The Candidate: A Political Romance
their friends had found a pretext upon which to take drastic action, and
they were about to take it.
XX
THE GREAT PHILIPSBURG CONFERENCE
If ever you go to Philipsburg, which is in Wyoming, not far from the
Montana line, you will hear the people proclaim the greatness of the
town in which they live. You expect this sort of thing in the Far West,
and you are prepared for it, but you will be surprised at the nature of
the Philipsburg boast. Its proud inhabitants will not tell you that it
is bound to be the largest city between the Missouri and the coast, they
will not assert that since the horizon touches the earth at an equal
distance on all sides of the town, it is, therefore, the natural centre
of the world; but they will tell you stories of the Great Philipsburg
Conference, and some of them will not be far from the truth.
Philipsburg is but a hamlet, fed by an irrigation ditch that leads the
life-giving waters down from a distant mountain, and it has neither the
beauty of nature nor that given by the hand of man, but the people will
point importantly to the square wooden hotel of only two stories, and
tell you that there occurred the great crisis in the most famous and
picturesque Presidential campaign ever waged in the United States; they
will even lead you to the very room in which the big talk occurred, and
say, in lowered voices, that the furniture is exactly the same, and
arranged just as it was on that momentous night when the history of the
world might have been changed. In this room the people of Philipsburg
have a reverential air, and there is cause for it.
The affair did not begin at Philipsburg--it merely had its climax
there--but far away on the dusty plains of eastern Washington, where the
wheat grows so tall, and it bubbled and seethed as the candidate and his
party travelled eastward, stopping and speaking many times by the way.
It was all about the tariff, a dry subject in itself, but, as tall oaks
from little acorns grow, so a dry subject often can make interesting
people do interesting things.
At the convention that nominated Mr. Grayson for the Presidency the
subject of the tariff had been left somewhat vague in the platform, not
from deliberate purpose, but merely through the drift of events; the
question had not interested the people greatly in some time; other
things connected with both the foreign and internal policy of the
government, particularly the continued occupation of the Philippines and
a projected new banking system, were more to the fore; but as the
campaign proceeded certain events caused the tariff also to be brought
into issue and to receive a large share of public attention.
Now, a clever man--above all, one as clever as Jimmy Grayson--could
avoid giving a decided opinion upon this subject. It is party creed for
a candidate to stand upon his platform, and, as the platform contained
no tariff plank, he was not obliged to take any stand upon the tariff.
Such a course would seem good politics, too, but Harley knew that Mr.
Grayson favored a reduction of the tariff and a liberal measure of
reciprocity with neighboring states, and he dreaded the time when the
candidate should declare himself upon the subject; he did not see how he
could do it without losing many votes, because there was a serious
difference of view inside his own party. And Harley's dread grew out of
his intense desire to see Mr. Grayson elected. His hero was not
perfect--no man was; there were some important truths which he did not
yet know, but he was honest, able, and true, and he came nearer to being
the ideal candidate than any other man whom he had ever seen. Above all,
he represented the principles which Harley, from the bottom of his soul,
wished to triumph.
The fight had been begun against great odds, against powerful interests
consolidated in a battle-line that at first seemed impervious, but by
tremendous efforts they had made progress; the vast energy and the
winning personality of Mr. Grayson were a strong weapon, and Harley was
gradually sensible that the people were rallying around him in
increasing numbers, and by people he did not merely mean the masses of
the lowest, those who never raise themselves; Harley was never such a
demagogue as to think that a man was bad because he had achieved
something in the world and had prospered; he had too honest and clear a
mind to put a premium upon incapacity and idleness.
Lately he had begun to have hope--a feeling that Mr. Grayson might be
elected despite the "King" Plummer defection was growing upon him, if
they could only abide by the issues already formed. But at the best it
would be a fight to the finish, with the chances in favor of the other
man. Yet his heart was infused with hope until this hateful tariff
question began to raise its head. Harley knew that a declaration upon it
would split the party, or at least would cut from it a fragment big
enough to cause defeat. He devoutly hoped that they would steer clear of
this dangerous rock, but he was not so sure of Jimmy Grayson, who, after
all, was his own pilot. And his amiability did not alter the fact that
he had a strong hand.
Harley at first heard the mutterings of the thunder only from afar; it
was being debated in the East among the great manufacturing cities, but
as yet the West was untouched by the storm. Mr. Heathcote, the Eastern
committeeman, called his attention to it after they had passed the
mountain-range that divides western Washington from eastern Washington.
Harley was looking out of the window at the rippling brown plain, which
he was told was one of the best wheat countries in the world. "At
first," said his informant, a pioneer, "we thought it was a desert, and
we thought so, too, for a long time afterwards; it looked like loose
sand, and the wind actually blew the soil about as if it were dust. Now,
and without irrigation, it produces its thirty bushels of wheat per acre
season after season."
Harley was thinking of this brilliant transformation, when the
committeeman, who was sitting just behind him, suddenly changed the
channel of his thoughts.
"I have here a Walla Walla paper that will interest you, Mr. Harley," he
said. "In fact, it is likely to interest us all. The despatch is
somewhat meagre, but it will suffice."
He put his finger on the top head-line of the first page, and Harley
read: "The Tariff an Issue." He took the paper and read the article
carefully. The debate had occurred before an immense audience in Madison
Square Garden, in New York City, and according to the despatch it had
excited the greatest interest, a statement that Harley could easily
believe.
"I was hoping that we would be spared this," he said, as he laid the
paper down and his face became grave. "Why do they bring it up? It's not
in the platform and it should not be made an issue, at least not now."
"But it is an issue, after all," replied Mr. Heathcote, "and I am
surprised that the enemy did not raise the question sooner. They must
have had some very bad management. They are united on this question, and
we are not. If we are forced to come into line of battle on it, then we
are divided and they are not; don't you see their advantage?"
"Yes, it is manifest," replied Harley, gloomily. Then, after a little
thought, he began to brighten.
"It is not necessary for Jimmy Grayson to declare himself."
"He will, if he is asked to do so."
"But we are away out here in the Western mountains, out of immediate
touch with the great centres of population. These thinly settled states
are doubtful, those more populous are not. Here they are not interested
in the tariff either one way or the other; the subject has scarcely been
mentioned on our Western tour; why can we not still keep it in the
dark?"
"But, I tell you, if the issue is presented to Jimmy Grayson, he is sure
to speak his mind about it."
"It is for us to see that it is not presented. I don't think it will be
done by any of the local population, and we must exercise a censorship
over the press. We must try to keep from him all newspapers containing
accounts of the tariff debates; we must not let him know that the issue
is before the public off there in the East. There is only a month more
of the campaign, and, while it is not likely that we can suppress the
matter entirely, we may keep it down until it is too late to do much
harm."
"The plan isn't a bad one," said Mr. Heathcote; "but we've got to take
everybody into the plot. Mr. Grayson alone is to be left in ignorance."
"They are all his devoted personal friends except Churchill, of the
_Monitor_, and I can bully him into silence."
Harley's face flushed slightly as he made this assertion with emphasis.
Mr. Heathcote, who was learning much these days, smiled as he observed
him.
"Mr. Harley," he said, "no one could doubt the reality of your wishes
for Mr. Grayson's success."
All went willingly into the little conspiracy against the extension of
Mr. Grayson's knowledge, even Churchill, under the whip and spur of
Harley's will, promising a sullen silence. The case itself presented
aspects that stirred these men, calling as it did for an alertness of
mind and delicacy of handling that appealed to their sense of
responsibility; hence it aroused their interest, which in turn begat a
desire to succeed.
But Harley, as well as Mr. Heathcote and the others, knew very well that
it was not the enemy alone who had raised this new and, as they all
feared, fatal issue; even if they had not read it in the despatches, the
hand of the minority within their own party was too clearly visible. In
the newspapers that reached them constant allusions were made to Mr.
Goodnight, Mr. Crayon, and their associates, who were deeply interested
in the maintenance of the tariff, and who, it was said, would force Mr.
Grayson to pledge himself to its support; this, it was predicted, they
could easily do, as it was obvious that he could not win without the
help of this minority.
Harley knew that the Goodnight faction now intended to force the
issue--that is, either to subject Mr. Grayson or to ruin him, and he saw
that the affair would require the most delicate handling; only that and
the best of fortune could postpone the issue long enough.
They took Sylvia into their confidence, both by necessity and choice,
but they were rather surprised to find that in this case she did not
believe in diplomacy.
"If I were Uncle James," she said, with indignant anger, "I would tell
them to go to--well, well, where a man would tell them to go to, and I
would not be polite about it, either."
Harley laughed at her heat, although he liked it, too.
"And then you'd lose the election," he said.
"I'd lose it, if I must, but at least I'd save my independence and
self-respect in doing so. Is Uncle James the nominee, or is he not? If
he is the nominee, shouldn't he say what he ought to do?"
"Perhaps, but it isn't politics; even if he were elected he wouldn't be
absolutely free; no ruler ever was, whether president or king."
But she clung to her opinion.
It was no easy matter to hide the tariff issue from Jimmy Grayson, who
was exceedingly watchful of all things about him, despite his great
labors in the campaign; yet his associates were aided to some extent by
the rather meagre character of the newspapers which now reached them,
newspapers published in small towns, and therefore unable to pay for
long despatches from the East. But even these were censored with the
most jealous care; if they contained anything about the hot tariff
discussion off there in the Atlantic States, they disappeared before
they could reach the candidate. All the news was inspected with the most
rigid care, just as if the real feeling of his subjects was being hidden