Crane started—had the Senator heard anything? He reassured himself by remembering that the Senator would not attack him, an invited guest, and in the presence of his wife. But the thought of a private interview with Senator Bicknell on any subject was disquieting to Crane.
When the last carriage had driven off, and only Crane and Annette remained, Senator Bicknell said:
“Come into my den; and, as I propose to take Mrs. Crane into my confidence, on account of the extraordinary political capacity she manifested at my visit to Circleville, I shall ask her to let us smoke while I unfold a scheme to you.”
The den was a small, luxurious room, in the Louis Quinze style, and fit to harbour Madame Pompadour herself. It was shaded by opalescent lamps, Turkish rugs covered the parquet floor, and pictures and bric-à-brac worthy of a palace were to be found there. Some people thought that the Senator’s den was one of the causes of the weakening of his political power. Many rural legislators reckoned his “fixin’s” as wicked, and were only reconciled by hearing of the prices paid by the Senator for Percheron horses and Jersey heifers. The Senator did not care a rap for either Percherons or Jerseys, and scarcely knew a Percheron horse from a Jersey cow, but it was a concession to the rural statesmen, and he wisely reckoned these bucolic luxuries in his political expenses. Seated before a fire of aromatic wood, Senator Bicknell, offering a choice cigar to Crane, and taking one himself, began to unfold his scheme. Annette, her white gown brought into high relief by a ruby lamp swinging overhead, sat silent and listened. She did not, apparently, watch her husband’s face, but she knew every expression which passed over it, and could have interpreted it, as well as every tone of his voice.
“To come to the point,” said the Senator, blandly, “I am one of a number of gentlemen interested in a deal of about two million acres of land in Texas. We have had an offer to sell our holdings and we have determined to accept. Part of the purchase-money is to be paid in cash, and there is also a transfer of property contemplated for about a million of dollars. Our attorneys are in Chicago, but meanwhile we want a man to go down to Texas once in a while and see how things are coming on, and attend to some matters of detail which I will state later on. The whole matter will hardly be settled under a year. We propose to pay a fee of ten thousand dollars and a small commission. I should say there was something like twenty thousand dollars in it for the right man. Several, of course, have been suggested, but you know, Mr. Crane, I am like John Adams was about New England men—there never was an office existing or created during John Adams’s time that he hadn’t a constituent ready for it. So, when the necessity for a man for this work became evident, I suggested I had a constituent, likewise a colleague, in the lower House, who could manage the job if he would, and mentioned your name.”
Twenty thousand dollars! It seemed to Crane an enormous sum. Then he heard Senator Bicknell’s voice continuing:
“It would oblige you to take a trip to Texas during the Christmas recess, and you would have to spend two or three months down there next summer, but I am persuaded we shall reach an early adjournment, so it would not necessarily interfere with you in any way. Besides, it might be useful to you in other ways, and it would be decidedly useful to me. It would show the people in the State that you and I are working well together in harness, and God knows I need some assurances of the sort to be given! That scoundrel, Governor Sanders, has been knifing me right and left all over the State, and I look for trouble both at the convention next summer and when I am up for re-election a year and a half from now.”
Crane remained silent a minute or two and grew pale. Senator Bicknell thought he was a little overcome at what was really a very magnificent offer to a man in his situation in life.
Annette, who had taken in, with perfect intelligence, all Senator Bicknell was saying, kept her eyes away from her husband. If he were in league with Governor Sanders——
Crane was not only overcome, he was overwhelmed. The thought came crashing through his brain, “This is the man I am secretly trying to destroy.” Every word the Senator uttered seemed to have the force of a thousand voices. “That scoundrel, Sanders.” Yes, Sanders was a scoundrel, but he had never pretended to be a friend of Senator Bicknell’s, nor was he indebted to the Senator for anything. Their warfare had been open and above-board, while his—oh, God! Crane could have cried aloud in his torture when he recalled the league with hell into which he had entered. His head was reeling, he heard the Senator’s voice afar off; the ruby light falling upon Annette, in her shining white gown, seemed to be a hundred miles away. Yet, with a calm voice, and with only a slight tremor of his hands, Crane answered: