But not even this satisfied Wilkinson. Closeted later with Flomerfelt in the big house on the Drive he ground his heel into the rug of his den, exclaiming:
"Never until he wallows in the mud, Flomerfelt, will I let up on him!"
And in all this what of Leslie?
Irrefutable evidence had been presented to her of the Governor's unworthiness, and little wonder, then, that she had ranged herself upon her father's side. Nevertheless, there were times when she would shudder in silence. For out in the future it was certain that one of three things must happen to her father, and she dreaded any one of them.
XX
"I suppose there is some painless way of putting him to death?"
The voice was Wilkinson's. He was seated on the veranda at Cobblestone, his Morris County place, and opposite to him sat a complacent, side-whiskered M. D. from Morristown. The complacence of the M. D. was due in great measure to the fact that a check reposed in his waistcoat-pocket. It was a goodly check, too; Wilkinson had been ailing, and the bill was heavy.
"I don't want him to suffer at all," went on Wilkinson. "I merely want him to pass away and not feel it."
"Humph! He's of no further use?" returned Dr. Parker Wetherell.