The Candidate: A Political Romance
in the face, and he was also surprised at the fact that he resisted it.
He accounted for it by his theory that Churchill could not help being
mean at times, and, therefore, was not wholly responsible. So he
contented himself with saying:
"Churchill, you are a fool now and then, but you never know it."
Then he walked carelessly away before Churchill had made up his mind
whether to get angry or to return a sarcastic reply. Churchill liked to
use sarcasm, as it made him feel superior.
But Harley was much disturbed by Churchill's statement. Sylvia was going
away, and her stay of two weeks might lengthen into months or become
permanent. And Mr. Plummer was going with her. Harley's own absence
would put him at a great disadvantage, and for a moment he suspected
that this stop at Salt Lake City was an artful movement on the part of
the "King," but reflection made him acquit Mr. Plummer, first, because
the "King" was too honest to do such a thing, and, second, because he
was not subtle enough to think of it.
While he was planning what he would do to face this unforeseen
development, a boy from the hotel handed him a note. Harley's heart
jumped when he saw that it was in the handwriting of Sylvia Morgan, and
it fluttered still further when she asked to see him in the hotel parlor
for a few minutes. He was apprehensive, too, because if she had anything
good to tell him she certainly would not send for him.
Sylvia was sitting in the parlor beside a window that looked out upon a
vast range of snow-covered mountains, rising like the serrated teeth of
a saw, and, although she heard his footsteps, she did not turn her face
until Harley stood beside her. Then she said, irrelevantly:
"Isn't that a grand view!"
"You did not send for me to tell me that," said Harley, with a certain
protecting tenderness in his tone, because what he took to be the
sadness in her face appealed to his manly qualities.
"No, I did not. I have been thinking over what we said to each other
when we were coming back from Crow's Wing, and I have concluded that it
was wrong."
"Why was it wrong? I love you, and I had the right to tell you so."
"No, you did not. You would have had were I free, but I am promised to
another. I was wrong to let you speak; I was wrong to listen to you."
"I will not admit it," said Harley, doggedly, "because Mr. Plummer is
going to give you up. He will see that he ought not to hold you to this
promise."
She smiled sadly.
"I must be loyal to him," she said, "and before starting for Salt Lake
City I want to tell you that you must not again speak to me of this."
"But I shall write to you in Salt Lake."
"You must not write of this. If you do, I will not open another one of
your letters."
"I promise not to write to you of love, but I make no promise after
that. You are not going from Salt Lake to Idaho? This is not an excuse
to leave us for good?"
Her eyes wavered before his. It may be that she had intended to abandon
the campaign permanently, but, with his straight and masterful glance
demanding an honest answer, she could not say it.
"Yes, I will come back," she said, and then, with a sudden burst of
feeling: "Oh, I like your group; I like all of you. This great journey
has been something fresh and wonderful to me, and I do not want to leave
it!"
"I thought not," said Harley, with returning confidence, "and I am glad
that you sent for me here, because it has given me a chance to tell you
that, while you mean to keep your promise, I also mean to keep mine.
Mr. Plummer will yet yield you up. You are mine, not his, you know you
are!"
He bent suddenly and kissed her lightly on the forehead, and every nerve
in her tingled at the first touch of the lips of the man whom she loved.
Yet with the sense of right, of loyalty to another, strong within her,
she was about to protest, but he was gone, and the first kiss still
tingled on her forehead. She felt as if he had put there an invisible
seal, and that now in very truth she belonged to him.
The two ladies under the escort of Mr. Plummer left an hour later for
Salt Lake City, and everybody was at the station to see them go. Mrs.
Grayson was quiet as usual, and Sylvia was noticeably subdued, a fact
which most of them ascribed to the tragedy of Flying Cloud and her
coming absence of two weeks from a most interesting campaign.
"You ought to cheer up, Miss Sylvia," said Hobart, "because you are not
half as unlucky as we are. You can spare us much more easily than we can
spare you."
"I am really sorry that I must go," she said, sincerely.
"But you will come back to us?"
"I have promised to do so."
"That is enough; we know that you will keep a promise, Miss Sylvia."
Sylvia at first would not look at Harley. His kiss still burned upon her
brow, and she yet felt that it was his seal, his claim upon her. And her
conscience hurt her for it, because there was "King" Plummer, strong,
protecting, and overflowing with love for her and faith in her. But as
she was telling them all good-bye she was forced to say it to Harley,
too, in his turn, and when he took her hand he pressed it ever so
little, and said, for her ear only:
"I am still hoping. I refuse to give you up."
She retreated quickly into the Salt Lake car to hide her blush.
When they saw the last smoke of the train melting into the blue sky,
Harley and Mr. Heathcote walked back to the hotel together. A strong
friendship had grown up between these two, and each valued the other's
opinion.
"A fine woman," said Mr. Heathcote, looking towards the silky blue of
the sky where the smoke had been.
"Yes, Mrs. Grayson has always impressed me as a woman of great dignity
and strength," said Harley, purposely misunderstanding him.
"That is apparent, but I was not speaking of her. I meant Miss Morgan;
she seems to me to be of a rare and noble type. The man who gets her,
whoever he may be, ought to think himself lucky."
Harley noticed that Mr. Heathcote did not take it for granted that
"King" Plummer would get her, but he said nothing in reply.
XVII
THE SPELLBINDER
An hour after the smoke of the Salt Lake train was lost in the blue sky,
the special car bearing the candidate whirled off in another direction,
deep into the wonderland of the mountains. Now white peaks were on one
side and mighty chasms on the other; then both chasm and peak were lost
behind them, and they shot through an irrigated valley, brown with the
harvest, neat villages snuggling in the centre. But always, whether near
or far, the mountains were around them, blue on the middle slopes, white
at the crests, unless those crests were lost in the clouds and mists.
The people in the car were more quiet than usual, the candidate absorbed
in somewhat sad thoughts, the state politicians respecting his silence,
and the correspondents planning their despatches. But all missed Mrs.
Grayson and Miss Morgan, who, whether they talked or not, always
contributed brightness and a gentler note to their long campaign. "King"
Plummer, too, with his loud laugh and his large, sincere manner, left a
vacancy. Every one felt that there was now nothing ahead but
business--cold, hard business--and so it proved.
Every campaign enters upon successive phases, in which the contestants
advance, through politeness and consideration, first to wary feint and
parry, and then to the stern death-grip of the battle which can mean
nothing but the victory of one and the defeat of the other. They were
now approaching this last stage, and great piles of Eastern newspapers,
which reached them in Utah, reflected all the progress of the combat.
It was obvious to all of those skilled readers and interpreters that the
breach within the party was widening, and that this breach could become
a chasm before the election. The _Monitor_ and other papers, the chosen
or self-appointed champions of vested interests, were almost openly in
revolt; in Harley's mind their course amounted to the same thing; they
printed in their news columns many things derogatory to Grayson, and
likely to shatter public faith in his judgment, and in nearly all of
them appeared signed contributions from members of the wealthy faction
led by the Honorable Mr. Goodnight, attacking every speech made by the
candidate, and intimating that he was a greater danger to the country
than the nominee of the other side.
"The split will have to come," was Harley's muttered comment, "and the
sooner the better for us."
The journals of the rival party were a singular contrast to those of
Grayson's side, as they expressed unbounded and sincere confidence. In
all that had occurred they could not read anything but victory for them,
and Harley was bound to admit that their exultation was justified.
But amid all these troubles the candidate preserved his remarkable
amiability of disposition, and Harley witnessed another proof that he
was a man first and a statesman afterwards.
The train was continually thronged with local politicians and others
anxious to see Mr. Grayson, and at a little station in a plain that
seemed to have no end they picked up three men, one of whom attracted
Harley's notice at once. He was young, only twenty four or five, with a
bright, quick, eager face, and he was not dressed in the usual careless
Western fashion. His trousers were carefully creased, his white shirt
was well-laundered, and his tie was neat. But he wore that strange
combination--not so strange west of the Mississippi--a sack-coat and a
silk-hat at the same time.
The youth was not at all shy, and he early obtained an introduction to
Mr. Grayson. Harley thus learned that his name was Moore--Charles Moore,
or Charlie Moore, as those with him called him. Most men in the West,
unless of special prominence, when presented to Jimmy Grayson, shook
hands warmly, exchanged a word or two on any convenient topic, and then
gave way to others, but this fledgling sought to hold him in long
converse on the most vital questions of the campaign.
"That was a fine speech of yours that you made at Butte, Mr. Grayson,"
he said, in the most impulsive manner, "and I endorse every word of it,
but are you sure that what you said about Canadian reciprocity will help
our party in the great wheat states, such as Minnesota and the Dakotas?"
The candidate stared at him at first in surprise and some displeasure,
but in a moment or two his gaze was changed into a kindly smile. He read
well the youth before him, his amusing confidence, his eagerness, and
his self-importance, that had not yet received a rude check.
"There is something in what you say, Mr. Moore," replied Jimmy Grayson,
in that tone absolutely without condescension that made every man his
friend; "but I have considered it, and I think it is better for me to
stick to my text. Besides, I am right, you know."
"Ah, yes, but that is not the point," exclaimed young Mr. Moore; "one
may be right, but one might keep silent on a doubtful point that is
likely to influence many votes. And there are several things in your
speeches, Mr. Grayson, with which some of us do not agree. I shall have
occasion to address the public concerning them--as you know, a number of
us are to speak with you while you are passing through Utah."
There was a flash in Jimmy Grayson's eye, but Harley could not tell
whether it expressed anger or amused contempt. It was gone in a moment,
however, and the candidate again was looking at the fledgling with a
kindly, smiling, and tolerant gaze. But Churchill thrust his elbow
against Harley.
"Oh, the child of the free and bounding West!" he murmured. "What
innocence, and what a sense of majesty and power!"
Harley did not deign a reply, but he made the acquaintance, by-and-by,