Now, Miss Lane, you keep out of this. I dont believe in mixing women and politics.
But Miss Wheelers a woman.
And I dont want her troubled with politics. Keefe here can persuade her to coax her father just through her affections I dont want her enlightened as to any of the political details. And I cant think your influence would work half as well as that of a man. Moreover, Keefe has discernment, and if it isnt a good plan, after all, hell know enough to discard it while youd blunder ahead blindly, and queer the whole game!
Oh, well, and bridling with offended pride, Genevieve sought refuge in her little mirror.
Now, dont get huffy, and Sam smiled at her; youll probably find that Miss Wheelers complexion is finer than yours, anyway, and then youll hate her and wont want to speak to her at all.
Miss Lane flashed an indignant glance and then proceeded to go on with her work.
Hasnt Wheeler tried for a pardon all this time? Keefe asked.
Indeed he has, Sam returned, many times. But you see, though successive governors were willing to grant it, father always managed to prevent it. Dad can pull lots of wires, as you know, and since he doesnt want Wheeler fully pardoned, why, he doesnt get fully pardoned.
And he lives under the stigma.
Lots of people dont know about the thing at all. He lives well he lives in Connecticut and oh, of course, there is a certain stigma.
And your father will bring about his full pardon if he promises
Let up, Keefe; Ive said I cant tell you that part youll get your instructions in good time. And, look here, I dont mean for you to make love to the girl. In fact, Im told she has a suitor. But youre just to give her a little song and dance about my suitability for the election, and then adroitly persuade her to use her powers of persuasion with her stubborn father. For he will be stubborn I know it! And theres the mother of the girl.. tackle Mrs. Wheeler. Make her see that my father was justified in the course he took and besides, he was more or less accountable to others and use as an argument that years have dulled the old feud and that bygones ought to be bygones and all that.
Try to make her see that a full pardon now will be as much, and in a way more, to Wheelers credit, than if it had been given him at first
I cant see that, and Keefe looked quizzical
Neither can I, Sam confessed, frankly, but you can make a woman swallow anything.
Depends on what sort of woman Mrs. Wheeler is, Keefe mused.
I know it. I havent seen her for years, and as I remember, shes pretty keen, but Im banking on you to put over some of your clever work. Not three men in Boston have your ingenuity, Keefe, when it comes to sizing up a situation and knowing just how to handle it. Now, dont tell father all Ive said, for he doesnt especially hold with such small measures. Hes all for the one big slam game, and he may be right. But Im right, too, and you just go ahead.
All right, Keefe agreed. I see what you mean, and Ill do all I can that doesnt in any way interfere with your fathers directions to me. Theres a possibility of turning the trick through the women folks, and if I can do it, you may count on me.
Good! And as for you, Miss Lane, you keep in the background, and make as little mischief as you can.
Im not a mischief-maker, said the girl, pouting playfully, for she was not at all afraid of Sam Appleby.
Your blue eyes and pink cheeks make mischief wherever you go, he returned; but dont try them on old Dan Wheeler. Hes a morose old chap
I should think he would be! defended Genevieve; living all these years under a ban which may, after all, be undeserved! Ive heard that he was entirely innocent of the forgery!
Have you, indeed? Applebys tone was unpleasantly sarcastic. Other people have also heard that from the Wheeler family! Those better informed believe the man guilty, and believe, too, that my father was too lenient when he granted even a conditional pardon.
But just think if he was innocent how awful his life has been all these years! You bet hell accept the full pardon and give all his effort and influence and any possible help in return.
Hear the child orate! exclaimed Sam, gazing at the enthusiastic little face, as Genevieve voiced her views.
I think hell be ready to make the bargain, too, declared Keefe. Your father has a strong argument. I fancy Wheelers jump at the chance.
Maybe maybe so. But you dont know how opposed he is to our principles. And hes a man of immovable convictions. In fact, he and dad are two mighty strong forces. One or the other must win out but Ive no idea which it will be.
How exciting! Genevieves eyes danced. Im so glad Im to go. Its a pretty place, you say?
Wonderful. A great sweep of rolling country, a big, long, rambling sort of house, and a splendid hospitality. Youll enjoy the experience, but remember, I told you to be good.
I will remember, and Genevieve pretended to took cherubic.
CHAPTER II
NORTH DOOR AND SOUTH DOOR
For Samuel Appleby to pay a visit to Daniel Wheeler was of itself an astounding occurrence. The two men had not seen each other since the day, fifteen years ago, when Governor Appleby had pardoned the convicted Wheeler, with a condition, which, though harsh, had been strictly adhered to.
They had never been friends at heart, for they were diametrically opposed in their political views, and were not of similar tastes or pursuits. But they had been thrown much together, and when the time came for Wheeler to be tried for forgery, Appleby lent no assistance to the case. However, through certain influences brought to bear, in connection with the fact that Mrs. Wheeler was related to the Applebys, the governor pardoned the condemned man, with a conditional pardon.
Separated ever since, a few letters had passed between the two men, but they resulted in no change of conditions.
As the big car ran southward through the Berkshire Hills, Applebys thoughts were all on the coming meeting, and the scenery of autumn foliage that provoked wild exclamations of delight from Genevieve and assenting enthusiasm from Keefe left the other unmoved.
An appreciative nod and grunt were all he vouchsafed to the girls gushing praises, and when at last they neared their destination he called her attention to a tall old sycamore tree standing alone on a ridge not far away.
Thats the tree that gives the Wheeler place its name, he informed. Sycamore Ridge is one of the most beautiful places in Connecticut.
Oh, are we in Connecticut? asked Miss Lane. I didnt know we had crossed the border. What a great old tree! Surely one of the historic trees of New England, isnt it?
Historic to the Wheelers, was the grim reply, and then Mr. Appleby again relapsed into silence and spoke no further word until they reached the Wheeler home.
A finely curved sweep of driveway brought them to the house, and the car stopped at the south entrance.
The door did not swing open in welcome, and Mr. Appleby ordered his chauffeur to ring the bell.
This brought a servant in response, and the visiting trio entered the house.
It was long and low, with many rooms on either side of the wide hall that went straight through from south to north. The first room to the right was a large living-room, and into this the guests were shown and were met by a grave-looking man, who neither smiled nor offered a hand as his calm gaze rested on Samuel Appleby.
Indeed, the two men stared at one another, in undisguised curiosity. Each seemed to search the others face for information as to his attitude and intent.
Well, Dan, Appleby said, after the silent scrutiny, youve changed some, but youre the same good-looking chap you always were.
Wheeler gave a start and pulled himself together.
Thank you. I suppose I should return the compliment.
But you cant conscientiously do it, eh? Appleby laughed. Never mind. Personal vanity is not my besetting sin. This is my secretary, Mr. Keefe, and my assistant, Miss Lane.
Ah, yes, yes. How are you? How do you do? My wife and daughter will look after the young lady. Maida!
As if awaiting the call, a girl came quickly in from the hall followed by an older woman. Introductions followed, and if there was an air of constraint on the part of the host the ladies of the family showed none. Sunny-faced Maida Wheeler, with her laughing brown eyes and gold brown hair, greeted the visitors with charming cordiality, and her mother was equally kind and courteous.
Genevieve Lanes wise and appraising eyes missed no point of appearance or behavior.
Perfect darlings, both of them! she commented to herself. Whatever ails the old guy, it hasnt bitten them. Or else wait a minute Genevieve was very observant perhaps theyre putting on a little. Is their welcome a bit extra, to help things along?
Yet only a most meticulous critic could discern anything more than true hospitality in the attitude of Mrs. Wheeler or Maida. The latter took Genevieve to the room prepared for her and chatted away in girlish fashion.
The place is so wonderful! Genevieve exclaimed, carefully avoiding personal talk. Dont you just adore it?
Oh, yes. Ive loved Sycamore Ridge for nearly fifteen years.
Have you lived here so long? Genevieve was alert for information. It was fifteen years ago that the pardon had been granted.
But as Maida merely assented and then changed the subject, Miss Lane was far too canny to ask further questions.
With a promptness not entirely due to chance, the stenographer came downstairs dressed for dinner some several minutes before the appointed hour. Assuming her right as a guest, she wandered about the rooms.
The south door, by which they had entered, was evidently the main entrance, but the opposite, or north door, gave on to an even more beautiful view, and she stepped out on the wide veranda and gazed admiringly about. The low ridge nearby formed the western horizon, and the giant sycamore, its straight branches outlined against the fading sunset, was impressive and a little weird. She strolled on, and turned the corner the better to see the ridge. The veranda ran all round the house, and as she went on along the western side, she suddenly became aware of a silent figure leaning against a pillar at the southwest corner.
It is so quiet it frightens me, she said to Daniel Wheeler, as she neared him.
Do you feel that way, too? he asked, looking at her a little absently. It is the lull before the storm.
Oh, that sunset doesnt mean rain, Genevieve exclaimed, smiling, unless your Connecticut blue laws interpret weather signs differently from our Massachusetts prophets. We are in Connecticut, arent we?
Yes, and Wheeler sighed unaccountably. Yes, Miss Lane, we are. That sycamore is the finest tree in the state.
I can well believe it. I never saw such a grandfather of a tree! Its all full of little balls.
Yes, buttonballs, they are called. But note its wonderful symmetry, its majestic appearance
And strength! It looks as if it would stand, there forever!
Do you think so? and the unmistakable note of disappointment in the mans tone caused Genevieve to look up in astonishment. Well, perhaps it will, he added quickly.
Oh, no, of course it wont really! No tree stands forever. But it will be here long after you and I are gone.
Are you an authority on trees? Wheeler spoke without a smile.
Hardly that; but I was brought up in the country, and I know something of them. Your daughter loves the country, too.
Oh, yes we all do.
The tone was courteous, but the whole air of the man was so melancholy, his cheerfulness so palpably assumed, that Genevieve felt sorry for him, as well as inordinately curious to know what was the matter.
But her sympathy was the stronger impulse, and with a desire to entertain him, she said, Come for a few steps in the garden, Mr. Wheeler, wont you? Come and show me that quaint little summer-house near the front door. It is the front door, isnt it? Its hard to tell.
Yes, the north door is the front door, Wheeler said slowly, as if repeating a lesson. The summer-house you mention is near the front door. But we wont visit that now. Come this other way, and Ill show you a Japanese tea-house, much more attractive.
But Genevieve Lane was sometimes under the spell of the Imp of the Perverse.
No, no, she begged, smilingly, let the Japanese contraption wait; please go to the little summer-house now. See, how it fairly twinkles in the last gleams of the setting sun! What is the flower that rambles all over it? Oh, do lets go there now! Come, please!
With no reason for her foolish insistence save a whim, Genevieve was amazed to see the look of fury that came over her hosts face.
Appleby put you up to that! he cried, in a voice of intense anger. He told you to ask me to go to that place!
Why, Mr. Wheeler, cried the girl, almost frightened, Mr. Appleby did nothing of the sort! Why should he! Im not asking anything wrong, am I? Why is it so dreadful to want to see an arbor instead of a tea-house? You must be crazy!
When Miss Lane was excited, she was quite apt to lose her head, and speak in thoughtless fashion.
But Mr. Wheeler didnt seem to notice her informality of speech. He only stared at her as if he couldnt quite make her out, and then he suddenly seemed to lose interest in her or her wishes, and with a deep sigh, he turned away, and fell into the same brooding posture as when she had first approached him.
Come to dinner, people, called Maidas pretty voice, as, with outstretched hands she came toward them. Why, dads, what are you looking miserable about? What have you done to him, Miss Lane?
Maida, child, dont speak like that! Miss Lane has been most kindly talking to me, of of the beauties of Sycamore Ridge.
All right, then, and forgive me, Miss Lane. But you see, the sun rises and sets for me in one Daniel Wheeler, Esquire, and any shadow on his face makes me apprehensive of its cause.
Only for an instant did Genevieve Lanes sense of justice rise in revolt, then her common sense showed her the better way, and she smiled pleasantly and returned:
I dont blame you, Miss Wheeler. If I had a father, I should feel just the same way, I know. But dont do any gory-lock-shaking my way. I assure you I didnt really scold him. I only kicked because he wouldnt humor my whim for visiting the summer-house with the blossoms trailing over it! Was that naughty of me?
But though Genevieve listened for the answer, none came.
Come on in to dinner, daddy, dear, Maida repeated. Come, Miss Lane, theyre waiting for us.
Dinner was a delightful occasion.
Daniel Wheeler, at the head of his own table, was a charming host, and his melancholy entirely disappeared as the talk ran along on subjects grave or gay, but of no personal import.