The Candidate: A Political Romance
The Graysons, following Harley's example, were gazing out of the window
at the cheerful country, but the correspondent knew that Mr. Grayson was
fully conscious of this human stream, and that he himself was the cause
of it. Yet he lost none of his good temper even when some, venturing
further, asked if he were not the nominee, adding that it was a pride to
them to meet him and speak to him. In fact, the change from silence to
conversation was a relief to Mr. Grayson, varying the monotony of that
fixed gaze to which he had been subjected so long, and it was now that
Harley saw him in a most favorable guise. His consciousness of a great
talent did not interfere with a perfect democracy; it did not cause him
to assume an air that said to these people, "I am better than you, keep
your distance," but he gave the impression of ability solely through his
simplicity of manner and the ease with which he adapted himself to the
caliber of the person who spoke to him.
Thus the train swung westward hour after hour, and the procession
through the car never ceased. The manner of the candidate did not
change; however weary he may have grown, he was always affable, but not
gushing, and Harley, watching keenly, judged that the impression he made
was always favorable. He strove, too, to interpret this manner and to
read the mind behind it. Was Mr. Grayson really great or merely a man of
ready speech and pleasing address? Harley was willing to admit that the
latter were qualities in themselves not far from great, but on the main
contention he reserved his judgment. He was still divided in his
opinions, sometimes approving the complete democracy of the candidate
and sometimes condemning. He had been born in the South, in a border
state, and he grew up there amid many of the forms and formalities of
the old school, and the associations of youth are not easily lost. Nor
had a subsequent residence in the East brushed them away. This world of
the West was still, in many respects, new to him.
He ate luncheon in the dining-car with the Graysons, and he noticed the
bubbling joy of the black waiter who served them, and who showed two
rows of white teeth in a perpetual smile. Harley appreciated him so much
that he doubled his tip, but, as they were still watched by many eyes in
the dining-car, he felt a certain nervousness in handling his knife and
fork, as if the penalty of greatness, even by association, were too
heavy for him. Once his eyes caught those of Mrs. Grayson, and a faint,
whimsical smile passed over her face, a smile so infectious, despite its
faintness, that Harley was compelled to reply in like fashion. It told
him that she understood his constraint, and that she, too, felt it, but
Harley doubted whether it was in like degree, as he believed that in the
main women are better fitted than men to endure such ordeals. Mr.
Grayson himself apparently took no notice.
Harley returned to their car with the Graysons, but in the afternoon he
detached himself somewhat, and came in touch with the fluctuating crowd
that passed down the aisle--it was always a part of his duty, as well as
his inclination, to know the thoughts and feelings of outsiders, because
it was outsiders who made the world, and it was from them, too, that the
insiders came.
Harley found here that the chief motive as yet was curiosity; the
campaign had not entered upon its sharp and positive state, and the
personality of Mr. Grayson and of his opponent still remained to be
defined clearly.
The train sped westward through the granary of the world, cutting in an
almost direct line across the mighty valley of the Mississippi, and they
were still hundreds of miles away from the Grayson home. In going west
both parties had gone very far west, and the two candidates not only
lived beyond the Mississippi, but beyond the Missouri as well.
The prairies were in their tenderest green, and the young grass bent
lightly before a gentle west wind. In a sky of silky blue little clouds
floated and trailed off here and there into patches of white like
drifting snow, and Harley unconsciously fell to watching them and
wondering where they went.
The sun, a huge red ball, sank in the prairie, twilight fell, the ordeal
of the dining-car was repeated, and not long afterwards Harley sought
his bed in the swaying berth. The next morning they were in the home
town, and there were a band and a reception committee, and Harley
slipped quietly away to his hotel, being reminded first by the Graysons
that he was to take dinner with them.
He spent most of the day wandering about the town, gathering hitherto
unnoticed facts about the early life of Mr. James Grayson, which in the
afternoon he despatched eastward. Then he prepared for dinner, but here
he was confronted by a serious problem--should one so far west wear
evening clothes or not? But he decided at last in the affirmative,
feeling that it would be the safe course, and, hiding the formality of
his raiment under a light overcoat, he went forth into the street. Five
minutes' walk took him to the house of Mr. Grayson, which stood in the
outskirts, a red brick structure two stories in height, plain and
comfortable, with a well-shaded lawn about it. It was now quite dark,
but lights shone from several windows, and Harley, without hesitation,
rang the bell.
II
THE MAID
Harley's ring was not answered at once, and as he stood on the step he
glanced back at the city, which, in the dark, showed only the formless
bulk of houses and the cold electric lights here and there. Then he
heard a light step, and the door was thrown open. He handed his card to
the maid, merely saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Grayson," and waited to be shown
into the parlor. But the girl, whose face he could not see, as the hall
was dimly lighted, held it in her hand, looking first at the name and
then at him. Harley, feeling a slight impatience, stepped inside and
said:
"I assure you that I am the real owner of it--that is, of the name on
the card."
"What proof have you?" she asked, calmly.
Harley had heard recently many phases of the servant-girl question, and
this development of it amused him. She must be one of those ignorant and
stubborn foreigners--a Swede or a German.
"Suppose you take the proof for granted and risk it," he said. "Mr. and
Mrs. Grayson can quickly decide for you, and tell you whether I am
right."
"They have gone out for a little walk," she said, still standing in the
way, "and so many strange people are coming here now that I don't know
whether to show you in or not. Maybe you are a reporter?"
"Well, and what then?"
"Or worse; perhaps you are a photographer."
"If I am, you can see that I have no camera."
"You might have a little one hidden under your overcoat."
"It is night, and cameras are used in the sunshine."
"We have electric lights."
Harley began to feel provoked. There were limits to perverseness, or
should be.
"I am expected to dinner by Mr. and Mrs. Grayson," he said. "Will you
kindly cease to keep me waiting and show me in? I shall not steal any of
the furniture."
The maid was annoyingly calm.
"Mr. and Mrs. Grayson have not yet returned from a little walk which
they were afraid to undertake until it grew dark," she said. "But I
think I'll risk it and show you in if you will hold up your hand and
swear that you haven't a camera hidden under your overcoat."
Harley's sense of humor came to his aid, and he held up his hand.
"I do solemnly swear," he said.
He tried to see the face of this maid, who showed a perversity that was
unequalled in an experience by no means limited, but she stood in the
duskiest part of the dim hall, and he failed. He knew merely that she
was tall and slender, and when she turned to lead the way he heard a
faint sound like the light tinkle of a suppressed laugh. Harley started,
and his face flushed with anger. He had encountered often those who
tried to snub him, and usually he had been able to take care of himself,
but to be laughed at by a housemaid was a new thing in his experience,
and he was far from liking it.
She indicated a small parlor with a wave of her hand and said:
"You can go in there and wait. You have promised not to steal the
furniture, and, as the room contains only a piano, a table, and some
chairs, all of which are too big to be hidden under your overcoat, I
think that you will keep your promise."
She sped lightly away, leaving Harley trembling so much with amazement
and anger that he forgot for at least two minutes to sit down. When he
took off his overcoat he murmured: "Before Mr. Grayson thinks of ruling
the United States he should discipline his own household."
The house was quiet; he heard no one stirring anywhere. The light from
an electric lamp in the street shone into the parlor, and by its rays he
saw Mr. and Mrs. Grayson coming up the street. Then the maid had told
the truth about the "little walk," and he was early.
He leaned back in his chair and watched the pair as they approached
their own house. Evidently they had stolen these few minutes in the dark
to be alone with each other, and Harley sympathized with them, because
it would be a long time before the wife could claim again that her
husband was her own. They entered a side-gate, passed through the lawn,
and a minute later were welcoming Harley.
"We did not expect to be gone so long," said Mrs. Grayson; "but we see
that you have found the right place."
"Oh yes," said Harley; "a maid showed me in." Then he added: "I am very
glad, indeed, to have been invited here, but if you want any more
privacy I don't think you should have asked me; my kind will soon be
down upon you like a swarm of locusts."
Mr. Grayson laughed and took a stack of telegraph envelopes six inches
thick from a table.
"You are right, Mr. Harley," he said. "They will be here to-morrow,
ready for the start. There are more than twenty applications for space
on our train, and all of them shall have it. I don't think that the boys
and I shall quarrel."
Mrs. Grayson excused herself, and presently they were summoned to
dinner. Stepping out of a dusky hall into a brilliantly lighted room,
Harley was dazzled for a moment, but he found himself bowing when she
introduced him to "My niece, Miss Morgan, of Idaho." Then he saw a tall,
slender girl, with a singularly frank and open countenance, and a hand
extended to him as familiarly as if she had known him all her life.
Harley, although he had not expected the offer of the hand, took it and
gave it one little shake. He felt an unaccountable embarrassment. He saw
a faint twinkle in the girl's eye, as if she found something amusing in
his appearance, and he feared that he had made a mistake in coming in
evening-dress. He flushed a little and felt a slight resentment towards
Mrs. Grayson, because she had not told him of this niece; but he was
relieved for the moment by an introduction to the third guest, Mrs.
Boyle, an elderly lady, also a relative, but more distantly so.
Mrs. Boyle merely bowed, and at once returned Harley to the custody of
the niece from Idaho, of whom he felt some fear, her singular freedom of
manner and the faint twinkle that still lurked in her eye putting him on
edge. Moreover, he was assigned to a seat next to her, and, as obviously
he was expected to entertain her, his fear increased. This girl was not
only Western, but Far Western, and, in his opinion, there was none so
wise who could tell what she would do or say. He repeated to himself the
word "Idaho," and it sounded remote, rough, and wild.
"Uncle James tells me that you are a correspondent, the representative
of the New York _Gazette_," she said.
"Yes."
"And that you are to go with him on the campaign and write brilliant