THE SHEPHERD AND THE SHEEP
Like a beacon marking shoals, Thelismer Thornton stood at the head of
the broad granite steps that led up to the convention hall. An unlighted
cigar was set hard between his teeth. Men flocked past him with
obsequious greetings, but he merely grunted replies. He was watching for
some one. He swore under his breath when he saw his man. General
Waymouth and Harlan came up the steps together. He swung between them,
and went along into the hall.
From open doors and windows band-music blared, welded with the roar of
two thousand voices, each man shouting his conversation to be heard
above his neighbors. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour set for the
opening of the convention.
Under the cover of the uproar, as they walked along, the Duke delivered
some very vigorous opinions to his grandson, expressing himself as to
the latter's state of intellect, judgment, and general fitness to be
allowed loose among men.
Harlan did not retort. He took his cue from the General, who smiled and
listened.
"I'll tell you what I ought to do with you, boy! I ought to skin you.
I'd find a ready sale for the hide. They could use it to make bindings
for New Testaments. Your're too d--n--d righteous, altogether! I've been
easy and patient with you, but I don't propose to stand at one side
now, and see you ruin yourself politically. Why are you letting the boy
do it, Varden?" he demanded, turning on the General. "You're old enough
to know better. He's no help to you now. I supposed I had a grandson
until you got hold of him!"
"You've still got a grandson, but you haven't got a political tool to
use in prying open a new governorship deal every fifteen minutes,"
declared the young man. "You took me to General Waymouth, you pledged me
to him--I pledged myself to him. I don't propose to discuss this matter
any further. I'm my own man when it comes to politics!"
"Thelismer, I wouldn't say any more just now," suggested the General.
"You are angry, and I've told you many times in past years that your
judgment is not good when you are angry. But this is no place for
talking these matters!"
The curious had already begun to throng about them. General Waymouth was
a marked figure in a gathering. It had not become a matter of general
knowledge that he was attending the convention. He had not appeared
frequently in public since his retirement, and men were glad to see him.
The early buzz that greeted his first appearance in the hall grew louder
and louder, and swelled into an uproar as delegates turned in larger
numbers and recognized him.
The vast body of the auditorium was crowded with men. Posts supporting
huge placards indicated the division of delegates into counties. The
General's own county was nearest the door by which he had entered. At a
call from some one these delegates climbed upon their settees. They gave
three cheers for him. It was a spontaneous tribute to the one great man
of the State--their county's favorite son.
The word passed rapidly. Other counties came to their feet. The band was
playing, the early enthusiasm of the day was fresh, men had not had
opportunity to exercise their voices till then, and as the General
passed down the side aisle of the hall he was cheered by every
delegation. Harlan followed him closely, and the Duke was at their
heels. Every man in the hall saw the little group. It seemed eminently
fit that Thelismer Thornton should escort General Waymouth. But the Duke
did not realize that the General was shrewdly using that opportunity of
displaying Thornton, the elder, in his retinue. The accident fitted with
some plans of his own.
Spurred by the excitement of that tumultuous moment, Harlan could not
restrain a bit of a boast.
"How do you like the sound of that, grandfather?" he flung over his
shoulder.
"There's no politics in that, you young fool. A hoorah isn't a
nomination."
But he could not hide from himself the plain fact that Varden Waymouth
was a tremendously strong figure in State affairs.
There was sincerity behind that outburst. Eyes glistened. Faces glowed
with admiration and respect. The Duke wondered bitterly how much of that
extraordinary tribute was inspired by the publicity work for which the
State Committee had spent its good money.
The General led the way in at the side door that admitted to the stage.
He was on familiar ground. Behind the stage there were several
anterooms. He appropriated an empty one, hanging his hat on a hook.
"Not an elaborate lay-out for a candidate, Thelismer," he remarked,
pleasantly, "but headquarters to-day is where we hang up our hat."
"Vard, you don't mean to tell me--seriously, at this hour--that you mean
to be a candidate?" Thornton had put aside his anger. That had been
bitter and quick ire, because his grandson had seemed so blind to his
own personal interests. There was solicitude now in the old man's air.
"I got you into this myself," he went on. "I coaxed you in, for the
situation was right and ripe. You kicked it over yourself. I haven't any
compunctions, Vard. I stayed with you just as long as I could stay. But
I'll be dod-jimmed if I'll shove a Governor onto my party that's a
hybrid of Socialist and angel. Now you can't swing this thing. Everett's
got it buttoned. I tell you he has! You're too big a man, to-day, to get
before that convention and be thrown down. I've got a better line on the
situation than you have. Vard, let's not have this come up between us at
our time of life. It's bad--it's bad!"
"It _is_ bad," returned the General, quietly; "but not for me! And it's
too late to stop. I'm going through with it, Thelismer."
There was dignity--a finality of decision--that checked further
argument. Thornton shifted gaze from Waymouth to his grandson, started
to say more, snapped his jaws shut, and walked away.
The door of the anteroom afforded a view across the stage. The hour had
arrived. The secretary of the State Committee appeared from the wings
and waited until the delegates were in their seats and quiet. He read
the call, and then the temporary organization was promptly effected, the
tagged delegates popping up here and there and making the motions that
had been entrusted to them.
A clergyman invoked Divine blessing, praying fulsomely and long,
beseeching that the delegates would be guided by the higher will in
their deliberations.
"It's the only prayer I ever find amusing--God pardon me!" whispered the
General at Harlan's side, watching the preliminaries. "To call a State
convention, as the machine runs it, a deliberative body is a sad jest of
some magnitude. The managers intend to hold the real convention the
night before in the State Committee's headquarters at the hotel. But
to-day I hope that prayer proves prophetic."
He studied the faces on the platform. The United States Senator, smug
and now satisfied that he had chosen aright for his personal interests,
sat in the chairman's central seat, and studied his people from under
eyelids half lowered while the parson prayed.
After the prayer, the routine proceeded hurriedly. For five minutes the
convention seemed to be in a state of riot. Men were bellowing and
yelping, and standing on settees. The counties were holding simultaneous
caucuses for the purpose of selecting, each its vice-president of
convention, its State committeeman, and member of the Committee on
Resolutions--the resolutions then reposing in the breast-pocket of the
Hon. Luke Presson.
The secretaries were announced, the temporary organization was made
permanent, and, advancing against a blast of band-music and a salvo of
applause, the Senator-chairman began his address.
"Now," remarked General Waymouth, grimly, "I am ready to open
headquarters in earnest. My boy, in that anteroom across the stage
you'll find your grandfather and Mr. Presson, and certain members of the
State Committee. David Everett will be there, too. Inform them I send my
urgent request that they meet, at _once,_ the Hon. Arba Spinney and a
delegation in my room here. I think that combination will suggest to
guilty consciences that they'd better hurry. If they show any signs of
hesitating, you may intimate as much to them."
The plain and stolid men came in just then. They brought Mr. Spinney
through the side door. The unhappy conspirator, jostled by his
body-guard, was near collapse. He was now traitor to both sides.
Circumstances hemmed him in. But more than he feared the recriminations
of Luke Presson and his associates, he feared the papers in the
breast-pocket of Varden Waymouth.
Harlan went on his errand, crossing the stage behind a backdrop. Senator
Pownal had got well under way, and was setting forth the sturdy
principles of the Republican party with all the power of his lungs.
Harlan did not knock at the anteroom door; he walked in, and for a
moment he thought that the enraged chairman was about to leap at his
throat.
"Spinney, eh?" he blazed at the young man's first word. "Explain to me,
Mr. Thornton, what is meant by your assault on a decent and honest
citizen? What do you mean by teaming him from the hotel to this
convention hall with a body-guard to insult men who have business with
him?"
The question was confession that the chairman had been unable to get at
the political property he had paid dearly for. It indicated that he
suspected but did not realize fully how deeply Spinney was in the toils.
"Explain!" shouted Presson, standing on tiptoe to thrust features
convulsed with rage into the young man's face.
"General Waymouth is waiting to explain, sir. He's across the stage,
there! And Mr. Spinney is with him. I'd advise you to hurry."
"I don't need any of your advice! If you've got him on exhibition at
last where the public can be admitted, I can't get there any too quick."
He rushed out, charging like a bull, and the others followed.
The State committeeman who closed file with Harlan did not appreciate
the gravity of the situation.
"You seem to be introducing new features into a State Convention to-day,
cap'n," he observed, sarcastically. "The way you're handling Brother
Spinney is like the song about
"'Old Jud Cole, who went by freight To Newry Corner in this State;
Packed him in a crate to get him there, With a two-cent stamp to
pay his fare.'"
He added, "Spinney is light enough to travel on that tariff, but you're
going to find he's got friends that are heavier."
Young Thornton waited till all had entered the anteroom, and again took
his post as guard on the inside of the door.
General Waymouth checked Presson at the first yelp of the outburst with
which he had stormed into the room. Probably there was not another man
in the State who could have prevailed by sheer force of dignity and
carriage in that moment when the passions of his opponents were so
white-hot. But he was, in intellect, birth, breeding, and position,
above them all, and they knew it. There, boxed in that little room, they
faced him, and anger, rancor, spite, itch for revenge gave way before
his stern, cold, inexorable determination to prevail in the name of the
right.
"Gentlemen, I haven't called you here for the purpose of arguing or
wrangling. You'll waste time by trying to do either. You are here to
listen to what _must_ be done. You represent the warring factions. There
are enough of us to straighten the matter out. There are not so many
that the secret of this shameful mess cannot be kept, and our party
saved at the polls."
He paused to draw the fateful documents from his pocket.
In the hush of the little room they heard Senator Pownal declaiming:
"And it is upon these firm principles, bedrock of inalienable rights
guaranteed to the people, upon the broad issues of reform, inculcation
of temperance, and the virtues of civic life, that the Republican party
is founded."
Harlan, at the door, younger than the rest, found a suggestion of humor
in what the orator was saying compared with what the party managers had
met to hear. But there were no smiles on the faces of the group. The
demeanor of the stricken Spinney, anger fairly distilling in his
sweat-drops, hinted the truth to Presson. Thelismer Thornton tried to
get near Spinney, understanding it all even better than the State
chairman, but the plain and stolid men flanked their captive with
determination.
"I have here five affidavits from eye-witnesses, swearing that Arba
Spinney was bribed to sell out his faction at the last moment to-day,
leaving only David Everett in the field. I have no time to waste in
giving the details of that transaction to men who know them just as well
as I do. And I want no interruption, sir!" He brandished the papers
under the nose of Presson, who attempted to speak. "I do not propose to
have my intelligence insulted by denials from you or any one else. If
you don't believe I have full proof of what I charge, you walk out of
that door and put the matter to the test! And I hasten to assure you,
sir, that you'll be eternally disgraced!"
He waited a moment, because a roar of applause that greeted one of
Senator Pownal's utterances resounded even in the remote anteroom.
"It all means, gentlemen, that I'm to be the nominee of this convention
to-day. It's time for a clean-up, and I'm going to start one. The men
who are running our party are not fit to be in charge of it. The voters
deserve a better show. I've called you here to give you an opportunity
to save yourselves, personally. I'm willing to submit to a little
by-play for that purpose. You are to allow Spinney's name to go before
the convention, according to the regular programme. That's to divert the
attention of the convention and the State-at-large from what otherwise
would seem a split in the recognized management of the party. Spinney
has been only a rank outsider, politically considered. We have to
consider the campaign, gentlemen, and the material we may furnish our
friends, the enemy. Then, you gentlemen of the State Committee, each in
his county delegation, are to start a demonstration in my behalf. This
is no time for me to be mock-modest. On the heels of that demonstration
Everett's name is to be withdrawn with the explanation that such an
apparently spontaneous demand from the voters should be recognized. Mr.
Everett is to declare that under the circumstances he does not wish to
stand in the way of popular choice, and he is to announce that much and
present me to the convention. I assure you, Mr. Everett, that I ask this
last with no intent of wounding your feelings or indulging in cheap
triumph--it is necessary in order that the mouths of political gossips
may be shut."
A rather stupid silence followed that declaration of programme. The
voice of the Senator rose and fell without.
The General met their staring eyes calmly. "It may be a rather
surprising development of the convention," he said. "But as soon as the
surprise is over it will commend itself as a perfectly natural and
graceful concession to public opinion--as public opinion can be set in
motion by the members of the State Committee on the floor of the
convention. In fact, the plan commended itself to my friend Thelismer,
here, and Chairman Presson some weeks ago."
The State chairman was stirred as though galvanically by that statement.
The bitter memory of how he had groomed the dark horse that was now
kicking his master's political brains out rose in him.
"By the everlasting gods," he shouted, "I'll go down fighting! If the
house has got to come down, I'll go down with it."
"Samson had two arms. I have only one," returned General Waymouth. "But
I've got that arm around the central pillar of your political roof,
gentlemen--and I've got the strength to handle it! You've stated your
position as a politician, Presson. Now I'll state mine. Rather than see
the Republican temple made any longer a house of political ill-fame I'll
pull it down on you prostitutes."
It was bitter taunt--an insult delivered with calm determination to
sting. Presson stamped about the room in his wrath.
"I'm making no pact or promise," went on the General. "I declare that
you are the men who are wrecking our party. Now if you propose to wreck
it completely, we'll go smashing all together in the ruins. It may as
well be wrecked now as later!"
There was another hush in the room.
"So I call upon you, men of office, shop, and farm, bone and sinew of
our grand old party," exhorted Senator Pownal from the forum outside,
"to forget the petty bickerings of faction and stand shoulder to
shoulder in your march to the polls. Nail the principles of justice,
truth, and honesty to the flagstaff, and follow behind that banner,
winning the suffrages of those who believe in the right."
"It sounds as though the Senator might be arriving close to his amen,"
suggested General Waymouth, ironically. "You have only a few minutes in
which to decide. I hold the proxy of one of these delegates to the
convention." He pointed to one of the stolid and plain men. "You know
that I can get the ear of that convention--you can't work any gag-rule
on me--I have been listened to too often by the men of this State when
I've had something to say. And you know what effect these affidavits
will have!"
There was further silence, broken only by the voice of the Senator
without and Presson within, who was scuffling about, babbling disjointed
oaths.
Suddenly a great outburst of applause signified that the Senator had
concluded.
"Go ahead out and kill your party!" barked Presson. "Give it your
strychnine! It may as well die right now, in a spasm, as to have a
lingering death later with you at the head of it, Waymouth. You can't
team _me_!"
"You let me say a word right here!" blustered Everett. "I wash my hands
of any deal with Spinney. I've got the bulk of that convention behind
me. I don't propose to be shunted."
"I supposed you all remembered the details of what you did last
evening," returned the General, coldly. "Is it necessary for me to
remind you, Mr. Everett, that Chairman Presson turned over to Spinney a
paper in which you agreed to appoint him to a State office? That
transaction was noted along with the rest, sir."
"I'll have as many witnesses as you," declared Presson, "I'll--"
"Stop!" It was a tone that cowed the chairman, struggling with his
guilty conscience. "I have warned you that I'm not here to argue this
matter with you. I'll not be drawn into any discussion. What I have, I
have!" He waved his papers above his head. "What I can do that I'll do!
I would remind you, gentlemen, that the convention is waiting."
Thelismer Thornton caught the secretary of the State Committee by the
arm and propelled him toward the door, ordering Harlan to open it.
"Signal that band! Start it to going!" he directed. "Keep those
delegates easy." He turned on the chairman. "Now, Luke, you're licked.
And it's your own deadfall that's caught you. I know just how you feel,
but here's a laundry-bag that you've got to draw the puckering-strings
on. Shut up! I'm going to save you from yourself. You're running amuck,
now. You're a lunatic, and not responsible." He dragged the defiant
chairman back into the room. He held him in firm grip. "There's a new
bribery law in this State. You haven't forgotten it, have you! It's
State prison!"
"Look here, gentlemen," he went on, addressing the members of the State
Committee, "you've got just five minutes leeway between a devilish good
political walloping and striped suits. Get out on the floor. Get busy
with those delegations. And the man of all of you who dares to say one
word too much about what's been done here to-day will peek through bars
and wish his tongue had been torn out by the roots before he talked!
Presson, this thing is out of your hands. You shan't cut your own
throat, I say! Get onto that floor, men!"
They went. It was the rush of men to save themselves. Each man as he
passed out cast a glance upon the papers that General Waymouth clutched,
and a second glance at Harlan, brawny guard, at his side.
"Take Everett across to the committee-room and call in the men who were
to present him," directed the Duke, releasing the chairman. "And it's up
to you two to give 'em a story that will hold 'em. It's short notice,
but you've got General Waymouth for a text! Look here, Dave," he whirled
on Everett, who was frantically protesting, "your strength was the
strength the boys of the machine put behind you. It hasn't been personal
strength. You can't afford to be a blasted fool now, even if you are
crazy mad. You've been lecturing considerably the past few weeks on
'party exigencies.' This is one. It's an exigency that will put you
before a grand jury if you don't tread careful. Get across there, you
and Presson! I'm eating dirt myself. Get down on your hands and knees
with me, and make believe you like it!"
He hustled them out.
The band was rioting through a jolly melange of popular melodies.
The old man hesitated a moment, and then walked across to the General.
"Vard, politics is most always a case of dog eat dog, but I want to
assure you that I'm not hungry just now if you are not! And my grandson
seems to have more political foresight than I gave him credit for. I'm
getting old, I see!"
He did not give them opportunity to answer. He swung about and went to
Spinney.
"I reckon they'll raise your guard, now, Arba," he said, nodding at the
stolid and plain men. "There isn't much more that you can do, either to
harm or help. You'd better pull a chair out to the edge of the stage
there, and listen to what a h--l of a fellow you are when your orators
nominate you. Then before the applause dies away, you'd better start for
home. It'll be a good time to get away while Presson is busy!" It was
plain that, lacking any other object, the Duke was venting the last of
his spleen on this wretched victim of the game. "Before you go, give me
one of those 'Honest Arba' ribbons. I keep a scrap-book of jokes!"
The abject candidate had no word to offer in reply. He was white and
trembling, for after Presson's early declaration it had seemed that the
whole shameful story was to be thundered in the ears of those two
thousand men sitting yonder.
"You can suit yourself as to your further movements, Spinney," said the
General, noting the man's distress.
"There's a rear exit from this hall," remarked the Duke, significantly.
Spinney went out, hanging his head.
"Well, there's at least one cur eliminated from the politics of this
State," blurted Harlan, gratefully.
"Eliminated!" sneered his grandfather. "The first man you'll meet in the
legislative lobby next winter, sugar on his speech and alum on his
finger, so that he can get a good firm grip of your buttonhole, will be
Arba Spinney, drawing his salary as the paid agent of half-a-dozen
schemers. He may seem a little wilted just now, but he's a hardy
perennial--you needn't worry about _him_."
"I think you're the man to take these documents to the Committee on
Resolutions, Thelismer," stated the General, drawing out the planks he
had submitted the evening before. "You can explain why they should be
inserted--and I have modified them somewhat. I have no desire to
frighten the party at the outset."
The Duke took the papers, and departed without a word. The men of the
affidavits returned to their delegations on the floor of the convention,
gratification in their faces, as well as a sense of the importance of
the secret they were guarding.
The band gave a final bellow, and the business of the convention
proceeded.
General Waymouth and Harlan took chairs into their little room and sat
down to wait. The sounds came to them mellowed by distance, but
distinct. They followed the procession of events.
Spinney's name was presented by an up-country spellbinder who had copied
logic, diction, and demagogic arguments from his chief. But all the
thrill, swing, and excitement of the Spinney movement were gone. Red
fire, hilarity, and stimulants could not be used to spice this daylight
gathering of men ranged in orderly rows on their settees--and subtle
suggestion had already gone abroad. Yet the undercurrent of opposition
to the further dictation by the party ring was shown by the applause
that greeted every reference by the speaker to the conditions that
existed in the party. On the text of Spinney, personating Protest, the
orator preached to willing converts who clamored for change, even though
no better leader than Spinney offered. Spinney got perfunctory applause;
suggested change was cheered tumultuously.
The convention was ripe for revolution against dominant conditions,
without exactly understanding how to rebel wisely and well.
Suddenly a clarion voice raised itself from the convention floor. They
in the little room could hear every word.
"That's Linton," said the General, calmly. "He balked under my pat, but
he's plunging into the traces handsomely under the whip!"
"Linton! After refusing? Is he presenting your name?"
"Oh, he's a politician, and one must allow a politician to weigh out his
stock of goods on his own scales, and hope that he will give good
measure. I'll be grateful in this instance, Mr. Thornton. They've picked
out an able young speaker!"
In spite of his resentful opinion of Linton, an opinion into which he
would not admit to himself that jealousy entered, Harlan, as he
listened, had to acknowledge the ability of the young lawyer.
First he caught the attention of his auditors, then he skilfully
suggested that he was preparing a surprise. With appealing frankness
that won the interest and sympathy of the Spinney adherents, he agreed
with them that the times demanded changes and reforms. He urged that
these should be undertaken within the party, and then, earnestly but
delicately, he hinted that the reformers had not picked the right
leader. As delicately he suggested, next, that an extreme partisan,
bound far in advance of nomination by factional pledges and trades that
he must carry out, was not the right man to extricate the party, either.
Lastly, he came to the crux of his speech, plunging into the theme with
passionate eloquence that brought moisture to the eyes of Harlan. That
young man was not thinking of the orator, then. His thoughts were on the
old man at whose side he sat--the old man who listened in dignified
patience.
Now the delegates sniffed the truth. A word had put them on the trail.
They were not sure. But they suspected. And mere suspicion sent them
upon their settees, cheering wildly. Distrust of Spinney, sullen
disloyalty to the machine-created Everett, furnished a soil in which
hope for another solution of the tangle sprang with miraculous growth.
Linton waited until the roar of voices died away. They again listened
breathlessly, wondering whether their own hopes had beguiled them.
"From the storied past, gentlemen of the convention, we draw precept and
example, lesson and moral, hope and inspiration. As nature has stored in
the bowels of the earth the oil that serves the lighthouse beacons of
to-day, so life has stored in various reservoirs human experience that
can light the path through troublous times in these latter days. Written
on the scroll of history, limned on the page of law, we find the words
of the fathers, sane and helpful thought and good counsel. In days of
doubt and worry and despair we may meet the fathers on the written page.
But, oh, how grand a blessing for the human race could we sit at their
feet beholding them in the flesh and receive their teachings! If only
they, the fathers, might take us by the hand and lead us through the
devious tangles of public policy! To-day we meet here in perplexed
division as to the standard-bearer for our next campaign. If up from
that past of sage counsel and unfaltering faith there might come one
who could stand forth and expound the lessons that we need, we might
take heart and travel boldly on. But, gentlemen, I bring you a message
of greater hope--more profound a blessing. Up from that past comes the
standard-bearer _himself_! His wise kindliness meets every test of
honest gentleman; scholarship crowns his brow, Law holds her torch aloft
that his feet may tread the safe way; war from him has taken tribute,
but to him has given a hero's deathless laurels. Once in her history
this State welcomed him to her councils as her gracious overlord, and
now--"
There was no doubt in their minds now. A window-shaking demonstration
bore down his voice.
Linton seized upon the beginning of silence.
"Now once again his State, groping for a hand to lead her forth to
stability and progress, sees his hand and seeks to grasp it,
supplicating him: 'O father, guide me! O wise man, teach me! O hero,
save me!' And I name to you, gentlemen, for the candidate of the
Republican party--"
He leaped upon a settee and voiced the name of General Varden Waymouth
with all the strength of his trumpet voice. But no one heard what he
said. They all knew what he was to say. They did not need the spoken
name.
That convention had been ripening for a stampede. Its component
delegates had contained the stampede fever for weeks before they
assembled. Men leaped and screamed. It was a storm of enthusiasm; two
thousand feet furnished the thunder-roar; hats went up and came down
like pelting rain; and voices bellowed like the bursting wind volleys of
the gale.
Here and there, gesticulating men were trying to make seconding
speeches, but the words were lost. The chairman of the convention, grim
and pale and wondering just how much damage this overturn signified to
his personal interests, nodded recognition to these speakers, and
allowed them to waste their words upon the welter of mere sound.
He also recognized other men who arose. He knew them for Spinney's
adherents and divined what they were trying to say. And having divined
it, he was promptly inspired to get in with the rush of those who were
climbing aboard the band-wagon.
He advanced to the edge of the platform, and by tossing his arms secured
a moment of silence. He had his own salvation to look after.
"I am glad, inexpressibly pleased, that as chairman of your convention I
can now declare myself for General Waymouth; for the convention has but
one name before it--the name of Arba Spinney has been withdrawn!"
When the tumult began again--almost delirium this time--David Everett
appeared from the wings, white, stricken, overwhelmed by the suddenness
with which the prize had been snatched beyond his reach, driven out upon
the stage by the State Committee like a whipped cur forced to perform
his little trick in public. He began to speak, but the delegates did not
listen--they knew what he was saying, and were cheering him. Not all of
it was enthusiasm for General Waymouth; men instantly realized that a
nasty split in the party had been bridged; men felt that in this new
candidate both factions had the ownership that puts one "in right." A
united party could now march to the polls.
The nomination was by acclamation!
They came to General Waymouth, where he stood patiently at the door of
his room--the committee appointed to escort him before the convention.
He signalled for them to precede him--his hand was inside the arm of
Harlan Thornton, and he did not withdraw it even to shake the eager
hands that were outstretched. He walked upon the stage with the young
man, and, still holding his arm, faced the hurricane of enthusiasm until
it had blown itself out.
It was a breathless hush in which he spoke.
"Our party, in State Convention assembled, has to-day declared for
honesty." They did not exactly understand, but they gave voice like
hounds unleashed. That sentiment complimented them. "I pledge the last
strength of my old age to the task you have imposed upon me. Give me
your pledge, man to man, in return. Shall it be for all of us: honesty
in principle and unswerving obedience to every party profession we make?
I await your 'Yes'!"
It came like a thunderclap--two thousand voices shouting it.
He stood there, his hand upraised, waiting again until the hush was upon
them once more. They were ready for the usual speech of acceptance. But
he said simply this:
"I accept the trust!"
He put his hand behind Harlan's guarding elbow and retired.
"A carriage at once, Mr. Thornton," he directed. "I must save myself for
performance, not parade."
They were away before even the eager platform notables could intercept
them. The cheering was still going on when the carriage started. From
the open windows of the hall the riot of the convention--voices and
music--pursued them until the racket of the busy street drowned it out.
"At the present moment, Mr. Thornton, it is not likely that the
Republican State Committee is in a mood for poetry," remarked General
Waymouth. Gayety that was a bit wistful had succeeded his sombre
earnestness.
"But something in the sentiment of this old song might appeal to them
while they are thinking of me just now:
"'The mother may forget the child
That smiles so sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And all that thou hast done to me.'"
Harlan did not reply. At that moment, strangely enough, something
besides the fury and the results of that tremendous convention occupied
his thoughts. While he had stood beside General Waymouth he had not
looked down into the pit of roaring humanity. He had looked straight up
into the eyes of Madeleine Presson, whose gaze, by some chance, caught
his the moment he stepped upon the platform. She had leaned on the
gallery-rail and studied him intently. In spite of all else that had
happened and was happening, he could not help wondering why.