The Candidate: A Political Romance
be there at least an hour, and we wish to be quite alone, as I have many
things of importance to say."
No one spoke, but twenty pairs of eyes followed the committeeman as he
disappeared in the hotel on his way to Jimmy Grayson's room. Then
Alvord, the town judge, a man of gigantic stature, rose to his feet and
said, in a mimicking, feminine voice:
"Gentlemen, I am going to the bar, and I shall be there at least an
hour; I wish to be quite alone, as I shall have many important things to
drink."
There was a burst of laughter that relieved the constraint somewhat, and
then, obedient to an invitation from the judge, they filed solemnly in
to the bar.
The candidate was to speak in the afternoon, and as he would raise some
new issues, sure to be of interest to the whole country, Harley,
following his familiar custom, went in search of Mr. Grayson for
preliminary information. The hour set aside by Mr. Heathcote had passed
long since, and Harley thought that he would be out of the way.
Jimmy Grayson's room was on the second floor, and Harley walked slowly
up the steps, but at the head of the stairway he was met by Mr.
Heathcote himself.
"Good-afternoon," said Harley, cheerfully. "I hope that you had a
pleasant talk with Mr. Grayson. I'm going in to see him now myself; a
presidential nominee can't get much rest."
Mr. Heathcote drew himself up importantly.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but you cannot--ah--see Mr. Grayson.
There has been a feeling with us in the East--we are in a position there
to judge, being in thorough touch with the great world--that it was not
advisable for Mr. Grayson to speak to or to come in direct contact with
the press. This familiar talk with the newspapers rather impairs the
confidence of our great magnates and prejudices us in the eyes of
Europe. It is better--ah--that his remarks should be transmitted through
a third person, who can give to the press what is fitting and reserve
the remainder."
Harley gazed at Heathcote in amazement, but there was nothing in his
manner to indicate that he was not in earnest.
"And you are the third person, I suppose?" said Harley.
"I have so constituted myself," replied Mr. Heathcote, and his tone was
aggravatingly quiet and assured. "As one conversant with great affairs,
I am the most fit."
"Has Mr. Grayson agreed to this?" asked Harley.
"My dear man, I cannot permit you to cross-examine me. But, really, I
wish to be on good terms with the press, which is quite a useful
institution within its limits. Now, you seem to be rather more sedate
than the others, and I wish you would have the goodness to explain to
them how I have taken affairs in hand."
Harley flushed at his patronizing tone, and for a moment he was tempted
to thrust him out of his way and proceed with his errand to Jimmy
Grayson's room, but he reflected that it was better to let the
committeeman make the rope for his own hanging, and he turned away with
a quiet, "Very well, I shall forego the interview."
But as he went back down the stairs he could not help asking himself the
question, "Does Jimmy Grayson know? Could he have consented to such an
arrangement?" and at once came the answer--"Impossible."
He returned to the porch, where all the chairs were filled, although the
talk was slow. He noticed, with pleasure, that Churchill was absent. The
descending sun had just touched the crests of the distant mountains, and
they swam in a tremulous golden glow. The sunset radiance over nature in
her mighty aspects affected all on the porch, used as they were to it,
and that was why they were silent. But they turned inquiring eyes upon
Harley when he joined them.
"What has become of Heathcote?" asked Barton.
"He is engaged upon an important task just now," replied Harley.
"And what is that?"
"He is editing Jimmy Grayson's speech."
Twenty chairs came down with a crash, and twenty pairs of eyes stared in
indignant astonishment.
"King" Plummer's effort to hold himself in his chair seemed to be a
strain.
"He may not be doing that particular thing at this particular moment,"
continued Harley, "but he told me very distinctly that he was here for
that purpose, and he has also just told me that I could not see Jimmy
Grayson, that he intended henceforth to act as an intermediary between
the candidate and the press."
"And you stood it?" exclaimed Hobart.
"For the present, yes," replied Harley, evenly; "and I did so because I
thought I saw a better way out of the trouble than an immediate quarrel
with Heathcote--a better way, above all, for Jimmy Grayson and the
party."
The Western men said nothing, though they looked their deep disgust, and
presently they quitted the porch, leaving it, rocking-chairs and all, to
the correspondents.
"Boys," said Harley, earnestly, "I've a request to make of you. Let me
take the lead in this affair; I've a plan that I think will work."
"Well, you are in a measure the chief of our corps," said Warrener, one
of the Chicago men. "I don't know why you are, but all of us have got
to looking on you in that way."
"I, for one, promise to be good and obey," said Hobart, "but I won't
deny that it will be a hard job. Perhaps I could stand the man, if it
were not for his accent--it sounds to me as if his voice were coming out
of the top of his head, instead of his chest, where a good, honest voice
ought to have its home."
"Now you listen," said Harley, "and I will my tale unfold."
Then they put their heads together and talked long and earnestly.
The shaggy mountains were in deep shadow, and the sunset was creeping
into the west when Jimmy Grayson came out on the porch where the
correspondents yet sat. Harley at once noticed a significant change in
his appearance; he looked troubled. Before, if he was troubled, he
always hid it and turned a calm eye to every issue; but this evening
there was something new and extraordinary about Jimmy Grayson; he was
ashamed and apologetic obviously so, and Harley felt a thrill of pity
that a man so intensely proud under all his democracy, or perhaps
because of it, should be forced into a position in which he must be,
seemingly at least, untrue to himself.
The candidate hesitated and glanced at the correspondents, his comrades
of many a long day, as if he expected them to ask him questions, but no
one spoke. The sinking sun dropped behind the mountains, and the
following shadow also lay across Jimmy Grayson's face. He was the
nominee of a great party for President of the United States, but there
was a heart in him, and these young men, who had gone with him through
good times and bad times, through weary days and weary nights, were to
him like the staff that has followed a general over many battle-fields.
He glanced again at the correspondents, but, as they continued to stare
resolutely at the dark mountains, he turned and walked abruptly into the
hotel.
"Boys," exclaimed Barton, "it's tough!"
"Yes, damned tough," said Hobart.
"King" Plummer, who was with them, maintained a stony silence.
An hour later the valet of the Honorable Herbert Henry Heathcote, a
smooth, trim young Englishman, arrived in Red Cloud, and never before in
his vassal life had he been a person of so much importance. The news had
been spread in Red Cloud that a rare specimen was coming, a kind
hitherto unknown in those regions. When John--that was his
name--alighted from the train in the dusk of a vast, desolate Western
night, a crowd of tanned, tall men was packed closely about him,
watching every movement that he made. Harley saw him glance fearfully at
the dark throng, but no one said a word. As he moved towards the hotel,
a valise in either hand, the way opened before him, but the crowd,
arranging itself in a solid mass behind him, followed, still silent,
until he reached the shelter of the building and the protecting wing of
his master. Then it dispersed in an orderly manner, but the only subject
of conversation in Red Cloud was the Honorable Herbert Henry Heathcote
and his "man," especially the "man."
At the appointed hour the candidate spoke from a stage in the public
square, and it would not be fair to say that his address fell flat; but
for the first time in the long campaign Harley noticed a certain
coldness on the part of the audience, a sense of aloofness, as if Jimmy
Grayson were not one of them, but a stranger in the town whom they must
treat decently, although they might not approve of him or his ways. And
Harley did not have to seek the cause, for there at a corner of the
stage sat a dominating presence, the Honorable Herbert Henry Heathcote,
his neck encircled by a very high collar, his trousers turned up at the
bottom, and his white spats gleaming through the darkness. More eyes
were upon him than upon the candidate, but Mr. Heathcote was not
daunted. His own gaze, as it swept the audience, was at times
disapproving and at other times condescending.
About the middle of the speech the night, as usual, grew chilly, and Mr.
Heathcote's "man," stepping upon the stage, assisted him on with a light
overcoat. A gasp went up from the crowd, and the candidate, stopping,
looked back and saw the cause. Again that shadow came over his face, but
in a moment he recovered himself and went on as if there had been no
interruption. When the speech was finished Mr. Heathcote stood a moment
by the table at which Harley was still writing, and said:
"I think you and your associates should leave out of your report that
part about our foreign relations. However well received in the West, I
doubt whether it would have a very good effect in the East."
"But he said it," exclaimed Harley, looking up in surprise.
"Quite true, but there should be a certain reserve on the part of the
press. These expressions have about them a trace of rawness, perhaps
inseparable from a man like our nominee, who is the product of Western
conditions. I trust that I shall be able to correct this unfortunate
tendency."
Harley was burning with anger, but the long practice of self-control
enabled him to hide it. He did not reply, but resumed his work. Mr.
Heathcote spoke to him again, but Harley, his head bent over his pad,
went on with his writing. Nor did any of the other correspondents speak.
The committeeman, astonished and indignant, left the stage, and,
followed by his "man," returned to the hotel between two silent files of
spectators.
"Experience number one," was the only comment of the correspondents, and
it came from Barton.
When Harley went into the hotel he saw Jimmy Grayson leaning against the
clerk's desk as if he were waiting for something. He glanced at Harley,
and there was a tinge of reproach in his look. Harley's resolution
faltered, but it was only for a moment, and then, taking his key from
the clerk, he went in silence to his room. He understood the position of
Jimmy Grayson, he knew how much the party was indebted to Mr. Heathcote
for payment of the campaign's necessary expenses, but he was determined
to carry out his plan, which he believed would succeed.
But there was one man in Jimmy Grayson's group to whom the appearance of
Mr. Heathcote was welcome, and this was Churchill, who was sure that he
recognized in him a kindred spirit. He sent a long despatch to the
_Monitor_, telling of the very beneficial effect the committeeman's
presence already exercised upon the campaign, particularly the new tone
of dignity that he had given to it. He also cultivated Mr. Heathcote,
and was willing to furnish him deferential advice.
As the special train was to leave early the next morning for the
northern part of the state, they ate breakfast in a dim dawn, with only
the rim of the sun showing over the eastern mountains. Mr. Heathcote