transparency, and Harley went to the window. His heart fell when he saw
that the cheer, was continued, came from the opposition crowd. It was
announced definitely on the cloth that New York had gone against
Grayson; the returns permitted no doubt of it, and there was reason why
the enemy should rejoice. Presently their own bulletins confirmed the
bad news, and announced that off in another city the bands were
serenading the other man.
Blow followed blow. Connecticut, despite gains made there, went against
Grayson by a majority, small it is true, but decisive, and Illinois and
Indiana speedily followed her bad lead. To Harley all seemed over, and
he could not take it with resignation. Jimmy Grayson was the better man
on the better platform, and he should have been elected. It was a crime
to reject him. An angry mist came over his eyes, and he walked into the
hall that no one should see it. But Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stood at the
end of the hall, evidently having just come from the children's room,
and before he could turn away he heard her say:
"We have lost, but you are still the man of the nation to me."
As he was returning he met Sylvia, and now the tears in her eyes were
plainly visible.
"John, it can't be true! He isn't beaten, is he?"
"No, it is not true, Sylvia," he said, telling what he did not believe.
"We still have a chance."
They returned at once to the room, and Mr. Grayson came in a minute
later, his face wearing the same marble mask. When two or three forced
themselves to speak encouraging words, he smiled and said there was yet
hope. But Harley had none, and he felt sure that Jimmy Grayson, too, was
without it.
"Good news from Iowa!" suddenly cried Mr. Dexter. "A despatch from Des
Moines reports heavy gains for Grayson throughout the south and west of
the state."
Here was a fresh breath of life, and for a moment they felt glad, but
North Dakota, a state for which they had hoped but scarcely expected,
soon reported against them. The good news could not last.
"Anything more from Massachusetts?" asked Mr. Heathcote.
Mr. Dexter was opening a despatch and he gave a gasp when he looked at
it.
"Massachusetts in doubt!" he exclaimed. "Grayson makes heavy gains in
the country districts as well as in the cities. Our National Committee
is claiming Massachusetts!"
There was a burst of cheering in the room. They had never even hoped for
Massachusetts. From first to last it was conceded to the enemy.
"Oh, if Massachusetts only had as many votes as New York!" groaned
Hobart. "This is so good it can't be true!"
But Sylvia smiled through her tears.
Soon there was another cheer. Fresh despatches from Massachusetts
confirmed the earlier news and made it yet better; then the state was in
doubt, now it inclined to Jimmy Grayson; the gains came in, steady and
large.
"We've got it by at least 20,000," exclaimed Mr. Dexter, exultantly.
"It's a regular upset. Who'd have thought it?"
It was true. It was known in a quarter of an hour that Massachusetts had
given a majority of 25,000 for Grayson, and behind their big sister came
New Hampshire and Rhode Island, with small but sure majorities. Jimmy
Grayson had carried three New England states, when all of them had been
conceded to the enemy, one of the most surprising changes ever known in
a Presidential election.
There were repeated cheers in the room. Even Jimmy Grayson was compelled
to smile in satisfaction. But Harley did not have hope. This, in his
opinion, was merely a pleasant incident--it could not have much effect
on the result; Massachusetts had a large vote, but those of New
Hampshire and Rhode Island were small, and there against them stood the
gigantic state of New York, towering like a mountain. New York had the
biggest vote of all, and he did not see how it could be overcome.
Harley now and then wrote a paragraph of his despatch to his newspaper,
telling of the scene at the candidate's house and how he and his friends
looked and talked, but it did not take all his time. By-and-by he went
out on the steps to see the crowd in the streets and to get the fresh
air. The night was cold and raw, but its touch was soothing. His
thoughts were with Jimmy Grayson. He yet had little hope, and he was
thinking of all those gigantic labors wasted; it was a case where a man
must win or lose every thing. At the transparency the rival crowds were
cheering or groaning according to the news that came.
Harley turned back and met Mrs. Grayson.
"Tell me, Mr. Harley," she said, and her eyes were eager, "just how the
election stands so far. I know that you will tell me the truth; is there
really as much hope as the others seem to feel?"
Harley looked into her clear, brave eyes, and he replied honestly:
"I think there is some hope, Mrs. Grayson, but not much. Too many big
states have gone against us, and we cannot offset big states with little
ones. New York, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Alabama are all in the
hostile line."
"Thank you for the truth," she said. "I can stand it, and so can Mr.
Grayson."
But Harley was not sure. He felt at times that this ordeal was too
great for any man or woman. When he returned to the room they were
announcing news from the Pacific coast.
"We have Washington," said Mr. Dexter; "and Oregon is against us, but
California is in doubt."
"But we mean to have California," said Sylvia, and the others smiled.
Good reports came from the Rocky Mountain region, all the states there
except Utah going for Grayson. It had been thought once by both sides
that these doubtful states would decide the election, but with the great
upset in the East and Middle West affairs took on another complexion,
and they must make new calculations.
"Has anything been heard from Pennsylvania?" asked Mr. Heathcote.
Several laughed, and the laugh was significant.
"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Dexter, and there was a suggestion of
contempt in his tone; "but why should we want to hear anything? It's
sure for the enemy by at least 100,000, and he may get 200,000.
Pennsylvania is one state from which I don't want to hear anything at
all."
They laughed again, but, as nothing yet came from Pennsylvania, Harley's
curiosity about it began to rise. "Strange that we do not hear
anything," he said; but Mr. Dexter laughed, and promised to read in an
extra loud tone the first Pennsylvania bulletin they should get.
It was nearly midnight now and the election was still undecided;
midnight came and the situation was yet unchanged, but a full half-hour
later Mr. Dexter cleared his throat and said, in a high voice:
"Listen, Mr. Harley! Here's your first Pennsylvania bulletin!"
He was sarcastic both in voice and look.
"Complete reports from Pittsburg, Alleghany, and their surrounding
districts show remarkable change. This district gives 20,000 majority
for Grayson."
Then Mr. Dexter, holding the telegram in his hand, sat open-mouthed,
barely realizing what he had read. But Harley sprang up with exultant
cry. For once he lost his self-control.
"We are not beaten yet!" he cried.
"We are not beaten yet!" echoed Sylvia.
They waited feverishly for more Pennsylvania news, and presently it came
in a despatch from Philadelphia. Grayson had carried that great city by
a small majority, and the enemy was frightened about the state. A third
despatch from Harrisburg, the state capital, confirmed the news; the
state of Pennsylvania, coming next to New York in the size of its vote,
was in doubt. It was the most astonishing fact of the election, but
every return showed that Grayson had developed marvellous strength
there. The National Committee issued a bulletin claiming it, but the
other side claimed it, too; it would be at least two hours yet before
the claim could be decided, and they must suffer in suspense.
Harley and Hobart walked together into the street. Harley's forehead was
damp.
"This is getting on my nerves," he said.
"If Pennsylvania goes for Grayson, what then?" asked Hobart.
"It means that Grayson is elected; an hour ago I could not have dreamed
of such a thing."
Down the street the crowd was roaring and cheering, and the roars and
cheers were about equally divided between the two parties.
When they returned to the room the volunteer secretary was just
announcing that Iowa was safely in the Grayson column. It was conceded
to him by 15,000. Further news from Pennsylvania was indecisive, but it
continued good.
Mrs. Grayson was in the room, and Harley looked at her and her husband.
The faces of both had become grave, and Harley knew why. The
Presidential chair was not wholly out of sight, after all, and the
chance was sufficient to bring upon them both a sense of mighty
responsibilities. There was a great shout down the street.
"They have posted a bulletin," said Hobart, who was at the window. "It
says that California has gone for Grayson by 10,000, and that all
indications point to his carrying Ohio."
"I was right, and we do have California," said Sylvia.
Again Jimmy Grayson and his wife exchanged that grave look. It seemed
that each was frightened a little. But Mr. Dexter did not notice it. He
was reading a telegram from New York saying that consternation over the
news from Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Iowa prevailed in the hostile
ranks; they no longer claimed the election, they merely asserted that it
was in doubt; it was admitted that while Goodnight, Crayon, and their
friends had taken many votes from Jimmy Grayson, he was making up the
difference, and perhaps more, elsewhere.
"If Jimmy Grayson were to come so near and yet miss, it would be more
than mortal flesh could bear," whispered Hobart.
"It would have to be borne," replied Harley.
It was far past one o'clock in the morning. The room was hot and close.
The floor was littered with envelopes and telegrams. The two lines of
telegraph-boys had trodden two trails in the carpet, and Harley began
to feel the long strain. All the men had red eyes and black streaks
under them. Yet they were as keen as ever to hear the last detail. It
seemed to every one that the fate of Jimmy Grayson was now hanging in
the balance; a feather would tip it this way or that, and the room sank
into an unusual silence, the silence of painful suspense.
There was a long wait and then came a telegram rather thicker than the
others. Somehow all of them felt that this told the story, and the
fingers of Mr. Dexter trembled as he tore open the envelope. He paused,
holding it a moment between his fingers, and then, in a quivering voice,
he read:
"Complete returns from the state of Pennsylvania give it to Grayson by
18,000, and he is chosen President of the United States by a majority of
36 in the electoral college. Our enemies concede their defeat. We send
our heartiest congratulations to Mr. Grayson on his victory, and on the
great campaign he made. Everybody here recognizes that it was Grayson
who won for Grayson."
It was signed with the name of the chairman of the National Committee,
and with a deep "Ah!" the reader let it fall upon the table, where it
lay. Then there was a half-minute of intense silence in the room. That
for which they had long fought and for which they had scarcely hoped had
come at the eleventh hour. Mr. Grayson was the President-elect. They
could not speak; they were awed.
It was Mrs. Grayson who first broke the silence. She ran to her husband,
threw her arms around him, and exclaimed:
"Oh, Jimmy! It is almost too much for us to undertake!"
But Jimmy Grayson was not afraid. He stood up and Harley saw a glow of
deep emotion come over his face.
"As God is my judge," he said, "I shall try with my utmost strength to
fulfil the duties of this high place."
Sylvia, not knowing what else to do, put her hand in Harley's; and he
held it.
There was a tremendous burst of cheering in front of the house, and a
band began to play. Above the music swelled a continuous roar for the
President-elect, "Grayson!" "Grayson!" "Grayson!" They were all for him
now. There was no need for Harley to wake up the children; the thunders
of applause already brought them, triumphing in a result of which they
had never felt any doubt.
"You will have to speak to the people, Mr. Grayson," said Mr. Dexter.
"It is their right. You are no longer a free man; you belong to the
nation now."
The President-elect went out on the veranda and spoke to them with a
certain solemnity and majesty while they listened in respectful silence.
Meanwhile telegrams of congratulation were pouring into the house from
all parts of the world, and out in the distant mountains men came down
to the camps and spoke to each other about the President-to-be.
Harley's last despatch was sent, the crowd was gone, the other
correspondents were on their way to the hotel, and the people were
turning out the lights, but he yet lingered at the Grayson home. It was
Jimmy Grayson who asked him to wait a moment, and they stood alone on
the dark veranda.
"Harley," said Jimmy Grayson, and there was much feeling in his voice,
"you have been the best friend I ever had, and I am so selfish that I
do not want to lose you. Stay with me; be my secretary. In these later
days the office of the President's secretary has grown to be a big one.
I think that you are the best man in the world for it, and if I am
re-elected you shall go into the Cabinet. You will be old enough then.
Remember, Harley, that it is I who ask a favor now, and it is for you to
grant it."
The hands of the two strong men met in a strong grasp.
"I accept the offer," said Harley.
The President-elect turned away, faded into the darkness of his own
house, and another figure took his place. A small, warm hand slipped
into Harley's, and he held it fast.
"What was he saying to you?" asked Sylvia.
"He was asking me to be his secretary."
"And your reply?"
"I hesitated and asked for a bribe."
"Oh, John!"
"I said that if, one month from to-day and with the assistance of a
minister, he would give you to me forever, I would take the place."
"What did he say then?"
"He said the price was high, but I could have it. And we shall all be
together again for four years more, and perhaps eight."
Her eyes, very close to his, were shining through a mist of happy tears,
and, standing there at the doorstep, he kissed her in the darkness.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Candidate, by Joseph Alexander Altsheler