To Leslie the whole thing was a triumph.
"And yet it's a funny thing," she thought to herself, "that Eliot Beekman, who defended father, wouldn't pardon him, and here is Newton Leech, who persecuted him, now lets him go."
It was in the Den a few days later that Leslie found upon the leather lounging seat two fat volumes of the printed case of her father's trial. She picked them up listlessly and started in to read them. But she had not gotten very far when voices forced themselves upon her ear. One was Leech's—he had come down from Albany. For some unaccountable reason she did not want to see him just at this time. There was a wedding day to be set—he had pressed her on this subject —and she was not ready to set it. She slipped temporarily behind the thick curtains that hung suspended by the wall, just as Leech and her father stepped into the Den.
Leech's attitude toward the head of the family, as time went on, had been growing more and more insolent; and to-day he was worse than ever.
"Mr. Wilkinson," he said, "I've done my part and I've been well roasted for it."
"That's immaterial to me," gurgled Wilkinson, who had become a different man. The lines had faded from his face, he was rounding out once more, he slept nights and ate with regularity, within him all was peace and happiness. The shadow of the prison had slipped from him like a noose—he was free. He looked at the other tantalisingly for a moment, and then asked: "Well, what do you want ...?"
"Just what you promised me," said Governor Leech, "for setting you free. I want my million dollars, to begin with."
"Come now," grumbled Wilkinson, lighting a cigar, "you've got the governorship—that's enough for any man, my boy."
"It's not enough for me," insisted Leech, alarmed. "I want two things right away—two things you promised me: A million dollars and your daughter Leslie; and the sooner she can marry me, the better."
Wilkinson laughed until he was red in the face, then he said: