THE CHASLOTTE N£WS JANUARY 8, 191!
EIWHIGHERUP
!dtm Amerian
ixlRY RUdS^LL MILLER,
v.rvrufht. I9t0, The Bobbs Merrill Company
h Two,
the mould.
I R III — (Continued.)
tnias Scenes.
I harsh, white grlare, freed from its pris-
,on. fUuig tke face of t.iie defiant iium
across the table into sharp relief. Hob
, ( ontiniied to gaze sharply into Rem-
I inpton s eyes, the peculiar, wry smile
pers’stin". Without dropy)ins his eyes,
Reniin^ton tX)k from his ])ocket a sil-
! v€ r case, selected a cigarette and
; lighted it. There was no perceptiVjle
, ireinor In his hand during this theatric
l»t t fornianct'. For a few long-drawn-
. :’ar!C:l for\'ard witii out luouienvs they stood thus, locked
. nmvi iiu'ni. in a hatile nf the eyes. Then Remiag-
;k‘“ > 'U. *'• beiirvt' iu ton lauulu'd ;.loud. insolently.
I "Put the motion," lU.b commanded
Silt' lauuhod out- ()ui('tly, maintaining his steady gaze.
. i:-; 1 hi'silaiiun. “lUit “It h.as been moved and seconded
vi ( I'lioii T/>ns.': aa,n I thai this connuittee indorse Stoughton
■ r.i> >irui:^It'alone, tor the legislative nomination.” the
enough, el.airman repeated mechanically. “All
in favor—"
‘'A>e." said all but Remington and
Hob. The chairman paused.
".Ml oi)p»)s*‘d. ■ The suggestion
quite
w
,;>t oilu-rs. ;:s. be
I .iuil'ly must if I
•n ’biiiiit's -. i' friend-
ugUi-r v.orls—
i h= I - in tl^' I'ti rnal came frou! iV>b.
, . • . V, 1 'vhlch 1 had
;i In ut t on top,
•1 1 liad tr. ^crnni-
; , » put '.ny
!• I' 1 sl'.oulil hesi-
. ir. iin . wlu-n
;ivi i>. I never
• . If. V.M-y
>rdin-; to one’s
. niiihi-r is bru-
; ui anol’.ier
Remington's voice rang out.
"I guess lhai seiiles it. Remington?”
"It settl.'s the i?u«>nuliate question.”
v.its the (letinant ans\v(>r.
".>seiMing's ad,1;)urii«'d." 1’; I) motion-
■r
ever saw. Sht—"
■‘Spare me the details!” he erocinefi.
“r.,‘s enough lo knew I guessed righ.t:
You and I are ai'ke, with a profound
c-'flereiicc. Every one likes ush. But
there’s a reason n your case, w'lile
I am a mystery.”
“Wisha! You’ll Inoculate me with
your own vanity! But,” she added
gravely, “mvstery or no mysterj% you
have succeeded in one instance where
I and every one else have failed.”
"I’m not so sure you have failed.
You can’t tell about him. There are
times w'hen I doubt myself. Though I
really have succeeded—you are sure
of that, aren’t you? And I’ve geen
good for him, haven't I?”
“Yes, you have succeeded. 1 pray
that you may alw’ays be good for
him,” she said gravely.
With her permission he ligl\ted his
pipe and they sat silent before the
lire for some time. He broke the si
lence abruptly.
“I saw her today.”
“Not the lady of your dreams? And
in the flesh?”
“The same! Listen—and I’ll unfold
a tale that will rack the very soul of
you.”
Me paused long eno\igh to throw a
fresh stick on the fire and then re
sumed.
“I was standing in the depot, wait
ing for a fellow w'ho didn’t come—
can you imagine a more disgusting
place for romance? A lady dropped
her kerchief. With the prompt gal
lantry that is one of my charming
trails, I picked if up and returned it
to her, ‘.\h! thank you,’ And •‘^he
deigned to give me the hundredth part
o' a fraction of a coldly indifferent
glance, as though 1 w’ere the cement
beneath her feet. Then—I turned
eii ilu' commitie(M;teu out of the room.
There was a oenei al reli^ihting of cl-j cold and stiff with fright and wonder-
gars. 'he stfcn;!,;li nnd rapidity of tho i ment. It was S’ne—as I had dreamed
t)uffed clo\ids indienrinv, a relief that her. I stood, staring like a yokel
ihe liitle sc-'ue was over. 'while she passed through the gate to
"Xothin' but drink as-^ high as the j her train. I made a dash to follow
thwarting one's coiling will d ) aiter tV.at." whlsix'ied | her. I'o be met by a blue arm with
«>ne. "Ileminiis me of the niuh; the | brass buttons and the proisaic de-
atU't
■■ p.i-^t tense,
. - :.hauld
Ka*' U‘en.
I' 'linus ih**
.-. sn’' >i\tisfy
• undevsiand
hi -Mitgglf is
!{.-..l!y, the
•PI’ -r 'Ui t(' a
-.■UdU' s; de-
1 is
1 i’ll erecting
’.ild'.-- phiy
•' *r I I'ciil
ray mus-
ne rea-on
• ot'l'n —
,ir'l gives
-o bru-
''h*‘ old man licked !lau:gln
I'n
■ • fii s.ared
tha: will
tiyou desir*'
it' ’ ■tii'.ta, and
r . •’Why d' li't
: ? You admit
nt1'.. “I 'm a:-
- iital girl, to-
. V. hole
■ aiii."
I!" Ka.thle^n's
!' r .
! down on him.
".Me. too, only liiere wasn't no
scran," aiul ther v.a;-' a shade ol' regret
i!i the li.w voiced ri'ply. “I thoiight fer
a u!iile. though, to l)u> flowers fer
tlk- kid's >'•( tTln. Five years ago, I'd
had to. too."
“O. Remington,■' I'^ol) said casually,
“just wait a minnte. wiil y;»i?"
■ \V* ir.’" ho turned toward Hob with
a eerta.in graceful recklessne.ss.
"Here, .smoke this," iii;!) said gruffly,
as lie iianded over a cigai’. "1 don’t
lil.e to .’ee a man sii'oking eigaiettes.”
Ucmington hesitated, tlien accepted
ii.
".And I wouldn't take tins business
to heart, if I vve;i> you. We have to
pve.-f' ve dis?ip!i!'e in uie organization,
you knov,-. Tliere's nothing personal
ii’- it."
The handsoivio ^act
"I'o you mean tluit .' T’lien call in the
Ixjys. 1 \vj;nt t(> apologize for calling
you a bully."
“Nd! Come now. no theatricals.
You re too good a man to be wasted
in sue!', childishncfo."
! i-'o the flesee-idant of the renegade
j.Iewesb won his light.
: Ntarid, as
I'.j ‘'ore, the,
- ; a Ci-rtain
ill a humor
•. r , reply, she
I • i.az'n. at
; i- li 1, had dis-
iiln': exp ;'t that.
.1.1! T i'll’, lonely.
:-'iaM i,. .' liviu'-
11. . N the ex;icT
. . ervice. And
111 lire than I
\, or a thousand
love of sensation.
. ’ ::mnh! How’
l = r, iiiio a man’s
' )!U til say. ‘far
Ilaggin’a back
its official habit.
'• d by consoMdat-
t".bh ; into one.
rat .. di>/.en men.
i_uis filled the
7.- throu,-ch which
, Mly. A grei-n-
■ bad been nlac d
VI-lie, to permit
rf : ' more easi-
Hoii. returning home, found Kath
leen alone in tiie library. He entered
ani! Itegan without I'reliminary:
"K ithiei n, liii.s afternoon ! told .vou
tha I 1 didn't want any friends. You
:*'mem!)er ?'’
"V.'s,"
"I iii'd to you, Kathleen, when 1 said
f]\at."
"Xo. P.ob, you 11; (1 to yourself."
"'I'iia.t.'s tru . lOo. At that very mo-
iiKiu 1 was tighting a longing for a
ceitain friend^l'in."
“1 wouldn't fight too hard if 1 were
you. Rob,"
"'I’he other day a yo”,ng chap—
a foil. an ass. .jud^'.-d li'/ my standards
nie« me on ihe street and, without
introduetiou o” bv-y(,iir-loave, demand
ed my fr’er.dshi;., He v.-.’.s most thea
trical and asinine—an'i I 'iked him for
it! lie had been fi-rliting me politi
cally. though he'« a greenhorn. I
told him I would crush him. kill him
iu'.litlcaliy. Tonight he contintied his
opopsitim. He to(;k tho oppoi inity
to tell me a few things abou*^ myself
which he seemed to think I had over
looked—I have not crushed him. 1
shall not. He- he has much that I
lack. And —>ou hit it exactly—I have
been very lonel. I'm going to test
vour theory. Kathleen. Good night!”
GHArTi--^ IV.
Gro'.vtli iii Grace.
years' walking
Robert McAdoo
force v.hich we
So, after thirty
among his fellows,
succumbed to that
tall personal attraction. Yon are not
hud forgot^en I supjtose iliat he exjierienced imme-
the men no’.v diately a complete change in his hab-
' it of tliought and course of feeling. It
was months before Remington dared
to address Hob by his first name. The
friendship, if such it could be called
men
ini d so long
; ti! nically held,
I iie men lean-
i: ’ !e, silent, amaz-
•i! tnnt fell from
l,,.n! "nio yoimg
the tirst gar-
■ I..-t rate tlie fa*^!-
[' on'> may well
't \\i! i.t 'he speaker
nail audience
‘’■e im: le words—
‘ o\'. ver—were an
■: . TI". If. was the
? i Vfung “silk-
, ■ 1 dety the “old
n. ; had shown
• •runted by the
\- ro
li'
th*‘ table from
. Mc.\doo. ino-
as the sphinx.
I j). culiar, wry
Ml
ut t
-li
ves were tum-
that all?” He
words some-
; itUde sting. The
i ;>iid sprang impul-
■■ .;ain.
. ou‘, “it is not
t! ‘jv I' )ro—for you,
• «iven your or-
':it 1 • t a.^lde and
h.-n iii |)laee, for no
Ilf wii»li. arbltraliy, just
n *o please .vou.
■ > 'V rriii;. fi.i'.v .vour or-
■ Mis' ( ft tuinl.N will. But
or, et>nimittee, my
You j)romised
*f I Miek to this. All
' d I (an take a lot of
> -ur b utal threats don't
'1 damned bully!"
lowiy to ids full height.
■ eommlttee, too, stood
' -ly, Bob’s eyes were
^ ind.-soiiie. flashed face
l-’t The uthers’ glances
T d -in his big right dst.
t iit>M (1, as they saw It
' III lvi |... More than one
' . they expected nothing
* e a murder done. But
' ' n‘l nched immediately,
i for, rod and nunoved the
f i le tilt* lamp. The
Which is the rose?
a gaily elaborate bow.
answer my question,
the sewing?"
For the forlornest
mand, ‘Show your ticket, please!’
Ticket!’ I said. ‘I’ve no tickoc.’
Can't pass through then!’ ‘Man,’ I
said. ‘I must. I’m the president of
this railroad. I'm the governor of the
state. I’m the president of these glo
rious United States. B’s a ma!:ter
of life and death. I must!’ ‘Can’t
pass wiihout a ticket,’ was all the con
cession I received. I rushed to the
ticket agent’s window. ‘Ticket!’ ! de
manded. ‘Where to?’ he said lisu)e-
ly. as though the solar Fystem hadn’t
suddenly stood still. ‘Where to? I
don't knov.-.' I confided to him. ‘First
stop on Xew' York Limited, I suppose.’
He handed me a fe'.v inches of paper.
I threw down a bill and. withoitt wait
ing for change, rushed on* to the gate-
inan, waving my ticket frantically
‘Xow will you let me pass?’ T cried,
flushed eagerly, j ‘Xope,’ he answered tranquilly. ‘Train
just pulling out.’ It was true! I sat
down on a truck and spen t fifteen
minutes inventing new v/ays oof ex-
jiressing profound, black despair. And
such." he cried striking a tragic atti
tude. “is the baleful effect of modern
invention upon romance. W^eep with
me!"
Kathleen laughed merril.v. “And
what would you have done, if you had
made the train?”
"What would I have done, you ask?
'\\hal could 1 have done? I would
!iave thrown myself prostrate at her
feet. ‘My dear,’ I would have sat'..,
•yo’i a'e overlong in coming. I have
waited lor you. lo! these tw^enty seven
years. Accept a lifetime's devotion,
heart of my heart.’”
"I'es? And what excuse would you
have made to the police magistrate
next morojing?”
“Bah! You would make an etficient
railroad ofricial. Kathleen. But
strongel" His voice sank to a serious
whisper. “She was just as I had
dreamed her.”
"You've seen her picture somewhere
and adopted it in your d earns, ’ Kath
leen suggested, eminently pracrical.
“Pjvhaps.” he assented, .ind went
Oil in the same unwontedly grave tone.
"But 1 prefer to be'ieve :n my
dreams. She was w'onderful. If only
! you coalj have seen her. Kathleen!
i Her hair—that glorious brown with
I the red-gold lights in it. Aad her
jeyes! Tiiey are so beautifully .gray, eo
cold ^uid yet so sad, with that some-
thin.g that makes you k low she seeks
to hide a great sorrow. 1 he eyes of a
woman wdio will not weep. Her mouth
is like her eyes. It is perfect and yet
hard, wth a trace of bitternes?-. Ah!”
he died passionately, “it wrung my
hearr. She has seen great trouble,
she has sounded the very depths of
life. I know. I tell yo i I leng d, I
ached, to take her in my arms and
say. AI> poor dear, come with me
and T shall take you ^o the sunny
heights. She needs me. Kathleen,
she needs me!” He turned to faco
her.
"Poul!” Kathleen exclaimed, fctart-
led. You let your ima.ginatJon carry
you away. Come back to earth. She
of all you
imagine her.
"Xo, no, Kathleen! St-.'; r' not imag-'
inatioa. She’s the realest thing in ray
life. I’m a horrible shaw beside you
real, i :'g people, but the'-e are t'.' c 3
genuine things in my life’ She, my
friendship for you and my honest lik
ing for i^ob."
Kathleen made as if tc> speal, brit
said nothing.
‘Yes?” he urged her ge.itly. ‘Say
it.”
“Paul,” she said impubiively “for
give me. I have not alvavs h.-»d in 1-
fect confidence in you, in your depth
1 moan—except w'hen I am with you
—then >ou make me beiieve. in spite
of my ungenerotis feeling al. tit you,
that Vou have a good, true side to
you. 1 hate to think anviMng ill of
those I like. Your liking for Bob is
honest, isn t it? Becau.se you re tiie
only person he has ever given his
friendsf.ip to. and, I think, it’s a dee] -
er friendship than eithf^r of you real
ize. If you were to prove false to
him, he would be hopelessly ^nibit-
tered. Think of the evil he might, do
if he were to run amuck, x'^oii an I he
are men of different tas-.'js anu tem
peraments. The day may come when
you 'aay be tempted to turn aw’ay
hom him You will be a tr-.'f* {r*eud
to him always, won’t you?”
“Of course, I will.” he Msid, .:i;?lins
at her earnei?tness.
“Ah! no, Paul! Sucii things aren^t
always ‘of course.’ You'ra both in pol
itics—I hale politics, it makes wen so
hard and selfish. You’re ;unbitious
He has many enemies. And u»i isn’*
like other men. He is apt to be too
—too exacting sometimes."
“But 1 promise, Kathleen—"
“I don’t ask that. Prondses don’t
mean much, do they? And—because
he is what he is—you may find It very
hard sometimes.”
“But I do promise, Kathleen,” he in
sisted earnestly. “And I will keep my
promise, if only fqr your sake, no mat-
little w’aif you ter what the sacrifice.”
“I pray it may never mean sacri
fice.” But she sighed.
From the outside came the sound
of some one w'alking swiftly up the
pavement to the house.
“There he comes now.” Paul said.
“I should know' that step in a thous
and. How like him it is! He is as in
exorable as fate, that man. Let us
keep him right!”
When Bob entered the library Kath
leen ad Remington were chatting
brightly of her latest charity. He lis
tened a while before interrupting.
“I just came from Stougl.ton. He
v.'ants to go back to the legislature.”
"Yes?” Remington queried eagerly.
"I told him I had no objections.”
Remington's face fell. “Ah! 1 had
rather hoped to go myself.”
“Well, w'hy don’t you try for it?”
“But you told Stoughton—”
“That I had no objection to his try
ing. I say the same to you.”
“But if you were to come out for
mp. it w'ould be dead sure.”
"Xo,” Bob said firmly, “If it’s worth
having, it’s w'orth fighting for. I’ll
keep out and keep Haggin out. Then
you and Stoughton can fight it out bo-
tw^een you.”
Remington reflected a moment. “All
right.” he said finally. “I’ll try it.”
“But remember,” Bob added, “you
spend no money for booze or buying
votes. Nothing but legitimate ex-
l)enses.”
Remington looked furtively at Kavh-
leen, who was diligently sewing, to all
appearances oblivious to the conversa
tion.
“Stoughton will, though.”
“He hasn’t enough to do much
harm. How' much have you?”
“About a thousand.”
“W’ell,” Bob said thoughtfully. “HI
]iay your entrance fee to the prima
ries. Your thousand will cover legit
imate expenses. And I’ll see you get
a square count.”
‘isn’t he the generous soul!” Rem
ington laughed to Kathleen, who only
smiled back. “It’s a tough proposi
tion you put me up against. Stoughton
has been over the field already. I sup
pose. But I'll try it. And I’ll
In the bright lexicon of my youth
there’s no such word as fail.”
“Don't underestimate your opponent.
It’s bad startegy,” Bob advised dryly.
Remington w^ent into the fight and
won. to the delight of Haggin and
his henchmen, who fairly loved the
“silk-stocking kid.” It is significant
that when the returns were in. pri
mary day. Stoughton was the first to
congratulate the winner, and with
downright sincerity, too. Bob proceed
ed to reward • the generous loser by
giving him the chief clerkship in his
department at the city hail, a plum
worth twice as much pecuniarily as
the legislatorship.
The night of the primaries. Bob re
ceived the count over the telephone,
Kathleen eagerly adding up the re
turns.
“He wins,” she said when the last
precinct had reported. “Now tell me
why you wouldn't help him.”
On Bob’s face was the inscrutable,
wry smile the committeement had re
marked the night of Remington’s de
fiance.
“It was a test—for him and for me,”
he said quietly. “If he had lost, I
would have cut looses from him. But
now I’m pledged to carry the experi’
ment through to the end. So come on,
Fate! You see,” he added grimly,
"I’m falling into his theatrical ways
already.”
“Will you shake hands with me?”
“Why?”
"You win.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure.
1 once told you that I w.is afraid of
Bob McAdoo. Despite your philoso
phy, I am—still afraid, aKthleen.”
at tho beginning, took its time fromj^ay be the very opposite
Hob, lather than from the young law-'
yer—quiet and undemonstrative: with
a wisdom born of instinct rather than
of deliberation, the latter consistently
subordinated himself to the older man.
never seeking to opopse his will. And
though the intimacy became closer, al
ways Bob must listen to habit’s vig
orous protest against the cnange. It
was not until Remington won his w'ay
to the legislature that the protest ceas
ed to make itself heard.
The friendship, as those who could
ol)serve closely at last came to rec
ognize it to their utter mystificatioii.
was good for McAdoo. Lnder its in
fluence he warmed gradually, there
was ])ercetibly less harshness in his
demeanor. He never repeated his out
burst of confidence to Kathleen, but
he became generally less taciturn. He
laughed more.
The Flinn home had for some years
been in a fine old house standing in a
quarter whence the tide of fashion had
recentlv ebbed. Bob had bought it as
a speculation, but finding no imme
diate purchaser, had moved him.self
and his charges into it; much to the
outward pride and inword perturbntion
of Patrick and Xorah. One even’ng
I’qul Remington ('ntered the house and
was shown into the liijrary, wheie
Kathleen sat alone, sewing.
“Well, my Lady Charity! Working
as usual—and for what impecunious
kid this time? Here’s my excuse for
coming.” He tossed an armful
roses into her lap.
‘ O, you extravagant boy!” s;ie cried,
V arying her fare in the velvetv petals
“You have more of the little graces
than any one I know'. But you
shouuldn’t. You can’t afford it you
silly boy.” She selected one of the
roses and drew it gently ovc
cheek. , ,,,
he asked with
“But you don’t
For whom is
When Remington went to the capi
tal for the first session, he met Mrs.
Dunmeade, the governor’s wife, and
they became friends at once. She al
ready knew’ much of Robert McAdoo,
it developed; Remington told her
more. As a result the boss of the
tough Sixth I^egislative District re
ceived an invitation to the governor’s
reception, an early event in each ses
sion of the legislature. He carried it
to the capital with him, w'hen he w'ent
thither, and show'ed it to Remington.
“Yes, I know',” said the latter. “What
are you going to do about it?”
“Co,” Bob answ'ered laconically.
“Whurroo!” Remington shouted. “I
thought this was out of your line.”
And he threw himself on the bed of
the hotel apartment w'here they were,
and .gave vent to a paroxysm of laugh
ter.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Bob growled, a
faint twinkle, nevertheless, in his
eyes. “Say, Paul, where’s the best
place to get clothes? New' York?”
“Yes.” Paul gasped, and went into
another gale of laughter.
“Well, pack up. You and I are going
to New' York on the nine-thirty. I
guess this state can get along without
your highly valuable services for a
few days."
Remin.gton laughed harder still.
“Don’t mind me,” Bob said dryly.
“Laugh away. I begin to see that hu
mor is a good thing in this world. We
need all we can get of It—as a sugai’-
coating for our eternal folly.”
of
CHAPTER V.
An Alliance Rejected.
Behold then the “tough” boss clad
cap-a-pie as fashion decrees for een-
ing “affairs.” The tailor w'ho had
filled the “rush” order w’as an artist
in his way, and must hae taken an
artist’s delight in fitting the splendid
physique, grow'n less burly and m.ore
supple as the days of the mill-hand’s
heavy labor receded. Bob’s new' attire
displayed to the best advantage his
tall figu e, carried with the uncons
scions grace that only perfect muscu
lar control gives; the broad shoulders
and the lines of the back converging
symmatrically to the narrow' waist. It
may have been the effect of the wide
expanse of shirt and waistcoat: what
ever the reason, he seemed at once
younger and more impressive. More
than one that night, seeing him for the
first time in this garb, revised their
preconceived opinion of the man.
When he appeared in Remington’s
apartment, the night of the governor’s
reception, the young man surveyed
him w'ith critical approval.
“You’ll do,” he nodded. “Who tied
that necktie?”
“That was beyond me,” Bob confess
ed, “but a little of Uncle Sam’s cur
rency secured the expert services of
the head waiter.”
“How' do you feel? A little uneasy?
Rather as though you missed some
thing and didn’t know quite what to
do with yourself?”
“No. Why should I?”
“O, if that’s the way you feel about
It, there’s no reason,” Remington
laughed, as he turned to complete his
, own toilet.
McAdoo and Remington crossed the
governor’s drawing-room together.
Bob, at least, coolly unconscious of the
flutter of w'hispering and noddings
noddings that followed their entvance.
The governor greeted them with the
fine cordiality which was one of the
reasons for his wide personal poi'.ular-
ity. He ana McAdoo were old ac
quaintances; old enemies, too, halng
fought in opposing camps during sev
eral of their party's state conventions, i
“I’m glad to meet you under the j
w'hite flag, McAdoo,” the governor said 1
heartily. “I want you to meet my
wife. Katherine, this is Mr. McAdoo."
Bob did not miss tiie (jiucl: ulance
of approval she cast over his eorreccly
attired figure; nor did he. after that!
glance, regret the pains he had taken
in the motter of his clothes. “Surely
not ‘Knockout Bob?' ’ she Queried;
smilingly.
“Guilty!”
“We must change the sobriquet.”
she said brightly. “We shall leave
that to Mr. Langton here.” i
She introduced Bob to a short, stout
young man w'ho looked out on the
world through thick-lensed eye-glasses.
Langton was a famous cartoonist fr«n
the governor’s home city.
“Mr. Langton, you must take
McAdoo in charge for a while. Thmi
I think w'e ought to get acquainted,
Mr. McAdoo.”
Bob turned aw'ay v^ith the cartoon
ist. “Well, w'hat do you think of it?"
Langton inquired, with a wave of his
hand indicating the motley assem
blage of verdant senators and i)voraot-
ed w'ard-heelers, who stood about in
aw'kw'ard groups, vainly trying to ad
just themselves to the propriety of
the occasion.
“Sort of funny, isn't it?”
“Isn’t it, though? I never miss it.
come for new mateilal, and never
fail to find it. I enjoy it, too. bettf>r
than anything I’ve had since 1 sat in
the gallery and saw the nielndiania.
What kind of show did you prefer
when you w'ere a kid?”
“Never saw a play in my life.”
“You don’t mean it? Come now,
that’s to bad!” Langton readjusred
his glasses and surveyed Bob quiz
zically; although he did not explain
the reason for his regret. He w'ent
on:
“Do you see that bewhiskered old
hayseed over there? The one with
the patently rented dress suit, rady-
made tie, no cuffs in sight. .4 hundred
to one, he thinks he’s penetrated the
inmost fastnesses of sw’elldom and is
frightened out of w’hat little wit the
good God gave him, for fear his flier
in society come to the ears of his
reuben constituents. ‘The old man of
the mountains,’ the boys have dubbed
him already. He’s .Jones, of Clarion.
They must have been hitting tho pipe
pretty freely up there to send an old
fossil like that. He’ll be a mark for
every one that comes along. Won’t
even have to buy him.
“And look at that big ruflian, with
the diamond studs and Bow'ery walk.
He's so rattled, trying to prove he
isn’t rattled, that he only exaggerates
his natural manners—of the speai;-
easy variety at best. It’s a crime, I
say, to bring his sort into the pres
ence of Mrs. Dunmeade. He’s Blunk-
er, of Wilksburg. j
“Yes. I know' him. He counts.”
“Sure. That’s the stuff we make
our American statesmen out of. He'll
go home with his pockets filled with
a lot of fresh boodle. Soon he’ll V)e
boss of his city, then of his county,
then of his corner of the state. Ite’l'
make a million or tw'o. By that time
his manners will be toned dow'n some-
w'hat and he’ll go to congress to make
law's for the noble republic. He'll die
of delirium tremens and the political
orators w'ill eulogize the deceased
statesman. That is, if he doesn’t land
in the penitentiary first. The main
difference betw'een him and a lot of
our big men is that he appears to be
w^hat he actually is.”
So Langton rattled on In ctiiistic
phrase, with the cartoonist's eye pick
ing out the eccentricitty in the per
sonality of every Solon present and
commenting mercilessly upon it. Bob
w’^as highly amused. He shared Lang-
ton’s viewpoint; he knew' the stuff the
average state legislator is made of;
he had made a few' legislators himself.
“All told," Langton concluded,
“about as warm a combination of rot
tenness and incompetency as we have
ever had. I wonder that Dunmeade
consented to it. I can account for it
only on the theory that Murchell is
trying to disgust the people, to pave
the w'ay for some of the goevrnor s
pet reforms, unless that is too IMa-
chiaveliian even for Murchell?”
“You know Murchell as well as I
do,” Bob answered non-comittally.
“They say there is one promisin,g
member, though, young Pcemingt.on.
He’s your man, I believe. They say
he has caught Mrs. Dunmeade’s eye.
That augurs wel’i for his success—un
less you interfere. They say he’s a
coming man. What do you think?"
Bob calmly ignored the question.
“I don't envy the reporter sent to
interview this chap.” Langion said to
himself; and aloud, “What do you
think of Mrs. Dunmeade?”
“They say,” Bob quoted dryly, “that
next to Murchell, she is the cleverest
politician in the state.”
“Next to Murchell! Man, she w'raps
Murchell around her little finger, just
as she does the governor. She has
made Dunmeade. . That is, she has
toned down his impracticable ideals
with hard conimen sense. There’s
quite a romance in their lives. I have
alw'ays suspected, if one could only
unearth it.”
“Why should one wish to unearth
it?” Bob demanded sharp!.'.
“As a new'spaper man, 1 assert it
would make great cojiy. As a gentle
man,” he added with a laugh, “I agree
with you that it Isn't a thing for the
public to paw' over. They're too fine
people to have their private lives tres
passed upon by the fool public. She is
coming our way now.”
“Speaking of angels.” he addressed
her with a low bow', “I was just saj'-
ing, Mrs. Dunmeade, that you are the
most charming w'oman in the stafe."
“Come now',” she chided him laugh
ingly, “that is too gross to be effect'e.
Go over to that corner and break up
Mr. Remington’s monopoly of our few-
pretty girls, I want to talk to Mr.
McAdoo alone. ’
“Look out, McAdoo,” Langton laugh
ed. “For if Mrs. Dunmeade wants
anything from you, you might as well
imitate Davy Crockett’s coon.”
WMth another bow he left them and'
made his w'ay across the room.
“Suppose,” suggested Mrs. Dun
meade, “w'e run away from this to the
library. Unless,” she added with a
smile, “you would rather join the
monopolists?”
(CONTINUED TOMORROW.)
mi l m
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