Part 14 (1/2)
”Ah?” questioned the suave young Judge.
”Yes, Tom--my own delegation,” replied the Doctor. ”You see, Tom, there is a lot of me. There is the one they call Doc Jim; then there's Mrs.
Nesbit's husband and there's your father-in-law, and then there's Old Linen Pants. The old man was for you from the jump. Doc Jim was for you and Mrs. Nesbit's husband was willing to go with the majority of the delegation, though he wasn't strong for you. But I'll tell you, Tom,”
piped the Doctor, ”I did have the devil of a time ironing out the troubles of your father-in-law.”
The Doctor leaned forward and pointed a fat, stern finger at his son-in-law. ”Tom,” the Doctor's voice was shrill and steely, ”I don't like your didos with Violet Mauling!” The face above the crimson flower did not flinch.
”I don't suppose you're making love to her. But you have no business fooling around Joe Calvin's office on general principles. Keep out, and keep away from her.” And then the Doctor's patience slipped and his voice rose: ”What do you want to give her the household bills for? Pay 'em yourself or let Laura send her checks!” The Doctor's tones were harsh, and with the amiable cast off his face his graying blond pompadour hair seemed to bristle militantly. The effect gave the Doctor a fighting face as he barked, ”You can't afford it. You must stop it.
It's no way to do. I didn't think it of you, Tom!”
After Van Dorn had touched his black wing of hair, his soft mustache and the crimson flower on his coat, he had himself well in hand and had planned his defense and counter attacks. He spoke softly:
”Now, Father Jim--I'm not--” he put a touch of feeling in the ”not,”
”going to give up the Mauling girl. When I'm elected next month, I'm going to make her my court stenographer!” He looked the Doctor squarely in the face and paused for the explosion which came in an excited, piping cry:
”Why, Tom, are you crazy! Take her all over the three counties of this district with you? Why, boy--” But Judge Van Dorn continued evenly: ”I don't like a man stenographer. Men make me nervous and self-conscious, and I can't give a man the best that's in me. And I propose to give my best to this job--in justice to myself. And Violet Mauling knows my ways. She doesn't interpose herself between me and my ideas, so I am going to make her court stenographer next month right after the election.”
When the Doctor drew in a breath to speak, Van Dorn put out a hand, checked the elder man and said blandly and smilingly, ”And, Father Jim, I'm going to be elected--I'm dead sure of election.”
The Doctor thought he saw a glint of sheer malicious impudence in Van Dorn's smile as he finished speaking: ”And anyway, pater, we mustn't quarrel right now--Just at this time, Laura--”
”You're a sly dog, now, ain't you! Ain't you a sly dog?” shrilled the Doctor in sputtering rage. Then the blaze in his eyes faded and he cried in despair: ”Tom, Tom, isn't there any way I can put the fear of G.o.d into you?”
Van Dorn realized that he had won the contest. So he forbore to strike again.
”Doctor Jim, I'm afraid you can't jar me much with the fear of G.o.d. You have a G.o.d that sneaks in the back door of matter as a kind of a divine immanence that makes for progress and Joe Calvin in there has a G.o.d with whiskers who sits on a throne and runs a sort of police court; but one's as impossible as the other. I have no G.o.d at all,” his chest swelled magnificently, ”and here's what happens”:
He was talking against time and the Doctor realized it. But his scorn was crusting over his anger and he listened as the young Judge amused himself: ”I've defended gamblers and thugs--and crooks, some rich, some poor, mostly poor and mostly guilty. And Joe has been free attorney for the law and order league and has given the church free advice and entertained preachers when he wasn't hiding out from his wife. And he's gone to conference and been a deacon and given to the Lord all his life.
And now that it's good business for him to have me elected, can he get a vote out of all his G.o.d-and-morality crowd? Not a vote. And all I have to do is to wiggle my finger and the whole crowd of thugs and blacklegs and hoodlums and rich and poor line up for me--no matter how pious I talk. I tell you, Father Jim--there's nothing in your G.o.d theory. It doesn't work. My job is to get the best out of myself possible.” But this was harking back to Violet Mauling and the young Judge smiled with bland impertinence as he finished, ”The fittest survive, my dear pater, and I propose to keep fit--to keep fit--and survive!”
The Doctor's anger cooled, but the pain still twinged his heart, the pain that came as he saw clearly and surely that his daughter's life was bound to the futile task of making bricks without straw. Deep in his soul he knew the anguish before her and its vain, continual round of fallen hopes. As the young Judge strutted up and down the Doctor's office, the father in the elder man dominated him and a kind of contemptuous pity seized him. Pity overcame rage, and the Doctor could not even sputter at his son-in-law. ”Fit and survive” kept repeating themselves over in Dr. Nesbit's mind, and it was from a sad, hurt heart that he spoke almost kindly: ”Tom--Tom, my boy, don't be too sure of yourself. You may keep fit and you may survive--but Tom, Tom--” the Doctor looked steadily into the bold, black eyes before him and fancied they were being held consciously from dropping and s.h.i.+fting as the Doctor cried: ”For G.o.d's sake, Tom, don't let up! Keep on fighting, son, G.o.d or no G.o.d--you've got a devil--keep on fighting him!”
The olive cheeks flushed for a fleeting second. Van Dorn laughed an irritated little laugh. ”Well,” he said, turning to the door, ”be over to-night?--or shall we come over? Anything good for dinner?”
A minute later he came swinging into his own office. He pulled a package from his pocket. ”Violet,” he said, going up to her writing desk and half sitting upon it, as he put the package before her, ”here's the candy.”
He picked up her little round desk mirror, smiled at her in it, and played rather idly about the desk for a foolish moment before going to his own desk. He sat looking into the street, folding a sheet of blank paper. When it became a wad he snapped it at the young woman. It hit her round, beautiful neck and disappeared into her square-cut bodice.
”Get it out for you if you want it?” He laughed fatuously.
The girl flashed quick eyes at him, and said, ”Oh, I don't know,” and went on with her work. He began to read, but in a few minutes laid his book down.
”How'd you like to be a court stenographer?” The girl kept on writing.
”Honest now I mean it. If I win this election and get this job for the two years of unexpired term, you'll be court stenographer--pays fifteen hundred a year.” The girl glanced quickly at him again, with fire in her eyes, then looked conspicuously down at the keyboard of the writing machine.
”I couldn't leave home,” she said finally, as she pulled out a sheet of paper. ”It wouldn't be the thing--do you think so?”
He put his feet on the desk, showing his ankles of pride, and fingering his mustache, smiling a squinty smile with his handsome, beady eyes as he said: ”Oh, I'd take care of you. You aren't afraid of me, are you?”
They both laughed. And the girl came over with a sheet of paper. ”Here is that Midland Valley letter. Will you sign it now?”