Il Trovatore
The next morning Judge Latimer was surprised to find his wife taking a
sudden interest in politics.
"Why is there so much opposition to Mr. Burroughs for United States
senator?" she inquired.
"Several reasons," he answered, evasively, thinking she would not be
interested to pursue the subject.
"But he will be elected."
"That remains to be seen."
"He has thirty pledged out of the whole ninety-four, and several----"
"How do you know? Where did you get your information?" Latimer spoke
sharply.
"Mr. Moore--nobody talked of anything else, it seems to me," amended
Mrs. Latimer, with what carelessness she could assume. "Since the
legislators have been arriving I have heard nothing discussed so much as
Mr. Burroughs' chances of winning the election."
"That comes of living in a hotel," said the judge, bitterly. "Burroughs'
headquarters are on this floor, too, confound it! I wish we had not
given up our home."
"I don't," cried Eva. "Politics are lots of fun! I had no idea how much
until this winter. It's so exciting!"
She did not tell her husband that the Honorable William Moore had been
at considerable pains to interest her in the coming struggle, even
prolonging his frequent calls unduly, in giving her an insight (so far
as he thought necessary) into the workings of practical politics as
expounded and promulgated by Mr. Burroughs and himself. So delicately
had he broached what had been in his mind since the night of Eva's
dinner party that before she was aware she had promised that she would
do what she could to forward Burroughs' cause with recalcitrant members.
The political manager had assured her that his patron, in his gratitude,
would make the reward for her services magnificently great.
Mrs. Latimer had not been cajoled into this without some scruples, for
she well knew what her husband would think. She remembered, too,
certain interviews of her own with Burroughs, which she would have liked
to forget; but it was many years ago that he had made love to her, and
she succeeded in allaying the troublesome reproaches of conscience by
the justification of the urgent need of retrieving their fortunes. If
Arthur could be made minister to some foreign capital (her ambition had
vaulted to Berlin) he need never suspect her share in its offer.
Mr. Moore had told her that only a rich man could afford to be at the
head of one of the larger legations, and had most thoughtfully placed
certain mining shares in her name, whose value had already increased
gratifyingly. When Arthur should ask her how he could accept such a
position, she would triumphantly produce the fortune made from these
shares, and explain that she had judiciously invested the small
patrimony from her father's estate. It all seemed easy to the ambitious
woman. Only a little effort to interest certain men--could anything be
easier?
And the gold which she had found after Moore's last call! When she had
sent him word he told her that he had its duplicate; to use the money,
since she had found it. The temptation was great. Arthur was always
complaining of unpaid accounts. She settled certain debts with a light
heart. He would never think to inquire about them.
So now she merely looked misunderstood as she continued: "It is nothing
to us, of course, whether Mr. Burroughs is elected; but"--she hesitated,
not knowing how best to proceed--"I'm sure a word from you would have
great influence with the members."
Latimer was dumfounded. Then he began to laugh.
"You would make a first-class lobbyist!" he said lightly. "Have a care!
A word from you would be worth ten of mine." Then, more seriously:
"Don't talk too much of this, Eva. It is going to be a bad business
before a senator is elected. Ugly rumors are heard already. I know
of----" He changed his words. "Mr. Burroughs is not respected among men
of integrity. Not even among men of low standards. His wealth is his
only asset. Unscrupulous, defying investigation----" He pulled himself
up. Never before had he expressed so definite a judgment on the
millionaire.
But though he cautioned his wife, Latimer had no suspicion that it might
be necessary. She had lived purely on the surface, showing no interest
in anything but dress, society, herself. It did not occur to him that
ambition might render her something more than a butterfly. In this
respect Moore read the woman more accurately.
That week Helena was billed for Italian opera. The announcement of _Il
Trovatore_ made Danvers' heart leap with desire to hear it once more. He
knew it was doubtful whether the company could sing, but it could not be
wholly bad.
When he first heard the opera, during a boyish holiday in London, it was
at the height of its popularity, and every evening of his vacation found
him enthralled in the boxes. The isolation of the frontier had but made
the old music more loved, and Philip decided to make up a box party of
his friends. Miss Blair had told him that she had never heard it in its
entirety. She should be the guest of honor. Judge and Mrs. Latimer,
Blair, the doctor from Fort Benton and O'Dwyer should complete the
party.
"The opera has been given for the last twenty years," said Senator
Danvers to Miss Blair, as she expressed herself delighted to accept his
invitation. "You could hardly get a corporal's guard to go across the
street to hear it in New York, I fancy; but it was the first opera I
ever heard, and I love the old airs."
The theater was filling fast as Danvers held the curtain aside for his
guests to enter the box. The distractions of the opposing forces at the
capitol were, for the time, dismissed, and he listened with amusement
to Miss Blair as he assisted to remove her light opera cloak.
"I've never been in a theater box before," she confessed. "It makes one
feel exclusive, doesn't it? And, oh, dear! dreadfully self-conscious.
Suppose I fall out--over the railing? I'm sure I shall bring disgrace
upon us!" She looked gaily at her host. "Suppose I should fall over?"
she repeated, her eyes wide with pretense.
"Somebody would catch you," said matter-of-fact Eva.
"If you think that you are growing dizzy from looking over that fearful,
two-foot precipice," said Danvers, adopting Winifred's tone, "I'm going
to be the one to save you from a tragic death! I'll go around now, and
get ready to be a hero!"
"Don't! A lady in an opera box is worth two in the orchestra seats,"
paraphrased Winifred, blithely. "I will not fall out."
As Danvers pulled her chair a little further from the low rail, Winifred
noticed his face change.
"What is it?" she asked, in quick response.
Philip smiled a little sadly. "'My heart is on the ground,'" he
answered, using an expressive Indian phrase. "I cannot be light and
witty. I am cursed with seriousness."
"Your friends like you just as you are." But in this frank avowal the
senator found no consolation.
Danvers' enjoyment of the familiar opera was augmented by the
appreciation shown on Winifred's earnest, mobile face. The company
proved to be exceptionally good, the voices above the average, the
acting intelligent and _con amore_. The passionate intensity of the
Italians soon enthused Miss Blair into forgetfulness of those around
her. While her brother and O'Dwyer sat stoically, the doctor
contentedly, and Mrs. Latimer indifferent in her secret musing, Arthur
and Philip followed, with her, the fortunes of _Leonora_. Not until the
curtain fell on act three did she readily join in the chatter of her
friends, and then only when Judge Latimer said to his wife: "You should
have heard Phil sing '_Di quella pira_' when we were at Fort Macleod. He
reached that high note quite as easily as this Italian."
"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Latimer," besought Danvers. "Make allowance
for his well-known partiality."
"Certainly," responded Eva, trying to make her tone indifferent. She
never was quite sure of her voice when speaking directly to this man who
ignored the past.
"Do you sing?" Winifred turned with a quick motion which was
characteristic. "Do you, Senator Danvers?"
"I do not."
"But you did?"
"You bet he did!" blurted out O'Dwyer, ever ready to recite the good
qualities of Danvers. Thereupon he told of the Christmas supper, Colonel
Macleod's request, and the duet. "But they sang in English, so a
Christian could understand--not this Dago lingo," he concluded. The
Irishman's contempt for the soft Italian syllables was irresistible.
"Oh," sighed Winifred, after the laugh had died away, "I wish that I
could have been at Fort Macleod that Christmas night!" she included
Judge Latimer in her friendly glance.
"Mr. O'Dwyer did not tell you that he could sing!" chortled Latimer. But
O'Dwyer begged to be spared, and after some good-natured raillery the
judge acquiesced.
"Has that particular duet already been sung?" Winifred's eyes shone as
she leaned toward her host. "If it has I shall insist upon its being
repeated."
"You are so used to having people do as you ask that I believe you
would," volunteered Eva.
"Of course I would. Everybody does as I wish."
"Perhaps that is because you do not ask impossible things," put in
Senator Danvers. "But to relieve your anxiety, and to prevent your
rising and asking for something that might be refused, I hasten to
assure you that the duet has not been sung. Mr. O'Dwyer forgot to say
that it was the _Miserere_ that we tried to sing for dear old Colonel
Macleod. I'm afraid we did it pretty poorly."
From this the conversation drifted to other matters.
"I don't see Mr. Burroughs, Senator Danvers, although your sister and
niece are in one of the opposite boxes," said Eva, sweeping the house
with her glasses. "Nor Mr. Moore, nor Senator Hall--although his wife is
here," she added.
"Politics are more exciting than Italian opera, I fancy," said Winifred.
"The politicians are pretty busy," confirmed the judge.
"Whom do you think I saw on the street to-day, Danvers?" asked Blair,
suddenly. "McDevitt!" he announced, waiting for no speculations.
"No!"
The men were surprised, for McDevitt, the missionary-trader, had long
since been forgotten.
"He says that he lives in Montana now, somewhere near the Canadian
line."
Just then a messenger boy brought a telegram for Danvers, who excused
himself to read and answer it. As he returned the opening bars of
_Leonora's_ florid song sounded, and under cover of the music the doctor
whispered to O'Dwyer: "You did better to-night in your whole-souled
praise than when your elbow was sprained at Fort Macleod. _This_ is the
girl!"
"Betcher life she is! An' what's more, she's on!" The Irishman reverted
to trooper slang in his ardor, and got a sharp nudge from the doctor in
consequence.
The beautiful melodies followed in swift succession. Miss Blair gave a
sigh of appreciation as the _Miserere_ "_Ah che la mort_" was sung, and
unconsciously put out her hand. The sleeve of her soft evening gown
brushed Danvers' arm, and instantly his heart began to sing. Not so had
he been stirred by Eva's conscious touch, years before. Eva had not
struck the chord divine--this thrill revealed it.
"I want to live," breathed Winifred, "while there is such music and such
love in the world. I don't care if it is old--the opera. Music and love
never grow old."
As the duet ended, Winifred and Philip, each in the thrall of the divine
song, looked deep into each other's eyes. Confused, startled, the spell
was broken, and Winifred turned again to the stage.
* * * * *
When the Latimers were alone in their apartments the judge remarked on
Danvers' generosity. "I never knew a man who so delighted in giving
pleasure to other people. He sent tickets to a family of four to-night
because he heard me speak of their love for music; and they'll never
know their benefactor."
"You're always ready to sing the praises of Senator Danvers!" Mrs.
Latimer stifled a yawn. "I really get tired of hearing his good
qualities enumerated."
* * * * *
While Danvers and his friends were enjoying the opera Joseph Hall sat in
a hotel office in Helena, watching the crowd and grumbling at the
excitement and bustle of the politicians and hangers-on.
He was something of a power in the political affairs of the State, but
to-night the swarming activity of the candidates for the appointive
offices displeased him mightily. So did the well-organized methods of
one man who wanted to go to Congress--Robert Burroughs. Hall did not
belong to the party in power, although he had been elected from his
county. As he saw Burroughs' friends hobnobbing with the country
legislators he shut his eyes, cursing all men impartially. Like a thorn
in the flesh the memory of Burroughs' trick and the resultant lawsuit
pricked his anger into poisonous hate. Outwardly he showed no enmity,
but revenge would be sweet. To be sure, he had won his suit and
recovered his share of the proceeds from the sale of the mine, but the
cause rankled, and had become a mania, not the less dangerous because it
was nursed secretly.
In the jostling, good-natured throng of senators, representatives, boys
who wanted to be pages, and girls who boldly or coyly tried to interest
unintroduced men in their clerical abilities, Joe Hall saw no one with
whom he cared to speak. Montana was not yet populous enough to make its
leading men unknown to each other, especially the old-timers. As he rose
to go he heard his name spoken, and turned to face a man whom he could
not for the moment place.
"McDevitt!" he finally exclaimed.
"To command," was the fawning response. "May I speak to you for a
moment?"
Hall hesitated; he thought that the man would hardly be seeking an
office at the capital, and he motioned the Canadian to follow. They
passed into a small room reserved for semi-private conversations.
"What shall it be?" he asked as they took seats at a small table.
"Lemonade." McDevitt had never drunk openly. Joe smiled grimly at the
call-boy's amazement. Lemonade was not often called for at that hotel.
Hall's own order was gin.
"Well?"
McDevitt was disconcerted. He had thought to receive a cordial greeting,
forgetting that Joseph Hall had left the North West Mounted Police in
disgrace, and might wish to ignore his past. He hesitated; then, seeing
that there were to be no questionings, he began autobiographically:
"I've been living in Montana for some time. I run a little store. Say,
look here," his voice changed to anxiety as he breathed his desire, "I'm
here looking for a job. I'm no lobbyist, but I want a position at the
capital."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes. I thought maybe you could give me a good word. I know you're a
leading light in Montana politics. I seen by the papers that you was
State senator."
"Oh, you did?" Little encouragement could be gathered from the
noncommittal responses. Hall's restless, drumming fingers and lowered
gaze threw the suppliant out of countenance. McDevitt, in turn, grew
silent and drank the last of his mild refreshment. Hall looked up, with
shifty eyes.
"Can you pray?"
"Now?" gasped the startled ex-preacher.
Joe relaxed in spite of himself. "Well, not just now. This is not a
church." The jingle of glasses in the adjoining bar corroborated his
statement. "When were you in Macleod last?" The question came suddenly,
with intent to surprise truth.
"Oh, some little time ago," evaded McDevitt, deftly. Why tell that he
had been caught smuggling whiskey, and after serving his sentence had
left Canada?
Hall looked at him, thoughtfully, with a curious cunning in his eyes.
"Then you don't happen to know where Bob Burroughs' squaw is?"
"Pine Coulee? Why--she's--that is--perhaps I could find out? What do you
want to know for?" The caution of a possible bargain appeared.
Hall did not answer immediately, but went back to McDevitt's request.
"So you want a job? Why don't you go to Burroughs? He isn't in the
Legislature, but he seems to be promising 'most everything to 'most
everybody these days." Joe spoke bitterly, and light dawned on the not
over acute McDevitt.
"H-m-m! _Me_ asking Bob Burroughs for anything! I see myself!"
"Or him giving it!" supplemented Hall, remembering the rivalry of the
traders. Again he did deliberate thinking. If he should place McDevitt
it would be a small but irritating way to annoy Burroughs. He was not
above seeking even infinitesimal means of stinging, and this chance
encounter might lead to something more to his set purpose. So he went
on: "Get you a job, eh? Se-ve-ri-al others want sinecures." He grew
facetious as his thought took shape. "I'm out of it this year, Mac.
Still, I think I've influence enough to help an old friend if----" His
look suggested an exchange of favors.
McDevitt was shrewd enough to wait. Joe mused an appreciable time,
beating his tattoo on the table. "Yes," he finally said, "they've got to
give the minority something, and I know one of the members who can get
what I want. He's owing me a little favor--see? I needn't figure in the
deal at all, and Burroughs will be mad as thunder." Again he thrummed,
decisively this time. "If I get you on the pay-roll as chaplain at five
per (or whatever the legislators pay for prayers which, if answered,
would put 'em out of business), I'll expect you to find Pine Coulee and
Burroughs' half-breed brat. He must be a chunk of a youngster now, if
he's alive. And," impressively, "after that I'll expect you to keep your
mouth shut--see?"
"Oh, the 'breed's alive, all right," threw out the ex-preacher in the
expansion of his soul at the thought of a comfortable per diem. "The
hour I sign the pay-roll I'll tell yeh several surprisin' things. I'd
like to get even, too. And as for talking too much with my mouth, I
reckon selling whiskey in the Whoop Up Country after the Police came in
taught me the necessity of occasionally being a mute."
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