All the King's Men - Robert Penn Warren [205]
Second, the Boss thought about Judge Irwin. If MacMurfee would listen to sense at al, he would listen to sense from Judge Irwin. He owed Irwin a lot, and there weren’t so many legs left to MacMurfee’s stool he could afford to loose one. So, the Boss thought, there was Judge Irwin.
He called me in and said, “I told you to dig on Irwin. What did you get?”
“I got something,” I said.
“What?”
“Boss,” I said, “I’m going to give Irwin a break. If he can prove to me it isn’t true, I won’t spill it.”
“God damn it,” he began, “I told you–”
“I’m giving Irwin a break,” I said. “I promised two people I would do it.”
“Who?”
“Well, I promised myself, for one. The other doesn’t matter.”
“You promised yourself, huh?” He looked hard at me.
“Yeah, I did.”
“O.K.,” he said. “Do it your way. If it’ll stick, you know what I want.” He surveyed me glumly, then added, “And it better stick.”
“Boss,” I said, “I’m afraid it will.”
“Afraid?” he said
“Yeah.”
“Who you working for? Him or me?”
“Well, I’m not framing Judge Irwin.”
He kept on studying me. “Boy,” he said then, “I’m not asking you to frame him. I never asked you to frame anybody. Did I?”
“No.”
“I never did ask you to frame anybody. And you know why?”
“No.”
“Because it ain’t ever necessary. You don’t ever have to frame anybody, because the truth is always sufficient.”
“You sure take a high view of human nature,” I said.
“Boy,” he said, “I went to a Presbyterian Sunday school back in the days when they still had some theology, and that much of it stuck. And–” he grinned suddenly–“I have found it very valuable.”
So our conversation ended, and I got into my car and headed for Burden’s Landing.
The next morning, as soon as I had my breakfast, which I ate alone, for the Young Executive had left for town and my mother wouldn’t get up till pushing noon, I strolled down the beach. It was a fine morning, but not as hot as usual. The beach was deserted at that hour, except for some kids playing in the bright shallows a quarter of a mile off, thin-legged little kids like sandpipers. I wandered on down past them, and as I passed they paused an instant in their leaping and splashing and gyration to favor me with an indifferent stare from their brown, water-slick faces. But it was only for an instant, for I obviously belonged to that dull and purblind race which wears shoes and trousers. You do not even walk on the sand and get sand in your shoes if you can avoid it. But at least I was walking on the sand and getting it liberally into my shoes. I wasn’t too old for that. I reflected on that with satisfaction, and moved on toward the cluster of pines and the big oak and the mimosas and myrtles, just back from the beach, where the tennis courts were. There were some benches there in the shade, and I had the unread morning paper in my hand. After I had read the paper, I would begin to think about what would happen later on the day. But I wasn’t even thinking about it yet.
I found the bench near the vacant court and lighted my cigarette and began to read. I read the front page, every word, with the mechanical devotion of a padre working over the missal, and didn’t even think of all the news which I knew and which wasn’t on the front page. I was well into the third page, when I heard voices and looked up to see the pair of players, a boy and girl, approaching on the other side of the courts. After an idle glance at me, they took possession of the farther court, and began to beat the little white ball back and forth, just idly to loosen up their muscles.