Mr. Sluss was relieved. As he handed her the note she once more surveyed him with those grateful, persuasive, appealing eyes. They made him almost dizzy, and set up a chemical perturbation in his blood which quite dispelled his good resolutions in regard to the strange woman and his need of being circumspect.
“You say you are living on the North Side?” he inquired, smiling weakly, almost foolishly.
“Yes, I have taken such a nice little apartment over-looking Lincoln Park. I didn’t know whether I was going to be able to keep it up, but now that I have this position— You’ve been so very kind to me, Mr. Sluss,” she concluded, with the same I-need-to-be-cared-for air. “I hope you won’t forget me entirely. If I could be of any personal service to you at any time—”
Mr. Sluss was rather beside himself at the thought that this charming baggage of femininity, having come so close for the minute, was now passing on and might disappear entirely. By a great effort of daring, as they walked toward the door, he managed to say: “I shall have to look into that little place of yours sometime and see how you are getting along. I live up that way myself.”
“Oh, do!” she exclaimed, warmly. “It would be so kind. I am practically alone in the world. Perhaps you play cards. I know how to make a most wonderful punch. I should like you to see how cozily I am settled.”
At this Mr. Sluss, now completely in tow of his principal weakness, capitulated. “I will,” he said, “I surely will. And that sooner than you expect, perhaps. You must let me know how you are getting along.”
He took her hand. She held his quite warmly. “Now I’ll hold you to your promise,” she gurgled, in a throaty, coaxing way. A few days later he encountered her at lunch-time in his hall, where she had been literally lying in wait for him in order to repeat her invitation. Then he came.
The hold-over employees who worked about the City Hall in connection with the mayor’s office were hereafter instructed to note as witnesses the times of arrival and departure of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Sluss. A note that he wrote to Mrs. Brandon was carefully treasured, and sufficient evidence as to their presence at hotels and restaurants was garnered to make out a damaging case. The whole affair took about four months; then Mrs. Brandon suddenly received an offer to return to Washington, and decided to depart. The letters that followed her were a part of the data that was finally assembled in Mr. Stimson’s office to be used against Mr. Sluss in case he became too obstreperous in his opposition to Cowperwood.
In the mean time the organization which Mr. Gilgan had planned with Mr. Tiernan, Mr. Kerrigan, and Mr. Edstrom was encountering what might be called rough sledding. It was discovered that, owing to the temperaments of some of the new aldermen, and to the self-righteous attitude of their political sponsors, no franchises of any kind were to be passed unless they had the moral approval of such men as Hand, Sluss, and the other reformers; above all, no money of any kind was to be paid to anybody for anything.
“Whaddye think of those damn four-flushers and come-ons, anyhow?” inquired Mr. Kerrigan of Mr. Tiernan, shortly subsequent to a conference with Gilgan, from which Tiernan had been unavoidably absent. “They’ve got an ordinance drawn up covering the whole city in an elevated-road scheme, and there ain’t anything in it for anybody. Say, whaddye think they think we are, anyhow? Hey?”