Chapter 20

"What's meetin's?" retorted Wellman. "You fellows that shoot off your mouths think you're doing the campaigning. But the real stuff is being doped up by us fellows who ain't seen or heard. The old man says you are going to win. That's straight. He knows. It's only a question of the size of your majority. So pull yourself together, Mr. Hull, and put the ginger back into your speeches, and stir up that there gang of dudes. What a gang of Johnnies and quitters they are!"

Hull was looking directly and keenly at the secret messenger. Upon his lips was a question he dared not ask. Seeing the impudent, disdainful smile in Wellman's eyes, he hastily shifted his glance. It was most uncomfortable, this suspicion of the hidden meaning of the Kelly message--a suspicion ALMOST confirmed by that mocking smile of the messenger. Hull said with embarrassment:

"Tell Mr. Kelly I'm much obliged."

"And you'll begin to make a fight again?"

"Certainly," said Davy impatiently.

When he was alone he became once more involved in one of those internal struggles to prevent himself from seeing--and smelling--a hideous and malodorous truth. These struggles were painfully frequent. The only consolation the young reformer found was that they were increasingly less difficult to end in the way such struggles must be ended if a high-minded young man is to make a career in "practical" life.

On election day after he had voted he went for a long walk in the woods to the south of the town, leaving word at his headquarters what direction he had taken. After walking two hours he sat down on a log in the shade near where the highroad crossed Foaming Creek. He became so absorbed in his thoughts that he sprang to his feet with a wild look when Selma's voice said, close by:

"May I interrupt a moment, Mr. Hull?"

He recovered slowly. His cheeks were pale and his voice uncertain as he replied:

"You? I beg your pardon. This campaign has played smash with my nerves."

He now noted that she was regarding him with a glance so intense that it seemed to concentrate all the passion and energy in that slim, nervous body of hers. He said uncomfortably:

"You wished to see me?"

"I wonder what you were thinking about," she said in her impetuous, direct way. "It makes me almost afraid to ask what I came to ask."

"Won't you sit?" said he.

"No, thanks," replied she.

"Then you'll compel me to stand. And I'm horribly tired."

She seated herself upon the log. He made himself comfortable at its other end.

"I've just come from Victor Dorn's house," said she. "There was a consultation among the leaders of our party. We have learned that your people--Kelly and House--are going to steal the election on the count this evening. They are committing wholesale frauds now--sending round gangs of repeaters, intimidating our voters, openly buying votes at the polling places--paying men as much not to vote as they usually pay for votes."

Davy, though latterly he had grown so much older and graver that no one now thought of him as Davy, contrived to muster a smile of amusement. "You oughtn't to let them deceive you with that silly talk, Miss Gordon. The losers always indulge in it. Your good sense must tell you how foolish it is. The police are on guard, and the courts of justice are open."

"Yes--the police are on guard--to protect fraud and to drive us away from the polls. And the courts are open--but not for us."

David was gentle with her. "I know how sincere you are, Selma," said he. "No doubt you believe those things. Perhaps Dorn believes them, also--from repeating them so often. But all the same I'm sorry to hear you say them."

He tried to look at her. He found that his eyes were more comfortable when his glance was elsewhere.

"This has been a sad campaign to me," he went on. "I did not appreciate before what demagogery meant--how dangerous it is--how wicked, how criminally wicked it is for men to stir up the lower classes against the educated leadership of the community."

Selma laughed contemptuously. "What nonsense, David Hull--and from YOU!" she cried. "By educated leadership do you mean the traction and gas and water and coal and iron and produce thieves? Or do you mean the officials and the judges who protect them and license them to rob?" Her eyes flashed. "At this very moment, in our town, those thieves and their agents, the police and the courts, are committing the most frightful crime known to a free people. Yet the masses are submitting peaceably. How long the upper class has to indulge in violence, and how savagely cruel it has to be, before the people even murmur. But I didn't come here to remind you of what you already know. I came to ask you, as a man whom I have respected, to assert his manhood--if there is any of it left after this campaign of falsehood and shifting."

"Selma!" he protested energetically, but still avoiding her eyes.

"Those wretches are stealing that election for you, David Hull. Are you going to stand for it? Or, will you go into town and force Kelly to stop?"

"If anything wrong is being done by Kelly," said David, "it must be for Sawyer."

Selma rose. "At our consultation," said she quietly and even with no suggestion of repressed emotion, "they debated coming to you and laying the facts before you. They decided against it. They were right; I was wrong. I pity you, David Hull. Good-by."

She walked away. He hesitated, observing her. His eyes lighted up with the passion he believed his good sense had conquered. "Selma, don't misjudge me!" he cried, following her. "I am not the scoundrel they're making you believe me. I love you!"

She wheeled upon him so fiercely that he started back. "How dare you!" she said, her voice choking with anger. "You miserable fraud! You bellwether for the plutocracy, to lead reform movements off on a false scent, off into the marshes where they'll be suffocated." She looked at him from head to foot with a withering glance. "No doubt, you'll have what's called a successful career. You'll be their traitor leader for the radicals they want to bring to confusion. When the people cry for a reform you'll shout louder than anybody else--and you'll be made leader--and you'll lead--into the marshes. Your followers will perish, but you'll come back, ready for the next treachery for which the plutocracy needs you. And you'll look honest and respectable--and you'll talk virtue and reform and justice. But you'll know what you are yourself. David Hull, I despise you as much as you despise yourself."

He did not follow as she walked away. He returned to the log, and slowly reseated himself. He was glad of the violent headache that made thought impossible.

Remsen City, boss-ridden since the Civil War, had experienced many a turbulent election day and night. The rivalries of the two bosses, contending for the spoils where the electorate was evenly divided, had made the polling places in the poorer quarters dangerous all day and scenes of rioting at night. But latterly there had been a notable improvement. People who entertained the pleasant and widespread delusion that statute laws offset the habits and customs of men, restrain the strong and protect the weak, attributed the improvement to sundry vigorously worded enactments of the legislature on the subject of election frauds. In fact, the real bottom cause of the change was the "gentlemen's agreement" between the two party machines whereunder both entered the service of the same master, the plutocracy.

Never in Remsen City history had there been grosser frauds than those of this famous election day, and never had the frauds been so open. A day of scandal was followed by an evening of shame; for to overcome the League the henchmen of Kelly and House had to do a great deal of counting out and counting in, of mutilating ballots, of destroying boxes with their contents. Yet never had Remsen City seen so peaceful an election. Representatives of the League were at every polling place. They protested; they took names of principals and witnesses in each case of real or suspected fraud. They appealed to the courts from time to time and got rulings--always against them, even where the letter of the decision was in their favor. They did all this in the quietest manner conceivable, without so much as an expression of indignation. And when the results were announced--a sweeping victory for Hull and the fusion ticket, Hugo Galland elected by five hundred over Falconer--the Leaguers made no counter demonstration as the drunken gangs of machine heelers paraded in the streets with bands and torches.

Kelly observed and was uneasy. What could be the meaning of this meek acceptance of a theft so flagrant that the whole town was talking about it? What was Victor Dorn's "game"?

He discovered the next day. The executive committee of the League worked all night; the League's printers and presses worked from six o'clock in the morning until ten. At half-past ten Remsen City was flooded with a special edition of the New Day, given away by Leaguers and their wives and sons and daughters--a monster special edition paid for with the last money in the League's small campaign chest. This special was a full account of the frauds that had been committed. No indictment could have been more complete, could have carried within itself more convincing proofs of the truth of its charges. The New Day declared that the frauds were far more extensive than it was able to prove; but it insisted upon, and took into account, only those frauds that could be proved in a "court of justice--if Remsen City had a court of justice, which the treatment of the League's protectors at the Courthouse yesterday shows that it has not." The results of the League's investigations were tabulated. The New Day showed:

First, that while Harbinger, the League candidate for Mayor, had actually polled 5,280 votes at least, and David Hull had polled less than 3,950, the election had been so manipulated that in the official count 4,827 votes were given to Hull and 3,980 votes to Harbinger.

Second, that in the actual vote Falconer had beaten Hugo Galland by 1,230 at least; that in the official count Galland was declared elected by a majority of 672.

Third, that these results were brought about by wholesale fraudulent voting, one gang of twenty-two repeaters casting upwards of a thousand votes at the various polling places; also by false counting, the number of votes reported exceeding the number cast by between two and three thousand.

As a piece of workmanship the document was an amazing illustration of the genius of Victor Dorn. Instead of violence against violence, instead of vague accusation, here was a calm, orderly proof of the League's case, of the outrage that had been done the city and its citizens. Before night fell the day after the election there was no one in Remsen City who did not know the truth.

The three daily newspapers ignored the special. They continued to congratulate Remsen City upon the "vindication of the city's fame for sound political sense," as if there had been no protest against the official version of the election returns. Nor did the press of the state or the country contain any reference to the happenings at Remsen City. But Remsen City knew, and that was the main point sought by Victor Dorn.

A committee of the League with copies of the special edition and transcripts of the proofs in the possession of the League went in search of David Hull and Hugo Galland. Both were out of town, "resting in retirement from the fatigue of the campaign." The prosecuting attorney of the county was seen, took the documents, said he would look into the matter, bowed the committee out--and did as Kelly counted on his doing. The grand jury heard, but could not see its way clear to returning indictments; no one was upon a grand jury in that county unless he had been passed by Kelly or House. Judge Freilig and Judge Lansing referred the committee to the grand jury and to the county prosecutor.

When the League had tried the last avenue to official justice and had found the way barred, House meeting Kelly in the Palace Hotel cafe', said:

"Well, Richard, I guess it's all over." Kelly nodded. "You've got away with the goods."

"I'm surprised at Dorn's taking it so quietly," said House. "I rather expected he'd make trouble."

Kelly vented a short, grunting laugh. "Trouble--hell!" ejaculated he. "If he'd 'a' kicked up a fight we'd 'a' had him. But he was too 'cute for that, damn him. So next time he wins."

"Oh, folks ain't got no memories--especially for politics," said House easily.

"You'll see," retorted Kelly. "The next mayor of this town'll be a Leaguer, and by a majority that can't be trifled with. So make hay while the sun shines, Joe. After this administration there'll be a long stretch of bad weather for haying."

"I'm trying to get hold of Hull," said House, and it was not difficult to read his train of thought. "I was a LEETLE afraid he was going to be scared by that document of Dorn's--and was going to do something crazy."

Again Kelly emitted his queer grunting laugh. "I guess he was a LEETLE afraid he would, too, and ran away and hid to get back his nerve."

"Oh, he's all right. He's a pushing, level-headed fellow, and won't make no trouble. Don't you think so?"

"Trouble? I should say not. How can he--if he takes the job?"

To which obvious logic no assent was necessary.

Davy's abrupt departure was for the exact reason Mr. Kelly ascribed. And he had taken Hugo with him because he feared that he would say or do something to keep the scandal from dying the quick death of all scandals. There was the less difficulty in dissuading him from staying to sun himself in the glories of his new rank and title because his wife had cast him adrift for the time and was stopping at the house of her father, whose death was hourly expected.

Old Hastings had been in a stupor for several weeks. He astonished everybody, except Dr. Charlton, by rousing on election night and asking how the battle had gone.

"And he seemed to understand what I told him," said Jane.

"Certainly he understood," replied Charlton. "The only part of him that's in any sort of condition is his mind, because it's the only part of him that's been properly exercised. Most people die at the top first because they've never in all their lives used their minds when they could possibly avoid it."

In the week following the election he came out of his stupor again. He said to the nurse:

"It's about supper time, ain't it?"

"Yes," answered she. "They're all down at din--supper. Shall I call them?"

"No," said he. "I want to go down to her room."

"To Miss Jane's room?" asked the puzzled nurse.

"To my wife's room," said Hastings crossly.

The nurse, a stranger, thought his mind was wandering. "Certainly," said she soothingly. "In a few minutes--as soon as you've rested a while."

"You're a fool!" mumbled Hastings. "Call Jinny."

The nurse obeyed. When he repeated his request to Jane, she hesitated. The tears rolled down his cheeks. "I know what I'm about," he pleaded. "Send for Charlton. He'll tell you to let me have my way."

Jane decided that it was best to yield. The shrunken figure, weighing so little that it was terrifying to lift it, was wrapped warmly, and put in an invalid chair. With much difficulty the chair was got out into the hall and down the stairs. Then they wheeled it into the room where he was in the habit of sitting after supper. When he was opposite the atrocious crayon enlargement of his wife an expression of supreme content settled upon his features. Said he:

"Go back to your supper, Jinny. Take the nurse woman with you. I want to be by myself."

The nurse glanced stealthily in from time to time during the next hour. She saw that his eyes were open, were fixed upon the picture. When Jane came she ventured to enter. She said:

"Do you mind my sitting with you, father?"

He did not answer. She went to him, touched him. He was dead.

As a rule death is not without mitigations, consolations even. Where it is preceded by a long and troublesome illness, disrupting the routine of the family and keeping everybody from doing the things he or she wishes, it comes as a relief. In this particular case not only was the death a relief, but also the estate of the dead man provided all the chief mourners with instant and absorbing occupation. If he had left a will, the acrimony of the heirs would have been caused by dissatisfaction with his way of distributing the property. Leaving no will, he plunged the three heirs--or, rather, the five heirs, for the husband of Martha and the wife of the son were most important factors--he plunged the five heirs into a ferment of furious dispute as to who was to have what. Martha and her husband and the daughter-in-law were people of exceedingly small mind. Trifles, therefore, agitated them to the exclusion of larger matters. The three fell to quarreling violently over the division of silverware, jewelry and furniture. Jane was so enraged by the "disgusting spectacle" that she proceeded to take part in it and to demand everything which she thought it would irritate Martha Galland or Irene Hastings to have to give up.

The three women and Hugo--for Hugo loved petty wrangling--spent day after day in the bitterest quarrels. Each morning Jane, ashamed overnight, would issue from her room resolved to have no part in the vulgar rowdyism. Before an hour had passed she would be the angriest of the disputants. Except her own unquestioned belongings there wasn't a thing in the house or stables about which she cared in the least. But there was a principle at stake--and for principle she would fight in the last ditch.

None of them wished to call in arbitrators or executors; why go to that expense? So, the bickering and wrangling, the insults and tears and sneers went on from day to day. At last they settled the whole matter by lot--and by a series of easily arranged exchanges where the results of the drawings were unsatisfactory. Peace was restored, but not liking. Each of the three groups--Hugo and Martha, Will and Irene, Jane in a group by herself--detested the other two. They felt that they had found each other out. As Martha said to Hugo, "It takes a thing of this kind to show people up in their true colors." Or, as Jane said to Doctor Charlton, "What beasts human beings are!"

Said he: "What beasts circumstance makes of some of them sometimes."

"You are charitable," said Jane.

"I am scientific," replied he. "It's very intelligent to go about distributing praise and blame. To do that is to obey a slightly higher development of the instinct that leads one to scowl at and curse the stone he stumps his toe on. The sensible thing to do is to look at the causes of things--of brutishness in human beings, for example--and to remove those causes."

"It was wonderful, the way you dragged father back to life and almost saved him. That reminds me. Wait a second, please."

She went up to her room and got the envelope addressed to Charlton which she had found in the drawer, as her father directed. Charlton opened it, took out five bank notes each of a thousand dollars. She glanced at the money, then at his face. It did not express the emotion she was expecting. On the contrary, its look was of pleased curiosity.

"Five thousand dollars," he said, reflectively. "Your father certainly was a queer mixture of surprises and contradictions. Now, who would have suspected him of a piece of sentiment like this? Pure sentiment. He must have felt that I'd not be able to save him, and he knew my bill wouldn't be one-tenth this sum."

"He liked you, and admired you," said Jane.

"He was very generous where he liked and admired."

Charlton put the money back in the envelope, put the envelope in his pocket. "I'll give the money to the Children's Hospital," said he. "About six months ago I completed the sum I had fixed on as necessary to my independence; so, I've no further use for money--except to use it up as it comes in."

"You may marry some day," suggested Jane.

"Not a woman who wishes to be left richer than independent," replied he. "As for the children, they'll be brought up to earn their own independence. I'll leave only incubators and keepsakes when I die. But no estate. I'm not that foolish and inconsiderate."

"What a queer idea!" exclaimed Jane.

"On the contrary, it's simplest common sense. The idea of giving people something they haven't earned--that's the queer idea."

"You are SO like Victor Dorn!"

"That reminds me!" exclaimed Charlton. "It was very negligent of me to forget. The day your father died I dropped in on Victor and told him--him and Selma Gordon--about it. And both asked me to take you their sympathy. They said a great deal about your love for your father, and how sad it was to lose him. They were really distressed."

Jane's face almost brightened. "I've been rather hurt because I hadn't received a word of sympathy from--them," she said.

"They'd have come, themselves, except that politics has made a very ugly feeling against them--and Galland's your brother-in-law."

"I understand," said Jane. "But I'm not Galland--and not of that party."

"Oh, yes, you are of that party," replied Charlton. "You draw your income from it, and one belongs to whatever he draws his income from. Civilization means property--as yet. And it doesn't mean men and women--as yet. So, to know the man or the woman we look at the property."

"That's hideously unjust," cried Jane.

"Don't be utterly egotistical," said Charlton. "Don't attach so much importance to your little, mortal, WEAK personality. Try to realize that you're a mere chip in the great game of chance. You're a chip with the letter P on it--which stands for Plutocracy. And you'll be played as you're labeled."

"You make it very hard for any one to like you."

"Well--good-by, then."

And ignoring her hasty, half-laughing, half-serious protests he took himself away. She was intensely irritated. A rapid change in her outward character had been going forward since her father's death--a change in the direction of intensifying the traits that had always been really dominant, but had been less apparent because softened by other traits now rapidly whithering.

The cause of the change was her inheritance.

Martin Hastings, remaining all his life in utter ignorance of the showy uses of wealth and looking on it with the eyes of a farm hand, had remained the enriched man of the lower classes, at heart a member of his original class to the end. The effect of this upon Jane had been to keep in check all the showy and arrogant, all the upper class, tendencies which education and travel among the upper classes of the East and of Europe had implanted in her. So long as plain old Martin lived, she could not FEEL the position she had--or, rather, would some day have--in the modern social system. But just as soon as he passed away, just as soon as she became a great heiress, actually in possession of that which made the world adore, that which would buy servility, flattery, awe--just so soon did she begin to be an upper-class lady.