The Dual Alliance Part 18

She had never made a speech in her life. She was trained in an art which makes no extemporaneous demand on the artist. Everything is set, prepared for, rehea.r.s.ed. This all made the background of her mind, as she rose and nodded to the astonished chairman. Then as she walked to the speaker's desk and faced them, her fear fell away. There were the same old adoring faces she was used to. They were just human beings, not a jury to try her. She waived the chairman aside, when he tried in vain to introduce her. The crowd indulged in what might be termed "a mob fit."

They yelled, deepening waves of sound; they stood up and waved handbills, with a crackling like flames; they stomped with their boots and whistled on their fingers. Bob watched and listened a moment, then her clear laugh rang out above the roar. She held up her hand and absolute quiet fell on them, as if a lid had been shut down on a bubbling pot.

"Boys and girls, do be still!" called Bob. "I can't talk to a Roman mob like you, unless you're quiet. I'm scared to death as it is. I never made a speech before, and maybe I'm not going to make one now!

"I've been to political meetings before. I'm Irish, so that goes without saying. My father used to say that if I'd been a man I'd have been a policeman. Ye know they call me Bob, son av Battle."

"I bet you would, too. I'd vote for ye! Maybe you suffragettes will make it yet," the crowd interrupted her.

"Are you making this speech or am I?" she called to them.

"Shut up! Let her alone! Tell us what kind of a guy Trent is!" they called.

"What I started to say, when I was so rudely interrupted, was this: I'm more interested in this political meeting than any I ever went to, because I'm more interested in the candidate for governor, and I want every man in this audience to vote for Paul Trent to-morrow on my say so."

They expressed themselves on that point in the usual vocal way. Bob reached for the chairman's gavel, with a "Give me that thing!" which made them all laugh. She beat the desk until there was silence.

"I think a man who is courteous, high minded, unselfish, and dependable in his relations with women is the kind of man to be dependable in his political relations. When Paul Trent says a thing is so, you can bank on its being so. If you send him to Albany to run this state, he'll run it.

The politicians can't boss him, you can't boss him, and I can't boss him--(laughter)--but he'll do his conscientious best to run it right.

You send him up there and see!"

She smiled and nodded at them as she turned to take her seat; the crowd's sudden shout of welcome made her turn quickly. Paul was coming toward her. The look in his eyes held her so that she forgot the crowd, which was going into convulsions out in front.

"My dear!" Paul said to her softly, taking her hand. She smiled up at him, turned back to the crowd in front, and with her hand still in his silenced them with a gesture. They scented a situation.

"Friends," Paul began.

"Save yer breath, Guv'nor, the Missus said it all," yelled a voice from the crowd. Everybody laughed.

"Friends," Paul repeated, smiling, "I shall not try to improve on the Missus. If when you go to the polls to-morrow you think it is for the good of the State of New York that I should try to direct its government for two years, vote for me, and I'll thank the Missus. Mind you, I don't promise any miracles, but as far as any honest man can see what's right, I'll do it. Good-night to you."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Bob and Paul stood bowing and smiling"]

Cooper Union has seen some exhibitions of excitement, but this was a prize example. Bob and Paul stood for ten minutes, hand in hand, bowing and smiling, before the crowd began to break up. Then the mob on the platform surrounded them, and it was half an hour before they made their escape. At the door Paul said to her:

"I've got to meet my committee for half an hour, dearest. Will you go to the hotel and wait for me? I'll come as soon as I can."

She nodded, and he put her into a cab at the door. The hour she waited for him seemed ten minutes, for she went over every step of their time together from the first day. He burst open the door at last, and came toward her, his face alight, his arms out, his whole need of her in his eyes. She put her two hands on his breast and held him away from her.

"Paul, not one word to-night. No extra strain, no excitement. I want you to go to bed, now, at once. I shall be here until after the returns to-morrow night. Then we'll talk. Please, dear," she added softly, at the protest in his eyes. He bent and kissed her fingers.

"I don't know how you're here, but it's wonderful," he said, and left her.

The next day she scarcely saw him. She spent the time at the telephone or buying extras. All day long she busied herself with this, that, and the other thing, to keep her nerves in order. At seven Paul telephoned that he could not come to dine with her, but that he hoped to be back by ten. She forced herself to go to a nearby theatre to put in the early evening, but the only part of the entertainment that interested her was the election returns announced between the acts.

Back at the hotel at ten, but no Paul. She packed her bag, and sent out for two tickets on the midnight train to Boston. At half-past ten he came, worn to a shred.

"Well?" she cried, as he stood on the threshold.

"We've won, Barbara. It seems to be a landslide."

He came and stood before her.

"Are you glad?"

"Glad? Governor, aren't you?"

"I suppose so. It seems unimportant somehow. I want something else so much more."

"What?"

"You--your love. I want to put my arms around you, I want to put my head down on your hair, and know that you're safe in my heart."

"Lock me away there, Governor, that's my home," she whispered, and was in his arms.

"Barbara, beloved, you don't want to go away from earth now?" he asked her, after long but pregnant silences. She lifted her head and kissed him gently.

"Dear heart," said she with a sigh, "I want to live to be a hundred and ten."

THE END