Half a Rogue Part 43

He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophes till that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spoke of Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generally forget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progress rearranges principles and const.i.tutions, that what pa.s.sed as good statesmans.h.i.+p in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr.

Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a sudden commotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro.

"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger.

The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks.

Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted their seats. A thousand absurd conjectures pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth.

"Somebody's dropped dead!"

"Sit down in front! Sit down!"

"What's the matter?"

"Where are the police?"

"Put him out!"

"A fight!"

Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolph still paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and take away popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged by occult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. We are educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matter of a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the Stone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment.

Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way and that, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to use canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs were impervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many interfered that there was no interference.

It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these b.l.o.o.d.y conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled then and there.

McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly in the side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breaking the grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would have fallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up.

"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, white in the face.

"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington,"

replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed him aside so easily.

"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington; "but at any rate there'll be a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bring these dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has been licked soundly. You ought to be satisfied."

Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, b.l.o.o.d.y and excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him.

McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way the impression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he made haste to approach Warrington.

"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admit I was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry."

"All right, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, who would have preferred leaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade's reason for bending.

"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one good punch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look out for him after this, d.i.c.k."

"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriage for me?"

"Sure, Mr. Warrington," said the policeman.

The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward the exits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort before a two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel that night disgusted with humanity and, mayhap, with the fact that the fight had not occurred nearer the stage. Orators are human also.

As Warrington followed Bennington into the carriage the door closed and a head was thrust inside the open window.

"Don't forget me when you're mayor, Mr. Warrington," said Bill Osborne.

"Well?" Warrington was in no mood for ba.n.a.lities.

Bill glanced hastily from side to side, then said, in a stage whisper that sent Bennington into a roar of laughter:

"I sick'd 'em!"

Chapter XVI

The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington was nominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition.

Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut and dried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, Senator Henderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man.

The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproduced in full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers frankly admitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum in years. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlarged upon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; and long despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was more or less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of its favorite dramatic writers.

It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touches our vanity to be given something for which we have made no struggle whatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to be spoken to respectfully by Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry, who erstwhile hadn't known of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at his vanity even as it was being gratified.

On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. It was the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And so the fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. If Donnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to the Italians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how to shake hands in the manner of a candidate,--to take the whole hand and squeeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist grasped thereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidate had a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for all his dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keep them, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, his ready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his common sense--these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloon bars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sight to see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrils a.s.sailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a keg of beer, Warrington opened two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warrington gave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousand women. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman to his cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousand tongues in his service.

His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soon all half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. He furnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentals for the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freely but judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. For the first time in the history of local politics the two parties went to work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign.

Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and the metropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, so would go the state.

Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said he wanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would be no play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warrington remained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the first Tuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way to reportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the young candidate's growing popularity.

It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights were devoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on his way home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house and look up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he would pause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels.

Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one uplifting influence! He knew that he was not making this fight for clean politics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It is thus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice he had seen Patty in the gallery at ma.s.s meetings; but, hurry as he might, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak to her.

As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the war had only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; but so far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on.

McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war above ground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. There had been so much raillery in the newspapers that McQuade became furious whenever it was mentioned. His dog was a professional fighter and had made three kills, and here a "pet" had given him his first licking. It rankled, and none of McQuade's friends dared refer to it.

So Warrington remained alert and watchful; it was all he could do.

In more ways than one Herculaneum became widely known. Other cities realized that there was a peculiar strike in progress, upon the outcome of which depended the principles of unionism. Here was an employer who was making preparations to destroy his shops, regardless of financial loss, regardless of public opinion, regardless of everything but his right to employ and discharge whom he willed. Every great employer in the country focused his eye upon Herculaneum; every union leader did likewise. The outcome would mean a kind of revolution.

At the shops the men had placed the usual sentinels around the limits, ready to repel the expected army of non-union workmen. But a day pa.s.sed, two, three, four; a week, then ten days; a month. Not a single strange man approached the gates. Not one man among them had any information whatever as to the movements of their whilom employer.

Scab labor never showed its head above the horizon. The men began to wonder; they began to grow restless. But Morrissy always pacified them with the word "wait."

"Vigilance, boys; that's the word," said the leader. "The moment we go to sleep he'll have his men inside."

So the men relaxed none of their watching, night and day. It was rather pathetic to see the children bringing scanty meals to the guarding men. They were being misled, that was all, but they had to find that out themselves. The city's bill-boards were covered with "Boycott" and "Unfair" paper. The men were careful. They made no effort to injure anything; they made no attempt to enter the shops; they had had a brush with the militia once, and they were wise. They could beat the new men and maim them, but so long as they did not touch property there would be no call for the militia. They waited.

Mean-time Morrissy wore a new diamond.

One day a cry went up.