The Essential Winston Churchill Collection. Winston Churchill
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"W-what do you know about her?"
Isaac Worthington was bitterly angry--the more so because he was helpless, and could not question Jethro's right to ask. What did he know about her? Nothing, except that she had intrigued to marry his son. Bob's letter had described her, to be sure, but he could not be expected to believe that: and he had not heard Miss Lucretia Penniman's speech. And yet he could not tell Jethro that he knew nothing about her, for he was shrewd enough to perceive the drift of the next question.
"Kn-know anything against her?" said Jethro.
Mr. Worthington leaned back in his chair.
"I can't see what Miss Wetherell has to do with the present occasion," he replied.
"H-had her dismissed by the prudential committee had her dismissed--didn't you?"
"They chose to act as they saw fit."
"T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her--didn't you?"
That was a matter of common knowledge in Brampton, having leaked out through Jonathan Hill.
"I must decline to discuss this," said Mr. Worthington.
"W-wouldn't if I was you."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did." Isaac Worthington had lost in self-esteem by not saying so before.
"Why? Wahn't she honest? Wahn't she capable? Wahn't she a lady?"
"I can't say that I know anything against Miss Wetherell's character, if that's what you mean."
"F-fit to teach--wahn't she--fit to teach?"
"I believe she has since qualified before Mr. Errol."
"Fit to teach--wahn't fit to marry your son--was she?"
Isaac Worthington clutched the table and started from his chair. He grew white to his lips with anger, and yet he knew that he must control himself.
"Mr. Bass," he said, "you have something to sell, and I have something to buy--if the price is not ruinous. Let us confine ourselves to that. My affairs and my son's affairs are neither here nor there. I ask you again, how much do you want for this Consolidation Bill?"
"N-no money will buy it."
"What!"
"C-consent to this marriage, c-consent to this marriage." There was yet room for Isaac Worthington to be amazed, and for a while he stared up at Jethro, speechless.
"Is that your price?" he asked at last.
"Th-that's my price," said Jethro.
Isaac Worthington got up and went to the window and stood looking out above the black mass of trees at the dome outlined against the star-flecked sky. At first his anger choked him, and he could not think; he had just enough reason left not to walk out of the door. But presently habit asserted itself in him, too, and he began to reflect and calculate in spite of his anger. It is strange that memory plays so small a part in such a man. Before he allowed his mind to dwell on the fearful price, he thought of his ambitions gratified; and yet he did not think then of the woman to whom he had once confided those ambitions--the woman who was the girl's mother. Perhaps Jethro was thinking of her.
It may have been--I know not--that Isaac Worthington wondered at this revelation of the character of Jethro Bass, for it was a revelation. For this girl's sake Jethro was willing to forego his revenge, was willing at the end of his days to allow the world to believe that he had sold out to his enemy, or that he had been defeated by him.
But when he thought of the marriage, Isaac Worthington ground his teeth. A certain sentiment which we may call pride was so strong in him that he felt ready to make almost any sacrifice to prevent it. To hinder it he had quarrelled with his son, and driven him away, and threatened disinheritance. The price was indeed heavy--the heaviest he could pay. But the alternative--was not that heavier? To relinquish his dream of power, to sink for a while into a crippled state; for he had spent large sums, and one of those periodical depressions had come in the business of the mills, and those Western investments were not looking so bright now.
So, with his hands opening and closing in front of him, Isaac Worthington fought out his battle. A terrible war, that, between ambition and pride--a war to the knife. The issue may yet have been undecided when he turned round to Jethro with a sneer which he could not resist.
"Why doesn't she marry him without my consent?"
In a moment Mr. Worthington knew he had gone too far. A certain kind of an eye is an incomparable weapon, and armed men have been cowed by those who possess it, though otherwise defenceless. Jethro Bass had that kind of an eye.
"G-guess you wouldn't understand if I was to tell you," he said.
Mr. Worthington walked to the window again, perhaps to compose himself, and then came back again.
"Your proposition is," he said at length, "that if I give my consent to this marriage, we are to have Bixby and the governor, and the Consolidation Bill will become a law. Is that it?"
"Th-that's it," said Jethro, taking his accustomed seat.
"And this consent is to be given when the bill becomes a law?"
"Given now. T-to-night."
Mr. Worthington took another turn as far as the door, and suddenly came and stood before Jethro.
"Well, I consent."
Jethro nodded toward the table.
"Er--pen and paper there," he said.
"What do you want me to do?" demanded Mr. Worthington.
"W-write to Bob--write to Cynthy. Nice letters."
"This is carrying matters with too high a hand, Mr. Bass. I will write the letters to-morrow morning." It was intolerable that he, the first citizen of Brampton, should have to submit to such humiliation.
"Write 'em now. W-want to see 'em."
"But if I give you my word they will be written and sent to you to-morrow afternoon?"
"T-too late," said Jethro; "sit down and write 'em now."
Mr. Worthington went irresolutely to the table, stood for a minute, and dropped suddenly into the chair there. He would have given anything (except the realization of his ambitions) to have marched out of the room and to have slammed the door behind him. The letter paper and envelopes which Jethro had bought stood in a little pile, and Mr. Worthington picked up the pen. The clock struck two as he wrote the date, as though to remind him that he had written it wrong. If Flint could see him now! Would Flint guess? Would anybody guess? He stared at the white paper, and his rage came on again like a gust of wind, and he felt that he would rather beg in the streets than write such a thing. And yet--and yet he sat there. Surely Jethro Bass must have known that he could have taken no more exquisite vengeance than this, to compel a man--and such a man--to sit down in the white heat of passion--and write two letters of forgiveness! Jethro sat by the window, to all appearances oblivious to the tortures of his victim.
He who has tried to write a note--the simplest note when his mind was harassed, will understand something of Isaac Worthington's sensations.