed the incident and was looking at his watch.

"It's nearly eight o'clock," he said. "Put the rest of your things on and go down to Norman's rooms on the next floor. You're to have breakfast there with Miss Norman and Mrs. Norman. You'd better go down the stairs rather than in the elevator; you will be less likely to meet some one who will take you for the Senator. I am going to hunt up Dr. Hobart, the house physician here, and take him with me to this Madame Couteau's, or Jennie's, to see Norman. We must get him on his feet at once. A hotel physician will be the very man for that."

"I must shave," said Merriam.

"Oh, never mind that. Time is precious."

Merriam thought of the train which he now planned to take. It left at nine-fifteen and would get him to Riceville a little after noon. He remembered, too, that he must telegraph to his assistant principal that he would miss the morning session. And he thought of the coming breakfast hour with Mollie June. Certainly time was precious to him. Nevertheless he said decidedly:

"I'm going to shave all the same."

Rockwell looked at him with a comprehending smile. "All right, my boy," said the older man. "Doubtless it's very necessary. Hurry up and try not to cut yourself. I'll run along with the doctor."

He moved to the door, stopped with his hand on the knob to say, "I shall probably drop in at the rooms before you're through breakfast," and was gone.

Merriam sighed a certain relief and went into the bathroom to shave.

A few minutes later, following Rockwell's injunction, he descended to the floor below by the stairs rather than the elevator. He forgot even to look at the pretty floor clerk on Floor Three, who last night was wearing his--Norman's--violets.

When he knocked at the door labeled 323 it was the voice he most desired to hear that said, "Come in."

He opened the door. The rose-and-white room was bright with morning sunshine, and half way down its length Mollie June, in a blue satin breakfast coat, with a lacy boudoir cap covering her hair, was standing before the little table which held the bowl of roses.

"Good morning, Mr.--John," she said.

He half perceived that her voice sounded tired and a little sad. But the daintiness of breakfast coats and boudoir caps was as strange in Merriam's world as white shoulders were. His eyes drank it in delightfully. In his pleasure her note of sadness escaped him. He answered almost gaily:

"Good morning--Mollie June!"

His tone probably betrayed his mood, and I dare say Mollie June guessed the reason for his happiness. But she ignored both mood and reason. She had turned back to the roses.

"Come and help me," she said. "These flowers must have fresh water."

Merriam pushed the door shut behind him and advanced rapidly. I am almost afraid he might have taken her in his arms. But Mollie June was already half way across the room with the roses, to lay them on a newspaper which she had previously spread on the seat of a straight-backed chair. So all that Merriam got his hands on was the bowl.

"Empty it in there," said Mollie June, indicating the bathroom between the sitting room and Norman's empty bedroom, "and fill it with cold water."

Thankful that no reply was immediately demanded, Merriam did as he was bid.

When he reentered the sitting room with the fresh water, Mollie June stooped over the chair, gathered up the roses, and came towards him.

"Set it back in the same place," she said.

Merriam did so, and she came up to him--that is to say, to the bowl--and inserted the stems all together, and with her pink fingers wet from the cool water deftly arranged the blossoms. Then, drying her finger tips on a very small handkerchief, she turned and raised her eyes to him gravely. He saw at last that she was pale--that she had been wakeful. Perhaps she had been crying. In sudden concern he stood dumb.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

He mustered his forces to reply.

"I am afraid I did," he said, ashamed.

She looked at him forgivingly.

"Of course you must have been dreadfully tired," she said. "I hardly slept at all," she added. "I am terribly worried about George. We didn't even know where he was until--a little while ago." Evidently Rockwell had already reported some part, at least, of Simpson's disclosure.

For a moment they stood silent, tacitly avoiding reference to George Norman's ascertained whereabouts.

Then Mollie June raised her eyes again.

"I'm worried, too, about--what we did last night. We mustn't do--so, again."

She met his eyes, very serious.

"No!" Merriam assented.

"I can't call you 'Mr. Merriam,' though," she cried. "And I mustn't call you 'John.' I've decided to call you 'Mr. John'!"

"Thank you," said Merriam gravely. He was deeply touched by the unconscious confession.

Mollie June turned away. "I must tell Aunt Mary you are here."

Just then there came a knocking at the hall door.

For an instant the boy and girl stared at each other as though in guilty alarm. Merriam started to go to the door. But Mollie June had recovered her wits.

"No," she said. "You must be careful about being seen. Sit there." She pointed to the armchair which still faced the gas log between the windows at the end of the room farthest from the hall. "I'll see who it is."

It proved to be no one more dangerous than Simpson, who with an assistant was prepared to set up a table in the sitting room and serve the grapefruit.

And even while Mollie June was bidding him come in, Aunt Mary entered from the bedroom. With her was Miss Alicia Wayward, apparently much excited, with her hands full of newspapers.

Merriam stood up, and Alicia, catching sight of him, dropped on the floor the paper she held in her right hand and advanced with an air of eagerness.

"Oh, Mr.----," she began. Then, as Merriam took her hand, she stopped short in her sentence, laughed, and said, "Who are you this morning?"

Merriam, whom Alicia always stimulated to play up, bowed over her hand as elegantly as he could and replied:

"Senator Norman, I believe--at your service. Good morning, Miss Norman," he added, politely, to the older woman.

Aunt Mary merely nodded, rather grimly, and turned away as if to inspect Simpson's preparation of the breakfast table. Merriam wondered how much of Simpson's confession Rockwell had found time to report to her.

But Alicia gave him little time for speculation.

"Well, Senator," she rejoined, withdrawing her hand (you were always conscious when Alicia gave her hand and when she withdrew it), "you and the Mayor have made quite a noise in the world this morning. See!"

She displayed the newspaper which she still held in her left hand. It was one of the leading Chicago dailies, which invariably prints one bold black headline across the top of the entire front page. The topic may be a world war or a dog fight, but the headline is always there in the same size and startling blackness of type. This morning it read:

*Mayor Black Signs Ordinance*

And one of the columns below carried the further head:

_The Mayor and Senator Norman Reported to Have Broken With Traction Interests_

"Oh!" exclaimed Mollie June, who had approached and read these captions. She looked at Merriam with wide-open eyes. I surmise that the newspaper headlines gave her, as indeed they gave to Merriam himself, the first actual realisation of the public interest attaching to what they had really felt to be a little private drama of their own.

Aunt Mary had joined them.

"Mr. Black has definitely signed it, you see," she said, with a touch of triumph in her tone.

It appeared that the Mayor had not gone to the Council meeting at all, and the paper did not fail to point out that the Ordinance had become law without his signature, under the provisions of the City Charter, at nine o'clock; but late in the evening, shortly before the Council adjourned, the document had arrived by a messenger, with the Mayor's signature attached.

Reporters had immediately set out in relentless pursuit and had routed the Mayor out of bed at his house between twelve and one o'clock and obtained a brief interview; the substance of which was that the public interest of the city demanded the improved conditions which the new law would insure, and that he was proud to complete with his approval the public-spirited action of the Councilmen in passing it.

The rest was mere rumour and speculation, interlarded with many prudent "it is said's," but it seemed that some if not all of it must have been inspired by the Mayor. "It was said" that an important representative of the Traction interests had seen Senator Norman in his rooms at the Hotel De Soto early in the evening and pleaded with him the cause of the interested bondholders and stockholders, whose investments would be imperilled by the changes involved, but that he had stood firm on the ground of the public welfare. "It was said," too, that later Mayor Black had had a long conference with the Senator--well, it _had_ been rather long,--and that they had agreed that the interests of the plain people of Chicago must at all costs decide the issue. "It was said," finally, that both Senator Norman and Mayor Black would probably join forces with the Reform League, whose program they had finally so powerfully supported, in demanding and obtaining other needed improvements in municipal conditions.

From all of which it seemed to be clear that the Mayor, having taken an hour or so to think over the situation in which he found himself, had become convinced of the soundness of Aunt Mary's logic and had decided, without waiting for any further communication from the Norman camp, to claim the credit for the Ordinance and appeal for popular support thereon, taking care, however, to involve Senator Norman's name so that the real Norman should be compelled to join forces with him in his new departure.

By the time the column of news and comment and a brief and cautious editorial on the occurrence had been read out by Alicia and one or two other papers glanced at, Simpson had set up and laid his table and had his first course served. He respectfully approached and inquired if they were ready for breakfast.

"Certainly!" said Aunt Mary.

Merriam looked at his watch. It was half past eight.

"I ought to send my telegram to Riceville first," he said, "to let them know I shall be there on the noon train."

"After the grapefruit," said Aunt Mary, with a decided note in her voice which led Merriam to look at her inquiringly.

But he desired to exhibit the coolness of a man of the world, to whom telegrams were customary incidents of daily living and who habitually ran close to the wind in the matter of trains. So he acquiesced with a bookish "As you please," and moved with the others to the table.

Simpson had decorated the center of the board with one of the hotel's slim glass vases holding a couple of pink carnations. Mollie June regarded this ornament with disfavour.

"Let's have the roses instead, Mr. John," she said.

And Merriam, to the scandal of Simpson, himself removed the carnations and set the bowl of roses in their place.

They said little over the grapefruit. Alicia added a few humorous comments on points in the newspaper article, but Aunt Mary was divided between an anxious absent-mindedness and a curious questioning scrutiny of Merriam, and Merriam was distracted between a suppressed worry over his telegram and approaching train time and the delight of stolen glances at--Mrs. Senator Norman. As for Mrs. Senator Norman, she devoted herself chiefly to the fruit. Once or twice, in looking up, she almost unavoidably intercepted one of Merriam's guilty glances. When this happened, she met his eyes frankly but with a gravity that was pathetically, forgivingly rebuking.

Presently Simpson was removing the fruit rinds and placing finger bowls. Merriam looked quickly at his watch again and spoke to the waiter:

"Bring me a telegraph form, please."

Aunt Mary's absent-mindedness instantly vanished.

"What message are you going to send?" she asked in a restrained voice.

"Missed night train. Will arrive at noon."

"No!" said Aunt Mary. "Mr. Merriam," she pursued quickly, "until George is brought back here you must stay. After all this in the papers this morning there will be scores of people to see him to-day. He is known to be a late riser and never sees any one before ten or they would have been here before this. In a very few minutes they will begin to come. We will put off most of them, of course. But there are likely to be some whom we can't put off. We can't tell where George is, and we can't say we don't know where he is, and there will be one or two to whom we can't say we won't tell where he is. We must have you in reserve. You shall go to bed in George's room, ill with--with--lumbago. Dr. Hobart will attend you. When absolutely necessary we can show a man into the room, and you can say a few words. I will tell you what to say in each case. You can have your head half way under the covers, and can make your voice weak and husky. You will be safe enough from detection. Then by this evening at the latest we shall bring George back, and you can go down to Riceville on the night train. You will only have missed one day, and you will have saved us from a most serious dilemma."

There was an appeal in the elderly woman's voice to which Merriam was not insensible, though the pull of habitual regularity at his school was strong in him.

It is to be feared that Alicia spoiled Aunt Mary's effect. Across the table from Merriam, she was partly hidden from him by the flowers. But she leaned forward, bringing her face almost beside the roses, and spoke in her most honeyed tones:

"Oh, do, Mr. Merriam! How can you resist it?" she added. "If I were a man and had the chance to be Mollie June's husband even for a day----"

She stopped with her archest smile.

Mollie June, with possibly the slightest augmentation of colour, brought forward a practical argument.

"Since you will miss the morning anyway, it won't much matter if you miss the whole day. You haven't but one class in the afternoon, have you?"

"Only senior algebra," said Merriam.

"Miss Eldon can take that."

"I suppose she could," said Merriam, who was realising that on this particular day advanced algebra would be to him the most distasteful of all branches of human learning.

"Then you'll stay and help us--Mr. John!"

The reader will perceive that this simple appeal was really much superior to any which the too sophisticated and calculating Alicia could contrive. A touch of wistfulness came into Mollie June's face with the word "help." His high promise of the night before was irresistibly recalled. And "Mr. John" reminded him of the delightfulness of fresh water for roses and of the unconscious confession which her compromise name for him had implied. Alicia discreetly retired behind the roses, and Aunt Mary waited with lips somewhat grimly pursed.

Then, while Merriam hesitated, with his eyes on Mollie June's face--we must suppose that he was weighing her very practical argument,--the telephone rang.

Simpson, with telegraph blanks in his hand, answered it, and reported that Mr. Rockwell wished to speak to Senator Norman.

"This is--Norman," said Merriam cautiously into the telephone.

"Ah!" said Rockwell's voice. "Well, you'll be pleased to learn that you are quieter. You aren't seeing things any more." (I'm not sure of that, thought Merriam.) "But you, he has a severe cold--fever and a cough--touch of bronchitis, probably. Hobart says he can't possibly be moved till to-night. Anyway, I don't see how we could get him into the hotel till then. You must stay, Merriam."

"All right," said Merriam, surprising his interlocutor by his ready acquiescence, "I'll stay."

"Good! I'll be down at the hotel in half an hour." Rockwell rang off.

Merriam turned to face the three women.

When Aunt Mary heard the news about George, she held out her hand to Simpson for the telegraph forms and wrote.

In a moment she read:

"'Ill with a touch of bronchitis. Hope to be back to-morrow. John Merriam.' Will that do?"

"I suppose so," he assented.

His words were almost drowned by a loud knock at the door.

"Our day has begun," said Aunt Mary, rising with admirable composure. She handed the telegram to Simpson. "Send it at once. Into the bedroom, Mr. Merriam. Get into bed as soon as you can. You have bronchitis, you know,--not lumbago."

But before Merriam could obey the door was suddenly opened.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*A CHANGE OF MANAGEMENT*

The man who thus burst into Senator Norman's sitting room at nine o'clock in the morning without waiting for an invitation was an unpleasant but important personage--none other than J. J. Thompson (one never thought of calling him "Mr."), Norman's private political manager in all matters that involved handling the people's vote.

He was a short, stoutish, belligerent type, about forty-five, with thin, untidy hair, a thin, untidy moustache, and, somewhere between the moustache and the hair, a pair of small blue eyes, which seemed incapable of any other expressions than aggressiveness and anger. Senator Norman--the real Norman--had long found him nearly as disagreeable as the reader will find him, but so useful in many political contingencies that he had never been able to bring himself to dispense with him.

Having popped explosively into the room, Thompson stopped short at sight of the three women. For the first instant or two he did not notice Merriam, who had quietly slipped into the great armchair that faced the gas log, with his back almost squarely to the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Thompson," said Aunt Mary. "We were just having breakfast."

Alicia and Mollie June still sat at the table, and Simpson stood a little at one side. Thompson knew who the two girls were, and they knew who he was, but he had never been presented in Norman's family except to Miss Norman--a fact which he resented keenly,--so they did not speak. Alicia sat back in her chair and stared insolently, while Mollie June leaned forward and rearranged a rose in the bowl.

"I'm sorry to break in this way," Thompson said--even he was slightly abashed,--"but I've got to speak to the Senator."

"Come back a little later, Mr. Thompson," ventured Merriam in a hoarse whisper.

The "Mr." was a false note, and its effect was to anger Thompson.

"No!" he cried, the pugnacious gleam that was never far below the surface of his little eyes appearing in them. "I've got to speak to you now! I've got a right to!"

He advanced. He would have passed the table so as to approach Merriam. But there was only a narrow space on either side of it, and in one of those avenues stood Simpson behind Alicia, while Aunt Mary had quietly moved into the other, standing with her hand on the back of the chair in which Merriam had been sitting. So Thompson found himself barricaded, as it were, and stopped short and shouted across the table and over the head of Mollie June.

"What in--what's the meaning of all this--this stuff in the papers?"

Thompson's difficulty in expressing himself under the handicap of the interdiction against profanity imposed by the presence of the women was a trifle ludicrous. But his tone and manner were almost as bad as an oath would have been.

Alicia's eyebrows rose. She rose herself.

"Perhaps we had better withdraw," she said.

If Merriam, who had never seen her in any other than a gracious and seductive mood, could have turned his head to look, he would have marvelled at her freezing disdain. Mollie June imitated her in rising and in a more youthful hauteur. Without waiting for any reply Alicia turned and walked into the bedroom, and Mollie June followed.

But feminine disdain, however magnificent, had little effect on Thompson. He was obviously relieved. He looked at Aunt Mary, plainly desiring that she should go too.

"No, I think I'll remain, Mr. Thompson," she said pleasantly.

Then he looked at Simpson, and the latter cast an inquiring glance at Aunt Mary.

"You may stay, please, Simpson," said she. "We shall be finishing our breakfast presently."

Before Thompson could digest this snub Alicia reentered from the bedroom. She carried a white knitted wool scarf, with which she went to Merriam.

"Don't you feel chilly, George?" she asked. "You can't be too careful with that throat."

She knelt down by his chair, put the scarf over his head, brought it down past his cheeks, tied it loosely under his chin, and threw the ends back over his shoulders.

"Now, lean back. Isn't that better? Mr. Norman has a severe cold," she said in the general direction of Thompson. "The doctor is afraid of bronchitis," she added, as she rose and drew the shades. "That light is getting too bright for your eyes."

She flashed a glance at Aunt Mary and returned to the bedroom.

Merriam had been feeling that it was only a matter of minutes before Thompson--whoever Thompson might be--would somehow force his way to his side and look down into his face and, probably, perceive the imposture as Mayor Black had done. But now, with the welcome aid of the scarf, he had the bravado to turn partly in his chair and say throatily:

"What do you want?"