* * * * *
"I would like to speak with you a moment, sir, about a—a matter," said Hayward to the President as soon as he returned from his walk.
Mr. Phillips could tell with half an eye that it was a matter of some moment. He led the way to his private office.
"Well, what is it, Hayward? You look excited."
Mr. Phillips spoke very kindly, for he did so with studied purpose. It was necessary that he keep that purpose continually and consciously before him. For Hayward the footman he had had quite a high regard: as he had for any man or thing that was efficient. For the negro as his son-in-law, he could not bring himself to consider him with any toleration, nor did he lie to his soul by telling it he wished to. For the negro as a mate for Helen, every rebellious, tortured nerve and fibre of the man was an eternal, agonized protest. It was indeed very necessary that he keep his kindly purpose always consciously before him.
"What is it?" he asked again.
"I had a paper—a summons, I believe they call it—served on me this afternoon," Hayward stumbled along to say; and then stopped, uncertain how to go at it.
"Well. And what's the trouble?"
"I don't know, sir, exactly what's the trouble; or, rather, I would say I didn't know there was any trouble."
"Then what's it about? Who is it that's suing you? What does the summons say?"