Old Butler got up. “This is serious business,” he said. “I wish you’d never gone in with Stener in that way. It don’t look quite right and it can’t be made to. It’s bad, bad business,” he added dourly. “Still, I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise much, but I’ve always liked ye and I’ll not be turning on ye now unless I have to. But I’m sorry—very. And I’m not the only one that has a hand in things in this town.” At the same time he was thinking it was right decent of Cowperwood to forewarn him this way in regard to his own affairs and the city election, even though he was saving his own neck by so doing. He meant to do what he could. “I don’t suppose you could keep this matter of Stener and the city treasury quiet for a day or two until I see how I come out?” suggested Cowperwood warily. “I can’t promise that,” replied Butler. “I’ll have to do the best I can. I won’t lave it go any further than I can help—you can depend on that.” He was thinking how the effect of Stener’s crime could be overcome if Cowperwood failed. “Owen!” He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the banister. “Yes, father.” “Have Dan hitch up the light buggy and bring it around to the door. And you get your hat and coat. I want you to go along with me.” “Yes, father.” He came back. “Sure that’s a nice little storm in a teapot, now, isn’t it? Chicago begins to burn, and I have to worry here in Philadelphia. Well, well—” Cowperwood was up now and moving to the door. “And where are you going?” “Back to the house. I have several people coming there to see me. But I’ll come back here later, if I may.” “Yes, yes,” replied Butler. “To be sure I’ll be here by midnight, anyhow. Well, good night. I’ll see you later, then, I suppose. I’ll tell you what I find out.” He went back in his room for something, and Cowperwood descended the stair alone. From the hangings of the reception-room entryway Aileen signaled him to draw near. “I hope it’s nothing serious, honey?” she sympathized, looking into his solemn eyes. It was not time for love, and he felt it. “No,” he said, almost coldly, “I think not.” “Frank, don’t let this thing make you forget me for long, please. You won’t, will you? I love you so.” “No, no, I won’t!” he replied earnestly, quickly and yet absently. “I can’t! Don’t you know I won’t?” He had started to kiss her, but a noise disturbed him. “Sh!” He walked to the door, and she followed him with eager, sympathetic eyes. What if anything should happen to her Frank? What if anything could? What would she do? That was what was troubling her. What would, what could she do to help him? He looked so pale—strained. Chapter XXIV