Warren Smith addressed the company. “Well, is this all for the present?” he asked. “Is everything settled?”
“Wait a minute,” said Keating. “I'd like to hear from the 'Herald' about its policy, if Miss Sherwood will tell us.”
“Yes, indeed,” she answered. “It will be very simple. Don't you think there is only one course to pursue? We will advocate no one very energetically, but we will print as much of the truth about Mr. McCune as we can, with delicacy and honor, in this case, but, as I understand it, the work is almost all to be done amongst the delegates. We shall not mention our plan at all—but—but, when the convention is over, and he is nominated, we will get out an extra; and I am so confident of your success that I'll tell you now that the extra will be ready the night before the convention. We will contrive that Mr. Harkless shall not receive his copy of the paper containing the notice of the change of date, and I think the chance of his seeing it in any Rouen paper may be avoided. That is all, I think.”
“Thank you,” said Keating. “That is certainly the course to follow.” Every one nodded, or acquiesced in words; and Keating and Bence came over to Helen and engaged her in conversation. The others began to look about for their hats, vaguely preparing to leave.
“Wait a minute,” said the judge. “There's no train due just now.” And Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider, rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second tray. The judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them blithely, then hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at the ladies, uncertain of permission.
“Let me get you some matches,” Helen said, quickly, and found a box on the table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant veils of smoke soon draped the room.
“Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?” Boswell whispered in Keating's ear.
“That's her name.”
“Ain't she the daughter of that old fellow over there by the window? Ain't her name Fisbee?”
“No; she's his daughter, but her legal name's Sherwood; she's an adop——”