series of wild shouts broke forth from the dense mass of people before
a newspaper bulletin board. Now came sullen groans, hisses, and
catcalls, or all together, with cheers, as the returns swung in another
direction. Not even baseball could call out such a crowd as this.
Enterprising newspapers had established places at which they flashed
out the returns on huge sheets on every prominent corner. Some of them
had bands, and moving pictures, and elaborate forms of entertainment
for the crowds.
Now and then, where the crowd was more than usually dense, we had to
make a wide detour. Even the quieter streets seemed alive. On some boys
had built huge bonfires from barrels and boxes that had been saved
religiously for weeks or surreptitiously purloined from the grocer or
the patient house-holder. About the fires, they kept an ever watchful
eye for the descent of their two sworn enemies--the policeman and the
rival gang privateering in the name of a hostile candidate.
Boys with armfuls of newspapers were everywhere, selling news that in
the rapid-fire change of the statistics seemed almost archeologically
old.
Lights blazed on every side. Automobiles honked and ground their gears.
The lobster palaces, where for weeks, Francois, Carl, and William had
been taking small treasury notes for tables reserved against the
occasion, were thronged. In theatres people squirmed uneasily until the
ends of acts, in order to listen to returns read from the stage before
the curtain. Police were everywhere. People with horns, and bells, and
all manner of noise-making devices, with confetti and "ticklers" pushed
up on one side of Broadway and down on the other.
At every square they congested foot and vehicle traffic, as they paused
ravenously to feed on the meagre bulletins of news.
Yet back of all the noise and human energy, as a newspaperman, I could
think only of the silent, systematic gathering and editing of the news,
of the busy scenes that each journal's office presented, the haste, the
excitement, the thrill in the very smell of the printer's ink.
Miss Ashton, I was glad to note, as we proceeded downtown, fell more
and more into the spirit of the adventure.
High up in the League headquarters in the tower, when we arrived, it
was almost like a newspaper office, to me. A corps of clerks was
tabulating returns, comparing official and semi-official reports. As
first the city swung one way, then another, our hopes rose and fell.
I could not help noticing, however, after a while that Miss Ashton
seemed cold and ill at ease. There was such a crowd there of Leaguers
and their friends that it was easily possible for her not to meet
Carton. But as I circulated about in the throng, I came upon him.
Carton looked worried and was paying less attention to the returns than
seemed natural. It was evident that, in spite of the crowd, she had
avoided him and he hesitated to seek her out.
There were so many things to think of thrusting themselves into one's
attention that I could follow none consistently. First I found myself
wondering about Carton and Miss Ashton. Before I knew it I was
delivering a snap judgment on whether the uptown residence district
returns would be large enough to overcome the hostile downtown vote. I
was frankly amazed, now, to see how strongly the city as a whole was
turning to the Reform League.
A boy, pushing through the crowd, came upon Kennedy and myself, talking
to Miss Ashton. He shoved a message quickly into Craig's hand and
disappeared.
"For heaven's sake!" he exclaimed as he tore open the envelope and
read. "What do you think of that? My shadows report that Martin Ogleby
has been arrested and his confession will be enough, with the Black
Book and Betty Blackwell, to indict Dorgan. Kahn has committed suicide!
Hartley Langhorne has sailed for Paris on the French line, with Mrs.
Ogleby!"
"Mary Ogleby--eloped?" repeated Miss Ashton, aghast.
The very name seemed to call up unpleasant associations and her face
plainly showed it. Kennedy had said nothing to her since the day when
he had pleaded with her to suspend judgment.
"By the way," he said in a low voice, leaning over toward her, "have
you heard that those pictures of her were faked? It was really Dorgan,
and some crook photographer cut out his face and substituted Carton's.
We got the Black Book, this morning, too, and it tells the story of
Mrs. Ogleby's misadventures--as well as a lot of much more important
things. We got it from Mr. Murtha and---"
"Mr. Murtha?" she inquired, in surprise.
"It is a secret, but I think I can violate it to a certain extent for
Mr. Carton is a party to it and--"
Kennedy paused. He was speaking with the assurance of one who assumed
that John Carton and Margaret Ashton had no secrets. She saw it, and
coloured deeply.
Then he lowered his voice further to a whisper and when he finished,
her face was even a deeper scarlet. But her eyes had a brightness they
had lacked for days. And I could see the emotion she felt as her slight
form quivered with excitement.
Kennedy excused himself and we worked our way through the press toward
Carton.
"Dorgan has lost his nerve!" ejaculated Craig as we came up with him,
watching district after district which showed that the Boss's usual
pluralities were being seriously reduced.
"Lost his nerve?" repeated Carton.
"Yes. I told him I would publish the whole affair of the photographs
just as I knew it, not caring whom it hit. I advised him to read his
revised statutes again about money in elections and I added the threat,
'There will be no "dough day" or it will be carried to the limit,
Dorgan, and I will resurrect Murtha in an hour!' You should have seen
his face! There was no dough day. That's what I meant when I said it
was to be a fair fight. You see the effect on the returns."
Carton was absolutely speechless. The tears stood in his eyes as he
grasped Kennedy's hand, then swung around to me.
A terrific cheer broke out among the clerks in the outer office. One of
them rushed in with a still unblotted report.
Kennedy seized it and read:
"Dorgan concedes the city by a safe plurality to Carton, fifty-two
election districts estimated. This clinches the Reform League victory."
I turned to Carton.
Behind us, through the crowd, had followed a young lady and now Carton
had no ears for anything except the pretty apology of Margaret Ashton.
Kennedy pulled me toward the door.
"We might as well concede Miss Ashton to Carton," he beamed. "Let's go
out and watch the crowd."
THE END