consider the anti-Christian utterances of Professor Roberts, and to take
action thereon.' That's the challenge. Didn't you read it?”
“No; as soon as I opened it and saw the printed form, I took it for the
usual notification, and put it aside to think of this election work. But
it would seem as if the Faculty intended to out-herald the 'Herald.'”
“They are simply allowed to act first in order that the 'Herald,' a
day later, may applaud them. It's all worked by Gulmore, and I tell you
again, he's dangerous.”
“He may be; but I won't change for abuse, nor yet to keep my post. Let
him do his worst. I've not attacked him hitherto for certain reasons of
my own, nor do I mean to now. But he can't frighten me; he'll find that
out.”
“Well, we'll see. But, at any rate, it was my duty to warn you. It
would be different if I were rich, but, as it is, I can only give May a
little, and--”
“My dear Hutchings, don't let us talk of that. In giving me May, you
give me all I want.” The young man's tone was so conclusive that it
closed the conversation.
Mr. Gulmore had not been trained for a political career. He had begun
life as a clerk in a hardware store in his native town. But in his early
manhood the Abolition agitation had moved him deeply--the colour of his
skin, he felt, would never have made him accept slavery--and he became
known as a man of extreme views. Before he was thirty he had managed to
save some thousands of dollars. He married and emigrated to Columbus,
Ohio, where he set up a business. It was there, in the stirring years
before the war, that he first threw himself into politics; he laboured
indefatigably as an Abolitionist without hope or desire of personal
gain. But the work came to have a fascination for him, and he saw
possibilities in it of pecuniary emolument such as the hardware business
did not afford. When the war was over, and he found himself scarcely
richer than he had been before it began, he sold his store and emigrated
again--this time to Tecumseh, Nebraska, intending to make political
organization the business of his life. He wanted “to grow up” with
a town and become its master from the beginning. As the negroes
constituted the most ignorant and most despised class, a little
solicitation made him their leader. In the first election it was found
that “Gulmore's negroes” voted to a man, and that he thereby controlled
the Republican party. In the second year of his residence in Tecumseh he
got the contract for lighting the town with gas. The contract was to
run for twenty years, and was excessively liberal, for Mr. Gulmore had
practically no competitor, no one who understood gas manufacture, and
who had the money and pluck to embark in the enterprise. He quickly
formed a syndicate, and fulfilled the conditions of the contract. The
capital was fixed at two hundred thousand dollars, and the syndicate
earned a profit of nearly forty per cent, in the first year. Ten years
later a one hundred dollar share was worth a thousand. This first
success was the foundation of Mr. Gulmore's fortune. The income derived
from the gas-works enabled him to spend money on the organization of his
party. The first manager of the works was rewarded with the position of
Town Clerk--an appointment which ran for five years, but which under Mr.
Gulmore's rule was practically permanent. His foremen became the most
energetic of ward-chairmen. He was known to pay well, and to be a kind
if strenuous master. What he had gained in ten years by the various
contracts allotted to him or his nominees no one could guess; he was
certainly very rich. From year to year, too, his control of the city
government had grown more complete. There was now no place in the civil
or judicial establishment of the city or county which did not depend on
his will, and his influence throughout the State was enormous.
A municipal election, or, indeed, any election, afforded Mr. Gulmore
many opportunities of quiet but intense self-satisfaction. He loved
the struggle and the consciousness that from his office-chair he had so
directed his forces that victory was assured. He always allowed a broad
margin in order to cover the unforeseen. Chance, and even ill-luck,
formed a part of his strategy; the sore throat of an eloquent speaker;
the illness of a popular candidate; a storm on polling-day--all were to
him factors in the problem. He reckoned as if his opponents might have
all the luck upon their side; but, while considering the utmost malice
of fortune, it was his delight to base his calculations upon the
probable, and to find them year by year approaching more nearly
to absolute exactitude. As soon as his ward-organization had been
completed, he could estimate the votes of his party within a dozen or
so. His plan was to treat every contest seriously, to bring all his
forces to the poll on every occasion--nothing kept men together, he used
to say, like victory. It was the number of his opponent's minority which
chiefly interested him; but by studying the various elections carefully,
he came to know better than any one the value as a popular candidate of
every politician in the capital, or, indeed, in the State. The talent of
the man for organization lay in his knowledge of men, his fairness and
liberality, and, perhaps, to a certain extent, in the power he possessed
of inspiring others with confidence in himself and his measures. He was
never satisfied till the fittest man in each ward was the Chairman of
the ward; and if money would not buy that particular man's services,
as sometimes though rarely happened, he never rested until he found the
gratification which bound his energy to the cause. Besides--and this was
no small element in his successes--his temper disdained the applause of
the crowd. He had never “run” for any office himself, and was not nearly
so well known to the mass of the electorate as many of his creatures.
The senator, like the mayor or office-messenger of his choice, got
all the glory: Mr. Gulmore was satisfied with winning the victory, and
reaping the fruits of it. He therefore excited, comparatively speaking,
no jealousy; and this, together with the strength of his position,
accounts for the fact that he had never been seriously opposed before
Professor Roberts came upon the scene.
Better far than Lawyer Hutchings, or any one else, Mr. Gulmore knew that
the relative strength of the two parties had altered vastly within the
year. Reckoning up his forces at the beginning of the campaign, he felt
certain that he could win--could carry his whole ticket, including a
rather unpopular Mayor; but the majority in his favour would be small,
and the prospect did not please him, for the Professor's speeches had
aroused envy. He understood that if his majority were not overwhelming
he would be assailed again next year more violently, and must in the
long run inevitably lose his power. Besides, “fat” contracts required
unquestionable supremacy. He began, therefore, by instituting such
a newspaper-attack upon the Professor as he hoped would force him to
abandon the struggle. When this failed, and Mr. Gulmore saw that it had
done worse than fail, that it had increased his opponent's energy and
added to his popularity, he went to work again to consider the whole
situation. He must win and win “big,” that was clear; win too, if
possible, in a way that would show his “smartness” and demonstrate
his adversary's ignorance of the world. His anger had at length been
aroused; personal rivalry was a thing he could not tolerate at any time,
and Roberts had injured his position in the town. He was resolved to
give the young man such a lesson that others would be slow to follow his
example. The difficulty of the problem was one of its attractions. Again
and again he turned the question over in his mind--How was he to make
his triumph and the Professor's defeat sensational? All the factors were
present to him and he dwelt upon them with intentness. He was a man of
strong intellect; his mind was both large and quick, but its activity,
owing to want of education and to greedy physical desires, had been
limited to the ordinary facts and forces of life. What books are to most
persons gifted with an extraordinary intelligence, his fellow-men
were to Mr. Gulmore--a study at once stimulating and difficult, of
an incomparable variety and complexity. His lack of learning was of
advantage to him in judging most men. Their stock of ideas, sentiments
and desires had been his for years, and if he now viewed the patchwork
quilt of their morality with indulgent contempt, at least he was
familiar with all the constituent shades of it. But he could not make
the Professor out--and this added to his dislike of him; he recognized
that Roberts was not, as he had at first believed, a mere mouthpiece of
Hutchings, but he could not fathom his motives; besides, as he said to
himself, he had no need to; Roberts was plainly a “crank,” book-mad, and
the species did not interest him. But Hutchings he knew well; knew that
like himself Hutchings, while despising ordinary prejudices, was ruled
by ordinary greeds and ambitions. In intellect they were both above
the average, but not in morals. So, by putting himself in the lawyer's
place, a possible solution of the problem occurred to him.
A couple of days before the election, Mr. Hutchings, who had been hard
at work till the evening among his chief subordinates, was making his
way homeward when Mr. Prentiss accosted him, with the request that he
would accompany him to his rooms for a few minutes on a matter of the
utmost importance. Having no good reason for refusing, Mr. Hutchings
followed the editor of the “Herald” up a flight of stairs into a large
and comfortable room. As he entered and looked about him Mr. Gulmore
came forward:
“I wanted a talk with you, Lawyer, where we wouldn't be disturbed, and
Prentiss thought it would be best to have it here, and I guess he was
about right. It's quiet and comfortable. Won't you be seated?”
“Mr. Gulmore!” exclaimed the surprised lawyer stopping short. “I don't
think there's anything to be discussed between us, and as I'm in a hurry
to get home to dinner, I think I'll--”
“Don't you make any mistake,” interrupted Mr. Gulmore; “I mean
business--business that'll pay both you and me, and I guess 'twon't do
you any damage to take a seat and listen to me for a few minutes.”
As Lawyer Hutchings, overborne by the authority of the voice and manner,
sat down, he noticed that Mr. Prentiss had disappeared. Interpreting
rightly the other's glance, Mr. Gulmore began:
“We're alone, Hutchin's. This matter shall be played fair and square.
I guess you know that my word can be taken at its face-value.” Then,
settling himself in his chair, he went on:
“You and I hev been runnin' on opposite tickets for a good many years,
and I've won right along. It has paid me to win and it has not paid you
to lose. Now, it's like this. You reckon that those Irishmen on the line
give you a better show. They do; but not enough to whip me. You appear
to think that that'll have to be tried the day after tomorrow, but you
ought to know by now that when I say a thing is so, it's so--every time.
If you had a chance, I'd tell you: I'm playin' square. I ken carry my
ticket from one end to the other; I ken carry Robinson as Mayor against
you by at least two hundred and fifty of a majority, and the rest of
your ticket has just no show at all--you know that. But, even if you
could get in this year or next what good would it do you to be Mayor?
You're not runnin' for the five thousand dollars a year salary, I
reckon, and that's about all you'd get--unless you worked with me. I
want a good Mayor, a man like you, of position and education, a fine
speaker that knows everybody and is well thought of--popular. Robinson's
not good enough for me; he hain't got the manners nor the knowledge, nor
the popularity. I'd have liked to have had you on my side right along.
It would have been better for both of us, but you were a Democrat, an'
there wasn't any necessity. Now there is. I want to win this election by
a large majority, an' you ken make that sartin. You see I speak square.
Will you join me?”
The question was thrown out abruptly. Mr. Gul-more had caught a gleam in
the other's eye as he spoke of a good Mayor and his qualifications. “He
bites, I guess,” was his inference, and accordingly he put the question
at once.
Mr. Hutchings, brought to himself by the sudden interrogation,
hesitated, and decided to temporize. He could always refuse to join
forces, and Gulmore might “give himself away.” He answered:
“I don't quite see what you mean. How are we to join?”
“By both of us givin' somethin'.”
“What am I to give?”
“Withdraw your candidature for Mayor as a Democrat.”
“I can't do that.”
“Jest hear me out. The city has advertised for tenders for a new Court
House and a new Town Hall. The one building should cover both, and be
near the middle of the business part. That's so--ain't it? Well, land's
hard to get anywhere there, and I've the best lots in the town. I guess”
(carelessly) “the contract will run to a million dollars; that
should mean two hundred thousand dollars to some one. It's like this,
Hutchin's: Would you rather come in with me and make a joint tender, or
run for Mayor and be beaten?”
Mr. Hutchings started. Ten years before the proposal would have won him.
But now his children were provided for--all except Joe, and his position
as Counsel to the Union Pacific Railroad lifted him above pecuniary
anxieties. Then the thought of the Professor and May came to him--No! he
wouldn't sell himself. But in some strange way the proposition excited
him; he felt elated. His quickened pulse-beats prevented him from
realizing the enormity of the proposed transaction, but he knew that
he ought to be indignant. What a pity it was that Gulmore had made no
proposal which he might have accepted--and then disclosed!
“If I understand you, you propose that I should take up this contract,
and make money out of it. If that was your business with me, you've made
a mistake, and Professor Roberts is right.”
“Hev I?” asked Mr. Gulmore slowly, coldly, in sharp contrast to the
lawyer's apparent excitement and quick speech. Contemptuously he thought
that Hutchings was “foolisher” than he had imagined--or was he sincere?
He would have weighed this last possibility before speaking, if the
mention of Roberts had not angered him. His combativeness made him
persist:
“If you don't want to come in with me, all you've got to do is to say
so. You've no call to get up on your hind legs about it; it's easy to
do settin'. But don't talk poppycock like that Professor; he's silly. He
talks about the contract for street pavin', and it ken be proved--'twas
proved in the 'Herald'--that our streets cost less per foot than the
streets of any town in this State. He knows nothin'. He don't even know
that an able man can make half a million out of a big contract, an' do
the work better than an ordinary man could do it who'd lose money by it
At a million our Court House'll be cheap; and if the Professor had the
contract with the plans accordin' to requirement to-morrow, he'd
make nothin' out of it--not a red cent. No, sir. If I ken, that's my
business--and yours, ain't it? Or, are we to work for nothin' because
he's a fool?”
While Mr. Gulmore was speaking, Mr. Hutchings gave himself to thought.
After all, why was he running for Mayor? The place, as Gulmore said,
would be of no use to him. He was weary of fighting which only ended in
defeat, and could only end in a victory that would be worthless. Mayor,
indeed! If he had a chance of becoming a Member of Congress, that would
be different. And across his brain flitted the picture so often evoked
by imagination in earlier years. Why not? Gulmore could make it certain.
Would he?
“What you say seems plausible enough, but I don't see my way. I don't
feel inclined to go into business at my time of life.”
“You don't need to go into the business. I'll see to that.”
“No. I don't need money now particularly.”
“Next year, Hutchin's, I'll have a better man than Robinson against you.
Lawyer Nevilson's as good as ken be found, I reckon, and he wouldn't
refuse to join me if I gave him the chance.” But while he was speaking,
Mr. Gulmore kept his opponent's answer in view. He considered it
thoughtfully; “I don't need money now particularly.” What did the
man need? Congress? As a Republican? That would do as well. When Mr.
Hutchings shook his head, careless of the menace, Mr. Gulmore made up
his mind. His obstinacy came out; he would win at any price. He began:
“It's what I said at first, Hutchin's; we've each got to give what the
other wants. I've told you what I want; tell me squarely what you want,
an' p'r'aps the thing ken be settled.”
As Mr. Hutchings did not answer at once, the Boss went on:
“You're in politics for somethin'. What is it? If you're goin' to buck
agen me, you might as well draw out; you'll do no good. You know that.
See here! Is it the State Legislature you're after, or--Congress?”
The mere words excited Mr. Hutchings; he wanted to be back again in the
East as a victor; he longed for the cultivated amenities and the social
life of Washington. He could not help exclaiming:
“Ah! if it hadn't been for you I'd have been in Congress long ago.”
“As a Democrat? Not from this State, I guess.”
“What does it matter? Democrat or Republican, the difference now is only
in the name.”
“The price is high, Hutchin's. I ask you to give up runnin' for Mayor,
and you ask me for a seat in Congress instead. But--I'll pay it, if you
do as I say. You've no chance in this State as a Democrat; you know that
yourself. To run for Mayor as a Democrat hurts you; that must stop right
now--in your own interest. But what I want from you is that you don't
announce your withdrawal till the day after to-morrow, an' meantime you
say nothin' to the Professor or any one else. Are you agreed?”
Mr. Hutchings paused. The path of his desire lay open before him; the
opportunity was not to be missed; he grew eager. But still there was
something disagreeable in an action which demanded secrecy. He must
think coolly. What was the proposal? What was he giving? Nothing. He
didn't wish to be Mayor with Gulmore and all the City Council against
him. Nothing--except the withdrawal on the very morning of the election.
That would look bad, but he could pretend illness, and he had told the
Professor he didn't care to be Mayor; he had advised him not to mix in
the struggle; besides, Roberts would not suspect anything, and if he
did there'd be no shadow of proof for a long time to come. In the other
scale of the balance he had Gulmore's promise: it was trustworthy, he
knew, but--:
“Do you mean that you'll run me for the next term and get me elected?”
“I'll do all I know, and I guess you'll succeed.”
“I have nothing but your word.”
“Nothin'.”
Again Mr. Hutchings paused. To accept definitively would be dangerous if
the conversation had had listeners. It was characteristic of the place
and time that he could suspect a man of laying such a trap, upon
whose word he was prepared to rely. Mr. Gulmore saw and understood his
hesitation:
“I said we were alone, Hutchin's, and I meant it. Jest as I say now,
if you withdraw and tell no one and be guided by me in becoming a
Republican, I'll do what I ken to get you into Congress,” and as he
spoke he stood up.
Mr. Hutchings rose, too, and said, as if in excuse: “I wanted to think
it over, but I'm agreed. I'll do as you say,” and with a hurried “Good
night!” he left the room.
Mr. Gulmore returned to his chair and lit a cigar. He was fairly
satisfied with the result of his efforts. His triumph over the Professor
would not be as flagrant, perhaps, as if Hutchin's' name had been linked
with his in a city contract; but, he thought with amusement, every one
would suspect that he had bought the lawyer for cash. What a fool the
man was! What did he want to get into Congress for? Weak vanity! He'd
have no weight there. To prefer a seat in Congress to wealth--silly.
Besides, Hutchin's would be a bad candidate. Of course the party name
would cover anythin'. But what a mean skunk! Here Mr. Gulmore's thoughts
reverted to himself. Ought he to keep his word and put such a man
into Congress? He hated to break a promise. But why should he help the
Professor's father-in-law to power? Wall, there was no hurry. He'd make
up his mind later. Anyway, the Professor'd have a nice row to hoe on the
mornin' of the election, and Boss Gulmore'd win and win big, an' that
was the point The laugh would be on the Professor--
On the morning of the election Professor Roberts was early afoot. He
felt hopeful, light-hearted, and would not confess even to himself
that his good spirits were due chiefly to the certainty that in
another twelve hours his electioneering would be at an end. The work of
canvassing and public speaking had become very disagreeable to him. The
mere memory of the speeches he had listened to, had left, as it were,
an unpleasant aftertaste. How the crowds had cheered the hackneyed
platitudes, the blatant patriotic appeals, the malevolent caricature
of opponents! Something unspeakably trivial, vulgar, and evil in it
all reminded him of tired children when the romping begins to grow
ill-natured.
And if the intellectual side of the struggle had been offensive, the
moral atmosphere of the Committee Rooms, infected as it was by the
candidates, had seemed to him to be even worse--mephitic, poisonous. He
had shrunk from realizing the sensations which had been forced upon him
there--a recoil of his nature as from unappeasable wild-beast greeds,
with their attendant envy, suspicion, and hatred seething like lava
under the thin crust of a forced affability, of a good-humour assumed
to make deception easy. He did not want to think of it; it was horrible.
And perhaps, after all, he was mistaken; perhaps his dislike of the
work had got upon his nerves, and showed him everything in the darkest
colours. It could scarcely be as bad as he thought, or human society
would be impossible. But argument could not blunt the poignancy of his
feelings; he preferred, therefore, to leave them inarticulate, striving
to forget. In any case, the ordeal would soon be over; it had to be
endured for a few hours more, and then he would plunge into his books
again, and enjoy good company, he and May together.
He was still lingering over this prospect when the servant came to
tell him that some gentlemen were waiting for him, and he found in the
sitting-room half-a-dozen of his favourite students. One of the Seniors,
named Cartrell, a young man of strong figure, and keen, bold face,
remarked, as he shook hands, that they had come to accompany him--”
Elections are sometimes rough, and we know the ropes.” Roberts thanked
them warmly, and they set off.
The Committee Rooms of the Democratic party were situated near the Court
House, in what had been once the centre, but was now the edge of the
town. The little troop had to pass through the negro quarter--small
frame-houses, peppered over grassless, bare lots, the broken-down fences
protesting against unsociable isolation. The Rooms, from the outside,
reminded one of a hive of angry bees. In and out of the door men were
hurrying, and a crowd swarmed on the side-walk talking in a loud,
excited hum. As soon as the Professor was recognized, a silence of
astonishment fell upon the throng. With stares of curiosity they
drew aside to let him enter. Slightly surprised by the reception, the
Professor passed into the chief room. At a table in the middle a man was
speaking in a harsh, loud voice--one Simpson, a popular orator, who had
held aloof from the meetings of the party. He was saying:
“It's a put-up game between them, but the question is, who's to go on
the ticket in--”
As Simpson's eyes met those of Roberts he stopped speaking.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Please continue, Mr. Simpson; I hope I'm not
interrupting you.”
The Professor did not like Mr. Simpson. The atrabilious face, the
bitter, thin lips, and grey eyes veined with yellow, reminded him
indefinably of a wild beast. Mr. Simpson seemed to take the courteous
words as a challenge. Drawing his wiry figure up he said, with insult in
voice and manner:
“Perhaps you've come to nominate a Mayor; we'd all like to know your
choice.”
“I don't understand you.”
The Professor's tone was frank, his sincerity evident, but Simpson went
on: