The Cost [65]
Pauline. "He might blame you severely for failing to do that."
He paused in his pacing up and down the room. He flung his arms toward her, his eyes blazing.
"I WILL have it!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear me, I WILL! I'll bring men from down-town and have the safe blown open. The money is not yours--it is----"
She advanced to the bell.
"Another word, Mr. Culver, and I'll have the servants show you the door. Yours is a strange courage--to dare to speak thus to me when your head should be hanging in shame for trying to make such base use of me and my courtesy and friendliness."
His arms dropped, and he lowered his head.
"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I'm not myself. I think I'm going insane. PITY me!"
Pauline looked at him sadly. "I wish I had the right to. But--I SYMPATHIZE, and I'm sorry--so sorry--to have to do this." A pause, then--"Good afternoon, Mr. Culver." And she moved toward the door. At the threshold she turned. "I must say one thing further--THE CONVENTION MUST NOT BE PUT OFF. If it is adjourned to-morrow without making nominations, I shall understand that you are getting the money elsewhere. And--I shall be compelled to put such facts as I know in the possession of--of those you came to injure." And she was gone.
Culver went to Merriweather's office and sent out for him and Larkin. When they arrived he shut the doors and told them what had happened--and in his manner there was not left a trace of the New Yorker and ambassador condescending to westerners and underlings. Larkin cursed; Merriweather gave no outward sign. Presently Merriweather said: "Larkin, you must adjourn the convention over to-morrow. Culver can go to Chicago and get back with the money by to-morrow night."
"No use," groaned Culver. And he told them the last part of his talk with Mrs. Dumont.
"She thought of that!" said Merriweather, and he looked the impartial admiration of the connoisseur of cleverness.
"But she'd never carry out her threat--never in the world!" persisted Larkin.
"If you had seen her when she said it, and if you'd known her as long as I have, you wouldn't say that," replied Culver. "We must try to get the money here, right away--at the banks."
"All shut," said Merriweather "I wonder how much cash there is at the Woolens and the Oil and Steel offices? We must get together as much as we can--quietly." And he rapidly outlined a program that put all three at work within fifteen minutes. They met again at seven. Culver had twenty-six hundred dollars, Larkin thirty-one hundred, Merriweather, who had kept for himself the most difficult task, had only twelve hundred.
"Sixty-nine hundred," said Merriweather, eying the heap, of paper in packages and silver in bags.
"Better than nothing," suggested Culver, with a pitiful attempt to be hopeful.
Merriweather shrugged his shoulders. "Let's get some supper," he said to Culver. Then to Larkin: "Well, Joe, you'll have to try promises. Will you keep this cash or shall I?"
"You might as well keep it," replied Larkin, with a string of oaths. "It'd be ruination to pay one without paying all. Perhaps you can use some of it between ballots to-morrow." Then, sharply to Culver: "You've telegraphed Mr. Dumont?"
"Of course," said Culver. "And it took some time as I had to put the whole story into cipher."
As Culver and Merriweather were seated, with the dinner before them which Culver did not touch, and which Merriweather ate placidly, Culver asked him whether there was "any hope at all."
"There's always hope," replied Merriweather. "Promises, especially from Joe Larkin, will go a long way, though they don't rouse the white hot enthusiasm that cold cash in the pocket does. We'll pull through all right." He ate for a while in silence. Then: "This Mrs. Dumont must be an uncommon woman." A few more mouthfuls and with his small, icy, mirthless laugh, he added: "I've got one something like her at home. I keep her there."
Culver decided to spend the night at the hotel. He hung round the hotel
He paused in his pacing up and down the room. He flung his arms toward her, his eyes blazing.
"I WILL have it!" he exclaimed. "Do you hear me, I WILL! I'll bring men from down-town and have the safe blown open. The money is not yours--it is----"
She advanced to the bell.
"Another word, Mr. Culver, and I'll have the servants show you the door. Yours is a strange courage--to dare to speak thus to me when your head should be hanging in shame for trying to make such base use of me and my courtesy and friendliness."
His arms dropped, and he lowered his head.
"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I'm not myself. I think I'm going insane. PITY me!"
Pauline looked at him sadly. "I wish I had the right to. But--I SYMPATHIZE, and I'm sorry--so sorry--to have to do this." A pause, then--"Good afternoon, Mr. Culver." And she moved toward the door. At the threshold she turned. "I must say one thing further--THE CONVENTION MUST NOT BE PUT OFF. If it is adjourned to-morrow without making nominations, I shall understand that you are getting the money elsewhere. And--I shall be compelled to put such facts as I know in the possession of--of those you came to injure." And she was gone.
Culver went to Merriweather's office and sent out for him and Larkin. When they arrived he shut the doors and told them what had happened--and in his manner there was not left a trace of the New Yorker and ambassador condescending to westerners and underlings. Larkin cursed; Merriweather gave no outward sign. Presently Merriweather said: "Larkin, you must adjourn the convention over to-morrow. Culver can go to Chicago and get back with the money by to-morrow night."
"No use," groaned Culver. And he told them the last part of his talk with Mrs. Dumont.
"She thought of that!" said Merriweather, and he looked the impartial admiration of the connoisseur of cleverness.
"But she'd never carry out her threat--never in the world!" persisted Larkin.
"If you had seen her when she said it, and if you'd known her as long as I have, you wouldn't say that," replied Culver. "We must try to get the money here, right away--at the banks."
"All shut," said Merriweather "I wonder how much cash there is at the Woolens and the Oil and Steel offices? We must get together as much as we can--quietly." And he rapidly outlined a program that put all three at work within fifteen minutes. They met again at seven. Culver had twenty-six hundred dollars, Larkin thirty-one hundred, Merriweather, who had kept for himself the most difficult task, had only twelve hundred.
"Sixty-nine hundred," said Merriweather, eying the heap, of paper in packages and silver in bags.
"Better than nothing," suggested Culver, with a pitiful attempt to be hopeful.
Merriweather shrugged his shoulders. "Let's get some supper," he said to Culver. Then to Larkin: "Well, Joe, you'll have to try promises. Will you keep this cash or shall I?"
"You might as well keep it," replied Larkin, with a string of oaths. "It'd be ruination to pay one without paying all. Perhaps you can use some of it between ballots to-morrow." Then, sharply to Culver: "You've telegraphed Mr. Dumont?"
"Of course," said Culver. "And it took some time as I had to put the whole story into cipher."
As Culver and Merriweather were seated, with the dinner before them which Culver did not touch, and which Merriweather ate placidly, Culver asked him whether there was "any hope at all."
"There's always hope," replied Merriweather. "Promises, especially from Joe Larkin, will go a long way, though they don't rouse the white hot enthusiasm that cold cash in the pocket does. We'll pull through all right." He ate for a while in silence. Then: "This Mrs. Dumont must be an uncommon woman." A few more mouthfuls and with his small, icy, mirthless laugh, he added: "I've got one something like her at home. I keep her there."
Culver decided to spend the night at the hotel. He hung round the hotel