Half a Rogue Part 32

It will be seen that Warrington had gone directly into the enemy's camp. He knew Walford of old; they were tolerably good friends. He gave his card to the boy. Walford, on reading it, stuffed several newspapers into the waste-basket and pressed his foot on them. He was a bit shaken.

"Send him in. h.e.l.lo, d.i.c.k," he said. "How are you? You're the last man I expected to see this morning. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell your political reporter and your editorial man to let up on me for a week," said Warrington directly. "What the devil have I done to you chaps that you should light into me after this fashion?"

"You have become rich and famous, d.i.c.k, and mediocrity can stand anything but that." But there was a twinkle in Walford's eyes.

"Come, Wally, you know that isn't the truth."

"Well, if you want the truth I'll give it to you. Answer me frankly and honestly, do you consider that you have any moral right to accept a nomination for the mayoralty of Herculaneum?"

"Moral right. I'll pick up that phrase and carry it to your camp. I have as much moral right as Donnelly, who, if he hasn't been caught, is none the less culpable for breaking his oath of loyalty. You know this as well as I do."

Walford eyed the waste-basket thoughtfully.

"Now, we'll turn to the legal side," continued Warrington. "I was born here; I cast my first vote here; for several years I've been a property owner and have paid my taxes without lying to the tax-a.s.sessor. It is notorious that Donnelly is worth half a million, and yet he is a.s.sessed upon a house worth about seven thousand. You have called me a meddler; you apply the term every day. Now draw the distinction, as to eligibility, between Donnelly and myself."

Walford got up from his chair and closed the door. He returned and sat down again.

"d.i.c.k, politics is politics, and its ways are dark and mysterious, like the heathen Chinee. If I had your talent--if I had your ability to earn money, I'd walk out of this office this moment. But I am only a poor devil of a newspaper man. I've a family. When I was twenty, eighteen years ago, I was earning twelve a week; to-day it is forty; when I am sixty it will return to twelve. You know the business; you know the value they set on a man's brains in this city. And there's always somebody waiting for your shoes. Now, listen. In the first place I must live, and as honorably as environment permits me. By conviction I am a Democrat; I believe in the Democratic principles.

Thus, I consider it my duty to thwart, if possible, any and all moves the Republican party makes. I recognize your strength, and I shall do what I can from my side of the barricade to defeat your nomination at the Republican convention; for I believe you able, if once nominated, to lead your party to success and victory. But I shall fight you honestly, d.i.c.k. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo; I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, but you will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have always liked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above the grubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, d.i.c.k; you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good, clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attack against you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would do neither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruples than I have. And that's how the matter stands, d.i.c.k."

"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at least give me a square deal, in the event of my nomination."

"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause."

They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warrington departed and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, the paper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing to do anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined to accept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That evening the editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as the best possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained his former att.i.tude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington's candidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treated him cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fight was on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided with their own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they would support his ticket. The general manager had been a cla.s.smate of Warrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The manager simply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. of the shares," held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up.

"That's where our independence stands at this moment."

"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it," Warrington said.

Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"None at all."

On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph's star reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal.

"Say, d.i.c.k, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house on purpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some news that might interest you."

"I don't like Martin's place," said Warrington. "Let's compromise on Hanley's."

"All right, my boy."

They walked down to Hanley's, talking animatedly.

"What will you have, Ben?"

"Musty ale."

"Two musty ales," Warrington ordered. "Well, Ben?"

Ben took a deep swallow of ale. He was the best all-round reporter in the city; he knew more people than Osborne knew. Murders, strikes, fires, they were all the same to Ben. He knew where to start and where to end. The city editor never sent Ben out on a hunt for scandal; he knew better than to do that. Nine times out of ten, the other papers got the scandal and Ben's behavior became one. The labor unions were Ben's great stand-by. On dull days he could always get a story from the unions. He attended their meetings religiously. They trusted him implicitly, for Ben never broke his word to any one but his landlady.

He was short and wiry, with a head so large as to be almost a deformity. On top of this head was a shock of brick-colored hair that resembled a street-cleaner's broom. And Ben's heart was as big as his head. His generosity was always getting him into financial trouble.

"d.i.c.k, you're a friend of Bennington's. You can quietly tip him that his men will go out Monday morning. There's only one thing that will avert a strike, and that's the discharge of the Englishman."

"Bennington will never discharge him."

"So I understand. He'll have a long strike on his hands."

"Do you know the inside?"

"Enough to say that the men will go out. They're a lot of sheep.

They've an idea they've been wronged. But you can't reason with them."

"Ben, you go up to the shops yourself and tell Bennington what you know."

"I don't know him. How'll he take it?"

"Tell him I sent you."

"I'll do it, d.i.c.k. But if he kicks me out, the drinks will be on you.

What countermove will he make?"

"Better ask him yourself. But if you have any influence among the unions, tell them to go slow. They haven't sized up Bennington. Wait a moment. I'll give you a note to him." He called for paper and envelopes, and wrote:

Dear John:

This will introduce to you Mr. Jordan, a reporter in whom I have the greatest confidence. Whatever you may tell him you may rest a.s.sured that he will never repeat. I am sending him to you in hopes he may suggest some plan by which to ward off the impending strike. There may be a little self-interest on my side. A strike just now will raise the devil in politics. You may trust Jordan fully.

Warrington.

He pushed it across the table. "There, that will smooth the way."

"Many thanks, my son. Where's he eat his lunch?"

"Usually in the office."

"Well, I'm off!"

Ben always had his eye on the story of to-morrow, and he would face all or any difficulties in pursuit of the end. If he could stop the strike at the Bennington shops it would be a great thing for the Telegraph and a great thing for Ben. So he hailed a car, serenely unconscious that he was taking a position absolutely opposed to that of his employer. He arrived at the shops some time before the noon hour. His letter opened all doors. Bennington was in his private office. He read the letter and offered Ben a chair.

"I have never been interviewed," he said.

"I am not here for an interview," said Ben. "Your men will go out Monday."

"Monday? How did you learn that?"