The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him

  CHAPTER LIX.

  "GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY."

  If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was still morerestless the next morning. He was down early, though for no apparentreason, and did nothing but pass from hall to room, and room to hall,spending most of his time in the latter, however.

  How Leonore could have got from her room into the garden without Peter'sseeing her was a question which puzzled him not a little, when, by achance glance out of a window, he saw that personage clipping roses offthe bushes. He did not have time to spare, however, to reason out anexplanation. He merely stopped roaming, and went out to--to the roses.

  "Good-morning," said Leonore pleasantly, though not looking at Peter, asshe continued her clipping.

  Peter did not say anything for a moment. Then he asked, "Is that all?"

  "I don't know what you mean," said Leonore, innocently. "Besides,someone might be looking out of a window."

  Peter calmly took hold of the basket to help Leonore sustain itsenormous weight. "Let me help you carry it," he said.

  "Very well," said Leonore. "But there's no occasion to carry my handtoo. I'm not decrepit."

  "I hoped I was helping you," said Peter.

  "You are not. But you may carry the basket, since you want to holdsomething."

  "Very well," said Peter meekly.

  "Do you know," said Leonore, as she snipped, and dropped roses into thebasket, "you are not as obstinate as people say you are."

  "Don't deceive yourself on that score," said Peter.

  "Well! I mean you are not absolutely determined to have your own way."

  "I never give up my own views," said Peter, "unless I can see more to begained by so doing. To that extent I am not at all obstinate."

  "Suppose," said Leonore, "that you go and cut the roses on thosefurthest bushes while I go in and arrange these?"

  "Suppose," said Peter calmly, and with an evident lack of enthusiasm.

  "Well. Will you?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "The motion to adjourn," said Peter, "is never debatable."

  "Do you know," said Leonore, "that you are beginning very badly?"

  "That is what I have thought ever since I joined you."

  "Then why don't you go away?"

  "Why make bad, worse?"

  "There," said Leonore, "Your talking has made me cut my finger, almost."

  "Let me see," said Peter, reaching out for her hand.

  "I'm too busy," said Leonore.

  "Do you know," said Peter, "that if you cut many more buds, you won'thave any more roses for a week. You've cut twice as many roses as youusually do."

  "Then I'll go in and arrange them. I wish you would give Betise a runacross the lawn."

  "I never run before breakfast," said Peter. "Doctors say it's very bad."

  So he followed her in. Leonore became tremendously occupied in arrangingthe flowers, Peter became tremendously occupied in watching her.

  "You want to save one of those for me," he said, presently.

  "Take one," said Leonore.

  "My legal rule has been that I never take what I can get given me. Youcan't do less than pin it in my button-hole, considering that it is mybirthday."

  "If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it at once," saidLeonore. She picked out a rose, arranged the leaves as only womankindcan, and, turning to Peter, pinned it in his button-hole. But when shewent to take her hands away, she found them held against the spot sofirmly that she could feel the heart-beats underneath.

  "Oh, please," was all she said, appealingly, while Peter's rose seemedto reflect some of its color on her cheeks.

  "I don't want you to give it to me if you don't wish," said Peter,simply. "But last night I sat up late thinking about it. All night Idreamed about it. When I waked up this morning, I was thinking about it.And I've thought about it ever since. I can wait, but I've waited solong!"

  Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid manner, held herlips up to Peter.

  "Still," Leonore said presently, when again arranging of the roses,"since you've waited so long, you needn't have been so slow about itwhen you did get it."

  "I'm sorry I did it so badly," said Peter, contritely. "I always wasslow! Let me try again?"

  "No."

  "Then show me how?"

  "No."

  "Now who's obstinate?" inquired Peter.

  "You," said Leonore, promptly. "And I don't like it."

  "Oh, Leonore," said Peter. "If you only knew how happy I am!"

  Leonore forgot all about her charge of obstinacy. "So am I," she said."And I won't be obstinate any more."

  "Was that better?" Peter asked, presently.

  "No," said Leonore. "That wouldn't have been possible. But you do takeso long! I shan't be able to give you more than one a day. It takes somuch time."

  "But then I shall have to be much slower about it."

  "Then I'll only give you one every other day."

  "Then I shall be so much the longer."

  "Yes," sighed Leonore. "You are obstinate, after all!"

  So they went on till breakfast was announced. Perhaps it was foolish.But they were happy in their foolishness, if such it was. It is notprofitable to write what they said. It is idle to write of the weekthat followed. To all others what they said and did could only be thesayings and doings of two very intolerable people. But to them it waswhat can never be told in words--and to them we will leave it.

  It was Leonore who put an end to this week. Each day that Peter lingeredbrought letter and telegraphic appeals to him from the party-leaders,over which Peter only laughed, and which he not infrequently failed evento answer. But Mr. Pell told Leonore something one day which made hersay to Peter later:

  "Is it true that you promised to speak in New York on the fifteenth?"

  "Yes. But I wrote Green last night saying I shan't."

  "And were you to have made a week of speeches through the State?"

  "Yes. But I can't spare the time."

  "Yes, you can. You must leave to-morrow and make them."

  "I can't," groaned Peter.

  "You must."

  "Who says so?"

  "I do. Please, Peter? I so want to see you win. I shall never forgivemyself if I defeat you."

  "But a whole week," groaned Peter.

  "We shall break up here on the eighteenth, and of course you would haveto leave a day sooner. So you'll not be any better off."

  "Well," sighed Peter, "If I do as you want, will you give me the seven Ishall lose before I go."

  "Dear me, Peter," sighed Leonore, "you oughtn't to ask them, since it'sfor your own sake. I can't keep you contented. You do nothing butencroach."

  "I should get them if I was here," said Peter, "And one a day is littleenough! I think, if I oblige you by going away, I shouldn't be made tosuffer more than is necessary."

  "I'm going to call you Growley," said Leonore, patting him on the cheek.Then she put her own against it. "Thank you, dear," she said. "It's justas hard for me."

  So Peter buckled on his armor and descended into the arena. Whether hespoke well or ill, we leave it to those to say who care to turn back tothe files of the papers of that campaign. Perhaps, however, it may bewell to add that an entirely unbiassed person, after reading his openingspeeches, delivered in the Cooper Union and the Metropolitan OperaHouse, in New York City, wrote him: "It is libel to call youTaciturnity. They are splendid! How I wish I could hear you--and seeyou, dear. I'm very lonely, and so are Betise and Tawney-eye. We donothing but wander round the house all day, waiting for your letter, andthe papers." Three thousand people in the Brooklyn Rink were keptwaiting for nearly ten minutes by Peter's perusal of that letter. Butwhen he had finished it, and had reached the Rink, he out-StirlingedStirling. A speaker nowadays speaks far more to the people absent thanto the people present. Peter did this that evening. He spoke, it istrue, to only one person that night, but it was the best speech of the
campaign.

  A week later, Peter rang the bell of the Fifty-seventh Street house. Hewas in riding costume, although he had not been riding.

  "Mr. and Mrs. D'Alloi are at breakfast," he was informed.

  Peter rather hurriedly laid his hat and crop on the hall-table, and wentthrough the hall, but his hurry suddenly came to an end, when a younglady, carrying her napkin, added herself to the vista. "I knew it mustbe you," she said, offering her hand very properly--(on what groundsLeonore surmised that a ring at the door-bell at nine o'clock meantPeter, history does not state)--"I wondered if you knew enough to cometo breakfast. Mamma sent me out to say that you are to come right in."

  Peter was rather longer over the handshake than convention demands, buthe asked very politely, "How are your father and--?" But just then thefootman closed a door behind him, and Peter's interest in parentssuddenly ceased.

  "How could you be so late?" said some one presently. "I watched out ofthe window for nearly an hour."

  "My train was late. The time-table on that road is simply a satire!"said Peter. Yet it is the best managed road in the country, and thisparticular train was only seven minutes overdue.

  "You have been to ride, though," said Leonore.

  "No. I have an engagement to ride with a disagreeable girl afterbreakfast, so I dressed for it."

  "Suppose the disagreeable girl should break her engagement--or declarethere never was one?"

  "She won't," said Peter. "It may not have been put in the contract, butthe common law settles it beyond question."

  Leonore laughed a happy laugh. Then she asked: "For whom are thoseviolets?"

  "I had to go to four places before I could get any at this season," saidPeter. "Ugly girls are just troublesome enough to have preferences. Whatwill you give me for them?"

  "Some of them," said Leonore, and obtained the bunch. Who dares to sayafter that that women have no business ability nor shrewdness? It istrue that she kissed the fraction returned before putting it in Peter'sbutton-hole, which raises the question which had the best of thebargain.

  "I'm behind the curtain, so I can't see anything," said a voice from adoorway, "and therefore you needn't jump; but I wish to inquire if youtwo want any breakfast?"

  A few days later Peter again went up the steps of the Fifty-seventhStreet house. This practice was becoming habitual with Peter; in fact,so habitual that his cabby had said to him this very day, "The oldplace, sir?" Where Peter got the time it is difficult to understand,considering that his law practice was said to be large, and hispolitical occupations just at present not small. But that is immaterial.The simple fact that Peter went up the steps is the essential truth.

  From the steps, he passed into a door; from the door he passed into ahall; from a hall he passed into a room; from a room he passed into apair of arms.

  "Thank the Lord, you've come," Watts remarked. "Leonore has up and downrefused to make the tea till you arrived."

  "I was at headquarters, and they would talk, talk, talk," said Peter. "Iget out of patience with them. One would think the destinies of thehuman race depended on this campaign!"

  "So the Growley should have his tea," said a vision, now seated on thelounge at the tea-table. "Then Growley will feel better."

  "I'm doing that already," said Growley, sitting down on the delightfullyshort lounge--now such a fashionable and deservedly popular drawing-roomarticle. "May I tell you how you can make me absolutely contented?"

  "I suppose that will mean some favor from me," said Leonore. "I don'tlike children who want to be bribed out of their bad temper. Nice littleboys are never bad-tempered."

  "I was only bad-tempered," whispered Peter, "because I was kept frombeing with you. That's cause enough to make the best-tempered man in theuniverse murderous."

  "Well?" said Leonore, mollifying, "what is it this time?"

  "I want you all to come down to my quarters this evening after dinner.I've received warning that I'm to be serenaded about nine o'clock, and Ithought you would like to hear it."

  "What fun," cried Leonore. "Of course we'll go. Shall you speak?"

  "No. We'll sit in my window-seats merely, and listen."

  "How many will there be?"

  "It depends on the paper you read. The 'World' will probably say tenthousand, the 'Tribune' three thousand, and the 'Voice of Labor' 'ahandful.' Oh! by the way, I brought you a 'Voice'." He handed Leonore apaper, which he took from his pocket.

  Now this was simply shameful of him! Peter had found, whenever thepapers really abused him, that Leonore was doubly tender to him, themore, if he pretended that the attacks and abuse pained him. So hebrought her regularly now that organ of the Labor party which was mostvituperative of him, and looked sad over it just as long as waspossible, considering that Leonore was trying to comfort him.

  "Oh, dear!" said Leonore. "That dreadful paper. I can't bear to read it.Is it very bad to-day?"

  "I haven't read it," said Peter, smiling. "I never read--" then Petercoughed, suddenly looked sad, and continued--"the parts that do notspeak of me." "That isn't a lie," he told himself, "I don't read them."But he felt guilty. Clearly Peter was losing his old-timestraightforwardness.

  "After its saying that you had deceived your clients into settling thosesuits against Mr. Bohlmann, upon his promise to help you in politics, Idon't believe they can say anything worse," said Leonore, putting twolumps of sugar (with her fingers) into a cup of tea. Then she stirredthe tea, and tasted it. Then she touched the edge of the cup with herlips. "Is that right?" she asked, as she passed it to Peter.

  "Absolutely," said Peter, looking the picture of bliss. But then heremembered that this wasn't his role, so he looked sad and said: "Thathurt me, I confess. It is so unkind."

  "Poor dear," whispered a voice. "You shall have an extra one to-day, andyou shall take just as long as you want!"

  Now, how could mortal man look grieved, even over an American newspaper,with that prospect in view? It is true that "one" is a very indefinitething. Perhaps Leonore merely meant another cup of tea. Whatever shemeant, Peter never learned, for, barely had he tasted his tea when thegirl on the lounge beside him gave a cry. She rose, and as she did so,some of the tea-things fell to the floor with a crash.

  "Leonore!" cried Peter. "What--"

  "Peter!" cried Leonore. "Say it isn't so?" It was terrible to see thesuffering in her face and to hear the appeal in her voice.

  "My darling," cried the mother, "what is the matter?"

  "It can't be," cried Leonore. "Mamma! Papa! Say it isn't so?"

  "What, my darling?" said Peter, supporting the swaying figure.

  "This," said Leonore, huskily, holding out the newspaper.

  Mrs. D'Alloi snatched it. One glance she gave it. "Oh, my poor darling!"she cried. "I ought not to have allowed it. Peter! Peter! Was not thestain great enough, but you must make my poor child suffer for it?" Sheshoved Peter away, and clasped Leonore wildly in her arms.

  "Mamma!" cried Leonore. "Don't talk so! Don't! I know he didn't! Hecouldn't!"

  Peter caught up the paper. There in big head-lines was:

  SPEAK UP, STIRLING!

  * * * * *

  WHO IS THIS BOY?

  DETECTIVE PELTER FINDS A WARD UNKNOWN TO THE COURTS, AND EXPLANATIONS ARE IN ORDER FROM

  PURITY STIRLING.

  The rest of the article it is needless to quote. What it said was soworded as to convey everything vile by innuendo and inference, yet intruth saying nothing.

  "Oh, my darling!" continued Mrs. D'Alloi. "You have a right to kill mefor letting him come here after he had confessed it to me. But I--Oh,don't tremble so. Oh, Watts! We have killed her."

  Peter held the paper for a moment. Then he handed it to Watts. He onlysaid "Watts?" but it was a cry for help and mercy as terrible asLeonore's had been the moment before.

  "Of course, chum," cried Watts. "Leonore, dear, it's all right. Youmustn't mind. Peter's a good man. Better than most of us. You mu
stn'tmind."

  "Don't," cried Leonore. "Let me speak. Mamma, did Peter tell you it wasso?"

  All were silent.

  "Mamma! Say something? Papa! Peter! Will nobody speak?"

  "Leonore," said Peter, "do not doubt me. Trust me and I will--"

  "Tell me," cried Leonore interrupting, "was this why you didn't come tosee us? Oh! I see it all! This is what mamma knew. This is what painedyou. And I thought it was your love for--!" Leonore screamed.

  "My darling," cried Peter wildly, "don't look so. Don't speak--"

  "Don't touch me," cried Leonore. "Don't. Only go away." Leonore threwherself upon the rug weeping. It was fearful the way those sobs shookher.

  "It can't be," said Peter. "Watts! She is killing herself."

  But Watts had disappeared from the room.

  "Only go away," cried Leonore. "That's all you can do now. There'snothing to be done."

  Peter leaned over and picked up the prostrate figure, and laid ittenderly on the sofa. Then he kissed the edge of her skirt. "Yes. That'sall I can do," he said quietly. "Good-bye, sweetheart. I'll go away." Helooked about as if bewildered, then passed from the room to the hall,from the hall to the door, from the door to the steps. He went downthem, staggering a little as if dizzy, and tried to walk towards theAvenue. Presently he ran into something. "Clumsy," said a lady's voice."I beg your pardon," said Peter mechanically. A moment later he ran intosomething again. "I beg your pardon," said Peter, and two well-dressedgirls laughed to see a bareheaded man apologize to a lamp-post. Hewalked on once more, but had not gone ten paces when a hand was restedon his shoulder.

  "Now then, my beauty," said a voice. "You want to get a cab, or I shallhave to run you in. Where do you want to go?"

  "I beg your pardon," said Peter.

  "Come," said the policeman shaking him, "where do you belong? My God!It's Mr. Stirling. Why, sir. What's the matter?"

  "I think I've killed her," said Peter.

  "He's awfully screwed," ejaculated the policeman. "And him of all men!Nobody shall know." He hailed a passing cab, and put Peter into it. Thenhe gave Peter's office address, and also got in. He was fined the nextday for being off his beat "without adequate reasons," but he never toldwhere he had been. When they reached the building, he helped Peter intothe elevator. From there he helped him to his door. He rang the bell,but no answer came. It was past office-hours, and Jenifer having beentold that Peter would dine up-town, had departed on his own leave ofabsence. The policeman had already gone through Peter's pockets to getmoney for cabby, and now he repeated the operation, taking possessionof Peter's keys. He opened the door and, putting him into a deep chairin the study, laid the purse and keys on Peter's desk, writing on ascrap of paper with much difficulty: "mr. stirling $2.50 I took to paythe carriage. John Motty policeman 22 precinct," he laid it beside thekeys and purse. Then he went back to his beat.

  And what was Peter doing all this time? Just what he now did. He triedto think, though each eye felt as if a red hot needle was burning in it.Presently he rose, and began to pace the floor, but he kept stumblingover the desk and chairs. As he stumbled he thought, sometimes tohimself, sometimes aloud: "If I could only think! I can't see. What wasit Dr. Pilcere said about her eyes? Or was it my eyes? Did he give mesome medicine? I can't remember. And it wouldn't help her. Why can't Ithink? What is this pain in her head and eyes? Why does everything lookso dark, except when those pains go through her head? They feel likeflashes of lightning, and then I can see. Why can't I think? Her eyesget in the way. He gave me something to put on them. But I can't give itto her. She told me to go away. To stop this agony! How she suffers.It's getting worse every moment. I can't remember about the medicine.There it comes again. Now I know. It's not lightning. It's thepetroleum! Be quick, boys. Can't you hear my darling scream? It'sterrible. If I could only think. What was it the French doctor said todo, if it came back? No. We want to get some rails." Peter dashedhimself against a window. "Once more, men, together. Can't you hear herscream? Break down the door!" Peter caught up and hurled a pot offlowers at the window, and the glass shattered and fell to the floor andstreet "If I could see. But it's all dark. Are those lights? No. It'stoo late. I can't save her from it."

  So he wandered physically and mentally. Wandered till sounds of martialmusic came up through the broken window. "Fall in," cried Peter. "TheAnarchists are after her. It's dynamite, not lightning. Podds, Don't letthem hurt her. Save her. Oh! save her I Why can't I get to her? Don'ttry to hold me," he cried, as he came in contact with a chair. He caughtit up and hurled it across the room, so that it crashed into thepicture-frames, smashing chair and frames into fragments. "I can't bethe one to throw it," he cried, in an agonized voice. "She's all I have.For years I've been so lonely. Don't I can't throw it. It kills me tosee her suffer. It wouldn't be so horrible if I hadn't done it myself.If I didn't love her so. But to blow her up myself. I can't. Men, willyou stand by me, and help me to save her?"

  The band of music stopped. A moment's silence fell and then up from thestreet, came the air of: "Marching through Georgia," five thousandvoices singing:

  "Rally round our party, boys; Rally to the blue, And battle for our candidate, So sterling and so true, Fight for honest government, boys, And down the vicious crew; Voting for freedom and Stirling.

  "Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, brave and strong. Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, never wrong. And roll the voters up in line, Two hundred thousand strong; Voting for freedom and Stirling."

  "I can't fight so many. Two hundred thousand! I have no sword. I didn'tshoot them. No! I only gave the order. It hurt me, but I didn't mean tohurt her. She's all I have. Do you think I intended to kill her? No! Nosacrifice would be too great. And you can talk to me of votes! Twohundred thousand votes! I did my best for her. I didn't mean to hurther. And I went to see the families. I went to see them all. If I onlycould think. But she is suffering too much. I can't think as long as shelies on the rug, and trembles so. See the flashes of lightning passthrough her head. Don't bury your face in the rug. No wonder it's alldark. Try to think, and then it will be all right."

  Up from the street came the air of: "There were three crows," and thewords:

  "Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth, Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth. Steven Maguire has schemed and schemed, But all his schemes will end in froth! And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah. And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.

  "For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth, For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth, For Peter Stirling elected will be And Steven Maguire will be in broth, And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah, And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah."

  "It's Steven Maguire. He never could be honest. If I had him here!"Peter came in contact with a chair. "Who's that? Ah! It's you. You'vekilled her. Now!" And another chair went flying across the room withsuch force, that the door to the hall flew off its hinges, and fell witha crash. "I've killed him" screamed Peter. "I've--No, I've killed mydarling. All I have in the world!"

  And so he raved, and roamed, and stumbled, and fell; and rose, androamed, and raved, and stumbled, and fell, while the great torchlightprocession sang and cheered him from below.

  He was wildly fighting his pain still when two persons, who, afterringing and ringing, had finally been let in by Jenifer's key, stoodwhere the door had been.

  "My God," cried one, in terror. "He's crazy! Come away!"

  But the other, without a word or sign of fear, went up to thatwild-looking figure, and put her hand in his.

  Peter stopped his crazed stride.

  "I can't think, I tell you. I can't think as long as you lie there onthe rug. And your eyes blaze so. They feel just like balls of fire."

  "Please sit down, Peter. Please? For my sake. Here. Here is the chair.Please sit down."

  Peter sank back in
the chair. "I tell you I can't think. They do nothingbut burn. It's the petroleum!" He started forward, but a slender armarrested his attempt to rise, and he sank back again as if it had somepower over him.

  "Hyah, miss. Foh de lub ub heaben, put some ub dis yar on he eyes," saidJenifer, who had appeared with a bottle, and was blubbering enough tosupply a whole whaling fleet. "De doctor he done give dis yar foh deAspic nerve." Which is a dish that Jenifer must have invented himself,for it is not discoverable even on the fullest of menus.

  Leonore knelt in front of Peter, and, drenching her fingers with thewash, began rubbing it softly over his eyes. It has always been aproblem whether it was the remedy or the ends of those fingers whichtook those lines of suffering out of Peter's face and made him sitquietly in that chain Those having little faith in medicines, and muchfaith in a woman's hands, will opine the latter. Doctors will not.

  Sufficeth it to say, after ten minutes of this treatment, during whichPeter's face had slowly changed, first to a look of rest, and then toone which denoted eagerness, doubt and anxiety, but not pain, that hefinally put out his hands and took Leonore's.

  "You have come to me," he said, "Has he told you?"

  "Who? What?" asked Leonore.

  "You still think I could?" cried Peter. "Then why are you here?" Heopened his eyes wildly and would have risen, only Leonore was kneelingin front of the chair still.

  "Don't excite yourself, Peter," begged Leonore. "We'll not talk of thatnow. Not till you are better."

  "What are you here for?" cried Peter. "Why did you come--?"

  "Oh, please, Peter, be quiet."

  "Tell me, I will have it." Peter was exciting himself, more fromLeonore's look than by what she said.

  "Oh, Peter. I made papa bring me--because--Oh! I wanted to ask you to dosomething. For my sake!"

  "What is it?"

  "I wanted to ask you," sobbed Leonore, "to marry her. Then I shallalways think you were what I--I--have been loving, and not--" Leonorelaid her head down on his knee, and sobbed bitterly.

  Peter raised Leonore in his arms, and laid the little head on hisshoulder.

  "Dear one," he said, "do you love me?"

  "Yes," sobbed Leonore.

  "And do you think I love you?"

  "Yes."

  "Now look into your heart. Could you tell me a lie?"

  "No."

  "Nor can I you. I am not the father of that boy, and I never wronged hismother."

  "But you told--" sobbed Leonore.

  "I lied to your mother, dear."

  "For what?" Leonore had lifted her head, and there was a look of hope inher eyes, as well as of doubt.

  "Because it was better at that time than the truth. But Watts will tellyou that I lied."

  "Papa?"

  "Yes, Dot. Dear old Peter speaks the truth."

  "But if you lied to her, why not to me?"

  "I can't lie to you, Leonore. I am telling you the truth. Won't youbelieve me?"

  "I do," cried Leonore. "I know you speak the truth. It's in your faceand voice." And the next moment her arms were about Peter's neck, andher lips were on his.

  Just then some one in the "torchlight" shouted:

  "What's the matter wid Stirling?"

  And a thousand voices joyfully yelled;

  "He's all right."

  And so was the crowd.