King Cole (21 page)

“Yes?”

“How is Mr. Upham, Governor?”

“He has a chance.”

“I certainly hope he gets well. He was such a lively, jolly man.”

Read knew that Miss Wilson thoroughly disapproved of Gregg, and was merely being polite. This angered him a little, but he said nothing.

“Excuse me, Governor. I’ve got a surprise for you. The happy couple will be here any minute.”

“What couple?”

“Why,” said Miss Wilson, beaming, “Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Martin.”

Jean married! Read sat down and stared at his desk blotter. He had been too busy and upset to give Jean a thought.

“I thought they were in Kentucky.”

“They were. But they got worried about you and came home. Jean told me that her husband drove here in four hours. That’s mighty fast driving.”

“Young idiots!” Jean’s husband! Read couldn’t realize that little, dizzy, copper-haired Jean actually had got married and must now go out into the world and meet people and do things absolutely on her own responsibility. Why, it seemed no time at all since she was a chattering, giggling high school girl in a middy blouse.

“They registered at the Massey and said they’d be right over.”

“Well, I’ll be glad to see them.”

“Imagine! Little Jean! Everybody seems to be getting married.”

Miss Wilson smiled and went out. Read sat trying to accustom himself to the thought of Jean as a married woman. Finally he got up and began to pace the floor. “Mrs. Frederick Martin,” he muttered.

“Well, I hope Fred has got plenty of patience. He’ll need it.”

There was a knock, then Harold came in with a tray.

“Some sandwiches and coffee, Governor. I thought you might be hungry.”

“I am. Thanks very much, Harold. Any news?”

“Pretty full report on about a third of the precincts in Toledo. It’s close.”

“Fielding ahead there?”

“Yes, Governor. Shall I put the tray on your desk?”

“Yes. Where’s Charley?”

“At Headquarters.”

“Good old Charley.”

“Somebody called up, Governor, and said Mr. Sullavan wasn’t quite himself, so Mr. Parrott went over. He didn’t say anything to you; didn’t want to worry you.”

“I saw Sullavan.”

Harold smiled slightly, then turned and went out.

Read jumped up quickly to greet them as they came in. Fred was grinning all over his face. Jean smiled a little shyly at her father; but her eyes were shining with happiness, and in some subtle way she was different, Read decided. She wasn’t his own little Jean any longer.

His emotions were mixed. He felt both jealousy and relief. He would be nothing to Jean anymore but a middle-aged man, quite out of it so far as Jean and her set were concerned, who long ago had been practically her only guide and sympathizer. Proud of her role of young matron, she would occasionally have him in to dinner and she might, if he wasn’t too insistent about it, listen with attention to his maunderings about politics. But never again, in any real sense, would he exert any influence over her. It would be all “Fred” now. “Well,” Read told himself, “take the bitter with the sweet. After all, she’s off your hands. One responsibility the less. It’s up to Fred now to keep her in line and it will be a full-time job.”

Jean kissed him lightly, giggling a little. Fred squeezed his hand till it hurt.

“We’re certainly glad to see that you’re all right, Governor,” said Fred, grinning. “We were so worried. Jean didn’t sleep a wink last night, and I…” At this point Fred blushed heavily and Jean cleared her throat and began to fumble for her handkerchief, dropping her purse, which fell with a thud and emptied its contents all over the floor.

“Oh, damn!” said Jean, stamping her foot.

Fred, still red in the face and appalled at what he had said, bent down hurriedly and began to gather up the scattered articles.

Read turned away quickly and his sides shook a moment before he got control of himself. After all, they were just kids and funny, likable kids!

“Jean,” he said, turning and keeping his face straight, “you really ought to get yourself a suitcase to carry around. You stuff your purses till they look like balloons. How in the world did you ever get all that stuff in one little purse?”

They all burst out laughing, glad that they had an excuse to laugh.

“She’s always dropping things, Governor,” said Fred. “I call her Butterfingers.”

“Well,” said Jean, sitting down and crossing her legs, “at least I can drive a car. I don’t go running through traffic lights and getting tickets. Dad, Fred is getting to be the worst driver I ever rode with. Worse than you, when you used to drive.”

Fred straightened up and handed the various articles to Jean one by one. She hastily stuffed them into her purse till they had all disappeared. Then Fred sat down, grinning, flushing, hardly taking his eyes off Jean.

Read sat down also. There was a short silence. Finally Jean asked:

“How is poor Gregg?”

“Very low. The doctor says he has a small chance.”

“I certainly hope he pulls through,” said Fred, his face clouding. “Imagine all that stuff in the
Independent.
Why, shooting was too good for that Slezak fellow. He should have been lynched.”

“When I think you might have been shot, Dad! I told you, didn’t I? Remember when that dirty, ragged little man ran past Boyle that morning? If he’d had a gun he’d have shot you sure.”

“Imagine!” cried Fred, staring. “Jean told me. Lord, why, you might have been shot, too, Jean.”

“Well, it would serve you right,” laughed Jean, looking lovingly at Fred. “You were mad at me then. You said you’d never speak to me again. Just suppose I had been shot.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Read looked at them and smiled. Nothing mattered to them now but themselves. Men could be shot and fall all around them; there could be revolutions, wars, disasters; it was all one to them. And that was as it should be! But you had to be young to feel like that. Too bad it couldn’t last. Read sighed, thinking about himself and Evelyn.

Jean gave a little laugh.

“Dad, I wish I could have seen your face when you found out we eloped. What did you do?”

Fred glanced at Read quickly, and slightly shook his head.

“Well,” said Read, “I was a little upset for a minute. But I decided to make the best of it. After all, you and Fred have known each other for a long time, and you’re not infants anymore. You ought to know what you want to do. If it wasn’t so old-fashioned, I’d give you my blessing.”

“Only think,” cried Jean: “the reporters haven’t got hold of it yet. We were slick.”

Read laughed.

“It doesn’t matter now. The election’s over as far as the voting is concerned.”

“How is the election?” cried Fred. “Are we winning?”

The “we” pleased Read. He smiled.

“No. But it’s close. We may win yet.”

Jean stared with round eyes.

“Really? Oh, I thought you’d walk away from that awful old hayseed of a Fielding. What’s the matter with people, anyway?”

The phone rang and Read answered it. It was Harold.

“Fairly full report from about half the precincts in Youngstown, Governor. Mr. Fielding is running away ahead. It’s close between you and Mr. Parkinson.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Parrott says you’ll carry Midland City big. Even the Steelton District is giving you a slight margin. You’ll carry the East Side three to one; the North Side about two to one. Mr. Parkinson is running ahead of Mr. Fielding in Midland City.”

Read hung up.

“Good old Midland City,” he said, half to himself.

“How’s it going?” Fred asked.

“It’s a very strange election, Fred. Very spotty. Anybody can win.”

“Oh, you’ll win, Daddy,” cried Jean. “Ohio never had a better Governor.”

“That’s what my father says,” said Fred. “He used to go to school with Asa Fielding. He says he was always a windbag and a damned radical.”

Read studied Fred and Jean. Babes in the woods! Their lives had been smoothly arranged; they were hothouse plants and knew nothing about the huge terrifying jungles just beyond their little orbits. Read hoped they’d remain in ignorance. They’d be happier that way.

“Well,” said Read, “win or lose, I’m glad, Jean, that you and Fred got married. Where are you planning to live?”

“Dad’s giving us the Upper Burlington house,” said Fred. “Of course, it’s not as nice up there as it is in Fairhaven, but we’ll make out. I’ll be head of the firm someday, if I don’t stub my toe, and then Jean can live where she likes.”

“Oh, I’m satisfied,” said Jean. “I’m sort of tired of those Fairhaven people, anyway. Fred says they’re snobs and he’s right. Watwood Jones and Henny Freytag and that crew! They bore me.”

Read knew that Jean was talking for effect; that she didn’t mean a word of what she was saying, but he did not even smile.

“We’ll be near Fred’s golf club up there,” Jean went on. “And we’ll have the river almost in our front yard. Fred’s got a motorboat, Dad; did you know? Oh, I can hardly wait till summer. By the way, Dad, wasn’t that awful about Eileen Bradley?” Read lowered his eyes.

“That was a mere rumor,” he said.

They both stared at him.

“Why, I heard…” Fred began; then he stopped. Something about Read’s manner warned him. “Just a rumor, was it, Governor? I’m glad to hear that. After all, Eileen is a mighty nice woman.”

“Dad thinks so,” said Jean, biting her lip.

“Yes,” said Read, tapping nervously with a pencil, “I do think so. In fact, Eileen and I are going to be married after the election.”

Fred jumped up.

“Well, gosh, Governor. Congratulations. Everybody’s getting married. That’s swell.”

Jean was silent for a long time and Read could see that she was going through some sort of struggle. Finally she said:

“I guess Dad likes the Fairhaven crew. Eileen is really very ultra-ultra.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Jean!” said Fred, rather sharply.

“We haven’t been married two days and he’s starting on me already,” said Jean, sulking.

“I’m sorry, sweet,” said Fred, very contrite. “But you should be glad the Governor’s marrying such a nice person. Imagine Eileen as a stepmother! That’s something to get excited about.”

“Oh, really!” cried Jean, frowning; then she burst out laughing and, getting up suddenly, she ran over to Read’s desk and kissed him. “I guess I’m just jealous. Eileen is so elegant. She makes me feel mousy.”

“You mousy!” exclaimed Fred, indignantly. “That’s a laugh. Why, you’re so good-looking it’s painful.”

“That’s my idea of a nice husband!” cried Jean.

Read held Jean for a moment.

“Anyway, infant,” he said, “you won’t be home. You’ll have your own house now. So don’t try to throw any monkey wrenches in the machinery. You be nice to Eileen. She’s been very ill.”

“Oh, really, has she? I didn’t know. Although I did think she looked a little pale the last time I saw her. Don’t worry. I’ll be good. What shall I call her? I simply couldn’t call Eileen Bradley ‘mother’ or mama.

“Call her ‘ma,’ ” “ Fred suggested. “That ought to please her.”

“Call her Eileen,” said Read. “That’s simple enough.”

“Ma Bradley!” cried Jean and laughed. “Wouldn’t she love that! Wouldn’t she ritz me! And can she give you that business? She’d freeze an Eskimo to death.”

Fred laughed loudly and appreciatively, looking proudly at Jean.

The phone rang. It was Harold.

“Anything new?”

“No, Governor. Miss Bradley is here. Shall I have her come in?”

“Eileen!” cried Read, jumping up.

Fred and Jean glanced at each other, then they rose and stood holding hands, looking at Read.

“Have her come in, of course.”

In a moment the door opened and Eileen came in looking very chic in a small tilted black hat and a mink coat; she was followed by a chauffeur, carrying two automobile robes, and a nurse, who seemed nervous and kept glancing from side to side.

Eileen was as sleek and beautifully turned out as ever. She kissed Read lightly, then she turned to Fred and Jean. “Hello, children.”

“We ran away and got married,” Fred blurted out. Eileen smiled.

“I’m a mother,” she said. “Did Read tell you?”

“Yes,” said Jean. “Congratulations… I mean Daddy, of course. Oh, I’m all thumbs. Shall I kiss you, Eileen?”

“Of course.”

They kissed gingerly, Read looking on with a faint smile; then Fred took Eileen’s hand and pressed it warmly.

“Welcome to the family.”

The phone rang. It was Miss Wilson.

“The hospital called, Governor. Mr. Upham seems a little better. His temperature has gone down and he’s been sleeping. Did Harold tell you that it’s very close in Toledo and Cleveland? Charley called, too. They’ve put Mr. Sullavan to bed. Charley is worried about the election, but he’s always so pessimistic.”

“Thank you, Miss Wilson.”

“Any news?” asked Eileen. She was sitting down now in a big leather chair. She had pushed her coat back from her shoulders and Read thought that she looked stunning in her black dress. The chauffeur had put the robes over her knees and the nurse was arranging them.

“You mustn’t take cold, Miss Bradley,” she said.

“Gregg is better,” said Read, smiling broadly. ”I’ve got a hunch things are going to work out. It’s just a feeling, but it helps. I’ve been so worried about Gregg. He doesn’t take any care of himself and his vitality is low. Are you better, Eileen?”

“She came against the doctor’s orders,” said the nurse. “She heard the news over the radio and we could hardly keep her in bed last night.”

“Didn’t you get my telegram?”

“Yes. But it’s easy to send a telegram.”

“I’m very much flattered, Eileen. Thanks for coming.”

“Just selfishness. I couldn’t rest till I saw you. Are we winning, Read?”

“It’s close. I don’t know.”

Fred and Jean whispered together, then Fred cleared his throat and said:

“Governor, I think we’d better be going back to the hotel. We can get the returns there. We just wanted to be sure you were all right.”

“Run along. Don’t worry about me.”

Jean kissed Read and hugged him.