FEELING THE ENEMY.
Edward Morgan plunged into the campaign with an energy and earnestness
that charmed the younger Montjoy and astonished the elder. Headquarters
were opened, typewriters engaged, lists of prominent men and party
leaders obtained and letters written. Col. Montjoy was averse to writing
to his many personal friends in the district anything more than a formal
announcement of his candidacy over his own signature.
"That is all right, father, but if you intend to stick to that idea the
way to avoid defeat is to come down now." But the old gentleman
continued to use his own form of letter. It read:
"My Dear Sir: I beg leave to call your attention to my
announcement in the Journal of this city, under date of July
13, wherein, in response to the demands of friends, I consented
to the use of my name in the nomination for congressman to
represent this district. With great respect, I am, sir, your
obedient servant,
"Norton L. Montjoy."
He dictated this letter, gave the list to the typewriter, and announced
that when the letters were ready he would sign them. The son looked at
him quizzically:
"Don't trouble about that, father. You must leave this office work to
us. I can sign your name better than you can. If you will get out and
see the gentlemen about the cotton warehouses you can help us
wonderfully. You can handle them better than anybody in the world." The
colonel smiled indulgently on his son and went off. He was proud of the
success and genius of his one boy, when not grieved at his departure
from the old-school dignity. And then Norton sat down and began to
dictate the correspondence, with the list to guide him.
"Dear Jim," he began, selecting a well-known friend of his
father, and a companion in arms. "You have probably noticed in
the Journal the announcement of my candidacy for the
congressional nomination. The boys of the old 'Fire-Eaters' did
eat. I am counting on you; you stood by me at Seven Pines,
Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville and a dozen other tight
places, and I have no fear but that your old colonel will find
you with him in this issue. It is the old south against the
riffraff combination of carpetbaggers, scalawags and jaybirds
who are trying to betray us into the hands of the enemy! My
opponent, Swearingen, is a good man in his way, but in devilish
bad company. See Lamar of Company C, Sims, Ellis, Smith and all
the old guard. Tell them I am making the stand of my life! My
best respects to the madam and the grandchildren! God bless
you. Do the best you can. Yours fraternally,
"N. L. Montjoy."
"P. S. Arrange for me to speak at your court house some day
soon. Get an early convention called. We fight better on a
charge--old Stonewall's way.
"N. L. M."
This letter brought down the house; the house in this instance standing
for a small army of committeemen gathered at headquarters. Norton was
encouraged to try again.
"The Rev. Andrew Paton, D. D.--Dear Andrew: I am out for
congress and need you. Of course we can't permit you to take
your sacred robes into the mire of politics, but, Andrew, we
were boys together, before you were so famous, and I know that
nothing I can bring myself to ask of you can be refused. A word
from you in many quarters will help. The madam joins me in
regards to you and yours. Sincerely.
"N. L. Montjoy."
"P. S. Excuse this typewritten letter, but my hand is old, and
I cannot wield the pen as I did when we put together that first
sermon of yours.
"M."
This was an addendum in "the colonel's own handwriting" and it closed
with "pray for me." The letter was vociferously applauded and passers-by
looked up in the headquarters windows curiously. These addenda in the
colonel's own handwriting tickled Norton's fancy. He played upon every
string in the human heart. When he got among the masons he staggered a
little, but managed to work in something about "upright, square and
level." "If I could only have got a few signals from the old gentleman,"
he said, gayly, "I would get the lodges out in a body."
Norton was everywhere during the next ten days. He kept four typewriters
busy getting out "personal" letters, addressing circulars and marking
special articles that had appeared in the papers. One of his sayings
that afterward became a political maxim was: "If you want the people to
help you, let them hear from you before election." And in this instance
they heard.
Within a few days a great banner was stretched across the street from
the headquarters window, and a band wagon, drawn by four white horses,
carried a brass band and flags bearing the legend:
"Montjoy at the Court House
Saturday Night."
Little boys distributed dodgers.
Edward, taking the cue, entered with equal enthusiasm into the comedy.
He wanted to do the right thing, and he had formed an exaggerated idea
of the influence of money in political campaigns. He hung a placard at
the front door of the Montjoy headquarters that read:
"One thousand dollars to five hundred that Montjoy is nominated."
He placed a check to back it in the secretary's hands. This announcement
drew a crowd and soon afterward a quiet-appearing man came in and said:
"I have the money to cover that bet. Name a stake-holder."
One was named. Edward was flushed with wine and enthused by the friendly
comments his bold wager had drawn out.
"Make it $2,000 to $1,000?" he asked the stranger.
"Well," was the reply, "it goes."
"Make it $10,000 to $5,000?" said Edward.
"No!"
"Ten thousand to four thousand?"
"No!"
"Ten thousand to three thousand?"
"No!" The stranger smiled nervously and, saluting, withdrew. The crowd
cheered until the sidewalk was blockaded. The news went abroad: "Odds of
300 to 100 have been offered on Montjoy, and no takers."
Edward's bet had the effect of precipitating the campaign in the home
county; it had been opening slowly, despite the rush at the Montjoy
headquarters. The Swearingen men were experienced campaigners and worked
more by quiet organization than display. Such men know when to make the
great stroke in a campaign. The man who had attempted to call young
Morgan's hand had little to do with the management of the Swearingen
campaign, but was engaged in a speculation of his own, acting upon a
hint.
But the show of strength at the Montjoy headquarters was at once used by
the Swearingen men to stir their friends to action, lest they be bluffed
out of the fight. Rival bands were got out, rival placards appeared and
handbills were thrown into every yard.
And then came the first personalities, but directed at Edward only. An
evening paper said that "A late citizen, after half a century of
honorable service, and although but recently deceased, seemed to have
fallen into betting upon mundane elections by proxy." And elsewhere: "A
certain class of people and their uncle's money are soon divorced." Many
others followed upon the same line, clearly indicating Edward Morgan,
and with street-corner talk soon made him a central figure among the
Montjoy forces. Edward saw none of these paragraphs, nor did he hear the
gossip of the city.
This continued for days; in the meantime Edward took Norton home with
him at night and generally one or two others accompanied them. Finally
it came to be settled that Norton and Edward were old friends, and the
friends of Montjoy senior looked on and smiled.
The other side simply sneered, swore and waited.
Information of these things reached Mary Montjoy. Annie, the
sister-in-law, came into the city and met her cousin, Amos Royson, the
wild horseman who collided with the Montjoy team upon the night of
Edward's first appearance. This man was one of the Swearingen managers.
His relationship to Annie Montjoy gave him entrance to the family
circle, and he had been for two years a suitor for Mary's hand.
Royson took a seat in the vehicle beside his cousin and turned the
horse's head toward the park. Annie Montjoy saw that he was in an ugly
mood, and divined the reason. She possessed to a remarkable degree the
power of mind-reading and she knew Amos Royson better than he knew
himself.
"Tell me about this Edward Morgan, who is making such a fool of
himself," he said abruptly. "He is injuring Col. Montjoy's chances more
than we could ever hope to, and is really the best ally we have!"
She smiled as she looked upon him from under the sleepy lids, "Why,
then, are you not pleased?"
"Oh, well, you know, Annie, the unfortunate fact remains that you are
one of the family. I hate to see you mixed up in this matter and a
sharer in the family's downfall."
"You do not think enough of me to keep out of the way."
"I cannot control the election, Annie. Swearingen will be elected with
or without my help. But you know my whole future depends upon
Swearingen. Who is Edward Morgan?"
"Oh, Edward Morgan! Well, you know, he is old John Morgan's heir, and
that is all I know; but," and she laughed maliciously, "he is what
Norton calls 'a rusher,' not only in politics, but elsewhere. He has
seen Mary, and--now you know why he is so much interested in this
election." Amos turned fiercely upon her and involuntarily drew the
reins until the horse stopped. He felt the innuendo and forgot the
thrust.
"You cannot mean----" he began, and then paused, for in her eyes was a
triumph so devilish, so malicious, that even he, knowing her well, could
not bring himself to gratify it. He knew that she had never forgiven him
for his devotion to Mary.
"Yes, I mean it! If ever two people were suddenly, hopelessly, foolishly
infatuated with each other that same little hypocritical chit and this
stranger are the two. He is simply trying to put his intended
father-in-law into congress. Do you understand?"
The man's face was white and only with difficulty could he guide the
animal he was driving. She continued, with a sudden exhibition of
passion: "And Mary! Oh, you should just hear her say 'Ilexhurst'! She
will queen it out there with old Morgan's money and heir, and we----"
she laughed bitterly, "we will stay out yonder, keep a mule boarding
house and nurse sick niggers--that is all it amounts to; they raise corn
half the year and hire hands to feed it out the other half; and the
warehouses get the cotton. In the meantime, I am stuck away out of sight
with my children!" Royson thought over this outburst and then said
gravely:
"You have not yet answered my question. Who is Edward Morgan--where did
he come from?"
"Go ask John Morgan," she said, scornfully and maliciously. He studied
long the painted dashboard in front of him, and then, in a sort of awe,
looked into her face:
"What do you mean, Annie?" She would not turn back; she met his gaze
with determination.
"Old Morgan has educated and maintained him abroad all his life. He has
never spoken of him to anybody. You know what stories they used to tell
of John Morgan. Can't you see? Challenged to prove his legal right to
his name he couldn't do it." The words were out. The jealous woman took
the lines from his hands and said, sneeringly: "You are making a fool of
yourself, Amos, by your driving, and attracting attention. Where do you
want to get out? I am going back uptown." He did not reply. Dazed by the
fearful hint he sat looking ahead. When she drew rein at a convenient
corner he alighted. There was a cruel light in his gray eyes.
"Annie," he said, "the defeat of Col. Montjoy lies in your information."
"Let it," she exclaimed, recklessly. "He has no more business in
congress than a child. And for the other matter, I have myself and my
children's name to protect."
And yet she was not entirely without caution. She continued:
"What I have told you is a mere hint. It must not come back to me nor
get in print." She drove away. With eyes upon the ground Royson walked
to his office.
Amos Royson was of the new south entirely, but not its best
representative. His ambition was boundless; there was nothing he would
have left undone to advance himself politically. His thought as he
walked back to his office was upon the words of his cousin. In what
manner could this frightful hint be made effective without danger of
reaction? At this moment he met the man he was plotting to destroy,
walking rapidly toward the postoffice with Norton Montjoy. The latter
saluted him, gayly, as he passed:
"Hello, Amos! We have you on the run, my boy!" Amos made no reply to
Norton, nor to Edward's conventional bow. As they passed he noted the
latter's form and poetical face, then somewhat flushed with excitement,
and seemed to form a mental estimate of him.
"Cold-blooded devil, that fellow Royson," said Norton, as he ran over
his letters before mailing them; "stick a knife in you in a minute."
But Royson walked on. Once he turned, looked back and smiled
sardonically. "They are both in a bad fix," he said, half-aloud. "The
man who has to look out for Annie is to be pitied."
At home Annie gave a highly colored account of all she had heard in town
about Edward, made up chiefly of boasts of friends who supposed that her
interest in Col. Montjoy's nomination was genuine, of Norton's report
and the sneers of enemies, including Royson. These lost nothing in the
way of color at her hands. Mary sought her room and after efforts sealed
for Edward this letter:
"You can never know how grateful we all are for your interest
and help, but our gratitude would be incomplete if I failed to
tell you that there is danger of injuring yourself in your
generous enthusiasm. You must not forget that papa has enemies
who will become yours. This we would much regret, for you have
so much need of friends. Do not put faith in too many people,
and come out here when you feel the need of rest. I cannot
write much that I would like to tell you. Your friend,
"Mary Montjoy."
"P. S. Amos Royson is your enemy and he is a dangerous man."
When Edward received this, as he did next day by the hand of Col.
Montjoy, he was thrilled with pleasure and then depressed with a sudden
memory. That day he was so reckless that even Norton felt compelled,
using his expression, "to call him down."