The Ramrodders Part 32

"Now you ought to be able to hold your men together until we need them, gentlemen," said the General, addressing those who remained. "But you'd better get out among them and see that they stay in line. Defend Spinney! G.o.d knows, the words will stick in your throats, but show a bold front to the other side. Gather in your stragglers."

They filed out, plain and stolid individuals from the rural sections.

Harlan was left alone with the General.

"There go the kind that the demagogues always catch, Mr. Thornton. The demagogues understand human nature. They prey on the radicals who will follow the man who promises--sets cla.s.s against cla.s.s and eternally promises! Promises the jealous ascetics to deprive other men of the indulgences they seem to enjoy--promises to correct things for the great majority which dimly understands that things are out of joint in their little affairs, and as dimly hope that laws and rulers can correct those things and make the income cover the grocery bills. Spinney had them by the ears, that he did! But the knave was shrewd enough to understand that the machine would probably whip him in convention. They used my name to scare him into selling out--threatened to stampede the convention for me. That's why I'm so angry."

"Let me ask you something, General. It was Spinney, was it, Spinney and the kind I've seen training with him in this thing, that stirred up the opposition in this State--the kind of opposition we found at our Fort Canibas caucus?"

"From all reports, yes. I know some of the agents that have been working in the State. The men behind have hidden themselves pretty well, and I'm not exactly certain where their money is coming from. But I suppose the liquor interests are putting in considerable, as usual."

"The liquor interests! Backing reformers?"

The General smiled.

"Remember that I've had better chances to see the inside than you, young man. I've watched it operate from the start. In case of doubt you'll find the liquor interests on both sides. It's an evil that prohibition opens the door to. The saloons are to be tolerated and protected, or they are to be persecuted--the programme depends on the men who get control. If they are to be tolerated, the wholesale liquor men have to stand in right, so that they may have the privilege of doing business with the retailers. If the saloons are to be closed, the liquor men want to stand in right, so that they can do business direct with the consumer; and then there are the increased sales through the legalized city and town agencies when the saloons are closed--the liquor men need that business. The liquor is bound to come in anyway, whichever faction is in control. So the big rumsellers cater to both sides."

"Isn't there any decency anywhere, in any man, General Waymouth, when he gets mixed into such things?"

"Don't lose your faith that way, my boy! You see, I'm even playing a few political tricks myself. Your grandfather is more than half right--we have to play the game! But I'm trying a last experiment with human nature before I die. I haven't the things to lose that a young man has.

I am forcing myself on my party--using some means that disgust me, but I have to do so in order to prevail. I want to be Governor of this State again, and I want to be Governor with more powers than I had before. You and I both know what the party managers want, I'd like to find out if the people are willing to be governed that way, after they've learned there's a better system. I want to find out if every man in this State is willing to pay his own just share of taxes, if the people will wake up and stand behind a man who shows them how to keep from private greed what belongs to the people. And most of all, young man, this State is in a condition of civil war over this infernal liquor question. The radicals are away off at one side, and the liberals as far away from them as they can get, and both sides plastering each other with mud.

There's no common ground for a decent and honest man to stand on between; that is, he's too much disgusted with both sides to join either. I want to see whether there's good sense enough in this State to take the thing out of the hands of the fanatics so that we can get results that decent men can subscribe to--_results_ instead of the ruin and rottenness we're in now."

He stopped suddenly with a word of apology.

"You mustn't think I'm inflicting a rehearsal of my inauguration speech on you, Mr. Thornton. I talked more than I intended. But my feelings have been deeply stirred this morning."

"It's wicked business, General Waymouth! I don't understand how you've kept so calm through it. But, thank G.o.d, you can show 'em all up now, as they deserve to be shown to the people of this State. I can hardly wait for that convention to open!"

The General put his papers into his breast-pocket and b.u.t.toned his close frock-coat. He gazed on the young man's excitement indulgently.

"My boy, you have yet to learn, I see, that what would make a good scene in a theatre would be a mighty bad move in politics. This, to-day, is a convention that a good many thousands of voters are waiting to hear from. If they should hear the whole truth, I'm thinking that the Democratic party would win at the polls. So, you see, I must continue to be a politician. We'll be going along to the hall, now, you and I. It's near the hour. I want to be the next Governor of this State" (he smiled wistfully), "so you and I will go out and hunt for enough honest men to make me Governor."

The hotel was pretty well deserted as they walked down the stairs and through the lobby.

"Ours doesn't seem to be the largest parade of the day, Mr. Thornton,"

said the veteran mildly, when they were on the street, "but we'll see--we'll see!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SHEEP

Like a beacon marking shoals, Thelismer Thornton stood at the head of the broad granite steps that led up to the convention hall. An unlighted cigar was set hard between his teeth. Men flocked past him with obsequious greetings, but he merely grunted replies. He was watching for some one. He swore under his breath when he saw his man. General Waymouth and Harlan came up the steps together. He swung between them, and went along into the hall.

From open doors and windows band-music blared, welded with the roar of two thousand voices, each man shouting his conversation to be heard above his neighbors. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour set for the opening of the convention.

Under the cover of the uproar, as they walked along, the Duke delivered some very vigorous opinions to his grandson, expressing himself as to the latter's state of intellect, judgment, and general fitness to be allowed loose among men.

Harlan did not retort. He took his cue from the General, who smiled and listened.

"I'll tell you what I ought to do with you, boy! I ought to skin you.

I'd find a ready sale for the hide. They could use it to make bindings for New Testaments. Your're too d--n--d righteous, altogether! I've been easy and patient with you, but I don't propose to stand at one side now, and see you ruin yourself politically. Why are you letting the boy do it, Varden?" he demanded, turning on the General. "You're old enough to know better. He's no help to you now. I supposed I had a grandson until you got hold of him!"

"You've still got a grandson, but you haven't got a political tool to use in prying open a new governors.h.i.+p deal every fifteen minutes,"

declared the young man. "You took me to General Waymouth, you pledged me to him--I pledged myself to him. I don't propose to discuss this matter any further. I'm my own man when it comes to politics!"

"Thelismer, I wouldn't say any more just now," suggested the General.

"You are angry, and I've told you many times in past years that your judgment is not good when you are angry. But this is no place for talking these matters!"

The curious had already begun to throng about them. General Waymouth was a marked figure in a gathering. It had not become a matter of general knowledge that he was attending the convention. He had not appeared frequently in public since his retirement, and men were glad to see him.

The early buzz that greeted his first appearance in the hall grew louder and louder, and swelled into an uproar as delegates turned in larger numbers and recognized him.

The vast body of the auditorium was crowded with men. Posts supporting huge placards indicated the division of delegates into counties. The General's own county was nearest the door by which he had entered. At a call from some one these delegates climbed upon their settees. They gave three cheers for him. It was a spontaneous tribute to the one great man of the State--their county's favorite son.

The word pa.s.sed rapidly. Other counties came to their feet. The band was playing, the early enthusiasm of the day was fresh, men had not had opportunity to exercise their voices till then, and as the General pa.s.sed down the side aisle of the hall he was cheered by every delegation. Harlan followed him closely, and the Duke was at their heels. Every man in the hall saw the little group. It seemed eminently fit that Thelismer Thornton should escort General Waymouth. But the Duke did not realize that the General was shrewdly using that opportunity of displaying Thornton, the elder, in his retinue. The accident fitted with some plans of his own.

Spurred by the excitement of that tumultuous moment, Harlan could not restrain a bit of a boast.

"How do you like the sound of that, grandfather?" he flung over his shoulder.

"There's no politics in that, you young fool. A hoorah isn't a nomination."

But he could not hide from himself the plain fact that Varden Waymouth was a tremendously strong figure in State affairs.

There was sincerity behind that outburst. Eyes glistened. Faces glowed with admiration and respect. The Duke wondered bitterly how much of that extraordinary tribute was inspired by the publicity work for which the State Committee had spent its good money.

The General led the way in at the side door that admitted to the stage.

He was on familiar ground. Behind the stage there were several anterooms. He appropriated an empty one, hanging his hat on a hook.

"Not an elaborate lay-out for a candidate, Thelismer," he remarked, pleasantly, "but headquarters to-day is where we hang up our hat."

"Vard, you don't mean to tell me--seriously, at this hour--that you mean to be a candidate?" Thornton had put aside his anger. That had been bitter and quick ire, because his grandson had seemed so blind to his own personal interests. There was solicitude now in the old man's air.

"I got you into this myself," he went on. "I coaxed you in, for the situation was right and ripe. You kicked it over yourself. I haven't any compunctions, Vard. I stayed with you just as long as I could stay. But I'll be dod-jimmed if I'll shove a Governor onto my party that's a hybrid of Socialist and angel. Now you can't swing this thing. Everett's got it b.u.t.toned. I tell you he has! You're too big a man, to-day, to get before that convention and be thrown down. I've got a better line on the situation than you have. Vard, let's not have this come up between us at our time of life. It's bad--it's bad!"

"It _is_ bad," returned the General, quietly; "but not for me! And it's too late to stop. I'm going through with it, Thelismer."

There was dignity--a finality of decision--that checked further argument. Thornton s.h.i.+fted gaze from Waymouth to his grandson, started to say more, snapped his jaws shut, and walked away.

The door of the anteroom afforded a view across the stage. The hour had arrived. The secretary of the State Committee appeared from the wings and waited until the delegates were in their seats and quiet. He read the call, and then the temporary organization was promptly effected, the tagged delegates popping up here and there and making the motions that had been entrusted to them.

A clergyman invoked Divine blessing, praying fulsomely and long, beseeching that the delegates would be guided by the higher will in their deliberations.

"It's the only prayer I ever find amusing--G.o.d pardon me!" whispered the General at Harlan's side, watching the preliminaries. "To call a State convention, as the machine runs it, a deliberative body is a sad jest of some magnitude. The managers intend to hold the real convention the night before in the State Committee's headquarters at the hotel. But to-day I hope that prayer proves prophetic."