The Ramrodders Part 17

But that he had unloosed a bottle imp in his own family would not have occurred to the old man, even after he had listened, for he still had the cynical belief that circ.u.mstances must control, interest convert, and personal profit kill the most glowing ardor in reform.

Lacking the gift of divination, Thelismer Thornton watched the rapid development of this bottle imp with much complacency. "Whispering"

Urban Cobb brought him reports from the field. Talleyrand Sylvester was trying to place bets on Harlan Thornton, but there were no takers. It was even stated that Enoch Dudley was finding it hard work to secure pledges enough to warrant his running as an independent candidate.

Harlan Thornton, looking in from the outside, had found politics, as managed _for_ him, an abhorrent mess. Now, plunged in, he was embracing his opportunity, and finding good in the contest.

On the other hand, Harlan Thornton, making his own plea and his own pledges as a candidate, was embraced by the voters. He was not a mere legatee forced on them by a boss--he was speaking for himself, and the sincerity of the young man made itself felt.

At the end of the appointed two days he knew that his prospects were safe. One of the other towns in the district and three of the plantations had endorsed his name in caucus. If Thelismer Thornton had been responsible for his candidacy, so was his own personality responsible for this clearing away of difficulties. He felt his self-respect returning. That cruel wound to his pride was healing.

He was riding home in the evening of the second day, past the end of the long bridge, finding comfort in this thought.

A white figure, framed in the black mouth of the bridge, startled rider and horse.

"It's only Clare," she said. "I heard you were up the river to-day, and I've been waiting for you."

He rode closer. It was a new and strange Clare who was revealed to him in the dim light. She was gowned and gloved, and her broad hat hid her boyish curls. She walked out of the gloom and leaned against the bridge rail.

"Ah, the little playmate did ride away from me forever!" he cried, looking her up and down. "But this young lady--why, she takes my breath away!" He took off his hat and bowed to the pommel.

"You needn't make fun of me, Mr. Harlan Thornton," she returned, crisply. "And a real young lady wouldn't come down in this bridge and wait for you. I wanted to tell you I'm glad. I hear all about your success. When I was a little girl I didn't want you to go away and be a big man. But now that I'm a woman I'm glad you're going. I wanted you to realize, Mr. Harlan Thornton, that I'm a woman, so if you'll reach down your hand I'll shake it and congratulate you."

He took her little hand in both his own.

"You were a real little woman two days ago right here in this place," he said, gratefully. "I didn't realize it at that moment, but it was what you said to me that put some real sense into my head, after all. It set me to thinking."

"What kind of laws are you going to make?" she demanded.

"I don't think I'll have much to do with making laws, Clare. All I can do is listen and try to be on the right side when the voting comes."

"Can't you make a law to oblige old men to stop fighting each other,"

she demanded, petulantly--"fighting each other, and making all their folks uncomfortable?"

"I think it would be a good law, especially in one case I know about.

But sometimes the best laws don't get pa.s.sed."

"I'll come down and make a speech for it. You said I talked like old folks the other evening."

"A speech from you would convert them all," he returned, indulging her in this childish banter. "You see, you converted me with only a few words, and I was a hard case just then."

"Then I'll come down to your legislature and we'll make it into a law, and the punishment shall be, if they don't make up and allow their folks to be comfortable and friends, they must have their old heads b.u.mped together--b.u.mped harder and harder till they shake hands and make up and live happy ever after. Old folks haven't any business to stay mad. They won't get into heaven if they do."

She withdrew her hand, and went away into the black mouth of the bridge.

"That's all, Big Boy!" she cried. "It was some business, you see, that I waited to talk over with you. And a grown-up young lady mustn't stay after her business is finished."

"But I'll walk home with you!" he called.

"No, I'll not be frightened at the dark until I get old enough to be called an old maid," she said, mischievously. "Good-night!"

He waited by the side of the river until he saw her white figure safely through the dark bridge, and on its way up the quiet hillside past the church. Then he rode to "The Barracks," his mind dwelling a bit more particularly on the vagaries of womankind than it ever had before.

He joined his grandfather on the porch after he had eaten his supper alone.

"The fences, so I hear, Harlan, will pa.s.s the inspection of the most expert fence-viewers," he chuckled. "So I suppose you'll be ready to leave with me to-morrow."

"If you think it's necessary to have me go anywhere with you, grandfather, I'll go."

There was silence for a time. The young man was waiting. The old man smoked placidly.

"Is there any reason why you can't tell me where we are going?" inquired Harlan.

"No especial reason--only I'll be wasting time telling you. You'll see for yourself. We'll meet a big man or so--that's all!"

"The man I'd like to meet," began the young man, fervently, "is one that every young chap in this country can follow and ought to follow, if he's got red blood and honesty in him. I wish I could meet him now when I'm starting out, if only to shake his hand."

"You'd better not meet any man so long as he's wearing a halo, where you're concerned. You'll find political halos, bub, when you get too near to 'em, something like restaurant doughnuts--holes surrounded by poor cooking. Better keep away a spell. That's why I'm not going to tell you where we're going--not just now. I might go to cracking up the man too much. I'll let you build your own halo for him--and then maybe you can eat your own cooking, provided you find the halo a doughnut."

They left Fort Canibas the next morning, travelling humbly by mail stage to the railroad terminus. The branch line took them to a populous junction, and by that time Harlan Thornton began to appreciate that his grandfather was rather more of a figure in State politics than he had dreamed. He had made many trips with him through the State in years past, but never before when men understood, some dimly, some fearfully, that a political crisis was on. Thelismer Thornton's seat in the train, his room at the hotel, was besieged by those who respectfully solicited his opinions. They seemed to realize that some of the wisdom of the fathers in State politics, of the patriarchs with whom he had trained, had fallen to him by natural inheritance. But though he listened patiently, he said but little. Harlan noticed, however, that he did take especial pains to deprecate some of the suppressive movements advised by the more hot-headed managers.

"Let things swing as they're going," he advised. "She'll take care of herself, give her free run right now. But you can't pinch up a line gale by putting a clothespin on the nose of the tempest. Let her snort! Brace the party and face it like a hitching--post! Don't try to choke off Arba Spinney. Let him froth."

His grandfather was so insistent on this point that Harlan took notice of its frequent repet.i.tion and the earnestness with which it was pressed. He began to understand that some plan lay back of his grandfather's silence to him and to others as to his private reasons for this appeal. He began to take lively interest in the ramifications of practical politics as played by the hand of a master.

CHAPTER XI

A MAN FROM THE SHADOWS

There was a provoking flavor of mystery about Thelismer Thornton's early movements the next day. His grandson became still more interested. This element in politics appealed to him, for he was young.

They left the city by an early train. The Duke secluded himself and his grandson in a drawing-room of the car.

It was an express--train which did not stop at way stations. But when the conductor came for the tickets the old man inquired whether orders had been issued to have the train held up at a certain siding.

"Yes, sir, to leave two pa.s.sengers," said the conductor. He was courteous, but he winked at the old politician with the air of one who thought he understood something. He exhibited his telegram from the dispatcher. "Can't be much politics there, Mr. Thornton," he remarked, by way of jest.

"I'm on a fis.h.i.+ng-trip," explained the Duke, blandly. And the conductor, who knew that the siding had no fis.h.i.+ng water within ten miles of it, went away chuckling in order to applaud the joke of a man of power.

A few hours later the two were let off at the siding and the train hurried on.

There was a farm-house near the railroad. They ate dinner with the farmer and his wife, who seemed to realize that they were entertaining some one out of the ordinary, and were much fl.u.s.tered thereby.

Especially did the farmer struggle with his vague memory of personalities, asking many round-about questions and "supposing" many possibilities that the Duke placidly neglected to confirm.

The only definite information the farmer received was that the big elderly man wanted himself and his companion conveyed to Burnside Village by wagon, starting in the late afternoon.