King Cole (18 page)

”Well?”

“I’m willing if you are.”

“Fine, fine! Let’s have a drink.”

“I never turn down a drink. But you haven’t won yet. It’s going to be close if I know anything about elections.”

Read took a decanter of whiskey from a wall cabinet and poured out two drinks.

“Let’s worry about that later,” he said. “Here’s looking at you. You know, Gregg, a job like mine almost makes a stuffed shirt out of a man. Everybody is so solemn and respectful. You get to thinking you’re pretty important. Nobody argues with you. Everything you do or say is applauded. After a while you think you’re the Pope: infallible. That’s where you come in.”

“I always speak my mind, especially to you, Read. I refuse to pull my punches. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“You’ve got yesmen standing on each other’s feet around here. Like that big bad soldier, Colonel Putnam. If he had twice as much brains as he’s got he wouldn’t even be half-witted. Charley’s all right; good fellow; but he hasn’t got any backbone. Anyway, he worships you. He really does. He really thinks whatever you do is right.”

Read smiled.

“He’s going to marry Miss Wilson.”

“What!” Gregg threw back his head and roared with laughter. “That kills me. A guy like Charley marrying a campfire girl. That rates a headline.”

“It’ll probably be good for him.”

“I don’t say it won’t, only I’m glad it’s him. I’m the only strong-minded man of the old bunch. Still free. No double yoke for me. I have enough trouble living as it is.”

They had a few more drinks, then Gregg began to talk about the past. Gradually Read forgot his troubles and relaxed. He laughed so loudly at some of the things Gregg said that once Miss Wilson opened the door and peeked in. They had a few more drinks. Read put his feet up on his desk and unfastened his collar. Outside, black clouds moved slowly southward over the State House; thunder rolled across the sky, and lightning flashed. The rain was blown against the windows, then ran slowly down like tears.

Gregg glanced out the window.

“This is Democrat weather, Read. But the rooster will never crow tomorrow. It’s either you or Eagle Beak. Let’s have another drink, then we’d better stop. I don’t want to have to prop you up on the stage tonight.”

They had another drink. Gradually the present disappeared. Read Cole was not the Governor of Ohio; he was not a middle-aged man with graying hair and a rather noble face indelibly marked with lines of responsibility and self-control; he was a wild young man in a dirty khaki uniform (three sizes too big for him) cursing the mud and rain of France. He saw Gregg’s young-old face in the brilliant light of a star shell. “Well,” said Gregg, “in the morning we get it. If I get killed I’m going to sue the government.”

Read heard the hollow rattle of the machine guns. He thought a man was a damn fool to get shot trying to kill some other men he had never seen and who had never harmed him. He saw Jerry running. One of the Germans was fat and ran knock-kneed. Pretty soon the fat German fell, rolling over several times. When he got up, they were on him. His face was a grayish yellow. “Kamerad! Kamerad!” he bellowed, tears running down his cheeks. Somebody was going to shoot him but Gregg shouted: “Let him alone, you dirty bastard”; and with a kick he started the German toward the American lines.

That time at Belle Forêt when Gregg got drunk and fell in the pond and the pompous little French official screamed: “No bathing here. That’s our drinking water. Canaille!”

Gregg came to the hospital to see Read, who was in great pain and wanted to die. Gregg was worried when he couldn’t cheer Read up. Gregg took the nurse outside to talk with her about the case and when they came back they both looked pretty sheepish. Read laughed at them and that night he began to get better. Gregg was around for several days. Read found out later that they had put him in the hoosegow for overstaying his leave…

There was a knock at the door. Read started, then quickly adjusted himself to the present. He took his feet down from the desk, fastened up his collar, retied his necktie.

“Come in.”

It was Miss Wilson. She glanced at the decanter, then averted her eyes. Gregg smiled at her sardonically.

“Telegram, Governor.”

“Let me have it.” Read took the telegram and glanced at it, then he got up and stood reading it over and over.

Miss Wilson started out.

“I hear you’re getting married, Miss Wilson,” said Gregg.

“Yes.”

“Charley’s a mighty good man. Sudden, wasn’t it?”

Miss Wilson flushed angrily.

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Mr. Upham.” She shrugged, turned and went out.

“Looks like a guilty conscience. Anything wrong, Read?”

Read hesitated, then handed Gregg the telegram.

Am very ill want to see you Northridge Hotel Sunnyvale

Eileen

“Just like her,” said Gregg. “Doesn’t she know you’ve got to make a speech? And look at that rain!”

“I’ve got time to go to Sunnyvale and back.”

“Let her wait. I’ll bet she’s not dying. And what about our handsome Italian friend?”

“I’ve got to go,” said Read, with decision. “You come, too, Gregg. As a favor.”

Gregg sighed and poured himself another drink.

“Nice little hideaway,” said Gregg, as Barney swung the big limousine from the highway and up through the grove of ancient elms and oaks which surrounded the Northridge Hotel.

Gregg’s voice was bitter. Barney had driven recklessly over the slippery and treacherous macadam, urged on by Read; and Gregg had got nervous and had shown it, much to his own disgust. Colonel Putnam had insisted on sending Captain Boyce with them, and he had laughed and talked all the way, absolutely oblivious to the skidding car and the poor visibility. Boyce, Gregg said, was a professional he-man, a breed he thoroughly disliked. Several times Read had to shut Gregg up to keep him from mortally offending the Captain. So now Gregg felt bitter and irritable and couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I used to stay here,” said Read, “when I was a State Representative. Nice place. You can really rest here.”

“I know,” said Gregg. “I was here once. A graveyard is lively in comparison. Every morning you go out and drink a dipperful of that stinking red water; at noon you drink another one; and just before dinner you do it again. Those are the high points of the day. Of course, you can play croquet!” .

“This is a very historic spot,” said Captain Boyce. “I used to know all about it, but I’ve kind of forgot. There used to be a French fort around here some place, kind of a trading post. Tecumseh’s buried down the road a little ways.”

“Is Sitting Bull buried here, too?” asked Gregg.

“Oh, no,” said Captain Boyce. “He was a Sioux. He was killed away out West.”

“Oh,” said Gregg.

Barney drove the car around the big rambling frame hotel and stopped under the huge wooden porte-cochère. They saw Major Bradley’s limousine parked nearby; his negro chauffeur was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. When he saw the Governor, he threw his cigarette away and came to attention. Young Dr. Cross opened the door and hurried out to meet them.

“Governor,” he said, drawing Read to one side, “she’s sleeping now. I want to see you a minute.”

“Where’s the Major?”

“I had to put him to bed, too. He’s worse than Eileen. That is, he’s really a sick man. Suffers from high blood pressure, and all this excitement has got him about to the boiling point.”

“I haven’t got much time. I’m due at Memorial Hall at eight o’clock.”

“You’ll make it. Governor, how many people know about this? Boyce doesn’t know, does he?”

“No. He was just detailed by Colonel Putnam to come along. Gregg knows all about it, of course.”

“It’s not going to look well in the papers.”

“We can’t help that.”

“Of course, the
Independent
will print as much of it as they can get hold of. The Major could kill the other accounts.”

“I’m not going to worry about that. When can I see Eileen?”

“In a few minutes. She sleeps in snatches only. Every time she opens her eyes she asks if you’ve come.”

Read said nothing, but he was touched. Did he really mean something to Eileen after all?

“Step into the lobby, Governor. I want to talk to you before you see Eileen.”

“Where’s Riquetti?”

“He’s wandering around some place like a lost soul. It’s too much for him.”

Read spoke briefly with Captain Boyce and Gregg, then he followed Dr. Cross into the big, gloomy lobby and they sat down on a lounge which faced one of the huge front windows. It had stopped raining, but the sky was still overcast. Water was still running through the rain gutters, and there was a steady drip-drip from the big trees along the veranda. From where he sat Read could see, between the trees of the grove, cars flashing past on the National Highway.

“As you know,” said little Dr. Cross, adjusting his pince-nez, “I’m not a nerve doctor. I’m just a doctor. I inherited my practice, you might say, from the Old Boy and I’ve spent most of my professional life doctoring the rich, most of them what is called ‘nerve’ cases. I never tell them they are hypochondriacs; that wouldn’t do. I always find something wrong with them and then proceed to treat them for it. I’ve had pretty good results. But Eileen is different.”

Read cleared his throat impatiently.

“Let me have it fast, Doctor. I’ve only got a few minutes.”

“I’ll hurry as fast as I can. Well, there’s no doubt that Eileen is a ‘nerve’ case. She’s sound as a dollar; nothing organically wrong with her at all. So you don’t need to worry about that. She’s not dangerously ill or anything like it. She could get out of her bed this minute and go about her business. But she 
thinks
she’s sick, so we must humor her up to a point. Her trouble is, she’s suffering from a conflict in her emotional life. Not like my other rich patients at all; as I said before. They are simply bored; have nothing to absorb them; so they begin to listen to themselves tick. Eileen is a very highly organized woman; she’s sensitive, and very intelligent. Life hits her a harder wallop than it does me, for instance, or yourself, Governor. So we must make allowances. On top of this, she has what a colleague of mine calls an ‘anxiety neurosis.’ She thinks something terrible is going to happen. She doesn’t know what. It just seems to her that some dark thing is hanging over her. Ordinarily she laughs it off; dismisses it. But when it happens that she has something trying to face anyway, it gets the best of her. Today she couldn’t overcome it. She made Riquetti stop here. She went to bed. She thought she was dying. Everybody thought she was dying. The doctors from Dayton were running around in circles.” The little doctor bent down to laugh. “When they found out she was Eileen Bradley they almost fainted. They were certainly glad to see me. They couldn’t afford to have a woman like Eileen Bradley die on their hands.”

“What do you want me to do?” Read interposed, impatiently.

The doctor adjusted his glasses and peered at Read.

“That’s up to you. You’ve got to decide that for yourself. She didn’t really want to run away with this fortune hunter. She just thought she did. I think her inner self—call it what you want—got the best of her without her knowing it; hence her prostration. That’s only a theory. All she talks about is you, Governor.”

A nurse came tiptoeing across the long, dim lobby.

“Miss Bradley is awake, Doctor. She’s asking for Mr. Cole again, sir. Has he…?”

“This is Governor Cole, Miss Rice,” said the doctor with a flourish.

The nurse’s face was stupid with surprise.

“Oh,
Governor
Cole! Follow me, Governor.”

When the nurse pushed the door open, Read saw that Eileen was sitting up in bed. His hands began to tremble slightly; his heart beat unevenly. All his resentment disappeared. Eileen was no longer sleek and superior and imperturbable. Her dark hair was twisted up anyhow and Read saw how thick and lustrous it was. She had on very little make-up and her eyes looked large and beautiful in her pale, slightly drawn face.

Half crying, she waved her hands at the nurse.

“Please go away,” she said.

The nurse closed the door softly.

“Better?” asked Read, standing awkwardly by the bed.

“Yes. Oh, Read, I was sure I was going to die. I just couldn’t get my breath. I was suffocating. Sit down, won’t you? You stand there as if you were going to run away any minute.”

Read sat down in a chair by the bed. Eileen leaned back against her piled-up pillows. There was a short silence. Outside, the water was still running through the rain gutters and dripping from the trees.

“I’m glad you’re better.”

Eileen looked at him, then tears began to run down her cheeks. She held out her arms to Read.

“Don’t you want me?” she said.

Read got up, sat down on the bed, and took her in his arms.

“I always wanted you, Eileen. But you were always so difficult.”

“Kiss me, please; just once. Then we must talk.”

They kissed; Eileen was all soft and tearful and not like herself at all. Read was overpowered by a strong but vague emotion. Eileen seemed so young now; so helpless and at the mercy of things. Like Kitten! Yes, now she seemed as badly equipped as Kitten for dealing with men and life. Read wanted to protect her, and make her way smooth.

“Why did you run away?” he demanded.

“It was a brainstorm.”

“Are you going back home?”

Eileen smiled shyly. Read was amazed at the difference in her. He was looking at an Eileen he had never seen before. She had dropped all her defenses. She was just a woman wanting to be loved; not a sleek, self-possessed, sophisticated semi-European. He understood the Major now. A happy, thoughtful girl!

“Do you want me to go back, Read?”

“I certainly do.”

“You say it with conviction.”

“I mean it. I was miserable. I thought you’d never had any use for me at all. What else could I think?”

“Wasn’t it awful of me? Poor Dad! He collapsed, the doctor said. I never knew I meant so much to him. I really didn’t. I just thought he wanted to interfere with me.”