closed his lips, with a smile on her own that broadened into a merry
laugh as she ran away.
Philip was not weary, however, of making these attempts, he rather
enjoyed it. But whenever he inclined to be sentimental, Ruth would cut
him off, with some such gravely conceived speech as, “Does thee think
that thy physician will take advantage of the condition of a man who is
as weak as thee is? I will call Alice, if thee has any dying confessions
to make.”
As Philip convalesced, Alice more and more took Ruth's place as his
entertainer, and read to him by the hour, when he did not want to
talk--to talk about Ruth, as he did a good deal of the time. Nor was
this altogether unsatisfactory to Philip. He was always happy and
contented with Alice. She was the most restful person he knew. Better
informed than Ruth and with a much more varied culture, and bright and
sympathetic, he was never weary of her company, if he was not greatly
excited by it. She had upon his mind that peaceful influence that Mrs.
Bolton had when, occasionally, she sat by his bedside with her work.
Some people have this influence, which is like an emanation. They bring
peace to a house, they diffuse serene content in a room full of mixed
company, though they may say very little, and are apparently unconscious
of their own power.
Not that Philip did not long for Ruth's presence all the same. Since
he was well enough to be about the house, she was busy again with her
studies. Now and then her teasing humor came again. She always had a
playful shield against his sentiment. Philip used sometimes to declare
that she had no sentiment; and then he doubted if he should be pleased
with her after all if she were at all sentimental; and he rejoiced that
she had, in such matters what he called the airy grace of sanity. She
was the most gay serious person he ever saw.
Perhaps he was not so much at rest or so contented with her as with
Alice. But then he loved her. And what have rest and contentment to do
with love?
CHAPTER XLII.
Mr. Buckstone's campaign was brief--much briefer than he supposed it
would be. He began it purposing to win Laura without being won himself;
but his experience was that of all who had fought on that field before
him; he diligently continued his effort to win her, but he presently
found that while as yet he could not feel entirely certain of having
won her, it was very manifest that she had won him. He had made an able
fight, brief as it was, and that at least was to his credit. He was in
good company, now; he walked in a leash of conspicuous captives. These
unfortunates followed Laura helplessly, for whenever she took a prisoner
he remained her slave henceforth. Sometimes they chafed in their
bondage; sometimes they tore themselves free and said their serfdom
was ended; but sooner or later they always came back penitent and
worshiping. Laura pursued her usual course: she encouraged Mr. Buckstone
by turns, and by turns she harassed him; she exalted him to the clouds
at one time, and at another she dragged him down again. She constituted
him chief champion of the Knobs University bill, and he accepted the
position, at first reluctantly, but later as a valued means of serving
her--he even came to look upon it as a piece of great good fortune,
since it brought him into such frequent contact with her.
Through him she learned that the Hon. Mr. Trollop was a bitter enemy of
her bill. He urged her not to attempt to influence Mr. Trollop in any
way, and explained that whatever she might attempt in that direction
would surely be used against her and with damaging effect.
She at first said she knew Mr. Trollop, “and was aware that he had
a Blank-Blank;”--[**Her private figure of speech for Brother--or
Son-in-law]--but Mr. Buckstone said that he was not able to conceive
what so curious a phrase as Blank-Blank might mean, and had no wish
to pry into the matter, since it was probably private, he “would
nevertheless venture the blind assertion that nothing would answer
in this particular case and during this particular session but to be
exceedingly wary and keep clear away from Mr. Trollop; any other course
would be fatal.”
It seemed that nothing could be done. Laura was seriously troubled.
Everything was looking well, and yet it was plain that one vigorous and
determined enemy might eventually succeed in overthrowing all her plans.
A suggestion came into her mind presently and she said:
“Can't you fight against his great Pension bill and bring him to terms?”
“Oh, never; he and I are sworn brothers on that measure; we work in
harness and are very loving--I do everything I possibly can for him
there. But I work with might and main against his Immigration bill,--as
pertinaciously and as vindictively, indeed, as he works against our
University. We hate each other through half a conversation and are all
affection through the other half. We understand each other. He is an
admirable worker outside the capitol; he will do more for the Pension
bill than any other man could do; I wish he would make the great speech
on it which he wants to make--and then I would make another and we would
be safe.”
“Well if he wants to make a great speech why doesn't he do it?”
Visitors interrupted the conversation and Mr. Buckstone took his leave.
It was not of the least moment to Laura that her question had not been
answered, inasmuch as it concerned a thing which did not interest her;
and yet, human being like, she thought she would have liked to know. An
opportunity occurring presently, she put the same question to another
person and got an answer that satisfied her. She pondered a good while
that night, after she had gone to bed, and when she finally turned over
to go to sleep, she had thought out a new scheme. The next evening at
Mrs. Gloverson's party, she said to Mr. Buckstone:
“I want Mr. Trollop to make his great speech on the Pension bill.”
“Do you? But you remember I was interrupted, and did not explain to
you--”
“Never mind, I know. You must make him make that speech. I very
particularly desire it.”
“Oh, it is easy to say make him do it, but how am I to make him!”
“It is perfectly easy; I have thought it all out.”
She then went into the details. At length Mr. Buckstone said:
“I see now. I can manage it, I am sure. Indeed I wonder he never thought
of it himself--there are no end of precedents. But how is this going to
benefit you, after I have managed it? There is where the mystery lies.”
“But I will take care of that. It will benefit me a great deal.”
“I only wish I could see how; it is the oddest freak. You seem to go the
furthest around to get at a thing--but you are in earnest, aren't you?”
“Yes I am, indeed.”
“Very well, I will do it--but why not tell me how you imagine it is
going to help you?”
“I will, by and by.--Now there is nobody talking to him. Go straight and
do it, there's a good fellow.”
A moment or two later the two sworn friends of the Pension bill were
talking together, earnestly, and seemingly unconscious of the moving
throng about them. They talked an hour, and then Mr. Buckstone came back
and said:
“He hardly fancied it at first, but he fell in love with it after a bit.
And we have made a compact, too. I am to keep his secret and he is to
spare me, in future, when he gets ready to denounce the supporters of
the University bill--and I can easily believe he will keep his word on
this occasion.”
A fortnight elapsed, and the University bill had gathered to itself
many friends, meantime. Senator Dilworthy began to think the harvest
was ripe. He conferred with Laura privately. She was able to tell him
exactly how the House would vote. There was a majority--the bill would
pass, unless weak members got frightened at the last, and deserted--a
thing pretty likely to occur. The Senator said:
“I wish we had one more good strong man. Now Trollop ought to be on our
side, for he is a friend of the negro. But he is against us, and is our
bitterest opponent. If he would simply vote No, but keep quiet and not
molest us, I would feel perfectly cheerful and content. But perhaps
there is no use in thinking of that.”
“Why I laid a little plan for his benefit two weeks ago. I think he will
be tractable, maybe. He is to come here tonight.”
“Look out for him, my child! He means mischief, sure. It is said that he
claims to know of improper practices having been used in the interest of
this bill, and he thinks he sees a chance to make a great sensation when
the bill comes up. Be wary. Be very, very careful, my dear. Do your very
ablest talking, now. You can convince a man of anything, when you try.
You must convince him that if anything improper has been done, you
at least are ignorant of it and sorry for it. And if you could only
persuade him out of his hostility to the bill, too--but don't overdo the
thing; don't seem too anxious, dear.”
“I won't; I'll be ever so careful. I'll talk as sweetly to him as if he
were my own child! You may trust me--indeed you may.”
The door-bell rang.
“That is the gentleman now,” said Laura. Senator Dilworthy retired to
his study.
Laura welcomed Mr. Trollop, a grave, carefully dressed and very
respectable looking man, with a bald head, standing collar and old
fashioned watch seals.
“Promptness is a virtue, Mr. Trollop, and I perceive that you have it.
You are always prompt with me.”
“I always meet my engagements, of every kind, Miss Hawkins.”
“It is a quality which is rarer in the world than it has been, I
believe. I wished to see you on business, Mr. Trollop.”
“I judged so. What can I do for you?”
“You know my bill--the Knobs University bill?”
“Ah, I believe it is your bill. I had forgotten. Yes, I know the bill.”
“Well, would you mind telling me your opinion of it?”
“Indeed, since you seem to ask it without reserve, I am obliged to say
that I do not regard it favorably. I have not seen the bill itself, but
from what I can hear, it--it--well, it has a bad look about it. It--”
“Speak it out--never fear.”
“Well, it--they say it contemplates a fraud upon the government.”
“Well?” said Laura tranquilly.
“Well! I say 'Well?' too.”
“Well, suppose it were a fraud--which I feel able to deny--would it be
the first one?”
“You take a body's breath away! Would you--did you wish me to vote for
it? Was that what you wanted to see me about?”
“Your instinct is correct. I did want you--I do want you to vote for
it.”
“Vote for a fr--for a measure which is generally believed to be at
least questionable? I am afraid we cannot come to an understanding, Miss
Hawkins.”
“No, I am afraid not--if you have resumed your principles, Mr. Trollop.”
“Did you send for me merely to insult me? It is time for me to take my
leave, Miss Hawkins.”
“No--wait a moment. Don't be offended at a trifle. Do not be offish and
unsociable. The Steamship Subsidy bill was a fraud on the government.
You voted for it, Mr. Trollop, though you always opposed the measure
until after you had an interview one evening with a certain Mrs.
McCarter at her house. She was my agent. She was acting for me. Ah, that
is right--sit down again. You can be sociable, easily enough if you have
a mind to. Well? I am waiting. Have you nothing to say?”
“Miss Hawkins, I voted for that bill because when I came to examine into
it--”
“Ah yes. When you came to examine into it. Well, I only want you to
examine into my bill. Mr. Trollop, you would not sell your vote on that
subsidy bill--which was perfectly right--but you accepted of some of
the stock, with the understanding that it was to stand in your
brother-in-law's name.”
“There is no pr--I mean, this is, utterly groundless, Miss Hawkins.” But
the gentleman seemed somewhat uneasy, nevertheless.
“Well, not entirely so, perhaps. I and a person whom we will call Miss
Blank (never mind the real name,) were in a closet at your elbow all the
while.”
Mr. Trollop winced--then he said with dignity:
“Miss Hawkins is it possible that you were capable of such a thing as
that?”
“It was bad; I confess that. It was bad. Almost as bad as selling one's
vote for--but I forget; you did not sell your vote--you only accepted a
little trifle, a small token of esteem, for your brother-in-law. Oh,
let us come out and be frank with each other: I know you, Mr. Trollop.
I have met you on business three or four times; true, I never offered
to corrupt your principles--never hinted such a thing; but always when I
had finished sounding you, I manipulated you through an agent. Let us
be frank. Wear this comely disguise of virtue before the public--it will
count there; but here it is out of place. My dear sir, by and by there
is going to be an investigation into that National Internal Improvement
Directors' Relief Measure of a few years ago, and you know very
well that you will be a crippled man, as likely as not, when it is
completed.”
“It cannot be shown that a man is a knave merely for owning that stock.
I am not distressed about the National Improvement Relief Measure.”
“Oh indeed I am not trying to distress you. I only wished to make good
my assertion that I knew you. Several of you gentlemen bought of that
stack (without paying a penny down) received dividends from it, (think
of the happy idea of receiving dividends, and very large ones, too, from
stock one hasn't paid for!) and all the while your names never appeared
in the transaction; if ever you took the stock at all, you took it in
other people's names. Now you see, you had to know one of two things;
namely, you either knew that the idea of all this preposterous
generosity was to bribe you into future legislative friendship, or you
didn't know it. That is to say, you had to be either a knave or a--well,
a fool--there was no middle ground. You are not a fool, Mr. Trollop.”
“Miss Hawking you flatter me. But seriously, you do not forget that some
of the best and purest men in Congress took that stock in that way?”
“Did Senator Blank?”
“Well, no--I believe not.”
“Of course you believe not. Do you suppose he was ever approached, on
the subject?”
“Perhaps not.”
“If you had approached him, for instance, fortified with the fact that
some of the best men in Congress, and the purest, etc., etc.; what would
have been the result?”
“Well, what WOULD have been the result?”
“He would have shown you the door! For Mr. Blank is neither a knave
nor a fool. There are other men in the Senate and the House whom no one
would have been hardy enough to approach with that Relief Stock in that
peculiarly generous way, but they are not of the class that you regard
as the best and purest. No, I say I know you Mr. Trollop. That is to
say, one may suggest a thing to Mr. Trollop which it would not do
to suggest to Mr. Blank. Mr. Trollop, you are pledged to support the
Indigent Congressmen's Retroactive Appropriation which is to come
up, either in this or the next session. You do not deny that, even
in public. The man that will vote for that bill will break the eighth
commandment in any other way, sir!”
“But he will not vote for your corrupt measure, nevertheless, madam!”
exclaimed Mr. Trollop, rising from his seat in a passion.
“Ah, but he will. Sit down again, and let me explain why. Oh, come,
don't behave so. It is very unpleasant. Now be good, and you shall have
the missing page of your great speech. Here it is!”--and she displayed a
sheet of manuscript.
Mr. Trollop turned immediately back from the threshold. It might have
been gladness that flashed into his face; it might have been something
else; but at any rate there was much astonishment mixed with it.
“Good! Where did you get it? Give it me!”
“Now there is no hurry. Sit down; sit down and let us talk and be
friendly.”
The gentleman wavered. Then he said:
“No, this is only a subterfuge. I will go. It is not the missing page.”
Laura tore off a couple of lines from the bottom of the sheet.
“Now,” she said, “you will know whether this is the handwriting or not.
You know it is the handwriting. Now if you will listen, you will know
that this must be the list of statistics which was to be the 'nub' of
your great effort, and the accompanying blast the beginning of the
burst of eloquence which was continued on the next page--and you will
recognize that there was where you broke down.”
She read the page. Mr. Trollop said:
“This is perfectly astounding. Still, what is all this to me? It is
nothing. It does not concern me. The speech is made, and there an end. I
did break down for a moment, and in a rather uncomfortable place, since
I had led up to those statistics with some grandeur; the hiatus was
pleasanter to the House and the galleries than it was to me. But it is
no matter now. A week has passed; the jests about it ceased three or
four days ago. The whole thing is a matter of indifference to me, Miss
Hawkins.”
“But you apologized; and promised the statistics for next day. Why
didn't you keep your promise.”
“The matter was not of sufficient consequence. The time was gone by to
produce an effect with them.”
“But I hear that other friends of the Soldiers' Pension Bill desire them
very much. I think you ought to let them have them.”
“Miss Hawkins, this silly blunder of my copyist evidently has more
interest for you than it has for me. I will send my private secretary to
you and let him discuss the subject with you at length.”
“Did he copy your speech for you?”
“Of course he did. Why all these questions? Tell me--how did you get
hold of that page of manuscript? That is the only thing that stirs a
passing interest in my mind.”
“I'm coming to that.” Then she said, much as if she were talking to
herself: “It does seem like taking a deal of unnecessary pains, for a
body to hire another body to construct a great speech for him and then
go and get still another body to copy it before it can be read in the
House.”
“Miss Hawkins, what do you mean by such talk as that?”
“Why I am sure I mean no harm--no harm to anybody in the world. I am
certain that I overheard the Hon. Mr. Buckstone either promise to write
your great speech for you or else get some other competent person to do
it.”
“This is perfectly absurd, madam, perfectly absurd!” and Mr. Trollop
affected a laugh of derision.
“Why, the thing has occurred before now. I mean that I have heard that
Congressmen have sometimes hired literary grubs to build speeches for
them.--Now didn't I overhear a conversation like that I spoke of?”
“Pshaw! Why of course you may have overheard some such jesting nonsense.
But would one be in earnest about so farcical a thing?”
“Well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious matter of it?
Why did you get the speech written for you, and then read it in the
House without ever having it copied?”
Mr. Trollop did not laugh this time; he seemed seriously perplexed. He
said:
“Come, play out your jest, Miss Hawkins. I can't understand what you are
contriving--but it seems to entertain you--so please, go on.”
“I will, I assure you; but I hope to make the matter entertaining to
you, too. Your private secretary never copied your speech.”
“Indeed? Really you seem to know my affairs better than I do myself.”
“I believe I do. You can't name your own amanuensis, Mr. Trollop.”
“That is sad, indeed. Perhaps Miss Hawkins can?”
“Yes, I can. I wrote your speech myself, and you read it from my
manuscript. There, now!”
Mr. Trollop did not spring to his feet and smite his brow with his hand
while a cold sweat broke out all over him and the color forsook his
face--no, he only said, “Good God!” and looked greatly astonished.
Laura handed him her commonplace-book and called his attention to the
fact that the handwriting there and the handwriting of this speech were
the same. He was shortly convinced. He laid the book aside and said,
composedly:
“Well, the wonderful tragedy is done, and it transpires that I am
indebted to you for my late eloquence. What of it? What was all this for
and what does it amount to after all? What do you propose to do about
it?”
“Oh nothing. It is only a bit of pleasantry. When I overheard that
conversation I took an early opportunity to ask Mr. Buckstone if he knew
of anybody who might want a speech written--I had a friend, and so forth
and so on. I was the friend, myself; I thought I might do you a good
turn then and depend on you to do me one by and by. I never let Mr.
Buckstone have the speech till the last moment, and when you hurried
off to the House with it, you did not know there was a missing page, of
course, but I did.”
“And now perhaps you think that if I refuse to support your bill, you
will make a grand exposure?”
“Well I had not thought of that. I only kept back the page for the mere
fun of the thing; but since you mention it, I don't know but I might do
something if I were angry.”
“My dear Miss Hawkins, if you were to give out that you composed my
speech, you know very well that people would say it was only your
raillery, your fondness for putting a victim in the pillory and amusing
the public at his expense. It is too flimsy, Miss Hawkins, for a person
of your fine inventive talent--contrive an abler device than that.
Come!”
“It is easily done, Mr. Trollop. I will hire a man, and pin this page
on his breast, and label it, 'The Missing Fragment of the Hon. Mr.
Trollop's Great Speech--which speech was written and composed by Miss
Laura Hawkins under a secret understanding for one hundred dollars--and
the money has not been paid.' And I will pin round about it notes in my
handwriting, which I will procure from prominent friends of mine for the
occasion; also your printed speech in the Globe, showing the connection
between its bracketed hiatus and my Fragment; and I give you my word of
honor that I will stand that human bulletin board in the rotunda of the
capitol and make him stay there a week! You see you are premature, Mr.
Trollop, the wonderful tragedy is not done yet, by any means. Come, now,
doesn't it improve?”
Mr Trollop opened his eyes rather widely at this novel aspect of the
case. He got up and walked the floor and gave himself a moment for
reflection. Then he stopped and studied Laura's face a while, and ended
by saying:
“Well, I am obliged to believe you would be reckless enough to do that.”
“Then don't put me to the test, Mr. Trollop. But let's drop the matter.
I have had my joke and you've borne the infliction becomingly enough. It
spoils a jest to harp on it after one has had one's laugh. I would much
rather talk about my bill.”
“So would I, now, my clandestine amanuensis. Compared with some other
subjects, even your bill is a pleasant topic to discuss.”
“Very good indeed! I thought I could persuade you. Now I am sure you
will be generous to the poor negro and vote for that bill.”
“Yes, I feel more tenderly toward the oppressed colored man than I did.
Shall we bury the hatchet and be good friends and respect each other's
little secrets, on condition that I vote Aye on the measure?”
“With all my heart, Mr. Trollop. I give you my word of that.”
“It is a bargain. But isn't there something else you could give me,
too?”
Laura looked at him inquiringly a moment, and then she comprehended.
“Oh, yes! You may have it now. I haven't any more use for it.” She
picked up the page of manuscript, but she reconsidered her intention of
handing it to him, and said, “But never mind; I will keep it close; no
one shall see it; you shall have it as soon as your vote is recorded.”
Mr. Trollop looked disappointed. But presently made his adieux, and had
got as far as the hall, when something occurred to Laura. She said to
herself, “I don't simply want his vote under compulsion--he might vote
aye, but work against the bill in secret, for revenge; that man is
unscrupulous enough to do anything. I must have his hearty co-operation
as well as his vote. There is only one way to get that.”
She called him back, and said:
“I value your vote, Mr. Trollop, but I value your influence more. You
are able to help a measure along in many ways, if you choose. I want to
ask you to work for the bill as well as vote for it.”
“It takes so much of one's time, Miss Hawkins--and time is money, you
know.”
“Yes, I know it is--especially in Congress. Now there is no use in you
and I dealing in pretenses and going at matters in round-about ways. We
know each other--disguises are nonsense. Let us be plain. I will make it
an object to you to work for the bill.”
“Don't make it unnecessarily plain, please. There are little proprieties
that are best preserved. What do you propose?”
“Well, this.” She mentioned the names of several prominent Congressmen.
“Now,” said she, “these gentlemen are to vote and work for the bill,
simply out of love for the negro--and out of pure generosity I have put
in a relative of each as a member of the University incorporation. They
will handle a million or so of money, officially, but will receive no
salaries. A larger number of statesmen are to vote and work for
the bill--also out of love for the negro--gentlemen of but moderate
influence, these--and out of pure generosity I am to see that relatives
of theirs have positions in the University, with salaries, and good
ones, too. You will vote and work for the bill, from mere affection for
the negro, and I desire to testify my gratitude becomingly. Make free
choice. Have you any friend whom you would like to present with a
salaried or unsalaried position in our institution?”
“Well, I have a brother-in-law--”
“That same old brother-in-law, you good unselfish provider! I have heard
of him often, through my agents. How regularly he does 'turn up,' to
be sure. He could deal with those millions virtuously, and withal
with ability, too--but of course you would rather he had a salaried
position?”
“Oh, no,” said the gentleman, facetiously, “we are very humble, very
humble in our desires; we want no money; we labor solely, for
our country and require no reward but the luxury of an applauding
conscience. Make him one of those poor hard working unsalaried
corporators and let him do every body good with those millions--and go
hungry himself! I will try to exert a little influence in favor of the
bill.”
Arrived at home, Mr. Trollop sat down and thought it all over--something
after this fashion: it is about the shape it might have taken if he had
spoken it aloud.
“My reputation is getting a little damaged, and I meant to clear it up
brilliantly with an exposure of this bill at the supreme moment, and
ride back into Congress on the eclat of it; and if I had that bit of
manuscript, I would do it yet. It would be more money in my pocket in
the end, than my brother-in-law will get out of that incorporatorship,
fat as it is. But that sheet of paper is out of my reach--she will never
let that get out of her hands. And what a mountain it is! It blocks up
my road, completely. She was going to hand it to me, once. Why didn't
she! Must be a deep woman. Deep devil! That is what she is; a beautiful
devil--and perfectly fearless, too. The idea of her pinning that paper
on a man and standing him up in the rotunda looks absurd at a first
glance. But she would do it! She is capable of doing anything. I went
there hoping she would try to bribe me--good solid capital that would be
in the exposure. Well, my prayer was answered; she did try to bribe me;
and I made the best of a bad bargain and let her. I am checkmated. I
must contrive something fresh to get back to Congress on. Very well; a
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; I will work for the bill--the
incorporatorship will be a very good thing.”
As soon as Mr. Trollop had taken his leave, Laura ran to Senator
Dilworthy and began to speak, but he interrupted her and said
distressfully, without even turning from his writing to look at her:
“Only half an hour! You gave it up early, child. However, it was best,
it was best--I'm sure it was best--and safest.”
“Give it up! I!”
The Senator sprang up, all aglow:
“My child, you can't mean that you--”
“I've made him promise on honor to think about a compromise tonight and
come and tell me his decision in the morning.”
“Good! There's hope yet that--”
“Nonsense, uncle. I've made him engage to let the Tennessee Land bill
utterly alone!”
“Impossible! You--”
“I've made him promise to vote with us!”
“INCREDIBLE! Abso--”
“I've made him swear that he'll work for us!”
“PRE - - - POSTEROUS!--Utterly pre--break a window, child, before I
suffocate!”
“No matter, it's true anyway. Now we can march into Congress with drums
beating and colors flying!”
“Well--well--well. I'm sadly bewildered, sadly bewildered. I can't
understand it at all--the most extraordinary woman that ever--it's
a great day, it's a great day. There--there--let me put my hand in
benediction on this precious head. Ah, my child, the poor negro will
bless--”
“Oh bother the poor negro, uncle! Put it in your speech. Good-night,
good-bye--we'll marshal our forces and march with the dawn!”
Laura reflected a while, when she was alone, and then fell to laughing,
peacefully.
“Everybody works for me,”--so ran her thought. “It was a good idea to
make Buckstone lead Mr. Trollop on to get a great speech written for
him; and it was a happy part of the same idea for me to copy the speech
after Mr. Buckstone had written it, and then keep back a page. Mr. B.
was very complimentary to me when Trollop's break-down in the House
showed him the object of my mysterious scheme; I think he will say still
finer things when I tell him the triumph the sequel to it has gained for
us.
“But what a coward the man was, to believe I would have exposed that
page in the rotunda, and so exposed myself. However, I don't know--I
don't know. I will think a moment. Suppose he voted no; suppose the bill
failed; that is to suppose this stupendous game lost forever, that
I have played so desperately for; suppose people came around pitying
me--odious! And he could have saved me by his single voice. Yes, I would
have exposed him! What would I care for the talk that that would have
made about me when I was gone to Europe with Selby and all the world was
busy with my history and my dishonor? It would be almost happiness to
spite somebody at such a time.”
CHAPTER XLIII.
The very next day, sure enough, the campaign opened. In due course,
the Speaker of the House reached that Order of Business which is termed
“Notices of Bills,” and then the Hon. Mr. Buckstone rose in his place
and gave notice of a bill “To Found and Incorporate the Knobs Industrial
University,” and then sat down without saying anything further. The busy
gentlemen in the reporters' gallery jotted a line in their note-books,
ran to the telegraphic desk in a room which communicated with their own
writing-parlor, and then hurried back to their places in the gallery;
and by the time they had resumed their seats, the line which they had
delivered to the operator had been read in telegraphic offices in towns
and cities hundreds of miles away. It was distinguished by frankness of
language as well as by brevity:
“The child is born. Buckstone gives notice of the thieving Knobs
University job. It is said the noses have been counted and enough votes
have been bought to pass it.”
For some time the correspondents had been posting their several journals
upon the alleged disreputable nature of the bill, and furnishing daily
reports of the Washington gossip concerning it. So the next morning,
nearly every newspaper of character in the land assailed the measure and
hurled broadsides of invective at Mr. Buckstone. The Washington papers
were more respectful, as usual--and conciliatory, also, as usual. They
generally supported measures, when it was possible; but when they
could not they “deprecated” violent expressions of opinion in other
journalistic quarters.
They always deprecated, when there was trouble ahead. However, 'The
Washington Daily Love-Feast' hailed the bill with warm approbation.
This was Senator Balaam's paper--or rather, “Brother” Balaam, as he
was popularly called, for he had been a clergyman, in his day; and he
himself and all that he did still emitted an odor of sanctity now that
he had diverged into journalism and politics. He was a power in the
Congressional prayer meeting, and in all movements that looked to the
spread of religion and temperance.
His paper supported the new bill with gushing affection; it was a noble
measure; it was a just measure; it was a generous measure; it was a pure
measure, and that surely should recommend it in these corrupt times;
and finally, if the nature of the bill were not known at all, the 'Love
Feast' would support it anyway, and unhesitatingly, for the fact that
Senator Dilworthy was the originator of the measure was a guaranty that
it contemplated a worthy and righteous work.
Senator Dilworthy was so anxious to know what the New York papers would
say about the bill, that he had arranged to have synopses of their
editorials telegraphed to him; he could not wait for the papers
themselves to crawl along down to Washington by a mail train which has
never run over a cow since the road was built; for the reason that it
has never been able to overtake one. It carries the usual “cow-catcher”
in front of the locomotive, but this is mere ostentation. It ought to be
attached to the rear car, where it could do some good; but instead, no
provision is made there for the protection of the traveling public,
and hence it is not a matter of surprise that cows so frequently climb
aboard that train and among the passengers.
The Senator read his dispatches aloud at the breakfast table. Laura
was troubled beyond measure at their tone, and said that that sort of
comment would defeat the bill; but the Senator said:
“Oh, not at all, not at all, my child. It is just what we want.
Persecution is the one thing needful, now--all the other forces are
secured. Give us newspaper persecution enough, and we are safe. Vigorous
persecution will alone carry a bill sometimes, dear; and when you start
with a strong vote in the first place, persecution comes in with double
effect. It scares off some of the weak supporters, true, but it soon
turns strong ones into stubborn ones. And then, presently, it changes
the tide of public opinion. The great public is weak-minded; the great
public is sentimental; the great public always turns around and weeps
for an odious murderer, and prays for him, and carries flowers to his
prison and besieges the governor with appeals to his clemency, as soon
as the papers begin to howl for that man's blood.--In a word, the great
putty-hearted public loves to 'gush,' and there is no such darling
opportunity to gush as a case of persecution affords.”
“Well, uncle, dear; if your theory is right, let us go into raptures,
for nobody can ask a heartier persecution than these editorials are
furnishing.”
“I am not so sure of that, my daughter. I don't entirely like the tone
of some of these remarks. They lack vim, they lack venom. Here is one
calls it a 'questionable measure.' Bah, there is no strength in that.
This one is better; it calls it 'highway robbery.' That sounds something
like. But now this one seems satisfied to call it an 'iniquitous
scheme'. 'Iniquitous' does not exasperate anybody; it is weak--puerile.
The ignorant will imagine it to be intended for a compliment. But this
other one--the one I read last--has the true ring: 'This vile, dirty
effort to rob the public treasury, by the kites and vultures that now
infest the filthy den called Congress'--that is admirable, admirable! We
must have more of that sort. But it will come--no fear of that; they're
not warmed up, yet. A week from now you'll see.”
“Uncle, you and Brother Balaam are bosom friends--why don't you get his
paper to persecute us, too?”
“It isn't worth while, my daughter. His support doesn't hurt a bill.
Nobody reads his editorials but himself. But I wish the New York papers
would talk a little plainer. It is annoying to have to wait a week for
them to warm up. I expected better things at their hands--and time is
precious, now.”
At the proper hour, according to his previous notice, Mr. Buckstone duly
introduced his bill entitled “An Act to Found and Incorporate the Knobs
Industrial University,” moved its proper reference, and sat down.
The Speaker of the House rattled off this observation:
“'Fnobjectionbilltakuzhlcoixrssoreferred!'”
Habitues of the House comprehended that this long, lightning-heeled
word signified that if there was no objection, the bill would take the
customary course of a measure of its nature, and be referred to the
Committee on Benevolent Appropriations, and that it was accordingly so
referred. Strangers merely supposed that the Speaker was taking a gargle
for some affection of the throat.
The reporters immediately telegraphed the introduction of the bill.--And
they added:
“The assertion that the bill will pass was premature. It is said that
many favorers of it will desert when the storm breaks upon them from
the public press.” The storm came, and during ten days it waxed more and
more violent day by day. The great “Negro University Swindle” became the
one absorbing topic of conversation throughout the Union. Individuals
denounced it, journals denounced it, public meetings denounced it, the
pictorial papers caricatured its friends, the whole nation seemed to
be growing frantic over it. Meantime the Washington correspondents were
sending such telegrams as these abroad in the land; Under date of--
SATURDAY. “Congressmen Jex and Fluke are wavering; it is believed they
will desert the execrable bill.” MONDAY. “Jex and Fluke have deserted!”
THURSDAY. “Tubbs and Huffy left the sinking ship last night” Later on:
“Three desertions. The University thieves are getting scared, though
they will not own it.” Later:
“The leaders are growing stubborn--they swear they can carry it, but it
is now almost certain that they no longer have a majority!” After a day
or two of reluctant and ambiguous telegrams:
“Public sentiment seems changing, a trifle in favor of the bill--but
only a trifle.” And still later:
“It is whispered that the Hon. Mr. Trollop has gone over to the pirates.
It is probably a canard. Mr. Trollop has all along been the bravest and
most efficient champion of virtue and the people against the bill, and
the report is without doubt a shameless invention.” Next day:
“With characteristic treachery, the truckling and pusillanimous reptile,
Crippled-Speech Trollop, has gone over to the enemy. It is contended,
now, that he has been a friend to the bill, in secret, since the day
it was introduced, and has had bankable reasons for being so; but he
himself declares that he has gone over because the malignant persecution
of the bill by the newspapers caused him to study its provisions with
more care than he had previously done, and this close examination
revealed the fact that the measure is one in every way worthy of
support. (Pretty thin!) It cannot be denied that this desertion has
had a damaging effect. Jex and Fluke have returned to their iniquitous
allegiance, with six or eight others of lesser calibre, and it is
reported and believed that Tubbs and Huffy are ready to go back. It is
feared that the University swindle is stronger to-day than it has ever
been before.” Later-midnight:
“It is said that the committee will report the bill back to-morrow.
Both sides are marshaling their forces, and the fight on this bill is
evidently going to be the hottest of the session.--All Washington is
boiling.”
CHAPTER XLIV.
“It's easy enough for another fellow to talk,” said Harry, despondingly,
after he had put Philip in possession of his view of the case. “It's
easy enough to say 'give her up,' if you don't care for her. What am I
going to do to give her up?”
It seemed to Harry that it was a situation requiring some active
measures. He couldn't realize that he had fallen hopelessly in love
without some rights accruing to him for the possession of the object
of his passion. Quiet resignation under relinquishment of any thing
he wanted was not in his line. And when it appeared to him that his
surrender of Laura would be the withdrawal of the one barrier that kept
her from ruin, it was unreasonable to expect that he could see how to
give her up.
Harry had the most buoyant confidence in his own projects always; he saw
everything connected with himself in a large way and in rosy lines. This
predominance of the imagination over the judgment gave that appearance
of exaggeration to his conversation and to his communications with
regard to himself, which sometimes conveyed the impression that he was
not speaking the truth. His acquaintances had been known to say that
they invariably allowed a half for shrinkage in his statements, and held
the other half under advisement for confirmation.
Philip in this case could not tell from Harry's story exactly how much
encouragement Laura had given him, nor what hopes he might justly have
of winning her. He had never seen him desponding before. The “brag”
appeared to be all taken out of him, and his airy manner only asserted
itself now and then in a comical imitation of its old self.
Philip wanted time to look about him before he decided what to do. He
was not familiar with Washington, and it was difficult to adjust his
feelings and perceptions to its peculiarities. Coming out of the sweet
sanity of the Bolton household, this was by contrast the maddest
Vanity Fair one could conceive. It seemed to him a feverish, unhealthy
atmosphere in which lunacy would be easily developed. He fancied that
everybody attached to himself an exaggerated importance, from the fact
of being at the national capital, the center of political influence, the
fountain of patronage, preferment, jobs and opportunities.
People were introduced to each other as from this or that state, not
from cities or towns, and this gave a largeness to their representative
feeling. All the women talked politics as naturally and glibly as they
talk fashion or literature elsewhere. There was always some exciting
topic at the Capitol, or some huge slander was rising up like a
miasmatic exhalation from the Potomac, threatening to settle no one knew
exactly where. Every other person was an aspirant for a place, or, if
he had one, for a better place, or more pay; almost every other one
had some claim or interest or remedy to urge; even the women were
all advocates for the advancement of some person, and they violently
espoused or denounced this or that measure as it would affect some
relative, acquaintance or friend.
Love, travel, even death itself, waited on the chances of the dies daily
thrown in the two Houses, and the committee rooms there. If the measure
went through, love could afford to ripen into marriage, and longing for
foreign travel would have fruition; and it must have been only eternal
hope springing in the breast that kept alive numerous old claimants who
for years and years had besieged the doors of Congress, and who looked
as if they needed not so much an appropriation of money as six feet of
ground. And those who stood so long waiting for success to bring them
death were usually those who had a just claim.
Representing states and talking of national and even international
affairs, as familiarly as neighbors at home talk of poor crops and the
extravagance of their ministers, was likely at first to impose upon
Philip as to the importance of the people gathered here.
There was a little newspaper editor from Phil's native town, the
assistant on a Peddletonian weekly, who made his little annual joke
about the “first egg laid on our table,” and who was the menial of every
tradesman in the village and under bonds to him for frequent “puffs,”
except the undertaker, about whose employment he was recklessly
facetious. In Washington he was an important man, correspondent, and
clerk of two house committees, a “worker” in politics, and a confident
critic of every woman and every man in Washington. He would be a consul
no doubt by and by, at some foreign port, of the language of which he
was ignorant--though if ignorance of language were a qualification he
might have been a consul at home. His easy familiarity with great
men was beautiful to see, and when Philip learned what a tremendous
underground influence this little ignoramus had, he no longer wondered
at the queer appointments and the queerer legislation.
Philip was not long in discovering that people in Washington did
not differ much from other people; they had the same meannesses,
generosities, and tastes: A Washington boarding house had the odor of a
boarding house the world over.
Col. Sellers was as unchanged as any one Philip saw whom he had known
elsewhere. Washington appeared to be the native element of this man. His
pretentions were equal to any he encountered there. He saw nothing in
its society that equalled that of Hawkeye, he sat down to no table that
could not be unfavorably contrasted with his own at home; the most airy
scheme inflated in the hot air of the capital only reached in magnitude
some of his lesser fancies, the by-play of his constructive imagination.
“The country is getting along very well,” he said to Philip, “but our
public men are too timid. What we want is more money. I've told Boutwell
so. Talk about basing the currency on gold; you might as well base it on
pork. Gold is only one product. Base it on everything! You've got to
do something for the West. How am I to move my crops? We must have
improvements. Grant's got the idea. We want a canal from the James River
to the Mississippi. Government ought to build it.”
It was difficult to get the Colonel off from these large themes when he
was once started, but Philip brought the conversation round to Laura and
her reputation in the City.
“No,” he said, “I haven't noticed much. We've been so busy about this
University. It will make Laura rich with the rest of us, and she has
done nearly as much as if she were a man. She has great talent, and will
make a big match. I see the foreign ministers and that sort after her.
Yes, there is talk, always will be about a pretty woman so much in
public as she is. Tough stories come to me, but I put'em away. 'Taint
likely one of Si Hawkins's children would do that--for she is the same
as a child of his. I told her, though, to go slow,” added the Colonel,
as if that mysterious admonition from him would set everything right.
“Do you know anything about a Col. Selby?”
“Know all about him. Fine fellow. But he's got a wife; and I told him,
as a friend, he'd better sheer off from Laura. I reckon he thought
better of it and did.”
But Philip was not long in learning the truth. Courted as Laura was by
a certain class and still admitted into society, that, nevertheless,
buzzed with disreputable stories about her, she had lost character with
the best people. Her intimacy with Selby was open gossip, and there were
winks and thrustings of the tongue in any group of men when she passed
by. It was clear enough that Harry's delusion must be broken up, and
that no such feeble obstacle as his passion could interpose would turn
Laura from her fate. Philip determined to see her, and put himself in
possession of the truth, as he suspected it, in order to show Harry his
folly.
Laura, after her last conversation with Harry, had a new sense of her
position. She had noticed before the signs of a change in manner towards
her, a little less respect perhaps from men, and an avoidance by women.
She had attributed this latter partly to jealousy of her, for no one is
willing to acknowledge a fault in himself when a more agreeable motive
can be found for the estrangement of his acquaintances. But now, if
society had turned on her, she would defy it. It was not in her nature
to shrink. She knew she had been wronged, and she knew that she had no
remedy.
What she heard of Col. Selby's proposed departure alarmed her more than
anything else, and she calmly determined that if he was deceiving her
the second time it should be the last. Let society finish the tragedy if
it liked; she was indifferent what came after. At the first opportunity,
she charged Selby with his intention to abandon her. He unblushingly
denied it.
He had not thought of going to Europe. He had only been amusing himself
with Sellers' schemes. He swore that as soon as she succeeded with her
bill, he would fly with her to any part of the world.
She did not quite believe him, for she saw that he feared her, and she
began to suspect that his were the protestations of a coward to gain
time. But she showed him no doubts.
She only watched his movements day by day, and always held herself ready
to act promptly.
When Philip came into the presence of this attractive woman, he could
not realize that she was the subject of all the scandal he had heard.
She received him with quite the old Hawkeye openness and cordiality,
and fell to talking at once of their little acquaintance there; and
it seemed impossible that he could ever say to her what he had come
determined to say. Such a man as Philip has only one standard by which
to judge women.
Laura recognized that fact no doubt. The better part of her woman's
nature saw it. Such a man might, years ago, not now, have changed her
nature, and made the issue of her life so different, even after her
cruel abandonment. She had a dim feeling of this, and she would like now
to stand well with him. The spark of truth and honor that was left in
her was elicited by his presence. It was this influence that governed
her conduct in this interview.
“I have come,” said Philip in his direct manner, “from my friend Mr.
Brierly. You are not ignorant of his feeling towards you?”
“Perhaps not.”
“But perhaps you do not know, you who have so much admiration, how
sincere and overmastering his love is for you?” Philip would not have
spoken so plainly, if he had in mind anything except to draw from Laura
something that would end Harry's passion.
“And is sincere love so rare, Mr. Sterling?” asked Laura, moving her
foot a little, and speaking with a shade of sarcasm.
“Perhaps not in Washington,” replied Philip,--tempted into a similar
tone. “Excuse my bluntness,” he continued, “but would the knowledge
of his love; would his devotion, make any difference to you in your
Washington life?”
“In respect to what?” asked Laura quickly.
“Well, to others. I won't equivocate--to Col. Selby?”
Laura's face flushed with anger, or shame; she looked steadily at Philip
and began,
“By what right, sir,--”
“By the right of friendship,” interrupted Philip stoutly. “It may matter
little to you. It is everything to him. He has a Quixotic notion that
you would turn back from what is before you for his sake. You cannot
be ignorant of what all the city is talking of.” Philip said this
determinedly and with some bitterness.
It was a full minute before Laura spoke. Both had risen, Philip as if
to go, and Laura in suppressed excitement. When she spoke her voice was
very unsteady, and she looked down.
“Yes, I know. I perfectly understand what you mean. Mr. Brierly is
nothing--simply nothing. He is a moth singed, that is all--the trifler
with women thought he was a wasp. I have no pity for him, not the least.
You may tell him not to make a fool of himself, and to keep away. I say
this on your account, not his. You are not like him. It is enough for me
that you want it so. Mr. Sterling,” she continued, looking up; and there
were tears in her eyes that contradicted the hardness of her language,
“you might not pity him if you knew my history; perhaps you would not
wonder at some things you hear. No; it is useless to ask me why it
must be so. You can't make a life over--society wouldn't let you if you
would--and mine must be lived as it is. There, sir, I'm not offended;
but it is useless for you to say anything more.”
Philip went away with his heart lightened about Harry, but profoundly
saddened by the glimpse of what this woman might have been. He told
Harry all that was necessary of the conversation--she was bent on going
her own way, he had not the ghost of a chance--he was a fool, she had
said, for thinking he had.
And Harry accepted it meekly, and made up his own mind that Philip
didn't know much about women.
CHAPTER XLV.
The galleries of the House were packed, on the momentous day, not
because the reporting of an important bill back by a committee was a
thing to be excited about, if the bill were going to take the ordinary
course afterward; it would be like getting excited over the empaneling
of a coroner's jury in a murder case, instead of saving up one's
emotions for the grander occasion of the hanging of the accused, two
years later, after all the tedious forms of law had been gone through
with.
But suppose you understand that this coroner's jury is going to turn out
to be a vigilance committee in disguise, who will hear testimony for
an hour and then hang the murderer on the spot? That puts a different
aspect upon the matter. Now it was whispered that the legitimate forms
of procedure usual in the House, and which keep a bill hanging along for
days and even weeks, before it is finally passed upon, were going to
be overruled, in this case, and short work made of the measure; and so,
what was beginning as a mere inquest might, turn out to be something
very different.
In the course of the day's business the Order of “Reports of Committees”
was finally reached and when the weary crowds heard that glad
announcement issue from the Speaker's lips they ceased to fret at the
dragging delay, and plucked up spirit. The Chairman of the Committee
on Benevolent Appropriations rose and made his report, and just then a
blue-uniformed brass-mounted little page put a note into his hand.
It was from Senator Dilworthy, who had appeared upon the floor of the
House for a moment and flitted away again:
“Everybody expects a grand assault in force; no doubt you believe, as I
certainly do, that it is the thing to do; we are strong, and everything
is hot for the contest. Trollop's espousal of our cause has immensely
helped us and we grow in power constantly. Ten of the opposition were
called away from town about noon,(but--so it is said--only for one day).
Six others are sick, but expect to be about again tomorrow or next day,
a friend tells me. A bold onslaught is worth trying. Go for a suspension
of the rules! You will find we can swing a two-thirds vote--I am
perfectly satisfied of it. The Lord's truth will prevail.
“DILWORTHY. Mr. Buckstone had reported the bills from his
committee, one by one, leaving the bill to the last. When the House had
voted upon the acceptance or rejection of the report upon all but it,
and the question now being upon its disposal--Mr. Buckstone begged that
the House would give its attention to a few remarks which he desired to
make. His committee had instructed him to report the bill favorably;
he wished to explain the nature of the measure, and thus justify
the committee's action; the hostility roused by the press would
then disappear, and the bill would shine forth in its true and noble
character. He said that its provisions were simple. It incorporated the
Knobs Industrial University, locating it in East Tennessee, declaring it
open to all persons without distinction of sex, color or religion, and
committing its management to a board of perpetual trustees, with power
to fill vacancies in their own number. It provided for the erection
of certain buildings for the University, dormitories, lecture-halls,
museums, libraries, laboratories, work-shops, furnaces, and mills. It
provided also for the purchase of sixty-five thousand acres of land,
(fully described) for the purposes of the University, in the Knobs of
East Tennessee. And it appropriated [blank] dollars for the purchase of
the Land, which should be the property of the national trustees in trust
for the uses named.
Every effort had been made to secure the refusal of the whole amount
of the property of the Hawkins heirs in the Knobs, some seventy-five
thousand acres Mr. Buckstone said. But Mr. Washington Hawkins (one of
the heirs) objected. He was, indeed, very reluctant to sell any part of
the land at any price; and indeed--this reluctance was justifiable when
one considers how constantly and how greatly the property is rising in
value.
What the South needed, continued Mr. Buckstone, was skilled labor.
Without that it would be unable to develop its mines, build its roads,
work to advantage and without great waste its fruitful land, establish
manufactures or enter upon a prosperous industrial career. Its laborers
were almost altogether unskilled. Change them into intelligent, trained
workmen, and you increased at once the capital, the resources of the
entire south, which would enter upon a prosperity hitherto unknown. In
five years the increase in local wealth would not only reimburse the
government for the outlay in this appropriation, but pour untold wealth
into the treasury.
This was the material view, and the least important in the honorable
gentleman's opinion. [Here he referred to some notes furnished him by
Senator Dilworthy, and then continued.] God had given us the care of
these colored millions. What account should we render to Him of our
stewardship? We had made them free. Should we leave them ignorant? We
had cast them upon their own resources. Should we leave them without
tools? We could not tell what the intentions of Providence are in regard
to these peculiar people, but our duty was plain. The Knobs Industrial
University would be a vast school of modern science and practice, worthy
of a great nation. It would combine the advantages of Zurich, Freiburg,
Creuzot and the Sheffield Scientific. Providence had apparently reserved
and set apart the Knobs of East Tennessee for this purpose. What else
were they for? Was it not wonderful that for more than thirty years,
over a generation, the choicest portion of them had remained in one
family, untouched, as if, separated for some great use!
It might be asked why the government should buy this land, when it had
millions of acres, more than the railroad companies desired, which, it
might devote to this purpose? He answered, that the government had no
such tract of land as this. It had nothing comparable to it for the
purposes of the University: This was to be a school of mining, of
engineering, of the working of metals, of chemistry, zoology, botany,
manufactures, agriculture, in short of all the complicated industries
that make a state great. There was no place for the location of such a
school like the Knobs of East Tennessee. The hills abounded in metals
of all sorts, iron in all its combinations, copper, bismuth, gold and
silver in small quantities, platinum he believed, tin, aluminium; it
was covered with forests and strange plants; in the woods were found the
coon, the opossum, the fox, the deer and many other animals who roamed
in the domain of natural history; coal existed in enormous quantity
and no doubt oil; it was such a place for the practice of agricultural
experiments that any student who had been successful there would have an
easy task in any other portion of the country.
No place offered equal facilities for experiments in mining, metallurgy,
engineering. He expected to live to see the day, when the youth of the
south would resort to its mines, its workshops, its laboratories,
its furnaces and factories for practical instruction in all the great
industrial pursuits.
A noisy and rather ill-natured debate followed, now, and lasted hour
after hour. The friends of the bill were instructed by the leaders to
make no effort to check it; it was deemed better strategy to tire
out the opposition; it was decided to vote down every proposition to
adjourn, and so continue the sitting into the night; opponents might
desert, then, one by one and weaken their party, for they had no
personal stake in the bill.
Sunset came, and still the fight went on; the gas was lit, the crowd
in the galleries began to thin, but the contest continued; the crowd
returned, by and by, with hunger and thirst appeased, and aggravated the
hungry and thirsty House by looking contented and comfortable; but
still the wrangle lost nothing of its bitterness. Recesses were
moved plaintively by the opposition, and invariably voted down by the
University army.
At midnight the House presented a spectacle calculated to interest a
stranger. The great galleries were still thronged--though only with men,
now; the bright colors that had made them look like hanging gardens were
gone, with the ladies. The reporters' gallery, was merely occupied by
one or two watchful sentinels of the quill-driving guild; the main body
cared nothing for a debate that had dwindled to a mere vaporing of dull
speakers and now and then a brief quarrel over a point of order; but
there was an unusually large attendance of journalists in the reporters'
waiting-room, chatting, smoking, and keeping on the 'qui vive' for the
general irruption of the Congressional volcano that must come when
the time was ripe for it. Senator Dilworthy and Philip were in the
Diplomatic Gallery; Washington sat in the public gallery, and Col.
Sellers was, not far away. The Colonel had been flying about the
corridors and button-holing Congressmen all the evening, and believed
that he had accomplished a world of valuable service; but fatigue was
telling upon him, now, and he was quiet and speechless--for once. Below,
a few Senators lounged upon the sofas set apart for visitors, and talked
with idle Congressmen. A dreary member was speaking; the presiding
officer was nodding; here and there little knots of members stood in the
aisles, whispering together; all about the House others sat in all the
various attitudes that express weariness; some, tilted back, had one or
more legs disposed upon their desks; some sharpened pencils indolently;
some scribbled aimlessly; some yawned and stretched; a great many lay
upon their breasts upon the desks, sound asleep and gently snoring. The
flooding gaslight from the fancifully wrought roof poured down upon
the tranquil scene. Hardly a sound disturbed the stillness, save the
monotonous eloquence of the gentleman who occupied the floor. Now and
then a warrior of the opposition broke down under the pressure, gave it
up, and went home.
Mr. Buckstone began to think it might be safe, now, to “proceed to
business.” He consulted with Trollop and one or two others. Senator
Dilworthy descended to the floor of the House and they went to meet him.
After a brief comparison of notes, the Congressmen sought their seats
and sent pages about the House with messages to friends. These latter
instantly roused up, yawned, and began to look alert. The moment the
floor was unoccupied, Mr. Buckstone rose, with an injured look, and
said it was evident that the opponents of the bill were merely talking
against time, hoping in this unbecoming way to tire out the friends of
the measure and so defeat it. Such conduct might be respectable enough
in a village debating society, but it was trivial among statesmen,
it was out of place in so august an assemblage as the House of
Representatives of the United States. The friends of the bill had been
not only willing that its opponents should express their opinions, but
had strongly desired it. They courted the fullest and freest discussion;
but it seemed to him that this fairness was but illy appreciated,
since gentlemen were capable of taking advantage of it for selfish and
unworthy ends. This trifling had gone far enough. He called for the
question.
The instant Mr. Buckstone sat down, the storm burst forth. A dozen
gentlemen sprang to their feet.
“Mr. Speaker!”
“Mr. Speaker!”
“Mr. Speaker!”
“Order! Order! Order! Question! Question!”
The sharp blows of the Speaker's gavel rose above the din.
The “previous question,” that hated gag, was moved and carried. All
debate came to a sudden end, of course. Triumph No. 1.
Then the vote was taken on the adoption of the report and it carried by
a surprising majority.
Mr. Buckstone got the floor again and moved that the rules be suspended
and the bill read a first time.
Mr. Trollop--“Second the motion!”
The Speaker--“It is moved and--”
Clamor of Voices. “Move we adjourn! Second the motion! Adjourn! Adjourn!
Order! Order!”
The Speaker, (after using his gavel vigorously)--“It is moved and
seconded that the House do now adjourn. All those in favor--”
Voices--“Division! Division! Ayes and nays! Ayes and nays!”
It was decided to vote upon the adjournment by ayes and nays. This was
in earnest. The excitement was furious. The galleries were in commotion
in an instant, the reporters swarmed to their places. Idling members
of the House flocked to their seats, nervous gentlemen sprang to their
feet, pages flew hither and thither, life and animation were visible
everywhere, all the long ranks of faces in the building were kindled.
“This thing decides it!” thought Mr. Buckstone; “but let the fight
proceed.”
The voting began, and every sound ceased but the calling if the names
and the “Aye!” “No!” “No!” “Aye!” of the responses. There was not a
movement in the House; the people seemed to hold their breath.
The voting ceased, and then there was an interval of dead silence
while the clerk made up his count. There was a two-thirds vote on the
University side--and two over.
The Speaker--“The rules are suspended, the motion is carried--first
reading of the bill!”
By one impulse the galleries broke forth into stormy applause, and even
some of the members of the House were not wholly able to restrain their
feelings. The Speaker's gavel came to the rescue and his clear voice
followed:
“Order, gentlemen--! The House will come to order! If spectators offend
again, the Sergeant-at-arms will clear the galleries!”
Then he cast his eyes aloft and gazed at some object attentively for a
moment. All eyes followed the direction of the Speaker's, and then there
was a general titter. The Speaker said:
“Let the Sergeant-at Arms inform the gentleman that his conduct is an
infringement of the dignity of the House--and one which is not warranted
by the state of the weather.” Poor Sellers was the culprit. He sat
in the front seat of the gallery, with his arms and his tired body
overflowing the balustrade--sound asleep, dead to all excitements, all
disturbances. The fluctuations of the Washington weather had influenced
his dreams, perhaps, for during the recent tempest of applause he had
hoisted his gingham umbrella, and calmly gone on with his slumbers.
Washington Hawkins had seen the act, but was not near enough at hand
to save his friend, and no one who was near enough desired to spoil the
effect. But a neighbor stirred up the Colonel, now that the House had
its eye upon him, and the great speculator furled his tent like the
Arab. He said:
“Bless my soul, I'm so absent-minded when I get to thinking! I never
wear an umbrella in the house--did anybody 'notice it'? What-asleep?
Indeed? And did you wake me sir? Thank you--thank you very much indeed.
It might have fallen out of my hands and been injured. Admirable
article, sir--present from a friend in Hong Kong; one doesn't come
across silk like that in this country--it's the real--Young Hyson, I'm
told.”
By this time the incident was forgotten, for the House was at war again.
Victory was almost in sight, now, and the friends of the bill threw
themselves into their work with enthusiasm. They soon moved and carried
its second reading, and after a strong, sharp fight, carried a motion to
go into Committee of the whole. The Speaker left his place, of course,
and a chairman was appointed.
Now the contest raged hotter than ever--for the authority that compels
order when the House sits as a House, is greatly diminished when it sits
as Committee. The main fight came upon the filling of the blanks with
the sum to be appropriated for the purchase of the land, of course.
Buckstone--“Mr. Chairman, I move you, sir, that the words 'three
millions of' be inserted.”
Mr. Hadley--“Mr. Chairman, I move that the words two and a half dollars
be inserted.”
Mr. Clawson--“Mr. Chairman, I move the insertion of the words five and
twenty cents, as representing the true value of this barren and isolated
tract of desolation.”
The question, according to rule, was taken upon the smallest sum first.
It was lost.
Then upon the next smallest sum. Lost, also.
And then upon the three millions. After a vigorous battle that lasted a
considerable time, this motion was carried.
Then, clause by clause the bill was read, discussed, and amended in
trifling particulars, and now the Committee rose and reported.
The moment the House had resumed its functions and received the report,
Mr. Buckstone moved and carried the third reading of the bill.
The same bitter war over the sum to be paid was fought over again, and
now that the ayes and nays could be called and placed on record, every
man was compelled to vote by name on the three millions, and indeed on
every paragraph of the bill from the enacting clause straight through.
But as before, the friends of the measure stood firm and voted in a
solid body every time, and so did its enemies.
The supreme moment was come, now, but so sure was the result that not
even a voice was raised to interpose an adjournment. The enemy were
totally demoralized. The bill was put upon its final passage almost
without dissent, and the calling of the ayes and nays began. When it
was ended the triumph was complete--the two-thirds vote held good, and a
veto was impossible, as far as the House was concerned!
Mr. Buckstone resolved that now that the nail was driven home, he
would clinch it on the other side and make it stay forever. He moved a
reconsideration of the vote by which the bill had passed. The motion
was lost, of course, and the great Industrial University act was
an accomplished fact as far as it was in the power of the House of
Representatives to make it so.
There was no need to move an adjournment. The instant the last motion
was decided, the enemies of the University rose and flocked out of the
Hall, talking angrily, and its friends flocked after them jubilant and
congratulatory. The galleries disgorged their burden, and presently the
house was silent and deserted.
When Col. Sellers and Washington stepped out of the building they were
surprised to find that the daylight was old and the sun well up. Said
the Colonel:
“Give me your hand, my boy! You're all right at last! You're a
millionaire! At least you're going to be. The thing is dead sure. Don't
you bother about the Senate. Leave me and Dilworthy to take care of
that. Run along home, now, and tell Laura. Lord, it's magnificent
news--perfectly magnificent! Run, now. I'll telegraph my wife. She must
come here and help me build a house. Everything's all right now!”
Washington was so dazed by his good fortune and so bewildered by the
gaudy pageant of dreams that was already trailing its long ranks through
his brain, that he wandered he knew not where, and so loitered by the
way that when at last he reached home he woke to a sudden annoyance in
the fact that his news must be old to Laura, now, for of course Senator
Dilworthy must have already been home and told her an hour before. He
knocked at her door, but there was no answer.
“That is like the Duchess,” said he. “Always cool; a body can't excite
her-can't keep her excited, anyway. Now she has gone off to sleep again,
as comfortably as if she were used to picking up a million dollars every
day or two.”
Then he went to bed. But he could not sleep; so he got up and wrote
a long, rapturous letter to Louise, and another to his mother. And he
closed both to much the same effect:
“Laura will be queen of America, now, and she will be applauded, and
honored and petted by the whole nation. Her name will be in every one's
mouth more than ever, and how they will court her and quote her bright
speeches. And mine, too, I suppose; though they do that more already,
than they really seem to deserve. Oh, the world is so bright, now, and
so cheery; the clouds are all gone, our long struggle is ended, our
troubles are all over. Nothing can ever make us unhappy any more. You
dear faithful ones will have the reward of your patient waiting now. How
father's Wisdom is proven at last! And how I repent me, that there have
been times when I lost faith and said, the blessing he stored up for us
a tedious generation ago was but a long-drawn curse, a blight upon us
all. But everything is well, now--we are done with poverty, sad toil,
weariness and heart-break; all the world is filled with sunshine.”
Part 6.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XLVI Disappearance of Laura, and Murder of Col. Selby in New
York
CHAPTER XLVII Laura in the Tombs and Her Visitors
CHAPTER XLVIII Mr Bolton Says Yes Again--Philip Returns to the Mines
CHAPTER XLIX The Coal Vein Found and Lost Again--Philip and the
Boltons--Elated and Then Cruelly Disappointed
CHAPTER L Philip Visits Fallkill and Proposes Studying Law With Mr
Montague--The Squire Invests in the Mine--Ruth Declares Her Love for
Philip
CHAPTER LI Col Sellers Enlightens Washington Hawkins on the Customs of
Congress
CHAPTER LII How Senator Dilworthy Advanced Washington's Interests
CHAPTER LIII Senator Dilworthy Goes West to See About His
Re--election--He Becomes a Shining Light
CHAPTER LIV The Trial of Laura for Murder
ILLUSTRATIONS
155. SENATOR DILWORTHY TRANQUIL 156. “SHE AIN'T DAH, SAR” 157. AS
THE WITNESSES DESCRIBED IT 158. THE LEARNED DOCTORS 159. IMPORTANT
BUSINESS 160. COL. SELLERS AND WASHINGTON IN LAURA'S CELL
161. PROMISED PATRONAGE 162. NO LOVE LIKE A MOTHER'S 163. CLEANED
OUT BUT NOT CRUSHED 164. THE LANDLORD TAKING LESSONS 165. TAILPIECE
166. “WE'VE STRUCK IT” 167. THE MINE AT ILIUM 168. THE HERMIT
169. TAIL PIECE 110. ONE CHANCE OPEN 171. WHAT HE EXPECTED TO BE
172. ALAS! POOR ALICE 173. HOW HE WAS DRAWN IN 174. EVERYTHING
175. TAIL PIECE 176. “COME NOW, LETS CHEER UP” 177. A SHINING EXAMPLE
178. THE SEWING SOCIETY DODGE 179. DILWORTHY ADDRESSES A SUNDAY SCHOOL
180. TAIL PIECE 181. THE JUDGE 182. LAURA ON TRIAL 183. MICHAEL
LANIGAN 184. PATRICK COUGHLIN 185. ETHAN DOBB 186. MR HICKS
CHAPTER XLVI.
Philip left the capitol and walked up Pennsylvania Avenue in company
with Senator Dilworthy. It was a bright spring morning, the air was soft
and inspiring; in the deepening wayside green, the pink flush of the
blossoming peach trees, the soft suffusion on the heights of Arlington,
and the breath of the warm south wind was apparent, the annual miracle
of the resurrection of the earth.
The Senator took off his hat and seemed to open his soul to the sweet
influences of the morning. After the heat and noise of the chamber,
under its dull gas-illuminated glass canopy, and the all night struggle
of passion and feverish excitement there, the open, tranquil world
seemed like Heaven. The Senator was not in an exultant mood, but rather
in a condition of holy joy, befitting a Christian statesman whose
benevolent plans Providence has made its own and stamped with approval.
The great battle had been fought, but the measure had still to encounter
the scrutiny of the Senate, and Providence sometimes acts differently in
the two Houses. Still the Senator was tranquil, for he knew that there
is an esprit de corps in the Senate which does not exist in the House,
the effect of which is to make the members complaisant towards the
projects of each other, and to extend a mutual aid which in a more
vulgar body would be called “log-rolling.”
“It is, under Providence, a good night's work, Mr. Sterling. The
government has founded an institution which will remove half the
difficulty from the southern problem. And it is a good thing for the
Hawkins heirs, a very good thing. Laura will be almost a millionaire.”
“Do you think, Mr. Dilworthy, that the Hawkinses will get much of the
money?” asked Philip innocently, remembering the fate of the Columbus
River appropriation.
The Senator looked at his companion scrutinizingly for a moment to see
if he meant anything personal, and then replied,
“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly. I have had their interests greatly at heart.
There will of course be a few expenses, but the widow and orphans will
realize all that Mr. Hawkins, dreamed of for them.”
The birds were singing as they crossed the Presidential Square, now
bright with its green turf and tender foliage. After the two had gained
the steps of the Senator's house they stood a moment, looking upon the
lovely prospect:
“It is like the peace of God,” said the Senator devoutly.
Entering the house, the Senator called a servant and said, “Tell Miss
Laura that we are waiting to see her. I ought to have sent a messenger
on horseback half an hour ago,” he added to Philip, “she will be
transported with our victory. You must stop to breakfast, and see the
excitement.” The servant soon came back, with a wondering look and
reported,
“Miss Laura ain't dah, sah. I reckon she hain't been dah all night!”
The Senator and Philip both started up. In Laura's room there were
the marks of a confused and hasty departure, drawers half open, little
articles strewn on the floor. The bed had not been disturbed. Upon
inquiry it appeared that Laura had not been at dinner, excusing herself
to Mrs. Dilworthy on the plea of a violent headache; that she made a
request to the servants that she might not be disturbed.
The Senator was astounded. Philip thought at once of Col. Selby. Could
Laura have run away with him? The Senator thought not. In fact it could
not be. Gen. Leffenwell, the member from New Orleans, had casually told
him at the house last night that Selby and his family went to New York
yesterday morning and were to sail for Europe to-day.
Philip had another idea which, he did not mention. He seized his hat,
and saying that he would go and see what he could learn, ran to the
lodgings of Harry; whom he had not seen since yesterday afternoon, when
he left him to go to the House.
Harry was not in. He had gone out with a hand-bag before six o'clock
yesterday, saying that he had to go to New York, but should return next
day. In Harry's-room on the table Philip found this note:
“Dear Mr. Brierly:--Can you meet me at the six o'clock train, and be my
escort to New York? I have to go about this University bill, the vote of
an absent member we must have here, Senator Dilworthy cannot go.
Yours, L. H.”
“Confound it,” said Phillip, “the noodle has fallen into her trap. And
she promised she would let him alone.”
He only stopped to send a note to Senator Dilworthy, telling him what he
had found, and that he should go at once to New York, and then hastened
to the railway station. He had to wait an hour for a train, and when it
did start it seemed to go at a snail's pace.
Philip was devoured with anxiety. Where could they have gone? What
was Laura's object in taking Harry? Had the flight anything to do with
Selby? Would Harry be such a fool as to be dragged into some public
scandal?
It seemed as if the train would never reach Baltimore. Then there was a
long delay at Havre de Grace. A hot box had to be cooled at Wilmington.
Would it never get on? Only in passing around the city of Philadelphia
did the train not seem to go slow. Philip stood upon the platform and
watched for the Boltons' house, fancied he could distinguish its roof
among the trees, and wondered how Ruth would feel if she knew he was so
near her.
Then came Jersey, everlasting Jersey, stupid irritating Jersey, where
the passengers are always asking which line they are on, and where they
are to come out, and whether they have yet reached Elizabeth. Launched
into Jersey, one has a vague notion that he is on many lines and no one
in particular, and that he is liable at any moment to come to Elizabeth.
He has no notion what Elizabeth is, and always resolves that the next
time he goes that way, he will look out of the window and see what it
is like; but he never does. Or if he does, he probably finds that it is
Princeton or something of that sort. He gets annoyed, and never can
see the use of having different names for stations in Jersey. By and by
there is Newark, three or four Newarks apparently; then marshes; then
long rock cuttings devoted to the advertisements of patent medicines and
ready-made, clothing, and New York tonics for Jersey agues, and Jersey
City is reached.
On the ferry-boat Philip bought an evening paper from a boy crying
“'Ere's the Evening Gram, all about the murder,” and with breathless
haste--ran his eyes over the following:
SHOCKING MURDER!!!
TRAGEDY IN HIGH LIFE!!
A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN SHOOTS A DISTINGUISHED
CONFEDERATE SOLDIER AT THE SOUTHERN HOTEL!!!
JEALOUSY THE CAUSE!!!
This morning occurred another of those shocking murders which have
become the almost daily food of the newspapers, the direct result of
the socialistic doctrines and woman's rights agitations, which have made
every woman the avenger of her own wrongs, and all society the hunting
ground for her victims.
About nine o'clock a lady deliberately shot a man dead in the public
parlor of the Southern Hotel, coolly remarking, as she threw down her
revolver and permitted herself to be taken into custody, “He brought it
on himself.” Our reporters were immediately dispatched to the scene of
the tragedy, and gathered the following particulars.
Yesterday afternoon arrived at the hotel from Washington, Col. George
Selby and family, who had taken passage and were to sail at noon to-day
in the steamer Scotia for England. The Colonel was a handsome man about
forty, a gentleman of wealth and high social position, a resident of
New Orleans. He served with distinction in the confederate army, and
received a wound in the leg from which he has never entirely recovered,
being obliged to use a cane in locomotion.
This morning at about nine o'clock, a lady, accompanied by a gentleman,
called at the office of the hotel and asked for Col. Selby. The Colonel
was at breakfast. Would the clerk tell him that a lady and gentleman
wished to see him for a moment in the parlor? The clerk says that the
gentleman asked her, “What do you want to see him for?” and that she
replied, “He is going to Europe, and I ought to just say good by.”
Col. Selby was informed; and the lady and gentleman were shown to the
parlor, in which were at the time three or four other persons. Five
minutes after two shots were fired in quick succession, and there was a
rush to the parlor from which the reports came.
Col. Selby was found lying on the floor, bleeding, but not dead. Two
gentlemen, who had just come in, had seized the lady, who made no
resistance, and she was at once given in charge of a police officer who
arrived. The persons who were in the parlor agree substantially as to
what occurred. They had happened to be looking towards the door when the
man--Col. Selby--entered with his cane, and they looked at him, because
he stopped as if surprised and frightened, and made a backward movement.
At the same moment the lady in the bonnet advanced towards him and said
something like, “George, will you go with me?” He replied, throwing
up his hand and retreating, “My God I can't, don't fire,” and the next
instants two shots were heard and he fell. The lady appeared to be
beside herself with rage or excitement, and trembled very much when the
gentlemen took hold of her; it was to them she said, “He brought it on
himself.”
Col. Selby was carried at once to his room and Dr. Puffer, the eminent
surgeon was sent for. It was found that he was shot through the breast
and through the abdomen. Other aid was summoned, but the wounds were
mortal, and Col Selby expired in an hour, in pain, but his mind was
clear to the last and he made a full deposition. The substance of it
was that his murderess is a Miss Laura Hawkins, whom he had known
at Washington as a lobbyist and had some business with her. She had
followed him with her attentions and solicitations, and had endeavored
to make him desert his wife and go to Europe with her. When he resisted
and avoided her she had threatened him. Only the day before he left
Washington she had declared that he should never go out of the city
alive without her.
It seems to have been a deliberate and premeditated murder, the woman
following him to Washington on purpose to commit it.
We learn that the murderess, who is a woman of dazzling and transcendent
beauty and about twenty six or seven, is a niece of Senator Dilworthy
at whose house she has been spending the winter. She belongs to a high
Southern family, and has the reputation of being an heiress. Like some
other great beauties and belles in Washington however there have been
whispers that she had something to do with the lobby. If we mistake
not we have heard her name mentioned in connection with the sale of the
Tennessee Lands to the Knobs University, the bill for which passed the
House last night.
Her companion is Mr. Harry Brierly, a New York dandy, who has been in
Washington. His connection with her and with this tragedy is not known,
but he was also taken into custody, and will be detained at least as a
witness.
P. S. One of the persons present in the parlor says that after Laura
Hawkins had fired twice, she turned the pistol towards herself, but that
Brierly sprung and caught it from her hand, and that it was he who threw
it on the floor.
Further particulars with full biographies of all the parties in our next
edition. Philip hastened at once to the Southern Hotel, where he
found still a great state of excitement, and a thousand different and
exaggerated stories passing from mouth to mouth. The witnesses of the
event had told it over so many times that they had worked it up into a
most dramatic scene, and embellished it with whatever could heighten its
awfulness. Outsiders had taken up invention also. The Colonel's wife
had gone insane, they said. The children had rushed into the parlor and
rolled themselves in their father's blood. The hotel clerk said that he
noticed there was murder in the woman's eye when he saw her. A person
who had met the woman on the stairs felt a creeping sensation. Some
thought Brierly was an accomplice, and that he had set the woman on to
kill his rival. Some said the woman showed the calmness and indifference
of insanity.
Philip learned that Harry and Laura had both been taken to the city
prison, and he went there; but he was not admitted. Not being a
newspaper reporter, he could not see either of them that night; but the
officer questioned him suspiciously and asked him who he was. He might
perhaps see Brierly in the morning.
The latest editions of the evening papers had the result of the inquest.
It was a plain enough case for the jury, but they sat over it a long
time, listening to the wrangling of the physicians. Dr. Puffer insisted
that the man died from the effects of the wound in the chest. Dr. Dobb
as strongly insisted that the wound in the abdomen caused death. Dr.
Golightly suggested that in his opinion death ensued from a complication
of the two wounds and perhaps other causes. He examined the table
waiter, as to whether Col. Selby ate any breakfast, and what he ate, and
if he had any appetite.
The jury finally threw themselves back upon the indisputable fact that
Selby was dead, that either wound would have killed him (admitted by the
doctors), and rendered a verdict that he died from pistol-shot wounds
inflicted by a pistol in the hands of Laura Hawkins.
The morning papers blazed with big type, and overflowed with details of
the murder. The accounts in the evening papers were only the premonitory
drops to this mighty shower. The scene was dramatically worked up in
column after column. There were sketches, biographical and historical.
There were long “specials” from Washington, giving a full history of
Laura's career there, with the names of men with whom she was said to
be intimate, a description of Senator Dilworthy's residence and of his
family, and of Laura's room in his house, and a sketch of the Senator's
appearance and what he said. There was a great deal about her beauty,
her accomplishments and her brilliant position in society, and her
doubtful position in society. There was also an interview with Col.
Sellers and another with Washington Hawkins, the brother of the
murderess. One journal had a long dispatch from Hawkeye, reporting
the excitement in that quiet village and the reception of the awful
intelligence.
All the parties had been “interviewed.” There were reports of
conversations with the clerk at the hotel; with the call-boy; with the
waiter at table with all the witnesses, with the policeman, with the
landlord (who wanted it understood that nothing of that sort had ever
happened in his house before, although it had always been frequented
by the best Southern society,) and with Mrs. Col. Selby. There were
diagrams illustrating the scene of the shooting, and views of the hotel
and street, and portraits of the parties.
There were three minute and different statements from the doctors about
the wounds, so technically worded that nobody could understand them.
Harry and Laura had also been “interviewed” and there was a statement
from Philip himself, which a reporter had knocked him up out of bed
at midnight to give, though how he found him, Philip never could
conjecture.
What some of the journals lacked in suitable length for the occasion,
they made up in encyclopaedic information about other similar murders
and shootings.
The statement from Laura was not full, in fact it was fragmentary, and
consisted of nine parts of, the reporter's valuable observations to
one of Laura's, and it was, as the reporter significantly remarked,
“incoherent”, but it appeared that Laura claimed to be Selby's wife, or
to have been his wife, that he had deserted her and betrayed her, and
that she was going to follow him to Europe. When the reporter asked:
“What made you shoot him, Miss Hawkins?”
Laura's only reply was, very simply,
“Did I shoot him? Do they say I shot him?”. And she would say no more.
The news of the murder was made the excitement of the day. Talk of it
filled the town. The facts reported were scrutinized, the standing of
the parties was discussed, the dozen different theories of the motive,
broached in the newspapers, were disputed over.
During the night subtle electricity had carried the tale over all the
wires of the continent and under the sea; and in all villages and towns
of the Union, from the Atlantic to the territories, and away up and
down the Pacific slope, and as far as London and Paris and Berlin, that
morning the name of Laura Hawkins was spoken by millions and millions
of people, while the owner of it--the sweet child of years ago, the
beautiful queen of Washington drawing rooms--sat shivering on her
cot-bed in the darkness of a damp cell in the Tombs.
CHAPTER XLVII.
Philip's first effort was to get Harry out of the Tombs. He gained
permission to see him, in the presence of an officer, during the day,
and he found that hero very much cast down.
“I never intended to come to such a place as this, old fellow,” he said
to Philip; “it's no place for a gentleman, they've no idea how to treat
a gentleman. Look at that provender,” pointing to his uneaten prison
ration. “They tell me I am detained as a witness, and I passed the night
among a lot of cut-throats and dirty rascals--a pretty witness I'd be in
a month spent in such company.”
“But what under heavens,” asked Philip, “induced you to come to New York
with Laura! What was it for?”
“What for? Why, she wanted me to come. I didn't know anything about that
cursed Selby. She said it was lobby business for the University. I'd no
idea what she was dragging me into that confounded hotel for. I suppose
she knew that the Southerners all go there, and thought she'd find her
man. Oh! Lord, I wish I'd taken your advice. You might as well murder
somebody and have the credit of it, as get into the newspapers the way I
have. She's pure devil, that girl. You ought to have seen how sweet she
was on me; what an ass I am.”
“Well, I'm not going to dispute a poor prisoner. But the first thing is
to get you out of this. I've brought the note Laura wrote you, for one
thing, and I've seen your uncle, and explained the truth of the case to
him. He will be here soon.”
Harry's uncle came, with other friends, and in the course of the day
made such a showing to the authorities that Harry was released, on
giving bonds to appear as a witness when wanted. His spirits rose with
their usual elasticity as soon as he was out of Centre Street, and he
insisted on giving Philip and his friends a royal supper at Delmonico's,
an excess which was perhaps excusable in the rebound of his feelings,
and which was committed with his usual reckless generosity. Harry
ordered the supper, and it is perhaps needless to say that Philip paid
the bill.
Neither of the young men felt like attempting to see Laura that day, and
she saw no company except the newspaper reporters, until the arrival of
Col. Sellers and Washington Hawkins, who had hastened to New York with
all speed.
They found Laura in a cell in the upper tier of the women's department.
The cell was somewhat larger than those in the men's department, and
might be eight feet by ten square, perhaps a little longer. It was of
stone, floor and all, and tile roof was oven shaped. A narrow slit
in the roof admitted sufficient light, and was the only means of
ventilation; when the window was opened there was nothing to prevent the
rain coming in. The only means of heating being from the corridor, when
the door was ajar, the cell was chilly and at this time damp. It was
whitewashed and clean, but it had a slight jail odor; its only furniture
was a narrow iron bedstead, with a tick of straw and some blankets, not
too clean.
When Col. Sellers was conducted to this cell by the matron and looked
in, his emotions quite overcame him, the tears rolled down his cheeks
and his voice trembled so that he could hardly speak. Washington was
unable to say anything; he looked from Laura to the miserable creatures
who were walking in the corridor with unutterable disgust. Laura was
alone calm and self-contained, though she was not unmoved by the sight
of the grief of her friends.
“Are you comfortable, Laura?” was the first word the Colonel could get
out.
“You see,” she replied. “I can't say it's exactly comfortable.”
“Are you cold?”
“It is pretty chilly. The stone floor is like ice. It chills me through
to step on it. I have to sit on the bed.”
“Poor thing, poor thing. And can you eat any thing?”
“No, I am not hungry. I don't know that I could eat any thing, I can't
eat that.”
“Oh dear,” continued the Colonel, “it's dreadful. But cheer up, dear,
cheer up;” and the Colonel broke down entirely.
“But,” he went on, “we'll stand by you. We'll do everything for you. I
know you couldn't have meant to do it, it must have been insanity, you
know, or something of that sort. You never did anything of the sort
before.”
Laura smiled very faintly and said,
“Yes, it was something of that sort. It's all a whirl. He was a villain;
you don't know.”
“I'd rather have killed him myself, in a duel you know, all fair. I
wish I had. But don't you be down. We'll get you the best counsel, the
lawyers in New York can do anything; I've read of cases. But you must be
comfortable now. We've brought some of your clothes, at the hotel. What
else, can we get for you?”
Laura suggested that she would like some sheets for her bed, a piece
of carpet to step on, and her meals sent in; and some books and writing
materials if it was allowed. The Colonel and Washington promised to
procure all these things, and then took their sorrowful leave, a great
deal more affected than the criminal was, apparently, by her situation.
The colonel told the matron as he went away that if she would look to
Laura's comfort a little it shouldn't be the worse for her; and to the
turnkey who let them out he patronizingly said,
“You've got a big establishment here, a credit to the city. I've got a
friend in there--I shall see you again, sir.”
By the next day something more of Laura's own story began to appear in
the newspapers, colored and heightened by reporters' rhetoric. Some of
them cast a lurid light upon the Colonel's career, and represented his
victim as a beautiful avenger of her murdered innocence; and others
pictured her as his willing paramour and pitiless slayer. Her
communications to the reporters were stopped by her lawyers as soon as
they were retained and visited her, but this fact did not prevent--it
may have facilitated--the appearance of casual paragraphs here and there
which were likely to beget popular sympathy for the poor girl.
The occasion did not pass without “improvement” by the leading journals;
and Philip preserved the editorial comments of three or four of them
which pleased him most. These he used to read aloud to his friends
afterwards and ask them to guess from which journal each of them had
been cut. One began in this simple manner:--
History never repeats itself, but the Kaleidoscopic combinations of
the pictured present often seem to be constructed out of the broken
fragments of antique legends. Washington is not Corinth, and Lais, the
beautiful daughter of Timandra, might not have been the prototype of
the ravishing Laura, daughter of the plebeian house of Hawkins; but the
orators add statesmen who were the purchasers of the favors of the one,
may have been as incorruptible as the Republican statesmen who learned
how to love and how to vote from the sweet lips of the Washington
lobbyist; and perhaps the modern Lais would never have departed from the
national Capital if there had been there even one republican Xenocrates
who resisted her blandishments. But here the parallel: fails. Lais,
wandering away with the youth Rippostratus, is slain by the women who
are jealous of her charms. Laura, straying into her Thessaly with the
youth Brierly, slays her other lover and becomes the champion of the
wrongs of her sex. Another journal began its editorial with less lyrical
beauty, but with equal force. It closed as follows:--
With Laura Hawkins, fair, fascinating and fatal, and with the dissolute
Colonel of a lost cause, who has reaped the harvest he sowed, we have
nothing to do. But as the curtain rises on this awful tragedy, we catch
a glimpse of the society at the capital under this Administration, which
we cannot contemplate without alarm for the fate of the Republic. A
third newspaper took up the subject in a different tone. It said:--
Our repeated predictions are verified. The pernicious doctrines which
we have announced as prevailing in American society have been again
illustrated. The name of the city is becoming a reproach. We may have
done something in averting its ruin in our resolute exposure of the
Great Frauds; we shall not be deterred from insisting that the outraged
laws for the protection of human life shall be vindicated now, so that a
person can walk the streets or enter the public houses, at least in
the day-time, without the risk of a bullet through his brain. A fourth
journal began its remarks as follows:--
The fullness with which we present our readers this morning the details
of the Selby-Hawkins homicide is a miracle of modern journalism.
Subsequent investigation can do little to fill out the picture. It
is the old story. A beautiful woman shoots her absconding lover in
cold-blood; and we shall doubtless learn in due time that if she was not
as mad as a hare in this month of March, she was at least laboring under
what is termed “momentary insanity.” It would not be too much to say
that upon the first publication of the facts of the tragedy, there was
an almost universal feeling of rage against the murderess in the Tombs,
and that reports of her beauty only heightened the indignation. It was
as if she presumed upon that and upon her sex, to defy the law; and
there was a fervent hope that the law would take its plain course.
Yet Laura was not without friends, and some of them very influential
too. She had in her keeping a great many secrets and a great many
reputations, perhaps. Who shall set himself up to judge human motives.
Why, indeed, might we not feel pity for a woman whose brilliant career
had been so suddenly extinguished in misfortune and crime? Those who had
known her so well in Washington might find it impossible to believe
that the fascinating woman could have had murder in her heart, and
would readily give ear to the current sentimentality about the temporary
aberration of mind under the stress of personal calamity.
Senator Dilworthy, was greatly shocked, of course, but he was full of
charity for the erring.
“We shall all need mercy,” he said. “Laura as an inmate of my family was
a most exemplary female, amiable, affectionate and truthful, perhaps too
fond of gaiety, and neglectful of the externals of religion, but a woman
of principle. She may have had experiences of which I am ignorant, but
she could not have gone to this extremity if she had been in her own
right mind.”
To the Senator's credit be it said, he was willing to help Laura and her
family in this dreadful trial. She, herself, was not without money, for
the Washington lobbyist is not seldom more fortunate than the Washington
claimant, and she was able to procure a good many luxuries to mitigate
the severity of her prison life. It enabled her also to have her own
family near her, and to see some of them daily. The tender solicitude
of her mother, her childlike grief, and her firm belief in the real
guiltlessness of her daughter, touched even the custodians of the Tombs
who are enured to scenes of pathos.
Mrs. Hawkins had hastened to her daughter as soon as she received money
for the journey. She had no reproaches, she had only tenderness and
pity. She could not shut out the dreadful facts of the case, but it
had been enough for her that Laura had said, in their first interview,
“mother, I did not know what I was doing.” She obtained lodgings near
the prison and devoted her life to her daughter, as if she had been
really her own child. She would have remained in the prison day and
night if it had been permitted. She was aged and feeble, but this great
necessity seemed to give her new life.
The pathetic story of the old lady's ministrations, and her simplicity
and faith, also got into the newspapers in time, and probably added to
the pathos of this wrecked woman's fate, which was beginning to be felt
by the public. It was certain that she had champions who thought that
her wrongs ought to be placed against her crime, and expressions of this
feeling came to her in various ways. Visitors came to see her, and gifts
of fruit and flowers were sent, which brought some cheer into her hard
and gloomy cell.
Laura had declined to see either Philip or Harry, somewhat to the
former's relief, who had a notion that she would necessarily feel
humiliated by seeing him after breaking faith with him, but to the
discomfiture of Harry, who still felt her fascination, and thought her
refusal heartless. He told Philip that of course he had got through with
such a woman, but he wanted to see her.
Philip, to keep him from some new foolishness, persuaded him to go
with him to Philadelphia; and, give his valuable services in the mining
operations at Ilium.
The law took its course with Laura. She was indicted for murder in
the first degree and held for trial at the summer term. The two most
distinguished criminal lawyers in the city had been retained for her
defence, and to that the resolute woman devoted her days with a courage
that rose as she consulted with her counsel and understood the methods
of criminal procedure in New York.
She was greatly depressed, however, by the news from Washington.
Congress adjourned and her bill had failed to pass the Senate. It must
wait for the next session.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
It had been a bad winter, somehow, for the firm of Pennybacker, Bigler
and Small. These celebrated contractors usually made more money during
the session of the legislature at Harrisburg than upon all their summer
work, and this winter had been unfruitful. It was unaccountable to
Bigler.
“You see, Mr. Bolton,” he said, and Philip was present at the
conversation, “it puts us all out. It looks as if politics was played
out. We'd counted on the year of Simon's re-election. And, now, he's
reelected, and I've yet to see the first man who's the better for it.”
“You don't mean to say,” asked Philip, “that he went in without paying
anything?”
“Not a cent, not a dash cent, as I can hear,” repeated Mr. Bigler,
indignantly. “I call it a swindle on the state. How it was done gets me.
I never saw such a tight time for money in Harrisburg.”
“Were there no combinations, no railroad jobs, no mining schemes put
through in connection with the election?
“Not that I knew,” said Bigler, shaking his head in disgust. “In fact it
was openly said, that there was no money in the election. It's perfectly
unheard of.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Philip, “it was effected on what the insurance
companies call the 'endowment,' or the 'paid up' plan, by which a policy
is secured after a certain time without further payment.”
“You think then,” said Mr. Bolton smiling, “that a liberal and sagacious
politician might own a legislature after a time, and not be bothered
with keeping up his payments?”
“Whatever it is,” interrupted Mr. Bigler, “it's devilish ingenious and
goes ahead of my calculations; it's cleaned me out, when I thought we
had a dead sure thing. I tell you what it is, gentlemen, I shall go in
for reform. Things have got pretty mixed when a legislature will give
away a United States senatorship.”
It was melancholy, but Mr. Bigler was not a man to be crushed by one
misfortune, or to lose his confidence in human nature, on one exhibition
of apparent honesty. He was already on his feet again, or would be if
Mr. Bolton could tide him over shoal water for ninety days.