BLOODWORTH AT WORK.
The Hon. Hezekiah T. Bloodworth had returned to his home from his interview
with Dorlan chagrined, dejected, sorely puzzled as to what to do next.
It was being declared on all sides that the day of isolation was over with
the United States, and that it was henceforth to be a world power. Instead
of simply directing the affairs of the nation, her statesmen would now be
called upon to assist in shaping the destinies of the peoples of the whole
earth.
Bloodworth had been cherishing the fond hope that he would be one of the
first of American statesmen that would leap into world prominence. His
bosom heaved as he thought of the day when his speeches would be read by
the inhabitants of all lands and his name would be a household word unto
the uttermost parts of the earth. He had unlimited faith in Dorlan's
ability and felt that Dorlan could rise equal to the emergency and furnish
him the brain power for his widened responsibilities. At the very moment
when he felt the need of Dorlan the keenest in all his life, Dorlan refuses
to be his mentor.
Bloodworth wept. His tears were not Alexandrian tears of regret that there
were no more worlds to conquer, but Bloodworthian tears shed because he
could neither borrow nor buy the brains necessary to conquer a world that
had come within his reach.
"Hezzy, dear, what on earth troubles you?" asked Mrs. Bloodworth of her
perturbed husband.
"My ancestors, confound them," roughly responded Bloodworth.
"He is going crazy," thought Mrs. Bloodworth. "How do your ancestors
trouble you, Hezzy?" further queried Mrs. Bloodworth.
"They have handed down to me no brains," roared Bloodworth.
"There, I thought it was brain trouble," thought Mrs. Bloodworth.
"Oh, dear, you have brains," said his wife.
"So has a rabbit. Let me alone, now."
This colloquy had taken place at the dinner table where Bloodworth was
voraciously devouring food, in an effort, it would appear, to be strong
abdominally if not intellectually. His grief over his plight had not yet
affected his appetite. When nearly through the meal a telegram was handed
him. It was from the Speakers' Bureau and read thus:
"_Hon. Hezekiah T. Bloodworth_:
"Your services are badly needed in the pivotal States.
Campaign a flat failure without your lucid speeches.
Delay no longer. Report at headquarters at once. The
aftermath."
Bloodworth had been given the assurance of a Cabinet portfolio in case his
party succeeded. The words, "The aftermath," in the telegram were intended
to call attention to the fact that his preferment was contingent upon his
campaign labors. He arose from the table in such an abrupt manner that he
upset it, much to the horror of Mrs. Bloodworth.
"Do you wish to send a return message?" asked the messenger boy.
"Tell the Speakers' Bureau and the pivotal States to go to the habitation
of the accursed," exclaimed Bloodworth, trudging about the floor, holding
the open telegram in both hands as though it was a heavy load.
The messenger boy backed out of the room and hurried away, glad to get out
of the presence of the enraged Bloodworth.
"Confound it; I will not be ruined thus" said Bloodworth. Grasping his hat
he hurried out of his house to the market. He soon returned and, thrusting
a package down on a table in his kitchen, said, "Cook, feed me on fish at
every meal. Get the very best fish. Here are some good ones. Begin at
supper time. Fish is good for brain food, they say, and I need brains!"
Bloodworth dieted himself on fish for a few days and then began the
preparation of the speech with which he was to open his campaign tour in
the pivotal states. After great labor the speech was at last finished, and
Congressman Bloodworth invited a few intimate friends to hear him deliver
it to them in private.
"Friends," said he to the select audience, "of late my mind (meaning Dorlan
Warthell) has been a little erratic. It will not serve me as it once did. I
have called you here to ask you to tell me whether much of its vigor has
departed. If there is too great a gap between my past efforts and my
present one, I shall retire from public life. Remember, gentlemen, how much
depends on your decision, and be frank with me." Congressman Bloodworth
then began his speech. With great effort his hearers refrained from
laughter as they listened to what they thought was the most bunglesome
address that ever came from the lips of a public servant in a civilized
land.
"Mr. Bloodworth, for Heaven's sake, do not take the stump in this campaign.
You will be the butt of ridicule of the entire nation." Such was the
verdict rendered by one and acquiesced in by the others after listening to
the speech.
Bloodworth now completely collapsed. "Gentlemen," he said between his sobs,
"take me to my room. I am ill. I knew that a breakdown was due to a man who
has worked as hard for his country as I have. Take me to my room,
gentlemen."
Bloodworth was borne to his room and put to bed. He then dictated a
telegram to the Speakers' Bureau, informing them of his illness and
consequent inability to participate in the campaign.
The Hon. Hezekiah T. Bloodworth was removed to the city of R---- to a
private sanitarium in order, he said, that he might receive the best
medical attention. Each day he would lay abed feigning that he was sick.
The doctors were unable to tell what was troubling their patient, but were
quite content to have him remain with them, so handsomely were they being
paid. Bulletins as to the state of his health were sent over the country
daily.
Bloodworth succeeded in bribing his night nurses. With their collusion he
was able to escape from the sanitarium each night, returning just before
daybreak in the morning. These nights were spent by him in the lowest parts
of the city, in gambling dens patronized by the Negroes. He had become
aware of the great upheaval among the Negroes against Dorlan and he had
decided that the time was auspicious for the murder. His midnight orgies
enabled him to secure tools for his work.