Junior stood waiting, studying him intently. At last the elder Moreland resumed: “If the thing happens, and happens to our discredit, I’m not any too sure that things won’t go pretty rough with us.”
Junior laughed outright, but it wasn’t a hearty laugh, and not a mirthful one.
“Don’t you think it!” he cried. “Don’t you think it!”
Martin Moreland drew a line so deep that it cut through the blotter. “I don’t think it,” he said with a terse, cold incision that arrested Junior’s deepest attention. “I don’t think it. I know it.”
Junior stiffened slightly and stood studying him.
“There’s just one thing that can save the situation,” said the elder Moreland. “If you’re ready to go to work, go to work now on the task of finding out where that pocket book went. Find it in such a way that it will be a credit to us to have found it. Find it in such a way that it will turn public opinion in our favour. Give me the chance to be the leader in doing anything that could be done to reinstate Mahala.”
As he finished, Junior laughed again, this time more naturally. “That’s something of a job that you’ve set for me, Pater,” he said. “I haven’t an idea in ten states where that pocket book is, but if that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll get on the job and see if I can resurrect it, or duplicate it, or do something. And in the meantime, is there anything you want me to do in connection with putting a small slice of the fear of God into the hearts of Albert Rich, and old Potter and Jason?”
The Senior Moreland thought intently a few minutes and then he said quietly: “Right there you had better stay your hand. They happen to be on the popular side right now. You had better just drop that and evade it, and get around it the best you can, and in the meantime, you had better spend some time and money on seeing how popular you can make yourself in this town right now.”
“All right,” said Junior, “at least one of the jobs you’ve set me is agreeable. I don’t mind in the least seeing how popular I can make myself. As a matter of fact, I deeply enjoy it, and in about ten days I’ll show you an altogether different atmosphere. It’s evident to my young mind that this village has needed me, that I’m of importance on this job, and in the meantime, I think you had better take Mother and go on a vacation. If you’ll allow me to say so confidentially, you’re looking as if a keen blast of the wrath of Heaven had struck you.”
Junior left the room. Martin Moreland went on decorating the blotter. No one kept any account of the length of time he spent or the intricacy of the designs that he drew. He heard the whistles blowing for noon before he arose and reached for his hat, and as he left the room he was saying softly to himself: “‘The wrath of Heaven.’ I wonder what the wrath of Heaven can do to me?”