“Now, on the other hand, we are offending the Southerners in three ways: Todd’s revived Blair Bill is too good a thing for niggers; the South is clamoring for a first classy embassy appointment; and the President’s nomination of Alwyn as Treasurer will raise a howl from Virginia to Texas.”
“There is some strong influence back of Alwyn,” said Senator Smith; “not only are the Negroes enthused, but the President has daily letters from prominent whites.”
“The strong influence is named Vanderpool,” Easterly drily remarked. “She’s playing a bigger political game than I laid out for her. That’s the devil with women: they can’t concentrate: they get too damned many side issues. Now, I offered her husband the French ambassadorship provided she’d keep the Southerners feeling good toward us. She’s hand in glove with the Southerners, all right; but she wants not only her husband’s appointment but this darkey’s too.”
“But that’s been decided, hasn’t it?” put in Smith.
“Yes,” grumbled Easterly; “but it makes it hard already. At any rate, the Educational Bill must be killed right off. No more talk; no more consideration—kill it, and kill it now. Now about this Child Labor Bill: Todd’s Civic Club is raising the mischief. Who’s responsible?”
The silent Jackson spoke up. “Congressman Cresswell’s wife has been very active, and Todd thinks they’ve got the South with them.”
“Congressman Cresswell’s wife!” Easterly’s face was one great exclamation point. “Now what the devil does this mean?”
“I’m afraid,” said Senator Smith, “that it may mean an attempt on the part of Cresswell’s friends to boost him for the French ambassadorship. He’s the only Southerner with money enough to support the position, and there’s been a good deal of quiet talk, I understand, in Southern circles.”
“But it’s treason!” Easterly shouted. “It will ruin the plans of the Combine to put this amended Child Labor Bill through. John Taylor has just written me that he’s starting mills at Toomsville, and that he depends on unrestricted labor conditions, as we must throughout the South. Doesn’t Cresswell know this?”
“Of course. I think it’s just a bluff. If he gets the appointment he’ll let the bill drop.”
“I see—everybody is raising his price, is he? Pretty soon the darky will be holding us up. Well, see Cresswell, and put it to him strong. I must go. Wire me.”
Senator Smith presented the matter bluntly to Cresswell as soon as he saw him. “Which would the South prefer—Todd’s Education Bill, or Alwyn’s appointment?”
It was characteristic of Cresswell that the smaller matter of Stillings’ intrigue should interest him more than Todd’s measure, of which he knew nothing.
“What is Todd’s bill?” asked Harry Cresswell, darkening.
Smith, surprised, got out a copy and explained. Cresswell interrupted before he was half through.
“Don’t you see,” he said angrily, “that that will ruin our plans for the Cotton Combine?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Smith; “but it will not do the immediate harm that the amended Child Labor Bill will do.”
“What’s that?” demanded Cresswell, frowning again.
Senator Smith regarded him again: was Cresswell playing a shrewd game?
“Why,” he said at length, “aren’t you promoting it?”
“No,” was the reply. “Never heard of it.”
“But,” Senator Smith began, and paused. He turned and took up a circular issued by the Civic Club, giving a careful account of their endeavors to amend and pass the Child Labor Bill. Cresswell read it, then threw it aside.
“Nonsense!” he indignantly repudiated the measure. “That will never do; it’s as bad as the Education Bill.”
“But your wife is encouraging it and we thought you were back of it.”
Cresswell stared in blank amazement.
“My wife!” he gasped. Then he bethought himself. “It’s a mistake,” he supplemented; “Mrs. Cresswell gave them no authority to sign her name.”
“She’s been very active,” Smith persisted, “and naturally we were all anxious.”
Cresswell bit his lip. “I shall speak to her; she does not realize what use they are making of her passing interest.”
He hurried away, and Senator Smith felt a bit sorry for Mrs. Cresswell when he recalled the expression on her husband’s face.
Mary Cresswell did not get home until nearly dinner time; then she came in glowing with enthusiasm. Her work had received special commendation that afternoon, and she had been asked to take the chairmanship of the committee on publicity. Finding that her husband was at home, she determined to tell him—it was so good to be doing something worth while. Perhaps, too, he might be made to show some interest. She thought of Mr. and Mrs. Todd and the old dream glowed faintly again.
Cresswell looked at her as she entered the library where he was waiting and smoking. She was rumpled and muddy, with flying hair and thick walking shoes and the air of bustle and vigor which had crept into her blood this last month. Truly, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes bright, but he disapproved. Softness and daintiness, silk and lace and glimmering flesh, belonged to women in his mind, and he despised Amazons and “business” women. He received her kiss coldly, and Mary’s heart sank. She essayed some gay greeting, but he interrupted her.
“What’s this stuff about the Civic Club?” he began sharply.
“Stuff?” she queried, blankly.
“That’s what I said.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered stiffly. “I belong to the Civic Club, and have been working with it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His resentment grew as he proceeded.
“I did not think you were interested.”
“Didn’t you know that this Child Labor business was opposed to my interests?”
“Dear, I did not dream it. It’s a Republican bill, to be sure; but you seemed very friendly with Senator Smith, who introduced it. We were simply trying to improve it.”
“Suppose we didn’t want it improved.”
“That’s what some said; but I did not believe such—deception.”
The blood rushed to Cresswell’s face.
“Well, you
