A SKIRMISH
Norton's fighting blood was up, but he was too good a soldier and too good
a commander to rush into battle without preparation. Cleo's mask was off at
last, and he knew her too well to doubt that she would try to make good her
threat. The fire of hate that had flamed in her greenish eyes was not a
sudden burst of anger, it had been smoldering there for years, eating its
way into the fiber of her being.
There were three courses open.
He could accept her demand, acknowledge Helen to his son, establish her in
his home, throw his self-respect to the winds and sink to the woman's
level. It was unthinkable! Besides, the girl would never recover from the
shock. She would disappear or take her own life. He felt it with
instinctive certainty. But the thing which made such a course impossible
was the fact that it meant his daily degradation before the boy. He would
face death without a tremor sooner than this.
He could defy Cleo and pack Helen off to Europe on the next steamer, and
risk a scandal that would shake the state, overwhelm the party he was
leading, disgrace him not only before his son but before the world, and set
back the cause he had at heart for a generation.
It was true she might weaken when confronted with the crisis that would
mean the death of her own hopes. Yet the risk was too great to act on such
a possibility. Her defiance had in it all the elements of finality, and he
had accepted it as final.
The simpler alternative was a temporary solution which would give him time
to think and get his bearings. He could return to the campaign immediately,
take Tom with him, keep him in the field every day until the election, ask
Helen to stay until his return, and after his victory had been achieved
settle with the woman.
It was the wisest course for many reasons, and among them not the least
that it would completely puzzle Cleo as to his ultimate decision.
He rang for Andy:
"Ask Mr. Tom to come here."
Andy bowed and Norton resumed his seat.
When Tom entered, the father spoke with quick decision:
"The situation in this campaign, my boy, is tense and dangerous. I want you
to go with me to-morrow and stay to the finish."
Tom flushed and there was a moment's pause:
"Certainly, Dad, if you wish it."
"We'll start at eight o'clock in the morning and drive through the country
to the next appointment. Fix your business at the office this afternoon,
place your men in charge and be ready to leave promptly at eight. I've some
important writing to do. I'm going to lock myself in my room until it's
done. See that I'm not disturbed except to send Andy up with my supper.
I'll not finish before midnight."
"I'll see to it, sir," Tom replied, turned and was gone.
The father had watched the boy with keen scrutiny every moment and failed
to catch the slightest trace of resentment or of hesitation. The pause he
had made on receiving the request was only an instant of natural surprise.
Before leaving next morning he sent for Helen who had not appeared at
breakfast.
She hastened to answer his summons and he found no trace of anger,
resentment or rebellion in her gentle face. Every vestige of the shadow he
had thrown over her life seem to have lifted. A tender smile played about
her lips as she entered the room.
"You sent for me, major?" she asked with the slightest tremor of timidity
in her voice.
"Yes," he answered gravely. "I wish you to remain here until Tom and I
return. We'll have a conference then about your future."
"Thank you," she responded simply.
"I trust you will not find yourself unhappy or embarrassed in remaining
here alone until we return?"
"Certainly not, major, if it is your wish," was the prompt response.
He bowed and murmured:
"I'll see you soon."
Tom waved his hand from the buggy when his father's back was turned and
threw her an audacious kiss over his head as the tall figure bent to climb
into the seat. The girl answered with another from her finger tips which he
caught with a smile.
Norton's fears of Tom were soon at rest at the sight of his overflowing
boyish spirits. He had entered into the adventure of the campaign from the
moment he found himself alone with his father, and apparently without
reservation.
Through every one of his exciting speeches, when surrounded by hostile
crowds, the father had watched Tom's face with a subconscious smile. At the
slightest noise, the shuffle of a foot, the mutter of a drunken word, or
the movement of a careless listener, the keen eyes of the boy had flashed
and his right arm instinctively moved toward his hip pocket.
When the bitter struggle had ended, father and son had drawn closer than
ever before in life. They had become chums and comrades.
Norton had planned his tour to keep him out of town until after the polls
closed on the day of election. They had spent several nights within fifteen
or twenty miles of the Capital, but had avoided home.
He had planned to arrive at the speaker's stand in the Capitol Square in
time to get the first returns of the election.
Five thousand people were packed around the bulletin board when they
arrived on a delayed train.
The first returns indicated that the leader's daring platform had swept the
state by a large majority. The negro race had been disfranchised and the
ballot restored to its original dignity. And much more had been done. The
act was purely political, but its effects on the relations, mental and
moral and physical, of the two races, so evenly divided in the South, would
be tremendous.
The crowds of cheering men and women felt this instinctively, though it had
not as yet found expression in words.
A half-dozen stalwart men with a rush and a shout seized Norton and lifted
him, blushing and protesting, carried him on their shoulders through the
yelling crowd and placed him on the platform.
He had scarcely begun his speech when Tom, watching his chance, slipped
hurriedly through the throng and flew to the girl who was waiting with
beating heart for the sound of his footstep.