"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," blurted Ardmore.
"I'm not asking you—I would not ask you—to do anything for me. I am asking you to do it for the Old North State. Our relations, Mr. Ardmore, will not be social, but purely official. Do you accept the terms?"
"I do; and I warn you now that I shall never resign."
"I have heard papa say that life is short and the tenure of office uncertain. I can remove you at any time I please. Now do you understand that this is a serious business? There's likely to be a lot of trouble, and no time for asking questions, so when I say it's so it's so."
"It's so," repeated Ardmore docilely.
"Now, here's the sheriff at Kildare, on our side of the line, who writes to say that he is powerless to catch Appleweight. He's afraid of the dark, that man! You see, the grand jury in Dilwell County—that's Kildare, you know—has indicted Appleweight as a common outlaw, but the grand jurors were all friends of Appleweight and the indictment was only to satisfy law-and-order sentiment and appease the Woman's Civic League of Raleigh. Now, papa doesn't—I mean I don't want to offend those Appleweight people by meddling in this business. Papa wants Governor Osborne to arrest Appleweight in South Carolina; but I don't believe Governor Osborne will dare do anything about it. Now, Mr. Ardmore, I am not going to have papa called a coward by anybody, particularly by South Carolina people, after what Governor Osborne said of our state."
"Why, what did he say?"
"He said in a speech at Charleston last winter that no people who fry their meat can ever amount to anything, and he meant us! I can never forgive him for that; besides, his daughter is the stuck-upest thing! And I'd like Barbara Osborne to tell me how she got into the Colonial Dames, and what call she has to be inspector-general of the Granddaughters of the Mexican War; for I've heard my grandfather Dangerfield say many a time that old Colonel Osborne and his South Carolina regiment never did go outside of Charleston until the war was over and the American army had come back home."
One tiny fist this time! Ardmore was sure of it. Her indignation against the Osbornes was so sincere, the pouting petulance to which it diminished so like a child's, and the gravity of the offense so novel in his simple experiences, that Ardmore was bound in chains before her speech was finished. The little drawl with which she concluded gave heightened significance to her last three words, so that it seemed that all the veterans of the war with Mexico trudged by, bearing the flag of North Carolina and no other banner.
"Governor Osborne is a contemptible ruffian," declared Ardmore with deep feeling.
Miss Dangerfield nodded judicial approval, and settled back in her chair the better to contemplate her new secretary, and said:
"I'm a Daughter of the Confederacy and a Colonial Dame. What are you?"
"I suppose you'll never speak to me again; papa sent three expensive substitutes to the Civil War."
"Three! Horrible!"
"Two of them deserted, and one fell into the Potomac on his way south and was drowned. I guess they didn't do you folks much harm."
"We'll forgive you that; but what did your ancestors do in the Revolution?"
"I'm ashamed to say that my great-grandfather was a poor guesser. He died during Washington's second administration still believing the Revolution a failure."
"Do you speak of the war of 1861 as the Rebellion or as the war between the states? I advise you to be careful what you say," and Miss Jerry Dangerfield was severe.
"I don't believe I ever mentioned it either way, so I'm willing to take your word for it."
"The second form is correct, Mr. Ardmore. When well-bred Southern people say Rebellion they refer to the uprising of 1776 against the British oppressor."
"Good. I'm sure I shall never get them mixed. Now that you are the governor, what are you going to do first about Appleweight?"
"I've written—that is to say, papa wrote before he went away, a strong letter to Governor Osborne, complaining that Appleweight was hiding in South Carolina and running across the state line to rob and murder people in North Carolina. Papa told Governor Osborne that he must break up the Appleweight crowd or he would do something about it himself. It's a splendid letter; you would think that even a coward like Governor Osborne would do something after getting such a letter."
"Didn't he answer the letter?"
"Answer it? He never got it! Papa didn't send it; that's the reason! Papa's the kindest man in the world, and he must have been afraid of hurting Governor Osborne's feelings. He wrote the letter, expecting to send it, but when he went off to New Orleans he told Mr. Bassford to hold it till he got back. He had even signed it—you can read it if you like."
It was undoubtedly a vigorous epistle, and Ardmore felt the thrill of its rhetorical sentences as he read. The official letter paper on which it was typewritten, and the signature of William Dangerfield, governor of North Carolina, affixed in a bold hand, were sobering in themselves. The dignity and authority of one of the sovereign American states was represented here, and he handed the paper back to Miss Dangerfield as tenderly as though it had been the original draft of Magna Charta.
"It's a corker, all right."
"I don't much like the way it ends. It says, right here"—and she bent forward and pointed to the place under criticism—"it says, 'Trusting to your sense of equity, and relying upon a continuance of the traditional friendship between your state and mine, I am, sir, awaiting your reply, very respectfully, your obedient servant.' Now, I wouldn't trust to his sense of anything, and that traditional friendship business is just fluffy nonsense, and I wouldn't be anybody's obedient servant. I decided when I wasn't more than fifteen years old, with a lot of other girls in our school, that when we got married we'd never say obey, and we never have, though only three of our class are married yet, but we're all engaged."
"Engaged?"
"Of course; we're engaged. I'm engaged to Rutherford Gillingwater, the adjutant-general of this state. You couldn't be my private secretary if I wasn't engaged; it wouldn't be proper."
The earth was only a flying cinder on which he strove for a foothold. She had announced her engagement to be married with a cool finality that took his breath away; and not realizing the chaos into which she had flung him, she returned demurely to the matter of the letter.
"We can't change that letter, because it's signed close to the 'obedient servant' and there's no room. But I'm going to put it into the typewriter and add a postscript."
She sat down before the machine and inexpertly rolled the sheet into place; then, with Ardmore helping her to find the keys, she wrote:
I demand an imediate reply.
"Demand and immediate are both business words. Are you sure there's only one m in immediate? All right, if you know. I reckon a postscript like that doesn't need to be signed. I'll just put 'W. D.' there with papa's stub pen, so it will look really fierce. Now, you're the secretary; you copy it in the copying press and I'll address the envelope."
"Don't you have to put the state seal on it?" asked Ardmore.
"Of course not. You have to get that from the secretary of state, and I don't like him; he has such funny whiskers, and calls me little girl. Besides, you never put the seal on a letter; it's only necessary for official documents."
She bade him give the letter plenty of time to copy, and talked cheerfully while he waited. She spoke of her friends, as Southern people have a way of doing, as though every one must of course know them—a habit that is illuminative of that delightful Southern neighborliness that knits the elect of a commonwealth into a single family, that neither time and tide nor sword and brand can destroy. Ardmore's humility increased as the names of the great and good of North Carolina fell from her lips; for they were as strange to him as an Abysinnian dynasty. It was perfectly clear that he was not of her world, and that his own was insignificant and undistinguished compared with hers. His spirit was stayed somewhat by the knowledge that he, and not the execrable Gillingwater, had been chosen as her coadjutor in the present crisis. His very ignorance of the royal families of North Carolina, which she recited so glibly, and the fact that he was unknown at the capital, had won him official recognition, and it was for him now to prove his worth. The political plot into which he had been most willingly drawn pleased him greatly; it was superior to his fondest dream of adventure, and now, moreover, he had what he never had before, a definite purpose in life, which was to be equal to the task to which this intrepid girl assigned him.
"Well, that's done," said Miss Jerry, when the letter, still damp from the copy-press, had been carefully sealed and stamped. "Governor Osborne will get it in the morning. I think maybe we'd better telegraph him that it's coming."
"I don't see much use in that, when he'll get the letter first thing to-morrow," Ardmore suggested. "It costs money to telegraph and you must have an economical administration."
"The good of it would be to keep him worried and make him very angry. And if he told Barbara Osborne about it, it would make her angry, too, and maybe she wouldn't sleep any all night, the haughty thing! Hand me one of those telegraph blanks."
The message, slowly thumped out on the typewriter, and several times altered and copied, finally read:
Raleigh, N. C.
The Honorable Charles Osborne,
Governor of South Carolina,
Columbia, S. C.:Have written by to-night's mail in Appleweight matter. Your vacillating course not understood.
William Dangerfield,
Governor of North Carolina.
"I reckon that will make him take notice;" and Miss Jerry viewed her work with approval. "And now, Mr. Ardmore, here's a telegram from Mr. Billings which I don't understand. See if you know what it means."
Ardmore chuckled delightedly as he read:
Can not understand your outrageous conduct in bond matter. If payment is not made June first your state's credit is ruined. Where is Foster? Answer to Atlanta.
George P. Billings.
"I don't see what's so funny about that! Mr. Bassford was walking the floor with that message when I came to the office. He said papa and the state were both going to be ruined. There's a quarter of a million dollars to be paid on bonds that are coming due June first, and there isn't any money to pay them with. That's what he said. And Mr. Foster is the state treasurer, and he's gone fishing."
"Fishing?"
"He left word he had gone fishing. Mr. Foster and papa don't get along together, and Mr. Bassford says he's run off just to let those bonds default and bring disgrace on papa and the state."
Ardmore's grin broadened. The Appleweight case was insignificant compared with this new business with which he was confronted. He was vaguely conscious that bonds have a way of coming due, and that there is such a thing as credit in the world, and that it is something that must not be trifled with; but these considerations did not weigh heavily with him. For the first time in his uneventful life vengeance unsheathed her sword in his tranquil soul. Billings had always treated him with contempt, as a negligible factor in the Ardmore millions, and here at last was an opportunity to balance accounts.
"I will show you how to fix Billings. Just let me have one of those blanks."
And after much labor, and with occasional suggestions from Miss Jerry, the following message was presently ready for the wires:
Your infamous imputation upon my honor and that of the state shall meet with the treatment it deserves. I defy you to do your worst. If you come into North Carolina or bring legal proceedings for the collection of your bonds I will fill you so full of buckshot that forty men will not be strong enough to carry you to your grave.
"Isn't that perfectly grand!" murmured Jerry admiringly. "But I thought your family and the Bronx Loan and Trust Company were the same thing. That's what Rutherford Gillingwater told me once."
"You are quite right. Billings works for us. Before I came of age he used to make me ask his permission when I wanted to buy a new necktie, and when I was in college he was always fussing over my bills, and humiliating me when he could."
"But you mustn't make him so mad that he will cause papa trouble and bring disgrace on our administration."
"Don't you worry about Billings. He is used to having people get down on their knees to him, and the change will do him good. When he gets over his first stroke of apoplexy he will lock himself in a dark room and begin to think hard about what to do. He usually does all the bluffing, and I don't suppose anybody ever talked to him like this telegram in all his life. Where is this man Foster?"
"Just fishing; that's what Mr. Bassford said, but he didn't know where. Father was going to call a special session of the legislature to investigate him, and he was so angry that he ran off so that papa would have to look after those bonds himself. Then this Appleweight case came up, and that worried papa a great deal. Here's his call for the special session. He told Mr. Bassford to hold that, too, until he came back from New Orleans."
Ardmore read Governor Dangerfield's summons to the legislature with profound interest. It was signed, but the space for the date on which the law-makers were to assemble had been left blank.
"It looks to me as though you had the whole state in your hands, Miss Dangerfield. But I don't believe we ought to call the special session just yet. It would be sure to injure the state's credit, and it will be a lot more fun to catch Foster. I wonder if he took all the state money with him."
"Mr. Bassford said he didn't know and couldn't find out, for the clerks in the treasurer's office wouldn't tell him a single thing."
"One should never deal with subordinates," remarked Ardmore sagely. "Deal with the principals—I heard a banker say that once, and he was a man who knew everything. Besides, it will be more fun to attend to the bonds ourselves."
He seemed lost in reverie for several minutes, and she asked with some impatience what he was studying about.
"I was trying to think of a word they use when the government has war or any kind of trouble. It's something about a corpse, but I can't remember it."
"A corpse? How perfectly horrid! Can it be possible, Mr. Ardmore, that you mean the writ of habeas corpus?" The twinkle in his eye left her unable to determine whether his ignorance was real, or assumed for his own amusement.
"That's it," beamed Ardmore. "We've got to suspend it if worst comes to worst. Then you can put anybody you like into a dungeon, and nobody can get him out—not for a million years."
"I wonder where they keep it?" asked Jerry. "It must be here somewhere. Perhaps it's in the safe."
"I don't think it's a thing, like a lemon, or a photograph, or a bottle of ink; it's a document, like a Thanksgiving proclamation, and you order out the militia, and the soldiers have to leave their work and assemble at their armories, and it's all very serious, and somebody is likely to get shot."
"I don't think it would be nice to shoot people," said Jerry. "That would do the administration a terrible lot of harm."
"Of course we won't resort to extreme measures unless we are forced to it. And then, after we have exhausted all the means at our command, we can call on the president to send United States troops."
He was proud of his knowledge, which had lingered in his sub-consciousness from a review of the military power of the states which he had heard once from Griswold, who knew about such matters; but he was brought to earth promptly enough.
"Mr. Ardmore, how dare you suggest that we call United States troops into North Carolina! Don't you know that would be an insult to every loyal son of this state? I should have you know that the state of North Carolina is big enough to take care of herself, and if any president of the United States sends any troops down here while I'm running this office, he'll find that, while our people will gladly die, they never surrender."
"Oh, I didn't mean anything like that by what I said," pleaded Ardmore, frightened almost to tears. "Of course, we've got our own troops, and we'll get through all our business without calling for help. I shouldn't any more call on the president than I'd call on the czar of Russia."
She seemed satisfied with this disclaimer, and produced a diary in which Governor Dangerfield had noted his appointments far into the future.
"We'll have to break a lot of engagements for papa. Here's a speech he promised to make at Wilmington at the laying of the corner-stone of the new orphan asylum. That's to-morrow, and papa can't be there, so we'll send a telegram of congratulation to be read instead. Then he was to preside at a convention of the Old Fiddlers' Association at Goldsboro the next day, and he can't do that. I guess we'd better telegraph and say how sorry he is to be delayed by important official business. And here's—why, I had forgotten about the National Guard encampment, that's beginning now."
"Do you mean the state militia?" Ardmore inquired.
"Why, of course. They're having their annual encampment over in Azbell County at Camp Dangerfield—they always name the camp for the governor—and father was to visit the camp next Saturday for his annual inspection. That's near your county, where your farm is; didn't you know that?"
Ardmore was humble, as he always was when his ignorance was exposed, but his face brightened joyfully.
"You mustn't break that engagement. Those troops ought to be inspected. Inspecting his troops is one of the most important things a governor has to do. It's just like a king or an emperor. I've seen Emperor William and King Humbert inspect their soldiers, and they go galloping by like mad, with all the soldiers saluting, and it's perfectly bully. And then there have to be maneuvers, to see whether the troops know how to fight or not, and forced marches and sham battles."
"Papa always speaks to the men," suggested Jerry, a little abashed by the breadth and splendor of Ardmore's knowledge. His comparison of the North Carolina militia with the armies of Europe pleased her.
"I think the ladies of the royal family inspect the troops, too, sometimes," he continued. "The queens are always honorary colonels of regiments, and present them with flags, which is a graceful thing to do."
"Colonel Gillingwater never told me that, and he's the adjutant-general of the state and ought to know."
"What's he colonel of?" asked Ardmore gloomily.
"He was colonel in the Spanish War, or was going to be, but he got typhoid fever, and so he couldn't go to Cuba, and papa appointed him adjutant-general as a reward for his services; but everybody calls him Colonel just the same."
"It looks like a pretty easy way of getting a title," murmured Ardmore. "I had typhoid fever once, and nearly died, and all my hair came out."
"You oughtn't to speak that way of my fiancé. It's quite impertinent in a mere private secretary to talk so."
"I beg your pardon. I forgot that you were engaged. You'll have to go to Camp Dangerfield and inspect the troops yourself, and they would a lot rather have you inspect them than have your father do it."
"You mustn't say things like that! I thought I told you your appointment carried no social recognition. You mustn't talk to me as though I was a girl you really know—"
"But there's no use of making-believe such things when I do know you!"
"Not the least little tiny bit, you don't! Do you suppose, if you were a gentleman I knew and had been introduced to, I would be talking to you here in papa's office?"
"But I pretend to be a gentleman; you certainly wouldn't be talking to me if you thought me anything else."
"I can't even discuss the matter, Mr. Ardmore. A gentleman wouldn't lie to a lady."
"But if you know I'm a liar why are you telling me these secrets and asking me to help you play being governor?" and Ardmore, floundering hopelessly, marveled at her more and more.
"That's exactly the reason—because you came poking up to my house and told me that scandalous fib about meeting papa in New Orleans. Mr. Bassford is a beautiful liar; that's why he's papa's secretary; but you are a much more imaginative sort of liar than Mr. Bassford. He can only lie to callers about papa being engaged, or write encouraging letters to people who want appointments which papa never expects to make; but you lie because you can't help it. Now, if you're satisfied, you can take those telegrams down to the telegraph office, and you'd better mail that letter to Governor Osborne yourself, for fear the man who's running the lawn-mower will forget to come for it."
The roll of drums and the cry of a bugle broke in upon the peace of the late afternoon. Miss Jerry rose with an exclamation and ran out into the broad portico of the state house. Several battalions of a tide-water regiment, passing through town on their way to Camp Dangerfield, had taken advantage of a wait in Raleigh to disembark and show themselves at the capital. They were already halted and at parade rest at the side of the street, and a mounted officer in khaki, galloping madly into view, seemed to focus the eyes of the gathering crowd. He was a gallant figure of a man; his mount was an animal that realized Job's ideal of a battle-horse; the soldiers presented arms as the horseman rode the line. Miss Dangerfield waved her handkerchief, standing eagerly on tiptoe to make her salutation carry as far as possible.
"Who is that?" asked Ardmore, with sinking spirit.
"Why, Rutherford Gillingwater, of course."
"Fours right!" rang the command a moment later, and the militiamen tramped off to the station.
It was then that Ardmore, watching the crowd disperse at the edge of the park, saw his caller of the morning striding rapidly across the street. Ardmore started forward, then checked himself so suddenly that Miss Jerry Dangerfield turned to him inquiringly.
"What's the matter?" she demanded.
"Nothing. I have been robbed, as I hoped to be. Over there on the sidewalk, beyond the girl in the pink sunbonnet, goes my little brown jug. That lank individual with the shabby hat has lifted it out of my room at the hotel, just as I thought he would."
Miss Osborne had asked Griswold to await the outcome of the day, and, finding himself thus possessed of a vacation, he indulged his antiquarian instincts by exploring Columbia. The late afternoon found him in the lovely cathedral churchyard, where an aged negro, tending the graves of an illustrious family, leaned upon his spade and recited the achievements and virtues of the dead. Men who had been law-makers, others who had led valiantly to battle, and ministers of the Prince of Peace, mingled their dust together; and across the crisp hedges a robin sang above Timrod's grave.
As the shadows lengthened, Griswold walked back to the hotel, where he ate supper, then, calling for a horse, he rode through the streets in a mood of more complete alienation than he had ever experienced in a foreign country; yet the very scents of the summer night, stealing out from old gardens, the voices that reached him from open doorways, spoke of home.
As he reached the outskirts of town and rode on toward the governor's mansion, his mood changed, and he laughed softly, for he remembered Ardmore, and Ardmore was beyond question the most amusing person he knew. It was unfortunate, he generously reflected, that Ardmore, rather than himself, had not been plunged into this present undertaking, which was much more in Ardmore's line than his own. There would, however, be a great satisfaction in telling Ardmore of his unexpected visit to Columbia, in exchange for his friend's report of his pursuit of the winking eye. He only regretted that in the nature of things Columbia is a modern city, a seat of commerce as well as of government, a place where bank clearings are seriously computed, and where the jaunty adventurer with sword and ruffles is quite likely to run afoul of the police. Yet his own imagination was far more fertile than Ardmore's, and he would have hailed a troop of mail-clad men as joyfully as his friend had he met them clanking in the highway. Thus, modern as we think ourselves, the least venturesome among us dreams that some day some turn of a street corner will bring him face to face with what we please to call our fate; and this is the manifestation of our last drop of medieval blood. The grimmest seeker after reality looks out of the corner of his eye for the flutter of a white handkerchief from the ivied tower he affects to ignore; and, in spite of himself, he is buoyed by the hope that some day a horn will sound for him over the nearest hill.
Miss Osborne met him at the veranda steps. Indoors a mandolin and piano struck up the merry chords of The Eutaw Girl.
"My young sisters have company. We'll sit here, if you don't mind."
She led the way to a quiet corner, and after they were seated she was silent a moment, while the light from the windows showed clearly that her perplexity of the morning was not yet at an end. The music tinkled softly, and a breeze swept in upon them with faint odors of the garden.
"I hope you won't mind, Mr. Griswold, if I appear to be ashamed of you. It's not a bit hospitable to keep you outside our threshold; but—you understand—I don't have to tell you!"
"I understand perfectly, Miss Osborne!"
"It seems best not to let the others know just why you are here. I told my sisters that you were an old friend—of father's—who wished to leave a message for him."
"That will do first rate!" he laughed. "My status is fixed. I know your father, but as for ourselves, we are not acquainted."
He felt that she was seriously anxious and troubled, and he wished to hearten her if he could. The soft dusk of the faintly-lighted corner folded her in. Behind her the vines of the veranda moved slightly in the breeze. A thin, wayward shaft of light touched her hair, as though searching out the gold. When we say that people have atmosphere, we really mean that they possess indefinite qualities that awaken new moods in us, as by that magic through which an ignorant hand thrumming a harp's strings may evoke some harmony denied to conscious skill. He heard whispered in his heart a man's first word of the woman he is destined to love, in which he sets her apart; above and beyond all other womenkind—she is different; she is not like other women!
"It is nearly nine," she said, her voice thrilling through him. "My father should have been here an hour ago. We have heard nothing from him. The newspapers have telephoned repeatedly to know his whereabouts. I have put them off by intimating that he is away on important public business, and that his purpose might be defeated if his exact whereabouts were known. I tried to intimate, without saying as much, that he was busy with the Appleweight case. One of the papers that has very bitterly antagonized father ever since his election has threatened to expose what the editor calls father's relations with Appleweight. I can not believe that there is anything wrong about that; of course there is not!"
She was controlling herself with an effort, and she broke off her declaration of confidence in her absent father sharply but with a sob in her voice.
"I have no doubt in the world that the explanation you gave the newspapers is the truth of the matter. Your father must be absent a great deal—it is part of a governor's business to keep in motion. But we may as well face the fact that his absence just now is most embarrassing. This Appleweight matter has reached a crisis, and a failure to handle it properly may injure your father's future as a public man. If you will pardon me, I would suggest that there must be some one whom you can take into your confidence—some friend, some one in your father's administration that you can rely on?"
"Yes; father has many friends; but I can not consider acknowledging to any one that father has disappeared when such a matter as this Appleweight case is an issue through the state. No; I have thought of every one this afternoon. It would be a painful thing for his best friends to know what is—what seems to be the truth." Her voice wavered a little, but she was brave, and he was aware that she straightened herself in her chair, and, when wayward gleams of light fell upon her face, that her lips were set resolutely.
"You saw the attorney-general this morning," she went on. "As you suggested, he would naturally be the one to whom I should turn, but I can not do it. I—there is a reason"—and she faltered a moment—"there are reasons why I can not appeal to Mr. Bosworth at this time."
She shrugged her shoulders as though throwing off a disagreeable topic, and he saw that there was nothing more to be said on this point. His heart-beats quickened as he realized that she was appealing to him; that, though he was only the most casual acquaintance, she trusted him. It was a dictum of his, learned in his study and practise of the law, that issues must be met as they offer—not as the practitioner would prefer to have them, but as they occur; and here was a condition of affairs that must be met promptly if the unaccountable absence of the governor was to be robbed of its embarrassing significance.
As he pondered for a moment, a messenger rode into the grounds, and Miss Osborne slipped away and met the boy at the steps. She came back and opened a telegram, reading the message at one of the windows. An indignant exclamation escaped her, and she crumpled the paper in her hand.
"The impudence of it!" she exclaimed. He had risen, and she now turned to him with anger and scorn deepening her beautiful color. Her breath came quickly; her head was lifted imperiously; her lips quivered slightly as she spoke.
"This is from Governor Dangerfield. Can you imagine a man of any character or decency sending such a message to the governor of another state?"
She watched him as he read:
Raleigh, N. C.
The Honorable Charles Osborne,
Governor of South Carolina,
Columbia, S. C.:Have written by to-night's mail in Appleweight matter. Your vacillating course not understood.
William Dangerfield,
Governor of North Carolina.
"What do you think of that?" she demanded.
"I think it's impertinent, to say the least," he replied guardedly.
"Impertinent? It's the most contemptible, outrageous thing I ever heard of in my life! Governor Dangerfield has dilly-dallied with that case for two years. His administration has been marked from the beginning by the worst kind of incompetence. Why, this man Appleweight and his gang of outlaws only come into South Carolina now and then to hide and steal, but they commit most of their crimes in North Carolina, and they always have. Talk about a vacillating course! Father has never taken steps to arrest those men out of sheer regard for Governor Dangerfield; he thought North Carolina had some pride, and that her governor would prefer to take care of his own criminals. What do you suppose Appleweight is indicted for in this state? For stealing one ham—one single ham from a farmer in Mingo County, and he's killed half a dozen men in North Carolina."
She paced the corner of the veranda angrily, while Griswold groped for a solution of the problem. The telegram from Raleigh was certainly lacking in diplomatic suavity. It was patent that if the governor of North Carolina was not tremendously aroused, he was playing a great game of bluff; and on either hypothesis a prompt response must be made to his telegram.
"I must answer this at once. He must not think we are so stupid in Columbia that we don't know when we're insulted. We can go through the side door to father's study and write the message there," and she led the way.
"It might be best to wait and see what his letter is like," suggested Griswold, with a vague wish to prolong this discussion, that he might enjoy the soft glow of the student lamp on her cheek.
"I don't care what his letter says; it can't be worse than his telegram. We'll answer them both at once."
She found a blank and wrote rapidly, without asking suggestions, with this result:
The Honorable William Dangerfield,
Raleigh, N. C.:Your extremely diverting telegram in Appleweight case received and filed.
Charles Osborne,
Governor of South Carolina.
She met Griswold's obvious disappointment with prompt explanation.
"You see, the governor of South Carolina can not stoop to an exchange of billingsgate with an underbred person like that—a big, solemn, conceited creature in long frock-coat and a shoestring necktie, who boasts of belonging to the common 'peo-pull.' He doesn't have to tell anybody that, when it's plain as daylight. The way to answer him is not to answer at all."
"The way to answer him is to make North Carolina put Appleweight in jail, for crimes committed in that state, and then, if need be, we can satisfy the cry for vengeance in South Carolina by flashing our requisition. There is a rule in such cases that the state having the heaviest indictments shall have precedence; and you say that in this state it's only a matter of a ham. I am not acquainted with the South Carolina ham," he went on, smiling, "but in Virginia the right kind of a ham is sacred property, and to steal one is a capital offense."
"I should like to steal one such as I had last winter in Richmond," and Miss Osborne forgot her anger; her eyes narrowed dreamily at an agreeable memory.
"Was it at Judge Randolph Wilson's?" asked Griswold instantly.
"Why, yes, it was at Judge Wilson's, Mr. Griswold. How did you know?"
"I didn't know; I guessed; for I have sat at that table myself. The judge says grace twice when there's to be ham—once before soup, then again before ham."
"Then thanksgiving after the ham would be perfectly proper!"
Miss Osborne was studying Griswold carefully, then she laughed, and her attitude toward him, that had been tempered by a certain official reserve, became at once cordial.
"Are you the Professor Griswold who is so crazy about pirates? I've heard the Wilsons speak of you, but you don't look like that."
"Don't I look like a pirate? Thank you! I had an appointment at Judge Wilson's office this morning to talk over a case in which I'm interested."
"I remember now what he said about you. He said you really were a fine lawyer, but that you liked to read about pirates."
"That may have been what he said to you; but he has told me that the association of piracy and law was most unfortunate, as it would suggest unpleasant comments to those who don't admire the legal profession."
"And you are one of those tide-water Griswolds, then, if you know the Randolph Wilsons. They are very strong for the tide-water families; to hear them talk you'd think the people back in the Virginia hills weren't really respectable."
"It's undeniably the right view of the matter," laughed Griswold, "but now that I live in Charlottesville I don't insist on it. It wouldn't be decent in me. And I have lots of cousins in Lexington and through the Valley. The broad view is that every inch of the Old Dominion is holy ground."
"It is an interesting commonwealth, Mr. Griswold; but I do not consider it holy ground. South Carolina has a monopoly of that;" and then the smile left her face and she returned to the telegram. "Our immediate business, however, is not with Virginia, or with South Carolina, but with the miserable commonwealth that lies between."
"And that commonwealth," said Griswold, wishing to prolong the respite from official cares, "that state known in law and history as North Carolina, I have heard called, by a delightful North Carolina lady I met once at Charlottesville, a valley of humility between two mountains of conceit. That seems to hit both of us!"
"North Carolina isn't a state at all," Miss Osborne declared spitefully; "it's only a strip of land where uninteresting people live. And now, what do you say to this telegram?"
"Excellent. It's bound to irritate, and it leaves him in the dark as to our—I mean Governor Osborne's—intentions. And those intentions—"
During this by-play he had reached a decision as to what should be done, and he was prepared to answer when she asked, with an employment of the pronoun that pleasantly emphasized their relationship:
"What are our intentions?"
"We are going to catch Appleweight, that's the first thing—and until we get him we're going to keep our own counsel. Let me have a telegraph blank and I will try my hand at being governor." He sat down in the governor's chair, asked the name of the county seat of Mingo and wrote without erasure or hesitation this message:
To the Sheriff of Mingo County,
Turner Court House, S. C.:Make every possible effort to capture Appleweight and any of his gang who are abroad in your county. Swear in all the deputies you need, and if friendliness of citizens to outlaws makes this impossible wire me immediately, and I will send militia. Any delay on your part will be visited with severest penalties. Answer immediately by telegraph.
Charles Osborne,
Governor of South Carolina.
"That's quite within the law," said Griswold, handing Barbara the message; "and we might as well put the thing through at a gallop. I'll get the telegraph company to hold open the line to Turner Court House until the sheriff answers."
As Barbara read the message he saw her pleasure in the quick compression of her lips, the glow in her cheeks, and then the bright glint of her bronze-brown eyes as she finished.
"That's exactly right. I didn't know just how to manage such a thing, but I see that that is the proper method."
"Yes; the sheriff must have his full opportunity to act."
"And what then, if the sheriff refuses to do anything?"
"Then—then"—and Griswold's jaw set firmly, and he straightened himself slightly before he added in a quiet tone—"then I'm going down there to take charge of the thing myself."
"Oh, that is too much! I didn't ask that; and I must refuse to let you take any such responsibility on yourself, to say nothing of the personal danger. I merely wanted your advice—as a lawyer, for the reason that I dared not risk father's name even among his best friends here. And your coming to the office this morning seemed so—so providential—"
He sought at once to minimize the value of his services, for he was not a man to place a woman under obligations, and, moreover, an opportunity like this, to uphold the dignity, and perhaps to exercise the power of a state, laid strong hold upon him. He knew little enough about the Appleweight case, but he felt from his slight knowledge that he was well within his rights in putting spurs to the sheriff of Mingo County. If the sheriff failed to respond in proper spirit and it became necessary to use the militia, he was conscious that serious complications might arise. He had not only a respect for law, but an ideal of civic courage and integrity, and the governor's inexplicable absence aroused his honest wrath. The idea that a mere girl should be forced to sustain the official honor and dignity of a cowardly father further angered him. And then he looked into her eyes and saw how grave they were, and how earnest and with what courage she met the situation; and the charm of her slender figure, that glint of gold in her hair, her slim, supple hands folded on the table—these things wrought in him a happiness that he had never known before, so that he laughed as he took the telegram from her.
"There must be no mistake, no failure," she said quietly.
"We are not going to fail; we are going to carry this through! Within three days we'll have Appleweight in a North Carolina jail or a flying fugitive in Governor Dangerfield's territory. And now these telegrams must be sent. It might be better for you to go to the telegraph office with me. You must remember that I am a pilgrim and a stranger and they might question my filing official messages."
"That is perfectly true. I will go into town with you."
"And if there's an official coach that everybody knows as yours, it would allay suspicions to have it," and while he was still speaking she vanished to order the carriage.
In five minutes it was at the side door, and Griswold and Barbara, fortified by the presence of Phœbe, left the governor's study.
"If they don't know me, everybody in South Carolina knows Phœbe," said Barbara.
"A capital idea. I can see by her eye that she's built for conspiracy."
Griswold's horse was to be returned to town by a boy; and when this had been arranged the three entered the carriage.
"The telegraph office, Tom; and hurry."
Barbara filed the messages herself with the manager of the telegraph company, who lifted the green shade from his eyes and smiled upon her.
"We'll rush them, Miss Osborne. Shall I telephone the answers if they come to-night? No; your father likes his telegrams delivered, I remember."
"I will call for them," said Griswold. "Governor Osborne was only at home a few hours this evening and he left me in charge of these matters."
The manager's face expressed surprise.
"Oh! I didn't know the governor was at home," he remarked, as he finished counting the words and charging them against the state's account. "I will send them myself, and ask the operators at the other end to look lively about the answers. You are Mr.—"
"This is Major Griswold," said Barbara, conferring the title with a vague feeling that it strengthened her cause.
"Major," repeated the manager, and he nodded to Griswold with an air that implied his familiarity with official secrets. "You will call? In a couple of hours, Major."
As Barbara and Griswold turned to leave, a young man who had been writing a message at the standing desk in the lobby lifted his hat and addressed Barbara. He was a reporter for the Columbia Intelligencer, and his manner was eager.
"Oh, Miss Osborne, pardon me, but I've been trying to get you on the telephone. Can you tell me where your father is to-night?"
"Father was in town only a few hours, and then left on state business."
The young man glanced from one to the other. He was a polite youngster and Miss Barbara Osborne was—Miss Barbara Osborne, and this, to the people of South Carolina, was a fact of weight. Still the reporter twirled his hat uncertainly.
"Well, I thought I had met all the trains, but I guess I missed the governor."
"No; you didn't miss him," smiled Barbara, "Father drove in from the country and went back the same way. He didn't come into town at all."
The news instinct is the keenest with which man may be blessed, and the reporter scented events. Griswold, seeing the light flash in the young man's eye, felt that here was an opportunity to allay public criticism.
"Governor Osborne is engaged upon important public business. He will be absent from town for a day—perhaps a week. He will not return to Columbia until the business is thoroughly disposed of."
"May I ask if it's the Appleweight case? The Raleigh papers have wired for information and we'd like to know here."
"I can not answer that question. It's enough that the governor is absent on state business, and that the business is important. You may print that in the Intelligencer and repeat it to Raleigh. There is no harm in that, is there, Miss Osborne?"
"No; certainly not," Barbara replied.
"But the papers all over the state are talking about the Appleweight gang. They intimate that those people enjoy immunity from prosecution and that the governor—you will pardon me, Miss Osborne—will take no steps to arrest them for personal reasons."
"Your question is quite proper," replied Griswold. "The governor's acts are subject to scrutiny at all times and it is just as well to have this matter understood now. I am employed by the governor as special counsel in some state matters. My name is Griswold. Take out your book and come to the desk here and I will give you a statement which you may publish as by the authority of the governor."
The three found seats at a table and Griswold dictated while the reporter wrote, Barbara meanwhile sitting with her cheek resting against her raised hand. She was experiencing the relief we all know, of finding a strong arm to lean upon in an emergency, and she realized that Griswold was not only wise, but shrewd and resourceful.
"Please print this exactly as I give it: It having been intimated in certain quarters that the Appleweight gang of outlaws, which has been terrorizing the North Carolina frontier for several years, enjoys immunity from prosecution in South Carolina owing to the fact that Governor Osborne was at some time attorney for Appleweight, Governor Osborne begs to say that steps have already been taken for the arrest of this man and his followers, dead or alive. The governor presents his compliments to those amiable critics who have so eagerly seized upon this pretext for slurring his private character and aspersing his official acts. The governor has no apologies to proffer the people of South Carolina, who have so generously reposed in him their trust and confidence. He is intent upon safe-guarding the peace, dignity and honor of the state through an honest enforcement of law and he has no other aim or ambition."
Griswold took the reporter's note-book and read over this pronunciamiento; then he handed it to Barbara, who studied it carefully.
"I think that sounds just right, only, why not substitute for 'honest' the word 'vigorous'?"
"Excellent," assented Griswold, and thus amended the statement was returned to the reporter.
"Now," said Griswold to the young man, "you are getting a pretty good item that no other paper will have. Please wire your story to Raleigh; Governor Osborne is very anxious that the people up there shall understand fully his attitude in the Appleweight matter."
"I reckon this will wake up old Dangerfield all right," said the reporter, grinning. "He'll be paralyzed. May I use your name in this connection, sir?"
"Not at all. My engagement with Governor Osborne is of the most confidential character and our purposes would be defeated by publicity. Remember, you get the exclusive use of this story—the return and immediate departure of the governor, his statement to the people in the Appleweight case—all with the understanding that you use what you have to the best advantage."
"This is all right, is it, Miss Osborne?" asked the reporter.
"Major Griswold has full authority to act, and you need question nothing he tells you," Barbara replied.
"I suppose the governor didn't see the attorney-general to-day?" asked the reporter detainingly, as Barbara rose. She exchanged a glance with Griswold.
"Father didn't see Mr. Bosworth at all, if that's what you mean!"
"Didn't see him? Well, Bosworth didn't exactly tell me he had seen him to-day, but I asked him about the Appleweight case an hour ago at his house and he said the governor wasn't going to do anything and that was the end of it so far as the administration is concerned."
"Print his story and see what happens! We have no comment to make on that, have we, Miss Osborne?"
"Nothing at all," replied Barbara scornfully.
"I'm at the Saluda House at present. See me to-morrow and I may have another story for you!" and Griswold shook the reporter warmly by the hand as they parted at the carriage door.
"Home," said Barbara for the reporter's benefit, and then, to Griswold: "I must speak of another matter. Drive with me a little way until we can throw the reporter off."
She spoke quietly, but he saw that she was preoccupied with some new phase of the situation, and as the carriage gained headway she said earnestly:
"That young man told the truth—I am sure of it—about Mr. Bosworth. I knew he would do something to injure father if he could, but I did not know he had the courage to go so far."
"It's only politics, Miss Osborne," said Griswold lightly. "Besides, you may be sure the Intelligencer will print the governor's side of it in its largest type."
"No; it is not politics. It is more despicable, more contemptible, more ungenerous even than politics. But he shall be punished, humiliated for his conduct."
"You shall fix his punishment yourself!" laughed Griswold; "but the state's business first. We have a little more to do before I am satisfied with the day's work."
"Yes, of course. We must leave nothing undone that father would do were he here to act for himself."
"We must be even more careful in his absence to safeguard his honor than the case really requires. We not only have his public responsibility but our own into the bargain in so far as we speak and act for him. And there's always the state—the Palmetto flag must be kept flying at the masthead." Their eyes met as they passed under an electric lamp and he saw how completely she was relying on his guidance.
They were now at the edge of town and she bade him stop the carriage.
"We must go to the state house," said Griswold. "We must get that requisition, to guard against treason in the citadel. Assuming that Governor Osborne really doesn't want to see Appleweight punished we'd better hold the requisition anyhow. It's possible that your father had it ready—do pardon me!—for a grand-stand play, or he may have wanted to bring Appleweight into the friendlier state;—but that's all conjectural. We'd better keep out of the principal streets. That reporter has a sharp eye."
She gave the necessary directions and the driver turned back into Columbia. It was pleasant to find his accomplice in this conspiracy a girl of keen wit who did not debate matters or ask tiresome questions. The business ahead was serious enough, though he tried by manner, tone and words to minimize its gravity. If the attorney-general was serving a personal spite, or whatever the cause of his attitude, he might go far in taking advantage of the governor's absence. Griswold's relation to the case was equivocal enough, he fully realized; but the very fact of its being without precedent, and so beset with pitfalls for all concerned, was a spur to action. In the present instance a duly executed requisition for the apprehension of a criminal, which could not be replaced if lost, must be held at all hazards, and Griswold had determined to make sure of the governor's warrant before he slept.
"Have you the office keys?" he asked.
"Yes; I have been afraid to let go of them. There's a watchman in the building, but he knows me very well. There will not be the slightest trouble about getting in."
The watchman—an old Confederate veteran—sat smoking in the entrance and courteously bade them good evening.
"I want to get some papers from father's office, Captain."
"Certainly, Miss Barbara." He preceded them, throwing on the lights, to the governor's door, which he opened with his own pass key. "It's pretty lonesome here at night, Miss Barbara."
"I suppose nobody comes at night," remarked Griswold.
"Not usually, sir. But one or two students are at work in the library, and Mr. Bosworth is in his office."
The veteran walked away jingling his keys. Barbara was already in the private office bending over the governor's desk. She found the right key, drew out a drawer, then cried out softly. She knelt beside the desk, throwing the papers about in her eagerness, then turned to Griswold with a white face.
"The drawer has been opened since I was here this morning. The requisition and all the other papers in the case are gone."
Griswold examined the lock carefully and pointed to the roughened edges of the wood.
"A blade of the shears there, or perhaps the paper cutter—who knows? The matter is simple enough, so please do not trouble about it. Wait here a moment. I want to make some inquiries of the watchman."
He found the old fellow pacing the portico like a sentry. He pointed out the attorney-general's office, threw on a few additional lights for Griswold's guidance, and resumed his patrol duty outside.
The attorney-general's door was locked, but in response to Griswold's knock it was opened guardedly.
"I am very sorry to trouble you, Mr. Bosworth," began Griswold, quietly edging his way into the room, "but one never gets wholly away from business these days."
He closed the door himself, and peered into the inner rooms to be sure the attorney-general was alone. Bosworth's face flushed angrily when he found that a stranger had thus entered his office with a cool air of proprietorship; then he stared blankly at Griswold for a moment before he recalled where he had seen him before.
"I don't receive visitors at night," he blurted, laying his hand on the door. "I'm engaged, and you'll have to come in office hours."
He shook the door as though to call Griswold's attention to it.
"Do you see this thing—it's the door!" he roared.
"I have seen it from both sides, Mr. Bosworth. I intend to stay on this side until I get ready to go."
"Who the devil are you? What do you mean by coming here at this time of night?"
"I'm a lawyer myself, if you will force the ignoble truth from me. Now, when you are perfectly quiet, and once more the sane, reasonable human being you must be to have been trusted with the office you hold, we'll proceed to business. Meanwhile, please put on your coat. A man in his shirt-sleeves is always at a disadvantage; and we Virginians are sticklers for the proprieties."
The attorney-general's fury abated when he saw that he had to deal with a low-voiced young man who seemed unlikely to yield to intimidation. Griswold had, in fact, seated himself on a table that was otherwise covered with law books, and he sniffed with pleasure the familiar atmosphere of dusty law calf, which no one who has had the slightest acquaintance with a law office ever forgets. To his infinite amusement Bosworth was actually putting on his coat, though it may have been a little absent-mindedly to give him an opportunity to decide upon a plan for getting rid of his visitor. However this may have been, Bosworth now stepped to the side of the room and snatched down the telephone receiver.
Griswold caught him by the shoulder and flung him round.
"None of that! By calling the police you will only get yourself into trouble. I'm bigger than you are and I should hate to have to throw you out of the window. Now"—and he caught and hung up the receiver, which was wildly banging the wall—"now let us be sensible and get down to business."
"Who the devil are you?" demanded Bosworth, glaring.
"I'm special counsel for Governor Osborne in the Appleweight case. There's no use in wasting time in further identification, but if you take down that volume on Admiralty Practice just behind you, you will find my name on the title page. Or, to save you the trouble, as you seem to be interested in my appearance, I will tell you that my name is Griswold and that my address is Charlottesville, Virginia."
"You are undoubtedly lying. If you are smart enough to write a book you ought to know enough about legal procedure to understand that the attorney-general represents the state and special counsel would not be chosen without his knowledge."
"Allow me to correct you, my learned brother. You should never misquote the opposing counsel—it's one of the rules of the game. What I said a moment ago was that I represented the governor—Governor Osborne. I didn't say I represented the state, which is a different matter, and beset with ultra vires pitfalls. There is no earthly reason why a governor should not detach himself, so to speak, from his office and act in propria persona, as a mere citizen. His right to private remedy is not abridged by the misfortune of office-holding. Whether he can himself be made defendant in an action at law touches that ancient question, whether the monarch or the state can be sued. That's a question law students have debated from the beginning of time, but we must not confuse it with the case at issue. The governor, as a citizen, may certainly employ such counsel as he pleases, and just now I represent him. Of course, if you want me to furnish a brief—"
Griswold's manner was deliberate and ingratiating. He saw that the attorney-general had not the slightest sense of humor and that his play upon legal phrases was wasted. Bosworth grinned, but not at the legal status of monarchs and states. He had thought of a clever stroke and he dealt the blow with confidence.
"Let us assume," he said, "that you represent Mr. Osborne. May I ask the whereabouts of your client?"
"Certainly. You may ask anything you please, but it will do you no good. It's an old rule of the game never to divulge a client's secret. Governor Osborne has his own reasons for absenting himself from his office. However, he was at home to-night."
"I rather guess not, as I had all the trains watched. You'll have to do a lot better than that, Mr. Griswold."
"He has issued a statement to the public since you lied to the Intelligencer reporter about him to-day. I suppose it's part of your official duty to misrepresent the head of the state administration in the press, but the governor is in the saddle and I advise you to be good."
The attorney-general felt that he was not making headway. His disadvantage in dealing with a stranger whose identity he still questioned angered him. He did not know why Griswold had sought him out, and he was chagrined at having allowed himself to be so easily cornered.
"You seem to know a good deal," he sneered. "How did you get into this thing anyhow?"
"My dear sir, I was chosen by the governor because of my superior attainments, don't you see? But I'm in a hurry now. I came here on a particular errand. I want that requisition in the Appleweight case—quick!—if you please, Mr. Bosworth."
He jumped down from the table and took up his hat and stick.
"Mr. Griswold, or whoever you are, you are either a fool or a blackguard. There isn't any requisition for Appleweight. The governor never had the sand to issue any, if you must know the truth! If you knew anything about the governor you would know that that's why Osborne is hiding himself. He can't afford to offend the Appleweights, if you must know the disagreeable truth. Your coming here and asking me for that requisition is funny, if you had the brains to see it. Poor old Osborne is scared to death and I doubt if he's within a hundred miles of here. You don't know the governor; I do! He's a dodger, a trimmer and a coward."
"Mr. Bosworth," began Griswold deliberately, "that requisition, duly signed and bearing the seal of the secretary of state as by the statutes in such cases made and provided, was in Governor Osborne's desk this morning at the time you were so daintily kicking the door in your anxiety to see the governor. It has since been taken from the drawer where the governor left it when he went to New Orleans. You have gone in there like a sneak-thief, pried open the drawer and stolen that document; and now—"
"It's an ugly charge," mocked the attorney-general.
"It's all of that," and Griswold smiled.
"But you forget that you represent Mr. Osborne. On the other hand I represent Governor Osborne, and if I want the Appleweight papers I had every right to them."
"After office hours, feloniously and with criminal intent?" laughed Griswold.
"We will assume that I have them," sneered Bosworth, "and such being the case I will return them only to the governor."
"Then,"—and Griswold's smile broadened—"if it comes to concessions, I will grant that you are within your rights in wishing to place them in the governor's own hands. The governor of South Carolina is now, so to speak, in camera."
"The governor is hiding. He's afraid to come to Columbia, and the whole state knows it."
"The papers, my friend; and I will satisfy you that the governor of South Carolina is under this roof and transacting business."
"Here in the state house?" demanded Bosworth, and he blanched and twisted the buttons of his coat nervously.
"The governor of South Carolina, the supreme power of the state, charged with full responsibility, enjoying all the immunities, rights and privileges unto him belonging."
It was clear that Bosworth took no stock whatever in Griswold's story; but Griswold's pretended employment by the governor and his apparent knowledge of the governor's affairs, piqued his curiosity. If this was really the Griswold who had written a widely accepted work on admiralty and who was known to him by reputation as a brilliant lawyer of Virginia, the mystery was all the deeper. By taking the few steps necessary to reach the governor's chambers he would prove the falsity of Griswold's pretensions to special knowledge of the governor's whereabouts and plans. He stepped to an inner office, came back with a packet of papers and thrust a revolver into his pocket with so vain a show of it that Griswold laughed aloud.
"What! Do you still back your arguments with fire-arms down here? It's a method that has gone out of fashion in Virginia!"
"If there's a trick in this it will be the worse for you," scowled Bosworth.