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THE STATESMEN SNOWBOUND
_By_ ROBERT FITZGERALD
_Illustrated by Wad-el-Ward_
New York and Washington
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY
1909
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. The Funeral
II. Senator Bull and Mr. Ridley--Trials and Tribulations of the
Newly Fledged Member
III. Colonel Manysnifters--An Outing with the "Jewels"
IV. An Accident--Dinner
V. Senator Bull's Story
VI. Representative Holloway Has the Floor
VII. Representative Van Rensselaer Unfolds a Strange Tale
VIII. Senator Wendell Reads "The Creaking of the Stairs"
IX. Senator Hammond's Experience
X. Mr. Callahan's Story
XI. What Happened to Denmead
XII. O'Brien's Narrative
XIII. An Uninvited Guest
ILLUSTRATIONS
Senator Bull and Sammy Ridley
President Madison
Senator Pennypacker
Colonel Ross Addressing the Jury
"Stick to the Thirteenth Commandment!"
The Kiss
Manuel Villasante
Papa Villasante
"Upon each stair the clear impression of a naked human foot!"
"Ah Moy, shrieking, turned and fled!"
"Shoved a revolver right up in the teeth of the prosperous
one!"
"Writes the dramatic criticisms for the moving-picture shows"
"Framed in the doorway stood one of the finest examples of the early
Gothic I have ever seen"
Professor Habib
An Uninvited Guest
The Statesmen Snowbound
I
THE FUNERAL
Toward the close of the --th Congress I was designated a member of a
committee on the part of the House to accompany the remains of the late
Senator Thurlow to their last resting-place at the old home in Kentucky.
And it might be well to state here that I am quite aware that some of my
ungrateful countrymen apply the spiteful term "junket" to a journey of
this description. When one considers the sacrifices we Congressmen make
in order to serve the nation, it is hard to believe that unthinking
persons begrudge us a little pleasure. In many cases we give up all home
life, business interests, and personal comfort, and take up our abode in
second-rate hotels and boarding-houses. We are continually pestered and
annoyed by office-seekers, book-agents, cranks, and reporters; and,
alas, we form habits that cling like barnacles, try as hard as we may to
shake them off. A taste of public life is fatal to most men, and the
desire to feed from the public crib goes right to the bone. It is like a
cancer, and it is removed only with grave danger to the afflicted.
Everything, therefore, which may lighten our burdens and tend to relieve
the situation should be the aim and study of our constituents. But this
may be digression.
The trip out was necessarily a quiet one, though a well-stocked buffet
kept the delegation from absolute depression. Leaving Washington early
in the afternoon we arrived at the little Kentucky town the next morning
about eleven o'clock, and found that we had yet some five miles to go
over bad roads to the homestead. We were met by two nephews of the
deceased, with a host of relatives and friends. The son, Albert Thurlow,
came on with us from Washington. There was ample accommodation in the
way of conveyances, and we proceeded slowly up into the higher country.
In something more than an hour the house was reached--a big home-like
structure, large enough for us all, and the entertainment most lavish.
The estate was an extensive one, and the innumerable outbuildings and
well-stocked barns gave evidence of wealth and thrift. A long drive
between rows of lofty poplars led to the main entrance, and the view
from the front of the house down to the river was superb. There were
servants in abundance, and nothing had been overlooked to insure our
comfort. The stables were the attraction for most of our party, and
several kings of the turf were brought out for inspection. We were taken
all over the place, and many things of interest were shown us. A Bible
and powder-horn, once the property of Daniel Boone, books with the
autograph of Henry Clay, duelling pistols, quaint and almost priceless
silver and china, and a rare collection of old prints and family
portraits. The walls in one room were fairly lined with cups, the
trophies of many a famous meet.
And such whiskey! There is nothing like it in Washington, or in the
whole world, perhaps. A volume might be written in praise of that
mellow, golden fluid. There were many in our party who would gladly add
to this glowing testimony, and wax eloquent over the virtues of that
noble life-saver and panacea, referred to by our good hosts as "a little
something." Accustomed, as most of us were, to the stuff served over the
Washington bars, this was indeed well worth the trip out.
Late February is not the time to see rural Kentucky at its best, and but
few signs of spring were visible. The day of the funeral dawned with
leaden skies, and a piercing wind from the north groaned in the
chimneys, and whistled through the leafless trees on the lawn. The
branches of a huge maple scraped and fretted against my windows and woke
me several times during the night. At an early hour a servant was piling
high the fire, and the room was soon bathed in a cheerful glow, the logs
cracking and sputtering merrily. I parted the curtains of my large
old-fashioned bed, slipped to the floor feeling very well and fit, and
glanced curiously about me. Every appointment of the room was long out
of date, but nevertheless made for snugness and comfort. The lover of
antique furniture would surely revel here. I do not know what would
delight him most; the high-post bed, the dressing-table, the chest of
drawers, or the old clock on the mantel. The sheets and hangings smelled
faintly of lavender, the walls were papered with landscapes in which
pretty shepherdesses, impossible sheep, and garlands of roses
predominated,--a style much in vogue in the early forties,--indeed the
room seemed as if it had been closed and laid away by a tidy housewife
years before, and opened and aired for my reception but yesterday. An
illumined text,--a "Jonah under his Gourd," elaborately worked in
colored silks,--a smirking likeness of "The Father of his Country," and
an equally self-satisfied looking portrait of Mrs. W. hung in prominent
places.
There was a gentle tap on the door, and an ancient darky entered, with a
tall glass of whipped-cream punch, light as a feather, and as delicate
as thought. Then, breakfast, in a long, low-ceilinged room on the ground
floor, with a blazing fire at each end, a pickaninny gravely watchful
over both. Only the male members of the family were at the meal, which
was a solemn festival as befitting a house of mourning.
At ten o'clock the funeral procession left the mansion and slowly wound
its way along a rough road to a little weather-beaten church a mile or
so distant. It was set well back from the highway in the shadow of tall
pines, and looked lonely and uncared-for. In the churchyard were a few
scattered tombstones, moss-grown, and very much awry. The graves were
unkempt and sunken, and weeds and poison ivy struggled for the mastery.
The day was bitterly cold, with an occasional flurry of snow; but, in
spite of that, an immense crowd had gathered. The church and churchyard
were filled to overflowing. It was the largest collection of queer
looking people, horses, and "fixes" I have ever seen. The services were
brief, but most impressive, and it must have been a trying ordeal for
the aged clergyman, an old friend of the deceased. Several times his
voice faltered, and he seemed about to break down. The coffin was borne
to the grave by six stalwart negroes, laborers on the estate. A lad
followed, leading poor Thurlow's favorite horse. Then the widow and her
son, the relatives, friends, and family servants. A fine male quartet
sang "Nearer, my God, to Thee," and a soul-stirring contralto, "Asleep
in Jesus." Tears stood in the eyes of all, the negroes weeping openly
and uncontrollably. As the grave was filled in, the snow began to fall
in real earnest, gusts of wind lashing the pines into fury. It was the
beginning of a three days' blizzard long to be remembered in that
country.
Returning to the warmth and comfort of the homestead, we found a vast
array of eatables and drinkables; every one was welcomed, but
notwithstanding the unusual number of guests, all was well-ordered and
decorous. The Thurlows and their numerous clan are a fine-looking folk;
the men, sturdy, well set-up--a fighting people, yet generous, kindly
and hospitable. The women--gracious, lovely, and altogether charming.
Beyond the universally cherished idea of beautiful women, blooded
horses, and blue grass, my knowledge of Kentucky had been rather vague.
My information had been derived chiefly from my experience on various
Election Committees, where moonshiners, mountain feuds, and
double-barrelled shot guns played prominent parts. Commonwealths, like
communities, are advertised most widely by the _evils_ in their midst; a
fact which jolts the reformer and drives the optimist to drink. The
lordly manner of living, the immense estates, and the magnificent
hospitality of our hosts, was a revelation to me; and an occasional
reference by one of the older servants to the grandeur of antebellum
days indicated a condition of even greater splendor and luxury. But the
cruel hand of war had devastated and impoverished the country, the
slaves were freed, and the land for years lay untilled and neglected.
Marse Henry, the head of the house, was killed in almost the first
battle of the war. Marse Breckinridge died, a prisoner in Fort Warren,
and now Marse Preston had followed them to the land of shadows. Uncle
Eph'm, himself, was getting very feeble and helpless, and it would not
be long before he joined his loved ones on the other shore. De good ole
times were gone forever!
It was with regret that I left this attractive home, and I gladly
accepted an invitation to return in the fall for the shooting. For the
shooting, indeed! Why, _that_ was all over! Dan Cupid never aimed truer!
My wife--a Kentuckian--says that I will never shine as a Nimrod, but it
seems to me that I have had pretty fair success in that role.
II
SENATOR BULL AND MR. RIDLEY--TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF THE NEWLY
FLEDGED MEMBER.
Again on the train, our troubles were over, and we pulled out of the
station amid cheers and yells from hundreds of throats--an odd contrast
to the mournful silence of the throng upon our arrival.
In our party were Senators Baker, of Kentucky; Bull, of Montana;
Wendell, of Massachusetts; Hammond, of Michigan; Pennypacker, of West
Virginia; and Congressmen Holloway, of Illinois; Manysnifters, of
Georgia; Van Rensselaer, of New York; a majority of the Kentucky
delegation, Mr. Ridley, Senator Bull's private secretary, and several
newspaper men.
Senator Bull is seventy, tall and massive. His features are striking--a
big nose, heavy, grizzled mustache, bushy brows emphasizing eyes blue
and kindly, a wide mouth, tobacco-stained, with a constant movement of
the jaws--bovine, but shrewdly ruminative. A leonine head of shaggy
white hair crowns the whole. Ridley, the private secretary, is about the
same age. He is a ruddy-cheeked, round-paunched little fellow, scarcely
measuring up to the Senator's shoulder. The thin fringe of hair around
his shining pate gives him the appearance of a jolly friar. He peers at
you through gold-rimmed spectacles, and is quite helpless without them.
He has been with Senator Bull for years, serving him faithfully in
various capacities, and is now a partner in the enterprises which have
made the Senator many times a millionaire. The title of "private
secretary" is one of courtesy merely, and seems to highly amuse the two
friends.
[Illustration: Senator Bull and Sammy Ridley.]
At nightfall we had left the storm behind us, and were speeding over the
mountains. The sunlight, lingering on the higher peaks, cast great
shadows into the depths beyond. There had been much snow all winter, and
the summits sparkled and shone out dazzlingly, then went pink and
crimson and purple as the radiance slowly faded. The lamps had not been
lighted in the car, and most of us had gathered at the observation end,
impressed by the grandeur of it all, when the silence was broken by Mr.
Ridley.
"That's a pretty sight, sure! It gives me a kind of solemn feeling all
over. The glory up there makes me think of dying, and heaven, and
angels, and all that," he said gravely. "That patch of light calls to
mind the fellows I know who climb the heights, and when they get near
the top the sunshine of prosperity, or fame, or notoriety, or whatever
you call it, strikes them and it wilts them, and they can't stand it for
long, so they fall back, and you don't hear of them any more. There're
others, though, who get up there and fairly bask in it all, walk around,
lie down, eat and sleep in it. _They_ can stand it, and, my, what big
shadows they throw!"
"Well, well, well, Sammy Ridley, I never heard you talk like that
before," said Senator Bull; "it must have been that funeral to-day. Got
on your nerves, eh? Some folks are affected like that. Come away from
that window, boy, and get back to earth again." Thus urged, Mr. Ridley
got back to earth again, and took a drink of generous size. Several of
the delegation joined him. The movement seemed a popular one.
The conversation then turned to the deceased, his many good qualities,
his probable successor in the Senate, and the bearing his death would
have upon the political situation in Kentucky.
"We will miss him in the Senate," said Senator Wendell; "we will miss
his wise counsel, the broad statesmanlike views, and the kindly
personality that endeared him to us all. Thurlow was a great man, and
the State of Kentucky will no doubt erect a fitting memorial."
"Yes," said Mr. Ridley, "I suppose they will. They ought to. It may be
some consolation to the family anyhow. But it is an empty sort of thing,
after all, when you come to think of it. A man's life and actions are
his best monument; those who loved him will never forget him, his
enemies will be sorry they spoke, and there will be something _more_
than appropriate cut on his tombstone--that's certainly all a man should
want. What's the use of waiting for a fellow to die before immortalizing
him in marble or bronze? It is small satisfaction to him personally. Why
not put up a statue while he is living, and let him have the pleasure of
walking past it with his wife and children on a fine Sunday afternoon
when all the folks are out?"
"There is a rich vein of truth in what you say, Sammy," said Senator
Bull; "but you are alive and well, and it is almost impossible for you
to take a dead man's view of the situation."
"I don't know but what you are right, Senator," observed Mr. Ridley
thoughtfully, and the group relapsed into silence.
"You are a Southern man, I believe, Mr. Ridley," said Representative Van
Rensselaer a few minutes later, as they touched glasses.
"I _was_ one, sir, very much of one; that's why I am limping around now.
I was in the Confederate Army, up to the fall of sixty-three, and then I
was taken prisoner."
"So you have had a taste of Union prisons, eh?" asked Senator Baker, who
spoke feelingly--his "Recollections of Johnson's Island" had just made
its appearance.
"Just a leetle might of a taste, Senator; nothing like your experience,
though. You see, it was this way with me. I was captured by a pretty
good sort of a fellow--a big, husky, soft-hearted chap who wouldn't hurt
a flea. That's him over there," pointing to Senator Bull, "and he has
held me prisoner ever since. He ran up against me at Chickamauga."
"Well?" said Senator Baker expectantly.
"Tell them the whole story, Sammy," said Senator Bull, as several of the
party drew their chairs up closer to the private secretary; "tell them
the whole story; it will kill time, anyway."
"Yes," continued Mr. Ridley, "I was taken prisoner, and it all came of
my foolishness and scorn for the enemy. We boys of the --th Arkansas
thought any Johnny Reb could whip five Yanks, and it made us kind of
careless-like, I reckon. I was a raw country lad when the war broke out,
as tough a specimen as ever Jefferson County turned loose on the
unsuspecting public, but I wasn't much worse than the rest of the boys
who loafed around Todd's livery stable swapping lies, chawing tobacco,
and setting the nation to rights. We were all full of fight when the
Sumter news came, and anxious to get in it; and I saw a heap of it, too,
before I made the acquaintance of Nathan Bull.
"There was some lively skirmishing on the morning of September
twentieth, sixty-three, before the armies got together in earnest. It
was real comical to see the boys tearing up their love-letters and
playing-cards just before going into battle. The roads and fields were
speckled with the scraps just like a snowfall on the stage, as I reckon
all of you have seen in plays like 'Alone in London,' and the 'Banker's
Daughter.' It was in one of those preliminary set-tos that somehow my
company strayed away, and left me up in the woods with a bullet in my
leg. I was looking around for some place where I could lie down and
nurse myself a bit, and at the same time keep clear of the shells and
other things flying around. The air was full of them--making a noise
like 'Whar-izz-yer?' 'Whar-izz-yer?' Haven't you often heard that sound,
Senator? Some poor devil hears it once _too_ often, every now and then,
doesn't he?
"It was very hot and dusty, and I was plumb crazy for water. Somehow I
managed to work my way out to a big clear space on the side of the hill.
The brush and weeds were up to your neck. At the foot of the hill was a
piece of marshy land where there had once been a spring. It had long
since dried up, but there were patches of greenish water here and there.
I threw myself on the ground, and my, how good that nasty-looking water
tasted! Then I bathed my face and hands in it. I heard a man over to my
right shout out that General Hood had been killed; and in a minute or so
two of our officers dashed out of the timber, coming my way, riding for
dear life, and nearly trampling me. Meanwhile, the battle seemed to be
raging all around me. Most of the heavy fighting that day was done in
the woods, and the losses were big on both sides. Well, I dragged myself
to a little clump of sassafras, not caring much whether I lived or died,
I was that played out, and my leg burning and stinging just as though it
was being touched up with a red-hot poker. I had been there about
fifteen minutes when a blue-coat rose up in front of me--right out of
the ground it seemed--and says, very fierce, 'You're my prisoner!' He
was a young fellow, about my age, and didn't look at all dangerous. I
just wished that leg of mine had been all right, I would have given him
his money's worth, I tell you! But it wasn't any use. I couldn't stir
for the misery.
"'You're my prisoner,' he says again, louder'n before.
"'All right,' says I, 'I'm willing,' seeing there wasn't anything else
to say, and putting a free and easy face on it.
"'Get up, then, and come along with me,' says he. I pointed to my leg,
and tried to grin. He saw the curious way it was lying--all twisted
up--and the big red splotch on my trousers, and says, as if imparting
information, 'You're hurt, man, badly hurt. Keep perfectly still,' which
seemed to be unnecessary, as that was the onliest thing I could do
anyhow. 'I'll get you out of this. Now, brace up,' and he knelt down,
and held out his canteen. I tried to take it, but the effort was too
much for me. 'Poor chap, he's gone,' I heard him say, and then I faded
away. When I came to--a minute later it seemed to me--I was in a Yankee
hospital; a big tent full of men groaning and dying, and doctors running
this way and that with bottles, and bandages, and knives; and the
cussing, and the screaming, and the smells! It makes me sick to think of
it, even now. It was hell! I know you don't want to hear about the time
I spent there, and in another place like it, tossing and groaning
through the long days and nights; and when I got nearly well again,
about my life in prison, and my parole. Nathan fixed that, and I walked
out a free man, limping a little, just as I've done ever since. Nathan
hadn't forgotten the Reb he had taken prisoner, and when I went back to
Pine Bluff, poorer'n a rat, and no prospects to speak of, he gave me my
start in life. He sent me with a letter to his folks in Illinois, and
when I got there they gave me work to do, and treated me like one of
their own. They certainly were white to me. When Nathan came home after
the war, he cal'lated that Illinois was too far east for him, so after a
few years we packed up our duds, and 'migrated out to Montana. There
we've been ever since. That's my story, and it ain't a very startling
one after all, is it?"
"And it is true--every word of it," said Senator Bull warmly. "Sammy has
stuck by me through thick and thin. I don't believe I could have made
out without him. As a mine boss, store keeper, deputy sheriff, and
Indian fighter, we swear by him out our way. There is a fellow,
gentlemen, who calls a spade a spade, and oftener than not a _damned_
spade!"
"Don't take my character away, Nathan," expostulated Mr. Ridley humbly;
"give me a show. I'm an old man now, and all I've got left is my good
name, and a little something in the savings bank. Don't be hard on me."
"Sammy," continued the Senator, unnoticing, "could have gone to Congress
if he had cared to. The Democrats were after him only year before last.
Their man won out hands down. Sammy declined the nomination. And that's
the only thing I have against Sammy Ridley. He is a Democrat. It's born
in him, just as some folks inherit a taste for liquor, and others come
into the world plumb crazy, and are satisfied to stay that way all their
lives. However, it is not as bad as it seems. They do say out in our
country that the firm of 'Bull and Ridley' is bound to get there,
because when the Republican party is in the saddle, and there's anything
to be had, it's 'Bull and Ridley,' and when the Democrats are on top,
it's 'Ridley and Bull,' and when the Populists come in we are going out
of business. So there may be some truth in it after all. What say you,
Sammy boy?" Mr. Ridley nodded gravely. "In Washington Sammy is invited
everywhere, but society is not his strong point. He won't get in the
swim."
"I'd rather not be 'in the swim' than swim in dirty water," said the
private secretary brusquely. "But speaking of the Senator; _there_,
friends, is certainly an all-around heavy-weight."
"Sammy, Sammy," said the Senator reproachfully. "I see you are getting
back at me. I didn't think it of you. No bouquets, if you please. As a
matter of fact, gentlemen, I feel that I am growing beautifully less
every day; I have noticed it ever since I came to Washington. I haven't
been in the Senate long enough to amount to anything, if I ever do. We
new people are only in demand when there is a vote to be taken. We are
put on minor committees, and are thankful for any crumbs that fall from
the great man's table. I am a very small spar in the ship of state. It
takes all the conceit out of a fellow when he finds how little he
amounts to in Washington. He leaves his own part of the world a giant,
puffed up with pride and importance; but the shrinking process begins as
soon as the train rolls out of the home depot. It comes on like an
attack of the ague--you are first hot, then cold, then colder still. You
shiver and shake----"
"For drinks?" murmured one of the newspaper men absently.
"Well--yes," replied the Senator, smiling. "I hadn't thought of that.
Very neatly put. Quite true. And, as I say, he shivers and shakes--for
drinks--loses, and loses--pays for them, and by the time he reaches
Washington he and his pocket-book are several sizes below normal."
The humble attitude of this, one of America's wealthiest and most
influential men, was edifying but scarcely convincing. The newspaper men
looked at one another dubiously. Perhaps, they thought, when the
Senator's magnificent house in the West End was completed, and his wife
and daughters came over from Paris, the poor fellow would not be so
lonely and neglected. He was a fine man, and it seemed too bad that he
should be so side-tracked.
"Quite true, Senator," agreed Representative Holloway, "and matters are
even worse in the House. There are more of us there, and the mere
individual is more dwarf-like than over in the Senate. We are treated
like a lot of naughty school-boys, and when we meekly beg leave 'to
speak out in meetin'' we are practically told to shut up and sit down.
The new comer is the victim of much quiet hazing on the part of his
colleagues,--ably aided and abetted by the Speaker,--but he soon learns
the ropes, and quickly effaces himself. He reserves his babble for the
cloak-room and hotel lobby; yet, to many of his constituents, he is
still a great man. There is no sadder sight in the world than the
newly-fledged Congressman in the throes of his maiden speech, delivered
to a half-filled House, busily reading the papers, talking, writing, or
absorbed in thought. An official stenographer, right under his nose,
wearily jots down the effort, and the real audience consists of a few
bored friends in the galleries who smile uneasily now and then, and
wonder what it is all about, and how long the blamed thing is going to
last. Anyway, he gets it in the Record for free distribution to
thousands of constituents, who read it, perhaps, and try to imagine why
'Applause' is tagged on to the finish."
"A gloomy picture, but not overdrawn," sighed one of the Kentucky
delegation. "Here's looking at you, Holloway," he added, more
cheerfully, "here's looking at you."
III
COLONEL MANYSNIFTERS--AN OUTING WITH THE "JEWELS"
Colonel Manysnifters, who had been quietly smoking a little apart from
the group, now drew up and joined us. He had been imbibing rather freely
since we left the station, but with the exception of a somewhat
suspicious silence, had shown no further effects of his efforts in
behalf of the Whiskey Trust. The Colonel's resemblance to Uncle Sam (as
popularly portrayed) was so striking that children taken to the Capitol
for the first time would shout with glee when he was pointed out to
them. Rural visitors went home satisfied that the country was safe--they
had seen Uncle Sam on hand, sober, and 'tending to business!' A friend
once said to him, "Manysnifters, you look so much like Uncle Sam that
whenever I see you on a jag I feel like this great nation of ours is
going to hell!"
Georgia is the Colonel's native State, and he is proud of it, but I
imagine that some recent legislation down there has greatly upset him.
He looked rather downcast when I last saw him, and refused nourishment
either in solid or liquid form. And then he said, eyeing me solemnly,
"'Times is right porely down our way, boss. Things don't lap. De
chinquapin crap done gin out 'fore de simmons is ripe!' Now, boy, don't
ask me how things are going in my State. You know as much about it as I
do. Let the old man alone, won't you?" and so I left him.
"Well, Colonel, how do you feel now?" asked Senator Bull solicitously.
"Oh, I'm all right," replied the Colonel, suspicion lurking in his
tones. "I know what you think, Senator, but I am not. No, siree! I
_have_ had three or four small ones, but I am not 'lit' by a jugful! The
idea! Drunk on four high-balls! Why, they just clear my brain--drive the
fog out. Maybe it's the Scotch, maybe the soda. A fine combination, the
high-ball. I am as stupid as an owl when I am cold sober, but when I
drink, I soar! I feel like a lark with nothing between myself and the
sun except a little fresh air and exercise. Oh, there's nothing the
matter with me; any one can see that.
"It's funny how small this world is, and how time flies. I supposed you
all noticed the tall, bald-headed man with the spectacles who ran up and
hugged me to-day. Ain't he the ugly one? His ma certainly did hand his
pa a lemon when he was born. Why, if I had been a long-lost brother he
could not have been gladder to see me. Well, I was glad to see him, too,
but the sight of him called up memories at once humiliating and
smile-provoking. Senator, may I trouble you to depress the business end
of that syphon? Thank you. Now, that fellow's name is Seymour--that's
why he wears specs, I suppose--and he rattles around in the chair of
Applied Science at Jay College, this State. Not much of an institution,
and still less of a job, I imagine, and poor Seymour's salary quite in
keeping. If there ever was any one deserving a Carnegie medal, Seymour
is the chap. He studied medicine once, and graduated high up, but he
never practised his profession! That's saving lives for you. Can you
beat it?
"Well, Harry was a protege, or something of the sort, of our late friend
Thurlow. And, as I said, I beheld his honest, glowing countenance with
mixed feelings. But it is a long story--a long story----" and the
Colonel paused as if seeking encouragement to proceed.
It was forthcoming.
"We would like very much to hear it," said Senator Wendell gravely;
"that is, of course, if it involves no sacrifice of your feelings. We
are all friends here, and will go at once into executive session. Let
all who have a story to tell, an anecdote to relate, or a joke to
perpetrate, feel free to do so. The galleries shall be cleared, and
reporters and the public excluded--metaphorically speaking," he added
hastily, turning to the newspaper men, who wore a pained expression,
"metaphorically speaking, of course." The skies journalistic cleared at
once, and then Colonel Manysnifters, a born diplomat, whispered to the
waiting porter, who nodded knowingly, and disappeared.
"Senator, I thank you. You relieve the situation. I am a modest man,
sir, and hesitate to talk about myself even among friends; but since you
all insist, there is nothing for me to do but yield as gracefully as I
may--and as a yielder I glitter in the front rank. My experience,
gentlemen, was a peculiar one, and I think it will hold you for a while.
"It was during that never-to-be-forgotten session of Congress which
lasted almost up to the time for getting together again. Cleveland was
on the thro--in the White House, I mean--and I was looking after things
up at the big building on Capitol Hill.
"One day in the latter part of June, when the sun was firing up for a
real old-fashioned Washington summer, and the thermometer about four
degrees below Jackson City, a number of my constituents came on to see
me, and after we had transacted certain important business I undertook
to show the boys the town; and in the party was this fellow, Professor
Seymour.
"We started out one broiling afternoon upon our giddy round of pleasure,
and, after keeping up the festivities all night and a portion of the
next day, I became separated from my friends in some unaccountable way,
and toward evening found myself wandering down town near the wharves. It
was very dusty and close, and the temperature a slice of Hades served up
on a hot plate. There was no need for matches, all you had to do was to
put your unlighted cigar in your mouth and puff away. I was trying hard
to remember why I had on glasses,--they were of no use in the world to
me,--and I was also much astonished to find that I was wearing Seymour's
coat and hat, the latter a typical western slouch, broad-brimmed and
generous. I also sported a tie loud enough to frighten an automobile.
After pondering awhile upon this remarkable state of affairs, the
thought arose so far as I knew I might be Seymour myself! I was
strangely befuddled by the adventures of the past twenty-four hours, and
it was not long before I began to seriously argue with myself that I
_was_ Seymour,--undoubtedly Seymour,--indeed, why should I not be
Seymour as well as any one else? This masterly line of reason settled
it. I _was_ Seymour, and as an instructor and guide of youth I felt that
I ought to be thoroughly ashamed of myself for flocking with the
dissipated crowd I had just left. Acting upon this elevating thought, I
braced up considerably, assumed an air of virtue, and not knowing
exactly what to do next, joined a throng of people who were jostling one
another in their efforts to get on a steamboat. A sail, I fancied, would
do me no end of good, and as the ticket seller assured me with a smile
that the boat was perfectly safe and would return in a few hours, I went
aboard with the rest of the fools, children, and old folks. This I
accomplished after barely escaping a plunge into the river from what
struck me as being an exceedingly narrow gang-plank.
"The band struck up one of Sousa's lively marches, a hoarse whistle
sounded, the boat trembled all over, and we were off. As the _Charles
Auchester_ glided out into the stream, two young women with camp stools
in their hands pushed through the crowd at the entrance to the hurricane
deck--an elevation I had succeeded in attaining--and took their seats
near a life-raft upon which I reclined, Cleopatra-like.
"'Oh, aren't these excursions perfectly lovely, Ruby?' said the taller
of the pair, taking off her hat and dropping it in her lap.
"'Yes, and so cheap. All the way to Indian Head and back for a quarter.
It's a godsend for us poor tired folks who have to stay in town all
summer. And you know what that means, don't you, Pearl?'
"'Oh, yes, but don't let's talk about it,' said the other fretfully. 'I
try not even to think of what we will have to go through. What good does
it do to fuss over things we can't help?'
"'That's right, dear,' said her companion, 'and it doesn't pay to look
far ahead, either, if one wants to be happy. I never do.'
"They were pretty and quite well dressed, these two maidens. As to their
being without a male escort, I rather admired their sturdy independence.
Everything about them bespoke refinement, and yet the very next remark
from the girl called Ruby sent a shiver through my sensitive frame, and
caused my hastily formed but favorable opinion of the pair to change
color.
"'I'd give anything, Pearl, if Will and the other fellows were here.
They always buy, and I've got an awful thirst on me.'
"'We might have some beer, anyway,' mildly suggested Pearl, and a flying
waiter took the order.
"'I guess we can pick up something on the boat,' remarked Ruby; who, by
the way, was good to look at--a black-eyed lass with regular features
and lots of pink and white complexion. Pearl, languidly sipping her
beer, nodded in the affirmative. This person, evidently the younger of
the two, had a babyish face, big innocent blue eyes, and a profusion of
fluffy yellow hair. She did not appeal as much to my sense of the
beautiful as the dark one did; but I have always been partial to
brunettes. She told me later that she was twenty--which figure was
enough for me to know, I suppose. Oh, I understand women. They are an
open book to me.
"About eight o'clock the moon, immense and crimson, came up from behind
the Maryland hills, and cast a lurid path upon the wavelets. The girls,
or rather the 'Jewels,' as I have since learned to think of them,
huddled closer together, with a not too capacious shawl around them, for
the wind was freshening considerably. For a while I stopped looking at
them, being interested in the little stunts that are done on the boat as
it passes Mount Vernon. The tolling of the bell and the dirge by the
band absorbed all my attention.
"It was not long, though, before I began to feel that I was the object
of very earnest scrutiny on the part of an individual or individuals
nearby. Turning suddenly, I met the basilisk gaze of Pearl and Ruby.
Their dreadful remark came to me with crushing force. They had begun, as
they coarsely put it, 'to pick up something.' Lobster-like, finding
myself in hot water, I turned several beautiful shades of red
immediately. I became terror-stricken--I, the dignified Professor of
Applied Science at Jay College, Kentucky! All my innate modesty began to
assert itself; and is not this the surest protection of the innocent? I
arose and fled.
"Unfortunately, while retreating, I looked back, simply to see how the
shameless creatures were affected by my departure. Oh, fatal curiosity!
They must have considered my backward glance an invitation to follow,
for they did so with alacrity. That accursed backward glance! Lot's
wife--you know the story.
"However, I saw that I was in for it, so just before reaching the steps
leading to the bar, I resolutely faced my pursuers and stood at bay.
They bore down upon me like ships that pass--no, I won't say that.
"'You sweet thing,' chirped Ruby, 'it knew how thirsty we were, didn't
it? I don't care if it isn't the youngest baby at the christening, it's
just all skeeky; so there!' This speech was delivered in gentle tones,
but loud enough to be heard by several bystanders, who snickered
disagreeably.
"'Yes, popper,' joined in Pearl warmly, 'do buy us a drink.'
"'Yes, popper!' I could have slapped her! Heavens! Did I look as old as
that? I was aghast, for I have always prided myself upon my youthful
appearance.
"'If you call me "popper" again,' said I in a savage undertone, 'I will
throw you overboard! Do you hear? How dare you speak to me anyway? I
have a great mind to call an officer! Come now, girls,' I added in a
milder strain, aware of the helplessness of the situation, 'let's go
below; and keep quiet, do. I will buy the drinks.'
"Then in sheer self-defense I ordered beer, then more beer, then
cocktails, then I don't know what--Pearl asked the waiter to bring it--a
queer greenish-yellow stuff which quickly overpowered me. When the vile
mixture had gotten in its handiwork the Jewels seemed highly satisfied,
and laughed gleefully. A few moments later I was introduced to a
'gentleman friend' of theirs whom they fished out of the crowd. He was a
flashily dressed youth who insisted upon another drink--and another--at
my expense. After that I have a faint recollection of getting off the
boat upon its return to Washington, and of being hustled into a
night-liner, the Jewels and their pal nobly standing by me. We jogged
along for miles, Ruby singing at the top of her voice and the gentleman
friend joining in at the chorus. Pearl's head was bent over, wobbly
fashion. She was either asleep, or lost in deep thought. I have also a
dim recollection of the vehicle coming to an abrupt halt, and a head
thrust in at the window, saying pointedly that if we did not make less
noise he would run the whole blanketty-blank gang in. This made me mad,
and I wanted to fight the stranger then and there; but my warlike
purpose was frustrated by the Jewels and their friend, who flung
themselves upon me, wisely detaining me. The end of our journey was
reached soon afterwards and our little party rolled out.
"I was then dragged up an apparently endless flight of steps, and into
the vestibule of a large old-fashioned house, once the stately residence
of a famous man, but now given over to the undesirable class of persons
into whose clutches I had fallen. An aged negress tugged at an immense
paneled door, and let us into a wide hall, at the end of which a lamp
burned feebly. Then we struggled up more stairs, and after many turnings
drew up before a shabbily furnished room. Into this I was rudely pushed,
and the door closed and locked upon me. I rocked about in the darkness,
grabbed the bed as it swung around for the third time, got a strangle
hold, and went right to sleep. From this I was awakened some hours later
by voices in the hall just outside. The transom over the door was open,
so I could hear pretty well all that was said.
"'That's a good sort of haul you made to-night--nit!' growled a deep
bass. 'Ain't you afraid you'll get into trouble? That fellow in there is
Colonel Manysnifters. You've all heard of him--haven't yer? Why, he is
the biggest man in the House--a great swell--money to throw at the
birds; and he's been a throwin' it, hey?' said he of the voice, with a
chuckle; 'but he ain't no greenhorn, I can tell yer! The old sport can
make it powerful warm for us when he gets out of here!'
"'Suppose he never gets out--not for a long time, anyway; and the
ransom--just think of the ransom!' joyously urged one of the Jewels,
whose voice I recognized.
"'Oh, that sorter thing don't go now,' said the man; 'besides, the cop
who stopped yer awhile ago knows a thing or two. You can't work any
Turkish brigand racket here in Washington--the town's too small. Could
do it in New York, I suppose, but not down here. The game ain't worth
the candle, anyhow. The chap's blown in all he had about him. We've got
his scarf-pin and alarm clock, and that's all there is to it.'
"'I guess you're right,' remarked the Jewel; 'but wait until Lola comes,
and see what she says.'
"'So they think I am old Manysnifters,' thought I, trying to smile.
'That's real funny, ain't it? Oh, if he were only here now, wouldn't he
get me out of this?' And in my fancy I could see my husky friend
grappling with the gang outside, pitching them down the stairs, and
carrying me off in triumph--the way they do it in the best sellers. My
captors then went below, their voices trailing away into silence. They
left me with some nasty thoughts.
"'What would the faculty of Jay think of their Seymour, could they but
gaze upon him now? What would my pupils say? The World, the great World
at large, the Press, the Pulpit?' (My brother is an Atlanta clergyman.)
'What would these great social forces say?' Confused ideas of my
identity and importance arose like fumes to further befuddle me. I sat
on the side, and in the middle of the bed, in despair--longing for
something to smoke!
"The hours dragged slowly by, and yet Lola, Lola the mysterious, upon
whose decision so much depended, came not.
"'Something must be done, and quickly,' thought I, and I started to get
up. But hark! I heard some one in the hall softly slip a key in the lock
of my door, and turn it with a creaking sound. The next moment a very
odd figure came into the room. 'Twas a little old woman, and as she
glided toward me I sank back on the couch quivering with terror! On, on,
she came, and lightly touched my forehead.
"My first impulse was to shriek with affright; the impulse was all
right, but I just couldn't do it. I must have been paralyzed. I blew
first hot and then cold, and then stopped blowing altogether.
"So there I lay, stark with fear. But my visitor seemed to be very
harmless. She drew up a chair by the side of the bed and took her seat,
muttering something I couldn't catch. Then she bent over me and I felt
her warm breath on my cheek!...
"The situation had changed but slightly when I came to a little later.
She was talking.
"'Marse Edwin, Marse Edwin, don't yer know yer ole black mammy?
Hush-sh-sh, chile, doan' answer me, 'cept in a whisper! I'se done come
fer to save yer! I nussed yer when yer was a little baby, and I promised
ole Missus always to look arter yer. De sojers is a huntin' fer yer,
Marse Edwin; dey's all eround us! Hush-sh-sh!' said she, as I attempted
to rise; 'lie still, honey, dey'll sartainly cotch yer if yer goes out
now! Dey's sentinils posted everywhar, and dey'll shoot you down like a
dog! My poor Marse Edwin,' she wailed, 'why did yer do it? Why did yer
do it? Why did yer kill him? He nebber done yer no harm. Why, Gawd bless
him, he done sot ole Mammy free! But dar ain't no use talkin' 'bout it
now!' She walked up and down the room several times, still muttering,
and then peered out of the window. Something in the street attracted
her.
"'Hush-sh-sh, chile, now's de time! Git up quick, deary, but fer de
Lawd's sake doan' make no noise! Follow de ole woman--dis way.' I got up
at once and obeyed her. It was a ghastly sort of thing, this Marse Edwin
business, but I saw a chance of escape at the bottom of it. We went to
the lower part of the house on tip-toe, and the negress, opening the
street door, pushed me out into the cool dawn, saying with a shaking
voice, 'Run, Marse Edwin, run fer yer life! Watch out for de sojers!
Good-bye, Gawd bress you, my lam'!' And I ran, you bet.
"Day was breaking when I found myself in the street, and as I emerged
from the slightly disreputable neighborhood where I had passed the night
I felt sure that a glance in the mirror would show me up a haggard,
white-haired wreck. The air was wonderfully reviving, though, and I felt
a subtle change stealing over me. An odd, pricking sensation, like one's
foot awakening from sleep, gradually took possession of me, and to my
horror I appeared to be separating from myself. Any one who has had that
feeling knows what it is. At one moment I was the Professor; the next, I
was undoubtedly Manysnifters! I found myself walking by the side of one;
then, in the twinkling of an eye, with the other. It was not long,
however, before I began to get tired of it, so just before I reached the
hotel I determined to decide once for all who I was. I felt that it was
important I should know. The decision was arrived at by a simple
expedient to which I invariably resort whenever I find my judgment
wavering. There is no patent on the thing, and I don't mind letting you
all into it. Fortunately, I still had my luck-piece--an ancient Roman
coin--with me.
"'Now,' thought I, 'let the antique beer check decide it. I will cinch
this question by tossing up. If it falls heads, I am Manysnifters, and
if the reverse appears, I am the Professor. I will abide by the decree
of Fate.'
"Up went the Denarius, striking the asphalt with a merry ring in its
fall. I bent eagerly over it, and lo, the image and superscription of
Caesar stared me in the face!
"So I was Manysnifters after all, and this fact was further impressed
upon me an hour or so later by an enterprising office-seeker, to whom,
in my enfeebled state, I fell an easy prey--I endorsed his application
for the Nova Zembla consulship."
IV
AN ACCIDENT--DINNER
Colonel Manysnifters's story was very thirst-provoking, and President
Madison, our grinning drink-mixer, had a busy half-hour of it. It was
now about seven o'clock and we were again overtaken by the storm, which
hurled itself upon us, fairly rocking the car in its violence. The
train, which had been proceeding slowly and jerkily, now came to a full
stop. An avalanche of snow, earth, and loose stones had fallen at the
end of a deep cut. Had we been going at any speed an awful catastrophe
would have resulted. As it was we were barely moving when we ran into
the obstruction. It would be hours before the track could be cleared,
and there was no relief in sight. Fortunately, we were well provisioned,
and could stand a siege of a day or so in any event. The brakeman set
out on his long, hard journey to the nearest telegraph station, swinging
his lantern, and swearing picturesquely. Every precaution was taken to
guard the train against further accident. Our party accepted the
inevitable philosophically. Dinner was announced, and amid the good
things provided by our chef we soon forgot our mishap.
[Illustration: President Madison.]
"Now, gentlemen," said Colonel Manysnifters genially, between the soup
and fish, "let's cut out golf, religion, baseball, and politics, and get
down to serious subjects. Senator, what is the best poker hand you ever
held?"
Senator Wendell, thus addressed, said, with a far-away look in his eyes,
"Let me see, let me see. Oh, I remember now; it happened twice--three
times--or was it three times? Twice I will swear to."
"How's that?"
"I say it happened twice; I am positive of it--and before the draw,
too."
"Who was dealing?" asked the Colonel eagerly.
"Poker stories barred," said Senator Baker sternly. "Remember,
gentlemen, that this is a non-partisan gathering; not only that, but
some of us know absolutely nothing about the game. And yet, and yet,"
said he thoughtfully, as if to himself, "it _is_ a fascinating subject.
Why, on one occasion,--I will never forget it,--being right under the
guns, I passed without looking at my hand. The man next to me opened the
pot, and all the rest stayed. I picked up my cards carelessly, and
imagine my delight when I found that I had----"