APRIL VISTAS
"Is it _possible_? _Is_ it possible!"
Colonel Ramsay's entrances were frequently a bit theatrical, and on a
particular afternoon in April, as he opened the door of Dan Harwood's
new office in the Law Building, the sight of Miss Farrell at the
typewriter moved him to characteristic demonstrations. Carefully closing
the door and advancing, hat in hand, with every appearance of deepest
humility, he gazed upon the young woman with a mockery of astonishment.
"Verily, it is possible," he solemnly ejaculated. "And what is it that
our own poet says:--
"'When she comes home again! A thousand ways
I fashion to myself the tenderness
Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble--yes--'"
"Stop trembling, Colonel, and try one of our new office chairs,
warranted to hold anybody but Brother Ike Pettit without fading away."
The Colonel bent over Miss Farrell's hand reverently and sat down.
"I've been trying to earn an honest living practicing law down at home
and this is the first chance I've had to come up and see what the late
lamented legislature left of the proud old Hoosier State. Is Dan locked
up inside there with some lucrative client?"
"I regret to say that I don't believe there's a cent in his present
caller."
"Hark!" At this moment a roar was heard from the inner room on which
"private" was printed in discreet letters. The Colonel was at once
alert.
"'Ask me no more; the moon may draw the sea'
But Isaac Pettit's jokes shall shake the land,--
with apologies to the late Laureate. So the boys are finding their way
up here, are they? I'll wait an hour or two till that compendium of
American humor has talked Dan to sleep. So you and Dan left your Uncle
Morton all alone in gloomy splendor in the Boordman Building!"
"Mr. Harwood made me an offer and I accepted it," replied Rose. "This is
a free country and a P.W.G. can work where she pleases, can't she?"
"P.W.G.?"
"Certainly, a poor working-girl"--Rose clasped her hands and bowed her
head--"if the initials fail to illuminate."
The Colonel inspected the room, and his eyes searched Miss Farrell's
desk.
"Let me see, I seem to miss something. It must be the literary offerings
that used to cluster about the scene of your labors. Your selections in
old times used to delight me. No one else of my acquaintance has quite
your feeling for romance. I always liked that one about the square-jawed
American engineer who won the Crown Princess of Piffle from her father
in a poker game, but decided at the last minute to bestow her upon his
old college friend, the Russian heir-apparent, just to preserve the
peace of Europe. I remember I found you crying over the great
renunciation one day."
"Oh, I've passed that all up, Colonel. I'm strong for the pale high-brow
business now. I'm doing time in all the night classes at Elizabeth House
where I board, and you'll hardly know your little Rose pretty soon."
"Fitting yourself for one of the learned professions?"
"Scarcely. Just fitting myself to be decent," replied Rose in a tone
that shifted the key of the conversation--a change which the Colonel
respected.
"That's right, Rose. This is a good place for you, and so is Mrs. Owen's
boarding-house. By the way, who's this school-teacher Aunt Sally has
taken up--saw her at the party-great chum of the old lady's."
"You must mean Miss Sylvia."
"Sylvia?"
"Miss Sylvia Garrison. Colonel Ramsay," continued Rose earnestly,
resting an elbow lightly on her typewriter, "you and I are old pals--you
remember that first winter I was over at the State House?"
"Very well, Rose."
"Well, it wasn't a good place for me to be. But I was a kid and hadn't
much sense. I've learned a good deal since then. It ain't so easy to
walk straight; so many people are careless about leaving banana peelings
lying round."
The Colonel nodded.
"You needn't apologize to me, Rose. It's all right now, is it?"
"You can be dead sure of it, Colonel. Miss Garrison caught me by the
heel of my shoe, just as I was going down the third time, and yanked me
back. There's a good many cheap imitations of human beings loose around
this world, but that's a woman, I can tell you!"
"Glad you struck a good friend, Rose. You did well to come along with
Harwood."
"Well, she fixed that, too, after I cut loose from _him_--you
understand? I guess Miss Garrison and Mr. Harwood are pretty good
friends."
"Oh!" ejaculated Ramsay. "So there's that, is there?"
"I hope so; they're all white and speak the same language. This is on
the dead. I'm only talking to you because you're an old friend."
An occasional roar from within testified to Mr. Pettit's continued
enjoyment of his own jokes.
"You know," Rose continued, "I learned a good deal those winters I spent
at the State House, when I was stenog to certain senate committees. I
see where you stand now, all right, Colonel. I always knew you didn't
belong in that bunch of lobbyists that was always gum-shoeing through
the marble halls of the State House. Thatcher sends somebody around to
look me up every little while to see if he can't coax something out of
me,--something he can use, you know."
"Thatcher oughtn't to do that. If you want me to, I'll pull him off."
"No; I guess I can take care of myself. He"--Rose indicated the inner
office with a slight movement of the head, "he never tries to pump me.
He ain't that kind of a fighter. But everybody that's anywhere near the
inside knows that Thatcher carries a sharp knife. He's going to shed
some pink ink before he gets through. Are you on?"
They exchanged a glance.
"Something that isn't nice?"
Rose nodded.
"I hate to see that sort of thing brought into the game. But they'll
never find anything. The gentleman we are referring to works on
noiseless rollers." Colonel Ramsay indicated the closed door by an
almost imperceptible gesture of interrogation; and Rose replied by
compressing her lips and shaking her head.
"He isn't in on that; he's a gentleman, you know; not a mud-slinger."
"He might have to stand for anything Thatcher springs. Thatcher has
developed into a shrewd and hard fighter. The other crowd don't laugh at
him any more; it was his work that got our legislative ticket through
last fall when Bassett passed the word that we should take a licking
just to magnify his importance. Is Thatcher in town now?"
"No; that boy of his with the bad lung had to go off to the Adirondacks,
and he went with him."
The inner door opened at this moment, disclosing the Honorable Isaac
Pettit, who greeted Ramsay effusively.
"What is immortality, gentlemen!" the Honorable Isaac Pettit inquired,
clinging to the Colonel's hand. "We had a little social gathering for
our new pastor up at Fraser the other night, and I sprung a new game on
the old folks. Offered a prize for anybody who could name all the
Vice-Presidents of the United States since Lincoln's administration, and
they couldn't even get past Grant--and Schuyler Colfax being right off
our own Hoosier pastures! Then we tried for the Democratic candidates
for President, beginning back at the war, and they couldn't even start.
One young chap piped up and said Jeff Davis--oh, Lord!--which reminds me
that the teaching of history in the public schools ain't what it ought
to be. They hadn't heard of Hancock, and when somebody said Blaine, the
teacher of the infant class in our Sunday School said Blaine who? That
reminds me of one time when I met Dan Voorhees, than whom God Almighty
never made a nobler soul; I met Dan down here in the lobby of the old
Bates House, carrying a 'Harper's Weekly' with one of Tom Nast's
cartoons spread wide open. You know Dan had--"
Colonel Ramsay had been edging toward the door of Harwood's private
room, and he now broke in upon the editor's reminiscences.
"You tell that story to Miss Farrell, Ike. I'm spouting myself to-night,
at a Christian Endeavor rally at Tipton, and want to see Dan a minute."
Miss Farrell was inured to Pettit's anecdotes of Dan Voorhees, and the
Fraserville editor continued, unmindful of the closing of the door upon
Dan and Ramsay.
Ramsay pushed his fedora to the back of his head and inspected Dan's new
furniture.
"Well, you did it! You've cut loose from your base and burned your
bridges behind you. I would have brought my congratulations sooner, but
I've had a long jury case on hand. You did it, my boy, and you did it
like a gentleman. You might have killed him if you had wanted to."
"I don't want to kill anybody," smiled Dan. "I want to practice law."
"That's a laudable ambition, but you can't go back on us now. What we've
needed for a long time was a young man of about your make-up who wasn't
afraid."
"Don't rub it in, Colonel. I was a mighty long time seeing the light,
and I don't deserve any praise from anybody. I mean what I say about
practicing law. I'm a free man now and any political work I do is going
to be along the lines of the simple, childish ideas I brought home from
college with me. I had begun to feel that all this political idealism
was sheer rubbish, but I put the brakes on before I got too far
downhill. If a few of us who have run with the machine and know the
tricks will turn and help the bewildered idealists, we can make idealism
effective. Most of the people don't want a handful of crooks to govern
them, but there's a kind of cheap cynicism abroad that discourages the
men who are eager to revolt. There are newspapers that foster that
sentiment, and scores of men who won't take time to go to a caucus keep
asking what's the use. Now, as for Bassett, I'm not going to bite the
hand that fed me; I'm simply going to feed myself. Pettit was just in
here to sound me as to my feelings toward Thatcher. Quite frankly, I'm
not interested in Thatcher as a senatorial possibility."
"That's all right; but if you had to make a choice between Thatcher and
Bassett?"
Dan shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"You mustn't exaggerate the importance of my influence. I don't carry
United States senatorships around in my pocket."
"You're the most influential man of your age in our state. I'm not so
sure you wouldn't be able to elect any man you supported if the election
were held to-morrow."
"You've mastered the delicate art of flattery, Colonel; when the time
comes, I'll be in the fight. It's not so dead certain that our party's
going to have a senator to elect--there's always that. But all the walls
are covered with handwriting these days that doesn't need interpreting
by me or any other Daniel. Many of the younger men all over this state
in both parties are getting ready to assert themselves. What we
want--what you want, I believe--is to make this state count for
something in national affairs. Just changing parties doesn't help
anything. I'd rather not shift at all than send some fellow to the
Senate just because he can capture a caucus. It's my honest conviction
that any man can get a caucus vote if he will play according to the old
rules. You and I go out over the state bawling to the people that they
are governing this country. We appeal to them for their votes when we
know well enough that between Thatcher and Bassett as Democrats, and
'Big' Jordan and Ridgefield in the Republican camp, the people don't
stand to win. It may tickle you to know that I've had some flattering
invitations lately to join the Republicans--not from the old guard, mind
you, but from some of the young fellows who want to score results for
policies, not politicians. I suppose, after all, Colonel, I'm only a
kind of academic Democrat, with no patience whatever with this eternal
hitching of our ancient mule to the saloons and breweries just to win.
In the next campaign I'm going to preach my academic Democracy all the
way from Lake Michigan to the Ohio River, up and down and back and
forth--and I'm going to do it at my own expense and not be responsible
to any state committee or anybody else. That's about where I stand."
"Good; mighty good, Dan. All the rest of us want is for you to holler
that in your biggest foghorn voice and you'll find the crowd with you."
"But if the crowd isn't with me, it won't make a bit of difference; I
shall bark just the same."
"Now that we've got down to brass tacks, I'll tell you what I've thought
ever since Bassett got his clamps on the party: that he really hasn't
any qualities of leadership; that grim, silent way of his is a good deal
of a bluff. If anybody ever has the nerve to set off a firecracker just
behind him, he'll run a mile. The newspapers keep flashing him up in big
headlines all the time, and that helps to keep the people fooled. The
last time I saw him was just after he put through that corporation bill
you broke on, and he didn't seem to have got much fun out of his
victory; he looked pretty gray and worried. It wasn't so easy pulling
through House Bill Ninety-five; it was the hardest job of Mort's life;
but he had to do it or take the count. And Lord! he certainly lost his
head in defeating those appropriation bills; he let his spite toward the
governor get the better of him. It wasn't the Republican governor he put
in the hole; it was his own party."
"That's the way with all these men of his type on both sides; they have
no real loyalty; they will sacrifice their parties any time just to
further personal ends, or in this case it would seem to have been out of
sheer bad temper. I didn't use to think Bassett had any temper or any
kind of emotional organization. But when he's mad it's the meanest kind
of mad, blind and revengeful."
"He's forced an extra session--he's brought that on us. Just chew on
that a minute, Dan. A Republican governor has got to reassemble a
Democratic legislature merely to correct its own faults. It looks well
in print, by George! Speaking of print, how did he come to let go of the
'Courier,' and who owns that sheet anyway? I thought when Thatcher
sprung that suit and dragged our Aunt Sally into it, the Wabash River
would run hot lava for the next forty years. But that night of the ball
she and Mort stood there on the firing-line as though nothing had ever
happened."
Harwood grinned and shook his head gravely.
"There are some things, Colonel, that even to a good friend like you I
can't give away. Besides, I promised Atwill not to tell."
"All right, Dan. And now, for fear you may think I've got something up
my sleeve, I want to say to you with my hand on my heart that I don't
want any office now or ever!"
"Now, Colonel, be very careful!" laughed Dan.
"No; I'm not up here on a fishing-trip. But I want you to know where I
stand and the friendly feeling of a whole lot of people toward you. You
say the younger men are getting tired of the old boss system; I'll tell
you that a lot of the old fellows too are beginning to get restless. The
absurdity of the whole game on both sides is beginning to get into the
inner consciousness of the people. You know if I had stayed regular when
the free-silver business came on I might have been in a position now to
play for the governorship--which is the only thing I ever wanted; rather
nice to be governor of your own state, and have your name scratched on a
slab at the State House door; it's even conceivable, Daniel, that a man
might do a little good--barely possible," he concluded dryly. "I'm out
of it now for good; but anything I can do to help you, don't wait to
write, just telephone me. Now--"
"I'm not so sure you can't make it yet; I'd like to see you there."
"Thanks, Daniel; but like you I'm in the ranks of the patriots and not
looking for the pie counter. Here's another matter. Do you mind telling
me what you're up to in this White River Canneries business? I notice
that you've been sticking the can-opener into it."
"Yes; that protest of the original stockholders against the
reorganization is still pending. As administrator of the estate of
Professor Kelton--you remember him--Madison College--I filed a petition
to be let into the case. It's been sleeping along for a couple of
years--stockholders too poor to put up a fight. I've undertaken to probe
clear into the mire. I've got lots of time and there's lots of mire!"
"Good. They say the succotash and peaches were all cooked in the same
pot, and that our Uncle Mort did the skimming."
"So they say; but believe me, I can attack him without doing violence to
my professional conscience. White River Canneries was never in the
Boordman office to my knowledge. This isn't vengeance on my part; it's
my duty to get what I can for the estate."
"Well, some of our farmers down my way got soaked in that deal, but it
never seemed worth while to waste their money in litigation. I'll be
glad to turn the claims I have in my office over to you; the more you
have, the stronger fight you can make."
"Good. I welcome business. I'm going to see if I can't get to the bottom
of the can."
As a _révolté_ Dan had attracted more attention than he liked, in all
the circumstances. Now that the legislature had adjourned, he was
anxious to give his energy to the law, and he did not encourage
political pilgrims to visit his office. He felt that he had behaved
generously toward his old chief when the end came, and the promptness
with which Bassett's old guard sought to impeach his motives in fighting
the corporation bill angered him. Threats of retaliation were conveyed
to him from certain quarters; and from less violent sources he heard
much of his ingratitude toward the man who had "made" him. He had failed
in his efforts to secure the passage of several measures whose enactment
was urged by the educational and philanthropic interests of the
community, and this was plainly attributable to the animosity aroused by
his desertion of the corporation bill. He had not finished with this
last measure, which had been passed by Bassett's bi-partisan combination
over the governor's veto. The labor organizations were in arms against
it and had engaged Dan to attack it in the courts.
* * * * *
Sylvia's approval of his course had been as cordial as he could have
asked, and as the spring advanced they were much together. They attended
concerts, the theatre, and lectures, as often as she had time for
relaxation, and they met pretty regularly at Mrs. Owen's dinner table on
Sunday--often running out for long tramps in the country afterward, to
return for supper, and a renewal of their triangular councils. The
Bassetts were to continue at the Bosworth house until June, and when
Marian dashed in upon these Sunday symposiums--sometimes with a young
cavalier she had taken out for a promenade--she gave Dan to understand
that his difficulties with her father made not the slightest difference
to her.
"But, mama!" She spoke of her mother as of one whose views must not
weigh heavily against the world's general good cheer--"mama says she
_never_ trusted you; that there was just that something about you that
didn't seem quite--" Marian would shake her head and sigh suggestively,
whereupon Mrs. Owen would rebuke her and send her off to find the candy
in the sideboard.
Allen, relegated for a time to a sanatorium in the Adirondacks, amused
himself by telegraphing to Marian daily; and he usually managed to time
a message to reach Mrs. Owen's Sunday dinner table with characteristic
remembrances for all who might be in her house. To Dan he wrote a letter
commending his course in the legislature.
"I always knew you would get on Dad's side one of these days. The Great
Experiment is making headway. Don't worry about me. I'm going to live to
be a hundred. There's really nothing the matter with my lungs, you know.
Dad just wanted an excuse to come up here himself (mother and the girls
used me as an excuse for years, you remember). He's doing big stunts
tramping over the hills. You remember that good story Ware told us that
night up in the house-boat? You wouldn't think Dad would have so much
curiosity, but he's been over there to look at that place Ware told
about. He's left me now to go down to New York to see the lights. . . .
I'm taking quite a literary turn. You know, besides Emerson and those
chaps who camped with him up here, Stevenson was here, too,--good old
R.L.S.!"
Several times Sylvia, Marian, and Dan collaborated in a Sunday round
robin to Allen, in the key of his own exuberances.