“Oh, it’s a note!” he said, crossly, while his brows gathered in his impatience. “Sign it, quick! I haven’t a minute to lose! I’ll explain it to you afterward.”
She looked again into his brilliant eyes, she felt his tainted breath upon her face, then something of his own fever of haste caused her heart to leap, and she put her name to the note below where Jerome had scrawled his own. Garwood snatched up the note and thrust it back in his pocket. Then he turned to go. But Emily arose and caught at him.
“Jerome! Dear! What is it! What has happened? What is it for?”
The tumult of his troubled soul broke forth and he poured it out upon her.
“It’s for money—money—money!” he cried, and he smote the unstable little desk with his fist, making it rock. “What is everything for in these days!” His breath came hard and fast, the blue crescents in which his eyes burned deepened perceptibly, and his eyes flamed as if all the fires of all excitement were about to leap out. In his cheeks, now of an unusual pallor, two red spots glowed.
“But what is the money for?” she persisted, still clinging to him as he backed away from her. “Tell me—won’t you?”
“It’s for votes—votes—votes! Votes that I need more to-day than I ever needed them!”
“Oh, Jerome!” she cried. “Don’t—don’t say that, don’t talk that way! Wait—wait, dear, sit down until you’re calmer.”
“Calmer!” he roared. “Calmer! With all my enemies at my heels?”
“But, dear, I don’t like the sound of that. It would be better if you were beaten honorably.”