The colonel looked grave.
“She’s going on the stand for Leigh. The Carters oughtn’t to allow this.” He turned and laid his hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder. “Jinny,” he said quietly. “I reckon we mustn’t judge it too hard, but—well, I’m beginning to pity that girl.”
Virginia said nothing. She was afraid that her grandfather felt her trembling under his hand.
XXII
William Carter spent the days after the shooting entirely alone in his office at the Payson Building. He slept there on the old couch, and for the most part ate there, Moses, the elevator-boy, running errands for him to the delicatessen store and then devouring the viands after he had brought them. For William ate practically nothing, though he drank a good deal.
Mr. Payson, who had found him once or twice in a state of stupor, called up Mr. Carter on the telephone the day before the trial.
“You’d better come over and see William,” he advised. “He’s in no condition to do business.”
Mr. Carter, who had just returned to his office after a long talk with Leigh, was shaken; but he picked up his hat, clapped it down again on his gray head, and started determinedly for the Payson Building. He felt that his cup was full. He even experienced a sensation of ire at Payson for having acquired wealth to build this huge edifice of mottled brick and sandstone.
“Looks like a huge loaf of ginger-bread,” Mr. Carter grumbled to himself.
But he was glad that it happened to be in full blast, as he would have expressed it, and the throng of shoppers had no time to notice him. Moses took him up in an elevator that was designated as “for employees only.” He made some ado, too, about moving aside a basketful of empty bottles to make room for his passenger. Mr. Carter shoved the basket with his foot.