A MAN FROM THE SHADOWS
There was a provoking flavor of mystery about Thelismer Thornton's early
movements the next day. His grandson became still more interested. This
element in politics appealed to him, for he was young.
They left the city by an early train. The Duke secluded himself and his
grandson in a drawing-room of the car.
It was an express--train which did not stop at way stations. But when
the conductor came for the tickets the old man inquired whether orders
had been issued to have the train held up at a certain siding.
"Yes, sir, to leave two passengers," said the conductor. He was
courteous, but he winked at the old politician with the air of one who
thought he understood something. He exhibited his telegram from the
dispatcher. "Can't be much politics there, Mr. Thornton," he remarked,
by way of jest.
"I'm on a fishing-trip," explained the Duke, blandly. And the conductor,
who knew that the siding had no fishing water within ten miles of it,
went away chuckling in order to applaud the joke of a man of power.
A few hours later the two were let off at the siding and the train
hurried on.
There was a farm-house near the railroad. They ate dinner with the
farmer and his wife, who seemed to realize that they were entertaining
some one out of the ordinary, and were much flustered thereby.
Especially did the farmer struggle with his vague memory of
personalities, asking many round-about questions and "supposing" many
possibilities that the Duke placidly neglected to confirm.
The only definite information the farmer received was that the big
elderly man wanted himself and his companion conveyed to Burnside
Village by wagon, starting in the late afternoon.
"I'll take you," said the man; "but what sticks me is that you didn't
stay right on board that train. It stops at Burnside regular, and it
don't stop here at all."
"But it stopped to-day," remarked the Duke.
"I know it did, and that's what sticks me again."
The old man rose from the table and smiled down on him.
"Here's a good cigar, brother. I've often worked out many a puzzle while
having a bang-up smoke."
He invited Harlan by a nod of the head, and they went out and strolled
in the maple grove behind the house.
"I suppose you think by this time, bub, that I'm in my second childhood,
and playing dime novel. But there are some things in politics that have
to be done as gentle and careful as picking a rose petal off a
school-ma'am's shoulder." The Duke chuckled and smoked for a time. "When
I've had a job of that sort to do I haven't even talked to myself,
Harlan. So you mustn't think I'm distrustful of you because I don't tell
you what's on."
"I'm willing to wait," said his grandson.
"Learn your lesson, Harlan--the one I'm trying to teach you now. I never
knew but one man who could keep his mouth shut under all circumstances
when he felt it was his duty to do so. That was old Ben Holt. He's dead
now. He fell off a bridge on his way to church and didn't holler 'Help!'
for fear of breaking the Sabbath. You don't find any more of that kind
in these days--not in political matters. I'm not distrusting you, I say,
but I'm teaching you the lesson. Keep your mouth shut till it's time to
open it. I'm drawing this thing here strong on you, so as to impress it.
As for the other fellows--if I had got off the train at Burnside to-day
the news would have been in every afternoon paper in the State. They'd
only need that one fact to build fifty stories on--all different. _Most_
of those stories would have hurt; there'd have been one guess, at least,
that would kill the scheme. Sit down here, and let's take it easy."
He sat at the foot of a tree, his broad straw hat beside him. He leaned
his head against the trunk, and gazed upward and away from his grandson.
When the question came it was so irrelevant, so astonishing, that the
young man gasped without replying.
"Harlan, how do you stand with the Kavanagh girl?"
The old man smoked on in the silence without removing his gaze from the
leaves above his head.
"I want to confess to you, my boy, that your old grandfather made rather
a disgraceful exhibition of himself the other day. But as I said then, a
man will thrash and swear at a hornet and make an ass of himself,
generally, in the operation. The impudent little fool didn't realize
what a big matter she was trifling with."
"Grandfather," protested Harlan, manfully, "that's no way to speak of a
young lady. You ask me how I stand? I stand this way--I'll not have the
child mentioned in any such manner--not in my hearing; and that's with
all respect to you, sir."
"Young lady--child? Well, which is she?"
"I don't know," confessed Harlan, ingenuously. "And it doesn't make
much difference."
"Sort of ashamed of me, aren't you?" inquired his grandfather. "A man
that you've seen all the politicians catering to the last day or so, and
small enough to bandy insults with a snippet of a girl! Well, bub,
there's a lot of childishness in human nature. It breaks out once in a
while. Cuss a tack, and grin and bear an amputation! We'll let the girl
alone. I don't seem to get in right when she is mentioned. But I wanted
to have you tell me that you don't intend to marry Dennis Kavanagh's
daughter. You can't afford to do that, boy! Not with your prospects. And
now I'm not saying anything against the girl. We'll leave her out, I
say. It's just that she isn't the kind of a woman--when she gets to be a
woman--that I want to see mated with you." He burst out: "Dammit,
Harlan, I can see where you're going to land in this State if you'll let
your old gramp have free rein! And the right kind of a wife is half the
battle in what you're going into."
"Have you got that right kind picked out for me--along with the rest?
You talk as though you had."
It was said almost in the tone of insult. It might have been the
tone--it might have been that the taunt touched upon the truth:
Thelismer Thornton's face flushed. He did not seem to find reply easy.
"There's only this to say, grandfather. I know you're interested in me
and in seeing me get ahead in the world. You pushed me into politics,
and I'm trying to make good. I'm glad you did it--I'll say that now. I
see opportunities ahead if I stay square and honest. But don't you try
to push me into marriage. I'm going to do my own choosing there. And
that doesn't mean that I'm in love with Clare Kavanagh, or intend to
marry Clare Kavanagh, or want to marry her--or that she wants to marry
me. That's straight, and I don't want to talk about it any more."
He stood up, and his tone was defiant.
"You'd better take a walk, bub," commended the Duke, quietly. "I'm going
to nap for a little while. We may be up late to-night."
He picked up his hat and canted it over his face. "Get back here as
early as five o'clock," he said, from under its brim.
They were away in the farmer's carryall at that hour, after a supper of
bread-and-milk.
In the edge of the village of Burnside the Duke ordered a halt, and
stepped down from the carriage. The evening had settled in and it was
dark under the elms.
"Here's five dollars, brother. You've used us all right, and now so long
to you."
"But I hain't got you to nowhere yet!" protested the farmer. He had
finally decided in his own mind that these were railroad managers
planning projects, with an eye on his own farm. He wanted to carry them
where he could exhibit them to some one who could inform him.
But the Duke promptly drew Harlan along into the shadows, and a farmer
hampered with a two-seated carriage is not equipped for the trail. They
heard the complaining squeal of iron against iron as he turned to go
back home.
"We've come here to call on a man," stated the Duke, after they had
walked for a little time.
"On ex-Governor Waymouth, I suppose," Harlan suggested, quietly.
The old man chuckled.
"How long have you been suspecting that?"
"Ever since I heard Burnside mentioned, of course."
"Good! You guessed and kept still about it. You've got the makings of a
politician, and you are learning fast. Now what do you suppose I'm
sneaking up on Varden Waymouth in this way for?"
"You said I'd see for myself when the time came. I'm in no hurry,
grandfather."
The Duke patted Harlan's shoulder. "You're one of my kind, that's sure,
boy. I haven't got to put any patent time-lock onto your tongue. And I
can't say that of many chaps in this State. You're a safe man to have
along. Come on!"
The house was back from the street a bit--a modest mansion of brick,
dignifiedly old. Tall twin columns flanked the front door and supported
the roof of the porch. Harlan had never seen the residence of General
Waymouth before, but that exterior seemed fitted to the man, such as he
knew him to be.
He admitted them himself, when they had waited a few moments after
sounding alarm with the ancient knocker. Framed in the door, he was a
picturesque figure. His abundant white hair hung straight down over his
ears, and curled outward at the ends; his short beard was snowy, but
there was healthful ruddiness on his face, and though his figure, tall
above the average, stooped a bit, he walked briskly ahead of them into
the library, crying delighted welcome over his shoulder. His meeting
with Thelismer Thornton had been almost an embrace.
"And this boosting big chap is Harlan--my grand-baby, Vard! Guess you
used to see him at 'The Barracks' when he was smaller. Since then he's
been trying to outgrow one of our spruce-trees."
The ex-Governor gave Harlan his left hand. The empty sleeve of the right
arm was pinned to the shoulder.
"The old Yankee stock doesn't need a step-ladder to stand on to light
the moon, so they used to say."
He rolled chairs close to each other and urged them to sit, with the
anxious hospitality of the old man who has grown to prize the narrowing
circle of his intimates.
"Smoke, Thelismer," he pleaded. "Stretch out and smoke. I always like to
see you smoke. You take so much comfort. I sometimes wish I'd learned to
smoke. Old age gets lonely once in a while. Perhaps a good cigar might
be a consolation."
"So you do get lonesome sometimes, Vard?" inquired the Duke.
"It's a lonesome age when you're eighty, comrade. You probably find it
so yourself. There are so few of one's old friends that live to be
eighty."
Then they fell into discourse, eager, wistful reminiscences such as come
to the lips of old friends who meet infrequently. The young man, sitting
close in the circle, listened appreciatively. This courtly old soldier,
lawyer, Governor, and kindly gentleman had been to him since boyhood, as
he had to the understanding youth of his State, an ideal knight of the
old régime. And so the hours slipped past, and he sat listening.
The calm night outside was breathlessly still, except for the drone of
insects at the screens, attracted by the glow of the library lamp. A
steeple clock clanged its ten sonorous strokes, and still the old men
chatted on, and the Duke had not hinted at his errand.
The General suddenly remembered that he had in the cellar some home-made
wine, and he asked the young man to come with him, as lamp-bearer.
"The good wife would have thought of that little touch of hospitality
long ago, my son," he said, as they walked down the stairs, "but a
widower's house with grouchy hired help makes old age still more
lonely."
On their return they found the Duke, feet extended, head tipped back,
eyes on the ceiling. He was deep in thought, and told Harlan to place
his glass on the chair's arm.
"Varden," he said, "eighty isn't old, not for a man like you; and it
shouldn't be lonely, that age. I'm still older, and I propose to wear
out instead of rust out."
"I don't feel rusty, exactly," returned the General, smiling into his
glass. "But when I think of all the marches, Thelismer, of the
campaigns, the heartbreaking struggles of the war--of all the cases won
and cases lost, the nights of study and days of labor in the law--the
fuss and fury of politics--of all the years behind me, I feel as though
I'd like to be used as my father used his old boots: Before he took his
bed for the last time he went up into the garret of the old farm-house
and laid his boots there on their sides. 'Let 'em lie down, now, and
rest,' he said. And I've never allowed them to be disturbed."
The Duke still stared at the ceiling.
"Varden, you and I have known each other so long that you don't need as
much talk from me as you would from a stranger. When I've asked a thing
from you in the past I didn't have to sit down and talk to you an hour
about the reasons why I wanted it. You understood that I had a good
reason for asking. I'm going to ask just one more thing from you in this
life. I'm going to ask it straight from the shoulder. You and I don't
need to beat about the bush with each other. I want you to say 'yes,'
for if you don't you're abandoning our old State as though she were a
widow headed for the almshouse."
Thornton leaned forward, grasped his glass and drained it at a gulp, and
then looked the amazed General squarely in the eyes.
"You're going to be nominated as Governor of this State in the next
convention, and you've got to accept," he declared. "Now hold on! Just
as you understand that I've got good reasons for asking you to do this,
just so I understand all that you're going to say in objection. I
discount all your objections in advance. I know you haven't lost run of
affairs in this State--you know all the mix-up the party is in right
now. They're going to beat Dave Everett in convention, General, just as
sure as the devil can't freeze his own ice. It's going to be
'Seventy-two all over again. People gone crazy for a change and jumping
the wrong way, like grasshoppers in front of a mowing machine. Spinney
means the whole rotten thing over again--State treasury looted, tax rate
reduced to get a popular hoorah, a floating debt that will make us
stagger and keep enterprise out of this State for ten years, petty graft
in every State office, and every strap on the party nag busted from
snaffle to crupper. Now I want to ask you one question: Do you want Arba
Spinney for the next Governor of this State--sitting in the chair that
you honored? You know him! You've heard his mouth go. You understand his
calibre. Do you want him?"
"No," admitted General Waymouth.
"Well, you're going to get him if you don't accept that nomination.
You're going to get him, blab-mouth, mob-rule, mortification, and merry
hell--the whole bagful! Do you want that for this State, Vard?"
"Our State can't afford to have such a man," agreed General Waymouth,
"but--"
"I'd, myself, rather see a Democrat win at the polls!" shouted Thornton.
"But the Democrat that they've got in line is worse than Spinney. It's a
popocratic year, and they're all playing that game. But they can't
overcome our natural plurality, Varden. It means Spinney if he goes to
the polls! It's up to you to stop him. You've got to do it!"
The General rose and walked around the room. His shoulders were stooped
a bit more. Then he came and put his hand on Thelismer's shoulder.
"Your faith in what I am and what I might do is worthy of you, my old
comrade, even if it exalts my poor powers too much. And I thank you,
Thelismer. But I know what I am. I'm only a stranded old man. The
younger generation will not think as you do. Go and find some good man
there. I'm too weary, Thelismer, too old and too weary--and almost
forgotten. Find another man!"
"What's that? Find a man for Governor of this State, groom him, work him
out, score him down and shove him under the wire of State Convention a
winner inside of two weeks? Varden, you know politics better than that!
_You_ forgotten by the younger generation of this State? Harlan, what
have you to say to that?"
The young man stood up. He had listened well and listened long that
evening. In the presence of this gracious old knight of the heroic days
of history he had felt his heart swelling as he remembered the record
that all men of his State knew.
The fervor of his admiration showed so plainly in his glistening eyes
that General Waymouth was touched, and waited indulgently.
"General, it's only because my grandfather is your old friend and has
commanded me that I dare to speak. I simply have a hope. It has become
dear to me. I'm hoping for a privilege. I honestly believe that outside
of all party preferences there are thousands of young men in this State
who will feel proud to have that same privilege--will esteem it one of
the honors of their lives. Their fathers had the same honor. And that's
to go to the polls and cast a ballot for Gen. Varden Waymouth. It will
make politics seem worth while to us, sir."
"Good!" ejaculated the Duke. "You're hearing the voice of the young men
of this State now, Varden." He stood up. "Here's my boy for your
service. He'll be in the next legislature. Use him. Depend on him.
You're old--you've earned your rest. I know it. But here's a loud call
for a sacrifice. This boy and such as he can lift a lot of the load.
Varden, give me your hand. Say that you'll do it!"
"Let's sit down a moment," said the General, solemn gentleness in his
tone. "I have something that it's in my heart to say."
He drew his chair even closer to them. They waited a few moments for him
to speak. In that room with its dignity of ancient things, with the
silence of the summer night surrounding, that waiting was impressive.
Harlan felt the thrill of it. Even his grandfather was gravely anxious.
The General leaned forward and put his thin hand on the elder Thornton's
knee.
"Thelismer, you yourself link the past with the present, so far as the
politics of this State go. You link them even more than I do, for you
are active in the present. You have been a strong man--you are strong
to-day. But I want to say to you, and this is as friend to friend, you
haven't always used that strength right. I know what reply you'd make to
that. We've talked it all over many times. You say that you've had to
play the game. That's right. And I've played it myself, too. But in the
years since then, while I've sat at one side of the arena and looked on,
I've had a chance to meditate and a chance to observe. I don't think
matters have been running right in this State--and now I'm not speaking
of Arba Spinney or his ilk. You come to me to-night and you ask me to be
the Governor of this State once more. You want me to come back into the
game. You ask me to appeal to the suffrage of the young men who admire
what little I've accomplished. I want to warn you. I may be putting it
too strong when I call it a warning. I have some ideals to-day. You may
not find them to your liking in politics."
"I'm willing to trust in your good judgment and your sense of what is
square for all concerned," protested the Duke, stoutly. "In the hot old
days I was hot with the rest, Vard. I've mellowed some since."
"You may not find me a safe man, Thelismer. I shall come back out of the
shadows with a firm resolve to merit the approval of the young men of
this State--and the young men see more clearly than their fathers did."
"I'm not here to-night with bridle or bit or halter, Varden. We need
you. The party has got to have you. I know what your name will
accomplish in that convention. You shall be Governor of this State
without making pledge or promise. Will you stand?"
"I ask you again, Thelismer, if there is no other way?"
"Any other way means Spinney and mob rule."
General Waymouth turned to Harlan. "Go out and tell the honest young men
of this State that I will try to satisfy their ideals. That's the only
pledge I'll give. I'm afraid I haven't any promise for the old machine,
Thelismer." He smiled.
"We don't need any," returned the Duke, briskly. "We know Vard Waymouth.
But there's one pledge I do want from you. This whole thing is to be
left in my hands so far as announcement goes. My plan of campaign makes
that much necessary. We don't want to flush that bunch of birds till we
can give 'em both barrels."
"I consent. I'll live in the lingering hope that at the last moment
you'll find I won't be needed."
He rose and gave his hand to each in turn, bringing them to their feet.
"Now for bed. Of course, you'll remain here the night."
"No," declared Thornton, decisively. "Out o' here on the midnight! I
want to dodge out of Burnside in the dark. We'll walk down to the
station now. It's settled. I'll keep you posted."
At the door the General gave Harlan the last word, grasping his hand
again.
"You brought me a message from the young men that touched me."
"I spoke for myself, but I believe that all of them would like to have
the same opportunity that I had," faltered Harlan. "I know they would.
Will you let us come to you at the right time and make it plain?"
"I shall depend upon you in a great many ways in the months to come. You
know it's to be a young man's administration by an old man made young
again. I'm proud of my first volunteer!"
"He's a good boy, and he's got the makings in him," declared the Duke.
"I've been too long with men not to appreciate a good chief of staff
when I see him," laughed the General.
Framed in the big door, with the dim glow of light behind him, he
watched them depart.
The Duke walked in the far shadows of the station platform in silence,
smoking, until the train whistled.
"Bub, you remember that I told you I'd put you in right," he said,
climbing the car steps. "Now follow your hand."
But Harlan Thornton, fresh from that presence, understood that he had
pledged a loyalty deeper than the loyalty of mere politics or
preferment.