Representing the constituency of Morroway by no means exhausted the
dynamic energy of the Hon. Rufus Sullivan, and he had ample time for
engaging in pursuits of a tenderer and more congenial nature. But
occasions did arise when concentration upon Parliamentary problems
became a necessary part of the day’s routine, for they affected not only
the political standing of the Hon. Member, but the size and stability of
his income.
He sat alone in his office, oblivious for the moment, of the heavy gilt
mirror that hung opposite his desk, and to the contents of the drawer
marked “Unfinished Business”. He glared unwinkingly into space,
forgetful of the existence of a fluffy-haired little manicurist who sat
waiting for him in an over-decorated, under-lighted apartment of his
choosing. Sullivan was carefully reviewing each step taken at the caucus
he had just attended, and satisfying himself that his own part in the
proceedings would react in an advantageous manner.
The anticipated vacancy in the Cabinet had occurred, and the inevitable
complications had developed. Howarth stepped modestly into the
spotlight, and put forth claims that were not without justification.
Gilbert, the Radical, stood out as an advocate for Reciprocity and felt
the power of the Middle West behind him. Dilling, more or less thrust
into the contest, was supported by the phalanxes of Eastlake and
Donahue, and opposed any such trafficking with the United States.
Sullivan endorsed him.
This was an extraordinary thing. Even Howarth was surprised, and no one
found it more unaccountable than Dilling, himself.
The constituency of Morroway was divided on the Reciprocity issue, but
the preponderance of sentiment was favourable. This involved a little
difficulty for the Hon. Member, who did not approve it although he was
confident that in securing the measure, the Borden Government would in
no way imperil the existence of Canadian Federation. On the contrary,
Mr. Sullivan was secretly—oh, very secretly!—of the opinion that
unrestricted Reciprocity with the United States would be the most
effective antidote to the disintegration sentiment with which our
National wells are being poisoned. He believed that it would mean peace,
plenty, and a renewed ambition amongst a class of people in whom hope
had almost died; that its immediate result would be employment in lieu
of discontented idleness, and an instantaneous circulation of money. He
saw clearly the advantage that would accrue to the fishermen of British
Columbia and the Maritime Provinces, were they able to dispose of their
perishable merchandise quickly in the American market at a maximum price
and a minimum cost for transportation. He saw also that the Quebec and
Ontario farmers could sell to the Middle States at an advanced profit,
while the grain speculators of the Prairies could offer their wheat in
the Chicago pit before it was harvested and at the lowest possible
figure for haulage. Moreover, Mr. Sullivan realised that there would be
no congestion at the freight terminals, because cars would be moving
north and south as well as east and west; and, furthermore, the railways
of both countries would be co-operating.
Nor did he overlook the fact that the prairie farmers could buy their
implements at fifty per cent less than present prices for Canadian
manufactures—a Utopian condition for which every man with large
holdings ardently prayed according to the particular doctrine he
professed.
But Mr. Sullivan opposed Reciprocity. For years he had opposed it. He
held a considerable number of bonds issued by the Grand Trunk Pacific,
which though guaranteed by the Government of Canada must inevitably
depreciate if the silver stream continued to be diverted from the
National coffers in to the channels fashioned by Eastlake and
Donahue—those enterprising exponents of the cult whose treasure lies in
earthen vessels. He also happened to be heavily invested in Eastern
industrial corporations. Long ago, Mr. Sullivan had decided that
anything less than an impregnable tariff barrier between the United
States and Canada would spell his financial obliteration.
Therefore, although it irked him to lift a finger towards Dilling’s
political advancement, and although he found it extremely difficult to
justify his support in the face of his traditional opposition to
Eastlake and Donahue, Mr. Sullivan threw the weight of his influence
against Howarth, who expected it, and Gilbert, who hoped for it, in
order that Dilling might obtain the portfolio.
“In him we have a specimen of a genuine twentieth century man,” he
argued, “one who actually believes there is such a thing as a British
Constitution. He prints it in Capitals, (God save us all!) and he loves
it with as much veneration as the younger Pitt. Furthermore, he believes
that the incredible utterance of Pitt, in 1784, is true to-day and
forever—‘The British Constitution,’ he said, ‘is equally free from the
distractions of democracy and the tyranny of monarchy. It is the envy of
the world . . .’
“For myself,” the Hon. Member continued, “I think that Dilling is the
best debater we have had in the Commons since Confederation. He eclipses
Cartwright—the best of his day—because when that strict economist fell
a victim to his own high temper, he swapped logic for vituperation and
lost the ear of the Big Men of the House; he is a match for Denby, who
too often talks to Hansard and the Galleries, and too seldom comes to
grips with his antagonists on the floor of the Chamber. When, I ask you,
gentlemen, has Sir Eric ever influenced a vote on a Division?
“Dilling, on the other hand, captures both parties by his earnestness,
and his logic is as irrefragable as his temper is cold. Although I have
heard him declare that he despises rhetoric, yet we all know his ability
to draw deep from the pure wells of English undefiled. What Horace
Walpole said of the youthful Fox as a debater, could be as aptly applied
to Dilling . . . . ‘Cicero’s laboured orations are puerile in comparison
with this boy’s manly reason’.”
The Hon. Member brought his remarks to a climax by terming Gilbert a
traitor, charging Borden with political locomotor ataxia for making no
effort to stem the tide of Western opinion towards the Reciprocity
movement, and pronounced it treason against the Imperial Crown—thus
serving at one and the same time, his ambition and his pocket-book.
The contest was short and sharp. It was universally recognised—even by
those who held divergent political opinions and were personally
antipathetic—that Dilling was the man for the Cabinet, and Sullivan’s
speech left them no alternative but to support him.
* * * * *
Howarth and Turner rattled the handle of the door and demanded
admission. Sullivan complied jauntily, giving no sign of the mental
struggle in which he had been engaged. Indeed, at the moment of their
entrance, he recalled the gilt mirror that hung opposite his desk, the
drawer marked “Unfinished Business” and the fact that a little
manicurist was disconsolately awaiting him.
With an admirable gesture of preoccupation, he concerned himself with
the telephone.
“Is that my dearie?” he questioned into the instrument. “Forgotten? ’Pon
my soul, I hadn’t! Simply couldn’t break away . . . eh? Yes, in my
office, certainly . . . No, there was no thought of another party. . . .
Well, I won’t come if you are going to be cross . . . Promise? All right
. . . within five minutes . . .”
The business that was never finished while the three of them lived, was
placed upon the desk and uncorked. Sullenly, two men drank, while the
third tossed off his portion and then consulted his reflection with
meticulous care.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I must rush off. Exacting little devils—these
women. _Très exigèante_, as our French friends say. But help yourselves,
boys, and lock the drawer when you leave—that is if you have the grace
to leave anything!”
His flair met with no response.
“Damned if I can understand you, Sullivan,” Howarth burst out. “Here,
for months, we’ve been trying to freeze Dilling to death, and keep the
E. D. Co. from establishing a firmer foothold in Parliament, and now you
turn right round and boost him into the Cabinet. Surely, one of us is
crazy!”
“Only under stress, old man! Ordinarily, you are merely peculiar,”
returned Sullivan, with a smile.
“Gilbert’s a much safer man,” Howarth went on, “to say nothing of any
qualification _I_ may possess.”
“Yes,” Turner cut in, “what the devil were you thinking of, Rufus?
Didn’t Bill, here, deserve your support?”
“Neither of you would believe me if I were to tell you my reason for
backing Dilling’s claims,” said the Hon. Member for Morroway, feeling
that he must make some sort of explanation.
“Let’s have it, anyway,” said Howarth.
“Well—er—” confessed the other man, pulling on his gloves, “I acted
according to my best judgment in the interest of the whole country.”
“Oh, hell!” remarked Mr. Turner, M.P.
“I’ve been asked to swallow many a big mouthful,” cried Howarth, “but
this one chokes me.”
“And granting this noble patriotism—this alarmingly noble patriotism, I
might say—” sneered Turner “why such sudden interest in the welfare of
our fair Dominion?”
“By God!” breathed Howarth. “I believe in my soul that that little
baby-faced simpleton has put one over on you, Rufus! She’s got you
halter-broke and working for her husband!”
“Mrs. Dilling?” echoed Turner, incredulously.
“No fool like an old fool,” quoted his friend. “I’ve become accustomed
to seeing him lose his heart over a fine pair of shoulders and a
well-turned ankle, but I’m damned if I ever thought he would lose his
head!”
Sullivan paused with his hand on the door.
“It strikes me, Billy,” he said, “that disappointment makes you rather
coarse. Forgive my seeming inhospitality, gentlemen, but I dare not keep
a lady waiting.”
* * * * *
As he turned from the bright thoroughfare into a shadowy street, Mr.
Sullivan was not free from disturbing reflections. This was a big game
he played, and one that admitted of miscalculations. He tried to keep
before him its analogy to Chess, when a man sees ultimate gain
developing out of a temporary triumph won by his opponent. He tried to
assure himself that he had been wise in helping Dilling to victory as a
means whereby to accomplish his swifter defeat. Only the short-sighted
player tries to vanquish his foe at every turn.
There was nothing small about Rufus Sullivan. Even his defamers granted
him a largeness that extended to his very vices. He sinned, but he
sinned grandly, with a _joie de vivre_ that was lacking in the righteous
deeds of confessed Christians. He loved readily and hated magnificently,
but he did not begrudge the object of his hatred a modicum of pleasure.
So, in this matter, he could look with equanimity upon Dilling’s
attainment of the Ministership and feel no envy at his brief success.
For it _must_ be brief . . . and yet . . .
As he swung along, his eyes fixed on a window where a balloon of rose
light swayed out into the darkness, the Hon. Member for Morroway
realised that such schemes had been known to fail. By some totally
unforeseen miracle, the anticipated downfall had not occurred, and men
had lived to bite the hand that so calculatingly fed them. Would Dilling
prove to be one of these exceptions? Would he survive to frustrate Rufus
Sullivan’s ambitions?
These and other cogent problems engaged the Hon. Member throughout the
ensuing hours. The taffy-haired manicurist found him abstracted and
singularly unresponsive.