POLITICS MAKE STRANGE BED-FELLOWS
She quieted Nelly into a canter, made her way through the soundly
sleeping back streets, and at length emerged from the city and
descended into the River Road, which was slightly shorter than
Grayson's Pike which led over the high back country to The Sycamores.
She knew what Nelly could do, and she settled the mare down into the
fastest pace she could hold for the eleven miles before her.
Katherine was aquiver with suspense, one moment with hopeful
expectation, the next with fear that her deductions were all awry.
Perhaps Blake had not gone out to meet a confederate. And if he had,
perhaps The Sycamores was not the rendezvous. But if her deductions
were correct, who was this secret ally? Would she be able to approach
them near enough to discover his identity? And would she be able to
learn the exact outlines of the plot that was afoot? If so, what would
it all prove to be?
Such questions and doubts galloped madly through her mind. The storm
grew momently in fierceness. The water and fury of three months of
withheld storms were spending themselves upon the earth in one violent
outburst. The wind cracked her skirt like a whip-lash, and whined and
snarled and roared among the trees. The rain drove at her in maddened
sheets, found every opening in her raincoat, and soon she was as wet
as though dropped in the river yonder. The night was as black as the
interior of a camera, save when--as by the opening of a snapshot
shutter--an instantaneous view of the valley was fixed on Katherine's
startled brain by the lightning ripping in fiery fissures down the
sky. Then she saw the willows bending and whipping in the wind, saw
the gnarled old sycamores wrestling with knotted muscles, saw the
broad river writhing and tossing its swollen and yellow waters. Then,
blackness again--and, like the closing click of this world-wide
camera, there followed a world-shaking crash of thunder.
Katherine would have been terrified but for the stimulant within. She
crouched low upon her horse, held a close rein, petted Nelly, talked
to her and kept her going at her best--onward--onward--onward--through
the covered wooden bridge that spanned Buck Creek--through the little
old village of Sleepy Eye--up Red Man's Ridge--and at last, battered,
buffeted, half-drowned, she and Nelly drew up at the familiar stone
gateway of The Sycamores.
She dismounted, led Nelly in and tied her among the beeches away from
the drive. Then cautiously, palpitantly, she groped her way in the
direction of the Blake cabin, avoiding the open lest the lightning
should betray her presence. At length she came to the edge of a
cleared space in which she knew the cabin stood. But she could see
nothing. The cabin was just a cube of blackness imbedded in this great
blackness which was the night. She peered intently for a lighted
window; she listened for the lesser thunder of a waiting automobile.
But she could see nothing but the dark, hear nothing but the dash of
the rain, the rumble of the thunder, the lashing and shrieking of the
wind.
Her heart sank. No one was here. Her guesses all were wrong.
But she crept toward the house, following the drive. Suddenly, she
almost collided with a big, low object. She reached forth a hand. It
fell upon the tire of an automobile. She peered forward and seemed to
see another low shape. She went toward it and felt. It was a second
car.
She dashed back among the trees, and thus sheltered from the revealing
glare of the lightning, almost choking with excitement, she began to
circle the house for signs which would locate in what room were the
men within. She paused before each side and peered closely at it, but
each side in turn presented only blackness, till she came to the lee
of the house.
This, too, was dark for the first moment. Then in a lower window,
which she knew to be the window of Blake's den, two dull red points of
light appeared--glowed--subsided--glowed again--then vanished. A
minute later one reappeared, then the other; and after the slow rise
and fall and rise of the glow, once more went out. She stood rigid,
wondering at the phenomenon. Then suddenly she realized that within
were two lighted cigars.
Bending low, she scurried across the open space and crouched beside
the window. Luckily it had been opened to let some fresh air into the
long-closed room. And luckily this was the lee of the house and the
beat of the storm sounded less loudly here, so that their voices
floated dimly out to her. This lee was also a minor blessing, for
Katherine's poor, wet, shivering body now had its first protection
from the storm.
Tense, hardly breathing, with all five senses converged into hearing,
she stood flattened against the wall and strained to catch their
every word. One voice was plainly Blake's. The other had a faintly
familiar quality, though she could not place it. This second man had
evidently come late, for their conversation was of a preliminary,
beating-around-the-bush character--about the fierceness of the storm,
and the additional security it lent their meeting.
Katherine searched her memory for the owner of this second voice. She
had thought at first of Doctor Sherman, but this voice had not a tone
in common with the young clergyman's clear, well-modulated baritone.
This was a peculiar, bland, good-natured drawl. She had not heard it
often, but she had unmistakably heard it. As she ransacked her memory
it grew increasingly familiar, yet still eluded her. Then, all of a
sudden, she knew it, and she stood amazed.
The second voice was the voice of Blind Charlie Peck.
Katherine was well acquainted with the secret bi-partisan arrangement
common in so many American cities, by which the righteous voter is
deluded into believing that there are two parties contending for the
privilege of giving him their best service, whereas in reality the two
are one, secretly allied because as a political trust they can most
economically and profitably despoil the people. Her first thought was
that these ancient enemies, who for ten years had belaboured one
another with such a realistic show of bitterness upon the political
stage of Westville, had all along been friends and partners behind
the scenes. But of this idea she was presently disillusioned.
"Well, Mr. Blake, let's get down to business," Blind Charlie's voice
floated out to her. "You've had a day to think over my proposition.
Now what have you got to say to it?"
There was a brief silence. When Blake did speak, Katherine could
discern in his repressed tone a keen aversion for his companion.
"My position is the same as last night. What you say is all guesswork.
There is nothing in it."
Blind Charlie's voice was soft--purringly soft.
"Then why didn't you ask me to go to hell, and stay at home instead of
coming out here?"
There was again a short silence.
"Come now," the soft voice persuaded, "let's don't go over what we did
last night. I know I'm right."
"I tell you you're only guessing," Blake doggedly returned. "You
haven't a scrap of proof."
"I don't need proof, when I'm certain about a thing," gently returned
the voice of Blind Charlie. "I've been in politics for forty-eight
years--ever since I was nineteen, when I cast my first vote. I've got
sharpened up considerable in that time, and while I haven't been in
on much in the last ten years, I can still smell a fat deal clean
across the state. For the last three months I've been smelling, and
smelling it keener every day, that you've got a rich game going."
"And so"--rather sarcastically--"you set Bruce on, to try to run the
game down!"
"Well, I would use a little different figure of speech," returned
Blind Charlie smoothly. "When I've got a coon up a hollow tree I build
a fire in the hollow to bring him down. Bruce is my fire."
"And you think your coon is coming down?"
"I rather think he is. Don't you?"
"Well, I tell you he's not! For there's no coon up the tree!"
"I see I've got to state the thing to you again," said Blind Charlie
patiently, and so softly that Katherine had to strain her utmost to
get his words. "When I grew sure you had a big deal on about the
water-works, I saw that the only way to force you to let me in was to
put you in a fix where you would either have to split up or be in
danger of losing the whole thing. So I nominated Bruce. He's one of
the easiest I ever took in; but, I tell you, he is certainly one hell
of a fighter! That's what I nominated him for. You know as well as I
do the way he's swinging the voters round. It beats anything I've ever
seen. If he keeps this up till election, and if I pull off a couple
of good tricks I've got all ready, he'll be a winner, sure! And
now"--Blind Charlie's purring voice thrust out its claws--"either I
put Bruce in and smash your deal till it's not worth a damn, or else
you come across!"
"There's nothing in it, I tell you!" declared Blake.
"There's no use keeping up that pretence," continued Blind Charlie.
"You've had a day to think over my proposition. You know perfectly
well what your choice is between: a sure thing if you divide with me,
the risk of nothing if you refuse. So let's waste no more time. Come,
which is it?"
There was a long silence.
"I understand," commented Blind Charlie, with a soft sympathy that
Katherine knew was meant to bite like acid. "It's hard for a
respectable man like you to mix up with Charlie Peck. But political
business makes strange bed-fellows, and unless you're willing to sleep
with almost anybody you'd better keep out of this kind of business
altogether. But after all," he added, "I guess it's better to share a
good bed than to have no bed at all."
"What do you want?" Blake asked huskily.
"Only my share of the bed," blandly returned Blind Charlie.
"What's that, in plain words?"
"Not much. Only half of what you're going to make."
Blake exploded.
"Damn you, Peck, you're nothing but a damned blackmailer!"
"All right, I agree to that," said Blind Charlie. Then he added in his
soft voice: "But if I'm a blackmailer in this affair, then please, Mr.
Blake, what do you call yourself?"
"You--you----" To the crouching figure outside the window Blake seemed
to be half-choking. But suddenly he exploded again. "I'll not do it,
Peck! I'll not do it--never while God's earth stands!"
"I guess you will, Blake!" Blind Charlie's voice was no longer soft;
it had a slow, grating, crunching sound. "Damn your soul, you've been
acting toward me with your holier-than-thou reformer's attitude for
ten years. D'you think I'm a man to swallow that quietly? D'you think
I haven't had it in for you all those ten years? Why, there hasn't
been a minute that I haven't been looking for my chance. And at last
I've got it! I've not only got a line on this water-works business,
but I've found out all about your pretty little deal with Adamson
during the last months you were Lieutenant-Governor!"
"Adamson!" ejaculated Blake.
"Yes, Adamson!" went on the harsh voice of Blind Charlie. "That hits
you where you live, eh! You didn't know I had it, did you? Well, I
didn't till to-day--but I've got it now all right! There, my cards are
all on the table. Look 'em over. I don't want Bruce elected any more
than you do; but either you do what I say, or by God I turn over to
Bruce all I know about the Adamson affair and all I know about this
water-works deal! Now I give you just one minute to decide!"
Katherine breathlessly awaited the answer. A space passed. She heard
Blind Charlie stand up.
"Time's up! Good night--and to hell with you!"
"Wait! Wait!" Blake cried.
"Then you accept?"
Blake's voice shook. "Before I answer, what do you want?"
"I've already told you. Half of what you get."
"But I'm to get very little."
"Very little!" Blind Charlie's voice was ironical; it had dropped its
tone of crushing menace. "Very little! Now I figure that you'll get
the water-works for a third, or less, of their value. That'll give you
something like half a million at the start-off, not to speak of the
regular profits later on. Now as for me," he concluded drily, "I
wouldn't call that such a very little sum that I'd kick it out of my
way if I saw it lying in the road."
"But no such sum is lying there."
"No? Then what do you get?"
Blake did not answer.
"Come, speak out!"
Blake's voice came with an effort.
"I'm not doing this for myself."
"Then who for?"
Blake hesitated, then again spoke with an effort.
"The National Electric & Water Company."
Blind Charlie swore in his surprise.
"But I reckon you're not doing it for them for charity?"
"No."
"Well, what for?"
Blake again remained silent.
"Come, what for?" impatiently demanded Charlie.
"For a seat in the Senate."
"That's no good to me. What else?"
"Fifty thousand dollars."
"The devil! Is that all?" ejaculated Blind Charlie.
"Everything."
Blind Charlie swore to himself for a moment. Then he fell into a deep
silence.
"Well, what's the matter?" Blake presently inquired.
"I was just wondering," replied Blind Charlie, slowly, "if it wouldn't
be better to call this business off between you and me."
"Call it off?"
"Yes. I never imagined you were playing for such a little pile as
fifty thousand. Since there's only fifty thousand in it"--his voice
suddenly rang out with vindictive triumph--"I was wondering if it
wouldn't pay me better to use what I know to help elect Bruce."
"Elect Bruce?" cried Blake in consternation.
"Exactly. Show you up, and elect Bruce," said Blind Charlie coolly.
"To elect my mayor--there's more than fifty thousand for me in that."
There was a dismayed silence on Blake's part. But after a moment he
recovered himself, and this time it was his voice that had the note of
ascendency.
"You are forgetting one point, Mr. Peck," said he.
"Yes?"
"Bruce's election will not mean a cent to you. You will get no
offices. Moreover, the control of your party machinery will be sure to
pass from you to him."
"You're right," said the old man promptly. "See how quick I am to
acknowledge the corn. However, after all," he added philosophically,
"what you're getting is really enough for two. You take the
senatorship, and I'll take the fifty thousand. What do you say to
that?"
"What about Bruce--if I accept?"
"Bruce? Bruce is just a fire to smoke the coon out. When the coon
comes down, I put out the fire."
"You mean?"
"I mean that I'll see that Bruce don't get elected."
"You'll make sure about that?"
"Oh, you just leave Bruce to me!" said Blind Charlie with grim
confidence. "And now, do you accept?"
Blake was silent. He still shrunk from this undesirable alliance.
Outside, Katherine again breathlessly hung upon his answer.
"What do you say?" demanded the old man sharply. "Do you accept? Or do
I smash you?"
"I accept--of course."
"And we'll see this thing through together?"
"Yes."
"Then here you are. Let's shake on it."
They talked on, dwelling on details of their partnership, Katherine
missing never a word.
At length, their agreement completed, they left the room, and
Katherine slipped from the window across into the trees and made such
haste as she could through the night and the storm to where she had
left her horse. She heard one car go slowly out the entrance of the
grove, its lamps dark that its visit might not be betrayed, and she
heard it turn cautiously into the back-country road. After a little
while she saw a glare shoot out before the car--its lamps had been
lighted--and she saw it skim rapidly away. Soon the second car crept
out, took the high back-country pike, and repeated the same tactics.
Then Katherine untied Nelly, mounted, and started slowly homeward
along the River Road.