The Mystery of the Sycamore. Wells Carolyn

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Anybody whom I respect and believe in.”

      “Appleby, for instance?”

      “Oh, yes, indeed! I’d trust Mr. Appleby’s opinions on any subject. Let’s go over there and tell him so.”

      Samuel Appleby was sitting at the other end, the north end of the long room. “No,” said Wheeler, “I’m too comfortable here to move – ask him to come here.”

      Genevieve looked at him a little astonished. It was out of order, she thought, for a host to speak thus. She pressed the point, saying there was a picture at the other end of the room she wished to examine.

      “Run along, then,” said Wheeler, coolly. “Here, Maida, show Miss Lane that etching and tell her the interesting details about it.”

      The girls went away, and soon after Keefe drifted round to Wheeler’s side.

      “You know young Sam Appleby?” he asked, casually.

      “No,” Wheeler said, shortly but not sharply. “I daresay he’s a most estimable chap.”

      “He’s all of that. He’s a true chip of the old block. Both good gubernatorial timber, as I’m sure you agree.”

      “What makes you so sure, Mr. Keefe?”

      Curt Keefe looked straight at him. “Well,” he laughed, “I’m quite ready to admit that the wish was father to the thought.”

      “Why do you call that an admission?”

      “Oh,” Keefe readily returned, “it is usually looked upon as a confession that one has no reason for a thought other than a wish.”

      “And why is it your wish?”

      “Because it is the wish of my employer,” said Keefe, seriously. “I know of no reason, Mr. Wheeler, why I shouldn’t say that I hope and trust you will use your influence to further the cause of young Appleby.”

      “What makes you think I can do so?”

      “While I am not entirely in Mr. Appleby’s confidence, he has told me that the campaign would be greatly aided by your willingness to help, and so I can’t help hoping you will exercise it.”

      “Appleby has told you so much, has he? No more?”

      “No more, I think, regarding yourself, sir. I know, naturally, the details of the campaign so far as it is yet mapped out.”

      “And you know why I do not want to lend my aid?”

      “I know you are not in accordance with the principles of the Appleby politics – ”

      “That I am not! Nor shall I ever be. Nor shall I ever pretend to be – ”

      “Pretend? Of course not. But could you not be persuaded?”

      “By what means?”

      “I don’t know, Mr. Wheeler,” and Keefe looked at him frankly. “I truly don’t know by what means. But I do know that Mr. Appleby is here to present to you an argument by which he hopes to persuade you to help young Sam along – and I earnestly desire to add any word of mine that may help influence your decision. That is why I want to tell you of the good traits of Sam Appleby, junior. It may be I can give you a clearer light on his character than his father could do – that is, I might present it as the opinion of a friend – ”

      “And not exaggerate his virtues as a father might do? I see. Well, Mr. Keefe, I appreciate your attitude, but let me tell you this: whatever I do or don’t do regarding this coming campaign of young Appleby will be entirely irrespective of the character or personality of that young man. It will all depend on the senior Appleby’s arrangements with me, and my ability to change his views on some of the more important planks in his platform. If he directed you to speak to me as you have done, you may return that to him as my answer.”

      “You, doubtless, said the same to him, sir?”

      “Of course I did. I make no secret of my position in this matter. Samuel Appleby has a hold over me – I admit that – but it is not strong enough to make me forget my ideas of right and wrong to the public. No influence of a personal nature should weigh against any man’s duty to the state, and I will never agree to pretend to any dissimulation in order to bring about a happier life for myself.”

      “But need you subscribe to the objectionable points to use your influence for young Sam?”

      “Tacitly, of course. And I do not choose even to appear to agree to principles abhorrent to my sense of justice and honesty, thereby secretly gaining something for myself.”

      “Meaning your full pardon?”

      Wheeler turned a look of surprise on the speaker.

      “I thought you said you hadn’t Appleby’s full confidence,” he said.

      “Nor have I. I do know – as do many men – that you were pardoned with a condition, but the condition I do not know. It can’t be very galling.” And Keefe looked about on the pleasant surroundings.

      “You think not? That’s because you don’t know the terms. And yet, galling though they are, hateful though it makes my life, and the lives of my wife and daughter, we would all rather bear it than to deviate one iota from the path of strict right.”

      “I must admire you for that, as must any honorable man. But are there not degrees or shadings of right and wrong – ”

      “Mr. Keefe, as an old man, I take the privilege of advising you for your own good. All through your life I beg you remember this: Anyone who admits degrees or shadings of right or wrong – is already wrong. Don’t be offended; you didn’t claim those things, you merely asked the question. But, remember what I said about it.”

      CHAPTER III

      ONE LAST ARGUMENT

      Adjoining the bedroom of Samuel Appleby at Sycamore Ridge was a small sitting-room, also at his disposal. Here, later that same evening he sat in confab with his two assistants.

      “We leave to-morrow afternoon,” he said to Keefe and Miss Lane. “But before that, we’ve much to do. So far, we’ve accomplished nothing. I am a little discouraged but not disheartened. I still have a trump card to play, but I don’t want to use it unless absolutely necessary.”

      “If you were inclined to take us further into your confidence, Mr. Appleby,” Keefe began, and the older man interrupted:

      “That’s just what I propose to do. The time has come for it. Perhaps if you both know the situation you may work more intelligently.”

      “Sure we could!” exclaimed Genevieve. She was leaning forward in her chair, clasping her knees, her pretty evening frock disclosing her babyishly soft neck and arms; but without a trace of self-consciousness, she thought only of the subject they were discussing.

      “There’s something queer,” she went on. “I can’t see through it. Why does Mr. Wheeler act so polite most of the time, and then do some outrageous thing, like – ”

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