IN THE CENTRE OF THE BIG STATE WEB
Chairman Presson, going his way next morning, had to confess to himself
that he did not have much to do with the workings of the Fort Canibas
caucus. But it was worth while to see it. It revealed the character of
the opposition throughout the State. And he did a notable job in the
publicity line immediately. That was his opportunity of "rallying to the
flag." The Duke had got his blow in first; the chairman of the State
Committee got his news in first--for the State machine controlled the
principal newspapers.
First news, put right, wins. The caucus in Fort Canibas exposed the
methods of "so-called reformers"--as the report of it was set forth in
print. And that news was a tocsin for town committeemen who had been
dozing.
Thelismer Thornton, House leader, party boss, knight of the old regime,
and representative of all that the reformers had been inveighing
against, still controlled his district. That fact was impressed upon
all. And the more vociferous the resulting complaints of the opposition,
the more apparent it became that it was no mere skirmish party that had
been sent out against him; he had whipped the generals themselves. His
methods were mentioned discreetly; his results were made known to all
men.
The fact that it was his grandson who had been nominated was not
emphasized as an item of general knowledge. That "Thornton had been
nominated" was. It was the essential point.
It was accepted as a tip by the many who were waiting and wondering just
what this reform movement would accomplish in actual results--and that
means ability to own and distribute plums. It shifted the complexion of
many caucuses, or rather fixed that complexion, without any one being
the wiser; for the managers of districts had been waiting for tips
without saying anything in regard to their uncertainty. That's an
essential in practical politics--being able to wait without letting any
one know of the waiting. It gives a man his chance to cheer with the
winner and declare himself an "original." The convert is never half as
precious in politics as an "original." It is in heaven that the joy over
the sinner who repenteth is comforting and extreme. In politics the
first men on the band-wagon get the hand and what's in it.
And yet, as the tide of caucuses swelled and reports of results flowed
into State headquarters, Chairman Presson and his lieutenants found
themselves unable to mark men with the old certitude of touch. There was
a queer kind of slipperiness everywhere. It was evident that the Canibas
result had stiffened backbones in many quarters, but more new men than
usual were coming forward with nominations in their fists. Many of these
men were not telling any one how they felt on the big questions that
were agitating the State. Some announced themselves with the usual
grandiloquent generalities. It is easy enough to say that one believes
in reform and good citizenship, for one can construe that later to suit
circumstances.
The reformers were making a great deal of noise, mostly threats. They
were passing to candidates specific questions as to their stand on the
larger issues. Many candidates who had subscribed and declared
themselves dodged up to headquarters on the sly and assured the State
chairman that they had pledged their positions because it seemed to be a
reform year, and they had to do something to shut up the yawp of the
reformers. When they privately assured Presson that they would be found
on the right side just the same after election, he took heart for a
moment, and then was downcast after they were gone; it was tabulating
liars--an uncertain job. Presson listened and took what courage he
could, but the asterisks in his lists confessed his doubts.
"There's a line of stars down those lists that would puzzle the man who
invented political astronomy," he told his intimates. "But I don't dare
to go looking for the trouble right now. It'll be like a man looking for
measles in his family of thirteen; it'll break out if it's there--he
won't have to hunt for it."
The Republican State Convention was called for late June. The party
managers believed that it would clarify the situation somewhat; "it
would afford an opportunity for conference and free debate on the big
questions where division of opinion existed," so the party organs
assured their readers day by day. Chairman Presson asked them to drum
this idea into the heads of the people.
But what he told himself and the secret council was that there needed to
be a round-up where some of the wild steers could be thrown and branded
before they should succeed in stampeding the main herd. It was a
situation that called for one of the good, old-fashioned "nights
before." For a practical politician knows that speeches and band music
do not make a convention; they merely ratify the real convention; the
real convention is held "the night before," behind closed doors at the
headquarters hotel.
There were two candidates for the gubernatorial nomination. The natural
legatee of the old regime in his party was in line, of course. He had
been in line for ten years, as his predecessors had waited before him.
He had served apprenticeship after the usual fashion: had given his
money and his time; he had won the valuable title which only he who has
suffered and has been bled can win, that of "the logical candidate."
But that seemed not the halcyon year for "the logical candidate."
The inevitable had happened in the matter of political succession. There
had been too long a line of successors. The machine had become too close
a corporation. A machine, over-long in power, by the approved process of
making itself strong makes itself weak. It must pass around the
offices. When it picks the best men it makes enemies of all those it
disappoints. That includes principals and followers. For a time these
"best men" have enough of a personal following to repel boarders. But
party "best men" must make enemies in fortifying themselves and their
friends.
Every time a matter is decided between factions, or a political seeker
wins a subordinate job, a rival and his friends are sent away to sulk.
And so at last, in the process of making the fortress impregnable, the
big wall falls and "the unders" come into the citadel.
Chairman Presson would not allow that the situation in that year of
reform unrest was as bad as the "unders" seemed to think. But he was
worried because he was finding all men liars. And when men are lying and
marking time in politics and glancing over their shoulders, look out for
the stampede!
In a stampede "a logical candidate" is the first one to be trampled on.
This one was threatened in earnest.
His opponent in his own party was Protest walking on two legs and
thundering anathema through a mat of mustaches that made him a marked
figure in any throng. His enemies called him "Fog-horn" Spinney; his
admirers considered him a silver-tongued orator. As a professional
organizer of leagues, clubs, orders, and societies he knew by their
first names men enough to elect him if he could be nominated. And Arba
Spinney's methods may be known from the fact that once he got enough
votes to make him a State Senator by asking his auditors at each rally
to feel of the lumps in the corners of their ready-made vests. A man who
is fingering the sheddings of shoddy feels like voting for the candidate
who declares that he will make a sheep a respectable member of society
once more.
As "a logical candidate," David Everett, ending his four years as a
member of the Governor's executive council, was the refinement of
political grooming. And he was "safe." A well-organized political
machine has no use for any other sort!
Arba Spinney, vociferous, rank outsider, apostrophizing the "tramp of
the cowhide boots," reckless in his denunciation of every man who held
office, promising everything that would catch a vote, urging overturn
for the sake of overturn and a new deal, marked the other extreme. For
the mass, Change, labelled Reform, seems wholly desirable. Political
sagacity saw trouble ahead. And no one in the State was politically more
sagacious than Thelismer Thornton, who had seen men come and seen men
go, and knew all their moods and fancies.
On the morning that the State chairman hurried out of Fort Canibas he
discussed the matter of the rival candidates with the old man--that is
to say, he talked and Thornton listened. And the more the chairman
talked, the more his own declarations convinced him.
"Why, the old bull fiddle can't fool the convention, Thelismer. He's
running around the State now, and they're listening to him like they'd
listen to a steam calliope, but what he says don't amount to anything
for an argument. It's the pledged delegates that count."
The old man drew a fat, black wallet from his hip pocket, and leisurely
extracted a packet of newspaper clippings.
"I've been watching the lists of delegates as they've been chosen, Luke.
But I fail to see where you're getting pledged delegations."
"They don't need to be pledged, not the men our town committees are
picking."
"Your town committees may be picking the men for delegates, but it is
the caucus that does the pledging. And the delegates are being sent out
without labels. You don't dare to insist on the pledges--now, do you?"
"You know as well as I do, Thelismer, there's no need of shaking the red
rag this year. We're making a different play. We've been having our
newspapers drum hard on the tune: 'Leave it out to the people.' It'll be
Everett all right in the convention, but we don't want to seem to be
prying open their jaws and jamming him down their throats."
Thornton fingered his clippings.
"Luke, I thought you realized yesterday after that caucus of mine was
over just how sick your State campaign is. But you've started in
hollering now to try to convince yourself that it isn't so. You can't
afford to do that. I've been in this thing longer than you have. I've
seen the symptoms before. I recognize the signs of a stampede. That
convention will be ripe for one. And you know what will happen to Dave
Everett, once they get started! You and I know there ain't a thing that
can be said for him except that he's the residuary legatee of all the
machine politics that's been played in this State for the last
twenty-five years. That's between us, and you and I might as well talk
the thing as it is. She's balancing, Luke. She's right up on end. And
there'll be enough old wind-bags in that convention to get up a devil of
a breeze. They'll blow her over."
The State chairman had started to leave, after his declaration. His
automobile was purring at the foot of the steps. But he turned his back
on the expectant chauffeur, and tramped onto the porch.
"You don't mean to tell me that 'Fog-horn' Spinney is a dangerous
candidate, do you?"
"No, but Everett _is_! It happens once in so often, Luke--a situation
like this. Everett is lugging too much. Last fire we had in the village
here Ed Stilson tried to lug an old-fashioned bureau on his back and a
feather tick in his teeth, but he couldn't get through the door."
"Thelismer, why have you waited till now before saying this? I'd rather
have your judgment in political futures than that of any other man in
this State. But this is a damnation poor time to be getting around to me
with it."
"We had a caucus here yesterday, Luke, I'd only been suspecting till
then. In politics I'm quite a fellow to judge the whole piece in the web
by a sample. And I tell you Everett is going to make a dangerous
proposition for us!"
Presson stared at him for a full minute, blinking, thinking, knotting
his brows, and chewing fiercely on a piece of gum.
"Pull him out--that what you mean? Well, it can be done. There are
plenty of men in the party that are all safe and right, but haven't been
identified with the machine."
"And what will you say to Dave Everett and his friends, all of whom
you'll need at the polls?"
"It's a party exigency, isn't it?"
"It can be called that--and you can call a skunk 'Kitty' on your way
home from the club, but that fact won't change your wife's opinion of
you when you come in. You walk up to Dave Everett now with your
political exigency in your hand, Luke, and it would turn to a political
_ax_egency, and you'd have a pack of rebels on your back that would down
you sure! No, sir! You can't afford to smash a man that way."
"Then we'll ram him through the convention, reformers or no reformers!"
"You haven't got your crowd."
"Thelismer, you're right! I wouldn't have admitted it yesterday, but
after seeing how they came roaring up against you, I'm scared. I'm going
to pull Everett out of the fight and set up another man--one of the
young and liberal fellows. I'll do it within twenty-four hours!"
The Duke replaced his clippings and shoved the big wallet into his
pocket.
"Sudden remedies are sometimes good in extreme cases, Luke," he drawled,
"but administering knockout drops to a sick party is not to be
recommended."
The chairman's patience left him then.
"What kind of a trick is this, standing up here at the eleventh hour and
putting the knife into your party?" he demanded, wrathfully.
"I had a dog once, Luke, that was snapping at flies in general as he was
lying on the porch here, and he snapped at a brown hackle fly that was
hitched onto a fish-line. And he ran off down the road with a hook in
his mouth and sixty yards of line and a pole following him. You'd better
spit out that last fly, Luke. Now will you take a little advice from me,
on the condition that I'll follow up that advice with some practical
help?"
"That's what I'm waiting for."
"Then you get back onto your job, and leave Everett just where he
is--not one word to him or his friends. That's the advice part. The help
will come when I've got a few things straightened out a little more."
"The convention is less than three weeks off. What's your plan? I want
to know it now."
"Well, you won't."
"Do you think for a moment that I, the chairman of the Republican State
Committee, am going into a convention with blinders on?"
"You can go in any way you want to," retorted the Duke, calmly. "But
that's all you're going to hear from me to-day, Luke. Faith without
works is no good. You furnish the faith, and I'll furnish the works."
"I never heard of any such devilish campaign management as this,"
grumbled the chairman. "You're talking to me as though I didn't know any
more politics than a village hog-reeve."
"Well, I'm the doctor in this case, providing I'm called," said the old
man. "Just now I'm feeling of the pulse and making the diagnosis, and am
getting ready to prescribe the dose. I'll call you into consultation,
Luke, when the right time comes, and I'll guarantee that nothing will
leak out to wound your pride or your political reputation. But I want to
say that if you stand here to-day waiting to hear any more about what I
intend to do, you'd better shut off that automobile. You won't be
leaving for quite a spell."
The chairman knew his man. He trotted down the steps and got into his
car.
"When you get ready to let me know how you're running this campaign,
you'll find me at headquarters," he said, wrathfully, by way of
farewell. Then he departed, with the news of how Thelismer Thornton was
still boss of the northern principality--but that Thelismer Thornton,
Nestor of State politicians, had calmly arrogated to himself the sole
handling of the biggest question in State politics, the chairman kept to
himself. He was in too desperate straits to rebel at that time.
Furthermore, he knew that Thelismer Thornton in the years past had
served as kedge for many a political craft that a lee shore threatened.
He was measurably contented, after reflection, to have the old man take
the thing into his own hands in that masterful fashion.
The Duke pulled his chair to the end of the porch, where he could look
across to the far hills beyond the river. He lighted one of his long
cigars, put his feet on the rail, and began to smoke, squinting
thoughtfully, pondering deeply.
To all practical intents and purposes he was holding there on the porch
of "The Barracks" the next State convention of the Republican party. The
birds were busy about the old blockhouse opposite, coming and going. He
seemed to be studying their movements through his half-open eyes, as
though they were prospective delegates. And at last a grim smile of
satisfaction fixed itself upon his face.
His grandson found him in this amiable mood when he came with the losers
by the Jo Quacca fire. Each man submitted his list rather defiantly.
They sat down and scowled while Harlan told what he had discovered in
his investigation of the circumstances.
"I have not tried to beat them down," he concluded. "I even reminded
them of a few items they had overlooked. What happened yesterday was
enough to make almost any man forget things."
He was inclined to be a little defiant, too, fighting the battles of the
property owners, even though his own pocket must suffer by the
settlement.
But the Duke preserved his unruffled demeanor. He slowly made some
figures on the bottoms of the papers and passed the sheets to his
grandson.
"Fill in the checks and bring them out here and I'll sign 'em," he
directed. And as Harlan bent over him, he whispered: "You're playing
good politics now, boy. Stand up for the under dog. I see you're
remembering that you're a candidate."
"I'm only doing what's right," protested the young man.
"When you can be right and still play politics, you're getting ahead
fast," murmured the Duke. "Fill in the checks!"
"But you've increased their own appraisal! You're giving them more than
they've asked for!" Harlan was careless of the presence of the three
farmers.
"Well, wasn't it your own suggestion that we use these men right?"
demanded his grandfather. He gazed benignantly on the claimants. "I'm
square, myself, when it comes to my debts, boys. You all know that. But
Harlan argued your case last night in a way that's worth the extra
money. If he can do that here at home, first crack out of the box, when
it's our own money at stake, don't you think he'll do a pretty good job
for you down at the State House, where it'll be a case of the public
money?"
His grandson had gone into the house. He had found himself at a loss for
words, suddenly.
"Harlan is as straight as a stilya'd, and allus has been," admitted one
of the men, gratefully. He was wondering how much the Duke had added to
the amount.
"All of you think now that a fellow like that will make a pretty good
sort of a representative, don't you?"
They muttered assent.
"Well, why did you back-district chaps come in here yesterday and try to
lick him in the caucus?"
They had no answer ready. They looked at the porch floor, and rasped
their hard hands together and cracked their knuckles in embarrassment.
The old man kept his complacency.
"I'll tell you how it was, boys. You got fooled, now, didn't you? You
let 'em use you like old Samson used the foxes. Now, the next time one
of those disturber fellows ties a blazing pine knot to your tail, you
sit right down and gnaw the string in two before you start to run.
Because a man holds office it's no sign he's a renegade. You'll usually
find the renegades standing outside and slandering him and trying to get
his office away for their own use. They got you going, didn't they, when
they went around telling that I thought I owned you in this district,
body and soul? Got you jealous and suspicious and mad? Can you afford to
be jealous and mad when you've got a fellow like Harlan Thornton willing
to go down to the legislature and work for you? Do you want one of those
blatherskites to represent you? Now tell me!"
"Poor men that have to work all the time don't have the chance to look
into public things as much as they ought to," said one of the men,
apologetically. "And sometimes when a fellow comes around who can talk
smooth we get fooled."
"You've bought a lot of fake things from travelling agents in this
county. Now don't buy fake politics," He took the checks from his
grandson's hand. Harlan had brought them, and a pen. He cocked his knee
and scrawled his signature. They came to him and took their checks. Each
stood there, holding the slip of paper awkwardly pinched between thumb
and forefinger. The Duke waited.
"I want to say this," stammered the spokesman. "You get fooled
sometimes. Most often in politics. But no one can fool us again--not
about the Thornton family."
"Pass that word around the district, boys," advised the Duke,
complacently. "There's an election coming, you know."
They departed, three new and promising evangelists.
"Campaign expenses, bub," broke in the old man, when Harlan began;
"campaign expenses! It's a soggy lump of dough out back there. That kind
of yeast will lighten it."
He looked across at the hills, squinting reflectively again, and at last
glanced up at his grandson, who stood regarding him with thoughtful
hesitation.
"Say it, boy!" he counselled. "A little more bile left over from
yesterday?"
"No, sir! Not that. But I think I'll send Ben Kyle in with the crews and
let him locate the new camps."
"I didn't intend to have you go back--not if you'd listen to me. We've
got men enough to attend to that sort of work, Harlan. I want you with
me for a while. I've got some plans for you."
"And I've got a few plans for myself. Now that I'm in this, I propose to
be in it in earnest."
"You wouldn't be a Thornton if you didn't get at it all over," commended
the Duke. "You see, I understood you, boy!"
"I'm going to call on every man in this district and tell him where I
stand. I'm going to tell him that if there are honest men in that
legislature I propose to be counted in with them. I may be a very humble
helper, but I'm going to lift with all my strength, grandfather, on the
square-deal end of every proposition that I find to lay hold of."
"Good politics, boy, all good politics!" declared the old man. With
humor that had a little malicious fun in it he avoided endorsing this
impulsive zeal as anything except shrewd playing of his own game. But
his eyes told the young man what his lips did not utter. There was pride
in them, encouragement, joy that would not be hidden--and something
else: wistful regret, perhaps; it seemed to be that--the regret that age
feels when it has lost its illusions and beholds them springing again in
the heart of fervent youth; regret conscious that in its turn this new
faith in things present and things to come will be dead and cold, too.
"I don't think we have to worry much about the election, Harlan. Go out
and tackle the boys. You'll make good. Take two days. That'll be time
enough. And then I want you."
Harlan's eyes questioned him.
"You know I opened up a little to you last night, bub. You're all I've
got, you know. I've not been much of a hand to talk. I don't believe
you've realized just how I've felt. But we'll let it stand as it is.
I've got plans for you, boy, better than the little pancake politics of
this district. I know a few things in politics. I'm old enough to
understand how to put you in right. It's one thing to know how, and it's
another thing to find occasion just ripe and ready."
He rolled his cigar to the centre of his mouth and lifted the corners in
an illuminating grin.
"Bub, in two days be ready to come with me. I'm going to put you in
right!"