Seed on the Wind

“Bah!” Lewis interrupted scornfully. He went on to Lora. “Mr. Halliday calls himself a reporter. He came to my office on Monday morning and told me an ingenious and complicated story, consisting of lurid details of your past life, especially an intricate fairy tale regarding the past five years. He has an amusing theory, for instance, that one of your children is my son — oh, unquestionably he has imagination. I got rid of him; the whole thing was of course beneath discussion. That afternoon I called on the editor of the paper, with whom I am slightly acquainted; I was told that this investigation, as he called it, was entirely in Mr. Halliday’s hands. I was also told that his paper was interested solely in the disclosure of facts; the editor was aghast when he learned of Mr. Halliday’s offer to exchange silence for a sum of money. He declared indignantly that he would discharge Mr. Halliday at once, and it appears that this really was done a few hours later; apparently the offer of exchange was in fact Mr. Halliday’s own personal idea, for the editor assured me that his paper would not dream of entering into a conspiracy to suppress news; it would not be ethical. He courteously insisted that the story must be printed. I was driven to a recourse I very much disliked; I saw the owner of the paper, an old friend of mine, and succeeded in persuading him to my point of view. It appeared to be satisfactorily settled. But no; Mr. Halliday returned to see me this morning. He resented having been discharged from his job, and was politely truculent. He made another threat, this time openly on his own responsibility; he stated that there are four tabloid papers in New York equally intent on giving their readers important and interesting news, and that no one man can muzzle all of them. He proposes to peddle his fairy tale unless he is paid not to. His figure remains the same; it had occurred to him to double it, he said, but modestly he refrained.”

Pete bowed to Lora again. “You see, I’m not grasping.”

“For my part,” Lewis went on, “my inclination would be to turn him and his fairy tale over to the police. I think he’s pulling a bluff and I’d like to call it. But the chief concern is you and the children. This man claims to have known you intimately a long time ago. He states that there has been an extended investigation, financed by his paper, and he recites a long rigmarole which he calls facts. Granting that they’re lies, and are printed, and you sue for libel — even granting that you get a judgment — it would be quite a mess. It would be disgusting for you, and it might ruin the lives of your children. Obviously you had to be consulted. I could have paid this man without telling you anything about it, but I saw no means of providing against future additional demands; he might even be after you already; I didn’t know. Since you know him you are probably aware that he has unlimited effrontery and no discoverable vestige of scruple or decency.”

Lora was looking steadily at Pete, who had seated himself in the other chair and was gazing into the fire, apparently paying no attention to Lewis’s recital. His face was as expressionless as it was possible for it to get, with the sharp straight thrust of its disdainful inquisitive nose and equally sharp chin, the restless deep-set brown eyes, the startlingly white skin, the mouth always ready to twist itself into the smile she remembered so well. When Lewis paused she was looking across him at Pete, and said abruptly:

“Once you told me what decency was. Remember?”

“Did I?” He darted a glance at her. “Probably.”

“Yes. You knew all about it.”

“I still do.” He was looking again at the fire. “Decency, like all other moral concepts, is a weapon for the strong and a pitfall for the weak. It’s a grand tool for those who know how to use it.” He turned to Lewis. “Look here, don’t let’s get into a discussion of scruples and decency, or I’ll make you look silly. Do you know the only reason I’ll have any squeamishness about taking your damned money? Because I know how you got it. You’re a successful corporation lawyer; don’t you think I know what that means? I’m no Robin Hood either; that’s another species of blah; not interested. You talk as if I were going to spread Lora and her children all over a dirty tabloid and expose them to the sneers and persecution of a herd of swine. Not at all; that would be vulgar and unlovely and I should hate it. All I’m going to do is transfer a wad of money from your pocket to mine; by any realistic standard where is the indecency in that? It’s merely a matter of cash, which by the way you’ll never miss, since by the operations of your own special banditry you’ll make it up within a year. Extra, of course, over and above your normal depredations. So you take care of your own decency; I’ll attend to mine. Don’t worry about it.”

Lewis’s eyes were levelled on him. “I see. You admit it’s a bluff then.”