DEALS AND IDEALS
There was no one in the smoking-room of the car, so the Duke discovered
with relief. It was late, and the passengers were in their berths. There
was no one to spy, ask questions, or guess.
"Complete!" he grunted, satisfiedly, as he sat down. "We've come through
with the job in good shape, Harlan. It'll have to be a mind-reader that
finds out what I've put up to-day."
He swung his feet upon the seat opposite and sighed.
"I'm a pretty old man to be tearing 'round nights in this fashion, bub,
but I feel younger by twenty years just this minute. Now I didn't tell
you my plans this morning. Reckoned I'd wait till I had a clear view
ahead. I've got it now. I'll wire ahead to the junction for our baggage
to be brought from the hotel and put on board this train. We'll stay on.
State capital next. Down to Luke's place. We'll stay there till State
Convention. Finger right on the pulse after this."
He called the porter and arranged for his berths, and ordered the
telegram sent from the next station.
He began leisurely to unfasten his necktie and collar.
"Got to tell Luke, you know. A close corporation of four--that's enough
to know it. Can't trust the rest. We'll let 'em keep their old political
hen sitting on their china egg. We'll hatch the good egg in our own
nest. Then for a glorious old cackle! Vard Waymouth will be the next
Governor of this State! Sure!"
"And this State will have the right man on the job with him as
Governor!" cried the young man, enthusiastically. "I'm proud of what you
did to-night, grandfather. I don't believe he would have listened to
anyone else."
"Friendship, comradeship, mean something when you get old, my boy."
"I hope they'll all know who did it when the time comes right. Some of
the men who have been growling about you behind your back will have
their mouths shut for them."
"You've been hearing the old man cussed thoroughly and scientifically,
eh?" drawled the Duke. He squinted, quizzically. "Well, a man who stays
in politics fifty years and doesn't make enemies, stays too close to the
ground to be worth anything. Good, healthy, vigorous enemies are a
compliment."
"I wonder whether his party will say that when General Waymouth starts
out in his reforms."
"What reforms?" demanded the old man, tugging off his collar.
"You heard what he said--about what he intended to do--the warning, as
he called it."
Thornton looked at his grandson serenely and with a glint of humor in
his eyes.
"You don't have any idea, do you, that Vard Waymouth is going to play
politics with sugar-plums instead of with the chips he finds on the
table? Get your wisdom teeth cut, young chap. That's another branch of
the science for you to learn."
Harlan protested, his loyalty a bit shocked.
"I believe that General Waymouth meant what he said."
"Well, what did he say?"
"You _know_ what he said. I saw you listening pretty closely,
grandfather. He intends a square deal for this State. I may be young,
and I probably don't understand politics, but I know an honest gentleman
when I see one."
"My boy, there's no question of dishonesty here. Don't pick up any of
the patter that the demagogues are babbling--and they don't know just
what they mean themselves. He _is_ an honest man. Have I known him all
my life without finding that out? But he isn't going to start out and
clinch any reputation for honesty by turning his back on his own party
and its interests--not for the sake of having the cheap demagogues of
the other side pat him on the back and pick his pockets at the same
time. He knows politics too well. But we won't sit up here to-night and
discuss that. Keep your faith in him. He's worth it."
With his coat on his arm he started for his berth.
"The idea is, then, the party is going to make him stand first of all
for things that will help the party, without much regard for what will
help the people of this State as a whole? That's politics according to
the code, is it, grandfather?"
"That's politics, my boy," stated the Duke with decision. "Once in a
while you find a fellow splitting off and trying to play it different,
but he doesn't last. Why the devil should he? It's his party, isn't it,
that puts him on the job?"
"It's the majority of the people that do it, if he's elected."
"Don't get fooled on this 'people' idea, Harlan. The people are no good
without organization--and organization _is_ the party. I don't want to
discourage you, son. You'll see some opportunities where you can grab in
and turn a trick for the general good of all hands. But you can't dump
your friends. You've got to stand by your own party first. You do
anything else, and you'll simply get the reputation of being a kicker
and an insurgent. And then you can't spin a thread. Your own party
doesn't want you and the other side is afraid of you. _Ideals_ are
blasted good in their way, but in politics cut out the _I_ and attend to
the _deals_. It's the only way you'll get anywhere."
Harlan sat alone for a while and thought. Rebellion seethed in him. But
it was rebellion against something vague--protest that was more instinct
than actual understanding. He still lacked the prick of party
enthusiasm; party, as he had seen its operations, stood for some pretty
sordid actualities. One thing comforted him: he had not lost his faith
in General Waymouth. His grandfather's cynicism had not destroyed that.
He realized that his youth and his lack of experience would make him a
very humble cog in the legislative machinery. But he had youth and high
hopes, and his creed from boyhood had been to do everything that he had
to do resolutely and to the full measure of his ability.
When he looked at his watch he decided that he would not go to his
berth. The train would reach the State capital shortly after four in the
morning. He dozed in his seat, the grateful breath of the summer night
fanning his face through the screen. The Duke found him there, appearing
as he had departed, his coat on his arm, his collar in his hand. He was
full of the briskness of the dawn in spite of his short rations of
sleep.
"You mustn't think because you've found sins in the party that you've
been picked out for the atonement, boy," he chided, jocosely. "Get your
sleep--always get your sleep. I wouldn't have been alive to-day if I'd
been kept awake by worry and wonder."
A cab took their luggage to the hotel. They walked up the hill. It was
the old man's suggestion.
"It'll do us good. This air beats any cocktail you can get over Luke's
bar--and they serve as good a one as you'll get anywhere, even if this
is a prohibition State."
"Wasn't it Governor Waymouth who signed the first prohibition bill in
this State?" asked Harlan.
"Still dwelling on visions of reform, eh?" inquired his grandfather,
smiling broadly. He did not reply immediately. He stepped ahead, for
they were obliged to walk in single file past a man who was sweeping
sawdust across the sidewalk. In the windows that flanked the open doors
of his shop dusty cigar boxes were piled. The shelves within were empty.
Harlan recognized the nature of the establishment. It was a grog-shop in
its partial disguise. He got the odor of stale liquors from the open
door as he passed.
"I was present when he signed it," said the Duke, as soon as they were
walking side by side once more. "Something had to be done politically
with the Washingtonian movement, you know; it had cut the cranks out of
the main herd. You'd think, nowadays, to hear some of the things that
are said about conditions in the old times, that every man in this State
picked up his rum-bottle and pipe and threw 'em to Tophet and got onto
the wagon. You weren't born then. Let me tell you how it really
happened. It was mostly politics. The disorganized mob of
prohibitionists didn't do it--it was our party. We needed the cranks to
swing the balance of power. They were all herded, ready to follow the
bell. Needed a shepherd. Didn't know which one of the old parties to run
to. It's a crime in politics not to grab in a bunch of the unbranded
when it's that size. We put prohibition into the platform and carried
the election. Then the boys went to the Governor and told him,
privately, that they really didn't mean it, and framed it up that they'd
pass the bill in the legislature all right and then he'd veto it--and
the party would be saved, and he wouldn't be hurt, because every one
knew that he couldn't be accused of acting in the interests of the
rumsellers, but only stood on the constitutional law ground--and there
was great talk those days, son, of personal liberty and inherent rights.
But Vard picked up his pen and told us he wasn't much of a hand for
playing practical jokes on the people. He signed it. And he was a
license man, at that, those days. Guess he is now."
"I don't see how you can say he has played politics--not after he stood
out like that."
Thelismer Thornton laughed silently. They were half-way up the long
hill. The bland morning was already growing warm. The old man stopped
for a moment, hat off, under a dewy maple.
"Bub, do you think Vard Waymouth, lawyer that he is, didn't know just
about how much that act would amount to after it got to operating? About
all it did was to proclaim the rum business contraband. No teeth, no
claws, not much machinery for enforcement--and public sentiment cussing
it, after it began to hit men individually. Reform in politics is
popular just so long as it doesn't hit individuals."
"There's teeth enough in the law _now_", remarked Harlan.
"Oh, it's easier to put 'em in than it is to fight the mouths of the
professional ramrodders who come down to the legislature. We put in the
teeth right along and leave off the enforcement muscle. The old thing
can't chaw! Then the ramrodders have got the law to hoorah about and
read over in the parlor, and they'll go right past such a place as we
saw down the street there and not know it's a rumshop. After they get
all the law they ask for, it's a part of their game to say that the
rumshops aren't doing business. They're the kind that believe that just
having the law makes every one good--they don't want to go back on their
own scheme. Come along!" He went out into the sunshine. "I don't like to
get talking prohibition. The play is not to talk it. It runs best when
you don't talk about it. It's running good now. Saloons open, and all
the prohibitory law-frills the old fuss-budgets can crochet and hang
onto the original bush! Both sides satisfied!"
"It may be good politics--it may seem all right to you, because you were
in the thing from the start and saw how the tricks had to be played,"
grumbled the young man. "But I haven't had that kind of training. I've
been brought up in business, grandfather. And a State that will do what
this State is doing now--I'm not saying who's at fault--but the State
that will handle a law in this way is a blackleg. I believe in General
Waymouth. I believe he's got something up his sleeve in the way of real
reform. I believe he meant what he said. I don't want to see you hurt
personally in your plans, grandfather, but I want to tell you frankly
I'm with the other side in this thing."
The Duke glanced at him inquiringly.
"I mean, politics or no politics, I want to see a law enforced so long
as it's a law. If a party cannot hold together and keep on top with any
other system, then the party is 'in' wrong. I don't believe General
Waymouth intends to straddle. He'll enforce the law."
"And kill his party?" inquired the old man, sarcastically. "Oh no, my
boy. The party has looked out for that. It isn't taking any chances with
a man who might get morally rambunctious. The Governor of this State
hasn't anything to do with enforcing the prohibitory law. We've kept all
the clubs out of his hands. When the W. C. T. U. converted old Governor
Levett, he got ambitious and tried it on. And the only thing he found he
could do was to issue a proclamation to the sheriffs 'to do their duty.'
The most of 'em framed it and hung it up in their offices; it was too
good a joke to keep hid."
They walked on in silence. Harlan did not find it easy to continue that
line of talk. His deameanor did not accord with the fair face of the
morning. But the old man sauntered on under the trees, plainly contented
with the world and all that was in it.
"Let's see, you haven't met Madeleine, Luke's girl, since she was
little, have you?" he inquired, stealing one of his shrewd side glances
at his grandson.
Harlan was occupied with his own thoughts and shook his head.
"I was _thinking_ she'd been away at school whenever you've been down
here with me. Beautiful girl, my boy. Brains, too. Polish up your
thoughts. These college girls are pretty bright, you know."
"I don't think she will notice whether I've got any thoughts or not,"
replied the young man, sourly. "She won't pay much attention to a
woodsman--not that kind of a girl."
"What kind of a girl?"
"One that's full of society notions and college airs. I know the kind.
Unless a fellow has wasted about half his life in dancing and loafing
around summer resorts they treat him as though he were a cross between
an Eskimo and a Fiji. Life is too short to play poodle for girls of that
sort."
"Well, you are certainly on the mourners' bench to-day, front row and an
end seat," said the old man, disgustedly. "You'd better go up and take a
nap till breakfast-time, and use sleep, soap, a razor, and common sense
and smooth yourself off. I reckon I haven't got you out of those woods
any too quick."
Only the earliest birds of the hostelry roost were about the big house
at that hour. The new arrivals dodged scrub-women and sweepers in the
office and on the stairs, and went to their rooms. The Duke, leaving
his grandson at his bedroom door, suggested a bit stiffly that he would
"call around about eight o'clock and open the den and lead him down to a
little raw meat, unless he smoothed up his manners and his appetite in
the mean time."