A few minutes later Michael entered with a letter. “Sam just brought this, sir,” he said, and left the room.
Briggs glanced at the address and recognized Franklin West’s handwriting. He tore open the letter hastily. He had a feeling that it might contain disagreeable news. His eyes ran swiftly over the lines.
“Your man has come just as I am leaving for Boston. Sorry I can’t go back with him. I came over to New York for only a few hours. But I’ll be back in three or four days, when, of course, I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing you. Congratulations on your nomination, if you will accept congratulations on a dead sure thing.”
For a moment Briggs had a sensation of chill. It was like a premonition. Was it possible that Franklin West was going back on him, too? But he put the thought aside as absurd. It would not have occurred to him if he were not tired out and if he had not had that interview with the heelers. Still, it was odd that West should have hurried through New York without calling. It would have been simple and natural for him to stop for breakfast at the house where he had so often received hospitality. Still, Briggs thought, philosophically, it was a relief not to be obliged to see him.
For the rest of the morning, however, he felt uncomfortable. At luncheon he had an impulse to speak of West to his wife, but he checked it. He found it hard to start any new subject with her now.
XVII
Two days later, while Douglas Briggs was smoking his after-dinner cigar in the library and chatting with Fanny Wallace, whose presence in the house greatly relieved the embarrassment of his strained relations with his wife, Michael entered and announced Mr. Farley. “There are two gentlemen with him, sir,” said Michael, “Mr. De Witt and Mr. Saunders.”
Briggs flushed. “Ah!” he said, as if the callers had suddenly assumed importance in his eyes.
“Where are they?” he asked, rising hastily.