The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot
“I don't claim him.”
“But you said you wanted him. You said you wanted to hang him like a
dead crow in the political bean-patch.”
“Merely momentary insanity on my part, Richard. There seems to have been
a little run of it in this state, and when Judge Warren caught it and
gave it to me I talked like a fool, I suppose. But you must remember
that a polecat can give the most level-headed man an almighty start--and
then the level-headed man walks out around the polecat and goes on his
way very calmly.”
“But don't you consider that Farr is a dangerous man?”
The colonel held up his pudgy hand and snapped a finger into his palm.
“He amounts to that in front of the muzzle of a ten-inch gun.”
“But I went ahead after what you said. I have put out time and money.
I hired a detective. I figured I was doing a good job for the machine.”
Young Dodd's voice trembled and disappointment was etched into his
anxious features.
“Well, what have you found out?”
“I can't tell you. It's another man's secret, and he's got to have cash
or a guaranty before he'll come across with it.”
“What's the price?”
Richard Dodd exhibited confusion and hesitation. “I made some promises
to him, uncle, because I know what has been paid in the past for things
which didn't seem to be as important as this--judging from the way you
and the judge talked. So I--well, I--”
“Price, price, I say! I'm used to hearing money talked,” harked the
colonel. “I've got to get back into that convention. Out with it!” He
made two steps toward the door.
“Five thousand!” blurted the young man.
Colonel Dodd whirled and whipped off his eye-glasses so as to give his
nephew the full effect of his contemptuous fury.
“Why, you young lunatic, I wouldn't pay that price if they were going
to elect Farr the governor of this state, and make him a present of the
Consolidated, and you could bring proof that he is the reincarnation of
Judas Iscariot.”
A roar of voices and a thunder of thudding feet announced that the
Senator had finished.
Colonel Dodd hurried away.
The nephew found Detective Mullaney in the alley behind the auditorium,
and the young man's air of discomfiture and the sagging shake of his
head told the story of his errand without words.
“If they're getting too mean in their old age to hand me a fair price
for a good job then let 'em get licked,” declared the detective. “You
stuck to our original figure of five hundred dollars, didn't you?”
The young man looked over the detective's head and lied. “Five
hundred--that's what I told him.”
“And he wouldn't consider it?”
“Something has braced him so that he isn't afraid of the man any longer.
Perhaps he has got a line of his own on him. It doesn't seem to be worth
anything any longer. Suppose you tell me just who he is and what about
him?”
“Not on your life!” retorted Detective Mullaney, sharply. “I ain't
saying anything against your family, of course, but when I give a Dodd
something for nothing--even a hint--it will be when I'm talking in my
sleep and don't know it. But I'll tell you what I _will_ do. Give me my
two hundred and fifty and I'll hand you the whole proposition and you
may go ahead and make what you can of it. I swear to you again that I've
got it on him. Seeing what he did to _you_, you ought to feel that the
story is worth that much of a gamble even for private purposes.”
Dodd hesitated, put his hand in his pocket--then withdrew it empty.
“No, Mullaney. What's the good? He says Farr isn't dangerous, and has
turned down the whole thing flat. I may as well keep my money. If you
want to sit on the platform, come along with me. I can find a place for
you.”
Detective Mullaney followed willingly, for he knew that people were
fairly piling over one another in an attempt to get into the hall by the
main entrance.
He sat down in one of the square chairs on the platform and searched
with his sharp little eyes until he found the face of Walker Farr in the
terraced rows of humanity. It was not difficult to locate him, for
his physique made him loom among other men and he was posted under the
banner which marked the location of Moosac County.
The detective found the eyes of the young man directed toward the
gallery with such intentness and for so long a time that he endeavored
to trace that earnest scrutiny to its object. The detective was not
exactly certain, but he finally picked out a very handsome young lady
who occupied a front chair in the balcony; she seemed to be returning
the young man's intent regard.
“You have the reputation of knowing all the pretty girls in the state,”
whispered Mullaney, drawing Dodd's attention with a nudge. “Who is that
up there in the gallery, front row, fifth from the aisle; blue feather,
and so handsome she hurts my eyes?”
To have his attention drawn thus rudely to the one girl in all the world
gave Dodd a sensation which he did not relish--and his face showed his
astonished resentment.
“That is Miss Kilgour, who used to be my uncle's secretary. Why do you
want to know who she is?”
“Because there seems to be something very especial on between her and
the man we thought was worth five hundred dollars to us.”
“That young lady, Mr. Mullaney, is engaged to me,” stated Dodd, acridly.
“You'd better drop the topic.”
But he did not display either the joy or the pride of the accepted
suitor as he looked up at her.
“I'll simply say that you're a mighty lucky chap and I congratulate
you,” returned Mr. Mullaney, hiding his confusion by getting very
busy with newspaper clippings and papers which he drew from his breast
pocket.
The detective was wholly unconscious of the irony of that remark. But it
brought a flush of shame to Dodd's cheek, for the sorrow and sting and
ignominy of that part which he had played had not departed from his soul
nor did even the fervor of his passion for her help him forgive himself;
he stared at her guiltily as the thief gloats over his loot and is
conscious of his degradation without feeling sufficient contrition to
give up the object he has stolen.
For he remembered with fresh and poignant recollection the circumstances
under which that girl had given her promise to him so recently: she had
stood over a mother who had abased herself before them, had cast herself
down and had writhed and screamed and implored her to consent; and the
mother was driven to do this by the lash of his threats. He had stood
there and demanded, and the woman on the floor had confessed her
frailty, owned to her misdeeds, acknowledged her debt, and had
frantically begged her daughter to sacrifice herself.
The girl had given her “Yes,” paying the debt with herself; but her eyes
had been wide and dry and her face was white and set and she had looked
past the man to whom she promised herself when she had murmured that
promise.
Dodd swept cold sweat from his forehead as he remembered; he found
almost the same expression now on her face as she gazed down on Walker
Farr, who stared back at her anxiously, perceiving a grief that he could
not understand.
In that vast assemblage those three, thus wordlessly, no one marking
them, fought a tragic battle of hopeless love with their eyes.
Detective Mullaney pored over his papers. “By gad,” he mused, “I haven't
kept my books all this time for nothing. I know my card. I've got him
right--it's dead open and shut. But I swear he doesn't look the part
he played, even if the description does fit him. Well, law is law! If
I can't sell him to Symonds Dodd, I'll find out how much those will pay
who do want him.”
The routine of the great convention had been proceeding.
“And the gentleman from Danton, Mr. Gray, moves that we do now proceed
with the nomination of a candidate for governor,” intoned the chairman
in sing-song tones.
XXVIII
THE MAN WHO WAS NOT AFRAID
One after the other, dignified and decorous, three men of the Big
Machine, representing three of the large counties of the state, came
upon the platform and put in nomination the name of Governor Harwood to
succeed himself.
These speakers had been carefully selected. They were elderly
gentlemen whose reputations, tones, and demeanor bespoke safe and sane
conservatism. They took occasion to rebuke the new spirit of unrest
in the old party, and their tremolo notes of protest were extremely
effective. While these men talked, a listener was compelled to feel that
rebellion against the established order of things could only be rank
sedition; for many years have these arts of oratory been employed to
appeal to the average man's party loyalty; voters have listened and
have been ashamed to revolt--as a son dutifully bows his head under a
father's reprimand and responds to a father's appeal--for, after all,
in matters where appeal is made to loyalty the human emotions are not so
very complex.
The elderly gentlemen put great stress on the fact that not in twenty
years had a faithful governor been refused the honor of renomination for
a second term. Would their convention deny that compliment to Governor
Harwood? It was the same appeal that had been made for twoscore years
in order to perpetuate the dynasty of gubernatorial figureheads who had
obeyed the ring's orders.
Walker Farr heard _sotto voce_ murmurings of men in his vicinity. They
were men who had joined the new revolt and had stood bravely enough for
a change in county political managers. But these men revealed that
they were timorous about altering long party custom. They said, one
to another, that it would be going too far to refuse renomination to
Governor Harwood. It might split their party so widely that the rival
political party would be able to carry the state--and that would never
do.
Farr was in no wise surprised to hear these murmurings.
He had sounded men before that convention as he had traveled about the
state.
He had found them ready to begin house-cleaning in the smaller affairs
of county management, and by assault on the little wheels of the gear
of the machine which had so long ground political grist; but they
were unwilling to tempt fate by venturing on such a general overturn as
putting up for governor a man who had not been selected and groomed for
high office during the accustomed term of apprenticeship--legislature,
senate, and council.
He realized how well the great ring had intrenched itself in absolute
power by appealing to conservatism in matters of safe men for high
office. Safe men meant those who protected the big interests and saw
that no raids were made on capital--no matter how many abuses capital
might be fostering.
Mumble and grumble all about him, and men's faces showing that they were
agreeing with the tremolo appeals of the elderly orators!
Even the Honorable Archer Converse, his legal cautiousness governing his
opinion, knowing the temper of conditions in his state, had emphatically
discouraged Farr when the young man had timidly questioned him in regard
to the advisability of securing a candidate for governor outside the
ring's dynasty.
Mr. Converse's discouragement of such hopes would have been even more
emphatic had he ever dreamed that this apostle whom he had sent out into
the field was coddling the audacious hope that Mr. Converse himself by
some miracle might be put into the governor's chair.
The orators proceeded, one after the other. They were applauded. They
retired.
Walker Farr was oppressed by the lugubrious conviction that he was the
only man in that great assemblage who felt enough of the zealot's fire
to be willing to put all his hopes to the test.
He looked at the faces on the platform. There sat Colonel Dodd, wearing
his expression assumed for that day and date--smug political hypocrisy.
His henchmen winged out to right and left of him. They represented