attitude of the Union in the impending strike at the Rathbawne Mills.
I've been telling him of our conversation of yesterday afternoon, and
that, as you were to see Mr. Rathbawne last night, you would probably
have something to tell us in regard to his position. Were you able to
persuade him to a more reasonable view of the situation?"
"I have nothing to add, sir, to what I said yesterday," replied Barclay.
"I told you then that I had no intention of endeavoring to influence Mr.
Rathbawne's judgment."
"He spoke to you about it?"
"Yes."
"And asked your advice?"
"He did."
"And you replied?"
The Lieutenant-Governor flushed.
"I beg to suggest, sir," he answered, "that this is hardly the time for
me to commit myself as to that. I conceive it to be a matter of official
privacy. Mr. McGrath"--
"You have my authority to speak, Mr. Barclay," said the Governor.
"Indeed, I desire it. Since one side knows your views, there is no
reason why the other should not be informed as well. Mr. McGrath is the
president of the Union. It is best that he should know the attitude of
the state authorities in this controversy."
"I am not in a position to question your wishes, sir. You should know
best."
"One cannot pretend to be infallible, Mr. Barclay," answered the
Governor, rubbing his hands. "One can only do what seems to be right and
proper under the circumstances. By our conversation of yesterday, I in a
measure put the negotiations with Mr. Rathbawne into your hands."
"It is a task I did not seek, sir. Pardon me if I say that it is also
one which I should hardly have accepted, had I been aware that in
speaking as you did you were actually asking me to assume it. Mr.
Rathbawne is my friend, and, moreover, my personal convictions"--
The Governor held up his hand.
"There can be no question of friendship or of personal conviction, Mr.
Barclay, in the case of a duty imposed upon a state official. I realize
that what you--or I, for that matter--must do in the performance of our
obligations, is oftentimes disagreeable, oftentimes at variance with our
wishes. But that is unavoidable."
Barclay moved uneasily. The intrusion of this pedantry, so conspicuously
insincere, with its implied rebuke, chafed him unspeakably, in view of
the presence of McGrath. The Governor had adopted the tone, half
authoritative, half reproachful, of a teacher reproving a refractory
child.
"My time, as you must know, is inadequate to the demands made upon it. I
am forced, on occasions, to turn more or less important matters over to
others. To whom more naturally than to you, Mr. Barclay?"
"May I suggest, sir, that there can be no profit in prolonging this
discussion? I appreciate the position perfectly, and I am quite prepared
to state what I know of Mr. Rathbawne's attitude toward the demands of
the Union."
"Ah," said the Governor, "that is as it should be, and as satisfactory
as possible. Let me remind you, Mr. Barclay, that it was not I, but
yourself, who introduced this digression."
He turned to the president of the Union.
"You will understand from what I have said, Mr. McGrath," he added,
"both to the Lieutenant-Governor and to you, that in the matter of the
proposed strike, he is, to all intents and purposes, acting in my stead.
He was in a position to approach Mr. Rathbawne, and I was not. Now, Mr.
Barclay, if you please"--
The Lieutenant-Governor straightened himself instinctively, as, for the
first time, he addressed himself to the agitator.
"Mr. McGrath," he said, "my confidence in Mr. Rathbawne's fairness and
integrity would have led me to approve any course which he might have
seen fit to take. As you have already heard me say, I had absolutely no
intention of endeavoring to influence his judgment. Greatly to my
surprise, Mr. Rathbawne himself consulted me in the matter, without any
suggestion on my part, and asked for my advice."
"That's fortunate," put in McGrath, "very fortunate. You've been able to
sidetrack a lot of trouble."
Barclay's eyes hardened at the hypocrisy of the sneer.
"I have pleasure in informing you," he continued, "that, in reply, I
advised him to fight the Union in the present dispute to the utmost of
his means and ability. I should have counseled him further to hold out
until he had spent his last cent and shed his last drop of blood, except
that, knowing him as I do, I conceived such a recommendation to be
wholly superfluous. Mr. Rathbawne has his character and his record
behind him. There is about as much chance of his yielding you an inch of
ground as if he were standing with his back against the Capitol!"
McGrath shrugged his shoulders.
"It's a damned funny way you have of not influencing people's judgment,"
he said.
"I mis-stated my attitude in saying that," retorted the
Lieutenant-Governor coolly. "I should have said, what, after all, is
self-evident, that I had no intention of trying to influence Mr.
Rathbawne in favor of the Union, at least so long as it is acting under
your dictation. Its present character is well known--almost as well
known as yours, in fact--and I believe its position in this matter to be
entirely untenable, unjustifiable, and iniquitous. I may add that if it
is, indeed, Governor Abbott's resolve that I am to deal, in his stead,
with the question of your proposed strike, you may confidently rely upon
having to put the entire state force of Alleghenia out of business
before you can even so much as begin to bully Peter Rathbawne into
submission!"
"If that's your opinion of the Union," said McGrath sullenly, "it might
be interesting to hear your opinion of me."
"You are perfectly welcome to it," replied the Lieutenant-Governor
easily. "I consider you an unmitigated blackguard!"
Governor Abbott tipped back his chair and looked at McGrath.
"That's pretty plain talk," he said. "You see how it is, Mr. McGrath.
You'll have to go ahead on your own responsibility, and you mustn't be
surprised if the State steps in at the first evidence of disorder."
McGrath rose, flecked some specks of dust from his waistcoat, and walked
toward the door without a word. On the threshold he turned, looked from
the Governor to the Lieutenant-Governor, and back again, and laughed.
Then he went out, closing the door softly behind him.
At the Rathbawne Mills it was usual for a huge whistle to give one long
blast at noon as a signal for the lunch hour. On that day, however,
following McGrath's instructions, the single blast was replaced by five
short ones in rapid succession, and three minutes later the employees
were pouring through half a dozen gates into the streets surrounding the
mills, in laughing, chattering, excited streams.
A majority of the men went directly to a hall in the neighborhood where
McGrath had called a mass-meeting for half-past twelve. A minority of
them crowded into the saloons of the vicinity, where they pounded on the
bars, and filled the close, smoke-grayed air with heated discussion.
Several of the discharged hands were in evidence, each surrounded by an
attentive group, and expounding more or less inflammatory views. The
women gathered in gossiping throngs on the sidewalks, laughing, and
pulling each other about by the arms. The boys played ball and leap-frog
in the streets, shouting, and whistling through their fingers. In brief,
the great strike was on, but, for the time being, it was masquerading
in the guise of a public holiday.
At one o'clock the whistle blew again, and a thousand voices whooped a
derisive accompaniment, but no one of the throng in the streets made a
move toward the mills. Half an hour later, watchmen swung to and bolted
the gates, and, issuing presently from a small side entrance, in
company, were received with cheers, handshakes, and slaps upon the back.
Then the crowd gradually thinned,--many going to the already well-filled
hall where McGrath was delivering an address, and others to their
homes,--and a silence descended upon the neighborhood, broken only by
the voices of the men about the saloon doorways.
At two, Peter Rathbawne, attended by his private secretary, came out of
the side entrance and walked slowly away in the direction of his home.
He held his head high, and his eyes straight to the front, and paid no
attention to the respectful greetings of those of the strikers who
saluted him, touching their hats. There were many among them whose
hearts sank at this attitude in a man who had made it his boast that he
knew every hand in his mills by sight, and who, in the past, had had a
nod or a friendly word for each and all of them. For the first time a
premonition settled upon them of what this strike, which had been
welcomed principally for novelty's sake, might mean. It was the first
the Rathbawne Mills had ever known. Some of those who saw the face of
Peter Rathbawne that afternoon were already hoping that it might be the
last.
The Lieutenant-Governor returned to his apartment for lunch. Cavendish
was still sleeping as he had left him, with a stalwart negro porter,
summoned from the Capitol by telephone early that morning, watching in a
chair. Under Barclay's orders, a carpenter had already removed the
splintered door of the wine-closet, and an upholsterer had replaced it
by a slender brass rod from which swung a velvet curtain. With his own
hands the Lieutenant-Governor had taken away the fallen bottle, mopped
up the pool of absinthe, and put the room to rights. Now he dismissed
the negro, took from his pocket a little box of strychnine tablets,
obtained from his physician on his way from the Capitol, and, after a
brief survey of his surroundings to see that all was in order, went over
to the divan and shook the sleeping man by the shoulders.
"Come, lazy-bones!" he said, with a laugh. "You've slept over twelve
hours. That will do--even for a nervous wreck."
Cavendish opened his swollen eyes slowly, looked at him, and then closed
them again with a murmured "Oh, God!" which was like a groan.
To this the Lieutenant-Governor paid no heed. Passing into the bathroom,
he turned on the cold water in the tub, poured a half glass of vichy
from a syphon, and then returned, carrying the tumbler in his hand.
Cavendish had raised himself on one elbow, and was looking stupidly
about the room.
"Here you are," said Barclay cheerfully. "Stow this pill, and here's
vichy to wash it down. Your bath's running. By the time you've had it,
there'll be some clothes ready for you."
Cavendish gulped down the tablet, and sat upright.
"Last night"--he faltered.
For the first time in his life, the Lieutenant-Governor called him by
his first name.
"Last night, Spencer," he said, looking him fairly in the eye, "belongs
to the past, and is taboo. I won't hear a word about it. This is to-day.
Get up, and we'll set about putting wrong right. You're a man again.
Don't forget that. And I'm your friend. Don't forget that, either."
His hand rested for an instant on the other's shoulder with a firm
pressure, and then he passed into his bedroom and shut the door.
They had lunch together in the dining-room of the "Rockingham," and then
went up again to Barclay's rooms. At the door, Cavendish came to a halt.
"I can't stand this," he said.
"You'll have to," replied the Lieutenant-Governor, "so shut up!"
"You've made a change," said Cavendish obstinately, pointing to the
curtained cupboard.
Barclay's eyes did not follow the gesture.
"So have you!" he answered. "Now, look here. There are twenty dollars in
the waistcoat of that suit, and a letter to Payson of the 'Kenton City
Sentinel.' Go down and see him this afternoon, and I think he'll give
you a job at reporting, which will fix you up for the present. In
another pocket you'll find a box, with three tablets like the one you
had before lunch. Take one of them every two hours. In still another
pocket there's a key to these rooms. I'm going to be busy till about ten
o'clock, so you'll have to shift for yourself. Make yourself at home,
and if you're awake I'll see you when I come in."
Taking him suddenly by the shoulders, he twisted him about, facing the
chimney piece, on which stood a photograph of Natalie Rathbawne, smiling
out of a silver frame.
"I'll leave you to talk it out with her," he added simply.
In the hall, as he passed out, he caught a reflection of Cavendish in a
mirror. His hands were resting on the mantel-edge, and he was leaning
forward with his haggard face close to the photograph. Barclay looked at
his watch.
"Two o'clock," he said to himself, "and all's well!"
VII
THE MIRAGE OF POWER
Barclay was conscious of a feeling of exhilaration such as he had not
known for many weeks, as he swung into Bradbury Avenue late that
afternoon on his way to the Rathbawne residence. The duties of the day
had been inordinately petty and vexatious, but he had dispatched them
one and all with something approaching enthusiasm,--a touch of the old
Quixotic energy with which he had taken office. The morning conversation
in Governor Abbott's room had braced and toned him. He forgot its
inauspicious opening, and even his distress at the attempt to force him
into the position of mediator between Peter Rathbawne and the Union, in
the solid satisfaction of having been able to speak his mind to McGrath,
and call that worthy a blackguard to his face. He was a man who
despised a quarrel, but, for its own sake, loved a square, hard fight.
Back, however, of this somewhat inadequate excuse for cheerfulness lay
the Governor's assurance that in the matter of the strike his lieutenant
was to have free rein. It was the first time since the beginning of
their official association that Elijah Abbott had placed an actual
responsibility in Barclay's hands. A corner-stone laying, a banquet here
and there, the opening of a trolley line, or a library, or a
sewer,--these were the major calls upon the Lieutenant-Governor's time.
The main current of routine was a hopeless monotony of official
correspondence, investigations, statistics, reading and reporting on the
interminable and flatulent maunderings of the Legislature,--duties
heart-breaking in their desperate tedium and maddening inutility.
But at last here was responsibility, actual and deeply significant,
calling for the exercise of tact, courage, and immutable firmness. The
particular task was not one which he would have coveted, and yet he
welcomed it. Anything,--anything to assuage in him that sense of
ineptitude, of being ignored, a titled nonentity!
With this vast lightening of spirit came, not only gratitude, but a
sense of lenity toward Governor Abbott. He encouraged himself to believe
that the note between them had been one of misunderstanding merely. It
might not be too late, after all! Gradually, he began to form a mental
picture of a growing sympathy and affiliation between them, large with
possibilities of improvement for Alleghenia. As he turned into the
Rathbawnes' gateway, he could have laughed aloud for very lightness of
heart. His optimism was not even impaired by running, in the hall, full
against Mrs. Rathbawne.
"_Good_ gracious! Lieutenant-Governor, is that you?"
Repeated and earnest endeavor on Barclay's part had never dissuaded her
from this form of address.
"What _is_ the use of _having_ such a title, if one can't _call_ you by
it?" she would say, when he remonstrated. "Do _you_ suppose that, if
Natalie were engaged to a _prince_, I should be going around, calling
him Tom, Dick, or Harry, instead of 'Your Royal _Highness_'? You ought
to be _proud_ of your title. _I_ am!"
"But, Mrs. Rathbawne"--
"Now, _please_ not, Lieutenant-Governor, _please_ not! I like it best
that way."
The north wind was attentive and amenable to the voice of persuasion, in
comparison with Josephine Rathbawne.
"Of _course_ you know the _strike_ is on!" she continued now, without
waiting for an assurance from Barclay that he was indeed none other than
himself. "Isn't it _awful_? I expect to hear the roar of the mob at
_any_ moment! Come into the drawing-room. Natalie _was_ there, only
_half_ an hour ago."
And she swept through the doorway, Barclay following.
"Natalie," she began, "here's the Lieu--why, _Dorothy_! I took you for
Natalie. And--er--oh! Why, Mr.--er--how de do? I didn't see you at
first. Oh, _do_ turn on the switch, my dear. The place is as black as
pitch."
The electric light, flooding the room, revealed young Nisbet, one vast,
consuming blush, and Dorothy, with a dangerous light in her eyes, and
her lips tightly compressed. It was plain that Mrs. Rathbawne had fallen
foul of Dan Cupid's machinery once more!
"Why, Mr. _Nisbet_! I thought you were in New York."
"I had a telegram this morning, calling the date off," said young Nisbet
in pitiable confusion; "that is, I didn't have to go, you know. So I
just fell in here to explain. I thought some of you might spot me on the
street, and after I'd said"--
He began to flounder hopelessly, and cast a glance of mute appeal at
Dorothy. That facile young lady marched directly into the breach.
"If you and John are looking for Natalie," she said, "you'll find her in
the library with Dad. How do you do, John?"
"Pretty well, I thank you, Flibbertigibbet. It is really your husband
whom I came to see, Mrs. Rathbawne. I've a little business with him, so,
for the moment, I'll have to give Natalie the cold shoulder."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Rathbawne, lifting her fat hands. "Of _course_,
Lieutenant-Governor! I understand _perfectly_. Business before pleasure,
_always_. Go right in, won't you, and send Natalie here to me. _I'll_
stay here. Aren't we going to have tea, Dorothy? Oh, _do_ try to sit up
straight, my dear!"
Natalie and her father were bending low over a great portfolio, their
heads close together in the yellow glow of the table-lamp, which was the
only light in the room. Rathbawne looked up with a grim smile, as the
Lieutenant-Governor entered.
"Pottering over my autographs, again, you see," he remarked. "I've been
neglecting them shamefully, of late--eh, Natalie? Didn't have the time.
It looks just now as if I wouldn't have to complain again of lack of
leisure for quite a while!"
"It was that I dropped in to see you about," said Barclay, striving,
with only partial success, to keep the exultation out of his voice. "You
may not be in for so much leisure as you imagine, Mr. Rathbawne. You may
not get much of a holiday, after all."
Without for an instant losing the Lieutenant-Governor's eye, Rathbawne
reached out and touched his daughter on the arm.
"Oh, Dad!" she said reproachfully.
"There's no need for her to go, sir," added Barclay, "unless you wish
it. I bring only good news."
Acquiescing, Rathbawne drew Natalie close to him, passing one arm across
her shoulders, so that his gnarled hand rested firmly on the delicate
fabric of her sleeve. Between these two there had always lain a
sympathy, an affection, a mutuality of comprehension, more like the
relation of husband and wife than that of child and parent.
"Nothing but good news?" answered Rathbawne. "Go on. What is it?"
"News not so much of actual happenings as of potentialities," said the
Lieutenant-Governor. "Last night I had to say to you that in the cause
of right I was as powerless to aid you as a baby. To-night, I have come
to tell you that I am in a position to see justice done, and that I
will."
In detail, his voice ringing with enthusiasm and confidence, he
described the interview of that morning, his statement of Rathbawne's
position, his passage at arms with McGrath, finally, the Governor's
announcement that the strike was to be supervised by his lieutenant in
his stead.
"I had almost lost hope," he concluded. "I thought my opportunity would
never come, and here it is, after all--the chance to act! And, somehow,
I feel that it is only the beginning--that, as he gets to understand me
better"--
Rathbawne suddenly left his daughter's side, and in three steps was
directly before the Lieutenant-Governor. As he interrupted him, his
fingers closed upon the lapels of the other's coat, and he punctuated
his words with little tugs at these, his knuckles coming together with
tiny muffled thuds. He spoke with a gravity that was vibrant with
suppressed anger and slow with sincere regret.
"My boy," he said, "it's not a gracious thing to do to spoil an
enthusiasm like yours, but don't deceive yourself. Elijah Abbott as a
trickster is alone in his class. You were never more powerless to act
for the right than you are at this moment."
"But I have his assurance"--
"Oh, _his_ assurance! It isn't worth the ash off your cigar. What, give
you a chance to interfere with the will of the Union which made him, and
owns him, body and soul? Never in God's world! Listen to me. I spent an
hour in his office this very afternoon, discussing the strike--_and he
never so much as mentioned your name_!"
The Lieutenant-Governor winced as if the words had been the touch of a
lancet. Then he closed his eyes.
"And I was in the next room," he said, almost as if to
himself,--"planning--my--control--of the situation! Good God!"
"I went directly to him," continued Rathbawne, "because I knew that it
would be purely and simply a waste of time to parley with the lesser
officials who are either helpless or frankly his tools. I knew, too,
that no satisfactory result would come of appealing to him, but I wanted
to give him the chance. All I asked of him was an assurance that the
mills would have proper police protection, and that, if necessary, the
militia would be called out in support of order. The outcome was exactly
what I expected. Governor Abbott rubbed his hands, and smiled, and said:
'All in good time, Mr. Rathbawne, all in good time. When the conditions
seem to warrant it, we can discuss these measures.' That means that they
are free to blow the mills to kingdom come, before a finger will be
raised by the authorities to prevent them. And what's more, they'll do
it! Do you think I don't know McGrath?"
As he had intended it should, this speech had given the other a chance
to recover himself. The Lieutenant-Governor's habitual poise was
already restored, and his voice, as he answered, was quite steady, but
eloquent of his desperate discouragement and weariness.
"I hope it's not as bad as all that, Mr. Rathbawne. It's not necessary
to tell you, that for me there can never again be such a thing as
trusting the word of Governor Abbott; but, at the same time, I can
hardly bring myself to believe that he would openly countenance the
practical existence of anarchy in the capital city of Alleghenia."
"Well, I can, then!" declared Rathbawne. "I can believe anything of him!
Mark my words, John, he's as sleek a scoundrel as you'll find outside of
the State's Prison. He cares less for Alleghenia and her capital city
than you do for one of the hairs on his rascally head. I tell you, the
Union has bought him, body and soul, and unless a miracle comes down
from heaven, I'm a beaten man!"
Barclay bit his lips without replying. In his heart of hearts, he knew
that Peter Rathbawne's words were true.
"He'll be impeached, sooner or later," continued the old man, "if
there's a speck of decency left in the Legislature--which I doubt. But
long before that, John, long before that, I'll be down and out. I would
to God you were Governor of Alleghenia, my boy. You're the only ray of
hope I can see for her."
The Lieutenant-Governor fell back a step, and covered his face with his
hands. For a full minute there was absolute silence. Rathbawne had
returned to the table, and, with his fore-arms across the back of a
chair, and one foot on the lower cross-bar, was staring vacantly at his
autographs, his hands moulding and remoulding each other into an
infinity of forms. Natalie was at the window, her face in the crevice
between the curtains. The same impulse had prompted both father and
daughter. There are some things which it is better not to watch.
They turned at the sound of his voice, to find him with his head flung
back, his hands clenched at his sides, his right foot planted firmly in
advance of his left, his whole bearing one of passionate earnestness.
And, though he was seemingly addressing Rathbawne, there was that in his
voice and in his words which was meant for every ear in the state!