Contraband

by Clarence Budington Kelland

“Been poorer by half a dollar if I had,” he said, succinctly.

She was driven to the hotel, where she registered and was shown to her room by a bell boy. No sooner had he closed the door and departed with her gratuity in his hand than she threw herself down on the bed in very girlish despair.... She had failed. Singularly enough, it was not the failure itself which stung her; it was the fact that Evan Bartholomew Pell would know of her failure.... She had failed him. This was an incomprehensible state of affairs, and when she discovered it she was shocked. What difference did it make what Evan Pell thought, or how he regarded her failure. It was none of his business, anyhow. The paper was hers, and he nothing but a poorly paid employee.... It was all very well to tell this to herself, but the fact remained. She could not go back to Gibeon and confess failure to Evan.

She sat erect, hands clenched. Her teeth pressed her lips. “A man would see the Governor. He would manage it. I’ve a right to see him. His business is with affairs like mine, and not with dances.... I will see him. I’ll make him see me!”

There was a way, because there is always a way to accomplish everything.... Her thoughts came in fragmentary form, chaotic. Abner Fownes was in the city, perhaps in this very hotel. She tried to reason about him. What if he were a guest at the dinner.... That was a possibility to consider, and she scrutinized it. No, she concluded, he was not to be a dinner guest. Being a dinner guest of the Governor’s was not a fact he could have kept secret. It would elevate him in Gibeon’s eyes. He would never keep to himself a fact like that. Gibeon would have been informed. It would have been informed days ago so that Abner could have basked in this new glory!... But would he be at the ball? That was not to be determined. In politics he was important, and, ball or no ball, if he demanded an interview, the Governor would grant it. And he would demand an interview. He had journeyed to the capital in haste. This meant he had immediate need for Jenney’s appointment as sheriff.... He would see the Governor to-night!

Carmel opened her bag and thanked God for the impulse which had included her evening gown in her equipment. She laid it out on the bed and smoothed it.... Presently she was taking a bath, refreshing herself, and feeling very adventurous and almost happy. With characteristic neglect of impediments and consequences, she had taken a resolution—to be an uninvited guest at the Governor’s ball.

She telephoned for something to eat—to be sent to her room, for she feared to go to the public dining room, lest she encounter Fownes. At all costs Abner must be kept unaware of her presence. She was as relieved as if full success were hers, and she dressed with animation and pleasure. When she looked in the glass she could not help reflecting that, if she were not an invited guest at the ball she would not be a discredit to it.

It was difficult to wait. She paced up and down the room, planning, discarding plans. She endeavored to foresee obstacles and to remove them. She imagined, and enjoyed the imagining, dramatizing the whole evening in advance. She endowed the Governor with the qualities history gave to Abraham Lincoln—more especially in those episodes where he is reported to have arisen from important affairs of state to listen to the story of some wife or daughter whose loved one was to be executed for sleeping on his post. Yet she did not even know what the Governor looked like. His photographs—yes. She had seen his face, but it was not familiar to her, nor whether he was tall or short, brawny or slender.... The picture she painted made him big, broad of shoulder, with a fine, high forehead, noble eyes, and a fatherly manner. Perhaps he would address her as child, and, with courtesy, lead her to some private spot where she would pour her story into his sympathetic ear. He would be amazed, startled, confounded at the news of such a state of affairs in the commonwealth he governed.... And he would act. He would send her away from him with the precious appointment in her hand ... and with lofty words of praise....

She watched the time. It seemed as if days passed instead of hours before she telephoned down for her car. But when she issued from her room to descend, her dreams melted into damp fog and she was terrified. She feared to encounter Fownes at every step. Her heart almost stopped beating as she imagined terrible incidents. Suppose she were stopped at the door! Suppose, once inside, credentials should be demanded of her! Suppose the Governor’s wife should approach with a horrible society air and eye her scornfully and demand by what right she was there! She might be the center of a scene, might be expelled from the place! Almost she repented. Almost she returned to her room. But something compelled her to go on.... The only courage is that which compels one in spite of his terror.

The car was waiting. “The Executive Mansion,” she said, and sank back in her place, quivering.

Presently, too soon, they drew up before the awning which stretched from the Governor’s door to the street. A servant opened the car door and she alighted. He bowed elaborately. Carmel took it for a good omen. There was no questioning her of her right to be present.... A certain security came of the knowledge that she looked as if she belonged in this world.