“Much! a woman!” replied the stranger.
The astute Gashwiler, waiting further information, concluded to receive this fact gaily and gallantly. “A woman?—my dear Mr. Wiles,—of course! The dear creatures,” he continued, with a fat, offensive chuckle, “somehow are always making their charming presence felt. Ha! ha! A man, sir, in public life becomes accustomed to that sort of thing, and knows when he must be agreeable,—agreeable, sir, but firm! I've had my experience, sir,—my OWN experience,”—and the Congressman leaned back in his chair, not unlike a robust St. Anthony who had withstood one temptation to thrive on another.
“Yes,” said Wiles impatiently, “but d—n it, she's on the OTHER SIDE.”
“The other side!” repeated Gashwiler vacantly.
“Yes, she's a niece of Garcia's. A little she devil.”
“But Garcia's on our side,” rejoined Gashwiler.
“Yes, but she is bought by the Ring.”
“A woman!” sneered Mr. Gashwiler; “what can she do with men who won't be made fools of? Is she so handsome?”
“I never saw any great beauty in her,” said Wiles shortly, “although they say that she's rather caught that d——d Thatcher, in spite of his coldness. At any rate, she is his protegee. But she isn't the sort you're thinking of, Gashwiler. They say she knows, or pretends to know, something about the grant. She may have got hold of some of her uncle's papers. Those Greasers were always d——d fools; and, if he did anything foolish, like as not he bungled or didn't cover up his tracks. And with his knowledge and facilities too! Why, if I'd—” but here Mr. Wiles stopped to sigh over the inequalities of fortune that wasted opportunities on the less skillful scamp.
Mr. Gashwiler became dignified. “She can do nothing with us,” he said potentially.