SPOILS! SPOILS!
Christmas came, the day passing quiet and gloomy at the Alden home. The
injured man grew worse and was delirious--living over the awful scenes
of the fire many times during the day, and starting from his slumbers,
crying out:
"Yes, they are saved, they are saved!" then he would moan, "Oh, how the
fire burns my flesh! Take that big timber off my back! Must I perish?
See, the iron door opens, the people are free--and I have saved them!"
For six days he was delirious, but just one week after the disaster he
opened his eyes, looked about him, and in a weak voice said:
"Give me water."
His sister, standing near, raised a glass to his lips while he drank
with a relish that he had not displayed since the disaster, his eye
flashing with a little of its natural fire; and his sister felt there
was really a change for the better. Full of hope, she could scarcely
realize that the good symptoms were real.
"Where--where is Belle?" he asked.
"Watching over you constantly. She has gone home for a little rest, but
will return in about two hours. Be quiet and go to sleep now; you are
better, but must not exhaust yourself."
"Then she will certainly return?"
"Yes, but you must not talk more."
The patient closing his eyes, his sister seated herself at his bedside.
Two hours later the young wife returned, and perceiving the happy look
upon Fannie's face, said:
"What is it? Tell me quick: is he better?"
"Yes, he opened his eyes, asked for a glass of water, and then inquired
for you; when told you would return in two hours, a look of joy crossed
his face and he again closed his eyes. He has slept quietly ever since,
and his fever has perceptibly gone down."
"Oh, that he may only live!" said Belle, while her eyes filled with
tears of joy.
Both ladies entering the sick-room, a glance toward the bed assured them
the patient was awake and awaiting their return. Belle, stooping over,
kissed him, which greeting he returned with--
"You are so good, I am trying to get well for your sake," he whispered.
When Doctor Briar made his afternoon call he was greatly encouraged.
"He is better," he said, "and if kept quiet there is now strong hope of
his recovery. Good nursing will do more for him than anything else."
From that day Alden gained slowly, and all Cleverdale was made happy by
the good news that their hero was likely to recover. All? No; there was
one exception.
Senator Hamblin, at his office, engaged in writing letters, looked
troubled and dejected. He had just returned from the State Capitol,
where he had attended the opening session of the Legislature. Before
him lay many letters, some with seals unbroken. One in the well-known
handwriting of Walter Mannis greatly interested him.
"He is anxious as ever to marry my daughter," he exclaimed. "He believes
we will have a peaceful solution of the problem, but in that we have
both reckoned wrong. When I left home a few days since, there was not
the least possible hope of Alden's ever getting up again. It is a blind
game, trying to discount fate. It seemed as if he would relieve us by
going off in a regular and legitimate way, but he disappoints us and
will remain. Why have I allowed Belle to attend him during his illness?
She has not only compromised herself, but by this act I have sanctioned
her course."
He lighted a cigar, and soon great clouds of smoke rose and circled over
his head, while his pen lay idle beside him.
"Well," he whispered, "if he recovers it will be a bad go. If he could
only look into the future, he would have no wish to live--but perhaps he
may have a relapse."
Seeming to catch a gleam of hope, he resumed his cigar again, and
continued to fill the room with clouds of smoke for at least ten
minutes. Then suddenly rising, he said:
"There is no help for it: I must see that our programme is carried
out. Sargent is ready to do his work, and I cannot let sentimentality
make me lose sight of my own danger. Alden will no doubt recover, and
there never will occur so good an opportunity as the present to make
the necessary preparations to get rid of him. The hero-worship business
is short, and by the time the good people of Cleverdale get through
admiring the noble act of Cashier Alden, we will be ready with the trap."
Observing Sargent was alone, he said:
"I wish to speak with you for a few moments."
The teller entering the president's private office, the latter said:
"Have you thought over the matter we discussed the night before the
fire?"
"Yes, sir, it has been on my mind a great deal."
"It is evident we must carry out our original intention, for I think
Alden will recover."
"It looks that way now."
"Have you any plans to suggest?"
"Yes, I can alter his books--put worthless bonds among the securities,
making it appear Alden has abstracted the currency they represent, and
carry the transaction along on his books until discovered."
"How will you manage to clear yourself of any complicity?"
"That is easily accomplished. The figures can be altered to correspond
with dates in September or August, when Alden was alone in the bank,
and make it appear that the worthless bonds were placed among the
collaterals at the time, and only discovered by the forced absence of
the cashier."
"That is very good, Sargent. Public opinion and sympathy are so strong
for Alden it will not do for him to remain here. When confronted with
the accusation he must be induced to run away rather than face exposure.
When he is accused of defalcation I can express sympathy for him--offer
to make good the missing funds--even give him money with which to
abscond."
"But, suppose he writes back to his friends--what then?"
"In that case we must plan to intercept his letters."
"That will be easily done, my brother being clerk in the post-office."
"Sargent, you are quick-witted. That will be the very thing; it is a
most important point, and has bothered me considerably. We will do
nothing until after I return home next week. By that time we shall know
more about his chance of recovery."
A customer entering the bank, the conversation ceased.
The following Monday was cold and wintry, and before Senator Hamblin
left Cleverdale for Albany he called at the bank and said to Sargent:
"He is much better this morning, and we will plant our seed on Saturday."
During the week he was engrossed in his legislative duties. Being
a recognized leader in his party, his late victory over both the
opposition and stump candidate raised him higher than ever in the
estimation of his fellow senators, and in the scramble for spoils of
office his power was great. While there were scores of applicants for
every office in the gift of the Senate or Legislature, those inducing
Senator Hamblin, to espouse their cause were usually successful. The
Senator was besieged by many callers, while every mail brought him
letters asking help to obtain some position. Every senator and member
possessed scores of friends seeking appointments. Mothers, sisters,
wives and even children appealed personally to Senator Hamblin for aid,
until he was nearly driven to distraction. It was impossible for him to
move without encountering some one with a petition, for even when seated
in the Senate Chamber, cards and letters were thrust into his hands by
the pages, requesting interviews in the cloak-room. Every man who had
peddled a vote on election day, asked another to support his candidate,
or hurrahed at a political meeting, expected to share in the spoils.
Every member unable to obtain positions for all his friends was declared
ungrateful, and curses loud and deep were heaped upon his head.
Reader, did you ever visit your State Capitol at the organization of
the Legislature, and see the scramble for spoils? A great army of
hungry office-seekers, like sharks after a ship, appear even before
the opening. Candidates for leading positions, such as speaker and
clerks of the House, clerk of the Senate, postmasters, door-keepers
and sergeant-at-arms, commence operations before the houses organize.
Senators and Assemblymen are besieged and promises obtained from them
to support some favorite candidate. Those seeking these places make
pledges to support their helpers for subordinate positions, promising
to help members voting for them to chairmanships of leading committees.
It is a persistent scramble, and honor must take a back seat until the
spoils are disposed of. After the leading offices are filled, the fight
for subordinate places follows. Railroad trains from the North, South,
East and West are laden with applicants accompanied by their backers.
Chairmen of county committees, members of the State Committee, Assembly
district, and town bosses, are all on hand to offer their assistance in
arranging the "slates."
Senator Hamblin was in a dilemma. There were two applicants from
Cleverdale for the same position; one backed by Paddy Sullivan,
the other by Cyrus Hart Miller. Miller was his first and best man,
but Senator Hamblin could not afford to ignore Paddy Sullivan. He
expostulated and plead with them, but each was persistent and obstinate.
Both were on the ground, and as the war for spoils raged, each felt
sure of winning. A rupture with one or other of the favorites seemed
imminent, when the affair was amicably arranged, at a cost to the
Senator of several hundred dollars, paid to appease his powerful
lieutenant, Paddy Sullivan.
The scramble for spoils continued several days, and when the Speaker of
the House and the President of the Senate announced their appointments,
the usual Swearing Bee began. Disappointed men vowed they would never
again support the party, and that night, as the "Swearing Train" left
the Capitol city, a long streak of sulphur must have arisen above the
car roofs, and all supplied by the profanity of those who, if they had
spent as much time in trying to obtain legitimate business employment as
they had done in crawling at the heels of appointing powers, would have
been richer, better, more useful and independent citizens.