“It’s worse,” affirmed Miss Wynn,
quietly positive.
“And you are still friendly with him?”
“What would you have? I use the world;
I did not make it; I did not choose it. He is
the world. Through him I earn my bread and butter.
I have shown him his place. Shall I try in addition
to reform? Shall I make him an enemy? I
have neither time nor inclination. Shall I resign
and beg, or go tilting at windmills? If he were
the only one it would be different; but they’re
all alike.” Her face grew hard. “Have
I shocked you?” she said as they went toward
the door.
“No,” he answered slowly. “But
I still—believe in the world.”
“You are young yet, my friend,” she lightly
replied. “And besides, that good Miss Smith
has gone and grafted a New England conscience on a
tropical heart, and—dear me!—but
it’s a gorgeous misfit. Good-bye—come
again.” She bowed him graciously out, and
paused to take the mail from the box. There was,
among many others, a letter from Senator Smith.
Twenty-five
Mr. Easterly sat in Mrs. Vanderpool’s apartments
in the New Willard, Washington, drinking tea.
His hostess was saying rather carelessly:
“Do you know, Mr. Vanderpool has developed a
quite unaccountable liking for the idea of being Ambassador
to France?”
“Dear me!” mildly exclaimed Mr. Easterly,
helping himself liberally to cakes. “I
do hope the thing can be managed, but—”
“What are the difficulties?” Mrs. Vanderpool
interrupted.
“Well, first and foremost, the difficulty of
electing our man.”
“I thought that a foregone conclusion.”
“It was. But do you know that we’re
encountering opposition from the most unexpected source?”
The lady was receptive, and the speaker concluded:
“The Negroes.”
“The Negroes!”
“Yes. There are five hundred thousand or
more black voters in pivotal Northern States, you
know, and they’re in revolt. In a close
election the Negroes of New York, Ohio, Indiana, and
Illinois choose the President.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, business interests have driven our party
to make friends with the South. The South has
disfranchised Negroes and lynched a few. The
darkies say we’ve deserted them.”
Mrs. Vanderpool laughed.
“What extraordinary penetration,” she
cried.
“At any rate,” said Mr. Easterly, drily,
“Mr. Vanderpool’s first step toward Paris
lies in getting the Northern Negroes to vote the Republican
ticket. After that the way is clear.”
Mrs. Vanderpool mused.
“I don’t suppose you know any one who
is acquainted with any number of these Northern darkies?”
continued Mr. Easterly.
“Not on my calling-list,” said Mrs. Vanderpool,
and then she added more thoughtfully:
“There’s a young clerk in the Treasury
Department named Alwyn who has brains. He’s
just from the South, and I happened to read of him
this morning—see here.”
