She lapsed into thoughtfulness. When I was assuming that her mind had
wandered off to something else she said: "The people must be very
stupid--not to suspect."
"Or, the rich men and the corporations very stupid to give," I
suggested.
"Do you mean that they don't get it back?" she demanded.
"Of course," said I, "their patriotism must be rewarded. We can not
expect them to save the country year after year for nothing."
"I should think not!" she said, adding disgustedly, "I think politics is
very silly. And men get excited about it! But _I_ never listen."
Arriving at the "retreat" from the Scarborough convention, I found
Burbank much perturbed because Scarborough had been nominated. He did
not say so--on the contrary, he expressed in sonorous phrases his
satisfaction that there was to be "a real test of strength between
conservatism and radicalism." He never dropped his pose, even with
me--not even with himself.
"I confess I don't share your cheerfulness," said I. "If Scarborough
were a wild man, we'd have a walkover. But he isn't, and I fear he'll
be more and more attractive to the wavering voters, to many of our own
people. Party loyalty has been overworked in the last few presidential
campaigns. He'll go vote-hunting in the doubtful states, but it won't
seem undignified. He's one of those men whose dignity comes from the
inside and can't be lost."
Burbank was unable to conceal his annoyance--he never could bear praise
of another man of his own rank in public life. Also he showed surprise.
"Why, I understood--I had been led to believe--that you--favored his
nomination," was his guarded way of telling me he knew I had a hand in
bringing it about.
"So I did," replied I. "He was your only chance. He won't be able to get
a campaign fund of so much as a quarter of a million, and the best
workers of his party will at heart be against him. Simpson would have
had--well, Goodrich could and would have got him enough to elect him."
Burbank's eyes twitched. "I think you're prejudiced against Senator
Goodrich, Harvey," said he in his gentlest tone. "He is first of all a
loyal party man."
"Loyal fiddlesticks!" replied I. "He is agent of the Wall Street
crowd--they're his party. He's just the ordinary machine politician,
with no more party feeling than--than--" I smiled--"than any other man
behind the scenes."
Burbank dodged this by taking it as a jest. He always shed my frank
speeches as humor. "Prejudice, prejudice, Harvey!" he said in mild
reproof. "We need Goodrich, and--"
"Pardon me," I interrupted. "We do not need him. On the contrary, we
must put him out of the party councils. If we don't, he may try to help
Scarborough. The Senate's safe, no matter who's elected President; and
Goodrich will rely on it to save his crowd. He's a mountain of vanity
and the two defeats we've given him have made every atom of that vanity
quiver with hatred of us."
"I wish you could have been here when he called," said Burbank. "I am
sure you would have changed your mind."
"When does he resign the chairmanship of the national committee?" I
asked. "He agreed to plead bad health and resign within two weeks after
the convention."
Burbank gave an embarrassed cough. "Don't you think, Harvey," said he,
"that, to soothe his vanity, it might be well for us--for you--to let
him stay on there--nominally, of course? I know _you_ care nothing for
titles."
Instead of being angered by this attempt to cozen me, by this exhibition
of treachery, I felt disgust and pity--how nauseating and how hopeless
to try to forward one so blind to his own interests, so easily
frightened into surrender to his worst enemies! But I spoke very quietly
to him. "The reason you want me to be chairman--for it is you that want
and need it, not I--the reason I _must_ be chairman is because the
machine throughout the country must know that Goodrich is out and that
your friends are in. In what other way can this be accomplished?"
He did not dare try to reply.
I went on: "If he stays at the head of the national committee
Scarborough will be elected."
"You are prejudiced, Harvey--"
"Please don't say that again, Governor," I interrupted coldly. "I
repeat, Goodrich must give place to me, or Scarborough will be
elected."
"You don't mean that you would turn against me?" came from him in a
queer voice after a long pause.
"While I was in St. Louis, working to make you President," said I, "you
were plotting behind my back, plotting against me and yourself."
"You were at St. Louis aiding in the nomination of the strongest
candidate," he retorted, his bitterness distinct though guarded.
"Strongest--yes. But strongest with whom?"
"With the people," he replied.
"Precisely," said I. "But the people are not going to decide this
election. The party lines are to be so closely drawn that money will
have the deciding vote. The men who organize and direct industry and
enterprise--_they_ are going to decide it. And, in spite of Goodrich's
traitorous efforts, the opposition has put up the man who can't get a
penny from them."
In fact, I had just discovered that Scarborough had instructed Pierson,
whom he had made chairman of his campaign, not to take any money from
any corporation even if it was offered. But I thought it wiser to keep
this from Burbank.
He sat folding a sheet of paper again and again. I let him reason it
out. Finally he said: "I see your point, Harvey. But I practically
promised Goodrich--practically asked him to remain--"