A Gentleman from Mississippi Part 26

So reasoned Cora Spangler for the hundredth time during the last two years as she sat in her boudoir at her home. She had spent part of the day with Carolina and Hope Langdon and in the evening had attended the musicale at their house. But she had been forced to leave early owing to a severe headache. Now, after an hour or two of rest, she felt better and was about to retire. Suddenly the telephone bell rang at a writing-table near a window. She had two telephones, one in the lower hall and one in her boudoir--to save walking downstairs unnecessarily, she explained to her woman friends. But the number of this upstairs telephone was not in the public book. It had a private number, known to but two people except herself.

Taking down the receiver, she asked in low voice, "h.e.l.lo! Who is it?"

"Mr. Wall."

It was the name Senator Peabody used in telephone conversation with her.

"Yes, Congressman!" she responded.

She always said, "Yes, Congressman," in replying to "Mr. Wall," a prearranged manner of indicating that he was talking to the desired person.

"I will need your services to-morrow," Senator Peabody said, "on a very important matter, I am afraid. Decline any engagements and hold yourself in readiness."

"Yes."

"I may send my friend S. to explain things at 10:30 in the morning. If he does not arrive at that time, telephone me at 10:35 sharp. You know where. Understand? I have put off going to Philadelphia to-night."

"Yes."

"That is all; good-by."

"Something very important," she murmured nervously as she turned from the desk.

"I don't like his tone of voice; sounds strained and worried--something unusual for the cold, flinty gentleman from Pennsylvania. And his 'friend S.,' of course, means Stevens! Great heavens! then Stevens must now have knowledge of my--my--business!"

She calmed herself and straightened a dainty, slender finger against her cheek.

"It must be something about that naval base bill, I'm sure. That's been worrying Peabody all session," she mused as she pressed a b.u.t.ton to summon her maid.

CHAPTER XXIII

"THE BOSS OF THE SENATE" GAINS A NEW ALLY

Mrs. Spangler would have flattered herself on guessing correctly as to Senator Peabody's uneasiness had she heard and seen all that had taken place in his apartment at the Louis Napoleon Hotel, where he had hurriedly taken Senator Stevens on leaving the Langdon house.

Not only would the two Senators lose their immense profits on the Altacoola transaction if Langdon persisted in his opposition, but they would lose as well the thousands of dollars spent by their agents in purchasing options on hundreds of acres, and where they could not get options, the land itself. This land would be on their hands, unsalable, if the base went somewhere else. Moreover, they feared that Langdon's revolt would bring unpleasant newspaper publicity to their operations.

"There's only one course to pursue, Stevens," snapped Peabody as they took off their overcoats. "That is to be prepared as best we can for the very worst and meet it in some way yet to be determined. But first we must try to figure out what Langdon is going to do--what it can be that he says he will tell us to-morrow at 12:30 if we appear. He must have something very startling up his sleeve if he makes good his a.s.sertions. I can't see how--"

"Nor I," frowned Stevens, "and my political eyesight is far better than that fool Langdon's. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances we could let him go ahead with his minority report for Gulf City, but as things stand he'll have every newspaper reporter in Washington buzzing around and asking impertinent questions--"

"Yes, and you and I would have to go to Paris to live with our life insurance friends from New York, wouldn't we?" laughed Peabody sarcastically. "I'm going to send for Jake Steinert," he added.

"Steinert?" Stevens e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "What--"

"Oh, that's all right. Maybe he can suggest something," said Peabody, going to the telephone. "We've too much at stake to make a mistake, and Jake may see a point that we've overlooked. Luckily I saw him downstairs in the grill-room as we came through to the elevator."

"Steinert is all right himself," continued Stevens, "but his methods--"

"Can't be too particular now about his methods--or ours, Stevens, when a bull like Langdon breaks loose in the political china shop. Fortune and reputation are both fragile."

A ring of a bell announced the arrival of Jake Steinert, whose reputation as a lobbyist of advanced ability had spread wide in the twenty years he had spent in Washington. Of medium height, sallow complexion, dark hair and dark eyes, his broad shoulders filled the doorway as he entered. An illy kept mustache almost hid a thin-lipped, forceful mouth, almost as forceful as some of the language he used.

His eyes darted first to Peabody and then to Stevens, waiting for either of them to open the conversation.

The highest cla.s.s lobbyists, those who "swing" the "biggest deals,"

concern themselves only with men who can "handle" or who control lawmakers. They get regular reports and outline the campaign. Like crafty spiders they hide in the center of a great web, a web of bribery, threat, cajolery and intrigue, intent on every victim that is lured into the glistening meshes.

Only the small fry mingle freely with the legislators in the open, in the hotels and cafes and in the Capitol corridors.

Jake Steinert did not belong in either of these cla.s.ses; he ranked somewhere between the biggest and the smallest. He coupled colossal boldness with the most expert knowledge of all the intricate workings of the congressional mechanism. Given money to spend among members to secure the defeat of a bill, he would frequently put most of the money in his own pocket and for a comparatively small sum defeat it by influencing the employees through whose hands it must pa.s.s.

"Sit down, Jake. Something to drink?" asked Peabody, reaching for a decanter.

"No," grunted the lobbyist; "don't drink durin' business hours; only durin' the day."

"Well, Jake," said the Pennsylvanian, "you probably know something of what's going on in the naval affairs committee."

"You mean the biggest job of the session?"

"Yes."

"Sure thing, Senator. It's the work of an artist."

"The boss of the Senate" smiled grimly.

"Now, suppose a committeeman named Langdon absolutely refused to be taken care of, and insisted on handing in a minority report to-morrow, with a speech that read like the Declaration of Independence?"

Steinert jerked his head forward quickly.

"You mean what would I do if I was--er--if I was runnin' the job?"

"Yes."

Steinert leaned toward Peabody.

"Where do I come in on this?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Come, come, man," was the irritable retort. "I never let a few dollars stand between myself and my friends."

"All right, Senator."

The lobbyist thrust himself down in his chair, puffed slowly at a cigar, and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Few years ago," he began, after a minute or two, "there was a feller who was goin' to squeal about a bond issue. He had his speech all really to warn the country that he thought a crowd of the plutocracy was goin' to get the bonds to resell to the public at advanced rates.