A POLITICAL CONVERT
For two days Harlan Thornton rode about over the Fort Canibas district.
He talked to men at their doors, in their shops, over the fences of
their fields. He knew that some sneered at him behind his back. Some
even dared to arraign him, boldly and angrily, and flung his motives in
his face, accusing the grandfather of inciting the grandson to this
attempt to catch votes.
He realized that most of the voters did not understand him aright. They
did not understand sincerity in politics. But his own consciousness of
rectitude supplied his consolation and provided his impetus. Till then
he had employed the Thornton grit only in his business efforts; he
employed it now with just as much vigor in his proselyting. Once in the
fight, he was awake to what it meant. His frank earnestness impressed
those with whom he talked. He did not lose his temper, when men assailed
him and tried to discredit his protestations. Here and there, in
neighborhoods, knots of farmers gathered about him and listened. He
began to win his way, and he knew it. The knowledge that Harlan Thornton
was a square man in business needed no herald in that section.
That this integrity would extend to his politics grew into belief more
and more as he went about.
The distrust of him, because of his associations, a suspicion fostered
by the paid agents of the opposition, began to give way before his calm,
earnest young manhood. But in every knot of men he found a few bitter
irreconcilables still. They were those whom change invites, and the
established order offends. One man, unable to provoke him by
vituperation, and in a frenzy of childish rage because Harlan's calm
poise was not disturbed by his outpourings, ran at him and struck him.
He was a little man, and though he leaped when he struck, the blow
landed no higher than the shoulder that Harlan turned to him. And when
he leaped again the young man caught him by the wrist and smiled down on
him, unperturbed.
"If that's the way you talk politics, Sam, I'll have to adjourn the
debate," he said, quietly. And the story of that went the rounds,
accompanied by much laughter, and the big, sturdy, serene young man who
was master of his own passions met smiles wherever he went.
Another story preceded him, too. "Fighting" MacCracken, of the Jo Quacca
neighborhood, smarting ever since that day in the yard of "The
Barracks," jealous of his prestige as a man of might, offered obscene
and brutal insult to the name of Thelismer Thornton in the hearing of
his grandson. It had been hinted previously along the border that the
six-foot scion of the Thorntons was a handy man in a scrap, but now his
prowess was surely established. MacCracken went about, a living
advertisement of how effectually righteous anger can back up two good
fists.
Therefore, respect attended on good-humor and went with, or ahead of,
the candidate.
He wondered at himself sometimes. He hardly understood the zeal that now
animated him, so sudden a convert. But the zest of youth was in him; the
spirit of the toil of the big woods, of the race with drought when the
drives are going down, the everlasting struggle with nature's forces,
the rivalry between man and man where accomplishment that bulks large in
the eyes of men is the only accomplishment that counts--all these
spurred him to make good, now that he had begun. In the open arena of
life his training had been that of man to man, and the best man taking
the prize. And his reading during the long evenings had been more in the
way of education in public matters than he had realized. As for ideals,
he had followed the masterful men who preached a gospel that appealed to
him, living the life of the open, battling for the weak against the
selfishly strong--so it seemed to the one who studied their achievements
on the printed page. With his own opportunity now thrust upon him,
Harlan Thornton determined to make candor his code, honesty his system.
He entertained no false ideas of his personal importance. But his lack
of experience did not daunt him. He simply made up his mind that he
would go forward, keeping soul and heart open, as well as eyes and ears.
He believed that the square deal could not be hidden from those who
entered public life in that manner.
He did not discuss all this with his grandfather. If he had, Thelismer
Thornton would have been vastly interested. He might have been amused.
Probably he would have been more amused than interested, for hot youth
and glowing ideals have humorous phases for the man who has lived among
men for more than eighty years.
But that he had unloosed a bottle imp in his own family would not have
occurred to the old man, even after he had listened, for he still had
the cynical belief that circumstances must control, interest convert,
and personal profit kill the most glowing ardor in reform.
Lacking the gift of divination, Thelismer Thornton watched the rapid
development of this bottle imp with much complacency. "Whispering"
Urban Cobb brought him reports from the field. Talleyrand Sylvester was
trying to place bets on Harlan Thornton, but there were no takers. It
was even stated that Enoch Dudley was finding it hard work to secure
pledges enough to warrant his running as an independent candidate.
Harlan Thornton, looking in from the outside, had found politics, as
managed _for_ him, an abhorrent mess. Now, plunged in, he was embracing
his opportunity, and finding good in the contest.
On the other hand, Harlan Thornton, making his own plea and his own
pledges as a candidate, was embraced by the voters. He was not a mere
legatee forced on them by a boss--he was speaking for himself, and the
sincerity of the young man made itself felt.
At the end of the appointed two days he knew that his prospects were
safe. One of the other towns in the district and three of the
plantations had endorsed his name in caucus. If Thelismer Thornton had
been responsible for his candidacy, so was his own personality
responsible for this clearing away of difficulties. He felt his
self-respect returning. That cruel wound to his pride was healing.
He was riding home in the evening of the second day, past the end of the
long bridge, finding comfort in this thought.
A white figure, framed in the black mouth of the bridge, startled rider
and horse.
"It's only Clare," she said. "I heard you were up the river to-day, and
I've been waiting for you."
He rode closer. It was a new and strange Clare who was revealed to him
in the dim light. She was gowned and gloved, and her broad hat hid her
boyish curls. She walked out of the gloom and leaned against the bridge
rail.
"Ah, the little playmate did ride away from me forever!" he cried,
looking her up and down. "But this young lady--why, she takes my breath
away!" He took off his hat and bowed to the pommel.
"You needn't make fun of me, Mr. Harlan Thornton," she returned,
crisply. "And a real young lady wouldn't come down in this bridge and
wait for you. I wanted to tell you I'm glad. I hear all about your
success. When I was a little girl I didn't want you to go away and be a
big man. But now that I'm a woman I'm glad you're going. I wanted you to
realize, Mr. Harlan Thornton, that I'm a woman, so if you'll reach down
your hand I'll shake it and congratulate you."
He took her little hand in both his own.
"You were a real little woman two days ago right here in this place," he
said, gratefully. "I didn't realize it at that moment, but it was what
you said to me that put some real sense into my head, after all. It set
me to thinking."
"What kind of laws are you going to make?" she demanded.
"I don't think I'll have much to do with making laws, Clare. All I can
do is listen and try to be on the right side when the voting comes."
"Can't you make a law to oblige old men to stop fighting each other,"
she demanded, petulantly--"fighting each other, and making all their
folks uncomfortable?"
"I think it would be a good law, especially in one case I know about.
But sometimes the best laws don't get passed."
"I'll come down and make a speech for it. You said I talked like old
folks the other evening."
"A speech from you would convert them all," he returned, indulging her
in this childish banter. "You see, you converted me with only a few
words, and I was a hard case just then."
"Then I'll come down to your legislature and we'll make it into a law,
and the punishment shall be, if they don't make up and allow their folks
to be comfortable and friends, they must have their old heads bumped
together--bumped harder and harder till they shake hands and make up and
live happy ever after. Old folks haven't any business to stay mad. They
won't get into heaven if they do."
She withdrew her hand, and went away into the black mouth of the bridge.
"That's all, Big Boy!" she cried. "It was some business, you see, that I
waited to talk over with you. And a grown-up young lady mustn't stay
after her business is finished."
"But I'll walk home with you!" he called.
"No, I'll not be frightened at the dark until I get old enough to be
called an old maid," she said, mischievously. "Good-night!"
He waited by the side of the river until he saw her white figure safely
through the dark bridge, and on its way up the quiet hillside past the
church. Then he rode to "The Barracks," his mind dwelling a bit more
particularly on the vagaries of womankind than it ever had before.
He joined his grandfather on the porch after he had eaten his supper
alone.
"The fences, so I hear, Harlan, will pass the inspection of the most
expert fence-viewers," he chuckled. "So I suppose you'll be ready to
leave with me to-morrow."
"If you think it's necessary to have me go anywhere with you,
grandfather, I'll go."
There was silence for a time. The young man was waiting. The old man
smoked placidly.
"Is there any reason why you can't tell me where we are going?" inquired
Harlan.
"No especial reason--only I'll be wasting time telling you. You'll see
for yourself. We'll meet a big man or so--that's all!"
"The man I'd like to meet," began the young man, fervently, "is one that
every young chap in this country can follow and ought to follow, if he's
got red blood and honesty in him. I wish I could meet him now when I'm
starting out, if only to shake his hand."
"You'd better not meet any man so long as he's wearing a halo, where
you're concerned. You'll find political halos, bub, when you get too
near to 'em, something like restaurant doughnuts--holes surrounded by
poor cooking. Better keep away a spell. That's why I'm not going to tell
you where we're going--not just now. I might go to cracking up the man
too much. I'll let you build your own halo for him--and then maybe you
can eat your own cooking, provided you find the halo a doughnut."
They left Fort Canibas the next morning, travelling humbly by mail stage
to the railroad terminus. The branch line took them to a populous
junction, and by that time Harlan Thornton began to appreciate that his
grandfather was rather more of a figure in State politics than he had
dreamed. He had made many trips with him through the State in years
past, but never before when men understood, some dimly, some fearfully,
that a political crisis was on. Thelismer Thornton's seat in the train,
his room at the hotel, was besieged by those who respectfully solicited
his opinions. They seemed to realize that some of the wisdom of the
fathers in State politics, of the patriarchs with whom he had trained,
had fallen to him by natural inheritance. But though he listened
patiently, he said but little. Harlan noticed, however, that he did take
especial pains to deprecate some of the suppressive movements advised by
the more hot-headed managers.
"Let things swing as they're going," he advised. "She'll take care of
herself, give her free run right now. But you can't pinch up a line gale
by putting a clothespin on the nose of the tempest. Let her snort! Brace
the party and face it like a hitching--post! Don't try to choke off Arba
Spinney. Let him froth."
His grandfather was so insistent on this point that Harlan took notice
of its frequent repetition and the earnestness with which it was
pressed. He began to understand that some plan lay back of his
grandfather's silence to him and to others as to his private reasons for
this appeal. He began to take lively interest in the ramifications of
practical politics as played by the hand of a master.