DEUS EX MACHINA
As Senator Sporty Jones stood on the Sawyerville platform and watched
No. 14 vanishing round a curve, his rage against the Superintendent
cooled somewhat and hardened into a determination to make somebody pay.
The more he thought of it the clearer it grew that the “somebody” should
be a bigger man than McDowell, though Sporty meant to get even with him,
too, some day. He knew, as did every one who had read the newspapers,
the broad outlines of the fight between Weeks and Porter for the road.
As he thought it over, the problem seemed to grow more complicated. The
Senator hated the two men about equally and had a long score against
each of them; for though both were lobbyists on a large scale, neither
of them had thought him worth conciliating. He was afraid lest in trying
to hurt one he might help the other.
He was capable of quick, clear thinking, and as he ran over in his mind
what he knew of the fight, he saw that what encouraged these men so
openly to resort to violence was a judicial deadlock. There was just one
force which could profitably be appealed to now, the State Executive.
He walked slowly down the rickety wooden steps and across the
road; then, after looking about irresolutely, he turned toward the
weather-beaten little hotel.
Before he had gone far the deposed station agent overtook him. He was
smoking a cigarette with short, nervous puffs, and he fell in step with
the Senator, evidently relieved at having a chance to talk.
“What did you think of that?” he asked. “Pretty sudden, wasn't it?”
The Senator grunted a savage assent, and the agent went on:--
“Well, all I say is, these fellows needn't think they've got any cinch
until Jim Weeks has had his innings. He's going to have it, too. This
kind of a scrap is right in his line.”
The Senator seemed to be listening, and the agent was encouraged to try
his hand at prophesying what would happen when Jim Weeks should come
down the line. When they reached the hotel both men paused, and the
Senator said affably,--
“Come in and have something.”
“All right, if you mean ginger ale,” laughed the agent. “It's a
temperance house, with a gold cure on the side.”
The disgust of Senator Sporty Jones was expressed with such blasphemous
force that the agent was moved to add,--
“You can get anything you want down in the next block.”
“All right,” grunted the Senator. “Wait a minute, though; I want to
telephone.”
“There ain't a telephone in town,” said the agent. “The line goes up
the other side of the river to Tillman. I don't believe you can find a
'phone nearer than Truesdale.”
“How far's that?” asked the Senator, after an expressive pause.
“'Bout fifteen miles by the river road. You have to go round by way of
Oakwood. It's going to rain, too,” he added, glancing at the clouded
sky.
The look of annoyance on the Senator's face settled into one of
determination, and the agent began to fear lest the invitation to “have
something” had slipped from the great man's mind.
The Senator asked slowly, “Is there such a thing as a livery stable in
this”--he gulped--“in this town?”
“I guess old man Barnes could let you have some sort of a horse. He's
got a place just the other side of Hogan's. I'll go down there with you
if you like.”
The parley with Barnes took only a few minutes, and at half-past three
the Senator drove down the main street and turned west toward the river
road. His vehicle was a light delivery wagon with a canopy over it, and
was drawn by a ragged old white horse, which, according to the livery
man, was an exceptional animal.
“The General's an aristocrat, he is,” said Barnes. “I might say a
thoroughbred. I hate like poison to let him out to a stranger, but I let
you take him because I see you understand a horse.”
There was no flicker of intelligence in the agent's face as he heard the
words, but when the Senator asked him to accompany him on the drive he
declined. “I want to be on hand,” he explained, “when Jim Weeks comes
down the line.” So Senator Jones started out alone on his drive to
Truesdale, and the agent watched him from the door of Hogan's saloon.
“Go along with him!” he thought. “I guess not. It'd be a circus, though,
to see what happens when they get to the river bridge.” Then, as Barnes
joined him on the steps, he added, “What do you suppose the General will
do to him?”
“Oh, he won't hurt him,” answered Barnes. “He'll just turn around and
come home when he gets good and ready. Come in and have something.”
The General took a violent dislike to the Senator. It annoyed him to
have people try to make him go whither he would not, and he shook his
head angrily in response to the impatient jerks at the reins. When the
Senator tried to accelerate the pace by whacking his toughened flanks
with the whip, he kicked up his heels derisively and then stumbled along
more wearily if possible than before.
The miles crept by as slowly as he could wish, and he was pleased when
they passed a fork of the road and he knew he was being driven to the
river. He disliked rivers, and had long ago decided that he would never
cross one. That his resolution had once been broken was not his fault,
for they had dragged him over the Oakwood bridge at the end of a stout
rope; but this only made him firmer in his determination, and people who
drove him were wont to stay on the west side of the river.
Old man Barnes had given the Senator no hint of this prejudice of the
aristocratic animal he was driving, so he had no foreboding of what was
going to happen. Now that he had made up his mind that it was worse than
useless to try to interfere with the General, he was jogging along in
comparative comfort, regardless of the rain which had grown from a fine
drizzle to a steady downpour. He thought the chances were in favor of
his reaching Truesdale and a telephone by midnight. He smiled at the
thought, for he had evolved a scheme that would disconcert both of the
contestants for the M. & T. alike, and would show them that he, State
Senator Sporty Jones, was not a man to be sneezed at.
About a half a mile above the Oakwood Club House and in full view of it
the road crosses the river, and the Senator noticed the big, rambling
building on top of the hill, and wondered if they had a telephone there.
“I'll try and see, anyway,” he thought.
The General turned willingly up the approach to the bridge, increasing
his speed to an almost respectable trot. When he reached the top he
stopped in his tracks and stared with disfavor at the worn planks before
him. The Senator snatched the whip from its socket and beat upon the
General until his arms were tired. At every blow the horse would kick
feebly, and then resume a droop-eared attitude, as though grieving over
the depravity of man. The Senator looked around helplessly, but there
was no aid in sight, so he climbed down from the wagon and walked
around to the bridle. The General may have suspected another attempt at
dragging, for a vicious snap of his yellow teeth caused the Senator to
step back out of reach, completely baffled. He stared an instant at the
solemn face before him and then shaking the whip he said,--
“You've got me down this time, damn you, but I'll--”
The Senator stopped, his favorite threat unuttered, threw the whip into
the river and turning, walked slowly across the bridge, and as he went
the story he meant to tell over the 'phone to the Governor grew to
fearful proportions. As for the General, when he saw that the victory
was won, he turned about and sauntered back to Sawyerville.
In the party of golfers whom the rain had driven from the links to the
shelter of the Oakwood Club was Katherine. She had gone once around the
short course and perversely enough her score was unusually good; but she
could not get her mind off the more exciting game which she knew must
be in progress along the railway line west of the river. Altogether she
welcomed the rain, and was glad when its increasing violence drove
them to the shelter of the club house. There at least she was near a
telephone. She had no disposition to make one of the merry group of men
and girls who were drying out before the crackling log fire, but after a
moment of hesitation she joined the circle.
One of the men was standing by a window, peering through a field-glass
at the more ardent and impervious enthusiasts who were still following
the ball.
“The rain's letting up a bit,” he said at length. “You can really see
things--hello!”
The group before the fire turned toward him, attracted by the long
silence which followed the exclamation. They saw a look of puzzlement on
his face which gradually gave place to a broad grin.
“What's up?” asked somebody.
“By George,” he exclaimed, lowering the glass, “that's funny.” He raised
the glass again and this time his shoulders shook.
“I didn't know anybody out on the links could be as funny as that,” one
of the girls observed.
“He isn't on the links,” answered the man with the glass, “he's on
the bridge. And the horse is turning round and going back.” With which
singularly lucid preface, the young man told what he had seen of the
General's victory at the Oakwood bridge.
It was about fifteen minutes later when Sporty appeared, dripping and
mud bespattered, but kept warm by glowing fires of indignation, and
vigorously demanded of the attendant the use of the telephone. At the
sound of his voice one of the older men turned quickly and approached
him with a word of greeting. “But what's the matter with you, man?” he
added, noting the Senator's sorry condition.
“They're having a riot on the railroad,” answered Sporty. “Can I use
your 'phone?”
“Sure,” answered the other. “Right this way,” and the two men crossed
the hall and disappeared in the office. A few minutes later the man came
back and rejoined the group.
“He's State Senator Jones, Sporty Jones, you know. He says they're
having no end of a time over on the railroad. When I left him he seemed
to be trying to telephone all over the State at once.”
“I've heard of him,” said Katherine, “but I've never met him. I wish
you'd bring him here after he gets through telephoning.” And the man
with some surprise said he would.
The Senator did not reappear from the office for nearly an hour, and
in that time he worked fast. He began by calling up Representative Jim
Cleary of the Seventh District, a man with influence who happened to
be in the capital on business. The Senator wasted no oratory on him, he
simply told him what it was necessary to do. After that he talked with
other men about the State, and repeated what he had said to Jim
Cleary, suggesting to them the proper way for putting “pressure” on
the Governor. Then, having prepared his avalanche, he telephoned to
the executive mansion and asked for the Governor. He learned from the
Secretary that the Governor was busy, but would be at liberty in a few
minutes.
“All right,” said Sporty. “Let me know when he's ready to talk to me.”
He rang off and rose from his chair, stiffly, for the damp and the cold
had struck through. The man he knew appeared at his elbow, and leading
him in to the fire introduced him to those who were still grouped about
it, to Katherine last of all.
“You must have had an afternoon full of experiences,” she said.
“Yes,” answered the Senator. “I enjoyed my drive over from Sawyerville
immensely. The weather was somewhat unpleasant, but I had an excellent
horse and we made very good time, until we got a hot-box. I was obliged
to leave the vehicle with a farmer, and walked the last two miles.”
“Indeed?” said Katherine. “But please tell me about the riot. It must
have been very exciting.”
“I hardly think it would interest a lady,” said Sporty, uneasily.
“Senator Jones,”--Katherine was speaking with much severity,--“I did not
think when I first saw you that you could prove so disagreeable.”
Sporty beamed. “It wasn't very much of a riot,” he said. “They just
hit the fireman behind the ear and put handcuffs on the engineer, and
started out to grab the road. They'll have to fight for it.”
“Was what they did legal?” she asked.
“Oh, no; not at all. It's just a hold-up.”
The Senator was saying rather more than he meant to, and he was glad
that the telephone bell broke off the conversation at this point. He
excused himself abruptly and went to have a talk with the Governor.
Katherine walked to a window and stood staring out with unseeing eyes.
At last she turned to a man who stood near her and said:--
“I don't believe it's going to rain any more. Will you have them bring
up my trap, please?”