David Dunne Part 25

"You are no longer twice my age."

"Did Janey tell you?"

"Yes; the last summer I was at Maplewood--the summer you were graduated. You say you don't dream any more, but it wasn't so very long ago that you did, else how could you have written that wonderful book?"

"Then you read it?" he asked eagerly.

"Of course I read it."

"All of it?"

"Could any one begin it and not finish it? I've read some parts of it many times."

"Did you," he asked slowly, holding her eyes in spite of her desire to lower them, "read the dedication?"

And by their subtle confession he knew that this was one of the parts she had read "many times."

"Yes," she replied, trying to speak lightly, but breathing quickly, "and I wondered who T. L. P. might be."

"And so you didn't know," in slow, disappointed tones, "that they stood for the name I gave you when I first met you--the name by which I always think of you? It was with your perfect understanding of my old fancies in mind that I wrote the book. And so I dedicated it to you, thinking if you read it you would know even without the inscription. Some one suggested--"

"It was Fletcher," she began.

"Oh, you know Wilder?"

"Yes, I've known him always. He has told me of your days in South America together and how he told you to dedicate it. And he wondered who T. L. P. might be."

"And you never guessed?"

Her face, bent over the firelight, looked small and white; her beautiful eyes were fixed and grave. Then suddenly she lifted them to his with the artlessness of a child.

"I did know," she confessed. "At least, I hoped--I claimed it as my book, anyway, but I thought your memory of those summers at the farm might not have been as keen as mine."

"It is keen," he replied. "I have always thought of you as a little princess who only lived in my dreams, but, hereafter, you are not only in my past dreams, but I hope, in my future."

"When we come back--"

"Will you be gone long?" he asked wistfully. "Is your father--"

"Father can't go, but he may join us."

After a moment's hesitation she continued, with a slight blush:

"Fletcher is going with us."

"Oh," he said, wondering at his tinge of disappointment.

"Carey," he said wistfully, as he was leaving, "don't you think when a man dedicates a book to a girl, and they both have a joint claim on a territory known as the Land of Dreams, that she might call him, as she did when they were boy and girl, by his first name?"

"Yes, David," she replied with a light little laugh.

The music of the soft "a" rang entrancingly in his ears as he walked back to the hotel.

CHAPTER V

There was but one important measure to deal with in this session of the legislature, but David's penetration into a thorough understanding of each bill, and the patience and sagacity he displayed in settling all disputes, won the approbation of even doubtful and divided factions. He flashed a new fire of life into the ebbing enthusiasm of his followers, whom he had led to victory on the Griggs Bill. At the close of the session, early in May, he was presented with a set of embossed resolutions commending his fulfillment of his duties.

That same night, in his room at the hotel, as he was packing his belongings, he was waited upon by a delegation composed alike of h.o.r.n.y-handed tillers of the soil and distinguished statesmen.

"We come, David," said the spokesman, who had been chairman of the county convention, "to say that you are our choice for the next governor of this state, and in saying this we know we are echoing the sentiment of the Republican party. In fact, we are looking to you as the only man who can bring that party to victory."

He said many more things, flattering and echoed by his followers. It made the blood tingle in David's veins to know that these men of plain, honest, country stock, like himself, believed in him and in his honor. In kaleidoscopic quickness there pa.s.sed in review his life,--the days when he and his mother had struggled with a wretched poverty that the neighbors had only half suspected, the first turning point in his life, when he was taken unto the hearth and home of strong-hearted people, his years at college, the plodding days in pursuit of the law, his hotly waged fight in the legislature, and his short literary career, and he felt a surging of boyish pride at the knowledge that he was now approaching his goal.

The next morning David went to Lafferton in order to discuss the road to the ruling of the people.

"Whom would you suggest for manager of my campaign, Uncle Barnabas?"

he asked.

"Knowles came to me and offered his services. Couldn't have a slicker man, Dave."

"None better in the state. I shouldn't have ventured to ask him."

Janey was home for the summer, and on the first evening of his return she and David sat together on the porch.

"Oh, Davey," she said with a little sob, "Jud has come home again, and they say he isn't just wild any more, but thoroughly bad."

The tears in her eyes and the tremor in her tone stirred all his old protective instinct for her.

"Poor Jud! I'll see if I can't awaken some ambition in him for a different life."

"You've been very patient, Davey, but do try again. Every one is down on him now but father and you and me. Aunt M'ri has let the Judge prejudice her; Joe hasn't a particle of patience with him, and he can't understand how I can have any, but you do, Davey. You understand everything."

They sat in silence, watching the stars pierce vividly through the blackness of the sky, and presently his thoughts strayed from Jud and from his fair young sister. In fancy he saw the queenly carriage of an imperious little head, the mystery lurking in a pair of purple eyes, and heard the cadence in an exquisite voice.

The next morning he began the fight, and there was an incessant cannonade from start to finish against the upstart boy nominee, who proved to be an adversary of unremitting activity, the tact and experience of Knowles making a fortified intrenchment for him. All of David's friends rallied strongly to his support. Hume came from Washington, Joe from the ranch, and Wilder from the East, his father having a branch concern in the state.

Through the long, hot summer the warfare waged, and by mid-autumn it seemed a neck and neck contest--a contest so susceptible that the merest breath might turn the tide at any moment. The week before the election found David still resolute, grim, and determined. Instead of being discouraged by adverse attacks he had gained new vigor from each downthrow. All forces rendezvoused at the largest city in the state for the final engagement.

Three days before election he received a note in a handwriting that had become familiar to him during the past year. With a rush of surprise and pleasure he noted the city postmark. The note was very brief, merely mentioning the hotel at which they were stopping and asking him to call if he could spare a few moments from his campaign work.

In an incredibly short time after the receipt of this note he was at the hotel, awaiting an answer to his card. He was shown to the sitting room of the suite, and Carey opened the door to admit him. This was not the little princess of his dreams, nor the charming young girl who had talked so ingenuously with him before the Braden fireside. This was a woman, stately yet gracious, vigorous yet exquisite.

"I am glad we came home in time to see you elected," she said. "It is a great honor, David, to be the governor of your state."

There was a shade of deference in her manner to him which he realized was due to the awe with which she regarded the dignity of his elective office. This amused while it appealed to him.