him rose.
The atmosphere of which Hobart spoke with such emphasis did not permeate
the special car. There was no sign of trouble around the bountiful
dining-table. The committee had its own way and did all the talking,
leaving Mr. Grayson, Mr. Heathcote, and the others in silence. Hence
there was no chance of a disagreement, and, as Harley judged, Mr.
Goodnight and Mr. Crayon were assured that this pleasant state of
affairs would continue.
Mr. Crayon, who was pleased with his neighbor, again gave Mr. Harley
enlightenment. He asked him about the country through which they were
passing, and was kind enough to consider his information of some weight.
But he permitted Harley to furnish only the premises; it was reserved
for himself to draw the conclusions; he predicted with absolute
certainty the future of this region and the amount of revenue it would
yield through its threefold interests--agricultural, pastoral, and
mineral. He added that only the trained mind could make these accurate
estimates.
"Well, what happened?" asked Hobart, when Harley returned to his own
car.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Maybe so, but it won't remain nothing long. You just wait and
see."
Sylvia, to whom these men were, of course, polite, summed them up very
accurately in a remark that she made to Harley.
"It is impossible to teach them anything," she said, "because they know
everything already."
An hour later the candidate spoke at a small station to a large audience
composed of people typical of the region--miners, farmers, and cowboys,
variously attired, but all quiet and peaceful. There was not a sign of
disorder, there was nothing even remotely resembling the toughs of the
great Eastern cities. This seemed to be a surprise to the members of
the committee, who sat in a formidable semicircle on the stage behind
the candidate. But as the surprise wore away a touch of disdain appeared
in their manner; they seemed to doubt whether the region and its people
were of any importance.
To Harley the speech of the morning was of particular interest, and he
watched Jimmy Grayson with the closest attention. He wanted to see
whether he would venture upon the treacherous ocean of the tariff, and
he had been unable to draw from his manner any idea of his intention.
But Jimmy Grayson did not launch his bark upon those stormy waters. He
handled many issues, and never did he allow any one in the audience to
doubt his meaning; it was a plain yea or nay, and he drew applause from
the audience or a disapproving silence, according to its feelings.
But the committee was satisfied, the faces of the members shone with
pleasure, and Harley, reading their minds, saw how they told themselves
of the quick effect their presence had upon Jimmy Grayson. It was well
for men of weight to surround a Presidential candidate; despite himself,
with strong, grave faces beside him he would put a prudent restraint
upon his words. The long trip from the East and the temporary sacrifice
of important interests was proving to be worth the price. When the
speech was over, they congratulated him upon his caution and wisdom.
But that afternoon they were caught under a deluge of Eastern
newspapers, and in them all the tariff discussion loomed formidably.
There was every indication, too, that this big storm-cloud was moving
westward; already it was hovering over the Missouri River Valley,
because the newspapers of Kansas City and Omaha, like those of Chicago
and New York, fairly darkened with it.
And the telegrams, too, continued to fall on Jimmy Grayson thick and
fast. They came in yellow showers; all the correspondents received
orders to get long interviews with him upon the subject, if possible,
and the leaders in every part of the country were telegraphing to do
this and to do that, or not to do either. It was evident that a great
population wanted to know just how Jimmy Grayson stood on the tariff.
The members of the committee took alarm; Harley saw them bustling in
uneasily to Jimmy Grayson, and whispering to him much and often.
"It's begun! It's begun! The war is on!" said Hobart, gleefully. "I hear
the dropping bullets of the skirmishers!"
"Hobart, you'd exult over an earthquake!" exclaimed Harley, wrathfully.
But he knew Hobart's words to be true, and presently he drifted back to
Jimmy Grayson.
"Mr. Harley is my intimate personal friend," said the candidate to some
of the members of the committee who looked askance at the correspondent;
"and what you say before me you can say before him. He knows what to
print and what not to print."
"It is this," said Mr. Goodnight, and Mr. Crayon nodded violently in
affirmation; "all the news shows that this tariff agitation is growing
fast. But it is only a trick of the enemy to force an expression from
us. They are united in favor of the tariff and we are not. There is a
division within our ranks. Many of us, and I may say it is the more
solid and conservative wing of the party, the men who really understand
the world, know that it is not wise to meddle with the question. Leave
well enough alone. We are interested in this ourselves, and, as you
know, we furnish the sinews of war."
He stopped and coughed significantly, and Mr. Crayon also coughed
significantly. The remaining members of the committee did likewise.
Jimmy Grayson looked thoughtful.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I confess to you that my mind has been upon this
subject for several days past."
"But you will listen to advice," said Mr. Goodnight, hastily.
"Certainly! Certainly!" said Jimmy Grayson. "But you see the time is
coming when I must decide upon some course in regard to it. I appreciate
the self-sacrifice of you gentlemen in leaving your business interests
to come so far, and I shall be glad if we can co-operate. We reach
Philipsburg to-night; I make a speech there, but it will be over early.
Suppose we have our talk immediately afterwards."
The committee at once accepted the offer and expressed satisfaction. Mr.
Grayson showed every sign of tractability, and they began to feel again
that their valuable time had not been expended in vain.
Harley told Sylvia that the affair was now bound to come to a head very
soon, but she repeated her confidence in her uncle.
Hobart, however, was gloomy; his joy of the morning seemed to have
passed quickly.
"I don't like it," he remarked to Harley. "Jimmy Grayson seems to have
followed the lead of these men without once saying: 'I am the nominee
and it is for me to say.'"
"And why not? Every dictate of prudence requires that he should. What is
the use of taking up such a troublesome question at this late day of the
campaign?"
"But there will be no fight!" This was said very plaintively.
Harley smiled.
"I sincerely hope we will escape one," he said.
Mr. Grayson, after the brief talk, retired to his state-room, and for a
long time did not see anybody. Harley knew that he was thinking deeply,
and when the time came for the next speech at another way-station, he
followed close behind and was keenly watchful.
Again the members of the committee arranged themselves on the stage in a
formidable semicircle behind the speaker, and surveyed the audience with
an air that bore a tinge of weary disdain. They were in one of the most
barren parts of the country, a section that could never be developed
into anything great, and Mr. Crayon looked upon a speech there as a
sheer waste of time.
The candidate spoke upon many important issues, and then he began to
skirmish gingerly around the edge of one that hitherto had been
permitted to slumber quietly. He did not show any wish to make a direct
attack, just a desire to worry and tease, as it were, a disposition to
fire a few shots, more for the sake of creating an alarm than to do
damage.
The committee at once felt apprehension. This was forbidden ground. The
candidate was growing entirely too frivolous; he should be reminded of
his duty to the country and to great business interests. Yet they could
do nothing at the moment; Mr. Grayson was speaking, and it was
impossible to interrupt him.
But Harley, attentive and knowing everything that passed in their minds,
enjoyed their uneasiness. He saw them quiver and shrink, and then grow
angry, as Mr. Grayson skirmished closer and closer to the forbidden
ground, that area sown with traps and pitfalls, in which many a man has
broken his political limbs, yea, has even lost his political life. He
watched the massive Mr. Goodnight as he swelled with importance and
indignation. He knew that the great manufacturer was on pins to get at
the candidate, to tell him the terrible mistake that he was so near to
making, and perhaps to lecture him a little on the indiscretions of
youth and inexperience. But, perforce, he remained silent until Mr.
Grayson concluded, and then as the crowd was leaving, he approached him.
The candidate seemed to be in a light and joyous humor, and he lifted
his hand in a gesture that was a dismissal of care.
"Remember our coming conference to-night, Mr. Goodnight," he said. "We
will discuss everything then."
He smiled as he spoke, and walked on, but Mr. Goodnight felt himself
waved aside in a manner that was not pleasing to his sense of dignity;
he was sixty years old, and he had done great things in the world.
Harley and Hobart saw it all, and light began to appear on Hobart's
gloomy countenance.
"Harley," he said, "I believe that after all my first intuition was
correct. We may yet have trouble."
Harley was not so sure. It seemed to him that the affair, which was
really not an affair, merely the bud and promise of one, could be
adjusted, especially in these shortening days of the campaign. Tact
would do it, and he was full of hope.
The members of the committee went into their private car and were
inhospitable the remainder of the day; apparently they wished to be
alone, and no one was inclined to violate their wish. Harley supposed
that they were in conference, and he was correct.
They arrived at Philipsburg in a gorgeous twilight that wrapped the
Western mountains in red and gold, but Harley scarcely noticed either
the town or the colors over it. He was full of anxiety, as he began to
share Hobart's view that something was going to happen, although he did
not take the same cheerful view of trouble.
The speech at Philipsburg was not long. Again Jimmy Grayson skirmished
around the dangerous question, but, as before, he did not make any
direct attack upon it. Just when the committee became most alarmed, he
withdrew his forces, and the speech once more closed with the decisive
things unsaid.
But as soon as the crowd dispersed, the Great Philipsburg Conference
began. The large parlor of the hotel had been obtained, and when Jimmy
Grayson started, he put his hand on Harley's shoulder, saying:
"Harley, the press is excluded from this conference, which is secret,
but I take you with me in your capacity as a private citizen. I have
made it a requisite with the committee, because you are a friend and I
may need your help."
Harley gave him a glance of gratitude and appreciation, and the two
together entered the designated room. It was a large, cheerful
apartment, with a wood-fire burning on the broad hearth. The members of
the committee were already there, and Mr. Goodnight stood importantly,
back to the fire, with a hand in either pocket, and a coat-tail under
either arm. Mr. Crayon leaned against the wall and gently stroked his
arm.
They exchanged the usual commonplaces about the weather and the
campaign, and, as they spoke, most of the committee looked darkly at
Harley, but they said nothing. It was quite evident that his presence
was a matter arranged definitely by Mr. Grayson, and it was politic for
them to endorse it.
Mr. Grayson settled himself easily into an armchair, and looked around
as if to say he was ready to listen. Harley stood by a window, careless
in manner, seemingly, but never more watchful in his life, and on fire
with curiosity.
Mr. Goodnight glanced at Mr. Crayon, and Mr. Crayon glanced at Mr.
Goodnight. There came at once to Harley an amusing thought about putting
the bell on the tiger. But perhaps these men regarded themselves as
tigers.
Mr. Goodnight gave a premonitory cough, and taking his hands out of his
pockets let his coat-tails drop. This also was a signal.
"Mr. Grayson," he said, "we have admired your campaign--have admired it
greatly; we have appreciated the skill with which you have kept away
from dangerous subjects, and we have been sure that it would continue to
the end, but I must confess that this confidence of ours was shaken a
little to-day--I trust that I am not hurting your feelings."
"Oh no, not at all. I also have a statement to make," said Jimmy
Grayson, ingenuously. "But I shall be glad to hear yours first."
The big men were somewhat disconcerted, and Mr. Crayon spoke up briskly:
"Great issues at stake. In such emergencies Presidential nominees must
hear advice."
"You are right," said Jimmy Grayson, gravely. "A Presidential nominee
ought always to listen to advice."
Mr. Goodnight's face cleared.
"We feel that we are in a position to speak plainly, Mr. Grayson," he
said. "We are elderly men, used to the handling of large affairs,
and--and this cannot be said of all others in our party. We noticed
to-day how you skirted dangerously upon the tariff question, which we
think--in fact, which we know--should be avoided. It is a dangerous
thing, and we trust it is only an indiscretion that will not be
repeated; or, perhaps, it might be a little sop to these people out
here, who really do not count."
Harley glanced at Jimmy Grayson, who was distinctly in the position of
one receiving a lecture from his elders, and, therefore, from those who
knew more than he. But the face of the candidate expressed nothing save
gravity and attention.
"That is quite true," he said.
"I am glad that you recognize our need," said Mr. Goodnight. "I do not
know how you feel personally upon this great question, but, as I take
it, politics and one's private opinion are different things."
Jimmy Grayson raised his head as if he were going to speak, but he let
it drop without saying anything, and the great manufacturer continued:
"It is often necessary to submerge the lesser in the greater, and never
was there a more obvious instance of it than this. We, and by 'we' I
mean the great financial interests of the party, are interested in the
tariff, and believe that it is best as it is. We do not know how you
stand personally, but there is no question how you should stand
politically. We men of finance may be in a minority within the party in
the matter of votes, but perhaps we may constitute a majority in other
and more important respects."
"All wings of the party are entitled to an opinion," said Jimmy Grayson.
"True, but the opinion of one wing may be worth more than the opinion of
another wing," continued Mr. Goodnight; "and for that reason we who
stand at the centres from which the affairs of America are conducted are
here. We see the unwisdom of approaching such a subject, and, above all,
the destruction that would be caused if you were to speak fully upon it.
It is a topic that must be eliminated."
Harley saw a quick glitter appear in the eyes of Jimmy Grayson, and then
it was shut out by the lowered lids.
"But if this is an issue, and if I am to judge from the overwhelming
testimony of the press it is an issue," said Mr. Grayson, gently, "ought
I not in duty both to my party and myself declare how I stand upon it? I
freely confess to you that the matter looks somewhat troublesome, and,
therefore, I am glad that we can consult with one another."
"Why troublesome?" exclaimed Mr. Crayon, shortly. "Seems to me, Mr.
Grayson, that your shrewd political eye would see point at once. Above
all things must avoid split in the party. Campaign will soon close, you
are here in Far West, nothing can force you to speak, you avoid issue to
the last; clever politics, seems to me."
And Mr. Crayon rubbed his smooth chin, his eye lighting up with a
satisfied smile. Harley glanced again at Jimmy Grayson, and saw a frown
pass over his face, but it was fleeting, and when he spoke once more his
voice was unemotional.
"Clever politics is a phrase hard to define," he said. "One does not
always know just where cleverness lies. I have not said anything
definite upon this issue, but it doubtless occurs to you gentlemen that
I may have opinions."
The committee stirred, and Mr. Crayon and Mr. Goodnight looked at each
other; it was evident to them that they had not taken the candidate in
hand too soon. Harley felt no abatement of interest.
"That is just the point," said Mr. Goodnight, "and so we have come West.
We felt that we must act."
Harley expected to see a flame of wrath appear on Jimmy Grayson's face,
but the candidate was unmoved.
"Of course you know what would happen if you were to declare for
reduction," said Mr. Goodnight. They seemed to take it for granted that
if he declared at all it would be for reduction.
"Not at all," replied Mr. Grayson.
"But I do," said Mr. Goodnight, with emphasis. "The wealthy, the
important wing of the party, would be bound to disown you."
"Ah!" said Jimmy Grayson.
Harley felt a thrill of anger, but he did not move.
The silent members of the committee, who were sitting, stirred in their
chairs, and their clothes rustled importantly. They felt that
equivocation and indirection were thrust aside, and the law was now
being laid down.
"Then I am to understand that silence on this question is a requisite,"
said Mr. Grayson, mildly.
"Undoubtedly," replied Mr. Goodnight, with growing emphasis. "We are
quite convinced of its necessity, and it is the demand that we make. A
Presidential candidate must always listen to advice."
"But sometimes it has seemed to me," said Mr. Grayson, musingly, "that
in a Presidential campaign the public is entitled to certain privileges,
or, rather, that it has certain rights, and chief among these is to know
just how its candidate stands on any important issue."
"It would never do! It would never do!" exclaimed Mr. Goodnight,
hastily, and with some temper. "We cannot allow it!"
Harley glanced again at Jimmy Grayson, but the candidate's lids were
lowered, and no flash came from his eye.
"I put it forward in a tentative way," he said, in the same mild and
musing tone. "Of course, I may be mistaken. I have received many
telegrams from important people asking how I stand, and I notice that
the press is discussing the same question very actively."
"They can be waved aside," said Mr. Crayon, loftily. "Telegrams can go
unanswered, and why bother about a foolish press?"
"Still," said Jimmy Grayson, mildly, but tenaciously, "the public has
certain rights."
"An ignorant mob that can be left in ignorance," said Mr. Crayon,
briskly.
"Nothing must be said! Nothing must be said! Quite resolved upon that!"
exclaimed Mr. Goodnight, brusquely.
"This resolution is unchangeable, I take it?" asked Jimmy Grayson, in
tones milder than ever.
"There is not the least possibility of a change," replied Mr.
Goodnight, in a tone of finality. "We have considered the question from
every side, and nothing is to be said. Of course, if you were to declare
for a revision, we should have to abandon you at once to overwhelming
defeat."
"But I should like to say a few words upon the subject," said Jimmy
Grayson, and there was a slight touch of pleading in his tone, "just as
a sort of salve to my conscience. You see I am troubled about all these
requests that I should declare myself, and I have certain ideas about
what a candidate should do, in which I differ from you, and in which
probably I am wrong, but I cannot help it. I should like to ease my
mind, and hence I ask you that I be permitted to say a few words. Just
one little speech, and I will not handle the subject again, if you
direct me not to do so."
"We are against it; we are against saying a single word," declared Mr.
Goodnight.
"Just one little speech," pleaded Jimmy Grayson. "I think the people are
entitled to it. We stop to-morrow at a small station, a place of not
more than twenty houses; I should like to say something there, and that
would serve as a claim later on that I had not avoided the issue. But,
as I said, I promise you that I will not touch the subject again without
your permission."
"Don't believe in it! Don't believe in it!" said Mr. Crayon, snappily.
"I am afraid I shall have to insist," said Jimmy Grayson, plaintively.
"I do not like to say anything that would displease such powerful
friends, but our people are peculiar, sometimes. I feel that I must
touch the subject a little when we reach Waterville to-morrow morning."
He spoke in his most propitiatory tones, but the committee was still
stirred. Mr. Goodnight, Mr. Crayon, and their associates demanded
absolute silence, and they had not found it difficult to overawe the
candidate. Yet there was a certain mild persistence in his tone which
told them that they should humor him a little, as one would a spoiled or
hurt child. They, as men of the world, knew that it was not well to bear
too hard on the bit.
They conferred a little, leaving Jimmy Grayson alone in his chair, where
he remained silent and with inexpressive face. Harley still stood by the
window. He had never spoken, but nothing escaped his attention. More
than once he was hot with anger, but none of the committeemen ever
looked at him.
"If you insist, and as you say you will, we yield this little point,"
said Mr. Goodnight, "but we only do so because Waterville is such a
small place. Even then we are not sure that it is not an indiscretion,
to call it by a mild name, and if anything should come of it you would
have to bear the full responsibility, Mr. Grayson."
"That is true," said Jimmy Grayson, cheerfully, "but as you have said,
Waterville is a small, a very small place; one could hardly find a
smaller on the map."
"In that event it will doubtless do no harm," said Mr. Goodnight,
relaxing a little, and Mr. Crayon, stroking his smoothly shaven chin,
said after him: "No harm; no harm, perhaps, in so small a place!"
Harley had never moved from the window, and again he studied Jimmy
Grayson's face with the keenest attention. Harley was a fine judge of
character, but he could read nothing there, save gravity. As for
himself, he felt often those hot thrills of anger at the words of these
men; would nothing stir them from their complacency? He had, too, a
sense of pain at Jimmy Grayson's lack of resentment. It was true that
their support was a necessity, but after all they were a minority within
the party, and one might remind them of the fact. Yet Jimmy Grayson
probably knew best; he understood politics, and perhaps his course was
the wiser. But Harley sighed.
After the victory, although it had not been a difficult one to win, the
members of the committee were disposed to condescend a little. They sent
to their private car for champagne and other luxuries which the
candidate and Harley touched but lightly, and they treated even Harley,
the newspaper-man, with graciousness.
Mr. Crayon felt the flame of humor sparkling in his veins, and he jested
lightly on the little speech at Waterville. "Just think of our candidate
wasting sweetness on desert air," he said, "for Waterville is in desert,
and, as I am reliably informed, has less than forty inhabitants."
Jimmy Grayson showed no resentment, but smiled gravely.
"Of course Mr. Harley understands that all this is _sub rosa_," said Mr.
Goodnight, looking severely at the correspondent.
"Mr. Harley knows it, and he is to be trusted entirely," said Jimmy
Grayson. "Otherwise I should not have brought him with me. I vouch for
the fact that he will say nothing of this meeting until we give him
permission."
Mr. Grayson presently excused himself, on the plea that he needed sleep,
a plea which was admitted by everybody, and Harley also withdrew, while
the members of the committee went to their private car pleased with the
evening's work. Thus the Great Philipsburg Conference came to an end.