HOW IT BECAME FAMOUS
Yuba Bill was right in believing that Wiles would lose no time at
Rawlings. He left there on a fleet horse before Bill had returned with
the broken-down coach to the last station, and distanced the telegram
sent to detain him two hours. Leaving the stage road and its dangerous
telegraphic stations, he pushed southward to Denver over the army
trail, in company with a half-breed packer, crossing the Missouri before
Thatcher had reached Julesburg. When Thatcher was at Omaha, Wiles was
already in St. Louis; and as the Pullman car containing the hero of
the “Blue Mass” mine rolled into Chicago, Wiles was already walking the
streets of the national capital. Nevertheless, he had time en route
to sink in the waters of the North Platte, with many expressions of
disgust, the little black portmanteau belonging to Thatcher, containing
his dressing case, a few unimportant letters, and an extra shirt, to
wonder why simple men did not travel with their important documents
and valuables, and to set on foot some prudent and cautious inquiries
regarding his own lost carpet bag and its important contents.
But for these trifles he had every reason to be satisfied with the
progress of his plans. “It's all right,” said Mrs. Hopkinson merrily;
“while you and Gashwiler have been working with your 'stock,' and
treating the whole world as if it could be bribed, I've done more with
that earnest, self-believing, self-deceiving, and perfectly pathetic
Roscommon than all you fellows put together. Why, I've told his pitiful
story, and drawn tears from the eyes of Senators and Cabinet Ministers.
More than that, I've introduced him into society, put him in a dress
coat,--such a figure!--and you know how the best folk worship everything
that is outre as the sincere thing. I've made him a complete success.
Why, only the other night, when Senator Misnancy and Judge Fitzdawdle
were here, after making him tell his story,--which you know I think he
really believes,--I sang 'There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,'
and my husband told me afterwards it was worth at least a dozen votes.”
“But about this rival of yours,--this niece of Garcia's?”
“Another of your blunders; you men know nothing of women. Firstly, she's
a swarthy little brunette, with dots for eyes; and strides like a man,
dresses like a dowdy, don't wear stays, and has no style. Then, she's a
single woman, and alone; and, although she affects to be an artist, and
has Bohemian ways, don't you see she can't go into society without a
chaperon or somebody to go with her? Nonsense.”
“But,” persisted Wiles, “she must have some power; there's Judge Mason
and Senator Peabody, who are constantly talking about her; and Dinwiddie
of Virginia escorted her through the Capitol the other day.”
Mistress Hopkinson laughed. “Mason and Peabody aspire to be thought
literary and artistic, and Dinwiddie wanted to pique ME!”
“But Thatcher is no fool--”
“Is Thatcher a lady's man?” queried the lady suddenly.
“Hardly, I should say,” responded Wiles. “He pretends to be absorbed in
his swindle and devoted to his mine; and I don't think that even you--”
he stopped with a slight sneer.
“There, you are misunderstanding me again, and, what is worse, you are
misunderstanding your case. Thatcher is pleased with her because he has
probably seen no one else. Wait till he comes to Washington and has an
opportunity for comparison;” and she cast a frank glance at her mirror,
where Wiles, with a sardonic bow, left her standing.
Mr. Gashwiler was quite as confident of his own success with Congress.
“We are within a few days of the end of the session. We will manage to
have it taken up and rushed through before that fellow Thatcher knows
what he is about.”
“If it could be done before he gets here,” said Wiles, “it's a
reasonably sure thing. He is delayed two days: he might have been
delayed longer.” Here Mr. Wiles sighed. If the accident had happened
on a mountain road, and the stage had been precipitated over the abyss,
what valuable time would have been saved, and success become a surety.
But Mr. Wiles's functions as an advocate did not include murder; at
least, he was doubtful if it could be taxed as costs.
“We need have no fears, sir,” resumed Mr. Gashwiler; “The matter is now
in the hands of the highest tribunal of appeal in the country. It
will meet, sir, with inflexible justice. I have already prepared some
remarks--”
“By the way,” interrupted Wiles infelicitously, “where's your young
man,--your private secretary,--Dobbs?”
The Congressman for a moment looked confused. “He is not here. And I
must correct your error in applying that term to him. I have never put
my confidence in the hands of any one.”
“But you introduced him to me as your secretary?”
“A mere honorary title, sir. A brevet rank. I might, it is true, have
thought to repose such a trust in him. But I was deceived, sir, as I
fear I am too apt to be when I permit my feelings as a man to overcome
my duty as an American legislator. Mr. Dobbs enjoyed my patronage and
the opportunity it gave me to introduce him into public life only to
abuse it. He became, I fear, deeply indebted. His extravagance was
unlimited, his ambition unbounded, but without, sir, a cash basis. I
advanced money to him from time to time upon the little property you
so generously extended to him for his services. But it was quickly
dissipated. Yet, sir, such is the ingratitude of man that his family
lately appealed to me for assistance. I felt it was necessary to
be stern, and I refused. I would not for the sake of his family say
anything, but I have missed, sir, books from my library. On the day
after he left, two volumes of Patent Office reports and a Blue Book of
Congress, purchased that day by me at a store on Pennsylvania avenue,
were MISSING,--missing! I had difficulty, sir, great difficulty in
keeping it from the papers!”
As Mr. Wiles had heard the story already from Gashwiler's acquaintances,
with more or less free comment on the gifted legislator's economy, he
could not help thinking that the difficulty had been great indeed. But
he only fixed his malevolent eye on Gashwiler and said:
“So he is gone, eh?”
“Yes.”
“And you've made an enemy of him? That's bad.”
Mr. Gashwiler tried to look dignifiedly unconcerned; but something in
his visitor's manner made him uneasy.
“I say it is bad, if you have. Listen. Before I left here, I found at a
boardinghouse where he had boarded, and still owed a bill, a trunk which
the landlord retained. Opening it, I found some letters and papers to
yours, with certain memoranda of his, which I thought ought to be in
YOUR possession. As an alleged friend of his, I redeemed the trunk by
paying the amount of his bill, and secured the more valuable papers.”
Gashwiler, whose face had grown apoplectically suffused as Wiles went
on, at last gasped: “But you got the trunk, and have the papers?”
“Unfortunately, no; and that's why it's bad.”
“But, good God! what have you done with them?”
“I've lost them somewhere on the Overland Road.”
Mr. Gashwiler sat for a few moments speechless, vacillating between a
purple rage and a pallid fear. Then he said hoarsely:
“They are all blank forgeries,--every one of them.”
“Oh, no!” said Wiles, smiling blandly on his dexter side, and enjoying
the whole scene malevolently with his sinister eye. “YOUR papers are all
genuine, and I won't say are not all right, but unfortunately I had in
the same bag some memoranda of my own for the use of my client, that,
you understand, might be put to some bad use if found by a clever man.”
The two rascals looked at each other. There is on the whole really very
little “honor among thieves,”--at least great ones,--and the inferior
rascal succumbed at the reflection of what HE might do if he were in the
other rascal's place. “See here, Wiles,” he said, relaxing his dignity
with the perspiration that oozed from every pore, and made the collar of
his shirt a mere limp rag. “See here, WE”--this first use of the plural
was equivalent to a confession--“we must get them papers.”
“Of course,” said Wiles coolly, “if we CAN, and if Thatcher doesn't get
wind of them.”
“He cannot.”
“He was on the coach when I lost them, coming East.”
Mr. Gashwiler paled again. In the emergency he had recourse to the
sideboard and a bottle, forgetting Wiles. Ten minutes before Wiles would
have remained seated; but it is recorded that he rose, took the bottle
from the gifted Gashwiler's fingers, helped himself FIRST, and then sat
down.
“Yes, but, my boy,” said Gashwiler, now rapidly changing situations with
the cooler Wiles; “yes, but, old fellow,” he added, poking Wiles with a
fat forefinger, “don't you see the whole thing will be up before he gets
here?”
“Yes,” said Wiles gloomily, “but those lazy, easy, honest men have a
way of popping up just at the nick of time. They never need hurry; all
things wait for them. Why, don't you remember that on the very day Mrs.
Hopkinson and I and you got the President to sign that patent, that very
day one of them d--n fellows turns up from San Francisco or Australia,
having taken his own time to get here,--gets here about half an hour
after the President had signed the patent and sent it over to the
office, finds the right man to introduce him to the President, has a
talk with him, makes him sign an order countermanding its issuance, and
undoes all that has been done in six years in one hour.”
“Yes, but Congress is a tribunal that does not revoke its decrees,”
said Gashwiler with a return of his old manner; “at least,” he added,
observing an incredulous shrug in the shoulder of his companion, “at
least DURING THE SESSION.”
“We shall see,” said Wiles, quietly taking his hat.
“We shall see, sir,” said the member from Remus with dignity.