Chapter 24

THE CONVENTION.

Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the next morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around Saratoga, before the place gave many evidences of life. He ended his tramp at the Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with exceeding disgust at the result. As he set down his half-finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass.

“This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, holding out her hand. “When did you arrive?”

“I only came last night.”

“And how long shall you be here?”

“I cannot say. I am attending the convention, and my stay will depend on that.”

“Surely you are not a Democrat?” said Miss De Voe, a shade of horror showing itself in her face, in spite of her good breeding. In those days it was not, to put it mildly, a guarantee of respectability to belong to that party, and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social station, all the more because she was absolutely ignorant of political events.

Peter said he was.

“How can you be? When a man can ally himself with the best, why should he choose the worst?”

“I think,” said Peter quietly, “that a Pharisee said the same thing, in different words, many hundred years ago.”

Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed. She also became suddenly conscious of the two girls who had come to the spring with her. They had been forgotten in the surprise over Peter, but now Miss De Voe wondered if they had heard his reply, and if they had enough Bible lore to enable them to understand the reproof.

“I am sure you don’t mean that,” she said, in the sting of the moment.

“I am very sorry,” said Peter, “if I made an unkind speech. What I meant was that no one has a right to pick out the best for himself. I am sure, from your letter to me, that you think a man should help those not as well off as himself.”

“Oh, but that is very different. Of course we should be charitable to those who need our help, but we need not mix in their low politics.”

“If good laws, and good administration can give the poor good food, and good lodgings, don’t you think the best charity is to ‘mix’ in politics, and try to obtain such results?”

“I want you to know my two cousins,” Miss De Voe replied. “Dorothy, I wish to present Mr. Stirling. My cousin, Miss Ogden, and Miss Minna Ogden.”

Peter saw two very pretty girls, and made a bow to them.

“Which way are you walking?” asked Miss De Voe.

“I have been tramping merely for exercise,” said Peter, “and stopped here to try the spring, on my way to the United States.”

“It is hardly worth while, but if you will get into our carriage, we will drop you there. Or if you can spare the time, we will drive to our cottage, and then send you back to the hotel.”

“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I shall only crowd you, I fear.”

“No. There is plenty of room.”

“Will the convention be interesting to watch, Mr. Stirling?” asked one of the girls, as soon as they were seated.

“I don’t know,” Peter told her. “It is my first experience at it. There is pretty strong feeling, and that of course makes it interesting to the delegates, but I am not sure that it would be so to others.”

“Will there be speeches, and cheers, and all that sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“Cousin Anneke, won’t you take us? It will be such fun!”

“Are spectators admitted, Mr. Stirling?”

“I believe so. I heard something about tickets last night. If you care to go, I’ll see if I can get you some?”

“Oh, please,” cried both girls.

“If you can do so, Mr. Stirling, we should like to see the interesting part,” said Miss De Voe.

“I’ll try.”

“Send word back by Oliver.” The carriage had drawn up at the cottage, and farewells were made.

As soon as Peter reached the hotel, he went to the New York City delegation room, and saw Costell. He easily secured admissions, and pencilling on a card, “At headquarters they tell me that the nominations will begin at the afternoon session, about two o’clock,” he sent them back by the carriage. Then bearding the terrors of the colored “monarch of all he surveys,” who guards the dining-room of every well-ordered Saratoga hotel, he satisfied as large an appetite as he remembered in a long time.

The morning proceedings in the convention were purely formal. The election of the chairman, the roll-call, the naming of the committees, and other routine matter was gotten through with, but the real interest centred in the undertone of political talk, going on with little regard to the business in hand. After the committees were named, an unknown man came up to Peter, and introduced himself by a name which Peter at once recognized as that of one of the committee on the platform.

“Mr. Costell thinks you might like to see this, and can perhaps suggest a change,” explained Mr. Talcott, laying several sheets of manuscript on Peter’s desk and indicating with his finger a certain paragraph.

Peter read it twice before saying anything. “I think I can better it,” he said. “If you can give me time I’m very slow about such things.”

“All right. Get it in shape as quickly as possible, and send it to the committee-room.”

Left alone Peter looked round for a blank wall. Failing in his search, he put his head into his hands, and tried to shut out the seething, excited mass of men about him. After a time he took a sheet of paper and wrote a paragraph for the platform. It pledged the party to investigate the food and tenement questions, and to pass such remedial legislation as should seem best. It pledged the party to do this, with as little disturbance and interference with present conditions as possible, “but fully recognizing the danger of State interference, we place human life above money profits, and human health above annual incomes, and shall use the law to its utmost to protect both.” When it appeared in the platform, there was an addition that charged the failure to obtain legislation “which should have rendered impossible the recent terrible lesson in New York City” to “the obstruction in the last legislature in the interest of the moneyed classes and landlords, by the Republican party.” That had not been in Peter’s draft and he was sorry to see it. Still, the paragraph had a real ring of honesty and feeling in it. That was what others thought too. “Gad, that Stirling knows how to sling English,” said one of the committee, when the paragraph was read aloud. “He makes it take right hold.” Many an orator in that fall’s campaign read the nineteenth section of the Democratic platform aloud, feeling that it was ammunition of the right kind. It is in all the New York papers of September 24th, of that year.

Immediately after the morning adjournment, Green came up to Peter.

“We’ve had a count, and can’t carry Catlin. So we shan’t even put him up. What do you think of Milton?”

“I don’t know him personally, but he has a very good record, I believe.”

“He isn’t what we want, but that’s not the question. We must take what we can get.”

“I suppose you think Porter has a chance.”

“Not if we take Milton.”

“Between the two I have no choice.”

An hour later, the convention was called to order by the chairman. A few moments sufficed to complete the unfinished business, and then the chairman’s gavel fell, and every one knew without his announcement that the crucial moment had been reached.

Much to Peter’s surprise, Kennedy was one of the members who was instantly on his feet, and was the one selected for recognition by the chairman. He was still more surprised when Kennedy launched at once into a glowing eulogium of Porter. Peter was sitting next Kennedy, and though he sat quietly, a sad look came into the face usually so expressionless. He felt wronged. He felt that he had been an instrument in the deceiving of others. Most of all he grieved to think that a delegate of his ward, largely through his own interference, was acting discreditably. Peter wanted others to do right, and he felt that that was not what Kennedy was doing.

The moment Kennedy finished, Peter rose, as did Maguire. The convention was cheering for Porter, and it took some time to quiet it to a condition when it was worth while recognizing any one. During this time the chairman leaned forward and talked with Green, who sat right below him, for a moment. Green in turn spoke to Costell, and a little slip of paper was presently handed up to the chairman, who from that moment became absolutely oblivious of the fact that Maguire was on his feet. When silence finally came, in spite of Maguire’s, “Mr. Chairman,” that individual said, “Mr. Stirling.”

Peter began in a low voice, “In rising, Mr. Chairman, to second the nomination of Mr. Porter, I feel that it would be idle in me to praise one so well known to all of us, even if he had not just been the subject of so appreciative a speech from my colleague—”

Here cries of “louder” interrupted Peter, during which interruption Green said to Costell, “We’ve been tricked.”

“I’m not so sure,” replied Costell, “Maguire’s on his feet yet, and doesn’t look happy. Something’s happening which has not been slated.”

When Peter resumed, there were no more cries of “louder.” His introduction had been a matter of trouble and doubt to him, for he liked Porter, and feared he might not show it. But now he merely had something to tell his audience, and that was easy work. So, his voice ringing very clear and distinct, he told them of the original election of the delegates; of the feeling of his ward; of the attempts to obtain a city nomination of Porter; of Maguire’s promise. “Gad, he hits from the shoulder,” said Green. As soon as the trend of his remarks was realized, Porter’s supporters began to hiss and hoot. Peter at once stopped, but the moment silence came he began again, and after a repetition of this a few times, they saw they could neither embarrass nor anger him, so they let him have his say. He brought his speech to an end by saying:

“I have already expressed my admiration of Mr. Porter, and as soon as I had made up my mind to vote for him, I made no secret of that intention. But he should not have been nominated by a city delegate, for he is not the choice of New York City, and any attempt to show that he is, or that he has any true backing there, is only an attempt to deceive. In seconding his nomination therefore, I wish it to be distinctly understood that both his nomination and seconding are personal acts, and in no sense the act of the delegates of the city of New York.”

There was a mingling of hoots and cheers as Peter sat down, though neither was very strong. In truth, the larger part of the delegates were very much in the dark as to the tendency of Peter’s speech. “Was it friendly or unfriendly to Porter?” they wondered.

“Mr. Maguire,” said the chairman.

“Mr. Chairman, the gentleman who has just sat down is to be complimented on his speech. In my whole life I have never heard so deceptive and blinding a narration. We know of Brutus stabbing his friend. But what shall we say of a pretended Brutus who caresses while he stabs?”

Here the Porter adherents became absolutely sure of the character of Peter’s speech, and hissed.

“Nor is it Imperial Caesar alone,” continued Maguire, “against whom he turns his poniard. Not content with one foul murder, he turns against Caesar’s friends. By devilish innuendo, he charges the honorable Mr. Kennedy and myself with bargaining to deceive the American people. I call on him for proof or retraction.”

The convention laughed. Peter rose and said: “Mr. Chairman, I gave a truthful account of what actually took place last evening in the United States hotel. I made no charges.”

“But you left the impression that Mr. Kennedy and I had made a deal,” shrieked Maguire.

“If the gentleman draws that conclusion from what passed, it is not my fault.”

The convention laughed. “Do you mean to charge such a bargain?” angrily shouted Maguire.

“Will you deny it?” asked Peter calmly.

“Then you do charge it?”

Here the convention laughed for the third time. Green shouted “deny it,” and the cry was taken up by many of the delegates.

“Yes,” screamed Maguire. “I do deny it”

Peter turned to Kennedy. “Do you too, deny it?”

“Yes,” shouted Kennedy, loudly.

Again the convention laughed.

“Then,” said Peter, “if I had charged you with a bargain, I should now find it necessary to apologize.”

The convention roared. Maguire screamed something, but it could not be heard. The tenor of his remarks was indicated by his red face and clinched fist.

Costell smiled his deep smile. “I’m very glad,” he said to the man next him, “that we didn’t pick Stirling up.”

Then Milton was nominated and seconded, as were also Catlin, and four minor stars. That done, a ballot was taken and the vote stood:

Porter 206 Milton 197 Catlin 52 Scattering 29

A second ballot showed:

Porter 206 Milton 202 Catlin 54 Scattering 22

A third ballot gave:

Porter 206 Milton 210 Catlin 52 Scattering 16

“Porter’s done for on the next,” was whispered round the hall, though where it started, no one knew. Evidently his adherents thought so, for one made a motion to adjourn. It was voted down, and once more the roll call started.

“I shall vote for Milton,” Peter told Schlurger, and the changes in the delegations as the call proceeded, proved that many changes were being made the same way. Yet the fourth ballot showed:

Porter 125 Milton 128 Catlin 208 Scattering 14

The wildest excitement broke out in the Porter delegates. “They’ve beaten us,” screamed Kennedy, as much to himself as to those about. “They’ve used Milton to break our ranks, meaning Catlin all the time.” So in truth, it was. Milton had been put up to draw off Porter’s delegates, but the moment they had begun to turn to Milton, enough New York City delegates had been transferred to Catlin to prevent Milton being chosen. Amid protests and angry words on all sides another ballot was taken:

Catlin 256 Porter 118 Milton 110

Before the result was announced. Green was at Peter’s elbow.

“Will you move to make it unanimous?” he asked.

“Yes.” And Peter made the formal motion, which was carried by acclamation. Half an hour served to choose the Lieutenant-Governor and the rest of the ticket, for the bulk of it had already been slated. The platform was adopted, and the convention dissolved.

“Well,” said Kennedy angrily to Peter, “I guess you’ve messed it this time. A man can’t please both sides, but he needn’t get cussed by both.”

Peter went out and walked to his hotel. “I’m afraid I did mess it,” he thought, “yet I don’t see what else I could have done.”