The gentleman wavered. Then he said:
“No, this is only a subterfuge. I will go. It is not the missing page.”
Laura tore off a couple of lines from the bottom of the sheet.
“Now,” she said, “you will know whether this is the handwriting or not. You know it is the handwriting. Now if you will listen, you will know that this must be the list of statistics which was to be the ‘nub’ of your great effort, and the accompanying blast the beginning of the burst of eloquence which was continued on the next page — and you will recognize that there was where you broke down.”
She read the page. Mr. Trollop said:
“This is perfectly astounding. Still, what is all this to me? It is nothing. It does not concern me. The speech is made, and there an end. I did break down for a moment, and in a rather uncomfortable place, since I had led up to those statistics with some grandeur; the hiatus was pleasanter to the House and the galleries than it was to me. But it is no matter now. A week has passed; the jests about it ceased three or four days ago. The whole thing is a matter of indifference to me, Miss Hawkins.”
“But you apologized; and promised the statistics for next day. Why didn’t you keep your promise.”
“The matter was not of sufficient consequence. The time was gone by to produce an effect with them.”
“But I hear that other friends of the Soldiers’ Pension Bill desire them very much. I think you ought to let them have them.”
“Miss Hawkins, this silly blunder of my copyist evidently has more interest for you than it has for me. I will send my private secretary to you and let him discuss the subject with you at length.”
“Did he copy your speech for you?”
“Of course he did. Why all these questions? Tell me — how did you get hold of that page of manuscript? That is the only thing that stirs a passing interest in my mind.”
“I’m coming to that.” Then she said, much as if she were talking to herself: “It does seem like taking a deal of unnecessary pains, for a body to hire another body to construct a great speech for him and then go and get still another body to copy it before it can be read in the House.”
“Miss Hawkins, what do you mean by such talk as that?”
“Why I am sure I mean no harm — no harm to anybody in the world. I am certain that I overheard the Hon. Mr. Buckstone either promise to write your great speech for you or else get some other competent person to do it.”
“This is perfectly absurd, madam, perfectly absurd!” and Mr. Trollop affected a laugh of derision.
“Why, the thing has occurred before now. I mean that I have heard that Congressmen have sometimes hired literary grubs to build speeches for them. — Now didn’t I overhear a conversation like that I spoke of?”
“Pshaw! Why of course you may have overheard some such jesting nonsense. But would one be in earnest about so farcical a thing?”
“Well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious matter of it? Why did you get the speech written for you, and then read it in the House without ever having it copied?”
Mr. Trollop did not laugh this time; he seemed seriously perplexed. He said:
“Come, play out your jest, Miss Hawkins. I can’t understand what you are contriving — but it seems to entertain you — so please, go on.”
“I will, I assure you; but I hope to make the matter entertaining to you, too. Your private secretary never copied your speech.”
“Indeed? Really you seem to know my affairs better than I do myself.”
“I believe I do. You can’t name your own amanuensis, Mr. Trollop.”
“That is sad, indeed. Perhaps Miss Hawkins can?”
“Yes, I can. I wrote your speech myself, and you read it from my manuscript. There, now!”
Mr. Trollop did not spring to his feet and smite his brow with his hand while a cold sweat broke out all over him and the color forsook his face — no, he only said, “Good God!” and looked greatly astonished.
Laura handed him her commonplace-book and called his attention to the fact that the handwriting there and the handwriting of this speech were the same. He was shortly convinced. He laid the book aside and said, composedly:
“Well, the wonderful tragedy is done, and it transpires that I am indebted to you for my late eloquence. What of it? What was all this for and what does it amount to after all? What do you propose to do about it?”
“Oh nothing. It is only a bit of pleasantry. When I overheard that conversation I took an early opportunity to ask Mr. Buckstone if he knew of anybody who might want a speech written — I had a friend, and so forth and so on. I was the friend, myself; I thought I might do you a good turn then and depend on you to do me one by and by. I never let Mr. Buckstone have the speech till the last moment, and when you hurried off to the House with it, you did not know there was a missing page, of course, but I did.”
“And now perhaps you think that if I refuse to support your bill, you will make a grand exposure?”
“Well I had not thought of that. I only kept back the page for the mere fun of the thing; but since you mention it, I don’t know but I might do something if I were angry.”
“My dear Miss Hawkins, if you were to give out that you composed my speech, you know very well that people would say it was only your raillery, your fondness for putting a victim in the pillory and amusing the public at his expense. It is too flimsy, Miss Hawkins, for a person of your fine inventive talent — contrive an abler device than that. Come!”
“It is easily done, Mr. Trollop. I will hire a man, and pin this page on his breast, and label it, ‘The Missing Fragment of the Hon. Mr. Trollop’s Great Speech — which speech was written and composed by Miss Laura Hawkins under a secret understanding for one hundred dollars — and the money has not been paid.’ And I will pin round about it notes in my handwriting, which I will procure from prominent friends of mine for the occasion; also your printed speech in the Globe, showing the connection between its bracketed hiatus and my Fragment; and I give you my word of honor that I will stand that human bulletin board in the rotunda of the capitol and make him stay there a week! You see you are premature, Mr. Trollop, the wonderful tragedy is not done yet, by any means. Come, now, doesn’t it improve?”
Mr Trollop opened his eyes rather widely at this novel aspect of the case. He got up and walked the floor and gave himself a moment for reflection. Then he stopped and studied Laura’s face a while, and ended by saying:
“Well, I am obliged to believe you would be reckless enough to do that.”
“Then don’t put me to the test, Mr. Trollop. But let’s drop the matter. I have had my joke and you’ve borne the infliction becomingly enough. It spoils a jest to harp on it after one has had one’s laugh. I would much rather talk about my bill.”
“So would I, now, my clandestine amanuensis. Compared
