finance and respectability.
Sometimes political rebels will gallantly and audaciously venture when
they rail behind the backs of their leaders; but when those leaders
appear and fill the foreground with their personalities the rebels
subside; they are impressed by the men whom they behold. They defer,
even when they are stung by knowledge of their leaders' principles.
Colonel Dodd and those with him were the accredited leaders.
Delegates glared, but were cowed and silent.
Farr pondered. Perhaps the advice of Mr. Converse was best:
“Take what we can get in our first skirmish. Keep it for the nucleus of
what we hope to get later. If we put all to the test in our first fight
against forces that have been in power for all the years and lose, then
the cause gets a setback which may discourage our men for ever.”
And Mr. Converse, having so declared, had remained away from the
convention that day, feeling that no more was to be gained.
“And I move you, Mr. Chairman,” called a voice, “that the nominations
for governor do now close.”
This had been the custom in the past.
It was not in the minds of that convention that another candidate would
be put forward. Governor Harwood was waiting in an anteroom, thumbing
the leaves of his speech, and all the delegates knew it. All desired to
expedite matters, nominate by acclamation, hear the inevitable speech,
and go home.
“One moment before that motion is seconded!”
The voice was so loud, so clear, so dominant, so ringing, that the
effect on the convention was as galvanically intense as if somebody had
blown upon a bugle.
Walker Farr had risen to his feet.
Colonel Dodd set his curved palm at his mouth and from behind the
chairman shot a few words at the presiding officer as one might shoot
pellets from a bean-shooter. The chairman scowled impatiently at Farr,
and a delegate among those who watched eagerly for signals from the
throne rose half-way to his feet and bellowed, “Question!” The cry
was taken up by other delegates, just as the unthinking mob follows a
cheer-master.
Farr climbed upon a settee. He stood there, silent and waiting, and
his expression, poise, and mien wrought for him more effectively than
speech.
He towered over all the heads. He was markedly not one of those
New-Englanders there assembled. His mass of dark-brown hair, his garb,
the very set of his head on his shoulders, differed from the physical
attributes of all others in the hall. And, as the delegates continued
to shout for the question to be put, he turned slowly so that his
expression of dignified and mild protest and appeal was visible to all.
And as he turned he gave the girl in the gallery a long look.
The chairman pounded with his gavel.
“I second the motion,” called a delegate, taking advantage of the first
moment of silence.
There was another roaring chorus of, “Question!”
But Walker Farr remained standing on the settee, waiting patiently. He
showed no confusion. There was added dignity as well as appeal in his
attitude and expression.
“Before that vote is taken I want to say one word as a man to men,”
shouted a delegate. “It's plain to be seen that that man standing there
is a gentleman. We are sent here to attend a meeting for the good of
our party. If, as delegates, we refuse to listen to a gentleman because
we're in too much of a hurry, we'd ought to be ashamed of ourselves. If,
on the other hand, we're _afraid_ to listen to him, whatever it is he
wants to say, then God save this party of ours!”
That was a sentiment which promptly struck fire in that assemblage.
There before their eyes stood the subject of that challenge, stalwart,
modest, appealing silently--the sort of appeal which won.
The galleries broke into applause first. Then the delegates took up the
demonstration in behalf of fair play. They beat their hands and pounded
their feet. The applause from the galleries had more or less of rebuke
in it, because it began while the challenger's voice still echoed in the
great hall.
The chairman's gavel thumped ferociously.
Colonel Dodd cursed under his breath. He had been on the trail of that
convention, its movements, its progress, as a hound dog would follow
the trail of a fox. He had seen it safely headed for the corner where
it would be run to earth. He detected sudden peril in this threat of a
detour.
“Good Jericho!” gasped a committeeman near him. “The chairman ain't
letting this convention get away from him, is he?”
It was natural alarm in the case of a man who feared to allow any
expression in a convention except such as had been arranged for
previously and had been passed upon by those in power.
“This isn't the kind of convention that will get away!” hissed the
colonel in reply, bolstering his own convictions that all was safely
harnessed. “But I don't want any fooling.”
He caught the eye of his nephew and summoned him with an impatient jerk
of the head.
Richard Dodd hastened across the platform and bent his ear close to his
uncle's mouth--the colonel pulling him down.
“If your man can stop that fool now--quick--for five hundred dollars,
I'll pay.”
Young Dodd gulped. He needed five thousand dollars!
“He won't consider less than I told you.”
“Well, let the idiot talk to us--he can't do any harm.”
The colonel pushed his nephew away. In spite of that applause he still
half expected that the convention would close the nominations. What else
was there to do?
“The vote is upon the motion to close the nominations for governor,”
stated the chairman. “Those in favor will say 'Aye!'”
Every delegate in that hall was looking at Farr. They were staring at
him with curiosity and interest. But even curiosity does not always
prompt politicians to open a convention to a person who may prove to be
a bomb that will upset plans and precedent.
Then Farr gave them that wonderful smile!
The “Ayes” were scattered and sporadic! Men did not relish shutting off
a chap who stood there and smiled upon them in that fashion.
At the call for the “Noes” a bellow of voices shook the hall.
The convention had given this stranger permission to speak by that
refusal to subscribe to the cut-and-dried plans. Colonel Dodd was no
longer smug. He scowled ferociously.
“Gentlemen of the convention, I am grateful,” cried Walker Farr. “And I
will not abuse your patience.”
“Platform--take the platform!” called many of the delegates.
He smiled and shook his head. “Let me talk to you standing here where
I can look into your eyes, gentlemen. I feel pretty much alone in this
convention. I _am_ alone! I represent no faction, no interest except the
cause of the humble who have asked for help from the masters who have
been set over them. Perhaps I ought to have remained silent here to-day.
My cowardice has been prompting me to keep still. It is no easy matter
for me to stand up here and disturb the order of events which had been
arranged by the gentlemen who have managed your public affairs for
you so many years. But it would be much more difficult for some of the
others here to speak, because the gentlemen who manage politics have
methods by which they can discredit a man in his profession, ruin him
in his business, stop his credit at banks and in other ways make him pay
dearly for his boldness in speech. I have no money in banks, no business
which can be ruined.”
“I rise to a point of order!” shouted a delegate, obeying a nod from the
stage. “The business in hand is the nomination of a governor.”
“That is my business,” stated Farr, calmly.
With political scent sharpened by his apprehension, Colonel Dodd
narrowed his eyes, sat straight in his chair, and desperately endeavored
to fathom the intentions of this rank outsider.
In spite of his bluster to the state committee he was worried. He had
not felt comfortable since his conference with Judge Ambrose Warren.
He did not like the “feel” of political conditions. There was some
indefinable slipperiness about matters.
He could not bring himself to consider the impossible idea that the
convention would bolt--would run amuck, no matter who addressed it--no
matter what contingency arose. But to have the convention even tolerate
this brazen interloper troubled his sense of mastery; the convention had
been too ready to permit the stranger to speak. It wasn't politics as
the colonel had been accustomed to play the game. And this--this man
from nowhere--it was preposterous!
He snapped his head around and found his nephew close behind him.
“You young whelp,” gritted Colonel Dodd, visiting his anger on the
nearest object, “where's your political loyalty? This isn't any time to
drive bargains. If you can stop that fellow hustle and do it.”
“It's another man's secret, I tell you. I've got to buy it.”
“I'll make it a thousand.”
Young Dodd's face was white, but he knew how desperate his case was and
how vitally necessary it was to play his cards as he held them.
“I gave you final figures,” he whispered.
“Where is that man? Let me deal with him.”
“It must be done through me.”
“If you wasn't my nephew I'd think this was blackmail.”
Young Dodd stepped back to avoid the glare in his uncle's eyes.
The colonel turned away and listened. Farr's voice was raised now in
solemn appeal.
“The idea of my letting myself get rattled by a crack-brained
demagogue,” muttered the colonel. He had been fondling the outside of
his coat furtively, locating his check-book. Now he took his hand away.
“It is well to respect service and to show courtesy, gentlemen. I have
listened with interest to the eulogies which have been given Governor
Harwood. He is, without doubt, an amiable gentleman. But let me tell you
that the next legislature is going to be asked to pass a law which will
be a club with which the people will rap the knuckles of Greed till that
unholy clutch on the water systems of this state will be loosened for
ever.”
The delegates stared at him for a few seconds when he paused, and then a
tumult of applause greeted his utterance.
“I ask you, gentlemen, whether Governor Harwood--and you know him well
and how he has been chosen--will ever sign a bill that will take profit
from the hands of his political makers even to give that profit to the
people who are the rightful owners?”
This time men were silent, but he knew what they thought from the manner
in which they looked at him.
“I do not need to tell you that the veto of a bill by a governor means,
in most cases, its death. Gentlemen, it would be polite and kind and
gracious of you to bow low here to-day and hand up the nomination to the
amiable Governor Harwood. But with the conditions as they are in this
state are you going to be polite, merely, while the hearses are rumbling
down your streets? I have no way of knowing how many of you into whose
eyes I am looking have seen death enter your own homes from the taps of
this much-promising, little-accomplishing water syndicate. But if you
have seen death touch your loved ones, or if you go home from here and
behold fever ravaging your community, it will be poor consolation to
your soul to remember that at least you were polite to an amiable man
who desired the honor of a renomination.”
The faces of the convention showed that this blunt yet shrewd appeal to
the individual antagonism of men had produced profound effect.
“But that is only one feature of what this state demands and needs,
gentlemen,” was Farr's ringing declaration. “This struggle for pure
water has opened a broad avenue. The towns and cities of this state must
take back into their own hands the properties and franchises which have
been mismanaged by the men to whose hands unwise gift by the people has
intrusted the people's own. We need a man in the Big Chair of State who
will stand with the people in this crusade!”
This amazing declaration in open convention produced as much
consternation on the platform as if Farr had dropped a bomb there.
He uttered something which was worse than mere political rebellion: he
was proposing to take for the people properties which constituted the
backbone of the oligarchy's power in state affairs.
Colonel Dodd had been growling behind the chairman, angrily endeavoring
to get the ear of that gentleman. But the chairman seemed to be as
wholly absorbed by this astonishing arraignment as were the delegates.
The head of the state machine, for the first time in his career, was
compelled to come into the open instead of through the mouth of a
lieutenant. He could not wait to give orders.
He rose and stamped to the front of the platform. His voice rang hoarse
and loud.
“There can be no more of this unparliamentary and irregular nonsense.
What has got into this convention? Don't you understand that no speaker
is allowed to break the rules and attack a man under guise of nominating
another? Mr. Chairman, I demand that this slanderer be removed from the
hall and that we proceed to the nomination of a governor.”
There was a hush during which Farr and Colonel Dodd looked at each
other, crossing their stares like long rapiers over the terraced heads.
“I fear I was wrong,” confessed Farr, gently. “But we poor folks down in
the ranks don't know much about the rules, and when we are struggling
to save the ones we love we are apt to forget and talk to the heart of
things. I am not trying to show that I am a skilful orator, gentlemen of
the convention.” He held up his arms. “I am crying for _Justice_!”
The delegates broke into applause once more.
And Walker Farr sent a queer look straight into the eyes of the colonel.
Conviction slapped Colonel Symonds Dodd in his mental face with a
violence that made him blink!
This man was no amateur in understanding how to sway an audience. To be
sure, he had transgressed parliamentary usage, but in those words he had
driven home facts that all knew to be truths--truths which others had
been afraid to voice, but which, once put into words in public, tied
the hideous stamp of ring favoritism upon Governor Harwood, made him a
candidate who could not be trusted.
The colonel understood, and he also saw plainly that the most of the
audience had accepted the apology, and held no prejudice against the
speaker.
“Now that I understand what the rules governing nominations are I will
not break them again,” declared Farr.
But like a shrewd and not over-scrupulous lawyer he had jabbed into
the proceedings a stinging truth which, though excluded by the rules,
nevertheless served vitally the big purpose of his efforts; the colonel
understood that, too, and turned back to his chair fairly livid with
rage.
“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the
speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is
passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his
character.”
Colonel Dodd cursed without trying to moderate his tones very much.
“There's no telling what tack that renegade will take next. This
infernal convention is getting to be a nightmare. Those fools out there
are listening as if they expected that cheap demagogue to bring 'em a
new Messiah,” he told the committeemen near him.
“There's a funny noise going on out there among 'em,” ventured
“Whispering Saunders.” “Round-up fellows say they hear something like
it when a herd is getting ready to stampede. It's the same thing in a
political convention sometimes. The reason for it is: the crowd is ripe
and the head steer gives the right bellow--and off they go!”
Colonel Dodd grabbed his nephew by the elbow and rushed him off the
stage and into an anteroom.
“Is that matter on the hair-trigger, Richard?” he demanded.
“It's ready to be snapped any minute.”
The colonel whipped out his check-book and began to write. “It's as old
Saunders said,” he muttered as he wrote. “And we've got to rope, throw,
and tie that one steer.”
The check was for five thousand dollars!
Young Dodd seized it, and when his uncle hurried back upon the stage the
nephew, through the door which was left open, beckoned to Mullaney. The
detective came, hurrying past Colonel Dodd, who stared until the door
had closed behind young Dodd and the officer.
“But he's my own nephew!” he assured himself, as if he were replying to
an accusation laid against Richard Dodd. He shook his head and sat down
in his chair. “I wonder how long it has been since old Bob Mullaney put
a price of that size on his secrets! I'm afraid Richard hasn't the Dodd
ability to drive a sharp trade.”
But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the
door of the anteroom.
He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the
detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had
slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had
handed it to him.
“It was hard work to screw him up, Mullaney. You have seen how I worked
him. This is all he gave me--two hundred and fifty. Take it and spring
your trap.”
“You don't look honest,” grumbled the detective. “If I'm any kind of a
guesser you're holding out on me.”
“That's your price. You agreed. There isn't any time to argue this. Give
me back the money.” He grabbed the bills from Mullaney's clutch. It was
magnificent bluff. “I'll hand it to my uncle. He isn't very keen on the
thing, anyway.”
“I'll take it--give it back. I'll apologize,” pleaded Mullaney.
“Will you swear to keep all this under your hat--the whole thing? Uncle
says if you dare to speak to him about it--hint to him or anybody that
he paid money for anything on Farr--he'll deny the story and have your
license taken away.”
“I promise--swear it,” Mullaney agreed.
Dodd returned the money, and the detective started out on the trot.
“You come, too, and I'll tell you on the way. Time is short. You'd
better help me,” he advised Dodd. They hurried away together, rushed
out into the alley and around to the front of the hall, the detective
pouring certain information into Dodd's ear as they made their way to
the big door and into the main corridor.
Then they bored through the crowds.
The detective led the way and showed his badge to compel the people to
give them a lane.
They entered the rear of the auditorium.
“You take the left side and I'll take the right,” commanded Mullaney.
“We need to paralyze him first. That's all there's time for just
now--I've had short notice. But get that name to every man of your crowd
you can, and when the howl is started tell 'em all to join in.”
Dodd had had scant time to digest the knowledge which the detective
had imparted on the run. But his eyes gleamed wickedly as he began to
whisper to men among the delegates. And as he moved about he noticed
that the girl in the gallery had marked his activity, even to the extent
of turning her gaze from Walker Farr, whose voice was ringing through
the spacious hall.
XXIX
THE BOMB
Walker Farr, towering over their heads, talked to the men in whose midst
he stood.
Mere eloquence no longer avails in these days of cynical disbelief in
the motives of political orators. But this young man who stood there
was sincerity incarnate. The wonderful and mystic magnetic quality which
wins men and inspires confidence radiated from him. And every now and
then, as he glanced up at one face in the gallery his voice took on new
tones of appeal and pathos. He was one crying from the depths to those
in authority! By the marvel of his language he made the men who sat
there as delegates understand that theirs was the power to make or
mar--to save or sacrifice their state in the crisis which was upon them.
He made them feel their responsibility after he made them understand
their power.
And he also made their duty plain.
The crux of the situation rested on such a man as they should place in
the highest office in the state.
In other times, under other conditions, some pliant and amiable
figurehead might serve them well.
He told them, with outstretched finger and vibrant voice, what must be
the masterful qualifications of the man who should assume the cross of
public service and carry it up the steeps where he would be lashed at
every step of his weary way by the thongs in the hands of privileged
capital.
Colonel Symonds Dodd had come back to the platform, cursing himself for
a fool. The moment the check had left his hands he was angry because he
had allowed circumstances to stampede him.
He wondered what was getting into him and into politics.
Was he afraid of mere talk from a demagogue!
But after he had sat there for a few moments and listened, and had
watched the faces of the delegates, he decided that if five thousand
dollars would stop the mouth of that man he had spent money wisely.
It was borne in upon him that he had spent greater sums many times for
lesser service.
He saw Richard Dodd and Mullaney circulating among the delegates. He
restrained with difficulty an impulse to rise and shout to them to
hurry. He felt that danger to his program and his political structure
was imminent. Because once again were true eloquence and masterly appeal
winning men.
All the listeners in the vast hall were as still as death. All eyes were
on this speaker who seemed to be clothing with effective speech all the
hidden convictions of the delegates themselves who had nursed protest
without being able to put it into force.
Colonel Dodd had seen conventions in similar mood in the old days before
the saddle of party had been as securely cinched as it had been in late
years.
The chairman of the state committee uttered the colonel's rising fears.
The chairman had lost his sneer and his bumptious confidence. His face
was red, he was sweating, he was staring out over the convention and
snapping his fingers impatiently.
“Good gad!” he informed those in hearing on the platform, “what kind of
a turn is this thing taking? We have let this convention get away from
us. That chap has got the whole crowd marching to the mourners' bench.
He can wind up by nominating a yellow dog and they'll rise and howl him
into office by acclamation!”
Farr paused for a moment to give effect to his next words.
“Such in character, in honest impulse, in honor, in ability, in
devotion, and in God-given nobility must be the man who will lead you.
Has God given such a man to this state? He has!”
“Yes and the devil has given us Nelson Sinkler to speak for that man!”
The voice was shrill and agitated and it came from a section of the hall
where the rabid adherents of the machine were massed; it was an amazing
and shocking interruption.
“I said Nelson Sinkler--that's you!” screamed the voice.
And on that, from here and there in the hall, like snipers posted in
ambush, men shouted the name “Nelson Sinkler”--the words popping like
rifles.
There was uproar. Part of it was protest, part hysterical demonstration
of excitement in an assemblage which did not in the least understand.
Then after a time came quiet, for the object of the attack stood in his
elevated position, unruffled, stern, turning bold front to right and
left as men barked at him.
“I am here where all may look on me,” he said. “Let one or all of those
who are attacking me stand forth in view, too.”
No one stood up.
“It's a cowardly man who will not put his name to a letter or show his
face when he makes an accusation,” cried Farr.
“How about a man who doesn't dare to use his own name?” This questioner
remained in ambush.
“Your right name isn't Walker Farr and you know it isn't,” bellowed a
voice on the opposite side of the hall.
Other voices pot-shotted at him with the words, “Nelson Sinkler.”
“Will one man in this convention stand up and show himself so that I can
talk to him face to face?” shouted the man at bay.
Detective Mullaney and Richard Dodd could not find seats. The others
were sitting, and the two were marked men.
“Well, Dodd, you have been whispering. What have you to say aloud?”
demanded the man they were baiting.
“I say your name is not Walker Farr.”
“You!” The tall young man darted a finger at Mullaney.
“I say you're Nelson Sinkler.”
“And what of him?”
“He is wanted by the state of Nebraska for murder.”
A sound that was mingled sigh and groan ran and throbbed from galleries
to floor; it filled the great hall and seemed to vibrate back and forth
over the assemblage. And for the long minute that the dreadful sound
continued until it had breathed itself out into horrified silence the
man who stood on the settee looked straight into the white face of the
girl in the gallery.