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Pettit out to Helsingfors after I had had a discussion with Tchitcherin and with Litvinov with a telegram, in which I said I had reached Petrograd and had perfected arrangements to cross the boundary at will, and to communicate with the mission via the consul at Helsingfors; that the journey had been easy, and that the reports of frightful conditions in Petrograd had been ridiculously exaggerated.
As he had told me before, he said he felt that he could do a great story, and as before I hunted him to his room and saw him open his inkstand. At one o'clock the sheets of paper slid under my door. I read that story, and I jumped up, late as it was, with a whoop of joy. Old Pettit had done it. Just as though it lay there, red and bleeding, a woman's heart was written into the lines.
Pettit came up out of Alabama to write fiction. The Southern papers had printed eight of his stories under an editorial caption identifying the author as the son of "the gallant Major Pettingill Pettit, our former County Attorney and hero of the battle of Lookout Mountain." Pettit was a rugged fellow, with a kind of shame-faced culture, and my good friend.
And coming home, Sophy Perkins, who goes to the Baptist Church, told her that there wasn't going to be any Christmas tree at their Sabbath-school. She said that there wasn't hardly anybody out. The teachers just sat round and finally went into the pastor's Bible class. Mr. Pettit said he was surprised to hear it. It couldn't have been the weather that kept them away, could it?
"There, there, Dicky-bird, keep your bathing suit on," he admonished, roughly; "of course, she'll go back, we'll all go back, a regular triumphal procession with beautiful heroine escorted by watchful husband, treacherous villain and faithful friend." He grinned at Dr. Pettit, and we all swam back to shallower water, Dr. Pettit and Mr.
There was about a month of it. And then Pettit came to me bearing an invisible mitten, with the fortitude of a dish-rag. He talked of the grave and South America and prussic acid; and I lost an afternoon getting him straight. I took him out and saw that large and curative doses of whiskey were administered to him.
I opened my eyes and looked steadily at the young physician. "Yes, God help me. I do!" I said. Dr. Pettit winced as if I had struck him. Then he said gravely: "Thank you for your honesty, and believe that if there be any way in which I can serve you, I shall not hesitate to take it."
"No; that boy of his with the bad lung had to go off to the Adirondacks, and he went with him." The inner door opened at this moment, disclosing the Honorable Isaac Pettit, who greeted Ramsay effusively. "What is immortality, gentlemen!" the Honorable Isaac Pettit inquired, clinging to the Colonel's hand.
I have known for several years that he intended to get rid of me as soon as he felt he could do it safely, and be ready to capture the senatorship when he saw that our party was in shape to win again. I've always distrusted him, and I've always kept an eye on him. When he came into Fraser County and stooped low enough to buy old Ike Pettit, I thought it time to strike.
In another moment my punishment had come. Dr. Pettit overtook me, stretched out his hand, just touched me with a caressing, protecting little gesture, and said in a low tone, "Don't be afraid, little girl: If you will accord me the privilege, I will see that your friend does not get a chance of fulfilling his threat."
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