“Have a good time?”
“Fair.”
Sammy whirled her home in a new Lincoln that was a dream, and a black chauffeur in brown livery who knew his spaces to the tenth of an inch and glided up Michigan Avenue like smooth and unreverberating lightning.
“New car?” asked Sara.
“Yep! Celebrating.”
“Celebrating—what?”
“Saw the old man last Wednesday down at Springfield.” And then Sammy adroitly switched into a long and most interesting account of the latest and biggest Jewish tabernacle which her pastor had bought with liberal political donations.
Sara said nothing further about the car and that Springfield interview. Sammy knew she was curious, but just how deeply and personally curious she was, he was not certain. So he waited. In Sara’s apartment he wandered about, a bit distrait, while she took her usual good time to dress. The apartment was immaculate and in perfect order. Sammy saw no trace of that scene five months ago. And as for Sara, when she emerged, her simple, close-fitting tailor-made costume was all Sammy could ask or imagine.
“I say, kid, don’t you think we might talk this thing out and come to some understanding?”
Sara opened her eyes. “Talk what out?”
“Well, about you and me. You see, you had me going, and I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand by and lose everything. So I got busy. I hated to do it, but I had to.”
“You didn’t do it—God did.”
“God nothing! I remembered the woman on that train wreck and I found her.”
“It is a lie. She found you,” said Sara.
“Well, it was a little like that, but the minute I laid eyes on her I knew she was the woman I had heard about. And I told her all about Matthew; how queer he was, and how he was hesitating, and how no man like him could ever make a politician. Then she laid low, but she came that night. I didn’t think she would.”
“You’re a pretty friend.”
“Say, kid, don’t be hard. It was a bit tough, I own, for you. But I had you in the plan. Now listen to reason. Matthew was no good. He was going flabby. He’s no real politician. He didn’t know the game, and he had fool Reform deep in his system. He was just waking up, and he’d ’a’ raised Hell in Congress. We never could have controlled him. Now when I get in Congress—”
“Congress!” sneered Sara. “Do you think any nigger has a chance now?”
But Sammy talked on.
“—and when you are my wife—”
“Wife!”
“Sure, I’ve never been a marrying man, as I have often explained—”
“Not retail,” said Sara.
“And wholesale don’t count in law; but I need you, I see that now, and I’m damned if I am going to lose you to another half-baked guy.”
“I am not divorced yet, and I am not sure—”
“You mean you ain’t sure you ain’t half in love with him still?”
“I hate the fool. I’d like to horsewhip her in City Hall.”
“Too late, kid, she’s left him.”
“Left him?”
“Sure—gone bag and baggage, and what do you know! He’s digging in the subway—a common laborer. Oh, he’s up against it, I’ll tell the world. Reckon he wouldn’t mind visiting the old roost just now.” And Sammy glanced about with approval.
Sara looked him over. Sammy was no Adonis. He was approaching middle age and was showing signs of wear and tear. But Sara was lonesome, and between her and Sammy there was a common philosophy, a common humor, and a common understanding. Neither quite trusted the other, and yet they needed each other. Sara had missed Sammy more than she dared acknowledge, while without Sara, Sammy felt one-armed.
Sammy continued:
“No, kid. Your lay is still the quiet, injured wife, shut up at home and in tears, until after the next election. See? A knockout! Matthew is politically dead this minute. Right here I come in. The bosses know that they got to take a dose of black man for Congress sooner or later. They came near getting a crank. But even your fine Italian hand couldn’t make him stay put. He never would have been elected.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“You got it right there, kid, you don’t know, and you know you don’t. And now here I am. The bosses will have to take me sooner or later. All I need is you.”
“But I hear that the governor and Thompson are at outs.”
“Sure.”
“And you’re hitched up with the governor.”
“Sure again. I’m opposing Thompson. But after he’s elected by a smashing majority, the governor and the Washington crowd will need him, he’ll need the governor, and they’ll both need me!”
“H’m—I see. Well, you’ll have to do some tightrope walking, my friend.”
“Precisely, and that’s where you come in.”
“Indeed! Now listen to me. Don’t think, Sammy, you’re going to get both money and office out of these white politicians at the same time. When they pay big they take the big jobs. If you want to go to Congress you’ll pay. The only exception to that rule was the game I played and won and then that fool threw away.”
Sammy smiled complacently. “Did you see my new Lincoln?”
“Yes, and wondered.”
“Four thousand bucks, and the shuffer’s gettin’ thirty-five per. And say! Remember that big white stone house at Fiftieth and Drexel Boulevard?”
“You mean at Drexel Square, with the big oaks and a fountain?”
“Yep!”
“Yes, I remember it—circular steps, great door with beveled glass, and marble lobby!”
“No different! Driveway and garage; sun parlor, twenty rooms, yard, and big iron fence. Well, that’s where we’re gonna live. I’ve bought it.”
“Sammy! Why, you must be suddenly rich or crazy!”
“Kid, I’ve made a killing! While you were leading me a dance for Congress, I got hold of all the dough I could grab and salted it away. Oh, I spent a lot on the boys, but I had a lot to spend. Graham and the Public Service was wild to return Doolittle. I spent a pile, but I didn’t spend all by a long shot. I put a hunk into two or three good
