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She asked herself why she had been so foolish; and yet, somehow, sitting there alone in the firelight, she felt glad for once that she had risen above intrigue. Then she sighed and smiled, and began to plot anew. Teerswell dropped in later and brought his friend, Stillings. They found their hostess gay and entertaining.
The second speech which Alwyn made at the Bethel Literary was, as Stillings foresaw, a reply to the stinging criticisms of certain colored papers engineered by Teerswell, who said that Alwyn had been bribed to remain loyal to the Republicans by a six thousand dollar office.
"But what can turn up?" "We might turn something." "What what I tell you man, I'd I'd do anything to down that nigger. I hate him. If you'll help me I'll do anything for you." Stillings arose and carefully opening the hall door peered out. Then he came back and, seating himself close to Teerswell, pushed aside the whiskey.
"I'm going to trouble you to see me to my door; it's only a block. Good-night, all!" she called, but she bowed to Mr. Teerswell. Miss Wynn placed her hand lightly on Bles's arm, and for a moment he paused. A thrill ran through him as he felt again the weight of a little hand and saw beside him the dark beautiful eyes of a girl. He felt again the warm quiver of her body.
Teerswell sat down limply. "I see," he groaned. "It's all up. She's jilted me and I and I " "I don't see as it's all up yet," Stillings tried to reassure him. "But didn't you say they were engaged?" "I think they are; but well, you know Carrie Wynn better than I do: suppose, now suppose he should lose the appointment?" "But you say that's sure." "Unless something turns up."
Then we'll think further." "Stillings, you look like a fool, but you're a genius." And Teerswell fairly hugged him. A few more details settled, and some more whiskey consumed, and Teerswell went home at midnight in high spirits. Stillings looked into the glass and scowled. "Look like a fool, do I?" he mused. "Well, I ain't!"
The man noted the name and went quietly out. Miss Wynn sat lost in thought, and Teerswell beside her fumed. She was not easily moved, but that speech had moved her. If he could thus stir men and not be himself swayed, she mused, he would be invincible. But tonight he was moved as greatly as his hearers had been, and that was dangerous.
Teerswell, the golden brown of Miss Johnson, and the velvet brown of Mr. Grey. The guest themselves did not notice this; they were used to asking one's color as one asks of height and weight; it was simply an extra dimension in their world whereby to classify men. Beyond this and their hair, there was little to distinguish them from a modern group of men and women.
"You see, the Judge has got the substance," laughed Teerswell. "Still I insist: divide and conquer." "Nonsense! Unite, and keep." Bles was puzzled. "They're talking of the coming campaign," said Miss Wynn. "What!" exclaimed Bles aloud. "You don't mean that any one can advise a black man to vote the Democratic ticket?" An elderly man turned to them.
"Great!" shouted Teerswell. "Wait wait. Now, if I get the job, how would you like to be my assistant?" "Like it? Why, great Jehoshaphat! I'd marry Carrie but how can I help you?" "This way. I want to be better known among influential Negroes. You introduce me and let me make myself solid.
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