A MAD PRANK OF THE GODS
A week after the publication of that blithe bit of acrimony which opens
this tale, Colonel J. Rodney Potts, recreated and natty in a new summer
suit of alpaca, his hat freshly ironed, sued the town of Little Arcady
for ten thousand dollar damages to his person and announced his
candidacy at the ensuing election for the honorable office of Judge of
Slocum County. He did this at the earnest solicitation of his many
friends, in whose hands he had placed himself,--at least so read his
card of announcement in the _Banner_, our other paper. He did not name
these solicitous friends; but it was an easy suspicion that they were
the Democratic leaders, who thought by this means to draw votes from the
Republican candidate to the advantage of their own, who, otherwise, was
conceded to have no hope of election in a county overwhelmingly
Republican.
It may be told with adequate confidence that Westley Keyts was not of
their number. As to the damage suit, Westley found it unthinkable that
Potts could deteriorate ten thousand dollars worth and still walk the
earth. Indeed, he believed, and uttered a few rough words to express it,
that ten dollars would be an excessive valuation even if Potts were
utterly destroyed.
Being an earnest soul, Westley had taken the Potts affair very
seriously. He made it a point to encounter the Colonel on an early day
and to address him on Main Street in tones that lacked the least
affectation of suavity or diplomatic guile. He had seen diplomacy tried
and found wretchedly wanting. He would have no more of it ever. Like the
straightaway man he was, he went to the meat of the matter.
"You squandered that hundred dollars we give you to git out of town on,"
he burst forth to Potts, breathing with an ominous difficulty.
"You just wait till you hear the worst of it," answered Potts, as he
confidingly dusted the shoulder of Westley's coat. "The worst of it is I
had over twelve dollars of my own money that I'd saved up--you know how
hard it is to save money in these little towns--well, that went, too,
_every cent of it!_"
It was admitted by witnesses competent to form an opinion that Westley's
contorted face, his troubled breathing, his manner of stepping back, and
the curious writhing of his stout arms, all encouraged a supposition
that he might be contemplating immediate violence upon the person of
Potts. At all events, this view was taken by the aggrieved and puzzled
Colonel, who fled through the Boston Cash Store and, by means of a rear
exit from that emporium, gained the office of Truman Baird, Justice of
the Peace, where he swore to a legal document which averred that "the
said Jonas R. Potts" was "in fear of immediate and great bodily harm,
which he has reasonable cause to believe will be inflicted upon him by
the said Westley Keyts."
The majesty of the law being thus invoked, Westley was put under a good
and sufficient bond to refrain from "in any manner of attacking or
molesting the said Potts, against the statutes therein made and
provided, and against the peace and dignity of the State of Illinois."
A proceeding so official somewhat dampened the fires of Mr. Keyts. He
was a citizen, law-abiding by intention, with a patriot's esteem for
government. It had merely not occurred to him that the summary
extinction of Potts could be a performance at all incompatible with the
peace and dignity of the great commonwealth to which he was at heart
loyal. Being convinced otherwise, he abode grimly by the statutes
therein made and provided. Nevertheless he returned to his shop and
proceeded to cut up a quarter of beef with an energy of concentration
and a ruthlessness of fury that caused Potts to shudder as he passed the
door sometime later. By such demeanor, also, were the bondsmen of
Westley--the first flush of their righteous enthusiasm faded--greatly
disturbed. They agreed that he ought to be watched closely by day, and
they even debated the wisdom of sitting up nights with him for a time,
turn by turn. But their charge dissuaded them from this precaution. He
expended his first vicious fury usefully upon his stock in trade, with
knife and saw and cleaver, and thereafter he was but petulant or
sarcastic.
"I had the right of it," he insisted. "The only way to do with a person
like him was to git your feathers and your kittle of tar cooked up all
nice and gooey and git Potts on the ground and _make a believer of him_
right there and then!" This he followed by his pointed reflection upon
the administrative talents of Solon Denney--"A hand of mush in a glove
of the _same_!" When listeners were not by, he would mutter it to
himself in sinister gutturals.
Nor was he alone in this spirit of dissatisfaction with Solon. The
too-trustful editor of the _Argus_ was frankly derided. He was a Boss at
whom they laughed openly. They waited, however, with interest for the
subsequent issues of this paper.
The _Banner_ that week contained the following bit of news:--
=DASTARDLY ASSAULT IN BROAD DAYLIGHT=
=Early last Thursday evening, as Colonel J. Rodney Potts, dean of the
Slocum County bar, was enjoying a quiet stroll along our beautiful river
bank near Cady's mill, he was set upon by a gang of ruffians and would
have been foully dealt with but for his vigorous resistance. Being a man
of splendid proportions and a giant's strength, the Colonel was making
gallant headway against the cowardly miscreants when his foot slipped
and he was precipitated into the chilling waters of the mill-race at a
point where the city fathers have allowed it to remain uncovered. Seeing
their victim plunged into a watery grave, as they thought, the thugs
took to their heels. The Colonel extricated himself from his perilous
plight, by dint of herculean strength, and started to pursue them, but
they had disappeared from sight in the vicinity of Crowder & Fancett's
lumber yard. Things have come to a pretty pass, we must say, if such a
dastardly outrage as this should be allowed to go unpunished. Now that
Colonel Potts has brought suit against the city we suppose the council
will have that mill-race covered. We have repeatedly warned them about
this. We wonder if they ever heard a well-known saying about "locking
the stable door after horse is stolen," etc.=
=The card of Colonel Potts, printed elsewhere in this issue, is a
sufficient refutation of the malicious gossip that has been handed back
and forth lately that he had planned to leave Little Arcady. It looks
now like certain busybodies in this community had over-stepped
themselves and been hoisted up by their own petard. The Colonel is a
fine man for County Judge, and we bespeak for him the suffrages of every
voter who wants an honest judiciary.=
Westley Keyts, reading this, wanted to know what a petard was. Inquiry
disclosed that he hoped it might be something that could be used upon
Potts to the advantage of almost every one concerned. But in the minds
of others of us an agonized suspicion now took form. Had the letters
been upon Potts when he went down? Had they been saved? Were they
legible? And would he use them?
It was decided that Solon Denney should try to illuminate this point
before taking the candidacy of Potts seriously. In the next issue of the
_Argus_, therefore, was this paragraph, meant to be provocative:--
=God's providence has been said to watch over fools and drunkards. We
guess this is so; and that the pretensions of a certain individual in
our midst to its watchfulness in the double capacity indicated can no
longer be in doubt.=
These lines did their work. The next _Banner_ spoke of a foul
conspiracy whose nefarious end it was to blacken the sterling character
of a good man, of that Nestor of the Slocum County Bar, Colonel J.
Rodney Potts. As testimony that the best citizens of the town were not
involved with this infamous ring, it had extorted from Colonel Potts his
consent to print certain letters from these gentlemen setting forth the
Colonel's surpassing virtues in no uncertain terms--letters which his
innate modesty had shrunk from making public, until goaded to
desperation by the hell-hounds of a corrupt and subsidized opposition.
The letters followed in a terrific sequence--a series of laudations
which the Chevalier Bayard need not have scorned to evoke.
Then we waited for Solon, but he was rather disappointing. Said the next
_Argus_:--
=We have heretofore considered J.R. Potts to possess the anti-social
instincts of a parasite without its moderate spirit of enterprise. But
we were wrong. We now concede the spirit of enterprise. As for this
candidacy of Potts, Horace Greeley once said, commenting, we think, on
some action of Weed's, "I like cool things, of ordinary dimensions--an
iceberg or a glacier; but this arctic circle of coagulation appalls
credulity and paralyzes indignation. Hence my numbness!" Hence, also,
our own numbness. But, though Speech lieth prone on a paralytic's couch,
ACTION is hearty and stalketh willingly abroad. In this campaign it will
speak louder than words. Yea! it will be heard high above Noah Webster's
entire assemblage of such of them as are decent. That is all! J.R.P.,
_take notice!_=
It was jaunty enough, but Potts had unquestionably gained a following.
Indeed he had ably cemented the foundations of one by his magnificent
hospitality on that day of days. His whilom serfs were men not easily
offended by faults of taste, and they were voters. To a man they came
out strongly for Potts.
He himself behaved with a faultless discretion. Above the slurs of the
_Argus_ and the bickerings of faction he bore himself as one alienated
from earth by the graces of his spirit; and he copiously promised deeds
which should in the years to come be as a beauteous garment to his
memory. The glaive of Justice should descend where erstwhile it had
corruptly been stayed. Vice should surfer its meed of retribution, and
Virtue come again into its glorious own.
Our letters of eulogy, printed at the _Banner_ office, were scattered
among the voters, and with them went a letter from Potts saying that if
his strenuous labors as an attorney in the interests of humanity, public
morals, and common decency met with the voter's approval, he would be
gratified to have his good-will and assistance. "It is such gentlemen as
yourself," read the letter, "constituting the best element of our
society, to whom I must look for the endorsement of my work. The
criminal classes of this community, whose minions have so recently
sought my life by mob violence, will leave no stone unturned to prevent
my sitting as Judge."
Our Democratic candidate, who had first felt but an academic interest in
the campaign, began now to show elation. Old Cuthbert Mayne, the
Republican candidate, who had been certain of success but for the
accident of Potts, chewed his unlighted cigar viciously, and from the
corner of his trap-like mouth spoke evil of Potts in a voice that was
terrifying for its hoarseness. His own letter, among the others, told of
Potts as one who sprang to arms at his country's call and was now richly
deserving of political preferment. This had seemed to heighten the
inflammation of his utterances. Daily he consulted with Solon, warning
him that the town looked to the _Argus_ to avert this calamity of Potts.
But Solon, if he had formed any plan for relief, refused to communicate
it. Mayne and the rest of us were compelled to take what hope we could
from his confident if secretive bearing.
Meantime the _Banner_ was not reticent about "J. Rodney Potts, that
gallant old war-horse." Across the top of its front page each week stood
"POTTS FOREVER--POTTS THE COMING MAN!"
"Big Joe" Kestril was the chief henchman of Potts, and his fidelity was
like to have been fatal for him. He threw himself into the campaign with
a single-heartedness that left him few sober moments. Upon the City
Hotel corner, day after day, he buttonholed voters and whispered to them
with alcoholic fervor that Potts was a gentleman of character, "as
blotchless as the driftin' snow." Joe believed in Potts pathetically.
The campaign wore its way through the summer, and Solon Denney was
still silent, still secretive, still confident, but, alas! still
inactive so far as we could observe. I may say that we lost faith in him
as the barren weeks came and went. We came to believe that his assured
bearing was but a shield for his real despair.
Having given up hope, some of us reached a point where we could view the
whole affair as a jest. It became a popular diversion to enter the
establishment of the ever serious Westley Keyts and whisper secretively
to him that Solon Denney had found a diplomatic way to rid the town of
Potts, but this never moved Westley.
"Once bit--twice shy!" would be his response as he returned to slicing
steaks.