Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Political fiction; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
"But the consequences!" gasped the unwilling informer. "His name in
those affidavits!"
The chief justice was nodding slowly.
"Without doubt a great crime has been committed, and a still greater one
is contemplated. We shall take prompt action to defeat the contemplated
crime at the polls next Tuesday, rest assured of that. But at the same
time, let me say a word for your comfort: these papers came to you from
the hands of a criminal, and that particular criminal had--as I am well
informed--every reason to be vindictively enraged against your father. I
am sure you are too good a lawyer to fail to see the point. If this man
Gryson, in 'getting even,' as he expressed it to you, has added perjury
to his other crimes--But we need not follow the suggestion any further
at this time. Be hopeful, Mr. Blount, as I am. Leave these matters with
me, and go and be as good a son as he deserves to my old friend David."
Evan Blount left the venerable presence in the judges' chambers of the
Capitol with a heart strangely mellowed, and with a feeling of relief
too great to be measured. At last, without compromise, and equally
without the slightest concession to the natural human passion for
vindication, the momentous step had been taken. Whatever might come of
it, there would be no daggerings from an outraged conscience, no remorse
for an unworthy passion impulsively yielded to. Also, with the rolling
of the terrible burden to other and entirely competent shoulders there
came a sense of freedom that was almost jubilant; and under the
promptings of this new light-heartedness he was able to make a
reasonably cheerful fourth at the _cafe_ dinner-table a little later.
Oddly enough, as he thought, Patricia was also cheerful, though she
vanished with Mrs. Honoria to the private suite shortly after the
adjournment to the mezzanine lounge. Past this, after the father and son
had smoked their cigars in man-like silence for a time, Mrs. Honoria,
coated and hatted as if to go out, came back to sit near the
balustrade, looking down upon the kindling lobby activities. Shortly
after her coming the senator rose to go. Instantly his wife sprang up to
walk with him to the head of the great stair.
"The time has come?" she asked quickly.
"I reckon it has, little woman."
"I wish I might be there to see," she said softly. And then, whipping a
packet of papers from under her street-coat: "Take these. When you see
what they are, you'll know why I haven't given them to you before this.
As long as you didn't know anything about it, you could tell Evan the
simple truth--that you didn't have them."
The Honorable David pocketed the papers without looking at them.
"I suspected you--or, rather, young Collins--quite a little spell ago,"
he said with imperturbable good nature. "I couldn't have done it myself;
I reckon no right-minded man could have done it, but--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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