"I never shirk an opportunity, Mrs. Herrick, to make another happy. I will remit the amount to you monthly by check. It is to be booked as a contribution to your work."
"Certainly, Mr. Martin."
The Mayor escorted Jean to the elevator, rang the bell for her and, as she stepped in, bowed elaborately. Jean chuckled. Already he was assuming the manners of the bold, bad man.
The train got in about eight. Jean went straight to the studio, after finding that Dr. Mary would not be back until the morning. It was dark, and when Jean turned on the light she saw that the dust was thick on everything. Herrick had evidently not straightened it out since she left. It looked forlorn and struck through the exhilaration of Jean's mood unpleasantly. As always, successful accomplishment gave Jean a sense of physical well-being that she enjoyed as deeply and as consciously as ever Martha did her moods of spiritual exaltation.
When she had put away her things, she turned off the light and stretched out on the couch. Through the open window she could see the stars, and their peace quieted the inner excitement that had held her ever since she left Mayor Martin's office. She had done a good piece of work with which Dr. Mary would be pleased and because of which Amelia Gorman would die happier. But beyond this, the thread of her action stretched down the years, binding together lives of which she knew nothing. At a moment's notice she had entered these lives, just as she might go to the window and call a stranger into the studio, and never would life be the same to these strangers as if she had not done the thing she had. The Mayor would grow old and die, a different man than he would have been if every month he had not sent fifteen dollars for the support of Amelia's child. And all the lives he touched would react to this secret check. Jimmie would grow up in some workman's family and their lives and his would be altered. She remembered how once she had thought of each person, weaving before his own loom, deliberately choosing or rejecting the threads that Life offered. Now she saw myriads upon myriads weaving before a high loom whose frame was lost in the immensity of time and distance.
She started as the door opened and Herrick entered. He did not see her, but came over to the empty fireplace and stood leaning his elbows on the mantel shelf. He looked tired and there were lines about his mouth. Compunction for she knew not what seized Jean and she rose quickly.
"Begee!"
Herrick whirled. Jean had been the last person in his mind.
"You!" he demanded stupidly, and instantly recognized that his tone gave the natural meeting the proportions of drama.
Jean laughed. "Sure. Who else?"