Part 5 (1/2)
”George come in yet?”
For the second time Mr. Evans was demanding this of Miss Elizabeth Sheridan who had also ignored his preliminary ”Good morning!”
Now for a moment more she typed viciously. One would have said that the thriving legal business of Remington and Evans required the very swift completion of the doc.u.ment upon which she wrought. And one would have been grossly deceived. The sheet had been drawn into the machine at the moment Mr. Evans' buoyant step had been heard in the outer hall, and upon it was merely written a dozen times the bald a.s.sertion, ”Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.”
Actually it was but the mechanical explosion of the performer's mood, rather than the wording of a sentiment now or at any happier time entertained by her.
At last she paused; she sullenly permitted herself to be interrupted.
Her hands still hovered above the already well-punished keys of the typewriter. She glanced over a shoulder at Mr. Evans and allowed him to observe her annoyance at the interruption.
”George has not come in yet,” she said coldly. ”I don't think he will ever come in again. I don't see how he can have the face to. I shouldn't think he could ever show himself on the street again after that--that--”
The young woman's emotion overcame her at this point. Again her relentless fingers stung the blameless mechanism--”to come to the aid of the party. Now is the time for all good--” She here controlled herself to further speech. ”And _you!_ Of course you applaud him for it. Oh, I knew you were all alike!”
”Now look here, Betty, this thing has gone far enough----”
”Far enough, indeed!”
”But you won't give me a chance!”
Mr. Evans here bent above his employee in a threatening manner.
”You don't even ask what I think about it. You say I'm guilty and ought to be shot without a trial--not even waiting till sunrise. If you had the least bit of fairness in your heart you'd have asked me what I really thought about this outbreak of George's, and I'd have told you in so many words that I think he's made all kinds of a fool of himself.”
”No! Do you really, Pen?”
Miss Sheridan had swiftly become human. She allowed her eyes to meet those of Mr. Evans' with an easy gladness but little known to him of late. ”Of course I do, Betty. The idea of a candidate for office in this enlightened age breaking loose in that manner! It's suicide. He could be arrested for the attempt in this State. Is that strong enough for you?
You surely know how I feel now, don't you? Come on, Betty dear! Let's not spar in that foolish way any longer. Remember all I said yesterday.
It goes double today--really, I see things more clearly.”
Plainly Miss Sheridan was disarmed.
”And I thought you'd approve every word of his silly tirade,” she murmured. Mr. Evans, still above her, was perilously shaken by the softer note in her voice, but he controlled himself in time and sat in one of the chairs reserved for waiting clients. It was near Miss Sheridan, yet beyond reaching distance. He felt that he must be cool in this moment of impending triumph.
”Wasn't it the awfullest rot?” demanded the spinster, pounding out a row of periods for emphasis.
”And he's got to be made to eat his words,” said Mr. Evans, wisely taking the same by-path away from the one subject in all the world that really mattered.
”Who could make him?”
”I could, if I tried.” It came in quiet, masterful tones that almost convinced the speaker himself.
”Oh, Pen, if you could! Wouldn't that be a victory, though? If you only could----”
”Well, if I only could--and if I do?” His intention was too pointed to be ignored.
”Oh, _that_!” He winced at the belittling ”that.” ”Of course I couldn't promise--anyway I don't believe you could ever do it, so what's the use of being silly?”
”But you will--will you promise, if I _do_ convert George? Answer the question, please!” Mr. Evans glared as only actual district attorneys have the right to.