“Because,” continued Mr. Brown in his tone of fatherly concern, “after Mr. Marcy had stated what he knows about this case, I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much chance for you to win any high places by being loyal to the people.”
For a moment after this velvet threat Blake held upon Mr. Brown an open-lipped, ashen face. Then, without a word, he leaned his elbows upon his desk and buried his face in his hands. For a long space there was silence in the room. Mr. Brown’s eyes, kind no longer, but keenest of the keen, watched the form before him, timing the right second to strike again.
At length he recrossed his legs.
“Of course it’s up to you to decide, and what you say goes,” he went on in his amiable voice. “But speaking impartially, and as a friend, it strikes me that you’ve gone too far in this matter to draw back. It strikes me that the best and only thing is to go straight ahead.”
Blake’s head remained bowed in his hands, and he did not speak.
“And, of course,” pursued Mr. Brown, “if you should decide in favour of the original agreement, our promise still stands good—Senate and all.”
Mr. Brown said no more, but sat watching his man. Again there was a long silence. Then Blake raised his face—and a changed face it was indeed from that which had fallen into his hands. It bore the marks of a mighty struggle, but it was hard and resolute—the face of a man who has cast all hesitancy behind.
“The agreement still stands,” he said.
“Then you’re ready to go ahead?”