David Dunne Part 21

"I wonder," she mused, "if I ever quite understood David!"

Miss Rhody called to David as he was pa.s.sing her house and bade him come in.

"You've hed a hard trip," she said, with a keen glance into his tired, boyish eyes.

"Very hard, Miss Rhody."

"You have heard about Janey--and Joe?"

"Aunt M'ri just told me," he said, wincing ever so slightly.

"They was all sot on your being her sweetheart, except me and her--and Joe."

"Why not you, Miss Rhody?"

"You ain't never been in love with Janey--not the way you'll love some day. When I was sick last fall Almiry Green come over to read to me and she brung a book of poems. I never keered much for po'try, and Almiry, she didn't nuther, but she hed jest ketched Widower Pankey, and so she thought it was proper to be readin' po'try. She read somethin' about fust love bein' a primrose, and a-fallin' to make way fer the real rose, and I thought to myself: 'That's David. His feelin'

fer Janey is jest a primrose.'"

David's eyes were inscrutable, but she continued:

"I knowed she hed allers fancied Joe sence she was a little tot and he give her them beads. When Joe's name was spoke she was allers shy-like. She wuz never shy-like with you."

"No," admitted David wearily, "but I must go on to the farm now, Miss Rhody. I will come in again soon."

When he came into the sitting room of the farmhouse, where he found Joe and Janey, the rare smile that comes with the sweetness of renunciation was on his lips. After he had congratulated them, he asked for Barnabas.

"He just started for the woods," said Joe. "I think he is on his way to Uncle Larimy's."

David hastened to overtake him, and soon caught sight of the bent figure walking slowly over the stubbled field.

"Uncle Barnabas!" he called.

Barnabas turned and waited.

"Did you see Janey and Joe?" he asked, looking keenly into the shadowed eyes.

"Yes; Aunt M'ri had told me."

"When?"

"This morning. Joe's a man after your own heart, Uncle Barnabas."

"It's you I wanted fer her," said the old man bluntly. "I never dreamt of its bein' enybody else. It's an orful disapp'intment to me, Dave.

I'd ruther see you her man than to see you what I told you long ago I meant fer you to be."

"And I, too, Uncle Barnabas," said David, with slow earnestness, "would rather be your son than to be governor of this state!"

"You did care, then, David," said the old man sadly. "It don't seem to be much of a surprise to you."

"Uncle Barnabas, I will tell you something which I want no one else to know. I came back last evening and drove out here. I looked in the window, and saw her as she sat at work. It came into my heart to go in then and ask her to marry me, instead of waiting until after election as I had planned. Then Joe came in and she--went to him. I returned to Lafferton. It was daylight before I had it out with myself."

"Dave! I thought I knew you better than any of them. It's been a purty hard test, but you won't let it spile your life?"

"No, I won't, Uncle Barnabas. I owe it to you, if not to myself, to go straight ahead as you have mapped it out for me."

"Bless you, Dave! You're the right stuff!"

PART THREE

CHAPTER I

In January David took his seat in the House of Representatives, of which he was the youngest member. It was not intended by that august body that he should take any role but the one tacitly conceded to him of making silver-tongued oratory on the days when the public would crowd the galleries to hear an all-important measure, the "Griggs Bill," discussed. The committee were to give him the facts and the general line of argument, and he was to dress it up in his fantastic way. They were entirely willing that he should have the applause from the public as well as the credit of the victory; all they cared for was the certainty of the pa.s.sage of the bill.

David's cool, lawyer-like mind saw through all these manipulations and machinations even if he were only a political tenderfoot. As other minor measures came up he voted for or against them as his better judgment dictated, but all his leisure hours were devoted to the investigation and study of the one big bill which was to be rushed through at the end of the session. He pored over the status of the law, found out the policies and opinions of other states on the subject, and listened attentively to all arguments, but he never took part in the discussions and he was very guarded in giving an expression of his views, an att.i.tude which pleased the promoters of the bill until it began to occur to them that his caution came from penetration into their designs and, perhaps, from intent to thwart them.

"He has ketched on," mournfully stated an old-timer from the third district. "I'm allers mistrustful of these young critters. They are sure to balk on the home stretch."

"Well, one good thing," grinned a city member, "it breaks their record, and they don't get another entry."

David had made a few short speeches on some of the bills, and those who had read in the papers of the wonderful powers of oratory of the young member from the eleventh flocked to hear him. They were disappointed. His speeches were brief, forceful, and logical, but entirely barren of rhetorical effect. The promoters of the Griggs Bill began to wonder, but concluded he was saving all his figures of speech to sugarcoat their obnoxious measure. It occurred to them, too, that if by chance he should oppose them his bare-handed way of dealing with subterfuges and his clear presentation of facts would work harm. They counted, however, on being able to convince him that his future status in the life political depended upon his cooperation with them in pushing this bill through.

Finally he was approached, and then the bomb was thrown. He quietly and emphatically told them he should fight the bill, single handed if necessary. Recriminations, arguments, threats, and inducements--all were of no avail.

"Let him hang himself if he wants to," growled one of the committee.

"He hasn't influence enough to knock us out. We've got the majority."

The measure was one that would radically affect the future interests of the state, and was being watched and studied by the people, who had not, as yet, however, realized its significance or its far-reaching power. The intent of the promoters of the Griggs Bill was to leave the people unenlightened until it should have become a law.

"Dunne won't do us any harm," argued the father of the bill on the eventful day. "He's been saving all his skyrockets for this celebration. He'll get lots of applause from the women folks," looking up at the solidly packed gallery, "and his speech will be copied in all the papers, and that'll be the reward he's looking for."

When David arose to speak against the Griggs Bill he didn't look the youngster he had been pictured. His tall, lithe, compelling figure was drawn to its full height. His eyes darkened to intensity with the gravity of the task before him; the stern lines of his mouth bespoke a master of the situation and compelled confidence in his knowledge and ability.

The speech delivered in his masterful voice was not so much in opposition to the bill as it was an exposure of it. He bared it ruthlessly and thoroughly, but he didn't use his youthful hypnotic periods of persuasive eloquence that had been wont to sway juries and to creep into campaign speeches. His wits had been sharpened in the last few months, and his keen-edged thrusts, hurled rapier-like, brought a wince to even the most hardened of veteran members. It was a complete enlightenment in plain words to a plain people--a concise and convincing protest.

When he finished there was a tempest of arguments from the other side, but there was not a point he had not foreseen, and as attack only brought out the iniquities of the measure, they let the bill come to ballot. The measure was defeated, and for days the papers were headlined with David Dunne's name, and accounts of how the veterans had been routed by the "tenderfoot from the eleventh."

After his dip into political excitement legal duties became a little irksome to David, especially after the wedding of Joe and Janey had taken place. In the fall occurred the death of the United States senator from the western district of the state. A special session of the legislature was to be convened for the purpose of pushing through an important measure, and the election of a successor to fill the vacancy would take place at the same time. The usual "certain rich man," anxious for a career, aspired, and, as he was backed by the state machine as well as by the covert influence of two or three of the congressmen, his election seemed a.s.sured.

There was an opposing candidate, the choice of the people, however, who was gathering strength daily.

"We've got to head off this man Dunne some way," said the manager of the "certain rich man." "He can't beat us, but with him out of the way it would be easy sailing, and all opposition would come over to us on the second ballot."

"Isn't there a way to win him over?" asked a congressman who was present.

The introducer of the memorable measure of the last session shook his head negatively.