The Candidate: A Political Romance
refrained; instead, they sought by light talk to divert attention from
her, and they succeeded in every case but that of Harley.
It was not a long dinner, and as they returned to the ladies' parlor
they were welcomed by a loud, joyous cry, and out of the dark of the
room a big man projected himself to greet them. His first words were for
Miss Morgan, whom he affectionately called "Little Girl," and whom he
seized by the hands and kissed on the forehead. It was a loud voice, but
round, full, and mellow, and Harley judged that it came from a big
nature as well as a big body.
When the man stepped into the light, Harley saw that he was over six
feet high, and with a width according. His broad face was covered with
short, iron-gray beard, and his head was thatched with hair equally
thick and of the same gray shade. In years he might have been fifty, and
it was Harley's first impression at this moment that the big man was
Miss Morgan's father--it came to him with a rather queer feeling that it
had never occurred to him to ask about her parents, whether they were
living or dead, and what kind of people they were or had been.
The stranger shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, and expressed
vocally the pleasure that his eyes also conveyed. Harley and Hobart were
the only others present, and, turning to them, Mr. Grayson introduced
the stranger, Mr. William Plummer--"King Plummer, you know."
Then Harley remembered vaguely, and he began to place Mr. Plummer. He
recalled allusions in the press to one William Plummer, otherwise "King"
Plummer, who lived in the far Northwest, and who, having amassed
millions in ranching and mining, had also become a great power in the
political world, hence his term "King," which was more fitting in his
case than in that of many real kings. He had developed remarkable skill
in politics, and, as the phrase went, held Idaho, his own state, in the
hollow of his hand, and in a close election could certainly swing
Montana and Wyoming as he wished, and perhaps Utah and Washington, too.
Harley's interest instantly became keen, and he did not take his eyes
off "King" Plummer. Clearly he was a man of power; he fairly radiated
it, not merely physically, but mentally. His gestures, his voice, every
movement indicated a vast reserve strength. This was one of the great
men whose development the rough field of the new West had permitted.
Harley was not alone interested in "King" Plummer, but also in the kiss
that he had put upon the white forehead of Sylvia Morgan and his
boisterous joy at seeing her. Since he was not her father, it was likely
that he was her uncle, not by blood, as Jimmy Grayson was, but as the
husband of an aunt, perhaps. Yes, this must be it, he concluded, and the
kiss seemed more reasonable.
When "King" Plummer was introduced to Harley and Hobart, he shook hands
with them most cordially, but as keen a man as Harley could see that he
regarded them as mere youths, or "kids," as the "King" himself would
have said. There was nothing depreciatory in this beyond the difference
between age and great achievement and youth which had not yet had the
time to fulfil its promise, and Harley, because of it, felt no decrease
of liking and respect for "King" Plummer.
"The far Northwest is for you solidly, Jimmy," said the big man, with a
joyous smile. "Idaho is right in line at the head of the procession, and
Wyoming, Montana, and the others are following close after. They haven't
many votes, but they have enough to decide this election."
Jimmy Grayson smiled. He had reason to smile. He, too, liked "King"
Plummer, and, moreover, this was good news that he brought.
"I fancy that you have had something to do with this," he said. "You
still know how to whisper a sweet word in the ear of the people."
The big man shook himself, laughed again, and looked satisfied.
"Well, I have done a lot of whispering," he admitted, "if you call it
whispering, though most people, I'll gamble, would say it is like the
clatter of a mill. And I've done some riding, too, both train and horse.
The mountains are going to be all right. Don't you forget that, Jimmy."
"And it's lucky for me that 'King' Plummer is my friend," said Mr.
Grayson, sincerely.
During this talk of politics, Sylvia Morgan was silent, and once, when
"King" Plummer laid his big hand protectingly on her arm, she shrank
slightly, but so slightly that no one save Harley noticed, not even the
"King." The action roused doubts in his mind. Surely a girl would not
shrink from her uncle in this manner, not from a big, kindly uncle like
Plummer.
"I wanted to get down to Chicago and hear you at your first speech,"
went on "King" Plummer, in his big, booming voice, that filled the room,
"but I couldn't manage it. There was a convention at Boise that needed a
little attention--one likes to look on at those things, you know"--his
left eye contracted slightly--"and as soon as that was over I hurried
down as fast as an express could bring me. But I've read in all the
papers what a howlin' success it was, an' I'm goin' to hear you give it
to the other fellows to-night--won't we, Sylvia?"
He turned to the girl for confirmation of what needed no confirmation,
and her eyes smiled into his with a certain pride. She seemed to Harley
to admire his bigness, his openness of manner and speech, and his
wholesome character. After all, he was her uncle; the look that she gave
him then was that of one who received protection, half paternal and half
elder-brotherly.
"And now, Jimmy, I guess I've taken up enough of your time," exclaimed
"King" Plummer, his big, resonant chest-tones echoing in the room, "and
it's for you to do all the talkin' that's left. But I'll be in a box
listenin', and just you do your best for the credit of the West and the
mountains."
Grayson smiled and promised, and "King" Plummer joined them in the
carriage that bore them to the hall. He took his place with them in such
a natural and matter-of-fact manner that Harley was confirmed in his
renewed opinion that he was Sylvia Morgan's uncle, or, at least, her
next of kin, after Mr. Grayson.
At the hall "King" Plummer, as he had promised, sat in a box with Mrs.
Grayson and Miss Morgan, and always he led the applause, which in
reality needed no leading, the triumph at Chicago being repeated in full
degree. Harley, watching him from his desk, saw that the big man was
filled with sanguine expectation of triumph, and, with the glow of Jimmy
Grayson's oratory upon him, could not see any such result as defeat. But
Miss Morgan was strangely silent, and all her vivacity of manner seemed
to be gone.
When the speech was nearly over Churchill sauntered in lazily by the
stage entrance and took a seat near Harley. Harley had not noticed his
previous absence until then.
"How's the speech to-night?" he asked, languidly; "same old chestnuts, I
suppose."
"As this is Mr. Grayson's second speech," replied Harley, sharply, "it
is a little early to call anything that he says 'same old chestnuts.'
Besides, I don't think that repetition will ever be one of his faults.
Why haven't you been here?"
"Oh, I've been cruising around a bit on the outside. The Associated
Press, of course, will take care of the speech, which is mere routine."
He spoke with such an air of supercilious and supreme satisfaction that
Harley looked at him keenly.
"Pick up anything?" he asked, briefly.
"Oh, a trifle or two; nothing, however, that you would care about."
"Now, I wonder what it is that makes him so content with himself,"
thought Harley, but he had little time to devote to Churchill, as his
own despatch was occupying his attention.
Harley could not go back to the hotel with the Grayson party when the
speech was over, as he had to file his despatch first, but he saw them
all the next morning at the breakfast-table. "King" Plummer was there,
too, as expansive as ever, and showing mingled joy and sorrow--joy over
the second triumph of the candidate, which was repeated at great length
in the morning papers, and sorrow because he could not continue with
them on the campaign, which moved to Detroit for the third night.
"I'd be a happy man if I could do it," he said, in his booming tones,
"happy for more reasons than one. It would be a big holiday to me.
Wouldn't I enjoy hearing you tear the enemy to pieces night after night,
Jimmy! and then I'd be with you right along, Sylvia."
He looked at the girl, and his look was full of love and protection. She
flushed and seemed embarrassed. But there was no hesitation or
awkwardness about the big man.
"Never you mind, little girl," he said; "when you are Mrs. Plummer--an'
that ain't far away, I hope--you'll be with me all the time. Besides,
I'm goin' to join Jimmy Grayson when he comes out West, an' make the
campaign there with him."
The color in Miss Morgan's face deepened, and she glanced, not at "King"
Plummer or her uncle, but at Harley, and when her eyes met his the color
in her cheeks deepened still further. Then she looked down at her plate
and was silent and embarrassed.
Harley, as he heard these words of the "King," felt a strange thrill of
disapproval. It was, as he told himself, because of the disparity in
ages. It was true that a man of this type was the very kind to restrain
Sylvia Morgan, but twenty and fifty should never wed, man and wife
should be young together and should grow old together. It was no
business of his, and there was no obligation upon him to look after the
happiness of either of these people, but it was an arrangement that he
did not like, violating as it did his sense of fitness.
"King" Plummer was to leave them an hour later, taking a train for St.
Paul, and thence for Idaho. He bade them all a hearty good-bye, shaking
hands warmly with Jimmy Grayson, to whom he wished a career of unbroken
triumph, repeating these good wishes to Mrs. Grayson, and again kissing
Sylvia Morgan on the forehead--the proper kiss, Harley thought, for
fifty to bestow upon twenty, unless twenty should happen to be fifty's
daughter.
"We won't be separated long, Sylvia, girl," he said, and she flushed a
deep red and then turned pale. To Harley he said:
"And I'll try to show you the West, young man, when you come out there.
This is no West; Milwaukee ain't West by a jugful. Just you wait till
you get beyond the Missouri, then we'll show you the real West, and real
life at the same time."
There was a certain condescension in the tone of "King" Plummer, but
Harley did not mind it; so far as the experience of life in the rough
was concerned, the "King" had a right to condescend.
"I shall hold you to your promise," he said.
Then "King" Plummer, waving good-byes with a wide-armed sweep, large and
hearty like himself, departed.
"There goes a true man," said Mr. Grayson, and Harley spontaneously
added confirmation. But Miss Morgan was silent. She waved back in
response to the King of the Mountains, but her face was still pale, and
she was silent for some time. Harley now knew that "King" Plummer was
not her uncle nor her next of kin after Jimmy Grayson in any way, but he
was unable to tell why this marriage-to-be had been arranged.
But he quickly learned the secret, if secret it was; it was told to him
on the train by Mrs. Grayson as they rode that afternoon to Detroit.
"If you were ever in Idaho," she said, "you would soon hear the story of
"King" Plummer and Sylvia. It is a tragedy of our West; that is, it
began in a great tragedy, one of those tragedies of the plains and the
mountains so numerous and so like each other that the historians forget
to tell about them. Sylvia's mother was Mr. Grayson's eldest sister,
much older than he. She and her husband and children were part of a