the other's eye as he spoke of a good Mayor and his qualifications. “He
bites, I guess,” was his inference, and accordingly he put the question
at once.
Mr. Hutchings, brought to himself by the sudden interrogation,
hesitated, and decided to temporize. He could always refuse to join
forces, and Gulmore might “give himself away.” He answered:
“I don't quite see what you mean. How are we to join?”
“By both of us givin' somethin'.”
“What am I to give?”
“Withdraw your candidature for Mayor as a Democrat.”
“I can't do that.”
“Jest hear me out. The city has advertised for tenders for a new Court
House and a new Town Hall. The one building should cover both, and be
near the middle of the business part. That's so--ain't it? Well, land's
hard to get anywhere there, and I've the best lots in the town. I guess”
(carelessly) “the contract will run to a million dollars; that
should mean two hundred thousand dollars to some one. It's like this,
Hutchin's: Would you rather come in with me and make a joint tender, or
run for Mayor and be beaten?”
Mr. Hutchings started. Ten years before the proposal would have won
him. But now his children were provided for----all except Joe, and
his position as Counsel to the Union Pacific Railroad lifted him above
pecuniary anxieties. Then the thought of the Professor and May came
to him--No! he wouldn't sell himself. But in some strange way the
proposition excited him; he felt elated. His quickened pulse-beats
prevented him from realizing the enormity of the proposed transaction,
but he knew that he ought to be indignant. What a pity it was that
Gulmore had made no proposal which he might have accepted--and then
disclosed!
“If I understand you, you propose that I should take up this contract,
and make money out of it. If that was your business with me, you've made
a mistake, and Professor Roberts is right.”
“Hev I?” asked Mr. Gulmore slowly, coldly, in sharp contrast to the
lawyer's apparent excitement and quick speech. Contemptuously he thought
that Hutchings was “foolisher” than he had imagined--or was he sincere?
He would have weighed this last possibility before speaking, if the
mention of Roberts had not angered him. His combativeness made him
persist:
“If you don't want to come in with me, all you've got to do is to say
so. You've no call to get up on your hind legs about it; it's easy to
do settin'. But don't talk poppycock like that Professor; he's silly. He
talks about the contract for street pavin', and it ken be proved--'twas
proved in the 'Herald'--that our streets cost less per foot than the
streets of any town in this State. He knows nothin'. He don't even know
that an able man can make half a million out of a big contract, an' do
the work better than an ordinary man could do it who'd lose money by it.
At a million our Court House'll be cheap; and if the Professor had the
contract with the plans accordin' to requirement to-morrow, he'd
make nothin' out of it--not a red cent. No, sir. If I ken, that's my
business--and yours, ain't it? Or, are we to work for nothin' because
he's a fool?”
While Mr. Gulmore was speaking, Mr. Hutchings gave himself to thought.
After all, why was he running for Mayor? The place, as Gulmore said,
would be of no use to him. He was weary of fighting which only ended in
defeat, and could only end in a victory that would be worthless. Mayor,
indeed! If he had a chance of becoming a Member of Congress, that would
be different. And across his brain flitted the picture so often evoked
by imagination in earlier years. Why not? Gulmore could make it certain.
Would he?
“What you say seems plausible enough, but I don't see my way. I don't
feel inclined to go into business at my time of life.”
“You don't need to go into the business. I'll see to that.”
“No. I don't need money now particularly.”
“Next year, Hutchin's, I'll have a better man than Robinson against you.
Lawyer Nevilson's as good as ken be found, I reckon, and he wouldn't
refuse to join me if I gave him the chance.” But while he was speaking,
Mr. Gulmore kept his opponent's answer in view. He considered it
thoughtfully; “I don't need money now particularly.” What did the
man need? Congress? As a Republican? That would do as well. When Mr.
Hutchings shook his head, careless of the menace, Mr. Gulmore made up
his mind. His obstinacy came out; he would win at any price. He began:
“It's what I said at first, Hutchin's; we've each got to give what the
other wants. I've told you what I want; tell me squarely what you want,
an' p'r'aps the thing ken be settled.”
As Mr. Hutchings did not answer at once, the Boss went on:
“You're in politics for somethin'. What is it? If you're goin' to buck
agen me, you might as well draw out; you'll do no good. You know that.
See here! Is it the State Legislature you're after, or--Congress?”
The mere words excited Mr. Hutchings; he wanted to be back again in the
East as a victor; he longed for the cultivated amenities and the social
life of Washington. He could not help exclaiming:
“Ah! if it hadn't been for you I'd have been in Congress long ago.”
“As a Democrat? Not from this State, I guess.”
“What does it matter? Democrat or Republican, the difference now is only
in the name.”
“The price is high, Hutchin's. I ask you to give up runnin' for Mayor,
and you ask me for a seat in Congress instead. But--I'll pay it, if you
do as I say. You've no chance in this State as a Democrat; you know that
yourself. To run for Mayor as a Democrat hurts you; that must stop right
now--in your own interest. But what I want from you is that you don't
announce your withdrawal till the day after to-morrow, an' meantime you
say nothin' to the Professor or any one else. Are you agreed?”
Mr. Hutchings paused. The path of his desire lay open before him; the
opportunity was not to be missed; he grew eager. But still there was
something disagreeable in an action which demanded secrecy. He must
think coolly. What was the proposal? What was he giving? Nothing. He
didn't wish to be Mayor with Gulmore and all the City Council against
him. Nothing--except the withdrawal on the very morning of the election.
That would look bad, but he could pretend illness, and he had told the
Professor he didn't care to be Mayor; he had advised him not to mix in
the struggle; besides, Roberts would not suspect anything, and if he
did there'd be no shadow of proof for a long time to come. In the other
scale of the balance he had Gulmore's promise: it was trustworthy, he
knew, but--:
“Do you mean that you'll run me for the next term and get me elected?”
“I'll do all I know, and I guess you'll succeed.”
“I have nothing but your word.”
“Nothin'.”
Again Mr. Hutchings paused. To accept definitively would be dangerous if
the conversation had had listeners. It was characteristic of the place
and time that he could suspect a man of laying such a trap, upon
whose word he was prepared to rely. Mr. Gulmore saw and understood his
hesitation:
“I said we were alone, Hutchin's, and I meant it. Jest as I say now,
if you withdraw and tell no one and be guided by me in becoming a
Republican, I'll do what I ken to get you into Congress,” and as he
spoke he stood up.
Mr. Hutchings rose, too, and said, as if in excuse: “I wanted to think
it over, but I'm agreed. I'll do as you say,” and with a hurried “Good
night!” he left the room.
Mr. Gulmore returned to his chair and lit a cigar. He was fairly
satisfied with the result of his efforts. His triumph over the Professor
would not be as flagrant, perhaps, as if Hutchin's' name had been linked
with his in a city contract; but, he thought with amusement, every one
would suspect that he had bought the lawyer for cash. What a fool the
man was! What did he want to get into Congress for? Weak vanity! He'd
have no weight there. To prefer a seat in Congress to wealth--silly.
Besides, Hutchin's would be a bad candidate. Of course the party name
would cover anythin'. But what a mean skunk! Here Mr. Gulmore's thoughts
reverted to himself. Ought he to keep his word and put such a man
into Congress? He hated to break a promise. But why should he help the
Professor's father-in-law to power? Wall, there was no hurry. He'd make
up his mind later. Anyway, the Professor'd have a nice row to hoe on the
mornin' of the election, and Boss Gulmore'd win and win big, an' that
was the point. The laugh would be on the Professor--
* * * * *
On the morning of the election Professor Roberts was early afoot. He
felt hopeful, light-hearted, and would not confess even to himself
that his good spirits were due chiefly to the certainty that in
another twelve hours his electioneering would be at an end. The work of
canvassing and public speaking had become very disagreeable to him. The
mere memory of the speeches he had listened to, had left, as it were,
an unpleasant aftertaste. How the crowds had cheered the hackneyed
platitudes, the blatant patriotic appeals, the malevolent caricature
of opponents! Something unspeakably trivial, vulgar, and evil in it
all reminded him of tired children when the romping begins to grow
ill-natured.
And if the intellectual side of the struggle had been offensive, the
moral atmosphere of the Committee Rooms, infected as it was by the
candidates, had seemed to him to be even worse--mephitic, poisonous. He
had shrunk from realizing the sensations which had been forced upon him
there--a recoil of his nature as from unappeasable wild-beast greeds,
with their attendant envy, suspicion, and hatred seething like lava
under the thin crust of a forced affability, of a good-humour assumed
to make deception easy. He did not want to think of it; it was horrible.
And perhaps, after all, he was mistaken; perhaps his dislike of the
work had got upon his nerves, and showed him everything in the darkest
colours. It could scarcely be as bad as he thought, or human society
would be impossible. But argument could not blunt the poignancy of his
feelings; he preferred, therefore, to leave them inarticulate, striving
to forget. In any case, the ordeal would soon be over; it had to be
endured for a few hours more, and then he would plunge into his books
again, and enjoy good company, he and May together.
He was still lingering over this prospect when the servant came to
tell him that some gentlemen were waiting for him, and he found in the
sitting-room half-a-dozen of his favourite students. One of the Seniors,
named Cartrell, a young man of strong figure, and keen, bold
face, remarked, as he shook hands, that they had come to accompany
him--“Elections are sometimes rough, and we know the ropes.” Roberts
thanked them warmly, and they set off.
The Committee Rooms of the Democratic party were situated near the Court
House, in what had been once the centre, but was now the edge of the
town. The little troop had to pass through the negro quarter--small
frame-houses, peppered over grassless, bare lots, the broken-down fences
protesting against unsociable isolation. The Rooms, from the outside,
reminded one of a hive of angry bees. In and out of the door men were
hurrying, and a crowd swarmed on the side-walk talking in a loud,
excited hum. As soon as the Professor was recognized, a silence of
astonishment fell upon the throng. With stares of curiosity they
drew aside to let him enter. Slightly surprised by the reception, the
Professor passed into the chief room. At a table in the middle a man was
speaking in a harsh, loud voice--one Simpson, a popular orator, who had
held aloof from the meetings of the party. He was saying:
“It's a put-up game between them, but the question is, who's to go on
the ticket in--”
As Simpson's eyes met those of Roberts he stopped speaking.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Please continue, Mr. Simpson; I hope I'm not
interrupting you.”
The Professor did not like Mr. Simpson. The atrabilious face, the
bitter, thin lips, and grey eyes veined with yellow, reminded him
indefinably of a wild beast. Mr. Simpson seemed to take the courteous
words as a challenge. Drawing his wiry figure up he said, with insult in
voice and manner:
“Perhaps you've come to nominate a Mayor; we'd all like to know your
choice.”
“I don't understand you.”
The Professor's tone was frank, his sincerity evident, but Simpson went
on:
“Don't ye? Perhaps Hutchin's has sent you to say, as he's sick it'd be
well to run Robinson on both tickets--eh?”
“I don't know what you mean. I expected to meet Mr. Hutchings here. Is
he ill?”
“He'll get well soon, I reckon; but after taking a perscription from
Gulmore, he's mighty bad and can't leave the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Hutchings has withdrawn his candidature as Mayor. I mean
that the 'Herald' has the announcin' of it. I mean it's a put-up job
between him and Gulmore to ruin the Democratic party in this town. I
mean--”
As the Professor drew back in amazement, young Cartrell stepped in front
of him and addressed Simpson:
“What proof have you of what you say?”
“Proof! Proof enough. Does an honest man resign a candidature on the
morning of an election, and give the other side the news before his own
party?”
The interruption had given Roberts time for reflection. He felt that
Simpson's facts must be right. It was characteristic of him that his
first thought was, Had Hutchings withdrawn in order to save him from
further attacks? No. If he had he'd have told him before the event.
A sort of nausea overpowered him as he remembered that Hutchings had
related how Gulmore had bought Patrick Byrne--and now he, too, had sold
himself. As in a flash Hutchings' weakness of fibre was laid bare to
him. “That's the reason I couldn't find him yesterday.” His heart sank
within him. “How could Hutchings have been so--?” With the belief in
the lawyer's guilt came the understanding that he too was concerned,
suspected even. Disgust of traitorism, conscious innocence impelled him
to clear himself--but how? To his surprise he found that companionship
with these men had given him some insight into their character. He put
the question to Simpson:
“Can anything be done now?”
The steadiness of the tone, the resolve in his face, excited a certain
curiosity. Shrugging his shoulders, Simpson replied:
“We've not got a candidate. It's too late to get the party together. New
tickets'd have to be printed. I--”
“Will you accept the candidature?” Reading the man at once, Roberts
turned to the others: “Gentlemen, I hope some one will second me; I
nominate Mr. Simpson as Mayor, and propose that his name should be
substituted for that of Mr. Hutchings. To show that I'm in earnest I'll
contribute five hundred dollars towards the expense of printing the
tickets.”
The Professor's offer of money seemed to exercise a magical influence
upon the crowd; the loud tones, the provocative rudeness of speech and
bearing, disappeared at once; the men began to show him the respect of
attention, and Mr. Simpson was even quicker than the rest in changing
his attitude--perhaps because he hoped to gain more than they did.
“I had no idee,” he began, “but if the Committee thinks I oughter run
I've no objection. I hain't ever cared for office, but I'm a party-man,
an' what the party wants me to do I'll do every time. I'm a Democrat
right through. I guess Lawyer Hutchin's has gone back on us, but that's
not your fault, Professor, and five hundred dollars--an' your work will
do a pile. The folk all like you an'--respect you an'--”
Roberts looked at the man; his offer had been a movement of indignant
contempt, and yet it had succeeded. He could have laughed; the key
to the enigma was in his hands; these men answered to the motive of
self-interest as a ship answers to the helm, and yet--how revolting it
all was! The next moment he again banished reflection.
“I'll go and get the money, and return as soon as possible. In the
meantime, perhaps you, Mr. Simpson, will see that the printing is
begun without delay. Then if you'll tell us what polling-stations need
superintendence, my friends and I will do our best.”
The appeal found an immediate response--in a few minutes order and
energetic work had taken the place of the former angry excitement and
recrimination.
To Professor Roberts the remainder of the day was one whirl of restless
labour; he hastened from one polling-station to another, and when the
round was completed drove to the Central Rooms, where questions had to
be answered, and new arrangements made without time for thought. Then he
was off again on his hurried round as canvasser. One incident, however,
made a definite impression upon him. Returning for the second or third
time to the Central Rooms he found himself in a crowd of Irish labourers
who had come in deference to priestly bidding to record their votes. Mr.
Hutchings' retirement had excited their native suspiciousness; they
felt that they had been betrayed, and yet the peremptory orders they had
received must be followed. The satisfaction of revolt being denied
to them, their anger became dangerous. Professor Roberts faced them
quietly; he soon saw that they were sincere, or were playing the part of
sincerity; he therefore spoke for the cause, for the party to which they
belonged; surely they wouldn't abandon the struggle because a leader had
deserted them! His words and manner; his appeal to their combativeness;
his earnestness and good temper were successful. The storm of invective
gradually subsided, and although one or two, for the sake of a row,
sought to insult him, they did not go to extremes in face of the
resolute disapprobation of the American party-leaders. Loyalty to their
shibboleth was beginning to draw them, still grumbling and making use of
expressive imprecations, on the way to the nearest polling-station, when
one of their leaders drew Professor Roberts aside, and asked him:
“Are the bhoys to have nothin' for their throuble? Half a day they'll
lose, so they will--a dollar each now would be no more than fair--”
The Professor shook his head; he was not rich, he said, and had already
spent more money in the contest than he could afford.
“Be gob, it's poor worruk this talkin' an' votin' for us that gets
nothin' by it”--the phrase stuck in his memory as illustrating the
paltry baseness of the whole affair. It was with a sense of relief that
he threw himself again into the turmoil that served to deaden thought.
As the day wore towards evening he became conscious of fatigue, a
weariness that was not of the body alone, but of the head and heart.
After the closing of the polls he returned to the Central Rooms. They
were filled with an enthusiastic crowd, most of whom professed to
believe that the Democratic party had won all along the line. Roberts
found it hard to bear their self-gratulation and the exuberance of their
triumph, but when Simpson began to take the liberties of comradeship
with him, the cup ran over. He cut the man short with a formally polite
phrase, and betook himself to his house. He would not think even of May;
her image brought him face to face with her father; and he wanted rest.
In the morning the Professor awoke with a feeling of utter depression.
Before he opened the paper he was sure that his hopelessness had been
justified. He was right--Gulmore had carried his whole ticket, and
Simpson had been beaten by a majority of more than a thousand. The
Democratic organ did not scruple to ascribe the defeat to the fact that
Lawyer Hutchings had sold his party. The simulated indignation of the
journalist found expression in phrases which caricatured the simplicity
of sincere condemnation. “Never did shameless corruption....” Roberts
could not read the stuff. Yet the feigned passion and tawdry rhetoric
in some way stirred up his bile; he would see Hutchings and--but if he
unpacked his heart's bitterness upon her father, he would hurt May. He
must restrain himself; Hutchings would understand from his manner, and
May would be sympathetic--as she always was.
Another thought exasperated him afresh. His idealism had made him
ridiculous in the eyes of the townsfolk. He had spent money he could
ill spare in a hopeless cause, which was not even a worthy one. And now
everybody was laughing at him or sneering--he grew hot with shame. That
his motives were honourable only heightened the ludicrousness of his
action: it seemed as if he had made a fool of himself. He almost wished
that he had left the Democrats to their own devices. But no! he had done
the right, and that was the main point. The sense of failure, however,
robbed him of confidence in regard to the future. How should he act?
Since high motives were ineffectual, Quixotic, ought he to discard them
and come down to the ordinary level? 'Twould be better not to live at
all. The half-life of a student, a teacher, dwelling apart from the
world, would be preferable to such degradation; but----
The situation appeared to him to be so difficult that as soon as he had
taken his breakfast he went out for a walk away from the town in order
to avoid importunate visits, and to decide upon a course of conduct. The
air and exercise invigorated him; the peace and solitude of the prairie,
the beauty of earth and sky, the unconsciousness of nature consoled him,
reduced his troubles to relative unimportance, and allowed him to regain
his equanimity.
Even his ideas in regard to Hutchings underwent a change. After all it
was not his part to condemn; his indignation owed its heat to baffled
egotism and paltry vanity. When the personal element was abstracted from
the causes of his vexation, what remained? Were Hutchings a figure in
history, would he judge him with the same intolerance? No; weakness,
corruptibility even, would then excite no harsher feeling than a sort of
amused contempt. The reflection mitigated his anger. He began to take
an intellectual pleasure in the good-humoured acceptance of the wrong
inflicted upon him. Plato was right, it was well to suffer injustice
without desiring to retaliate. He had yet to learn that just as oil only
smoothes the surface of waves, so reason has merely a superficial effect
upon character.
Early in the afternoon he made his way to May's home. According to
his habit he passed by the servant-girl and entered the study--to find
himself face to face with the lawyer.
The shock of disappointment and a certain latent antagonism caused him
to speak with a directness which was in itself discourteous.
“Is Miss May in? I wished to see her.” After a momentary pause he added,
with a tinge of sarcasm, “Your illness wasn't serious, I see.”
Mr. Hutchings was not taken by surprise; he had prepared for this
meeting, and had resolved to defend himself. The task, he believed,
would be easy. He had almost persuaded himself that he had acted in the
Professor's interest. Roberts was singularly unworldly; he might accept
the explanation, and if he didn't--what did it matter? His own brighter
prospects filled him with a sense of triumph; in the last three days
his long-repressed vanity had shot up to self-satisfaction, making him
callous to what Roberts or any one else might think. But the sneer in
his visitor's words stung him, induced him to throw off the mask of
illness which he had intended to assume. He replied with an indifference
that was defiant:
“No; I wasn't well yesterday, but I'm better now, though I shall keep
indoors for a day or two. A chill, I suppose.”
Receiving no answer, he found relief in complete boldness.
“You see my prediction as to the result of the election has been
justified?”
“You might even say _pars magna fui_.”
The retort slipped out. The impudent challenge had to be met. The
Professor did not realize how contemptuously he spoke.
The womanish weakness in Hutchings sprang to hurried attack.