“Politics? You seem to take your politics
very hard.”
“I do,” he said urbanely. “Particularly
when I am fighting my wife’s family. May
I pour you some coffee?”
And pour it he did, eyeing her furtively the while,
and brought it to her.
“May I give you a word of advice, Lily?”
he said. “Don’t treat your husband
to tears at breakfast—unless you want to
see him romping off to some other woman.”
“If he cared to do that I shouldn’t want
him anyhow.”
“You’re a self-sufficient child, aren’t
you? Well, the best of us do it, sometimes.”
He had successfully changed the trend of her thoughts,
and he went out, carrying the newspaper with him.
Nevertheless, he began to feel that her presence in
the house was a menace. With all her theories
he knew that a word of the truth would send her flying,
breathless with outrage, out of his door. He
could quite plainly visualize that home-coming of hers.
The instant steps that would be taken against him,
old Anthony on the wire appealing to the governor,
Howard closeted with the Chief of Police, an instant
closing of the net. And he was not ready for
the clash.
No. She must stay. If only Elinor would
play the game, instead of puling and mouthing!
In the room across the hall where his desk stood
he paced the floor, first angrily, then thoughtfully,
his head bent. He saw, and not far away now,
himself seated in the city hall, holding the city
in the hollow of his hand. From that his dreams
ranged far. He saw himself the head, not of the
nation —there would be no nation, as such—but
of the country. The very incidents of the night
before, blundering as they were, showed him the ease
with which the new force could be applied.
He was drunk with power.
Lily had an unexpected visitor that afternoon, in
the person of Pink Denslow. She had assumed
some of Elinor’s cares for the day, for Elinor
herself had not been visible since breakfast.
It soothed the girl to attend to small duties, and
she was washing and wiping Elinor’s small stock
of fine china when the bell rang.
“Mr. Denslow is calling,” said Jennie.
“I didn’t know if you’d see him,
so I said I didn’t know if you were in.”
Lily’s surprise at Pink’s visit was increased
when she saw him. He was covered with plaster
dust, even to the brim of his hat, and his hands were
scratched and rough.
“Pink!” she said. “Why, what
is the matter?”
For the first time he was conscious of his appearance,
and for the first time in his life perhaps, entirely
indifferent to it.
“I’ve been digging in the ruins,”
he said. “Is that man Doyle in the house?”
Her color faded. Suddenly she noticed a certain
wildness about Pink’s eyes, and the hard strained
look of his mouth.
“What ruins, Pink?” she managed to ask.
