One day a greater than Shelby came to Wakefield, but not to stay. It was
no less than the President of these United States swinging around the
circle in an inspection of his realm, with possibly an eye to the
nearing moment when he should consent to re-election. As his special
train approached each new town the President studied up its statistics
so that he might make his speech enjoyable by telling the citizens the
things they already knew. He had learned that those are the things
people most like to hear.
His encyclopaedia informed him that Wakefield had a population of about
fifteen thousand. He could not know how venerable an estimate this was,
for Wakefield was still fifteen thousand--now and forever, fifteen
thousand and insuperable.
The President had a mental picture of just what such a town of fifteen
thousand would look like, and he wished himself back in the White House.
He was met at the train by the usual entertainment committee, which in
this case coincided with the executive committee of the Wide-a-Wakefield
Club. It had seemed just as well to these members to elect themselves as
anybody else.
Mr. Pettibone, the town's most important paper-hanger, was again
chairman after some lapses from office. Joel Spate, the Bon-Ton Grocer,
was once more secretary, after having been treasurer twice and president
once. The One-Price Emporium, however, was now represented by the
younger Forshay, son of the founder, who had gone to the inevitable
Greenwood at the early age of sixty-nine. Soyer, the swell tailor, had
yielded his place to the stateliest man in town, Amasa Harbury,
president of the Wakefield Building and Loan Association. And Eberhart,
of the Furniture Palace, had been supplanted by Gibson Shoals, the bank
cashier.
To the President's surprise the railroad station proved to be, instead
of the doleful shed usual in those parts, a graceful edifice of
metropolitan architecture. He was to ride in an open carriage, of
course, drawn by the two spanking dapples which usually drew the hearse
when it was needed. But this was tactfully kept from the President.
There had been some bitterness over the choice of the President's
companions in the carriage, since it was manifestly impossible for the
entire committee of seven to pile into the space of four, though young
Forshay, who had inherited his father's gift of humor, volunteered to
ride on the President's lap or hold him on his.
The extra members were finally consoled by being granted the next
carriage, an equipage drawn by no less than the noble black geldings
usually attached to the chief mourners' carriage.
As the President was escorted to his place he remarked that a
trolley-car was waiting at the station.
"I see that Wakefield boasts an electric line," he beamed.
"Yes," said Pettibone, "that's some of Shelby's foolishness."
A look from Spate silenced him, but the President had not caught the
slip.
The procession formed behind the town band, whose symphony suffered
somewhat from the effort of the musicians to keep one eye on the music
and throw the other eye backward at the great visitor.
"What a magnificent building!" said the President as the parade turned a
corner. Nobody said anything, and the President read the name aloud.
"The Shelby House. A fine hotel!" he exclaimed, as he lifted his hat to
the cheers from the white-capped chambermaids and the black-coated
waiters in the windows. They were male waiters.
"And the streets are lighted by electricity! And paved with brick!" the
President said. "Splendid! Splendid! There must be very enterprising
citizens in Gatesville--I mean Wakefield." He had visited so many towns!
"That's a handsome office-building," was his next remark. "It's quite
metropolitan." The committee vouchsafed no reply, but they could see
that he was reading the sign:
THE SHELBY BLOCK:
SHELBY INDEPENDENT TELEPHONE COMPANY
SHELBY'S PARADISE POWDER COMPANY
SHELBY ARTESIAN WELL COMPANY
SHELBY PASTIME PARK COMPANY
SHELBY OPERA HOUSE COMPANY
SHELBY STREET RAILWAY COMPANY
The committee was not used to chatting with Presidents, and even the
practical Pettibone, who had voted against him, had an awe of him in the
flesh. He decided to vote for him next time; it would be comforting to
be able to say, "Oh yes, I know the President well; I used to take long
drives with him--once."
There were heartaches in the carriage as the President, who commented on
so many things, failed to comment on the banner of welcome over
Pettibone's shop, painted by Pettibone's own practical hand; or the
gaily bedighted Bon-Ton Grocery with the wonderful arrangement of
tomato-cans into the words, "Welcome to Wakefield." The Building and
Loan Association had stretched a streamer across the street, too, and
the President never noticed it. His eyes and tongue were caught away by
the ornate structure of the opera-house.
"Shelby Opera House. So many things named after Mr. Shelby. Is he the
founder of the city or--or--"
"No, just one of the citizens," said Pettibone.
"I should be delighted to meet him."
Three votes fell from the Presidential tree with a thud.
Had the committee been able to imagine in advance how Shelbyisms would
obtrude everywhere upon the roving eye of the visitor, whose one aim was
a polite desire to exclaim upon everything exclaimable, they might have
laid out the line of march otherwise.
But it was too late to change now, and they grew grimmer and grimmer as
the way led to the stately pleasure-dome which Shelby Khan had decreed
and which imported architects and landscape-gardeners had established.
Here were close-razored lawns and terraces, a lake with spouting
fountains, statues of twisty nymphs, glaring, many-antlered stags and
couchant lions, all among cedar-trees and flower-beds whose perfumes
saluted the Presidential nostril like a gentle hurrah.
Emerging through the trees were the roofs, the cupola and ivy-bowered
windows of the home of Shelby, most homeless at home. For, after all his
munificence, Wakefield did not like him. The only tribute the people had
paid him was to boost the prices of everything he bought, from land to
labor, from wall-paper to cabbages. And now on the town's great day he
had not been included in any of the committees of welcome. He had been
left to brood alone in his mansion like a prince in ill favor exiled to
his palace.
He did not know that his palace had delighted even the jaded eye of the
far-traveled First Citizen. He only knew that his fellow-townsmen
sneered at it with dislike.
Shelby was never told by the discreet committeemen in the carriage that
the President had exclaimed on seeing his home:
"Why, this is magnificent! This is an estate! I never dreamed
that--er--Wakefield was a city of such importance and such wealth. And
whose home is this?"