THE NINTH WARD.
Unaccustomed to story-telling, it is possible that I have neglected
chronology in this account. I referred just now to the time we
couldn't get into Harlson's house because we hadn't carried the Ninth
Ward and to the Ape crowing at the window in his mother's arms. Time
passed after that, and, we all grew older, though, somehow, Jean did
not seem to change, nor, for that matter, did Grant, though he was
years her elder. But the Ape changed amazingly. He grew into a
stalwart youth of fourteen, and became, about that time, addicted to a
bad habit for which I reproved him in vain. He had discovered that he
could pick up his little mother and carry her about in his arms, and he
did so frequently. And his two younger brothers looked on enviously,
and his pretty sister, the youngest of the group, with gravest
apprehension. But Jean seemed rather to like it, though it was most
undignified, and Grant, though he ruled his children well, seemed
rather to approve of their treatment of her majesty. They were a happy
lot together. The Ape was a good deal interested in the election, but
was not allowed to talk outside the house. And Jean wore a serious
look. She lived for one man.
I attended a party soon after my visit to Gunderson, and a very pretty
affair it was. A very pretty incident I saw there, too.
What I saw was the advent of a big, blowsy woman, who was blazing with
diamonds, whose face was good-natured, but who seemed ill at ease. She
was like a Muscovy duck among game fowl. She was well received by the
mass and overlooked by the few, and, being a woman, though of no acute
comprehension, she understood vaguely her condition. She was unhappy,
and there was a flush, upon her face.
I saw a small woman, neat in a gown of the Directory, it seemed to me,
though of course not so pronounced, brought by apparent accident in
contact with the big, blazing creature. The smaller woman was
self-contained and of the blue-blooded in look and unconsciousness from
head to heel. The two engaged in conversation, the one affable and
interested, the other flushed and happy.
I do not know that I ever enjoyed a party more, yet I did nothing on
that occasion, save to watch at a distance the two people I have
mentioned. They drifted along together, and there was soon a group
about them. Was not Mrs. Grant Harlson a social power, and was not a
friend of hers fit friend and confidant for any one? I do not
understand the ways of women. I do not comprehend their manner of
doing things, but I know a thing when it is done. And when that party
ended I knew that fat Mrs. Gunderson had risen to a higher plane than
she had dared to covet for the time, and that she knew who had
accomplished it. Grant was not present at the party, and of the
incident I told him nothing then. I wanted him to note its possible
sequence first.
The day of election came, and a great day it was. Outside the Ninth
Ward we had passed beyond our hopes. That ward, though,--at least from
the first reports, and we paid slight attention to the later
ones,--remained, through Gunderson, sullen, incomprehensible,
uncommitted. And at night, the voting over, newspapers began to show
the bulletins as the ballots were counted and the returns came in. We
were at campaign headquarters and got the figures early.
The scattering returns were satisfactory. Through most of the district
they showed a gain for us over past encounters. The drift was all our
way, but it was not big enough to offset all contingencies. There was
nothing from the Ninth Ward yet. The counting was slow there.
It was eleven o'clock before the vote of any precinct from the Ninth
Ward came in. It stood as follows:
Harlson, 71.
Sharkey, 53.
Harlson picked up the filled-out blank, glanced at it, and threw it
down again.
"It's some mistake," he said; "that precinct is one of the stiffest the
other way. Wait until we get more of them."
We waited, but not for long. The returns came fluttering in like
pigeons now. The second read:
Harlson, 33.
Sharkey, 30.
There dawned a light upon me; but I said no word. I was interested in
watching Harlson's face. He was a trifle pale, despite his usual
self-control, and was noting the figures carefully. Added precincts
repeated the same story. Harlson would take up a return, glance at it,
compare it with another, and then examine a dozen of them together, for
once in his life he was taken unawares, and was at sea. He left the
table at length, lit a cigar, and came over to where I stood, leaning
against the wall.
"What does it mean, Alf? If those figures don't lie, the Ninth Ward
has swung as vigorously for us as it ever did against us. With an even
vote in the ward the chances were about even. Now, unless I'm
dreaming, we own the district."
"We do."
"But how is it? What does it all mean?"
"I suppose it means that Gunderson is with you."
"But how can that be?"
"Were you at Mrs. Gorson's party?"
"No."
"Jean was there, though."
"Yes."
"So was Mrs. Gunderson."
The man's face was a study worth the scrutiny. For a moment or two he
uttered no word. The whole measurement of it was dawning on him. "The
little rhinoceros-bird!" he said, softly.
The room was thronged, and there was a roar of cheers. The issue was
decided beyond all question. The newspaper offices were flashing out
the fact from illuminated windows. There were shouting crowds upon the
streets. Hosts of people were grasping Harlson's hand. He had little
to say save to thank them in a perfunctory manner. He was in a hurry
to get home.
When I dined with Harlson the next day I hoped to learn some details,
but I was disappointed. Jean was herself a trifle radiant, perhaps,
for she remarked to me, apropos of nothing, and in the most casual way,
that men were dull, and Harlson had little to say. Judging from his
general demeanor, though, and the expression on his face, I would have
given something to know what he said to his wife when he reached home
the night before. Something no bachelor, I imagine, could comprehend.
And before the year ended Harlson had the Ninth Ward so that it
couldn't bolt him under any ordinary circumstances.