King Cole

by W. R. Burnett

  However, our main problem is to discover where our boys bought this liquor. This we must find out. None of the boys will tell. They are stubborn and very sullen, especially your son. One of our cadet officers reported the boys for drunkenness on the streets of the town. That is how we know about them.

  Governor, could you persuade your son to tell us where the liquor was bought? Otherwise I’m afraid we will have to suspend him indefinitely, as he is very defiant.

  Hoping to receive a favorable reply at your earliest convenience, I am,

  Respectfully yours,

  Lester Davies

  Commandant of Cadets

  Read was a little shocked and read the letter over several times. It was the first serious trouble that Johnny had ever got into. Read did not know what to think. Johnny had always seemed so remote from carousing. Imagine him getting drunk and taking waitresses over into a cornfield! Suddenly Read smiled; then he went to the phone, and called his office.

  “Miss Wilson?”

  “Yes, Governor.”

  “Send the Commandant of Cadets at Benton Academy a telegram stating that I’ll be there Sunday afternoon at three o’clock.”

  “Yes, Governor. Were simply swamped with mail today. Mr. Parrott is helping me. I did so want to see the football game.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Read. “We’ll all see the football game.”

  While Read was putting on his coat in the hall, Jean ran down the stairs. She had on a sweater and slacks, and Read was very well satisfied with her appearance. It was nice to have such a good-looking daughter. For that matter, both his children were above the average in looks. He felt very proud of them in spite of the fact that neither of them resembled him in the least. Jean was her mother all over again; Johnny was a stray. Johnny looked like Johnny; he was unique, and in more ways than one, Read conceded, smiling to himself.

  A little preoccupied, Read nodded to Jean, who glanced at him, shrugged slightly, then went into the dining-room without a word. For a moment, Read thought nothing of Jean’s strange behavior; he was thinking about his wife, Evelyn. She had died in the winter of 1928, during the flu epidemic. He had been stunned, and for over two years he had just barely managed to hold himself together. He shuddered even now, thinking how dark, unfriendly and barren the world had seemed to him. It was snowing the day Evelyn was buried; for weeks Read could see the heavy flakes falling down endlessly out of a slaty sky onto that lonely grave. He knew that his youth had been buried with his wife. He was a different man now; all the bounce was out of him. He was at loose ends. His children were growing up fast, blindly pursuing their own interests with all the unthinking but ruthless selfishness of youth. There was Gregg: he remained. It seemed a terrible thing that in forty-three years a man could find but one friend; yet it was true. No, he had lost his anchor when he lost Evelyn. She had married him when he didn’t have a dime, and few prospects. In spite of the fact that she was impulsive and at times muddleheaded, she had, during important crises in his life, advised him well. In his twenties he had been both conceited and rebellious; she had laughed him out of his conceit and talked him out of his habit of standing in his own light. Now he ran after shadows.

  “Oh, very well,” came Jean’s voice high and shrill. “If we haven’t got it, we haven’t got it. But it seems to me…”

  Read started. Something was wrong with Jean! He went into the dining-room. Jean was very angry, tossing her head; Boyle was bending toward her placatingly, his kind black face showing exaggerated concern.

  “What’s wrong here?” Read demanded.

  “Oh, you’re back,’’ said Jean, shrugging.

  “I haven’t gone yet. What’s wrong, Boyle?”

  “We haven’t got none of the breakfast food Miss Jean likes. They said they was going to deliver it this morning, but they never, Governor.”

  “Too bad, Jean.”

  “Oh, well. I’ll take that awful old oatmeal, then.” Read took off his coat and sat down.

  “Bring me a cup of coffee, Boyle.” Then when the Negro had gone to the kitchen, he said: “A little upset this morning, aren’t you, Jean? Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  “I’m all right,” said Jean, sulking.

  “Come on. Let’s have it.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “I’m always interested in your troubles.”

  “Yes, you are like fun! I sat up till after one waiting for you to come home last night. I wanted to talk to you. And you never came. Heaven knows when you did come home. And, oh, it was so awfully scary and still in this house I…” Jean put her head down and cried a little.

  “Don’t cry into your coffee, please,” said Read irritated as always by his daughter’s easy tears.

  “That’s all the sympathy I get,” said Jean, angrily wiping her eyes. “I might as well talk to a post.”

  “Is that a nice way to talk to your father?”

  Jean opened her mouth to speak but Boyle came in with her oatmeal and Read’s coffee. When he had gone Jean said:

  “It’s about Eileen and I’m going to have my say no matter who gets hurt. She can’t walk over me like that. She thinks she’s so much! She’s lived in Europe and she was married to a Count, and she thinks she is the last word and so sophisticated, and us poor common Midwesterners, well, we’re just so much dirt. I don’t see…”

  “Now wait a minute. Talk sense, Jean.”

  “I hate her, Daddy. If you marry her I’m going to leave home. I really am. I can’t help it. I won’t live here and have her queening it over me and making me feel like little Orphan Annie…”

  Read’s lips tightened.

  “If I’m not mistaken, you and Fred are going to get married after the election.”

  “Oh, no. That’s all off.”

  “What!”

  “Oh, Fred was just insufferable with me about Vince. If he talks to me that way now, what do you think he’d be like if I were married to him. ‘No, thank you, Fred,’ I said to him, ‘I’m not having any.’”

  “Will you please stop talking a jargon and tell me what’s the matter!”

  “Oh, it was at the hockey game. The Baylor girls and Ed Jones and Vince and I were in Ed’s box and we were having a wonderful time. Plenty of room, too. And Vince was just too sweet to me. European men have a way of… well, you wouldn’t understand. They make you feel important, always helping you and picking up things you drop without making a face like you or Fred…”

  “If he picked up things for you, you must have kept him pretty busy.”

  “You see? That’s just what I mean. Well, anyway, we were having a lovely time and Vince was being so nice… really, I think he sort of goes for me…” Read grimaced but did not interrupt ”… and then we see Eileen and Wat Jones. They were late. Eileen’s always late so she can make an entrance and everybody will gasp and say: ‘Oh, who is that extraordinary woman!’ Only they don’t. Well, they were too late. All the boxes were gone. So Wat brings Eileen over to Ed’s box. There we were all crowded up and Eileen kept talking and laughing, not paying any attention to the game, and everybody looking at us and wanting to murder us and…”

  “Please, Jean. Less embroidery. Edit it a little.”

  “Very well! All Eileen does is make eyes at Vince. Oh, really, it was so terribly marked that the Baylor girls were really shocked; no, really.”

  Read lowered his eyes to hide his extreme annoyance. Eileen’s peculiar behavior was bad enough, but told in Jean’s most irritatingly affected manner it was maddening.

  “Go on.”

  “But aren’t you surprised, Daddy? I thought Eileen hated Vince. Oh, didn’t she ritz him at Lamont Jones’s party though! But here she was giving Vince the works.”

  “Jean, is that the way Miss Ludlow taught you to speak? I spent a lot of money on your education which I could just as well have saved, I see.”

  “Oh, don’t be so Midwest, Daddy. If I really talked as Miss Ludlow taught me, e
verybody would die laughing.”

  “I wouldn’t know about those things. But you sound to me as if you were raised in Flytown. Go ahead.”

  “Poor Vince; he didn’t know what to do. Eileen just wouldn’t let him be and pretty soon they went out together, during the intermission, and they didn’t come back until the game was almost over. Wat was very mad: oh, burning up; and the Baylor girls, well, they just couldn’t be nice to Eileen after that. And it made such a terrible situation, that Vince took Eileen home after the game. And Wat was so mad he went away by himself, and there we were with only Ed Jones. It was so embarrassing.”

  Read said nothing. Things were getting very much mixed up. Perhaps he’d better call Eileen.

  “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Read said finally.

  “No? Well, we were all supposed to have dinner together and then go over to the Freytags and dance. The party was ruined. Hardly anybody would speak to anybody else, and then when I tried to explain it all to Fred in a very nice way, he got on his high horse and told me I was just mad because Eileen took Vince. Of course I was. Vince asked me to go to the game himself. But why should Fred…?”

  “We’re just going round and round,” said Read, getting up. “I’ve got to get to the office. I can’t waste anymore time over this silly squabble.”

  “Well,” said Jean, “if you marry Eileen Bradley I’ll move out, that’s all.”

  The doorbell rang, loud and insistent.

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind and you’ll please stop talking that way.”

  But Jean wasn’t listening. She had her head cocked.

  “That’s Fred,” she cried.

  Jumping up from her chair, she ran across the long dining-room, but as she neared the door, she slowed down to a walk abruptly, and peered out into the hallway.

  Read gulped down his coffee, then he started out.

  Jean and Fred were standing with their arms around each other. Fred’s face was red and distracted, his hair on end.

  “Oh, darling,” he was saying, “I didn’t sleep a wink I…”

  When he saw Read he began to stammer, then he frowned. Jean drew away from Fred quickly. Read stared at them for a moment; finally, he laughed and went out slamming the door.

  III

  Read walked into his office through a double row of reporters, job seekers, cranks and acquaintances. He nodded and smiled but didn’t stop. Harold closed the door behind Read, and stood in front of it. Read heard the clamor; heard Harold’s soothing voice; then he sat down at his desk.

  The day was cold and clear; there had been a heavy frost the night before and there was still a nip in the air; but the sun was bright now and the ground was thawing. Huge beams of sunlight slanted down through the tall, deeply set windows of the Governor’s office, making bright rectangular patches on the heavy, worn carpet. Read loved this old room where so many governors had sat before him. It had the dignity of great age. It gave him a feeling of security.

  Miss Wilson came in hurriedly.

  “I sent the telegram, Governor. Oh, good morning. I’m so upset today I’m sure I…”

  “Good morning, Miss Wilson. Will you please get Eileen Bradley on the phone?”

  “Right away. Nice day for the game, isn’t it? Such a mob in town. They tell me the hotels are all packed. You can’t get a room for love or money.”

  She went out. All the hotels…? Read flushed slightly. Kitten! The Massey would be jammed with drunks all day and all night. College men from out of town on a bender; old grads, many of whom had left their wives at home and intended to cut loose after the game, win, lose or draw!

  Read was suffering. He got up and began to pace the floor. Pretty, desirable, not so bright, not so fastidious little Kitten surrounded by a horde of hungry males!

  “Oh, I’m a damn fool!” he said aloud. Gradually he calmed himself and sat down.

  Charley Parrott knocked and came in.

  “Did you see the story Ted Austeen wrote, Read?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a bad one. Read Cole, the White Hope of Reaction in Ohio. Stuff like that. Oh, it’s a bad one.”

  “It won’t matter after tonight.”

  “He’s outside now.”

  “Have him come in. No, wait. I’ve got a phone call coming up.”

  Miss Wilson came in.

  “Your call, Governor.”

  “Charley,” said Read, “have Austeen come in when Miss Wilson tells you I’m through.”

  Miss Wilson and Charley went out arm in arm and Read glanced at them with surprise.

  “Eileen?”

  “Yes, Read.”

  “Just thought I’d give you a ring. What time will you be down?”

  “Down?”

  Her voice sounded cold, evasive.

  “Yes; aren’t you going to the game with me?”

  “The game! Read, isn’t that awful? I forgot.”

  “It isn’t too late.”

  “But it is. Why, it’s nearly eleven. I couldn’t possibly get ready, then drive clear in from Fairhaven. Oh, this is too bad.”

  “Well, it isn’t a matter of life or death.”

  “I’m so sorry, Read. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately; I think I should go to an alienist. Really, I mean that.”

  “When will I see you?”

  There was a long pause and Read began to get impatient. What on earth was the matter with everybody today?

  “Read, did Jean say anything to you about me?”

  “Yes. Quite a lot.”

  “I’ve got to see you. We’ve got to talk. But I can’t go to the game with you. How about tonight?”

  “Impossible. I speak at the Armory tonight.”

  “I’ve got to see you soon. We must talk seriously.”

  “What about Sunday?”

  “Could you come for tea?”

  “Sorry. I’ll be out of town.”

  “This is like a jigsaw puzzle. Sunday evening?”

  “I’ll try to make it.”

  “Please do. It’s necessary.”

  “What’s necessary?”

  “Tell you then. It’s really quite a mess. Read, I’ll be frank. I can’t face you today, that’s all.”

  “As bad as that?”

  “Worse.”

  “Vincent Riquetti?”

  “Partly.”

  “I had an idea… Well, Sunday evening then.”

  After Read had hung up the receiver, he sat looking at the wall for a long time. Then he started. Ted Austeen had come in unannounced and was standing near the door, smiling that superior, New York smile.

  “Well, Governor.”

  “I haven’t read your story yet. Charley Parrott says it’s entirely unfavorable.”

  “I try to write the truth.”

  “Really? Seriously?”

  There was a good deal of sarcasm in Read’s voice and Austeen flushed slightly.

  “You should have played ball with me, Governor.”

  “Now we’re getting some place. You try to write the truth, but I should have played ball with you. Try to unscramble that one for me.”

  “Anybody as smart as you ought to make an exception for a bunch like N.P.”

  “I make exceptions only for my friends. Austeen, you can’t hurt me at all. Write what you like. But here’s a tip. Be at the Armory tonight. Steelton. It’s a headline story. You can write it as you please. Truthfully, or the way you usually write.”

  “Now, Governor.”

  “That’s all.”

  Austeen hesitated, then turned and went out. Read sat down glowing with satisfaction. But the feeling of satisfaction passed gradually; he had acted foolishly and knew it. Twice lately he had erred badly. Suddenly he was overcome by a feeling of dread he could not account for.

  He got up and began to pace the floor. He had a premonition of disaster. But finally he laughed it off and went to one of the enormous windows, which dwarfed a man, and stood looking down into
the State House yard. An old man in a ragged gray overcoat was feeding peanuts to a squirrel. People passed endlessly. Sunlight glinted on the barrel of a captured German field gun set up on one of the wide cement paths which led from the State House to the city streets.

  Charley Parrott came in.

  “Austeen seemed a little put out, Read.”

  “I put the hooks into him.”

  “Don’t blame you. But was it wise?”

  “Probably not.”

  Charley paused, glanced at Read covertly, then said:

  “The cranks are swamping us on account of that Austeen story. He gets in a lot of digs at Hitler and Mussolini, very nicely hooking you up with them without saying a word. And the Independent is carrying a box mentioning your conference with the big boys. It all adds up, Read.”

  “I’ve got to go get shaved,” said Read, suddenly. He had been thinking about Kitten all the time Charley was talking. The barbershop in the Massey Hotel was on the same floor as the Corinthian Room. It was the best excuse he could think of.

  “All right, Read,” said Charley, looking a little uneasy. “When will we leave for the game?”

  “Not before two.”

  “We’ll miss part of it that way.”

  “I can’t help that.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  Read shook his head and sat down. Charley looked at him for a long time, then went out. Read sighed and sat staring at the rectangles of sunlight on the carpet; finally, he roused himself and picking up a pile of documents and papers marked “Urgent” he began listlessly to glance through them. As a rule, he was very conscientious about State business, surprising heads of departments by his willingness to accept responsibility and by his comprehensive knowledge of their own special problems. Today he felt a great lassitude. Half of the documents he would ordinarily have looked after himself, he marked “get special dept. info”; the other half he put aside till after the election. But the report from Sullavan he read carefully, smiling slightly from time to time.

  The huge sums contributed by the rich men had put new life into Sullavan’s campaign. The wheels were well oiled now and would run smoothly and swiftly to the end. All over the State tons of last-minute propaganda would soon be pouring from the presses. Sullavan never missed a trick; he knew every political dodge. In all the country townships, Sullavan men were at work, cajoling, promising, mildly threatening; in every city ward, local slickers were about their business, cajoling, promising, threatening not so mildly. Deals were made; lions lay down with lambs, waiting for the upturn, of course. All the ponderous machinery of an important campaign was in motion.