The Landloper - Holman Day (13 inch ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Dodd came forward in his chair, his hands clutching the carved mahogany of the desk in front of him.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Colonel," purred Mr. Converse, amiably. "I forget that you are not as familiar with Mr. Bristol's identity as I am. You have known him merely as a stranger who has called himself Walker Farr."
"Yes, and he has registered himself on the voting-lists as Walker Farr," blustered Colonel Dodd. "Mr. Converse, something will drop in your camp before long--and it won't be rose-leaves!"
Mr. Converse fixed a penetrating gaze on the angry man.
"Colonel," he said, with meaning, "you are probably well aware that in politics many things are done for a certain purpose--and many of those things are a bit off color so far as the strict law is concerned. If you particularly care about digging up the past of politics in this state I will come with my own little shovel and assist with great pleasure."
"You're making an ass of me with this peek-a-boo business."
"Mr. Bristol," continued the nominee, with composure, "after long study abroad and at home has devoted himself enthusiastically to study in sociology and economics, and has preferred to gain his knowledge about conditions by first-hand observation. He came into this state in pursuit of his object, and by force of circumstances was drawn into our state upheaval."
"Much more deeply than I intended to be drawn, Colonel Dodd," stated the young man, with dignity. "I think you will remember that I said as much to you in an interview we had. I called myself a Voice, if you will recollect, and humbly begged you to attend to certain reforms. Your refusal, and the manner with which you refused, rather forced me into your affairs."
"And I give you warning right here and now," blustered the colonel, "that I'm going to force myself into _your_ affairs. I'm going to have you investigated from puppyhood to the present, Mr. Whatever-your-name is."
"We may as well issue general warnings--all of us," said Mr. Converse. "I have prepared a statement for the newspapers regarding my friend, Mr. Bristol, and he will add a statement of his own relative to his project in regard to water districts. If you care to malign Mr. Bristol on the heels of that, Colonel, you may go ahead. But if you choose weapons of that sort in the conduct of this campaign we shall be forced to use a few cudgels of our own--for instance, we might be able to give the people considerable information as to how the state departments have been managed under your general direction. The funds of the state treasury--"
Converse was about to mention the matter of the usufruct of the state's money deposited in the colonel's banks for the benefit of the syndicate.
Colonel Dodd pulled himself out of his chair and exhibited instant and alarmed confusion. "We'd better make it a gentlemen's campaign," he broke in.
"Very well," agreed Mr. Converse, politely. "And now that we are proceeding toward such an amicable understanding, will you allow me to express the hope that the Consolidated will meet us half-way in regard to the legislation that is inevitable? I have no desire to use any of my powers as the governor of this state to embarrass your interests; let us trust that we can get to a prompt adjustment in the matter of the water-plants. As a lawyer of some experience, I have to inform you, Colonel Dodd, that the cities and towns of this state are going to own their own systems. The city of Marion proposes to fight the first test case through. You are a heavy taxpayer--I trust you will not help to run your city into debt which is needless."
"I will confer with you," admitted the colonel, his manner subdued.
"I will ask you to confer with Mr. Bristol, my partner. He will have full charge of the litigation. I am assured that the next city government meeting will attend to the matter of choosing him as counsel, with a suitable retaining fee," said Mr. Converse, with pride. "I will appreciate it personally and as chief executive if your interests will favor the matter. It will be better all around."
Colonel Dodd did not reply. But there was much significance in his bow as they retired.
"I trust I did not intimate that I was employing any sort of threats," said Mr. Converse, when he and Bristol were on their way down-stairs.
"I think he understood, sir."
"His suggestion that we have a gentlemen's campaign was very significant, coming from Colonel Symonds Dodd. The outlook is very hopeful," stated the nominee. "We'll see the state committee chairman to-morrow, Thornton. I feel quite sure that he will have our speechmaking routes laid out. Mr. Breed is very convincing--sometimes--when he discusses the political situation."
When they were at the foot of the steps of the Mellicite Club, the young man begged permission to go about some affairs of his own.
"But your own affairs must wait, my boy," insisted Converse. "The party claims you from now on."
"I will do my duty, sir," said Bristol, smiling; "but this evening I must have for myself."
"I have invited some gentlemen to dine with us. It's an important conference."
"The conference I hope to have, Mr. Converse, will be the most important one of my life."
The lawyer blinked, trying to understand.
"I will tell you to-morrow--I trust it will be the happiest news I ever told to any person--I will tell you first." He hesitated. "You have always given me good advice, sir. One night you told me that only a woman can listen with perfect sympathy and comfort a man's troubles surely."
Converse came close, put his hands on the young man's shoulders and studied him with intent regard. "My boy," he said, "go along--and God go with you!"
Bristol tore his hand from the lawyer's clasp and hurried away.
But at the Trelawny he did not find the Kilgours' name on the directory board. The elevator man, the janitor, the manager, told him the same story with the same indifference. The Kilgours had sold their possessions and had removed--they had left no address.
Bristol walked the streets and cursed the stilted folly that had made his farewell to her a parting in which he had pledged nothing, had promised nothing, had left no hopes for the future. He was not consoled by the thought that his farewell to her had been for her own sake, as he had viewed his situation. In the depths of his despair, when he had released her hand at the little gate, he had grimly sacrificed himself--had resolved to save her from himself by final and complete separation.
And thinking of that parting at the little gate, hardly realizing where his wanderings led him, he went down to the great mills which were dark and silent under the shadows of the evening.
Old Etienne had brought a lamp from Mother Maillet's kitchen and had set it on the stoop. He was whittling, and a little boy snuggled close, fixing intent regard on the work.
The evening was bland after a balmy day of Indian summer.
Bristol stopped at the fence and called greeting.
The old man peered anxiously, shielding his eyes from the light of the lamp.
"M'sieu'! M'sieu'!" He stammered, brokenly, gasping as he spoke the words. His wrinkled face worked as if he were trying to keep back the tears. His voice choked.
"You are surprised to see me back here, Etienne--is that it?"
"I am not surprised, m'sieu'. I knew you would come back. I am glad--that's why the tear come up in my eye. I cannot help that."
"You are working late, Uncle Etienne."
"_Oui_, the odders are gone home. But this leetle boy--I take care till his modder come from the shop. But you shall come in here, m'sieu'."
"I cannot stop, Etienne. I am--" He could not finish the sentence. He turned to go.
"I say you shall come in. You must come queeck!" The old man spoke in a shrill whisper. He put aside his knife and stick and hurried to the fence. He reached and caught Bristol's sleeve. "Ba gar!" he declared, with as much impatience as anybody had ever heard in the tone of Etienne Provancher, "even the poor habitant boy in the Tadousac country know better how to love the nice girl as what you do, M'sieu' Farr."
"My name is not Farr; it is--"
"I don't care what your name be," snapped the old man. "Tell me that some odder time. It's what _you_ be--that's what I care! And you don't be good to nice girl."
"I don't understand."
"You go back there and rap on Modder Maillet's front door and then you understand! I'm only poor mans, m'sieu', but I shall talk to you like I spoke to the mans in the _hotel de ville_--and I shall not be scare when I am right."
"Look here, Etienne! What do you mean?"
"_La belle_ ma'm'selle--ba gar! you have to be hit with brick bang--dat fine, pretty lady--she what tell me the good word to say to you about the bad folks--you must know she leeve now in the good woman's house."
Now it was Bristol's turn to grasp Etienne's arm. He shook the old man.
"Miss Kilgour--here? Speak up! Don't be so slow!"
"I have speak up. Odderwise you go off and be a big fool some more," retorted the rack-tender, boldly. "She's in there. She come here to live because somet'ing has made her very poor--and very sad. And her modder she cry all the time. And _la belle_ ma'm'selle she come to the big tree and she ask me many things--"
While the old man chattered Bristol was yanking impatiently at the catch of the gate. He could not find the latch in the dark and so he kicked off a few more pickets from Mother Maillet's much-abused fence. He crawled through and bumped against old Etienne, thrusting him from the path, checking the flow of information.
The young man leaped up the steps, to the plain dismay of the little boy, and beat upon the door.
"It is I, Kate!" he called. "I have come back."
When she opened the door--half timorous, half eager, wholly beside herself--he took her in his arms and kissed her, paying no heed to the goggling eyes of childhood or the averted gaze of old age.
"But you left no word for me. Did you believe me when I said I would not come back?"
"I knew you would come back," she sobbed. "So I came here. I knew you would find me here."
Etienne drew near apologetically and picked up the little boy.
"Oh, my own girl, I have so much to tell you!" the lover murmured. "I know you will listen."
"We have so much to tell each other," she said, her hands against his cheeks.
The old man puffed out the lamp and set it to one side and tiptoed away, the child in his arms.
"You ke'p your head under my coat--just so," he commanded the struggling and inquisitive youngster. "Your modder would not like to have you breath in so much night air. We go find her!"
He heard the murmur of eager voices behind him, and then the door of Mother Maillet's house was shut softly--and that left all the world outside.