"Umm. And if you thought it was going to be, you'd try to make a run for it. Well, we can't have that; can't have that, at all."
"I wonder if you'd have enough influence with her to make her stop," I said.
"We-ell-" he pursed his lips, "-yes. Yes. I can do that little thing for you."
"I'll appreciate it very much," I said.
"That isn't all you're worried about, Pat."
"No," I said.
"Just no? You've trusted me with this other matter."
"I think you must know," I said. "I can't help wondering why Doc got me out of Sandstone."
"You can't feature Doc doing that unless he stood to cash in on it?"
"I didn't say that," I said. "I do feel it strange that he did it at this particular time. Judging by the way Burkman was treated and some other things I've seen and heard, Doc's crowd may lose out at the election. They need everything they've got for themselves. Why should they use up a lot of their steam in helping me?"
"A good question, Pat. But the answer is simple enough. Ever hear of Fanning Arnholt, president of the National Phalanx?"
"The big patriotic organization?"
"The super-patriotic organization," Hardesty corrected. "What Arnholt and the Phalanx says, we common mortals feel obliged to heed and obey."
"Yes?" I said.
"Arnholt's slated to make six speeches in this state, the first here in the capital about two weeks from today. He's going to attack a number of the textbooks now in use on the grounds that they're subversive. When he does, it's going to be an easy matter to get those texts thrown out and a new line adopted."
"I see," I said. "But-"
"I know. You're wondering why we fool with books when we've got the oil crowd to play with. But we- Doc's gang does get to the oil companies. A big stink about textbooks diverts the public's attention from them. It's worth heavy dough to them to get that attention diverted. We take a double rack-off."
He grinned and spread his hands, watching me out of warm dark eyes. "A dirty business all the way around, Pat, but with a boob crop like we've got here you just naturally find a threshing crew. And it's worked out to your advantage. Doc set this deal up and agreed to cut his associates in on it. In return for that, they put through your parole."
"But that still doesn't answer my question," I said. "Why did Doc want me paroled?"
"Well," he hesitated. "I'm not sure that I can help you there."
"You must know," I said. "You have a great deal more to lose than Burkman and the others. You wouldn't have taken a hand in this unless you knew exactly where it was leading."
"You mean, unless I was certain of getting as much as Doc?" He shook his head. "Maybe not, Pat. There are other things besides money."
"You're putting words in my mouth," I said. "My point is that you know why Doc wanted me out of Sandstone."
"I might. But why should I tell you?"
"Well…" I was stumped by the flatness of the question. "I can't give you anything for the information. But you indicated that you were my friend, that I could trust you…"
"Did you believe me?"
"Well…"
"Well, you see how it is, Pat," he said, grinning engagingly. "You're asking for something that you won't give. And, as you pointed out a moment ago, I have a great deal to lose. Tell me. Don't you have any ideas of your own?"
"None at all. There's nothing I can do for anyone. I don't have anything, that I can see, but a bad reputation."
"Very bad," he nodded.
"You mean that's something in itself?"
"Let's just say it's something for you to think about."
"But I don't see how-"
"Go on, Pat. You're doing fine."
"Then there's Mrs. Luther," I said. "If she got Doc sore enough at me to have my parole canceled, his plan, whatever it is, would fall through. I'd be right back where I started and all his time and effort would be wasted. Of course, I know he's unreasonable about her, but-"
"Think, Pat. Can't you think of a set of circumstances where it might be profitable to anyone for you to be returned to Sandstone?"
I stared at him blankly. He nodded, narrow-eyed.
"I can see that you can't," he said. "But you will. You'll see that and the other angle, as well. When you do, when you begin to get an inkling of their significance, we'll have a talk."
"Thanks," I said, and I shook hands limply.
"You'll be all right for the time being. There's this Arnholt matter. Nothing's going to happen until that's wound up."
"I'm glad to know that," I said.
"You can depend on it. Meanwhile, I'll see what I can do about getting Mrs. Luther off your neck. She's rather fond of me, you know."
He winked and poked me in the ribs. I let him lead me out the hall door of his office.
"I trust our little talk will remain confidential," he said, as he shook hands with me again.
He gave me a final smile and nod, and very gently closed the door.
14
Suddenly everything was all right again. As right as it had been in the beginning. I didn't have to avoid Lila Luther; she made a point of keeping out of my way. And on those rare occasions when we did encounter each other she was barely polite.
Almost overnight the constraint which I had seen building up in Doc disappeared. He became the old Doc, alternately slangy and grammatical, flippant and profound; generous, good-natured: a man who made the best of a shabby situation.
I got paid the week following my visit to Hardesty, on Friday, as I remember. I hadn't worked a full month, but I was paid for one.
I gave the check to Doc to cash for me, and he brought the money back to my room the next night. Smiling, he refused to take a cent of it.
"Just hang onto your money, Pat," he said. "You won't want to stick in one of those political jobs always, and you probably won't be able to, anyway. Hang onto it, and you'll have something to operate on when your parole runs out."
"I wonder if I should start a bank account?" I said.
"That's a good idea," he said. "We'll do that some day soon when I can spare the time to go down and introduce you."
I left the house every morning at a reasonably early hour, and never returned before five in the afternoon. Usually I spent an hour or so at Madeline's. The rest of the time I saw picture shows or read in the public library or drove around.
One morning, a few days after payday, I drove out to the place where Doc and I had stopped my first night out of Sandstone: the place where the sludge from the oil wells had widened the river into an expanse of stinking and treacherous mud. I don't think I sought the spot consciously; it was no attraction which would justify a drive of ten or twelve miles. But I found myself there suddenly, and I pulled the car off the road and walked up to the stone bench. I sat down on it, and leaned forward, carefully. I scooped up a handful of pebbles and began dropping them down into the mud.