your organization at every turn!"
"Oh, no, you haven't," was the quick rejoinder.
"You've been fighting graft and crookedness, and that's what you thought
you were hired to do. As you know now, McVickar wasn't playing quite
fair with you. Just the same, you've been in the hands of your friends,
right from the start. It's the organization that's been giving you all
these chances to preach the gospel of the square deal; it was a shrewd
little captain-general of the organization who pushed Hathaway up
against you to let you know that the railroad people were running around
in the same old circles--hollering for justice, and doing everything
under the sun to defeat the ends of justice--muddying the spring
because, they say, they don't know what else to do. And, by the way, it
was that same little captain-general who put you up against the real
thing to-night, without telling me or anybody else what she was going to
do."
The younger man left his chair to go to one of the windows where he
stood for a moment or two looking down upon the street-lights. When he
turned, it was to say: "I'm with you, dad, heart and soul. But you won't
mind my saying that I'm still a little bit afraid that you and your kind
are a menace to civilization and a free government. You'll let me hang
on to that much of my prejudice, won't you?"
"Sure! Hang on to anything you like, son, and say anything you like. Or,
rather, let me say something first. How about this 'career' business of
Patricia's? Have you fixed that up yet?"
Blount shook his head. "She's going home with her father next week," he
said. And then: "Do you know what she did to-day, dad? She ran the
little red car into that pine-tree intentionally--so I couldn't get back
here in time to give Judge Hemingway those affidavits, which we both
supposed would incriminate you."
"Well, God bless her loyal little soul!" exclaimed the Honorable David,
and the grave eyes were suspiciously bright. "I hadn't told her a word
of what I was trying to do; but, Lord love you, Evan, she knew: you
trust a good woman for knowing, every time, son. And now one more thing:
Have you come to know Honoria any better in these last few days?"
"Yes; much better, within the last few hours, dad."
"That's good; that does my old heart a heap of good, son! Now then, you
go straight off to bed and sleep up some. You've had a mighty hard day
for a sick man. To-morrow morning we'll drive out to Wartrace and get
ready to touch off the fireworks when the returns trickle in on Tuesday.
I tell you, boy, Tuesday's election is going to be a regular
old-fashioned, heave-'em-up and keep-'em-a-going land-slide! Good-night,
and good dreams--if that cracked head doesn't go and roil 'em all up for
you."
XXXI
_À LA BONNE HEURE_
By some law of contraries, whose workings not even the politically
profound can fathom, the election proved the truth of the adage that all
signs fail in a dry time by recording itself as one of the quietest and
most orderly ever known in the Sage-Brush State. A few editors there
were, like Blenkinsop, of _The Plainsman_, who maintained stoutly that
it sounded the death-knell of the machine, but there was no gainsaying
the result. The "Paramounters" ticket, with or without the help of the
machine, was elected by sweeping majorities everywhere; and Gantry,
roaming the corridors and lounging-rooms of the Railway Club and reading
the bulletins as they were posted, shook his head despairingly over each
fresh announcement.
Late in the evening, finding that the senator's party had left the
Inter-Mountain the day before to drive to Wartrace, the traffic manager
called up the Quaretaro Mesa country-house and poured the news of the
_débâcle_ into Evan Blount's ear.
"We've gone to the everlasting bow-wows, and Mr. McVickar has
disappeared, and the end of the world has come," was the way he phrased
it for the listening ear; but the word which came back must have been
peculiarly heartening, since from that time on to an hour well past
midnight Gantry figured hilariously as the self-constituted host of any
and all who would be entertained.
At Wartrace Hall there was also rejoicing, albeit of a quieter sort.
Five people sat around the cheerful blaze in the library, and when
Crowell, whose telegraph instrument was in the adjoining den, had
brought the final report from the outlying wards of the capital, he was
told to close his key and go to bed.
After the young man had withdrawn, the Honorable David rose to stand
with his back to the fire.
"Well, Evan, boy, are all the tangles straightened out for you for
keeps, now?" he asked jovially.
"Just about all of them, dad," laughed the younger man. He had been
spending a very happy evening, due less to the triumphant story which
had been pouring in over the wires than to the fact that Patricia had
been occupying the other half of the small sofa which he had dragged out
to face the fire.
"Don't feel sore because you didn't get the governor you thought you
were going to get when you went around preaching the gospel?" said the
father, still chuckling.
"We've got a better man and a bigger one, I'm sure," was the quick
reply. Then he added: "But I think I am still doubtful about the
advisability of injecting the machine principle into politics."
The senator laughed silently.
"Call it 'the organization' instead of 'the machine,' son, and you've
named the power that moves the civilized world to-day. Man, the
individual, is just about as helpless as a new-born baby. If you want to
reform anything, from an unjust poor-law to the tariff, your first move
is to rustle up a following; after that, you've got to solidify your
bunch of sympathizers into a working organization--in other words, into
a machine. Isn't that so, Professor Anners?"
The white-haired professor of palæontology nodded sleepily. He had been
dreaming of the Megalosauridæ, and had not heard the question.
"You've heard me called 'the boss' from the time Dick Gantry had his
first talk with you back yonder in Massachusetts," the senator went on,
turning again to his son. "Call me a man with friends enough to make me
a sort of foreman of round-ups in the old home State, and you've got it
about right. I don't say that I've always used the power as it ought to
be used; the good Lord knows, I'm no more infallible than other folks.
You've gone through a heap of trouble and worry because you thought,
when you got ready to knock the wedge out of the log, my fingers were
going to get caught in the split, along with a lot of others. That would
have been true enough any other year but this, I reckon, so you didn't
have your fight and your worry for nothing. I've bought and trafficked
and bargained and compromised--I don't deny that--but only when it
seemed as though the end justified the means. Maybe the end never does
justify the means--I'm open to conviction on that. But sometimes it's
mighty easy to persuade yourself that it does."
It was just here that the professor awoke with a start and a snort,
excused himself abruptly, and stumped off to bed. Mrs. Honoria, sitting
under the drop-light and stitching patiently at her bit of stretched
linen, laid the tiny embroidery-hoop aside, signalled to her husband,
and vanished in her turn. A few minutes after she had gone, the senator
crossed from his corner of the fireplace to stand before the two sitting
on the little sofa.
"Son," he said gravely, "you've got your work cut out for you from this
on, and it's a good-sized job. You're going to have a string of hard
fights, one after the other, and there'll be times when you'll long with
all your soul for some good, clean-hearted, bright-minded little girl to
go to for comfort and counsel. Of course, I know that Patricia, here,
has another job, but--"
The Honorable Senator Sage-Brush had been out of sight and hearing for
five full minutes when Evan Blount reached over and possessed himself of
the hand that was shading a pair of deep-welled eyes from the firelight.
"Last Sunday afternoon, Patricia, when I had right and reason and logic
on my side, your woman's intuition found the truer path," he said, in
sober humility. "I know I am only one, and your poor people to whom you
have been planning to give yourself are many; still, I am selfish enough
to--"
She looked up quickly and the deep-welled eyes were shining.
"We can't learn everything all at once, Evan, dear," she interrupted,
breaking in upon his pleading. "There was one moment in that Sunday
afternoon when I learned the greatest thing of all; it was the moment
when I saw the pine-tree lying across the road and knew what I should
do, and for whom I should do it."
"I know," he returned gently. "You learned that love is stronger than
death or the fear of death; and that loyalty is greater than many
ideals. You heard what my father said just now, and it is true--only he
didn't put it half vitally enough; I can't walk in the way he has marked
out for me without you, Patricia."
With a swift little love impulse she lifted his hand and pressed it to
her cheek.
"You needn't, Evan, dear," she said simply.
THE END
* * * * *
[Transcribers Note: This section was originally at the beginning of the
text.]
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