Chapter 21

“I gave you final figures,” he whispered.

“Where is that man? Let me deal with him.”

“It must be done through me.”

“If you wasn't my nephew I'd think this was blackmail.”

Young Dodd stepped back to avoid the glare in his uncle's eyes.

The colonel turned away and listened. Farr's voice was raised now in solemn appeal.

“The idea of my letting myself get rattled by a crack-brained demagogue,” muttered the colonel. He had been fondling the outside of his coat furtively, locating his check-book. Now he took his hand away.

“It is well to respect service and to show courtesy, gentlemen. I have listened with interest to the eulogies which have been given Governor Harwood. He is, without doubt, an amiable gentleman. But let me tell you that the next legislature is going to be asked to pass a law which will be a club with which the people will rap the knuckles of Greed till that unholy clutch on the water systems of this state will be loosened for ever.”

The delegates stared at him for a few seconds when he paused, and then a tumult of applause greeted his utterance.

“I ask you, gentlemen, whether Governor Harwood--and you know him well and how he has been chosen--will ever sign a bill that will take profit from the hands of his political makers even to give that profit to the people who are the rightful owners?”

This time men were silent, but he knew what they thought from the manner in which they looked at him.

“I do not need to tell you that the veto of a bill by a governor means, in most cases, its death. Gentlemen, it would be polite and kind and gracious of you to bow low here to-day and hand up the nomination to the amiable Governor Harwood. But with the conditions as they are in this state are you going to be polite, merely, while the hearses are rumbling down your streets? I have no way of knowing how many of you into whose eyes I am looking have seen death enter your own homes from the taps of this much-promising, little-accomplishing water syndicate. But if you have seen death touch your loved ones, or if you go home from here and behold fever ravaging your community, it will be poor consolation to your soul to remember that at least you were polite to an amiable man who desired the honor of a renomination.”

The faces of the convention showed that this blunt yet shrewd appeal to the individual antagonism of men had produced profound effect.

“But that is only one feature of what this state demands and needs, gentlemen,” was Farr's ringing declaration. “This struggle for pure water has opened a broad avenue. The towns and cities of this state must take back into their own hands the properties and franchises which have been mismanaged by the men to whose hands unwise gift by the people has intrusted the people's own. We need a man in the Big Chair of State who will stand with the people in this crusade!”

This amazing declaration in open convention produced as much consternation on the platform as if Farr had dropped a bomb there.

He uttered something which was worse than mere political rebellion: he was proposing to take for the people properties which constituted the backbone of the oligarchy's power in state affairs.

Colonel Dodd had been growling behind the chairman, angrily endeavoring to get the ear of that gentleman. But the chairman seemed to be as wholly absorbed by this astonishing arraignment as were the delegates.

The head of the state machine, for the first time in his career, was compelled to come into the open instead of through the mouth of a lieutenant. He could not wait to give orders.

He rose and stamped to the front of the platform. His voice rang hoarse and loud.

“There can be no more of this unparliamentary and irregular nonsense. What has got into this convention? Don't you understand that no speaker is allowed to break the rules and attack a man under guise of nominating another? Mr. Chairman, I demand that this slanderer be removed from the hall and that we proceed to the nomination of a governor.”

There was a hush during which Farr and Colonel Dodd looked at each other, crossing their stares like long rapiers over the terraced heads.

“I fear I was wrong,” confessed Farr, gently. “But we poor folks down in the ranks don't know much about the rules, and when we are struggling to save the ones we love we are apt to forget and talk to the heart of things. I am not trying to show that I am a skilful orator, gentlemen of the convention.” He held up his arms. “I am crying for _Justice_!”

The delegates broke into applause once more.

And Walker Farr sent a queer look straight into the eyes of the colonel.

Conviction slapped Colonel Symonds Dodd in his mental face with a violence that made him blink!

This man was no amateur in understanding how to sway an audience. To be sure, he had transgressed parliamentary usage, but in those words he had driven home facts that all knew to be truths--truths which others had been afraid to voice, but which, once put into words in public, tied the hideous stamp of ring favoritism upon Governor Harwood, made him a candidate who could not be trusted.

The colonel understood, and he also saw plainly that the most of the audience had accepted the apology, and held no prejudice against the speaker.

“Now that I understand what the rules governing nominations are I will not break them again,” declared Farr.

But like a shrewd and not over-scrupulous lawyer he had jabbed into the proceedings a stinging truth which, though excluded by the rules, nevertheless served vitally the big purpose of his efforts; the colonel understood that, too, and turned back to his chair fairly livid with rage.

“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his character.”

Colonel Dodd cursed without trying to moderate his tones very much.

“There's no telling what tack that renegade will take next. This infernal convention is getting to be a nightmare. Those fools out there are listening as if they expected that cheap demagogue to bring 'em a new Messiah,” he told the committeemen near him.

“There's a funny noise going on out there among 'em,” ventured “Whispering Saunders.” “Round-up fellows say they hear something like it when a herd is getting ready to stampede. It's the same thing in a political convention sometimes. The reason for it is: the crowd is ripe and the head steer gives the right bellow--and off they go!”

Colonel Dodd grabbed his nephew by the elbow and rushed him off the stage and into an anteroom.

“Is that matter on the hair-trigger, Richard?” he demanded.

“It's ready to be snapped any minute.”

The colonel whipped out his check-book and began to write. “It's as old Saunders said,” he muttered as he wrote. “And we've got to rope, throw, and tie that one steer.”

The check was for five thousand dollars!

Young Dodd seized it, and when his uncle hurried back upon the stage the nephew, through the door which was left open, beckoned to Mullaney. The detective came, hurrying past Colonel Dodd, who stared until the door had closed behind young Dodd and the officer.

“But he's my own nephew!” he assured himself, as if he were replying to an accusation laid against Richard Dodd. He shook his head and sat down in his chair. “I wonder how long it has been since old Bob Mullaney put a price of that size on his secrets! I'm afraid Richard hasn't the Dodd ability to drive a sharp trade.”

But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the door of the anteroom.

He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had handed it to him.

“It was hard work to screw him up, Mullaney. You have seen how I worked him. This is all he gave me--two hundred and fifty. Take it and spring your trap.”

“You don't look honest,” grumbled the detective. “If I'm any kind of a guesser you're holding out on me.”

“That's your price. You agreed. There isn't any time to argue this. Give me back the money.” He grabbed the bills from Mullaney's clutch. It was magnificent bluff. “I'll hand it to my uncle. He isn't very keen on the thing, anyway.”

“I'll take it--give it back. I'll apologize,” pleaded Mullaney.

“Will you swear to keep all this under your hat--the whole thing? Uncle says if you dare to speak to him about it--hint to him or anybody that he paid money for anything on Farr--he'll deny the story and have your license taken away.”

“I promise--swear it,” Mullaney agreed.

Dodd returned the money, and the detective started out on the trot.

“You come, too, and I'll tell you on the way. Time is short. You'd better help me,” he advised Dodd. They hurried away together, rushed out into the alley and around to the front of the hall, the detective pouring certain information into Dodd's ear as they made their way to the big door and into the main corridor.

Then they bored through the crowds.

The detective led the way and showed his badge to compel the people to give them a lane.

They entered the rear of the auditorium.

“You take the left side and I'll take the right,” commanded Mullaney. “We need to paralyze him first. That's all there's time for just now--I've had short notice. But get that name to every man of your crowd you can, and when the howl is started tell 'em all to join in.”

Dodd had had scant time to digest the knowledge which the detective had imparted on the run. But his eyes gleamed wickedly as he began to whisper to men among the delegates. And as he moved about he noticed that the girl in the gallery had marked his activity, even to the extent of turning her gaze from Walker Farr, whose voice was ringing through the spacious hall.

XXIX

THE BOMB

Walker Farr, towering over their heads, talked to the men in whose midst he stood.

Mere eloquence no longer avails in these days of cynical disbelief in the motives of political orators. But this young man who stood there was sincerity incarnate. The wonderful and mystic magnetic quality which wins men and inspires confidence radiated from him. And every now and then, as he glanced up at one face in the gallery his voice took on new tones of appeal and pathos. He was one crying from the depths to those in authority! By the marvel of his language he made the men who sat there as delegates understand that theirs was the power to make or mar--to save or sacrifice their state in the crisis which was upon them. He made them feel their responsibility after he made them understand their power.

And he also made their duty plain.

The crux of the situation rested on such a man as they should place in the highest office in the state.

In other times, under other conditions, some pliant and amiable figurehead might serve them well.

He told them, with outstretched finger and vibrant voice, what must be the masterful qualifications of the man who should assume the cross of public service and carry it up the steeps where he would be lashed at every step of his weary way by the thongs in the hands of privileged capital.

Colonel Symonds Dodd had come back to the platform, cursing himself for a fool. The moment the check had left his hands he was angry because he had allowed circumstances to stampede him.

He wondered what was getting into him and into politics.

Was he afraid of mere talk from a demagogue!

But after he had sat there for a few moments and listened, and had watched the faces of the delegates, he decided that if five thousand dollars would stop the mouth of that man he had spent money wisely. It was borne in upon him that he had spent greater sums many times for lesser service.

He saw Richard Dodd and Mullaney circulating among the delegates. He restrained with difficulty an impulse to rise and shout to them to hurry. He felt that danger to his program and his political structure was imminent. Because once again were true eloquence and masterly appeal winning men.

All the listeners in the vast hall were as still as death. All eyes were on this speaker who seemed to be clothing with effective speech all the hidden convictions of the delegates themselves who had nursed protest without being able to put it into force.

Colonel Dodd had seen conventions in similar mood in the old days before the saddle of party had been as securely cinched as it had been in late years.

The chairman of the state committee uttered the colonel's rising fears. The chairman had lost his sneer and his bumptious confidence. His face was red, he was sweating, he was staring out over the convention and snapping his fingers impatiently.

“Good gad!” he informed those in hearing on the platform, “what kind of a turn is this thing taking? We have let this convention get away from us. That chap has got the whole crowd marching to the mourners' bench. He can wind up by nominating a yellow dog and they'll rise and howl him into office by acclamation!”

Farr paused for a moment to give effect to his next words.

“Such in character, in honest impulse, in honor, in ability, in devotion, and in God-given nobility must be the man who will lead you. Has God given such a man to this state? He has!”

“Yes and the devil has given us Nelson Sinkler to speak for that man!”

The voice was shrill and agitated and it came from a section of the hall where the rabid adherents of the machine were massed; it was an amazing and shocking interruption.

“I said Nelson Sinkler--that's you!” screamed the voice.

And on that, from here and there in the hall, like snipers posted in ambush, men shouted the name “Nelson Sinkler”--the words popping like rifles.

There was uproar. Part of it was protest, part hysterical demonstration of excitement in an assemblage which did not in the least understand.

Then after a time came quiet, for the object of the attack stood in his elevated position, unruffled, stern, turning bold front to right and left as men barked at him.

“I am here where all may look on me,” he said. “Let one or all of those who are attacking me stand forth in view, too.”

No one stood up.

“It's a cowardly man who will not put his name to a letter or show his face when he makes an accusation,” cried Farr.

“How about a man who doesn't dare to use his own name?” This questioner remained in ambush.

“Your right name isn't Walker Farr and you know it isn't,” bellowed a voice on the opposite side of the hall.

Other voices pot-shotted at him with the words, “Nelson Sinkler.”

“Will one man in this convention stand up and show himself so that I can talk to him face to face?” shouted the man at bay.

Detective Mullaney and Richard Dodd could not find seats. The others were sitting, and the two were marked men.

“Well, Dodd, you have been whispering. What have you to say aloud?” demanded the man they were baiting.

“I say your name is not Walker Farr.”

“You!” The tall young man darted a finger at Mullaney.

“I say you're Nelson Sinkler.”

“And what of him?”

“He is wanted by the state of Nebraska for murder.”

A sound that was mingled sigh and groan ran and throbbed from galleries to floor; it filled the great hall and seemed to vibrate back and forth over the assemblage. And for the long minute that the dreadful sound continued until it had breathed itself out into horrified silence the man who stood on the settee looked straight into the white face of the girl in the gallery.

But those of the throng who devoured him with eager stares could not discern one trace of confession on his countenance.

Then he did a strange thing.

He held his arms out toward Detective Mullaney and crossed them, wrist over wrist, and he smiled.

“If you are certain enough of your man to dare to arrest me, sir, I stand here waiting for the handcuffs.”

The detective hesitated, visibly embarrassed. He had been looking for confusion, confession by manner, even collapse.

“This is a put-up political job,” declared a delegate. “That's no murderer--that man.”

“I am waiting,” repeated Farr.

Detective Mullaney flushed. There were murmurs of hostility in the throng about him. He ran over swiftly in his mind the contents of his note-book and fortified his courage.

“I haven't secured a warrant yet--but I'll take your dare,” he announced. He started to come down the aisle.

“Just one moment,” called a stentorian voice in the gallery. “You're wrong, my man, down there. I don't want to see an innocent person disgraced in public nor an officer get himself into a scrape. That man is not Nelson Sinkler.”

“What are we running here--a state convention or a police court?” Colonel Dodd demanded, leaping up and grabbing the arm of the presiding officer. “Order all those men ejected from the hall.”

But at that moment the convention was not in the control of the chairman. Irregular as it all was, human nature demanded to be shown there and then.

Delegates arose, shouting, and surrounded Farr, making effectual bulwarks against Mullaney with their bodies. Voices asked the stranger in the gallery for information, and he motioned the vociferous mob into silence.

“I am a United States post-office inspector, and I can easily prove my identity, gentlemen. I'm here in this convention merely as a spectator, killing time till my train leaves. But I know Nelson Sinkler because I arrested him a month or so ago after he had been a fugitive for two years. He killed a mail clerk. He is now awaiting trial. If that man down there is arrested as being Nelson Sinkler it will mean a lot of trouble for somebody.” He sat down.

“Who are you?” yelled a chorus of the ring's henchmen. They pressed as near to Farr as his body-guard would permit and shook their fists at him.

“I am a man and not a spirit,” he said in the first silence--and silence came quickly, for they were eager to hear. “You can see that for yourselves. But just now I am less a man than a _Voice_.” He shouted that last word. “The Voice calls you to rebuke the kind of politics that has just been attempted here. You have seen, you have heard! Will you indorse it by your votes? Will you keep in power that gang that has attempted it in the desperation of defeat?”

“No,” the voices of men tumultuously replied.

Reckless and unjust attack had never tossed a more golden opportunity into a man's hands.

“Then come over to the side of decency, my men. Nominate a champion who will be spotless and unafraid. There is war in this commonwealth instead of politics. Through one war the great patriot of this state led his people with high chivalry. For the next governor of this state, in these trying times, I nominate the son of that patriot--the Honorable Archer Converse of this city--God bless him!”

“We're licked,” gasped Colonel Dodd, trying to make the state chairman hear him, for the roar that rocked the great hall was deafening. “A boomerang has come back and mowed us flatter than an oven door in tophet.”

In the rout, in the retreat--horse, foot and dragoons--crisp orders were issued and obeyed. The friends of Governor Harwood had only one resource--it was to save that gentleman's face. His nomination was withdrawn.

That convention had run amuck, it was a mass of wild men who were feeling liberty from oppression for the first time and gloried in their new and sudden freedom from ring rule.

Then the delegates who came upon their feet roared the unanimous nomination of Archer Converse.

In the gale of that acclaim the opposition uttered no protest; the delegates who still remained loyal to the machine scowled and kept their seats.

Ducking under the tossing arms of men who flung aloft their hats and cheered with the frenzy of delight that the amazing victory inspired, Richard Dodd escaped to the rear of the hall and jammed himself into the press of the spectators. He hid behind a hedge of bodies and then dared to look at Colonel Dodd's face. The mighty passion which flamed on the uncle's countenance was revealed to the nephew's gaze even at that distance. The colonel was at the edge of the platform and was beckoning imperiously to some one. Young Dodd saw Detective Mullaney work his way out of the throng which surrounded Walker Farr; the officer was obviously obeying the summons of Colonel Dodd and marched to the platform and climbed on a chair in order to converse with the angry man who had beckoned.

And when Richard Dodd saw that conference begin overwhelming fear swept out of his soul all other emotions. He no longer had eyes for that girl in the gallery. Not even love and the promise she had made availed to stay him. Panic allowed him no time for planning an excuse or framing a lie. In playing for the stakes he had exacted he had felt that his uncle would hold no autopsy on the price of success. But five thousand dollars plucked from the Dodd pocket by a falsehood for which no excuse could be offered! And on top of that a crushing defeat which had been made definite and final by the work which Colonel Dodd had paid for!

The nephew saw Mullaney shake his head and throw up his hands in appeal and protest.

That spectacle made Richard Dodd a fugitive who thought only of saving himself. He fought his way through the crowd and ran out of the hall. The thought of facing Symonds Dodd in that crisis or of waiting to be dragged before the furious tyrant--that thought lashed the traitor into mad flight.

He glanced up at the clock in the First National tower. He had three minutes before the bank's closing time. He controlled his emotions as best he could and presented the check at the paying-teller's grill. The money was counted out to him without question, and when he held the thick packet in his hand he realized still more acutely in what position he stood in his affairs with Symonds Dodd.

He rushed to a garage, secured his car, and fled.

“I tell you I gave my nephew a check for five thousand dollars,” insisted the colonel. “And the Dodds don't lie to each other!”

“Then they have begun to do it,” declared Mullaney. “He has double-crossed the two of us. There was never any talk between us of more than five hundred for the job.”

Colonel Dodd hurried into the anteroom and called the bank on the telephone. “Almighty Herod!” he yelped, when he was informed that the check had been cashed. He banged the receiver upon its hook. “Even my own nephew has joined the pack of those damnation wolves!”

Then with the air of a man recovering from a blow and wondering dizzily what had struck him, he left the convention hall by a rear door and went to his office.

Those whom he passed on his way out made no attempt to stop him, did not urge him to remain. That convention seemed to be doing very well without calling upon Colonel Symonds Dodd for help or suggestions.

XXX

A GIRL'S IMPULSE

Herald unofficial, _avant courier_, Mr. Daniel Breed squeezed himself through the pack of people while they were still cheering the name of the Honorable Archer Converse.

“Giving candy to youngsters and good news to grown folks never made anybody specially unpopular,” Mr. Breed assured himself with politician's sagacity.

Therefore, he jog-trotted down to the Converse law-offices and shot himself into the presence of the estimable gentleman who had remained aloof from the distracting business of a convention.

“He's done it,” proclaimed Mr. Breed, making his sentences short and his message to the point because he was out of breath.

“Who has done what?” demanded Mr. Converse, with equal crispness.

“Farr. You're nominated for governor. Acclamation! He's a wiz with his tongue.” Mr. Breed pursed his little mouth and “sipped” with gusto. “Some talker! Don't ever tell me that good talk doesn't win when the right man makes it at the right time.”