Chapter 10

"Well, I saw Edge, and he's got a list of reasons longer'n an anaconda's dream. He says that since your return from your New York trip you've seemed different. I don't mind saying that there's others say the same thing."

"Different?" said Brassfield, in an anxiety rendered painful by the missing time and these strangers whom he was accused of knowing, but who behaved as strangers to him. "How?"

"Well," said Alvord, "kind of not the same in manner--offish with the gang, an' sort of addicted to the professor and the hypnotist--no kick from me, old chap, you understand, but I'm filing a kind of bill of exceptions, an' these things go in."

"I see," said Brassfield. "Go on!"

"Then you'll have to own you've done some funny stunts," continued Alvord. "You've fired old Stevens, and you've been going over your books with this man Blodgett, and talking of selling him an interest----"

"Talking of what?" exclaimed Brassfield.

"Oh, it's your own business, you know, but a sort of shock to the feelings and finances of the community all the same. Not that it affects me, or that many know of it, but the inner circle is disturbed--and, mind, I'm leading up to Edgington's flop."

"I see," said Brassfield. "Go on!"

"Well," said Alvord, "the mystery comes in right here. He says he went up to see you and you flew up and took a high moral attitude and said it was a dirty mess, and you wouldn't touch it. He thought it was some of Bess's isms that she brought home from college--civic purity, and all that impractical rot that these intellectual women get, and he says he began hunting for some one to run in to fill the vacancy caused by the declination of E. Brassfield. He was knocked numb when he found out that you were out for the place. You must have said _something_ to him, you know. Now what in the name of Dodd was it?"

Brassfield walked up and down the room for a few moments, wringing his hands and alternately hardening and relaxing the muscles of his arms as if engaged in some physical culture exercise, but saying never a word. This blank Cimmeria of his past, into which he had stared vainly for five years, seemed about to deliver up its secret, or a part of it. Already, it was clear, it had disgorged this man Blodgett, and these other questionable characters at the inn. But they would find him ready for them. This man that was looking over his books would discover that what Eugene Brassfield wanted he took, and what he took he held. They were after his money, no doubt. Well, he would see. And in the meantime, Edgington's defection should not be allowed to disarrange matters. The business interests involved were too great. When he turned to answer Alvord, he was pale as death, but calm as ever.

"Oh, Edgington misconstrued entirely what I said," he answered. "I can't just repeat it--we had some talk along the lines he mentioned, but I never said anything that he ought to have understood in that way. Is he on the square, do you think?"

"On the dead square," said Alvord. "I'll stake my life on that."

"Well, what has he done?"

"He's got McCorkle out for the nomination."

"To stay?" asked Brassfield. "Can't we give Mac something else, later?"

"No, Edgington says not: you see, the colonel has wanted to be mayor a long time. Edgington can't pull him off, and as long as he sticks, Edge's got to stick by him. Edgington's for you as hard as ever after the caucuses--if you win."

"Yes," said Brassfield, "most everybody will be. You've run your eye over the line-up: can we win?"

"It depends," said Alvord, "on the two men down in the restaurant--Sheehan and Zalinsky. You know their following, and what they want. Our crowd stands in with the better element. McCorkle can't hold more than half his own church, and we're as strong as horseradish with the other gospel plants. The A. O. C. M. gang Edgington won't try to split, but will leave to us, and through them we'll get the liberal element in line--the saloons, and the seamy side generally, I mean, of course. The labor vote we need help with, and I've brought in Sheehan and Zalinsky to sort of arrange a line of policy that'll round 'em up. With their help we'll control the caucuses. After the caucuses, it's plain sailing."

Brassfield made a few figures on a card, and handed it to Alvord, who looked at it attentively and nodded approvingly.

"That ought to be an elegant sufficiency," said he.

"All right," said Brassfield, "you handle that end of it, and I'll discuss the interests of labor. We'll show Colonel McCorkle what a fight without interests means in this town. Are the wine and cigars here? Then go down and bring the patriots up, Jim."

XVII

THE HONOR NEARS ITS QUARRY

And every man, and woman, too, was forged at Birmingham, And mounted all in batteries, each on a separate cam; And when one showed, in love or war or politics or fever, A sign of maladjustment, why you just pulled on his lever, And upside down and inside out and front side back he stood; And the Inspector saw which one was evil, which was good.

Chorus:

On the other side! On the other side! Oh, you must somehow see the other side! If you'd repair or clean This delicate old machine, You must have a way to see the other side! --_The Inventor's Song in, "Bedlam."_

Messrs. Sheehan and Zalinsky, before being ushered into the Turkish room where Mr. Brassfield sat awaiting them, were told by Mr. Alvord that, should Mr. Brassfield's position on the labor question be found satisfactory to them, he would like to have their good offices in the matter of getting a fair attendance at the caucuses the next evening. As this is always an expensive thing for the patriot who engages to do it, he, Mr. Alvord, would beg to place at their disposal funds in an amount named by him, for use in the transportation of distant and enfeebled voters and for such refreshment as might be thought necessary.

"Weh-ull," said Sheehan, "Fr th' carkuses only it may do. What say, Zalinsky?"

Mr. Zalinsky, his eyes gleaming with gratification, thought the sum named might possibly suffice.

"Good!" said Alvord. "And now come up and see the next mayor."

"What's de use?" asked Zalinsky. "Don't we know him all right? Ain't it all fixed? I want to git busy wit me end of deliverin' de goods."

"Mr. Brassfield's views on labor----" began Alvord, but Sheehan interrupted him.

"Your word goes wid us!" said he. "Ye've convinced us Brassfield's the laborin' man's frind. What say, Zalinsky?"

"So!" said Zalinsky. "Ve better git to work over in de fourt' ward."

"They didn't come up," said Alvord, returning to the Turkish room. "The figures on that card seemed to convince 'em. Now for the saloons and their end of the vote."

"What do _they_ want?" asked Brassfield.

"Why," said Alvord, "it's the policy of the office more'n anything else they want assurances on. I've sent for Fatty Pierson and his fellow members of the retail liquor dealers' association, and they'll be here by the time we dispose of this steak. I must be counted in on the dinner--I forgot mine."

While Alvord, greatly rejoiced at the sudden restoration of his friend to the possession of those qualities which made him so useful and reliable in all business projects, and promised so well for the future of Bellevale under his wise, conservative and liberal administration as mayor, was cozily discussing the dinner in the Turkish room at Tony's, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Fatty Pierson and his committee, there was a council of the hypnotic board of strategy at the Bellevale House. The board consisted of Judge Blodgett, Professor Blatherwick, and Madame le Claire. The matter under consideration was how to return Brassfield to his much-to-be-desired nihility: how to recover Amidon from his relapse into occultation.

"I can never forgive myself for allowing it!" cried Madame le Claire. "And yet, how could I help it? His clerk came running in with a telegram, or something of the sort, and Mr. Amidon rushed away with him. What would this man have thought and said, if I had subjected his employer to the treatment necessary to restore him--put him into the cataleptic state, and then into the normal, by passes and manipulations!"

"Just now," answered the judge, "when he seems to be doing the meteor act in local politics, such an occurrence in public might be misconstrued in non-hypnotic circles, and commented on. Passes and manipulations are not thoroughly understood in politics--except in a different sense! I guess you had to let him go. How to get him back, is the question. He's certainly off the map as Amidon: turned me down when I tried to get him up here, with the air of a bank president dealing with a check-raiser; and yet, the way he rose to the lure of getting evidence in this lawsuit of his shows that he's as sharp as ever in business. What's likely to be the result if he's allowed to go in this way, Professor?"

"Nopody gan say," said the professor. "He may go on as Brassfield for anodder fife years or more. He may vake up as Amidon to-morrow morning. Propoply he vill geep on intefinitely, aggumulating spondulix, and smashing hearts, unless ve gan pinch him some vay."

"Oh, we must get him back!" said Madame le Claire. "We _must_!"

"In te interests off science," said the professor, "id vould pe tesiraple to allow him to go on as Brassfield ant note results. Ve haf alreaty optained some faluaple data in the fact of his attempt to buy the destimony of our frient the chutche, and his gontemptuous treatment of me as a con man. He didn't seem to remember us at all. Should ve not allow de gase to go on a vile? Supliminally gonsidered, it vill be great stuff!"

"No!" exclaimed the judge. "It ain't safe. He'll be running for mayor, and doing a lot of things to make him trouble when he does come to. We've got to surround him somehow; and he's a wary bird."

"Anyway," said the professor, "I should like to opsairve the result of a meeting with Clara. In his short Brassfield states he saw her, ant her only. Vill he remember her clearly, or how? How vill dis mind of his coordinate te tisgonnected views of her, with te rest of his vorld? It ought to pe vorked out."

"Well," said the judge, "I don't owe science much. I'm against any experiments. Can't some one suggest something to do? Is it feasible to kidnap him?"

"Let me suggest something," said Madame le Claire hesitatingly. "In his Brassfield state he seemed to--to like me very much. In affairs concerning--that is, affairs relating to women--he seems less wary, to use Judge Blodgett's word, than he is on other lines. Maybe I could--could induce him to come. It seems a sort of--of questionable thing to do; but----"

"Questionable!" cried the judge, "questionable! Why, not at all. We must try it. I'll risk it!"

"If ve are to gif up te itea of vorking out the gase," acquiesced the professor, "vy I agree vith the chutche."

"That is," said the girl, "like the judge, you'll 'risk it.' Very brave of you both to 'risk' so much! As for me, I must ask for time to think over my own proposal, before I undertake to entrap this prominent business man at my apartments. I'm not so sure that I'll 'risk' it. And yet it seems the only way!"

Speaking of traps: The emissaries of the retail liquor dealers' association were engaged in a trapping enterprise of their own in the Turkish room at Tony's, at this very crucial moment. Fatty Pierson, and two fellow retailers, gentlemen of smooth-shaven face, ample girth, and that peculiar physiognomy which seems fitted to no artistic setting except a background of mirrors and glasses, and a plain foreground of polished wood, were arranging for a police policy to their liking, during the Brassfield administration.

"Colonel McCorkle," said Fatty, "is a mighty good man, and, while a church member, seems to be liberal. On the other hand, you're well known to be broad in your views, and you do things"--here Fatty's arm took in the bottles and the cigars with a sweeping gesture--"that he don't. You've got property rented for saloon purposes. We know you're a good man, Mr. Brassfield, but in such matters we saloon men have learned to be careful. A police force can make our business profitable or put us all dead losers, just as they're steered by the mayor. Now, what would be your policy?"

"I should expect," said Mr. Brassfield, "to give the city a good, conservative, business administration, and to make my oath of office my guide."

"Good!" said Fatty. "But we've all heard that before. Colonel McCorkle, or the Reverend Absalom McCosh, would say _that_."

"Well," said Brassfield, "now, definitely, what do you want? Anything reasonable and not contrary to law, you have only to ask for."

I wonder if burglars, in arranging their business, stipulate that nothing "contrary to law" is to be done!

"Exactly," replied Fatty. "But now as to reasonableness: when the hour for closing comes, our customers bein' gathered for social purposes, it seems abrupt to fire 'em all out when the clock strikes. Now, when a policeman comes along after hours an' finds one of us with a roomful of customers discussin' public questions, we don't want to turn up in court next morning. See?"

"I see," said Brassfield. "My view of the function of the saloon is that it is a sort of club for those too poor to belong to the more exclusive organizations. As long as they are performing these functions in an orderly way, why inquire as to the hour?"

"That seems reasonable," said Fatty. "And about how long ought a man to have to slow up an' stop performin' functions, do you think?"

"Well," said Mr. Brassfield, "there isn't much doing in the way of business, say from two to five A. M., is there?"

"No," said Mr. Pierson, "not much. But on special occasions----?"

"I shall do the right thing," said Brassfield.

"An' you wouldn't feel obliged," queried Pierson, "to start any detectives out spyin' upon the uses we put our second stories to, or the kind of tenants we have?"

"Not at all," said Brassfield. "I shan't disturb things. Alvord can tell you that. What I want is the policy that is best for the property owners; and things as they are are good enough for me. Is that satisfactory?"

"Well, I should smile!" said Mr. Pierson. "And now, gentlemen, before we go an' begin work for the caucuses to-morrow, in the interests of our friend here, I propose a toast to Mr. Eugene Brassfield, who will be the best mayor Bellevale ever had!"

"You've got to give me a bed to-night," said Brassfield, as the last of the delegations Alvord had brought to the Turkish room retired in apparent satisfaction. "I don't care to go to my rooms--there are too many folks up there at the hotel who seem anxious to see me. And I want to be where I can talk the situation over with you."

"Glad to have you," said Alvord. "Come on, and we'll turn in. As for the situation, how can you improve it? If Conlon and Sheehan and Zalinsky can't control these caucuses, I'm mistaken. Put them along with the saloons and the others that depend on police permission for existence, and you've got a dead open-and-shut."

As they walked along the street they noticed a motley crowd emerging from a public house and moving in a body to another, seemingly under the leadership of a little man with Jewish features. Alvord took Brassfield's arm and hurried him on.

"You see what Edgington's up to?" asked Brassfield. "He's got Abe Meyer out taking the crowd down the line in McCorkle's interest. I wonder if they won't turn things over somewhat."

"Turn nothing!" said Alvord. "They'll make the noise to-night; we'll have the votes to-morrow night. The boys'll rake in McCorkle's money now, and in the morning the word will be passed that the best interests of the town require every one to boost for you. They won't know what hit 'em!"

"I hope you're right," answered Brassfield, "but Edgington's no fool. I wouldn't have him for my lawyer if he was."

"Of course he's no fool," was Alvord's reply, "but he's handicapped by the personality of his man. Edge's doing pretty well, considering. He probably is wise to the situation. He didn't expect anything like a contest, you know, owing to that confounded blunder one of you two made. Now he's doing the best he can; but his man's been too strong in the God-and-morality way in years gone by to wipe out the stain by one evening of free booze. On the other hand, your life has been perfect--always careful and sound in business, no isms or reform sentiments on any line, a free spender, a paying attendant of the richest church, but not a member, and no wife full of wild ideas for the uplifting of folks that don't want to be uplifted. Why, Mrs. McCorkle's advanced ideas alone are enough to make him lose out."

"I don't know about that," said Brassfield. "McCorkle and his wife are not the same in these affairs."

"Well, don't you fall down and forget it," said Alvord, "that the fellows on the seamy side won't see it your way. They've got good imaginations, and they can see the colonel on one side of the table and his wife, the president of the Social Purity League, pouring tea on the other, and they can see the position it would put the mayor in to do the right thing along liberal lines--and he sort of strict in habits himself. No, sir, my boy, you go to bed and sleep sweetly. You are about to reap the reward of living the right kind of a life."

And sweetly Mr. Brassfield slept, with none of the anxiety felt by Judge Blodgett as to whether he would awake as Brassfield or Amidon.

XVIII

A GLORIOUS VICTORY

Narcissus saw his image, and fell in love with it, But jilted pretty Echo, who wailed and never quit. This beauteous youth was far less kind than I, my friend, or you: For we adore our own good looks and love our echoes, too. --_Adventures in Egoism_.

I really shrink from giving an account of the result of the Bellevale caucuses next evening, for fear of imparting to the general reader--who is, of course, a violent patriot--the idea that I am narrating facts showing an exceptionally bad condition in municipal affairs, in the triumph of one or the other of two bad men. This impression I should be loath to give. Colonel McCorkle, whom we know by hearsay only, seems to be so good a citizen that his belated attempt to be "broad" and "liberal" excites laughter in some quarters. As for Mr. Brassfield, there are at least nine chances in ten that he is the man who would have received the support of the gentle reader had it been his own city's campaign.

In fact, Mr. Brassfield is psychologically incapable of deviating much from the course marked out by the average ethics of his surroundings. This subconscious mind which--as Professor Blatherwick so clearly explained to us--normally operates below the plane of consciousness, happens, in his case, to be abnormally acting consciously; but it is still controlled by suggestion. The money-making mania being in all minds, he becomes a money-maker. The usual attitude of society toward all things--including, let us say, women, poetry, politics and public duty--is the one into which the Brassfield mind inevitably fell. The men on whom any age bestows the accolade of greatness, are those who embody the qualities--virtues and vices--of that age. Your popular statesman and hero is merely the incarnate Now. Every president is to his supporters "fit to rank with Washington and Lincoln." Future ages may accord to him only respectable mediocrity; but the generation which sees itself reflected in him, sees beauty and greatness in the reflection. Bellevale was psychically reflected in Brassfield. Therefore Bellevale raised him on the shield of popularity. One may see this reflected in the conversation of Major Pumphrey, one of Bellevale's solid citizens, with Mr. Smith, who owned the department store, on the morning after the caucuses.

"Rather lively times, I hear," said Major Pumphrey, catching step with Mr. Smith on their walk down town. "Rather lively times at the caucuses last evening."

"Really," answered Mr. Smith, "I don't know. I never attend caucuses. Every one has his friends, you know, and by not taking sides one saves many enmities."

"I don't agree with you," said the major. "Every one should attend his party primaries, as a matter of duty."

"You were out last night?" said the merchant interrogatively.

"Why, no," said the major, "not last night. The fact is, Colonel McCorkle and I served in the same regiment, and belong to the post here, and he expected me to support him. At the same time, the nomination of Mr. Brassfield appeared to be the only right thing from the standpoint of party expediency or business wisdom. Brassfield can be elected. He is strong in business circles. His integrity is unquestioned, and there'll be no graft or shady deals under him. He stands well in society, too. I just saw Doctor Bulkon, who expressed himself as thoroughly delighted with the nomination of so good a man as Brassfield, and intends to preach next Sunday on 'The Christian's Vote,' handling the subject in such a way as to point to Brassfield as the right man. I couldn't consistently oppose Brassfield, and so I stayed at home."

"Oh, you're quite right!" exclaimed Mr. Smith. "My attendance would not have made any difference in the result. Colonel McCorkle is a good man, but after Mr. Brassfield made us a present of the money to pay off our church debt recently none of us could decently have gone out and worked against him even for the colonel. They say that McCorkle is a good deal chagrined by the small showing he made--claims that the saloons and the lower classes ran the caucuses, and that the decent element stayed away altogether."

"Pooh!" scoffed Mr. Pumphrey. "A little sore is all--soon get over it. I only hope Brassfield will be able to get us that trolley line he promises. That would bring Bellevale abreast of the times."

"That's certainly true," was Mr. Smith's answer. "Mr. Brassfield is an enterprising citizen, broad and liberal, safe and sane, and fully in touch with the great business interests of the country. His nomination will reflect credit on Bellevale."

Inasmuch as such citizens as Conlon, Pierson, Sheehan and Zalinsky were equally well contented, no one, it would seem, ought to have been dissatisfied. The fact that Mr. Brassfield's success meant the giving away of Bellevale's streets to Brassfield's interurban trolley line must be considered in connection with the fact that Bellevale seemed only too anxious to give them away.

One must look at such things from all sides, if one is to come to a satisfactory conclusion. Miss Waldron, having a keenly personal interest in the matter, and being a member of the cultured and leisure class, endeavored to do this. Her conclusions, both personal and political, seem to be fully set forth in a letter which she wrote to her friend Estelle in New York.

"You know I always was a queer little beast," said this letter, after a few pages in which such words as "chiffon," "corsage," "lingerie," "full ritual," and similar expressions occur with some frequency, but the contents of which are quite obscure in their bearing on the course of this history--"and was ever finding happiness where others saw misery, and _vice versa_. Well, I am doing something of the same sort now in turning over and over in my mind the question as to whether I should ever marry any one or not. I know perfectly well that no one can ever be the One for me if Eugene is not--but is there a One? Don't say that I am a little--goose, but listen and ponder.