“Arlene, for heaven’s sake!” Molly exploded.
“He is only my half brother.”
“Oh, of course, that would explain it. I just forgot. Your mother was a Mexican, wasn’t she?”
On its face, there was nothing wrong with that question, but being Arlene, it had the vicious edge of bigotry. Unlike Arlene, the rest of the Langdons had never shown a trace of the prejudice sometimes found in Texas toward Mexicans. Some back there might have sneered or made jokes of his split ancestry, out of his presence, but damned few living in Atacosa County where Triple Stake was located. The extensive power of the Cane family and the Triple Stake empire was well appreciated by citizens in south Texas. As a matter of fact, until recently, he personally had never given much thought to his mother who had died at his birth. He was on the verge of replying to Arlene’s question by saying that, yes, his mother was Mexican and he would forever be grateful to her for that heritage, when Molly sharply interrupted.
“Seth, Momma wanted me to tell you that dinner for the Champ Clarks will be tomorrow night at 7:30 sharp. She didn’t want you to make other plans.”
24
IGNORING HENRY DALWORTH’S WARNING OF possible rain, Seth decided to walk the mile and one-half distance to the state department. Two blocks from the Langdons, rain drops began to spot the sidewalk. By the time he reached the corner of 18th Street, the drops had turned into a drizzle. He began to trot the rest of the way to the State, War and Navy Building. On the entrance steps, he regretted his foolishness in not accepting Bessie Mae’s offer of an umbrella. He had always considered it unmanly for a man to carry one of those things. Now, he was paying for that prejudice, with his wool suit soaking wet and beginning to smell.
Unlike Bryan’s outer office yesterday, Croy Wister’s office reminded Seth of the leather smelling sobriety of the law library back in Oklahoma City. This entrance was guarded by a mid-fortyish clerk who ignored his presence, until Seth said, “Boo!”
The clerk looked up with a disapproving frown. “Really, sir, that wasn’t necessary. What is it you want?”
“I’m supposed to meet a Mr. Wister here at 10:00 this morning.”
“Name please?”
“Seth Cane.”
The clerk studied a red leather bound appointment book. “Yes, Mr. Cane. I have you here for ten.” He looked at the big clock on the wall and added, “Now, it is exactly three minutes to that hour. May I inquire the exact nature of your business with Mr. Wister?”
“I’m pretty sure the Secretary of State informed Mr. Wister of the exact nature of my business when he made the appointment.”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I am sure he did. I only asked for the purpose of my records, you understand.”
“I am sure in due time Mr. Wister may give you that information, if necessary, for your records. Now, can you tell him that Mr. Cane is here for his appointment. The clock now shows nigh on to ten o’clock.”
The clerk gestured with his pen staff toward a row of wooden straight back chairs against the wall. “Please sit over there, Mr. Cane. Mr. Wister will be with you directly.”
The clerk’s concept of “directly” and that of Seth’s differed only in degree—like between five minutes and thirty-five minutes. At 10:35 a buzzer sounded on the clerk’s desk and the clerk pointed down an inner hallway. “Mr. Wister will see you now—down there, the first office on the right.”
They recognized each other instantly. “You,” shouted the little man who had risen to greet him. It was the same arrogant little man who had attempted to steal the only available cab at Union Station that day of the Suffragette parade. Yes, and the same man Seth had threatened to bodily eject from the cab.
“Howdy,” Seth said. “Did you ever find another taxi?”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
“I might have expected that you would turn up again in my life,” Wister sneered. “And it would have to be you to begin my day.”
“Pardon me?”
“The deluge of political Democratic hacks begins todayupon our department and the first one to come in would have to be the bully who threatened me bodily harm and appropriated my taxicab out from under me.”
For some reason, Seth thought this situation was ridiculous, two grown men still arguing over who engaged a taxi first, and he laughed. This seemed to irritate Wister further.
“I see no humor in this, sir!”
Seth nodded in agreement. “Well, perhaps you are right, Mr. Wister. As for being a political hack, maybe I do fit the definition. I don’t know. Be that as it may be, I’ve been given a task to do by the Secretary of State, and I have been informed by him that you will assist in briefing me on the current Mexico situation. Since, for a short spell, we must be associated for that purpose, I suggest as two mature men, we try to make the best of it. If my apology is worth anything to you, I do offer it for my behavior during our taxi confrontation.”
“I won’t forget your insufferable discourtesy on that occasion,”
“I suggest that the circumstances of that situation may have engendered insufferable discourtesy on both our parts, Mr. Wister.”
“That may be your view of the incident, but it is definitely not mine.”
“Well, think what you will,” Seth replied. “There is nothing in my assignment that says we have to be friends. Now, what can you tell me about the current situation down in Mexico that I haven’t read in the Washington Star and the New York Times?”
“If that is the sole source of your knowledge, you are largely ignorant. Sit down there. I see no reason for me to get a crick in my neck while you hover over me. Are you equipped to take notes?”
“Unnecessary. Reckon I have a pretty fair memory.,” Seth said, seating himself in the straight back chair in front of Wister’s desk.
“Now Cane, the Secretary told me that you are to report on the processing of American claims against the Mexican government. May I inquire as to just what experience you have for this assignment? What do you know about the procedure of pressing claims against a foreign government, particularly this Mexican government? Do you have any knowledge of the legal basis for pressing those claims arising out of the recent revolution?”
Hey, I’m not applying for the job. The Secretary has already given me the appointment. “Mr. Wister, the question of my experience or inexperience seems to have already been taken into consideration by Secretary Bryan. If you have anything to contribute pertaining to those questions you raised, then I assume that is why the Secretary made this appointment for me. So can we get on with it and drop this job interview. I am sure you have many other things to do today, as I certainly have.”
The corners of Croy Wister’s mouth tightened momentarily and his gray eyes turned flinty. He started to retort, then stopped and was silent for a few seconds as if trying to control his emotions. “Just so, just so,” he said.
Whatever the extent of his loathing for Seth, Wister turned out to be a professional. For the better part of the next two and one half hours, right through the lunch hour, he delivered a lucid, organized analysis on the volatile political situation in Mexico, including the ongoing revolution prosecuted by three separate and disparate armies. Gotta hand it to him, he’s damned good. When Wister reached the end of his briefing, he paused and asked if Seth had any questions.
“My compliments, Mr. Wister, you have been very thorough. There is just one thing, your personal opinion, sir, regarding this country’s reluctance to recognize General Huerta as the legitimate President of Mexico.”
He looked guarded as if trying to discern what might be behind Seth’s question. “I assume you are concerned with the allegations that President Huerta was involved in the unfortunate deaths of President Madero and Vice President Suarez?”
“That, of course, and the question of the const
itutionality of General Huerta’s assumption of the presidential powers.”
Wister appeared to be carefully formulating his reply. “First, let me say, Cane, that as a member of the staff, I do not engage in criticism of policies held by the President or the Secretary of State. Second, with respect to the allegations, mostly by the Madero family, that Huerta was responsible for the murders, I think we must exercise caution in accepting them. Ambassador Wilson, who was on the spot, and thereby in a position to know the true facts, has filed his official report on that matter. He states in that report that the regrettable murders were the result of over zealous underlings of the former President who were trying to rescue them. That General Huerta possibly had no knowledge of their intention.”
“What about the constitutional concern?”
“I would suggest two facts, one the historical nature of governmental change in Mexico by violence and revolution. In the past, throughout Latin America and Mexico, our government has not been reluctant to recognize the legitimacy of such revolutionary leaders as head of their country’s government. In addition, I think one must take also into consideration that General Huerta has announced his intention to hold a general election to select a president as soon as the current revolutionary turmoil is contained.”
Seth rose and extended his hand in thanks to Wister, which was ignored. “Again, let me say I regret our previous little disagreement over the cab. It was silly. If we cannot be friends during my stay with the department, I hope we can at least—”
Croy Wister interrupted. “I’ll be candid Cane, I do not like you and I oppose this assignment to Mexico.”
“—not be enemies,” Seth finished lamely.
“You are not only an amateur undertaking something that even the lowest paid clerk here in the department is infinitely more qualified to undertake concerning those claims. I find your personality disturbingly brash and wholly unsuited for even the most uncomplicated diplomatic endeavor. In short, sir, I have a very low regard for you and will endeavor to keep our personal and official contact to a minimum.”
25
SETH WAS SEATED AT THE small writing table upstairs in his third floor room after Bessie Mae’s dinner for Speaker Champ Clark. He looked at his pocket watch. It was almost 1:30. He carefully placed a book mark in the page of one of the volumes of Emilio de Castillo Negrete’s Mexico in the XIX Century, which he had brought home from the State Department’s library. He stood up stretching his arms above his head. Yawning, he began unbuttoning his shirt, but paused, remembering that scene in the parlor when the Speaker had launched into an embarrassing tirade against William Jennings Bryan.
Fraley Potter had been boring everyone with a description of the center gear operation of the “incredible” Buckeye grain drill and how the ratchets in the ground wheel were so constructed as to provide a continuous feed even when corners are turned. Champ Clark, ignoring Fraley’s lecture, turned to Seth and asked, “Where did you say you worked, Seth?”
“I work for the Secretary of State,” he replied.
“Who did you say?” the Speaker asked so loudly that Fraley halted in the middle of telling how his machine could drill around corn shocks.
All eyes in the room were now looking at him and the Speaker. Seth repeated that he worked for Mr. Bryan, the Secretary of State. That set the Speaker off about the Baltimore Convention and, how “that man did me out of the nomination with his lies and insinuations. I never made any deal with the Murphy-Belmont gang.”
Seth attempted a defense of his mentor by pointing out that there had been definite reports leaking from the New York delegation about such a deal.
“Lies! Damned lies!” The Speaker was shouting. “I never authorized any such deal and if Colonel Bryan had done me the courtesy of contacting me before shooting his big mouth off, he would have learned the truth.”
“Champ, please,” his wife pleaded, looking distressed.
Bessie Mae tried to change the subject by asking what everyone thought of the new nickel that was just issued, replacing the old “W” coin.
Only Fraley Potter cooperated by remarking that putting an Indian and a buffalo on an American coin was demeaning and tacky.
“I don’t see how you could work for such a liar, young man,” the Speaker said, looking severely at Seth.
Seth took a deep breath. “Mr. Speaker, with all due respect to you, sir, I have supported William Jennings Bryan and his programs through three presidential elections in this country, as I believe you did. I must say it saddens me to see the two great apostles of progressive ideals, yourself and Will Bryan, at such odds with one another. I am afraid, if this situation continues, not only the Party but our new Administration will be the worse for it.”
Seth’s words mollified the Speaker only to the extent that he stopped his ranting. He suddenly stood up and said to his wife, “Mother, it’s late. We must be going. Bessie Mae, thank you again for your fine dinner. See you tomorrow, Henry.”
That broke up the evening. The Simpsons retreated to their room. A Miss Alderson, the children’s governess, had earlier excused herself to look after the children. Molly and Alan went out for a nightcap and a ride in the Englishman’s new Hupmobile. Seth had started to go to his room, when Henry Dalworth asked him to stay for a brandy. Seth wanted to decline but then sensed that the Congressman needed to talk, and he had no trouble guessing the subject.
“I want to apologize for setting Champ off this evening,” Seth said accepting the snifter of brandy.
“Nonsense, Champ set himself off,” Henry said.
Bessie Mae stuck her head back into the parlor to announce they could sit up drinking all night, if they were of such a mind, but she was going to bed. “Good night, Seth. Oh, Henry, forget what I said about staying up all night. You have a big day tomorrow in the House.”
Henry continued. “Seth, you got a good look tonight at the bad feelings Champ still has for Will Bryan, and, while he did not say so, for the President as well. You hit the nail on the head with your remark about the possible damage it might do to the Party and to the Wilson administration. I think we have to do something about healing these wounds.”
“As long as Champ carries that grudge, it isn’t going to be easy.”
Henry gave him a shrewd look. “You said Champ, but what about Will?”
“Not the same problem. You, Henry, have known him a long time and I never have been aware of him carrying a grudge against anybody. He’s not that kind of person. I don’t think the Commoner has a mean or vindictive bone in his body.”
“Well, let us work on them. By gum, we can find some way to get them together again.”
“Sure,” Seth agreed. “But remember, I leave for Mexico Saturday. Until I return, you and some of the other boys will have to work on a plan.”
He finished removing his shirt and had his trousers half off when there was a light tap on his bedroom door. His first thought was that Henry must have thought of something else regarding their problem. He pulled his trousers up holding the tops together with his left hand when he opened the door.
Molly Langdon stood there in a cotton nightgown with her green eyes unnaturally bright and obviously more than a little drunk.
“May I come in, kind sir?” she asked and without waiting for his answer, pushed past into his room, shutting the door behind her.
26
“MOLLY, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”
“Thank you,” she said, brushing past him into the center of his bedroom.
“I don’t think so, young lady,” he said, turning to open the bedroom door again.
“You do, Seth, and I’ll scream.” Molly said defiantly, arms folded across her chest.
“Fine, the whole household will be up here, and what will they think, you being here in your nightclothes?”
She laughed,
“Seth, you know dang well what they will think.”
He took his hand from the door knob and came toward her. “Really, Molly, this is quite insane. Your sister and her husband are in the next room and these walls are pretty thin.”
“So? Who cares?”
“Well, I do for one and it’s a pretty good chance your parents might, and, most importantly, you will, when you sober up in the morning. I can’t think of a more compromising situation.”
She giggled. “You can’t? I jolly well can. Don’t be such a goose. I just wanted to talk. There is something I wanted to tell you.”
This is plain crazy. “OK, Miss Langdon, what is so important that you have to tell me at this hour, dressed only in your nightclothes?”
She appeared unsteady on her feet. “You know something? I can’t seem to remember.”
That’s it! You have to get out of here. “Molly, whatever it was, it can wait until tomorrow. Now, let’s get you back to your room.” He reached to take her arm, his right still holding up his trousers. She avoided easily his grasp.
“Seth, if you really don’t want this to be a compromising situation, you had better fix up the front of your trousers.”
Muttering an apology, he turned his back to her and hastily buttoned up. “Now, Molly, enough of this,” he said turning around. “Go to bed and we will talk in the morning.”
“Good idea,” she said smiling. “This bed right here looks mighty inviting.”
“Bad idea, you know I meant your bed. Now, stop this nonsense. It’s late and I need to get some sleep.”
She grinned mischievously and did a little dance step around him, concluding with another giggle. “Tell me, Mr. Cane, do you think I’m trying to seduce you? If that were my intention, I would have worn something considerably more revealing than this old flannel thing,” she said pulling the sides of her gown out from her body, having the effect of clearly outlining its contours.
Call Down The Hawk Page 12
