BUSY DAYS AT WEDDERBURN
There is no blast so powerful, so withering, as the blast of ridicule.
Only the strongest men can withstand it, only reformers who are such in
deed, and not alone in name, can snap their fingers at it, and liken it
to the crackling of thorns under a pot. Confucius and Martin Luther must
have been ridiculed, Mr. Crewe reflected, and although he did not have
time to assure himself on these historical points, the thought stayed
him. Sixty odd weekly newspapers, filled with arguments from the Book,
attacked him all at once; and if by chance he should have missed the best
part of this flattering personal attention, the editorials which
contained the most spice were copied at the end of the week into the
columns of his erstwhile friend, the State Tribune, now the organ of that
mysterious personality, the Honourable Adam B. Hunt. 'Et tu, Brute!'
Moreover, Mr. Peter Pardriff had something of his own to say. Some
gentlemen of prominence (not among the twenty signers of the new
Declaration of Independence) had been interviewed by the Tribune reporter
on the subject of Mr. Crewe's candidacy. Here are some of the answers,
duly tabulated.
"Negligible."--Congressman Fairplay.
"One less vote for the Honourable Adam B. Hunt."--The Honourable Jacob
Botcher.
"A monumental farce."--Ex-Governor Broadbent.
"Who is Mr. Crewe?"--Senator Whitredge. (Ah ha! Senator, this want shall
be supplied, at least.)
"I have been very busy. I do not know what candidates are in the
field."--Mr. Augustus P. Flint, president of the Northeastern Railroads.
(The unkindest cut of all!)
"I have heard that a Mr. Crewe is a candidate, but I do not know much
about him. They tell me he is a summer resident at Leith."--The
Honourable Hilary Vane.
"A millionaire's freak--not to be taken seriously.--State Senator
Nathaniel Billings."
The State Tribune itself seemed to be especially interested in the past
careers of the twenty signers. Who composed this dauntless band, whose
members had arisen with remarkable unanimity and martyr's zeal in such
widely scattered parts of the State? Had each been simultaneously
inspired with the same high thought, and--more amazing still--with the
idea of the same peerless leader? The Tribune modestly ventured the
theory that Mr. Crewe had appeared to each of the twenty in a dream, with
a flaming sword pointing to the steam of the dragon's breath. Or,
perhaps, a star had led each of the twenty to Leith. (This likening of
Mr. H--n T--g to a star caused much merriment among that gentleman's
former friends and acquaintances.) The Tribune could not account for this
phenomenon by any natural laws, and was forced to believe that the thing
was a miracle--in which case it behooved the Northeastern Railroads to
read the handwriting on the wall. Unless--unless the twenty did not
exist! Unless the whole thing were a joke! The Tribune remembered a time
when a signed statement, purporting to come from a certain Mrs. Amanda P.
Pillow, of 22 Blair Street, Newcastle, had appeared, to the effect that
three bottles of Rand's Peach Nectar had cured her of dropsy. On
investigation there was no Blair Street, and Mrs. Amanda P. Pillow was as
yet unborn. The one sure thing about the statement was that Rand's Peach
Nectar could be had, in large or small quantities, as desired. And the
Tribune was prepared to state; on its own authority, that a Mr. Humphrey
Crewe did exist, and might reluctantly consent to take the nomination for
the governorship. In industry and zeal he was said to resemble the
celebrated and lamented Mr. Rand, of the Peach Nectar.
Ingratitude merely injures those who are capable of it, although it
sometimes produces sadness in great souls. What were Mr. Crewe's feelings
when he read this drivel? When he perused the extracts from the "Book of
Arguments" which appeared (with astonishing unanimity, too!) in sixty odd
weekly newspapers of the State--an assortment of arguments for each
county.
"Brush Bascom's doin' that work now," said Mr. Tooting, contemptuously,
"and he's doin' it with a shovel. Look here! He's got the same squib in
three towns within a dozen miles of each other, the one beginning
'Political conditions in this State are as clean as those of any State in
the Union, and the United Northeastern Railroads is a corporation which
is, fortunately, above calumny. A summer resident who, to satisfy his
lust for office, is rolling to defame--'"
"Yes," interrupted Mr. Crewe, "never mind reading any more of that rot."
"It's botched," said Mr. Tooting, whose artistic soul was jarred. "I'd
have put that in Avalon County, and Weave, and Marshall. I know men that
take all three of those papers in Putnam."
No need of balloonists to see what the enemy is about, when we have a Mr.
Tooting.
"They're stung!" he cried, as he ran rapidly through the bundle of
papers--Mr. Crewe having subscribed, with characteristic generosity, to
the entire press of the State. "Flint gave 'em out all this stuff about
the railroad bein' a sacred institution. You've got 'em on the run right
now, Mr. Crewe. You'll notice that, Democrats and Republicans, they've
dropped everybody else, that they've all been sicked on to you. They're
scared."
"I came to that conclusion some time ago," replied Mr. Crewe, who was
sorting over his letters.
"And look there!" exclaimed Mr. Tooting, tearing out a paragraph,
"there's the best campaign material we've had yet. Say, I'll bet Flint
taken that doddering idiot's pass away for writing that."
Mr. Crewe took the extract, and read:--
"A summer resident of Leith, who is said to be a millionaire
many times over, and who had a somewhat farcical career as a
legislator last winter, has announced himself as a candidate
for the Republican nomination on a platform attacking the
Northeastern Railroads. Mr. Humphrey Crewe declares that the
Northeastern Railroads govern us. What if they do? Every
sober-minded citizen, will agree that they give us a pretty
good government. More power to them."
Mr. Crewe permitted himself to smile.
"They are playing into our hands, sure enough. What?"
This is an example of the spirit in which the ridicule and abuse was met.
It was Senator Whitredge--only, last autumn so pleased to meet Mr. Crewe
at Mr. Flint's--who asked the hypocritical question, "Who is Humphrey
Crewe?" A biography (in pamphlet form, illustrated,--send your name and
address) is being prepared by the invaluable Mr. Tooting, who only sleeps
six hours these days. We shall see it presently, when it emerges from
that busy hive at Wedderburn.
Wedderburn was a hive, sure enough. Not having a balloon ourselves, it is
difficult to see all that is going on there; but there can be no mistake
(except by the Honourable Hilary's seismograph) that it has become the
centre of extraordinary activity. The outside world has paused to draw
breath at the spectacle, and members of the metropolitan press are
filling the rooms of the Ripton House and adding to the prosperity of its
livery-stable. Mr. Crewe is a difficult man to see these days--there are
so many visitors at Wedderburn, and the representatives of the
metropolitan press hitch their horses and stroll around the grounds, or
sit on the porch and converse with gentlemen from various counties of the
State who (as the Tribune would put it) have been led by a star to Leith.
On the occasion of one of these gatherings, when Mr. Crewe had been
inaccessible for four hours, Mrs. Pomfret drove up in a victoria with her
daughter Alice.
"I'm sure I don't know when we're going to see poor dear Humphrey again,"
said Mrs. Pomfret, examining the group on the porch through her
gold-mounted lenses; these awful people are always here when I come. I
wonder if they sleep here, in the hammocks and lounging chairs! Alice, we
must be very polite to them--so much depends on it."
"I'm always polite, mother," answered Alice, "except when you tell me not
to be. The trouble is I never know myself."
The victoria stopped in front of the door, and the irreproachable Waters
advanced across the porch.
"Waters," said Mrs. Pomfret, "I suppose Mr. Crewe is too busy to come
out."
"I'm afraid so, madam," replied Waters; "there's a line of gentlemen
waitin' here" (he eyed them with no uncertain disapproval). and I've
positive orders not to disturb him, madam."
"I quite understand, at a time like this," said Mrs. Pomfret, and added,
for the benefit of her audience, "when Mr. Crewe has been public-spirited
and unselfish enough to undertake such a gigantic task. Tell him Miss
Pomfret and I call from time to time because we are so interested, and
that the whole of Leith wishes him success."
"I'll tell him, madam," said Waters,
But Mrs. Pomfret did not give the signal for her coachman to drive on.
She looked, instead, at the patient gathering.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she said.
"Mother!" whispered Alice, "what are you going to do?"
The gentlemen rose.
"I'm Mrs. Pomfret," she said, as though that simple announcement were
quite sufficient,--as it was, for the metropolitan press. Not a man of
them who had not seen Mrs. Pomfret's important movements on both sides of
the water chronicled. "I take the liberty of speaking to you, as we all
seem to be united in a common cause. How is the campaign looking?"
Some of the gentlemen shifted their cigars from one hand to the other,
and grinned sheepishly.
"I am so interested," continued Mrs. Pomfret; "it is so unusual in
America for a gentleman to be willing to undertake such a thing, to
subject himself to low criticism, and to have his pure motives
questioned. Mr. Crewe has rare courage--I have always said so. And we are
all going to put our shoulder to the wheel, and help him all we can."
There was one clever man there who was quick to see his opportunity, and
seize it for his newspaper.
"And are you going to help Mr. Crewe in his campaign, Mrs. Pomfret?"
"Most assuredly," answered Mrs. Pomfret. "Women in this country could do
so much if they only would. You know," she added, in her most winning
manner, "you know that a woman can often get a vote when a man can't."
"And you, and--other ladies will go around to the public meetings?"
"Why not, my friend; if Mr. Crewe has no objection? and I can conceive of
none."
"You would have an organization of society ladies to help Mr. Crewe?"
"That's rather a crude way of putting it," answered Mrs. Pomfret, with
her glasses raised judicially. "Women in what you call I society are, I
am glad to say, taking an increasing interest in politics. They are
beginning to realize that it is a duty."
"Thank you," said the reporter; "and now would you mind if I took a
photograph of you in your carriage."
"Oh, mother," protested Alice, "you won't let him do that!"
"Be quiet, Alice. Lady Aylestone and the duchess are photographed in
every conceivable pose for political purposes. Wymans, just drive around
to the other side of the circle."
The article appeared next day, and gave, as may be imagined, a tremendous
impetus to Mr. Crewe's cause. "A new era in American politics!" "Society
to take a hand in the gubernatorial campaign of Millionaire Humphrey
Crewe!" "Noted social leader, Mrs. Patterson Pomfret, declares it a duty,
and saga that English women have the right idea." And a photograph of
Mrs. Patterson Pomfret herself, in her victoria, occupied a generous
portion of the front page.
"What's all this rubbish about Mrs. Pomfret?" was Mr. Crewe's grateful
comment when he saw it. "I spent two valuable hours with that reporter
givin' him material and statistics, and I can't find that he's used a
word of it."
"Never you mind about that," Mr. Tooting replied. "The more advertising
you get, the better, and this shows that the right people are behind you.
Mrs. Pomfret's a smart woman, all right. She knows her job. And here's
more advertising," he continued, shoving another sheet across the desk,
"a fine likeness of you in caricature labelled, 'Ajax defying the
Lightning.' Who's Ajax? There was an Italian, a street contractor, with
that name--or something like it--in Newcastle a couple of years ago--in
the eighth ward."
In these days, when false rumours fly apace to the injury of innocent
men, it is well to get at the truth, if possible. It is not true that Mr.
Paul Pardriff, of the 'Ripton Record,' has been to Wedderburn. Mr.
Pardriff was getting into a buggy to go--somewhere--when he chanced to
meet the Honourable Brush Bascom, and the buggy was sent back to the
livery-stable. Mr. Tooting had been to see Mr. Pardriff before the
world-quaking announcement of June 7th, and had found Mr. Pardriff a
reformer who did not believe that the railroad should run the State. But
the editor of the Ripton Record was a man after Emerson's own heart: "a
foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds"--and Mr. Pardriff
did not go to Wedderburn. He went off on an excursion up the State
instead, for he had been working too hard; and he returned, as many men
do from their travels, a conservative. He listened coldly to Mr.
Tooting's impassioned pleas for cleaner politics, until Mr. Tooting
revealed the fact that his pockets were full of copy. It seems that a
biography was to be printed--a biography which would, undoubtedly, be in
great demand; the biography of a public benefactor, illustrated with
original photographs and views in the country. Mr. Tooting and Mr.
Pardriff both being men of the world, some exceeding plain talk ensued
between them, and when two such minds unite, a way out is sure to be
found. One can be both a conservative and a radical--if one is clever.
There were other columns in Mr. Pardriff's paper besides editorial
columns; editorial columns, Mr. Pardriff said, were sacred to his
convictions. Certain thumb-worn schedules were referred to. Paul
Pardriff, Ripton, agreed to be the publisher of the biography.
The next edition of the Record was an example of what Mr. Emerson meant.
Three columns contained extracts of absorbing interest from the
forthcoming biography and, on another page, an editorial. The Honourable
Humphrey Crewe, of Leith, is an estimable gentleman and a good citizen,
whose public endeavours have been of great benefit to the community. A
citizen of Avalon County, the Record regrets that it cannot support his
candidacy for the Republican gubernatorial nomination. We are not among
those who seek to impugn motives, and while giving Mr. Crewe every credit
that his charges against the Northeastern Railroads are made in good
faith, we beg to differ from him. That corporation is an institution
which has stood the test of time, and enriches every year the State
treasury by a large sum in taxes. Its management is in safe, conservative
hands. No one will deny Mr. Crewe's zeal for the State's welfare, but it
must be borne in mind that he is a newcomer in politics, and that
conditions, seen from the surface, are sometimes deceptive. We predict
for Mr. Crewe a long and useful career, but we do not think that at this
time, and on this platform, he will obtain the governorship."
"Moral courage is what the age needs," had been Mr. Crewe's true and
sententious remark when he read this editorial. But, bearing in mind a
biblical adage, he did not blame Mr. Tooting for his diplomacy. "Send in
the next man."
Mr. Tooting opened the study door and glanced over the public-spirited
citizens awaiting, on the porch, the pleasure of their leader.
"Come along, Caldwell," said Mr. Tooting. "He wants your report from
Kingston. Get a hustle on!"
Mr. Caldwell made his report, received many brief and business-like
suggestions, and retired, impressed. Whereupon Mr. Crewe commanded Mr.
Tooting to order his automobile--an occasional and rapid spin over the
country roads being the only diversion the candidate permitted himself.
Wishing to be alone with his thoughts, he did not take Mr. Tooting with
him on these excursions.
"And by the way," said Mr. Crewe, as he seized the steering wheel a few
moments later, "just drop a line to Austen Vane, will you, and tell him I
want to see him up here within a day or two. Make an appointment. It has
occurred to me that he might be very useful."
Mr. Tooting stood on the driveway watching the cloud of dust settle on
the road below. Then he indulged in a long and peculiarly significant
whistle through his teeth, rolled his eyes heavenward, and went into the
house. He remembered Austen's remark about riding a cyclone.
Mr. Crewe took the Tunbridge road. On his excursion of the day before he
had met Mrs. Pomfret, who had held up her hand, and he had protestingly
brought the car to a stop.
"Your horses don't frighten," he had said.
"No, but I wanted to speak to you, Humphrey," Mrs. Pomfret had replied;
"you are becoming so important that nobody ever has a glimpse of you. I
wanted to tell you what an interest we take in this splendid thing you
are doing."
"Well," said Mr. Crewe, "it was a plain duty, and nobody else seemed
willing to undertake it."
Mrs. Pomfret's eyes had flashed.
"Men of that type are scarce," she answered. "But you'll win. You're the
kind of man that wins."
"Oh, yes, I'll win," said Mr. Crewe.
"You're so magnificently sure of yourself," cried Mrs. Pomfret. "Alice is
taking such an interest. Every day she asks, 'When is Humphrey going to
make his first speech?' You'll let us know in time, won't you?"
"Did you put all that nonsense in the New York Flare?" asked Mr. Crewe.
"Oh, Humphrey, I hope you liked it," cried Mrs. Pomfret. "Don't make the
mistake of despising what women can do. They elected the Honourable Billy
Aylestone--he said so himself. I'm getting all the women interested."
"Who've you been calling on now?" he inquired.
Mrs. Pomfret hesitated.
"I've been up at Fairview to see about Mrs. Flint. She isn't much
better."
"Is Victoria home?" Mr. Crewe demanded, with undisguised interest.
"Poor dear girl!" said Mrs. Pomfret, "of course I wouldn't have mentioned
the subject to her, but she wanted to know all about it. It naturally
makes an awkward situation between you and her, doesn't it?"
"Oh, Victoria's level-headed enough," Mr. Crewe had answered; "I guess
she knows something about old Flint and his methods by this time. At any
rate, it won't make any difference with me," he added magnanimously, and
threw in his clutch. He had encircled Fairview in his drive that day, and
was, curiously enough, headed in that direction now. Slow to make up his
mind in some things, as every eligible man must be, he was now coming
rapidly to the notion that he might eventually decide upon Victoria as
the most fitting mate for one in his position. Still, there was no hurry.
As for going to Fairview House, that might be awkward, besides being open
to misconstruction by his constituents. Mr. Crewe reflected, as he rushed
up the hills, that he had missed Victoria since she had been abroad--and
a man so continually occupied as he did not have time to miss many
people. Mr. Crewe made up his mind he would encircle Fairview every day
until he ran across her.
The goddess of fortune sometimes blesses the persistent even before they
begin to persist--perhaps from sheer weariness at the remembrance of
previous importuning. Victoria, on a brand-new and somewhat sensitive
five-year-old, was coming out of the stone archway when Mr. Crewe
(without any signal this time!) threw on his brakes. An exhibition of
horsemanship followed, on Victoria's part, which Mr. Crewe beheld with
admiration. The five-year-old swung about like a weathercock in a gust of
wind, assuming an upright position, like the unicorn in the British coat
of arms. Victoria cut him, and he came down on all fours and danced into
the wire fence that encircled the Fairview domain, whereupon he got
another stinging reminder that there was some one on his back.
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Crewe, leaning on the steering wheel and watching the
performance with delight. Never, he thought, had Victoria been more
appealing; strangely enough, he had not remembered that she was quite so
handsome, or that her colour was so vivid; or that her body was so
straight and long and supple. He liked the way in which she gave it to
that horse, and he made up his mind that she would grace any position,
however high. Presently the horse made a leap into the road in front of
the motor and stood trembling, ready to bolt.
"For Heaven's sake, Humphrey," she cried, "shut off your power? Don't sit
there like an idiot--do you think I'm doing this for pleasure?"
Mr. Crewe good-naturedly turned off his switch, and the motor, with a
dying sigh, was silent. He even liked the notion of being commanded to do
a thing; there was a relish about it that was new. The other women of his
acquaintance addressed him more deferentially.
"Get hold of the bridle," he said to the chauffeur. "You've got no
business to have an animal like that," was his remark to Victoria.
"Don't touch him!" she said to the man, who was approaching with a true
machinist's fear of a high-spirited horse. "You've got no business to
have a motor like that, if you can't handle it any better than you do."
"You managed him all right. I'll say that for you," said Mr. Crewe.
"No thanks to you," she replied. Now that the horse was comparatively
quiet, she sat and regarded Mr. Crewe with an amusement which was
gradually getting the better of her anger. A few moments since, and she
wished with great intensity that she had been using the whip on his
shoulders instead. Now that she had time to gather up the threads of the
situation, the irresistibly comic aspect of it grew upon her, and little
creases came into the corners of her eyes--which Mr. Crewe admired. She
recalled--with indignation, to be sure--the conversation she had
overheard in the dining room of the Duncan house, but her indignation was
particularly directed, on that occasion, towards Mr. Tooting. Here was
Humphrey Crewe, sitting talking to her in the road--Humphrey Crewe, whose
candidacy for the governorship impugned her father's management of the
Northeastern Railroads--and she was unable to take the matter seriously!
There must be something wrong with her, she thought.
"So you're home again," Mr. Crewe observed, his eyes still bearing
witness to the indubitable fact. "I shouldn't have known it--I've been so
busy."
"Is the Legislature still in session?" Victoria soberly inquired.
"You are a little behind the times--ain't you?" said Mr. Crewe, in
surprise. "How long have you been home? Hasn't anybody told you what's
going on?"
"I only came up ten days ago," she answered, "and I'm afraid I've been
something of a recluse. What is going on?"
"Well," he declared, "I should have thought you'd heard it, anyway. I'll
send you up a few newspapers when I get back. I'm a candidate for the
governorship."
Victoria bit her lip, and leaned over to brush a fly from the neck of her
horse.
"You are getting on rapidly, Humphrey," she said. "Do you think you've
got--any chance?"
"Any chance!" he repeated, with some pardonable force. "I'm sure to be
nominated. There's an overwhelming sentiment among the voters of this
State for decent politics. It didn't take me long to find that out. The
only wonder is that somebody hasn't seen it before."
"Perhaps," she answered, giving him a steady look, "perhaps somebody
has."
One of Mr. Crewe's greatest elements of strength was his imperviousness
to this kind of a remark.
"If anybody's seen it," he replied, "they haven't the courage of their
convictions." Such were the workings of Mr. Crewe's mind that he had
already forgotten that first talk with Mr. Hamilton Tooting. "Not that I
want to take too much credit on myself," he added, with becoming modesty,
"I have had some experience in the world, and it was natural that I
should get a fresh view. Are you coming down to Leith in a few days?"
"I may," said Victoria.
"Telephone me," said Mr. Crewe, "and if I can get off, I will. I'd like
to talk to you. You have more sense than most women I know."
"You overwhelm me, Humphrey. Compliments sound strangely on your lips."
"When I say a thing, I mean it," Mr. Crewe declared. "I don't pay
compliments. I'd make it a point to take a little time off to talk to
you. You see, so many men are interested in this thing from various parts
of the State, and we are so busy organizing, that it absorbs most of my
day."
"I couldn't think of encroaching," Victoria protested.
"That's all right--you can be a great help. I've got confidence in your
judgment. By the way," he asked suddenly, "you haven't seen your friend
Austen Vane since you got back, have you?"
"Why do you call him my friend?" said Victoria. Mr. Crew perceived that
the exercise had heightened her colour, and the transition appealed to
his sense of beauty.
"Perhaps I put it a little strongly," he replied. "You seemed to take an
interest in him, for some reason. I suppose it's because you like new
types."
"I like Mr. Vane very much,--and for himself," she said quietly. "But I
haven't seen him since I came back. Nor do I think I am likely to see
him. What made you ask about him?"
"Well, he seems to be a man of some local standing, and he ought to be in
this campaign. If you happen to see him, you might mention the subject to
him. I've sent for him to come up and see me."
"Mr. Vane doesn't seem to me to be a person one can send for like that,"
Victoria remarked judicially. "As to advising him as to what course he
should take politically--that would even be straining my friendship for
you, Humphrey. On reflection," she added, smiling, "there may appear to
you reasons why I should not care to meddle with--politics, just now."
"I can't see it," said Mr. Crewe; "you've got a mind of your own, and
you've never been afraid to use it, so far as I know. If you should see
that Vane man, just give him a notion of what I'm trying to do."
"What are you trying to do?" inquired Victoria, sweetly.
"I'm trying to clean up this State politically," said Mr. Crewe, "and I'm
going to do it. When you come down to Leith, I'll tell you about it, and
I'll send you the newspapers to-day. Don't be in a hurry," he cried,
addressing over his shoulder two farmers in a wagon who had driven up a
few moments before, and who were apparently anxious to pass. "Wind her
up, Adolphe."
The chauffeur, standing by the crank, started the engine instantly, and
the gears screamed as Mr. Crewe threw in his low speed. The five-year-old
whirled, and bolted down the road at a pace which would have seemed to
challenge a racing car; and the girl in the saddle, bending to the motion
of the horse, was seen to raise her hand in warning.
"Better stay whar you be," shouted one of the farmers; "don't go to
follerin' her. The hoes is runnin' away."
Mr. Crewe steered his car into the Fairview entrance, and backed into the
road again, facing the other way. He had decided to go home.
"That lady can take care of herself," he said, and started off towards
Leith, wondering how it was that Mr. Flint had not confided his recent
political troubles to his daughter.
"That hoss is ugly, sure enough," said the farmer who had spoken before.
Victoria flew on, down the narrow road. After twenty strides she did not
attempt to disguise from herself the fact that the five-year-old was in a
frenzy of fear, and running away. Victoria had been run away with before,
and having some knowledge of the animal she rode, she did not waste her
strength by pulling on the curb, but sought rather to quiet him with her
voice, which had no effect whatever. He was beyond appeal, his head was
down, and his ears trembling backwards and straining for a sound of the
terror that pursued him. The road ran through the forest, and Victoria
reflected that the grade, on the whole, was downward to the East
Tunbridge station, where the road crossed the track and took to the hills
beyond. Once among them, she would be safe--he might run as far, as he
pleased. But could she pass the station? She held a firm rein, and tried
to keep her mind clear.
Suddenly, at a slight bend of the road, the corner of the little red
building came in sight, some hundreds of yards ahead; and, on the side
where it stood, in the clearing, was a white mass which Victoria
recognized as a pile of lumber. She saw several men on the top of the
pile, standing motionless; she heard one of them shout; the horse
swerved, and she felt herself flung violently to the left.
Her first thought, after striking, was one of self-congratulation that
her safety stirrup and habit had behaved properly. Before she could rise,
a man was leaning over her--and in the instant she had the impression
that he was a friend. Other people had had this impression of him on
first acquaintance--his size, his genial, brick-red face, and his honest
blue eyes all doubtless contributing.
"Are you hurt, Miss Flint?" he asked.
"Not in the least," she replied, springing to her feet to prove the
contrary. What's become of my horse?"
"Two of the men have gone after him," he said, staring at her with
undisguised but honest admiration. Whereupon he became suddenly
embarrassed, and pulled out a handkerchief the size of a table napkin.
"Let me dust you off."
"Thank you," said Victoria, laughing, and beginning the process herself.
Her new acquaintance plied the handkerchief, his face a brighter
brick-red than ever.
"Thank God, there wasn't a freight on the siding," he remarked, so
fervently that Victoria stole a glance at him. The dusting process
continued.
"There," she exclaimed, at last, adjusting her stock and shaking her
skirt, "I'm ever so much obliged. It was very foolish in me to tumble
off, wasn't it?"
"It was the only thing you could have done," he declared. "I had a good
view of it, and he flung you like a bean out of a shooter. That's a
powerful horse. I guess you're the kind that likes to take risks."
Victoria laughed at his expressive phrase, and crossed the road, and sat
down on the edge of the lumber pile, in the shade.
"There seems to be nothing to do but wait," she said, "and to thank you
again. Will you tell me your name?"
"I'm Tom Gaylord," he replied.
Her colour, always so near the surface, rose a little as she regarded
him. So this was Austen Vane's particular friend, whom he had tried to
put out of his window. A Herculean task, Victoria thought, from Tom's
appearance. Tom sat down within a few feet of her.
"I've seen you a good many times, Miss Flint," he remarked, applying the
handkerchief to his face.
"And I've seen you--once, Mr. Gaylord," some mischievous impulse prompted
her to answer. Perhaps the impulse was more deep-seated, after all.
"Where?" demanded Tom, promptly.
"You were engaged," said Victoria, "in a struggle in a window on Ripton
Square. It looked, for a time," she continued, "as if you were going to
be dropped on the roof of the porch."
Tom gazed at her in confusion and surprise.
"You seem to be fond, too, of dangerous exercise," she observed.
"Do you mean to say you remembered me from that?" he exclaimed. "Oh, you
know Austen Vane, don't you?"
"Does Mr. Vane acknowledge the acquaintance?" Victoria inquired.
"It's funny, but you remind me of Austen," said Tom, grinning; "you seem
to have the same queer way of saying things that he has." Here he was
conscious of another fit of embarrassment. "I hope you don't mind what I
say, Miss Flint."
"Not at all," said Victoria. She turned, and looked across the track.
"I suppose they are having a lot of trouble in catching my horse," she
remarked.
"They'll get him," Tom assured her, "one of those men is my manager. He
always gets what he starts out for. What were we talking about? Oh,
Austen Vane. You see, I've known him ever since I was a shaver, and I
think the world of him. If he asked me to go to South America and get him
a zebra to-morrow, I believe I'd do it."
"That is real devotion," said Victoria. The more she saw of young Tom,
the better she liked him, although his conversation was apt to be
slightly embarrassing.
"We've been through a lot of rows together," Tom continued, warming to
his subject, "in school and college. You see, Austen's the kind of man
who doesn't care what anybody thinks, if he takes it into his head to do
a thing. It was a great piece of luck for me that he shot that fellow out
West, or he wouldn't be here now. You heard about that, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Victoria, "I believe I did."
"And yet," said Tom, "although I'm as good a friend as he has, I never
quite got under his skin. There's some things I wouldn't talk to him
about. I've learned that. I never told him, for instance, that I saw him
out in a sleigh with you at the capital."
"Oh," said Victoria; and she added, "Is he ashamed of it?"
"It's not that," replied Tom, hastily, "but I guess if he'd wanted me to
know about it, he'd have told me."
Victoria had begun to realize that, in the few minutes which had elapsed
since she had found herself on the roadside, gazing up into young Tom's
eyes, she had somehow become quite intimate with him.
"I fancy he would have told you all there was to tell about it--if the
matter had occurred to him again," she said, with the air of finally
dismissing a subject already too prolonged. But Tom knew nothing of the
shades and conventions of the art of conversation.
"He's never told me he knew you at all!" he exclaimed, staring at
Victoria. Apparently some of the aspects of this now significant omission
on Austen's part were beginning to dawn on Tom.
"It wasn't worth mentioning," said Victoria, briefly, seeking for a
pretext to change the subject.
"I don't believe that," said Tom, "you can't expect me to sit here and
look at you and believe that. How long has he known you?"
"I saw him once or twice last summer, at Leith," said Victoria, now
wavering between laughter and exasperation. She had got herself into a
quandary indeed when she had to parry the appalling frankness of such
inquiries.
"The more you see of him, the more you'll admire him, I'll prophesy,"
said Tom. "If he'd been content to travel along the easy road, as most
fellows are, he would have been counsel for the Northeastern. Instead of
that--" here Tom halted abruptly, and turned scarlet: "I forgot," he
said, "I'm always putting my foot in it, with ladies."
He was so painfully confused that Victoria felt herself suffering with
him, and longed to comfort him.
"Please go on, Mr. Gaylord," she said; "I am very much interested in my
neighbours here, and I know that a great many of them think that the
railroad meddles in politics. I've tried to find out what they think, but
it is so difficult for a woman to understand. If matters are wrong, I'm
sure my father will right them when he knows the situation. He has so
much to attend to." She paused. Tom was still mopping his forehead. "You
may say anything you like to me, and I shall not take offence."
Tom's admiration of her was heightened by this attitude.
"Austen wouldn't join Mr. Crewe in his little game, anyway," he said.
"When Ham Tooting, Crewe's manager, came to him he kicked him
downstairs."
Victoria burst out laughing.
"I constantly hear of these ferocious deeds which Mr. Vane commits," she
said, "and yet he seems exceptionally good-natured and mild-mannered."
"That's straight--he kicked him downstairs. Served Tooting right, too."
"There does seem to have been an element of justice in it," Victoria
remarked.
"You haven't seen Austen since he left his father?" Mr. Gaylord inquired.
"Left him! Where--has he gone?"
"Gone up to live with Jabe Jenney. If Austen cared anything about money,
he never would have broken with the old man, who has some little put
away."
"Why did he leave his father?" asked Victoria, not taking the trouble now
to conceal her interest.
"Well," said Tom, "you know they never did get along. It hasn't been
Austen's fault--he's tried. After he came back from the West he stayed
here to please old Hilary, when he might have gone to New York and made a
fortune at the law, with his brains. But after Austen saw the kind of law
the old man practised he wouldn't stand for it, and got an office of his
own."
Victoria's eyes grew serious.
"What kind of law does Hilary Vane practise?" she asked.
Tom hesitated and began to mop his forehead again.
"Please don't mind me," Victoria pleaded.
"Well, all right," said Tom, "I'll tell you the truth, or die for it. But
I don't want to make you-unhappy."
"You will do me a kindness, Mr. Gaylord," she said, "by telling me what
you believe to be true."
There was a note in her voice which young Tom did not understand.
Afterwards, when he reflected about the matter, he wondered if she were
unhappy.
"I don't want to blame Hilary too much," he answered. "I know Austen
don't. Hilary's grown up with that way of doing things, and in the old
days there was no other way. Hilary is the chief counsel for the
Northeastern, and he runs the Republican organization in this State for
their benefit. But Austen made up his mind that there was no reason why
he should grow up that way. He says that a lawyer should keep to his
profession, and not become a lobbyist in the interest of his clients. He
lived with the old man until the other day, because he has a real soft
spot for him. Austen put up with a good deal. And then Hilary turned
loose on him and said a lot of things he couldn't stand. Austen didn't
answer, but went up and packed his bags and made Hilary's housekeeper
promise to stay with him, or she'd have left, too. They say Hilary's
sorry, now. He's fond of Austen, but he can't get along with him."
"Do--Do you know what they quarreled about?" asked Victoria, in a low
voice.
"This spring," said Tom, "the Gaylord Lumber Company made Austen junior
counsel. He ran across a law the other day that nobody else seems to have
had sense enough to discover, by which we can sue the railroad for
excessive freight rates. It means a lot of money. He went right in to
Hilary and showed him the section, told him that suit was going to be
brought, and offered to resign. Hilary flew off the track--and said if he
didn't bring suit he'd publish it all over the State that Austen started
it. Galusha Hammer, our senior counsel, is sick, and I don't think he'll
ever get well. That makes Austen senior counsel. But he persuaded old
Tom, my father, not to bring this suit until after the political
campaign, until Mr. Crewe gets through with his fireworks. Hilary doesn't
know that."
"I see," said Victoria.
Down the hill, on the far side of the track, she perceived the two men
approaching with a horse; then she remembered the fact that she had been
thrown, and that it was her horse. She rose to her feet.
"I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Gaylord," she said; "you have done
me a great favour by--telling me these things. And thanks for letting
them catch the horse. I'm afraid I've put you to a lot of bother."
"Not at all," said Tom, "not at all." He was studying her face. Its
expression troubled and moved him strangely, for he was not an analytical
person. "I didn't mean to tell you those things when I began," he
apologized, "but you wanted to hear them."
"I wanted to hear them," repeated Victoria. She held out her hand to him.
"You're not going to ride home!" he exclaimed. "I'll take you up in my
buggy--it's in the station shed."
She smiled, turned and questioned and thanked the men, examined the
girths and bridle, and stroked the five-year-old on the neck. He was wet
from mane to fetlocks.
"I don't think he'll care to run much farther," she said. "If you'll pull
him over to the lumber pile, Mr. Gaylord, I'll mount him."
They performed her bidding in silence, each paying her a tribute in his
thoughts. As for the five-year-old, he was quiet enough by this time.
When she was in the saddle she held out her hand once more to Tom.
"I hope we shall meet soon again," she said, and smiling back at him,
started on her way towards Fairview.
Tom stood for a moment looking after her, while the two men indulged in
surprised comments.
"Andrews," said young Mr. Gaylord, "just fetch my buggy and follow her
until she gets into the gate."