The Mystery of the Sycamore

The two girls, followed by Keefe, took possession of a group of chairs near Mrs. Wheeler, while the two older men sat apart, and soon became engrossed in their own discussions.

Nor was it long before Samuel Appleby and his host withdrew to a room which opened on to that same south veranda, and which was, in fact, Mr. Wheeler’s den.

“Well, Sam,” Keefe heard the other say, as he drew down the blind, “we may as well have it out now. What are you here for?”

Outwardly placid, but almost consumed with curiosity, Curt Keefe changed his seat for one nearer the window of the den. He hoped to hear the discussion going on inside, but was doomed to disappointment, for though the murmuring of the voices was audible, the words were not distinct, and Keefe gathered only enough information to be sure that there was a heated argument in progress and that neither party to it was inclined to give in a single point.

Of course, he decided, the subject was the coming election campaign, but the details of desired bargaining he could not gather.

Moreover, often, just as he almost heard sentences of interest, the chatter of the girls or some remark of Mrs. Wheeler’s would drown the voices of the men in the room.

One time, indeed, he heard clearly: “When the Sycamore on the ridge goes into Massachusetts – ” but this was sheer nonsense, and he concluded he must have misunderstood.

Later, they all forgathered in the living-room and there was music and general conversation.

Genevieve Lane proved herself decidedly entertaining, and though Samuel Appleby looked a little amusedly at his stenographer, he smiled kindly at her as he noticed that she in no way overstepped the bounds of correct demeanor.

Genevieve was thinking of what Keefe had said to her: “If you do only what is absolutely correct and say what is only absolutely correct, you can do whatever you like.”

She had called it nonsense at the time, but she was beginning to see the truth of it. She was careful that her every word and act should be correct, and she was most decidedly doing as she liked. She made good with Mrs. Wheeler and Maida with no trouble at all; but she felt, vaguely, that Mr. Wheeler didn’t like her. This she set about to remedy.

Going to his side, as he chanced to sit for a moment alone, she smiled ingratiatingly and said:

“I wonder if you can imagine, sir, what it means to me to see the inside of a house like this?”

“Bless my soul, what do you mean?” asked Wheeler, puzzled at the girl’s manner.

“It’s like a glimpse of Fairyland,” she went on. “You see, I’m terribly ambitious – oh, fearfully so! And all my ambitions lead to just this sort of a home. Do you suppose I’ll ever achieve it, Mr. Wheeler?”

Now the girl had truly wonderful magnetic charm, and even staid old Dan Wheeler was not insensible to the note of longing in her voice, the simple, honest admission of her hopes.

“Of course you will, little one,” he returned, kindly. “I’ve heard that whatever one wants, one gets, provided the wish is strong enough.” He spoke directly to her, but his gaze wandered as if his thoughts were far away.

“Do you really believe that?” Genevieve’s big blue eyes begged an affirmation.

“I didn’t say I believed it – I said I have heard it.” He smiled sadly. “Not quite the same – so far as I’m concerned; but quite as assuring to you. Of course, my belief wouldn’t endorse the possibility.”

“It would for me,” declared Genevieve. “I’ve lots of confidence in other people’s opinions – ”

“Anybody’s?”

“Anybody whom I respect and believe in.”

“Appleby, for instance?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! I’d trust Mr. Appleby’s opinions on any subject. Let’s go over there and tell him so.”

Samuel Appleby was sitting at the other end, the north end of the long room. “No,” said Wheeler, “I’m too comfortable here to move – ask him to come here.”

Genevieve looked at him a little astonished. It was out of order, she thought, for a host to speak thus. She pressed the point, saying there was a picture at the other end of the room she wished to examine.

“Run along, then,” said Wheeler, coolly. “Here, Maida, show Miss Lane that etching and tell her the interesting details about it.”

The girls went away, and soon after Keefe drifted round to Wheeler’s side.

“You know young Sam Appleby?” he asked, casually.

“No,” Wheeler said, shortly but not sharply. “I daresay he’s a most estimable chap.”

“He’s all of that. He’s a true chip of the old block. Both good gubernatorial timber, as I’m sure you agree.”

“What makes you so sure, Mr. Keefe?”

Curt Keefe looked straight at him. “Well,” he laughed, “I’m quite ready to admit that the wish was father to the thought.”

“Why do you call that an admission?”

“Oh,” Keefe readily returned, “it is usually looked upon as a confession that one has no reason for a thought other than a wish.”

“And why is it your wish?”

“Because it is the wish of my employer,” said Keefe, seriously. “I know of no reason, Mr. Wheeler, why I shouldn’t say that I hope and trust you will use your influence to further the cause of young Appleby.”

“What makes you think I can do so?”

“While I am not entirely in Mr. Appleby’s confidence, he has told me that the campaign would be greatly aided by your willingness to help, and so I can’t help hoping you will exercise it.”

“Appleby has told you so much, has he? No more?”

“No more, I think, regarding yourself, sir. I know, naturally, the details of the campaign so far as it is yet mapped out.”

“And you know why I do not want to lend my aid?”

“I know you are not in accordance with the principles of the Appleby politics – ”

“That I am not! Nor shall I ever be. Nor shall I ever pretend to be – ”

“Pretend? Of course not. But could you not be persuaded?”

“By what means?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wheeler,” and Keefe looked at him frankly. “I truly don’t know by what means. But I do know that Mr. Appleby is here to present to you an argument by which he hopes to persuade you to help young Sam along – and I earnestly desire to add any word of mine that may help influence your decision. That is why I want to tell you of the good traits of Sam Appleby, junior. It may be I can give you a clearer light on his character than his father could do – that is, I might present it as the opinion of a friend – ”

“And not exaggerate his virtues as a father might do? I see. Well, Mr. Keefe, I appreciate your attitude, but let me tell you this: whatever I do or don’t do regarding this coming campaign of young Appleby will be entirely irrespective of the character or personality of that young man. It will all depend on the senior Appleby’s arrangements with me, and my ability to change his views on some of the more important planks in his platform. If he directed you to speak to me as you have done, you may return that to him as my answer.”

“You, doubtless, said the same to him, sir?”

“Of course I did. I make no secret of my position in this matter. Samuel Appleby has a hold over me – I admit that – but it is not strong enough to make me forget my ideas of right and wrong to the public. No influence of a personal nature should weigh against any man’s duty to the state, and I will never agree to pretend to any dissimulation in order to bring about a happier life for myself.”