The Ramrodders Part 52

"I'll suggest a place for that convention," muttered Thelismer Thornton to those who stood about him. "Hold it in Purity Park in Paradise!

Settle the rum question!" he sneered. "Noah hadn't been stamping around on dry ground long enough to get his quilts aired out before he was drunk on Noah's Three Star! And j.a.pheth probably got mad and pa.s.sed a prohibitory law and thought he had the trouble fixed forever."

When the legislature finally adjourned the protestations that had been wrung out of it promised much in the way of honest reorganization.

Harlan Thornton remained with Governor Waymouth for a time. His Excellency found him indispensable.

The commissions were at work.

Office-holders whined, taxpayers squirmed. Honesty was greeted everywhere by wry faces.

But the "Thornton law," its deputies superseding county and city authority, was the bitterest political pill of all. The results discouraged the righteous--Governor Waymouth predicted them accurately with the old-age cynicism of one who understood human nature. The flagrantly open places were closed. But innumerable dives thereby secured the business which had gone to the open places in the days of toleration. An army could not have closed the dives--the proprietors of which, in most cases, carried their villanous concoctions on their persons. Express companies were organized for the sole purpose of dealing in liquors by the parcel system, and the State's liquor agencies, established under the protection of the prohibitory law itself, were besieged by patrons who stood in queues of humanity like buyers at a theatre ticket-window.

Reformation of human nature by mere statute was a failure!

But mere political disaster did not daunt the stern old man who held his commissioners to their task. The people themselves began to complain of the cost of the new system of enforcement--the money paid to make them obey their own laws. When their complaints were loudest the Governor allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

Reform for the ma.s.s. Admirable!

Reform for the individual. Atrocious infringement of personal liberty!

"I cannot make them good," he said to Harlan. "But I can give them such a picture of their own iniquity that perhaps they'll realize it and make themselves good. You can't reform folks in this world on much of any basis except that!"

It was late summer and they were in the garden of the brick house at Burnside.

Harlan had been at his chief's side day after day, s.h.i.+elding him as much as possible from those who came to solicit, to threaten, to complain. In the opportunity given him to meet every man of importance in the State he had won respect, even regard. His personality removed him from the ranks of the radicals and relieved him from the imputation that attached to them. His sincerity was evident. He was frank to express his disappointment at the results of the legislation he had a.s.sisted in procuring. He listened attentively to the suggestions of others. He made it plain that he was not unalterably wedded to a law because he had been instrumental in adding it to the code. He made known to all his willingness to compromise on everything except honesty, and day by day he made men understand better the basis of the system advocated by his chief and himself.

They had burnished the mirror of politics; they held its new and brighter surface up to the people that they might gaze on themselves.

And in time the people came to realize what service had been done. And, as they realized it, the name of young Thornton went abroad in the State from mouth to mouth--men speaking of him as one who was ent.i.tled to the praise that attaches to honesty unsmirched by bigotry.

His optimism softened the asperities which men found in the character of the Governor. He attracted to the grim old man the loyalty of the youth of the State, and at the same time won that loyalty for himself. He had come forward at a time when men were ready to accept new ideals, even if they were obliged to wade to them through such mire as now soiled the execution of the new laws.

That proposed convention for the unprejudiced consideration of the liquor laws was taking form. The intemperate radicals were the only ones declaiming against "compromise with the devil." But the new conditions were revealing the real colors of those impractical zealots, and it was plain that their noisy minority would no longer be allowed to bl.u.s.ter down the truer and more equable spirit of "the best for all the people."

The men and women of the State were taking time to a.n.a.lyze some of those high-sounding phrases with which so-called temperance had disguised vicious theories which left human nature out of the equation.

The politicians of the old school remained aloof.

They were pointing to "the wreck of the party."

"And I'll be pa.s.sed down to history as the wrecker," said the Governor, talking to Harlan under the big elm. "But you've got strong arms, my boy. I can see that you'll have much to do in building anew out of the wreck, you and those who are beginning to appreciate you. I can see a future of much promise for you, Harlan."

"I'll be politely, but firmly, invited to go back to the woods,"

protested the young man.

"You'll not be allowed to do it," replied the Governor, quietly. "You have been tested for your honesty. These newer times have eyes to recognize that quality. And the rogues are being smoked out. But remember that even the end of time will not find all questions solved.

That thought will have to serve you for consolation."

That was hardly the consolation that would satisfy impetuous youth and zeal in accomplishment.

But Harlan had been learning lessons in consolation.

The thought of Clare Kavanagh was with him night and day. In spite of all his searching she remained hidden. He did not confide his grief to any one. It brought pallor to his face and listlessness in the daily duties that bore upon him. Governor Waymouth took note at last. And when the young man asked for permission to go home to the north country for a time he reluctantly sent him away.

On the eve of his departure, which had been announced by a press that now followed his movements with the attention accorded to a man of importance in State affairs, he obeyed a summons from Madeleine Presson.

She put a letter into his hands. It was addressed to Clare Kavanagh.

"You will find her, Harlan," she said, comfortingly. "Love will search her out. And when you find her, give her this letter. There are words from woman to woman that woman understands."

Harlan found his grandfather sitting on the broad porch of "The Barracks," smoking and looking out across the river valley.

The spirit in which he had left that hateful legislature seemed to have departed from the Duke. The old quizzical glint was in his eyes as he grasped Harlan's hand. After their greeting they sat together in silence.

"It's a beautiful game, hey, my boy?" remarked the Duke, at last. "I see that some of the country papers have already begun to talk of you for Governor of the State. The editors haven't seen you, but from what they've heard they probably think you're a hundred years old and have grown to enormous size!"

"Don't make game of me, grandfather," said Harlan, coloring.

"Oh, I'm only expressing a wicked hope. There are some men in this State that I'd like to see punished to that extent." He chuckled. "Put me down for fifty thousand dollars, first subscriber to your campaign fund."

"I can appreciate the humor of that joke," said Harlan. "For I've had a liberal education in the past year--I've found out just how little I know." He added wearily, "And I've found out how hard it is to be what you want to be."

His grandfather tipped his head back into his clasped hands, his characteristic att.i.tude. He squinted out across the hills.

"Bub," he said, "I had the first real blow of my life the other day. A man pointed me out on the train and told another man, loud enough so that I overheard him, that I was Harlan Thornton's grandfather--'and I forget his first name,' he said, 'it begins with T.'"

They ate supper together in the old mess-hall, back on their former footing. Word by word it came out of the Duke--his admiration for this boy who had made his own way. Every blow he had dealt his grandfather's personal pride had brought the reactionary glow of appreciation of this scion who could hit so hard and so surely.

He watched him saddle his horse after supper. He did not ask where he was going.

Harlan did not know. His longing drew him down the long street and across the big bridge, his horse walking slowly.

CHAPTER XXVIII

ONE PROBLEM SOLVED

The dusk was cool and soft. Below him the current gurgled against the piers with sounds as though the river's fairies laughed there in the gloom. Doves nestled against the rafters of the bridge above, stirring with tired murmurings.

When he came out under the stars he saw the red eyes of Dennis Kavanagh's house. The sight of them put the peace of the sky and fields out of his heart. He spurred his horse and galloped up the hill.

Even as Thelismer Thornton found true haven on his porch in the summer evening, so Dennis Kavanagh had his solace in his own domain, smoking his pipe. He sat there when Harlan swung close to the steps.

"Mr. Kavanagh," said the young man, sternly, "I am Harlan Thornton. Do you know any ill of me?"

"I know that you're old Land-Grabber Thornton's grandson! I also know that you have shaken him in politics until his old teeth rattled. And I'm much obliged to you!"

"I'm not here to talk about politics or my grandfather. I'm here on my own account. You know where your own daughter is. I've come to ask you honorably and fairly where she is. Will you tell me?"