She turned from Bruce, and as she looked into the white, worn face of her father, the fire of her anger went out.
"He said--he said----"
"Yes--yes?"
She put her arms about him.
"Don't you mind, father dear, what he said."
Doctor West grew yet more pale.
"Then--he said--the same as the others?"
She held him tight.
"Dear daddy!"
"Then--he refused?"
"Yes--but don't you mind it," she tried to say bravely.
Without a sound, the old man's head dropped upon his chest. He held to Katherine a moment; then he moved waveringly to an old haircloth sofa, sank down upon it and bowed his face into his hands.
Bruce broke the silence.
"I am to understand, then, that your father has no lawyer?"
Katherine wheeled from the bowed figure, and her anger leaped instantly to a white heat.
"And why has he no lawyer?" she cried. "Because of the inhuman things you wrote about him!"
"You forget, Miss West, that I am running a newspaper, and it is my business to print the news."
"The news, yes; but not a malignant, ferocious distortion of the news!
Look at my father there. Does it not fill your soul with shame to think of the black injustice you have done him?"
"Mere sentiment! Understand, I do not let conventional sentiment stand between me and my duty."
"Your duty!" There was a world of scorn in her voice. "And, pray, what is your duty?"
"Part of it is to establish, and maintain, decent standards of public service in this town."
"Don't hide behind that hypocritical pretence! I've heard about you. I know the sort of man you are. You saw a safe chance for a yellow story for your yellow newspaper, a safe chance to gain prominence by yelping at the head of the pack. If he had been a rich man, if he had had a strong political party behind him, would you have dared assail him as you have? Never! Oh, it was brutal--infamous--cowardly!"
There was an angry fire behind the editor's thick glasses, and his square chin thrust itself out. He took a step nearer.
"Listen to me!" he commanded in a slow, defiant voice. "Your opinion is to me a matter of complete indifference. I tell you that a man who betrays his city is a traitor, and that I would treat an old traitor exactly as I would treat a young traitor, I tell you that I take it as a sign of an awakening public conscience when reputable lawyers refuse to defend a man who has done what your father has done. And, finally, I predict that, try as you may, you will not be able to find a decent lawyer who will dare to take his case. And I glory in it, and consider it the result of my work!" He bowed to her. "And now, Miss West, I wish you good afternoon."
She stood quivering, gasping, while he crossed to the door. As his hand fell upon the knob she sprang forward.
"Wait!" she cried. "Wait! He has a lawyer!"
He paused.
"Indeed! And whom?"
"One who is going to make you take back every cowardly word you have printed!"
"Who is it, Katherine?" It was her father who spoke.
She turned. Doctor West had raised his head, and in his eyes was an eager, hopeful light. She bent over him and slipped an arm about his shoulders.
"Father dear," she quavered, "since we can get no one else, will you take me?"
"Take you?" he exclaimed.
"Because," she quavered on, "whether you will or not, I'm going to stay in Westville and be your lawyer."
CHAPTER V
KATHERINE PREPARES FOR BATTLE
For a long space after Bruce had gone Katherine sat quiveringly upon the old haircloth sofa beside her father, holding his hands tightly, caressingly. Her words tumbled hotly from her lips--words of love of him--of resentment of the injustice which he suffered--and, fiercest of all, of wrath against Editor Bruce, who had so ruthlessly, and for such selfish ends, incited the popular feeling against him. She would make such a fight as Westville had never seen! She would show those lawyers who had been reduced to cowards by Bruce's demagogy! She would bring the town humiliated to her father's feet!
But emotion has not only peaks, but plains, and dark valleys. As she cooled and her passion descended to a less exalted level, she began to see the difficulties of, and her unfitness for, the role she had so impulsively accepted. An uneasiness for the future crept upon her. As she had told Mr. Blake, she had never handled a case in court. True, she had been a member of the bar for two years, but her duties with the Municipal League had consisted almost entirely in working up evidence in cases of municipal corruption for the use of her legal superiors. An untried lawyer, and a woman lawyer at that--surely a weak reed for her father to lean upon!
But she had thrown down the gage of battle; she had to fight, since there was no other champion; and even in this hour of emotion, when tears were so plenteous and every word was accompanied by a caress, she began to plan the preliminaries of her struggle.
"I shall write to-night to the league for a leave of absence," she said. "One of the things I must see to at once is to get admitted to the state bar. Do you know when your case is to come up?"
"It has been put over to the September term of court."
"That gives me four months."
She was silently thoughtful for a space. "I've got to work hard, hard!
upon your case. As I see it now, I am inclined to agree with you that the situation has arisen from a misunderstanding--that the agent thought you expected a bribe, and that you thought the bribe a small donation to the hospital."
"I'm certain that's how it is," said her father.
"Then the thing to do is to see Doctor Sherman, and if possible the agent, have them repeat their testimony and try to search out in it the clue to the mistake. And that I shall see to at once."
Five minutes later Katherine left the house. After walking ten minutes through the quiet, maple-shaded back streets she reached the Wabash Avenue Church, whose rather ponderous pile of Bedford stone was the most ambitious and most frequented place of worship in Westville, and whose bulk was being added to by a lecture room now rising against its side.
Katherine went up a gravelled walk toward a cottage that stood beneath the church's shadow. The house's front was covered with a wide-spreading rose vine, a tapestry of rich green which June would gorgeously embroider with sprays of heart-red roses. The cottage looked what Katherine knew it was, a bower of lovers.