Loaded Dice Part 23

Carrington did not look convinced. "Well, you voice the general down-town opinion, of course," he answered, "but here's something that you don't realize. The strongest bond in the world is the bond of a common misfortune, and the strongest pa.s.sion in the world is the pa.s.sion for revenge; and when you come to instil that pa.s.sion into men already united by that bond, why, something's going to drop. And that's been Gordon's game ever since the panic. He's got a tremendous following throughout the state, as far as the market goes, and men aren't Republicans or Democrats when they've been touched in their pocket-books. So you see the chance he's had. Day in and day out he's been preaching the same thing: that that Konaha.s.sett drive was a deliberate, cold-blooded steal from the stock-holders of an honest mining venture, that the whole thing was planned and carried through by the Combine, and that the only way to break up such practices and give the people a show is to place an honest man in the governor's chair. That man, he modestly admits, is himself. That's only his start, and it's a strong start, at that. You and I may laugh at the hackneyed 'People against the Corporations' cry, but it's as effective with the ma.s.ses to-day as it ever was, perhaps even more so. And added to all that, Gordon's been a tireless and systematic worker. He's gone everywhere; he's sent out the greatest ma.s.s of literature you ever heard of; he's apparently had plenty of money to use--and, by the way, that's a queer thing. I understood he was busted when they made that raid on his mine, but he doesn't act so. I wonder where he gets his money. I guess we both know one place he doesn't get it from."

Vanulm laughed. "The Combine," he said. "Yes, that's right. I don't believe they've been very large subscribers to his campaign. They aren't worrying, though. I talked yesterday with a man very close to headquarters. He says they don't even take him seriously."

Carrington rose. "Well, I must get along," he said. "Buy a paper to-morrow, anyway, and read my write-up. And, though I'm not posing as a prophet, you may get a surprise on election day, too. Remember that."

Gordon's campaign for the nomination, fostered carefully for a year, had been one which had puzzled every one, most of all the politicians of the old "machine" school. Received at first with unbelief, then with derision, the announcement of his candidacy had never met with really serious consideration until about a week before the primaries.

Then, indeed, disquieting rumors began to pour in from all over the state, and there was a general revival of interest at the headquarters of Logan, the machine candidate, who had so far branded Gordon as a "b.u.t.ter-in" and an "amachoor," and had further regarded as unnecessary the usual "distribution of campaign funds." Subsequent events proved the revival to have been started about a month late, and the nomination came to Gordon by a clear ten thousand plurality.

Even then, however, the Republicans had not seen fit to be alarmed, regarding the choice as reflecting on the judgment of their opponents rather than as putting their own candidate in serious danger. And now, with election day only three weeks away, the situation was practically unchanged; the Republicans serenely, even majestically, confident; Gordon's forces working day and night, for the most part under cover, with Gordon himself the only figure really in the limelight, but working with a silence and with a system that spoke well for the youthful manager of the campaign. Doyle's methods had been characteristic. For Gordon, ceaseless activity; the entire round of the state; speeches not too long, but clear and to the point, driving their lesson home to the humblest intellect in the crowds which flocked to hear him; the "glad hand" to all; the introduction of the much-abused "personal element" into all that was said or written concerning the candidate. For every one else connected with the campaign, the most praiseworthy shrinking from publicity; an almost morbid desire not to attract too much the attention of the public; as Doyle, in a phrase long remembered, had put the matter to his lieutenants a.s.sembled in full conclave: "Gordon's looking out for the theoretical part; and the rest of us are going to be practical, and pretty d.a.m.ned practical, too."

The day on which Carrington had interviewed Gordon had been a hard one for the candidate. The hands of the clock pointed to half-past six as Senator Hawkins rose from his seat in the inner office to take his leave. Gordon rose also, smiling and shaking hands with the distinguished leader of the fifth ward just as cordially as though he had been his first, instead of his hundredth, visitor for the day.

"Well, thank you for coming in to see me, Senator," he said, with the utmost sincerity in his tone. "I think we understand each other perfectly, and I'm delighted that I'm to have your support. You won't forget to remember me to Mrs. Hawkins, will you? And about the details--if you will see Doyle any time after to-morrow. I leave all that in his hands. Thank you again for coming in. I think we're going to win. Good-by."

As the door closed behind the senator, Gordon resumed his seat and rang for Doyle. The year's struggle had certainly not improved him physically. His face in repose looked tired and worn, and the vitality and energy of former days seemed strangely lacking.

"I guess, Doyle," he said, "I'm pretty near my limit for to-day.

Anybody outside I've really got to see, or can you put them off until to-morrow morning?"

Doyle glanced with ready sympathy at the candidate's weary face. He, better perhaps than any one else, realized what the strain of the last few months had been.

"You do look a little off color," he said; "it's been a hard week for every one. Yes, I think I can fix things outside without making any friction. You've seen most of the big fellows already."

He hesitated a moment, as if suddenly recalling something, then added doubtfully: "There's one young fellow out there that I don't really know how to place. He's been around two or three times now. First, I took him for an ordinary 'heeler,' but to-day he said he wanted to see you right away, and intimated pretty strongly that it would be to your advantage to see him, too. I should almost advise you to see him, I think."

Gordon frowned. "The story sounds old enough," he said indifferently.

"They all have something to tell me that's going to be to my advantage."

Doyle nodded. "I know it," he answered, "and I may be all wrong. It was his manner, really, more than anything he said. But suit yourself.

I'm just giving you my impression."

Gordon sighed. "All right," he said, "show him in; and for Heaven's sake, clear out the rest of them. If this fellow's an ordinary cheap grafter, I'm going to use up the little strength I've got left kicking you down-stairs."

Doyle grinned and withdrew, presently to usher in a slight, wiry, young man, with a keen, alert face, and a manner that bore out Doyle's description. Without embarra.s.sment he came quickly forward and took the vacant chair by the side of Gordon's desk.

"My name is Lynch, Mr. Gordon," he said, "Thomas Lynch; I live out in ward twenty-six, Bradfield's ward, and I should like very much to have charge of your interests there on election day."

Mentally Gordon enjoyed the process of kicking Doyle down the two steep flights. Outwardly he managed to keep to the tone of unvarying courtesy so necessary to the candidate for public office.

"I'm very glad to have a chance of meeting you, Mr. Lynch," he said smoothly, "and extremely sorry that I've already looked out for things in twenty-six. If you'd come in a couple of weeks ago, now--"

He stopped, as if to talk further was hardly necessary. Lynch nodded, as if he understood the situation. Then he drew his chair a trifle nearer.

"To tell the truth," he said, "I supposed that was about what you'd say. But there are exceptional circ.u.mstances back of my request. And when you hear them, I think you'll change the arrangements you've already made."

Gordon glanced sharply at his visitor. He was, indeed, out of the ordinary; either a monumental impostor, Gordon decided, or a ward leader of real importance somehow unknown to him.

"Suppose," he suggested, "you come right down to the facts. What are they?"

His answer was as sudden as it was unexpected. Lynch, a bright gleam of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward and whispered two or three brief sentences. In spite of himself, Gordon could not repress a start, and the eyes that looked into Lynch's were the eyes of a frightened man.

"You lie!" he cried, and then something in the other's look made him add quickly, "and if you were speaking the truth, what good would it do? It's your word against mine."

Lynch shook his head. Again he leaned forward and whispered in Gordon's ear. Then fell silence, until finally Gordon turned full on his accuser. "Come," he said, "we might as well talk this thing over now."

In the outer office, Doyle waited patiently. Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed--twenty--a half hour. At last he heard the door leading to the hall close sharply, and, with a smile, entered the inner office.

"Well," he said, "are you going to kick me downstairs?" and then stopped short, struck by the expression on Gordon's face.

The candidate's lips forced a smile, belied by the expression in his eyes. With an effort he made reply.

"No, Doyle, you were right, as usual," he said, in a voice curiously unlike his own. "I'll see you in the morning," and, with steps that seemed to falter strangely, he pa.s.sed quickly from the office and out into the street.

CHAPTER XV

THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE

To Gordon, wearied and worn out in body and mind, the last few weeks of the campaign pa.s.sed like an evil dream. Always the steady stream of callers, all more or less frankly with hand extended, not merely for the clasp of friendship, but with palm upturned as well. Always the same calculations with Doyle, based on the reports of their subordinates in city, town and ward. Always the same disburs.e.m.e.nts, some large, some small, but in number keeping at one steady high-water mark. And always, when evening came, and Gordon would think longingly of what one night of refreshing, uninterrupted sleep would mean to him, there was the meeting or rally which positively could not be missed, and Gordon, hating the sight of his big white automobile, would climb reluctantly in, and be whirled away to some hazily indefinite point on the map, to mount the platform and make his plea for a fair show for the rank and file, for the curbing of the Combine, and for an honest man--to wit, Richard Gordon--in the governor's chair.

Among the many disburs.e.m.e.nts made, there was one series which filled Doyle with wonder. In practically every case, Gordon, taking into consideration the fact that he was in a field entirely new to him, had handled the financial end of the campaign with extreme skill and good judgment. Therefore, to Doyle it seemed inexplicable that one Thomas Lynch, who had been appointed Gordon's representative in ward twenty-six, should be able to come to Gordon seemingly with the most outrageous demands, and yet, at the same time, in the vernacular, "get away with them." Once, indeed, Doyle had ventured to suggest that ward twenty-six was being treated in a manner far outweighing its political importance, but Gordon had answered him in a manner not to be mistaken, and Doyle, with an outward shrug of his shoulders, and much inward speculation, had let Mr. Thomas Lynch and Gordon run matters in twenty-six to suit themselves.

Three times in the last week of the campaign, in most unheard-of places and at most unheard-of hours, Gordon met the man whose weak eyes drove him to the wearing of blue goggles and to traveling in the protection of a closed carriage. The conferences were not over-long, and yet they seemed to be regarded as of importance by both of the princ.i.p.als, and after each of them, and especially after the last of the three, Gordon's spirits seemed better, and a certain well-known man about town, who for many years had made a specialty of election bets, in one day not only changed the odds from five to three on Endicott to practically even money, but in addition, even at the altered figures, with the greatest readiness covered everything in sight.

And thus matters went until at length the final night before election was reached. Gordon, in deference to time-honored custom, had reserved the night for a whirlwind tour of the city's twenty-six wards, but when the time arrived it found him for once under a doctor's care--a doctor who did not mix in politics, and who gravely recommended a month's rest, and an instant cessation from all work.

Smiling grimly, Gordon left the celebrated pract.i.tioner's office, and went home to dose himself with brandy until, on the stroke of seven, gaunt, hollow-cheeked, with dark circles under his eyes, he climbed uncertainly into his place beside Doyle and started on the final effort of the campaign. And somehow, for six solid hours, with the platforms reeling under him, and the red fire dancing drunkenly before his eyes, he managed to get through his evening's task; half mechanically, indeed, and yet, served in good stead by his long practice in speaking and in meeting voters, so well that not one man in a hundred knew they were applauding a candidate who stood on the brink of nervous and physical exhaustion, finishing his battle on sheer nerve alone, game to the core, and ready to fight the people's fight against corruption in high places as long as he could stand or see. From the facts, however, the enterprising Doyle, weighing all the chances, decided that good capital could be made, and, quoting to himself with a grin his favorite phrase, "It has the additional merit of being true," he divulged to the reporters the true state of affairs, with the result that next morning the papers fairly teemed with splendid head-lines. "Gallant Gordon," "A Fighting Candidate,"

"Democratic Candidate Risks Death in the People's Cause," were some of them, and Doyle felt that for once, at least, the Ideal and the Practical had been effectively united.

And Doyle, indeed, in that last threatening night, came n.o.bly to the front. To Gordon's benumbed brain, at many a critical moment, he furnished the inspiration, and always the inspiration was a happy one.

Over in respectable ward ten, Gordon, finishing his plea for righteousness, for decency, for common honesty, had come out into the street to find his motor surrounded by a crowd of street urchins, all anxious in due time to become politicians, and all beginning on solid Democratic principles.

"That's Gordon," they chorused shrilly. "That's the guy." And then, in the jargon of the day, surrounding the automobile, they fairly rent the air with the insistent cry: "Well, what do you say?" "Well, what do you say?" "Can't get elected if you don't scatter the coin." "What do you say?"

The crowd, appreciating the incident to the full, paused. Gordon, not knowing whether he was in ward ten or ward twenty-six, mechanically was on the point of plunging his hand into his capacious, jingling pockets, when Doyle clutched his arm. "For G.o.d's sake," he whispered, "don't! Get up and tell the crowd you won't stand for such a thing.

Give it to 'em strong."

The suggestion was enough. Gordon nodded, and in an instant was on his feet. "Gentlemen," he said quickly, "I have been telling you that there is something wrong in our state to-day, and when those in authority set the standards they do, what can you expect from the boys who, twenty years from now, will stand in our places? It gives us food for thought to see these boys, the products of our public schools, and yet I think the blame is scarcely theirs. If elected, I pledge myself to see that a course in the simple ethics of right and wrong in respect to our government is included in future in the curriculum of our schools, and for the present, let me say that, rather than give one of these boys a cent of the money for which he asks, without, I believe, fully realizing the enormity of which he is guilty, I will suffer defeat, and suffer it gladly, at the polls to-morrow."

He resumed his seat amid a genuine burst of cheers. "By George," one old conservative was heard to say to a friend, as the motor vanished in a cloud of dust, "that fellow's got the right ring to what he says.

He means it, too, every word. I've voted the straight Republican ticket for thirty years, but I'm hanged if I don't give this man a vote tomorrow. I'd like to see what he'll do if he wins."

And so the evening pa.s.sed. "Something to suit everybody," was Doyle's motto; the reporters were well looked after, and Gordon preached virtue in the tenth, eleventh and the kindred wards, and thence ran down the entire scale, until, out in twenty-six, about two in the morning, he used up the remnants of his voice in a fiery, scathing indictment of the money power--a speech savoring in its radicalism of sheer anarchy. Then, as Doyle got him back into the automobile, outraged nature at last rebelled, and Gordon was got home and to bed in a state bordering on collapse.

A long night's rest, a morning in bed, and the relief of having the strain of the campaign off his mind, all, however, combined to work wonders, and Gordon, choosing to watch the returns from a private office opposite the huge bulletin in front of his own newspaper office, by evening, attended only by Doyle and by his secretary, Field, was able to come down-town in comparatively excellent condition.