Chapter 17

Il Trovatore

The next morning Judge Latimer was surprised to find his wife taking a sudden interest in politics.

"Why is there so much opposition to Mr. Burroughs for United States senator?" she inquired.

"Several reasons," he answered, evasively, thinking she would not be interested to pursue the subject.

"But he will be elected."

"That remains to be seen."

"He has thirty pledged out of the whole ninety-four, and several----"

"How do you know? Where did you get your information?" Latimer spoke sharply.

"Mr. Moore--nobody talked of anything else, it seems to me," amended Mrs. Latimer, with what carelessness she could assume. "Since the legislators have been arriving I have heard nothing discussed so much as Mr. Burroughs' chances of winning the election."

"That comes of living in a hotel," said the judge, bitterly. "Burroughs' headquarters are on this floor, too, confound it! I wish we had not given up our home."

"I don't," cried Eva. "Politics are lots of fun! I had no idea how much until this winter. It's so exciting!"

She did not tell her husband that the Honorable William Moore had been at considerable pains to interest her in the coming struggle, even prolonging his frequent calls unduly, in giving her an insight (so far as he thought necessary) into the workings of practical politics as expounded and promulgated by Mr. Burroughs and himself. So delicately had he broached what had been in his mind since the night of Eva's dinner party that before she was aware she had promised that she would do what she could to forward Burroughs' cause with recalcitrant members. The political manager had assured her that his patron, in his gratitude, would make the reward for her services magnificently great.

Mrs. Latimer had not been cajoled into this without some scruples, for she well knew what her husband would think. She remembered, too, certain interviews of her own with Burroughs, which she would have liked to forget; but it was many years ago that he had made love to her, and she succeeded in allaying the troublesome reproaches of conscience by the justification of the urgent need of retrieving their fortunes. If Arthur could be made minister to some foreign capital (her ambition had vaulted to Berlin) he need never suspect her share in its offer.

Mr. Moore had told her that only a rich man could afford to be at the head of one of the larger legations, and had most thoughtfully placed certain mining shares in her name, whose value had already increased gratifyingly. When Arthur should ask her how he could accept such a position, she would triumphantly produce the fortune made from these shares, and explain that she had judiciously invested the small patrimony from her father's estate. It all seemed easy to the ambitious woman. Only a little effort to interest certain men--could anything be easier?

And the gold which she had found after Moore's last call! When she had sent him word he told her that he had its duplicate; to use the money, since she had found it. The temptation was great. Arthur was always complaining of unpaid accounts. She settled certain debts with a light heart. He would never think to inquire about them.

So now she merely looked misunderstood as she continued: "It is nothing to us, of course, whether Mr. Burroughs is elected; but"--she hesitated, not knowing how best to proceed--"I'm sure a word from you would have great influence with the members."

Latimer was dumfounded. Then he began to laugh.

"You would make a first-class lobbyist!" he said lightly. "Have a care! A word from you would be worth ten of mine." Then, more seriously: "Don't talk too much of this, Eva. It is going to be a bad business before a senator is elected. Ugly rumors are heard already. I know of----" He changed his words. "Mr. Burroughs is not respected among men of integrity. Not even among men of low standards. His wealth is his only asset. Unscrupulous, defying investigation----" He pulled himself up. Never before had he expressed so definite a judgment on the millionaire.

But though he cautioned his wife, Latimer had no suspicion that it might be necessary. She had lived purely on the surface, showing no interest in anything but dress, society, herself. It did not occur to him that ambition might render her something more than a butterfly. In this respect Moore read the woman more accurately.

That week Helena was billed for Italian opera. The announcement of _Il Trovatore_ made Danvers' heart leap with desire to hear it once more. He knew it was doubtful whether the company could sing, but it could not be wholly bad.

When he first heard the opera, during a boyish holiday in London, it was at the height of its popularity, and every evening of his vacation found him enthralled in the boxes. The isolation of the frontier had but made the old music more loved, and Philip decided to make up a box party of his friends. Miss Blair had told him that she had never heard it in its entirety. She should be the guest of honor. Judge and Mrs. Latimer, Blair, the doctor from Fort Benton and O'Dwyer should complete the party.

"The opera has been given for the last twenty years," said Senator Danvers to Miss Blair, as she expressed herself delighted to accept his invitation. "You could hardly get a corporal's guard to go across the street to hear it in New York, I fancy; but it was the first opera I ever heard, and I love the old airs."

The theater was filling fast as Danvers held the curtain aside for his guests to enter the box. The distractions of the opposing forces at the capitol were, for the time, dismissed, and he listened with amusement to Miss Blair as he assisted to remove her light opera cloak.

"I've never been in a theater box before," she confessed. "It makes one feel exclusive, doesn't it? And, oh, dear! dreadfully self-conscious. Suppose I fall out--over the railing? I'm sure I shall bring disgrace upon us!" She looked gaily at her host. "Suppose I should fall over?" she repeated, her eyes wide with pretense.

"Somebody would catch you," said matter-of-fact Eva.

"If you think that you are growing dizzy from looking over that fearful, two-foot precipice," said Danvers, adopting Winifred's tone, "I'm going to be the one to save you from a tragic death! I'll go around now, and get ready to be a hero!"

"Don't! A lady in an opera box is worth two in the orchestra seats," paraphrased Winifred, blithely. "I will not fall out."

As Danvers pulled her chair a little further from the low rail, Winifred noticed his face change.

"What is it?" she asked, in quick response.

Philip smiled a little sadly. "'My heart is on the ground,'" he answered, using an expressive Indian phrase. "I cannot be light and witty. I am cursed with seriousness."

"Your friends like you just as you are." But in this frank avowal the senator found no consolation.

Danvers' enjoyment of the familiar opera was augmented by the appreciation shown on Winifred's earnest, mobile face. The company proved to be exceptionally good, the voices above the average, the acting intelligent and _con amore_. The passionate intensity of the Italians soon enthused Miss Blair into forgetfulness of those around her. While her brother and O'Dwyer sat stoically, the doctor contentedly, and Mrs. Latimer indifferent in her secret musing, Arthur and Philip followed, with her, the fortunes of _Leonora_. Not until the curtain fell on act three did she readily join in the chatter of her friends, and then only when Judge Latimer said to his wife: "You should have heard Phil sing '_Di quella pira_' when we were at Fort Macleod. He reached that high note quite as easily as this Italian."

"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Latimer," besought Danvers. "Make allowance for his well-known partiality."

"Certainly," responded Eva, trying to make her tone indifferent. She never was quite sure of her voice when speaking directly to this man who ignored the past.

"Do you sing?" Winifred turned with a quick motion which was characteristic. "Do you, Senator Danvers?"

"I do not."

"But you did?"

"You bet he did!" blurted out O'Dwyer, ever ready to recite the good qualities of Danvers. Thereupon he told of the Christmas supper, Colonel Macleod's request, and the duet. "But they sang in English, so a Christian could understand--not this Dago lingo," he concluded. The Irishman's contempt for the soft Italian syllables was irresistible.

"Oh," sighed Winifred, after the laugh had died away, "I wish that I could have been at Fort Macleod that Christmas night!" she included Judge Latimer in her friendly glance.

"Mr. O'Dwyer did not tell you that he could sing!" chortled Latimer. But O'Dwyer begged to be spared, and after some good-natured raillery the judge acquiesced.

"Has that particular duet already been sung?" Winifred's eyes shone as she leaned toward her host. "If it has I shall insist upon its being repeated."

"You are so used to having people do as you ask that I believe you would," volunteered Eva.

"Of course I would. Everybody does as I wish."

"Perhaps that is because you do not ask impossible things," put in Senator Danvers. "But to relieve your anxiety, and to prevent your rising and asking for something that might be refused, I hasten to assure you that the duet has not been sung. Mr. O'Dwyer forgot to say that it was the _Miserere_ that we tried to sing for dear old Colonel Macleod. I'm afraid we did it pretty poorly."

From this the conversation drifted to other matters.

"I don't see Mr. Burroughs, Senator Danvers, although your sister and niece are in one of the opposite boxes," said Eva, sweeping the house with her glasses. "Nor Mr. Moore, nor Senator Hall--although his wife is here," she added.

"Politics are more exciting than Italian opera, I fancy," said Winifred.

"The politicians are pretty busy," confirmed the judge.

"Whom do you think I saw on the street to-day, Danvers?" asked Blair, suddenly. "McDevitt!" he announced, waiting for no speculations.

"No!"

The men were surprised, for McDevitt, the missionary-trader, had long since been forgotten.

"He says that he lives in Montana now, somewhere near the Canadian line."

Just then a messenger boy brought a telegram for Danvers, who excused himself to read and answer it. As he returned the opening bars of _Leonora's_ florid song sounded, and under cover of the music the doctor whispered to O'Dwyer: "You did better to-night in your whole-souled praise than when your elbow was sprained at Fort Macleod. _This_ is the girl!"

"Betcher life she is! An' what's more, she's on!" The Irishman reverted to trooper slang in his ardor, and got a sharp nudge from the doctor in consequence.

The beautiful melodies followed in swift succession. Miss Blair gave a sigh of appreciation as the _Miserere_ "_Ah che la mort_" was sung, and unconsciously put out her hand. The sleeve of her soft evening gown brushed Danvers' arm, and instantly his heart began to sing. Not so had he been stirred by Eva's conscious touch, years before. Eva had not struck the chord divine--this thrill revealed it.

"I want to live," breathed Winifred, "while there is such music and such love in the world. I don't care if it is old--the opera. Music and love never grow old."

As the duet ended, Winifred and Philip, each in the thrall of the divine song, looked deep into each other's eyes. Confused, startled, the spell was broken, and Winifred turned again to the stage.

* * * * *

When the Latimers were alone in their apartments the judge remarked on Danvers' generosity. "I never knew a man who so delighted in giving pleasure to other people. He sent tickets to a family of four to-night because he heard me speak of their love for music; and they'll never know their benefactor."

"You're always ready to sing the praises of Senator Danvers!" Mrs. Latimer stifled a yawn. "I really get tired of hearing his good qualities enumerated."

* * * * *

While Danvers and his friends were enjoying the opera Joseph Hall sat in a hotel office in Helena, watching the crowd and grumbling at the excitement and bustle of the politicians and hangers-on.

He was something of a power in the political affairs of the State, but to-night the swarming activity of the candidates for the appointive offices displeased him mightily. So did the well-organized methods of one man who wanted to go to Congress--Robert Burroughs. Hall did not belong to the party in power, although he had been elected from his county. As he saw Burroughs' friends hobnobbing with the country legislators he shut his eyes, cursing all men impartially. Like a thorn in the flesh the memory of Burroughs' trick and the resultant lawsuit pricked his anger into poisonous hate. Outwardly he showed no enmity, but revenge would be sweet. To be sure, he had won his suit and recovered his share of the proceeds from the sale of the mine, but the cause rankled, and had become a mania, not the less dangerous because it was nursed secretly.

In the jostling, good-natured throng of senators, representatives, boys who wanted to be pages, and girls who boldly or coyly tried to interest unintroduced men in their clerical abilities, Joe Hall saw no one with whom he cared to speak. Montana was not yet populous enough to make its leading men unknown to each other, especially the old-timers. As he rose to go he heard his name spoken, and turned to face a man whom he could not for the moment place.

"McDevitt!" he finally exclaimed.

"To command," was the fawning response. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Hall hesitated; he thought that the man would hardly be seeking an office at the capital, and he motioned the Canadian to follow. They passed into a small room reserved for semi-private conversations.

"What shall it be?" he asked as they took seats at a small table.

"Lemonade." McDevitt had never drunk openly. Joe smiled grimly at the call-boy's amazement. Lemonade was not often called for at that hotel. Hall's own order was gin.

"Well?"

McDevitt was disconcerted. He had thought to receive a cordial greeting, forgetting that Joseph Hall had left the North West Mounted Police in disgrace, and might wish to ignore his past. He hesitated; then, seeing that there were to be no questionings, he began autobiographically:

"I've been living in Montana for some time. I run a little store. Say, look here," his voice changed to anxiety as he breathed his desire, "I'm here looking for a job. I'm no lobbyist, but I want a position at the capital."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes. I thought maybe you could give me a good word. I know you're a leading light in Montana politics. I seen by the papers that you was State senator."

"Oh, you did?" Little encouragement could be gathered from the noncommittal responses. Hall's restless, drumming fingers and lowered gaze threw the suppliant out of countenance. McDevitt, in turn, grew silent and drank the last of his mild refreshment. Hall looked up, with shifty eyes.

"Can you pray?"

"Now?" gasped the startled ex-preacher.

Joe relaxed in spite of himself. "Well, not just now. This is not a church." The jingle of glasses in the adjoining bar corroborated his statement. "When were you in Macleod last?" The question came suddenly, with intent to surprise truth.

"Oh, some little time ago," evaded McDevitt, deftly. Why tell that he had been caught smuggling whiskey, and after serving his sentence had left Canada?

Hall looked at him, thoughtfully, with a curious cunning in his eyes.

"Then you don't happen to know where Bob Burroughs' squaw is?"

"Pine Coulee? Why--she's--that is--perhaps I could find out? What do you want to know for?" The caution of a possible bargain appeared.

Hall did not answer immediately, but went back to McDevitt's request.

"So you want a job? Why don't you go to Burroughs? He isn't in the Legislature, but he seems to be promising 'most everything to 'most everybody these days." Joe spoke bitterly, and light dawned on the not over acute McDevitt.

"H-m-m! _Me_ asking Bob Burroughs for anything! I see myself!"

"Or him giving it!" supplemented Hall, remembering the rivalry of the traders. Again he did deliberate thinking. If he should place McDevitt it would be a small but irritating way to annoy Burroughs. He was not above seeking even infinitesimal means of stinging, and this chance encounter might lead to something more to his set purpose. So he went on: "Get you a job, eh? Se-ve-ri-al others want sinecures." He grew facetious as his thought took shape. "I'm out of it this year, Mac. Still, I think I've influence enough to help an old friend if----" His look suggested an exchange of favors.

McDevitt was shrewd enough to wait. Joe mused an appreciable time, beating his tattoo on the table. "Yes," he finally said, "they've got to give the minority something, and I know one of the members who can get what I want. He's owing me a little favor--see? I needn't figure in the deal at all, and Burroughs will be mad as thunder." Again he thrummed, decisively this time. "If I get you on the pay-roll as chaplain at five per (or whatever the legislators pay for prayers which, if answered, would put 'em out of business), I'll expect you to find Pine Coulee and Burroughs' half-breed brat. He must be a chunk of a youngster now, if he's alive. And," impressively, "after that I'll expect you to keep your mouth shut--see?"

"Oh, the 'breed's alive, all right," threw out the ex-preacher in the expansion of his soul at the thought of a comfortable per diem. "The hour I sign the pay-roll I'll tell yeh several surprisin' things. I'd like to get even, too. And as for talking too much with my mouth, I reckon selling whiskey in the Whoop Up Country after the Police came in taught me the necessity of occasionally being a mute."