“Just a second. I’d like a word with you in private. Hello, here he is.” There were handshakings, and then Parsons motioned with his head for Serepta to remain behind as the others entered the house. “Say, have you got any influence over him, Mrs. Grimes?”
“Not a bit,” said Serepta. “What have you men decided he ought to do? Drop out?”
“We’ve decided—the whole Central Committee—that he’d be a damned fool to drop out of the race. Excuse my French.”
“With pleasure. Now, let me give you a piece of advice.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure that Oliver was out of hearing. “Don’t plead with him. Act as mad as you know how. Don’t go in there and tell him he’d be a damned fool to drop out—excuse my French—don’t go at him that way. Tell him he’d be an ornery, low-lifed skunk if he left you in the lurch like that. Make it strong. Nobody on earth minds being called a damned fool, Mr. Parsons, but it is something awful to be called a skunk. He is really serious about withdrawing. You mustn’t let him. All he needs is your encouragement and he’ll—”
“You think it will encourage him if we call him a skunk?”
“I didn’t say you were to call him one,” said she tartly. “I said you were to tell him he’d be one.”
“If you have the slightest influence—”
“I told you I haven’t a bit. You men got him into this race and it’s your business to keep him in it. I guess you’d better go in. They’re calling you.”
Mr. Sikes ambled up as Parsons disappeared through the door. He stopped short in the gravel walk just below where Mrs. Grimes was standing. After an instant’s hesitation, he drew nearer to the rail, treading ruthlessly upon the frost-ravaged peony bed that skirted the porch. He felt that it was necessary to lower his voice.
“We’ve only six more days to go, Serepty,” he said. “This is the nineteenth.”