“I’m sorry, Ellsworth. But…I had to.”
“Make yourself at home. Just ignore me for a minute, will you?”
Keating sat down and waited. Toohey worked, making notes on sheets of typewritten copy. He sharpened a pencil, the sound grating like a saw across Keating’s nerves. He bent over his copy again, rustling the pages once in a while.
Half an hour later he pushed the papers aside and smiled at Keating. “That’s that,” he said. Keating made a small movement forward. “Sit tight,” said Toohey, “just one telephone call I’ve got to make.”
He dialed the number of Gus Webb. “Hello, Gus,” he said gaily. “How are you, you walking advertisement for contraceptives?” Keating had never heard that tone of loose intimacy from Toohey, a special tone of brotherhood that permitted sloppiness. He heard Webb’s piercing voice say something and laugh in the receiver. The receiver went on spitting out rapid sounds from deep down in its tube, like a throat being cleared. The words could not be recognized, only their quality; the quality of abandon and insolence, with high shrieks of mirth once in a while.
Toohey leaned back in his chair, listening, half smiling. “Yes,” he said occasionally, “uh-huh….You said it, boy….Surer’n hell….” He leaned back farther and put one foot in a shining, pointed shoe on the edge of the desk. “Listen, boy, what I wanted to tell you is go easy on old Bassett for a while. Sure he likes your work, but don’t shock hell out of him for the time being. No roughhouse, see? Keep that big facial cavity of yours buttoned up….You know damn well who I am to tell you….That’s right….That’s the stuff, kid….Oh, he did? Good, angel-face….Well, bye-bye–oh, say, Gus, have you heard the one about the British lady and the plumber?” There followed a story. The receiver yelled raucously at the end. “Well, watch your step and your digestion, angel-face. Nighty-night.”
Toohey dropped the receiver, said: “Now, Peter,” stretched, got up, walking to Keating and stood before him, rocking a little on his small feet, his eyes bright and kindly.
“Now, Peter, what’s the matter? Has the world crashed about your nose?”
Keating reached into his inside pocket and produced a yellow check, crumpled, much handled. It bore his signature and the sum of ten thousand dollars, made out to Ellsworth M. Toohey. The gesture with which he handed it to Toohey was not that of a donor, but of a beggar.
“Please, Ellsworth…here…take this…for a good cause…for the Workshop of Social Study…or for anything you wish…you know best…for a good cause…”
Toohey held the check with the tips of his fingers, like a soiled penny, bent his head to one side, pursing his lips in appreciation, and tossed the check on his desk.
“Very handsome of you, Peter. Very handsome indeed. What’s the occasion?”
“Ellsworth, you remember what you said once–that it doesn’t matter what we are or do, if we help others? That’s all that counts? That’s good, isn’t it? That’s clean?”
“I haven’t said it once. I’ve said it a million times.”
“And it’s really true?”
“Of course it’s true. If you have the courage to accept it.”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you? You’re the only friend I’ve got. I…I’m not even friendly with myself, but you are. With me, I mean, aren’t you, Ellsworth?”
“But of course. Which is of more value than your own friendship with yourself–a rather queer conception, but quite valid.”
“You understand. Nobody else does. And you like me.”
“Devotedly. Whenever I have the time.”
“Ah?”
“Your sense of humor, Peter, where’s your sense of humor? What’s the matter? A bellyache? Or a soul-indigestion?”
“Ellsworth, I…”
“Yes?”
“I can’t tell you. Even you.”
“You’re a coward, Peter.”
Keating stared helplessly: the voice had been severe and gentle, he did not know whether he should feel pain, insult or confidence.
“You come here to tell me that it doesn’t matter what you do–and then you go to pieces over something or other you’ve done. Come on, be a man and say it doesn’t matter. Say you’re not important. Mean it. Show some guts. Forget your little ego.”
“I’m not important, Ellsworth. I’m not important. Oh God, if only everybody’d say it like you do! I’m not important. I don’t want to be important.”
“Where did that money come from?”
“I sold Dominique.”
“What are you talking about? The cruise?”
“Only it seems as if it’s not Dominique that I sold.”
“What do you care if…”
“She’s gone to Reno.”
“What?”
He could not understand the violence of Toohey’s reaction, but he was too tired to wonder. He told everything, as it had happened to him; it had not taken long to happen or to tell.
“You damn fool! You shouldn’t have allowed it.”
“What could I do? Against Wynand?”
“But to let him marry her!”
“Why not, Ellsworth? It’s better than…”
“I didn’t think he’d ever…but…Oh, God damn it, I’m a bigger fool than you are!”
“But it’s better for Dominique if…”
“To hell with your Dominique! It’s Wynand I’m thinking about!”
“Ellsworth, what’s the matter with you?…Why should you care?”
“Keep still, will you? Let me think.”
In a moment, Toohey shrugged, sat down beside Keating and slipped his arm about his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said. “I apologize. I’ve been inexcusably rude to you. It was just the shock. But I understand how you feel. Only you mustn’t take it too seriously. It doesn’t matter.” He spoke automatically. His mind was far away. Keating did not notice that. He heard the words. They were the spring in the desert. “It doesn’t matter. You’re only human. That’s all you want to be. Who’s any better? Who has the right to cast the first stone? We’re all human. It doesn’t matter.”
“My God!” said Alvah Scarret. “He can’t! Not Dominique Francon!”
“He will,” said Toohey. “As soon as she returns.”
Scarret had been surprised that Toohey should invite him to lunch, but the news he heard wiped out the surprise in a greater and more painful one.
“I’m fond of Dominique,” said Scarret, pushing his plate aside, his appetite gone. “I’ve always been very fond of her. But to have her as Mrs. Gail Wynand!”
“These, exactly, are my own sentiments,” said Toohey.
“I’ve always advised him to marry. It helps. Lends an air. An insurance of respectability, sort of, and he could do with one. He’s always skated on pretty thin ice. Got away with it, so far. But Dominique!”
“Why do you find such a marriage unsuitable?”
“Well…well, it’s not…Damn it, you know it’s not right!”
“I know it. Do you?”
“Look, she’s a dangerous kind of woman.”
“She is. That’s your minor premise. Your major premise, however, is: he’s a dangerous kind of man.”
“Well…in some ways…yes.”
“My esteemed editor, you understand me quite well. But there are times when it’s helpful to formulate things. It tends toward future-co-operation. You and I have a great deal in common-though you have been somewhat reluctant to admit it. We are two variations on the same theme, shall we say? Or we play two ends against the same middle, if you prefer your own literary style. But our dear boss is quite another tune. A different leitmotif entirely-don’t you think so, Alvah? Our dear boss is an accident in our midst. Accidents are unreliable phenomena. You’ve been sitting on the edge of your seat for years-haven’t you?-watching Mr. Gail Wynand. So you know exactly what I’m talking about. You know also that Miss Dominique Francon is not our tune either. And you do not wish to see that particular influence enter the life of our boss. Do I have to state the issue any plainer?”
“You’re a smart man, Ellsworth,” said Scarret heavily.
“That’s been obvious for years.”
“I’ll talk to him. You’d better not-he hates your guts, if you’ll excuse me. But I don’t think I’d do much good either. Not if he’s made up his mind.”
“I don’t expect you to. You may try, if you wish, though it’s useless. We can’t stop that marriage. One of my good points is the fact that I admit defeat when it has to be admitted.”
“But then, why did you–”
“Tell you this? In the nature of a scoop, Alvah. Advance information.”
“I appreciate it, Ellsworth. I sure do.”
“It would be wise to go on appreciating it. The Wynand papers, Alvah, are not to be given up easily. In unity there is strength. Your style.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that we’re in for a difficult time, my friend. So we’d do better to stick together.”
“Why, I’m with you, Ellsworth. I’ve always been.”
“Inaccurate, but we’ll let it pass. We’re concerned only with the present. And the future. As a token of mutual understanding, how about getting rid of Jimmy Kearns at the first opportunity?”
“I thought you’ve been driving at that for months! What’s the matter with Jimmy Kearns? He’s a bright kid. The best drama critic in town. He’s got a mind. Smart as a whip. Most promising.”