But the Mayor did have a cold, and not even Jean's most Machiavellian tricks succeeded in getting at him. In a small neat house, behind a small neat lawn, a small, neat wife guarded his civilian privacy and Jean was forced to wait until the fourth day, when protected by an overcoat and neck muffler, in spite of the glorious fall sunshine, Mayor Martin again took up his official duties. Almost as soon as the office was opened, Jean forced herself beyond the secretary and confronted the Mayor, small and neat like his wife and the baby Jean had seen being aired on the lawn.
In words as few and stark as Amelia Gorman's she presented the case.
"Now, what I suggest, Mr. Martin, is that you send to us monthly fifteen dollars, for which we can board your child in a respectable family. When he is fourteen, if he shows promise of making more than a grammar school education advisable, this amount to be increased to twenty. He can make up the rest himself until he graduates from some technical school. In the event of your dying before he has reached the earning age, this amount is to be continued. You can arrange it as a bequest to us and need not mention the child."
The little man sat staring at Jean. Behind his flat, frightened eyes, she could see the procession of his small hopes, running to their death. He would do as she asked because he could think of no way of escaping with the dignity that befitted his office. He would cover his terror under the cloak of his mayoralty and submit to supporting his child, as he might have contributed to the erection of a public library. But for all the rest of his life he would enjoy the memory of this morning. Once the danger of publicity was removed, he would come to regard himself as a bold, bad man of the world, and from the pinnacle of his knowledge of evil look down upon the sober, uninteresting members of his town and of the church, where he went every Sunday morning in a neat black hat.
"Well, Mr. Martin?"
Jean gathered up her gloves and handbag and rose. He reached out as if forcibly to detain her, almost as if he expected, should he refuse, that she would go through the town with a bell, proclaiming him in public.
"Of course, I wish you and your office, to understand that I do this through no legal, or, I may say, moral compulsion."
He was like a vicious terrier taking a last nip at some one's leg, before being dragged away on a rope. "I have many demands made on me, both public and private, and my income is not large."
"Fifteen is not much, Mr. Martin, for food and clothes and schooling. You will find later that your present baby will require all of that."
At the mention of the baby, the Mayor frowned.