The Custom of the Country (Romance Classic). Edith WhartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
to follow him in. Behind an inner glazed enclosure, with its one window dimmed by a sooty perspective barred with chimneys, he seated himself at a dusty littered desk, and groped instinctively for the support of the scrap basket. Moffatt, uninvited, dropped into the nearest chair, and Mr. Spragg said, after another silence: “I’m pretty busy this morning.”
“I know you are: that’s why I’m here,” Moffatt serenely answered. He leaned back, crossing his legs, and twisting his small stiff moustache with a plump hand adorned by a cameo.
“Fact is,” he went on, “this is a coals-of-fire call. You think I owe you a grudge, and I’m going to show you I’m not that kind. I’m going to put you onto a good thing—oh, not because I’m so fond of you; just because it happens to hit my sense of a joke.”
While Moffatt talked Mr. Spragg took up the pile of letters on his desk and sat shuffling them like a pack of cards. He dealt them deliberately to two imaginary players; then he pushed them aside and drew out his watch.
“All right—I carry one too,” said the young man easily. “But you’ll find it’s time gained to hear what I’ve got to say.”
Mr. Spragg considered the vista of chimneys without speaking, and Moffatt continued: “I don’t suppose you care to hear the story of my life, so I won’t refer you to the back numbers. You used to say out in Apex that I spent too much time loafing round the bar of the Mealey House; that was one of the things you had against me. Well, maybe I did—but it taught me to talk, and to listen to the other fellows too. Just at present I’m one of Harmon B. Driscoll’s private secretaries, and some of that Mealey House loafing has come in more useful than any job I ever put my hand to. The old man happened to hear I knew something about the inside of the Eubaw deal, and took me on to have the information where he could get at it. I’ve given him good talk for his money; but I’ve done some listening too. Eubaw ain’t the only commodity the Driscolls deal in.”
Mr. Spragg restored his watch to his pocket and shifted his drowsy gaze from the window to his visitor’s face.
“Yes,” said Moffatt, as if in reply to the movement, “the Driscolls are getting busy out in Apex. Now they’ve got all the street railroads in their pocket they want the water-supply too—but you know that as well as I do. Fact is, they’ve got to have it; and there’s where you and I come in.”
Mr. Spragg thrust his hands in his waistcoat armholes and turned his eyes back to the window.
“I’m out of that long ago,” he said indifferently.
“Sure,” Moffatt acquiesced; “but you know what went on when you were in it.”
“Well?” said Mr. Spragg, shifting one hand to the Masonic emblem on his watch-chain.
“Well, Representative James J. Rolliver, who was in it with you, ain’t out of it yet. He’s the man the Driscolls are up against. What d’you know about him?”
Mr. Spragg twirled the emblem thoughtfully. “Driscoll tell you to come here?”
Moffatt laughed. “No, SIR—not by a good many miles.”
Mr. Spragg removed his feet from the scrap basket and straightened himself in his chair.
“Well—I didn’t either; good morning, Mr. Moffatt.”
The young man stared a moment, a humorous glint in his small black eyes; but he made no motion to leave his seat. “Undine’s to be married next week, isn’t she?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Mr. Spragg’s face blackened and he swung about in his revolving chair.
“You go to—”
Moffatt raised a deprecating hand. “Oh, you needn’t warn me off. I don’t want to be invited to the wedding. And I don’t want to forbid the banns.”
There was a derisive sound in Mr. Spragg’s throat.
“But I DO want to get out of Driscoll’s office,” Moffatt imperturbably continued. “There’s no future there for a fellow like me. I see things big. That’s the reason Apex was too tight a fit for me. It’s only the little fellows that succeed in little places. New York’s my size—without a single alteration. I could prove it to you tomorrow if I could put my hand on fifty thousand dollars.”
Mr. Spragg did not repeat his gesture of dismissal: he was once more listening guardedly but intently. Moffatt saw it and continued.
“And I could put my hand on double that sum—yes, sir, DOUBLE—if you’d just step round with me to old Driscoll’s office before five P. M. See the connection, Mr. Spragg?”
The older man remained silent while his visitor hummed a bar or two of “In the Gloaming”; then he said: “You want me to tell Driscoll what I know about James J. Rolliver?”
“I want you to tell the truth—I want you to stand for political purity in your native state. A man of your prominence owes it to the community, sir,” cried Moffatt. Mr. Spragg was still tormenting his Masonic emblem.
“Rolliver and I always stood together,” he said at last, with a tinge of reluctance.
“Well, how much have you made out of it? Ain’t he always been ahead of the game?”
“I can’t do it—I can’t do it,” said Mr. Spragg, bringing his clenched hand down on the desk, as if addressing an invisible throng of assailants.
Moffatt rose without any evidence of disappointment in his ruddy countenance. “Well, so long,” he said, moving toward the door. Near the threshold he paused to add carelessly: “Excuse my referring to a personal matter—but I understand Miss Spragg’s wedding takes place next Monday.”
Mr. Spragg was silent.
“How’s that?” Moffatt continued unabashed. “I saw in the papers the date was set for the end of June.”
Mr. Spragg rose heavily from his seat. “I presume my daughter has her reasons,” he said, moving toward the door in Moffatt’s wake.
“I guess she has—same as I have for wanting you to step round with me to old Driscoll’s. If Undine’s reasons are as good as mine—”
“Stop right here, Elmer Moffatt!” the older man broke out with lifted hand. Moffatt made a burlesque feint of evading a blow; then his face grew serious, and he moved close to Mr. Spragg, whose arm had fallen to his side.
“See here, I know Undine’s reasons. I’ve had a talk with her—didn’t she tell you? SHE don’t beat about the bush the way you do. She told me straight out what was bothering her. She wants the Marvells to think she’s right out of Kindergarten. ‘No goods sent out on approval from this counter.’ And I see her point—I don’t mean to publish my meemo’rs. Only a deal’s a deal.” He paused a moment, twisting his fingers about the heavy gold watch-chain that crossed his waistcoat. “Tell you what, Mr. Spragg, I don’t bear malice—not against Undine, anyway—and if I could have afforded it I’d have been glad enough to oblige her and forget old times. But you didn’t hesitate to kick me when I was down and it’s taken me a day or two to get on my legs again after that kicking. I see my way now to get there and keep there; and there’s a kinder poetic justice in your being the man to help me up. If I can get hold of fifty thousand dollars within a day or so I don’t care who’s got the start of me. I’ve got a dead sure thing in sight, and you’re the only man that can get it for me. Now do you see where we’re coming out?”
Mr. Spragg, during this discourse, had remained motionless, his hands in his pockets, his jaws moving mechanically, as though he mumbled a toothpick under his beard. His sallow cheek had turned a shade paler, and his brows hung threateningly over his half-closed eyes. But there was no threat—there was scarcely more than a note of dull curiosity—in the voice with which he said: “You mean to talk?”
Moffatt’s rosy face grew as hard as a steel safe. “I mean YOU to talk—to old Driscoll.” He paused, and