The Ramrodders Part 29

THE ODD TRICK

Thelismer Thornton was one of the first to stir next morning in the big hotel. All night roisterers had flanked his room, there had been the buzz of eager argument overhead, riot of dispute below, and continual thudding of hurrying feet in the corridors. He had gone to sleep realizing that the hive was in a state of upheaval extraordinary, but he slept calmly in spite of it, and woke refreshed.

He picked his way past cots in the corridors. Men were snoring there.

His grandson had not returned to their apartments. But the Duke divined his whereabouts. He had ascertained by the house telephone the number of Linton's room. He tried the door when he arrived there. It was not locked. He entered. Linton was asleep on the bed. Harlan was on a cot.

They had taken off only their coats and waistcoats. They did not wake when he came in. He pulled a chair to the centre of the room and sat astride it, his arms on its back. In a few moments both sleepers woke, stirring under his intent regard. They sat up and returned his gaze.

"Well, my boys, what's the programme?" he inquired, pleasantly.

Heavy with sleep, perturbed, a bit apprehensive, neither answered.

"You didn't come back to your room last night, Harlan. You weren't afraid of this old chap, were you? Didn't think I'd be running around the room on all fours, eh, or climb the wall, or growl and try to bite you?"

"I didn't want to disturb you, and Mr. Linton and I wanted to talk after we left General Waymouth," said Harlan.

"It's all right if you weren't afraid of me, my boy. We can't afford to have politics put us in that state of mind. Now, own up! You thought I'd pitch in and pull you over to the machine--you were afraid of that, now, weren't you?"

"To be perfectly honest, I didn't want any argument with you, grandfather, but I wasn't afraid you'd convert me. You couldn't do that."

"Bub, 'politics before friendship' is all right for a code. I practice that myself, but it hurts me to have you put politics before relationship--the kind that's between us."

"Grandfather," replied the young man, firmly, "you remember that you told me you were going to put me into politics right. I consider that you've done so. I'm going to stay where you put me."

"Oh, you mean one thing and I mean another, my boy, as matters stand just now. You're in wrong. A man isn't in right when he's playing on the losing end."

"I stay where you put me," insisted Harlan, doggedly. "I'm with General Waymouth."

"General Waymouth was a winner till he committed hari-kari there last night. He had Luke's machine, and he had my scheme. He kicked over the machine, and the scheme won't work now; it could have been _snapped_ through, but it can't be _bulled_ through--not with the bunch forewarned and on the lookout. Your political chances with Vard Waymouth, Harlan, don't amount to that!" He clicked his finger smartly above his head.

"You may as well go back up-country and boss the Quedaws."

"And yet you know that General Waymouth is right, Mr. Thornton," broke in Linton, pausing in lacing his shoes. "There's no chance for argument about that. Why is it the big men of this State--men like you, that have the influence to set things straight--won't back the man that's honest and right?"

"Linton, that's the kind of a question that's asked by the man whose experience in practical politics is limited to a term on the School Board and the ownership of a subscription edition of _American Statesmen_, bound in half morocco. I'll tell you why we don't: we're dealing with conditions, not theories. The chap who writes for the 'Kickers' Column' in the newspapers can tell you all about how politics should be run, but that's the only privilege he ever gets. It's the chap who keeps still and runs the politics that gets what's to be got out of it. And that's because mankind wants what it wants, and not what it says it wants."

He went to the window, snapped up the shade, and let the morning light flood the room.

"Wake up, my boys! Dreams are rosy--I've had 'em myself. But they don't buy the breakfast next morning. Martyrs get a devil of a reputation after they're dead. It doesn't do 'em a mite of good, not as human beings. As long as you're taking the curse that belongs with a human being, get some of the good, too. I tried to operate on a different plan long ago--about the time I had the dreams--but I had to give it up if I was to get anything out of life. Vard Waymouth can't build over the human nature in this State. I've had to drop him. I hadn't realized he was in such a bad way. Get aboard with the winners this trip! Then at least you can be in the swim--you can find some good to do on the side, and be able to do it. But you won't amount to anything sitting on the bank and bellowing."

The vigils of the night had fortified their faith, the loyalty of youth was in them, and they were the disciples of one who had enlisted their enthusiasm. Linton, however, was less a.s.sertive than Harlan. The Duke did not lose his patience.

"Boys," he said, at the end of his exhortations, "I see that you've got to have your little lesson (I'll have to be going now, for I've a few things to attend to), and I'll tell you frankly I propose to make that lesson a lasting one."

A few hours later the young men went in to breakfast together. The early trains had brought other delegates and visitors. The great room was crowded with a chattering throng. The head waiter intercepted them; he seemed to be waiting for them. They followed obediently, and he led them to an alcove.

Here a breakfast-party was already installed.

Miss Presson was first to greet them, giving a hand to each--radiant, fresh, and altogether charming in her tailored perfection.

"We left word at the door," she smiled, "for I wanted to behold you before the blood and dust of the arena settled over all."

Mrs. Presson and her ladies were cordial. They did not seem to remark that the State chairman kept his seat and was brusque in his greeting.

Political abstraction excused general disregard to conventions among the men-folks that morning. The Duke was there. He patronized them with a particularly amiable smile.

"May I?" asked Linton, touching the chair next Madeleine.

"Yes," said the girl. "You know, Herbert and I are very old friends, Mr.

Thornton." There was a hint of apology to Harlan behind the brilliant smile she gave him. He had moved toward the chair. He flushed when he realized that he felt a queer sense of hurt at her choice. It was another new experience for him who had made the woods his mistress--a woman had chosen another, slighting him. As he took his seat beside his grandfather he was angry at himself--at the sudden boyish pique he felt.

He had not been conscious till then that he had been interested especially in Madeleine Presson. It needed the presence of this other young man, selected over his head, to make him understand that one may not draw near beauty with impunity, even though one may be very certain--telling his own heart--that love is undreamed of. He wondered whether he might not be afflicted with asinine pride.

He did not relish the glance that Linton bestowed on him; it seemed there was just a flash of triumph in it--that bit of a boast one sees in the eyes of a man who becomes, even briefly, the proprietor of a pretty woman.

"We were just talking over the latest news--or, rather, it's a rumor,"

said Miss Presson. With quick intuition she felt that something, somehow, was not just right. She hastened to break the silence. "They are saying that Mr. Spinney has withdrawn, and that his name will not go before the convention. Of course, you've heard about it, Herbert--and Mr. Thornton!"

They had not heard it. They looked guilty. They had been all the morning with Colonel Wadsworth, locked away from the throng, finishing matters of the night before. The expression on their faces was confession of their ignorance.

"If you're going to be early political fishermen you'll have to look for your worms sharp in the morning or you'll fetch up short of bait,"

suggested the Duke, maliciously.

"Three cheers and a s.n.a.t.c.h of band-music take on a hopeful color when they're lit up by red fire overnight," remarked the State chairman. "So do some other things. But a fellow with good eyesight usually comes to himself in the daylight."

"Is that true about Spinney?" asked Harlan, scenting mischief and treachery, and not yet enough of a politician to understand instantly just what effect this would have on the situation.

"I don't know anything about it," snapped Presson. "I don't care anything about it. It isn't important enough. The man's strength was overrated. It was mostly mouth. Just as soon as the delegates got together last night and shook themselves down it was plain enough where Spinney stood."

"But you yourself and grandfather have been saying all along that he--" began Harlan.

"We say a lot of things in politics," broke in the chairman, testily.

"But it's only the final round-up that counts. And be prepared for sudden changes, as the almanac says! I tell you, I don't know anything about this Spinney rumor--nor I don't care. But it's probably true.

Everett has got pledged delegates enough to nominate him by acclamation."

"But last night--" persisted Harlan.

His grandfather interrupted this time.

"Don't you remember that old Brad Dunham wrote to New York one spring and asked a commission man if he would take a million frogs' legs?

Commission man wrote that he'd take a hundred pairs; and the best old Brad could do, after wading in the swamp back of his house all day, was to get a dozen. Wrote to the commission man that he'd been estimating his frogs by sound and thought he had a million. That's been the way with Spinney and his delegates, Harlan."

Mrs. Presson took advantage of the merriment to change the subject from politics. It was a topic that did not interest her, and she had learned from her husband's disgusted growlings that morning that there had been trouble the night before.

Harlan did not join in the chatter that went about the table. Under cover of it his grandfather gave him a few words of compa.s.sionate counsel.

"You'll have to swing in with the new deal, bub. You can't cut party sirloin too close to the horn, and that's what Vard did. He wants to sit on the mountain and slam us flat under a rock with the new ten commandments on it. We can't stand for it. I didn't dream that he had grown to be so impractical in his old age. No one wants any such deal as he's framing up for the State. As I told you, he's trying to build human nature over, and he can't do it. I'm sorry it's turned as it has--he could have been just a little diplomatic and made us a good Governor.

But Everett will make a good one--you needn't be afraid of him. We'll put through a few measures that will smooth things down a little. Now you've got to remember that you're going to the legislature. You might just as well not be there if you don't stand clever with the administration. I haven't put you in just as I intended. But get into line now, quick. I can smooth it all right for you. I've squared myself with Everett--he needed me!"

Harlan listened patiently, keeping his eyes on his food.