The Best Man Page 4

  TWO CANDIDATES

  I

  TO begin with, I am going to call things by their real names. At firstglance this statement will give you a shiver of terror, that is, if youhappen to be a maiden lady or a gentleman with reversible cuffs. Butyour shivers will be without reason. Prue may read, and modest Prue'smama; for it isn't going to be a naughty story; on the contrary,grandma's spring medicines are less harmless. Yet there is a parable toexpound and a moral to point out; but I shall leave these to your owndiscernment.

  It has always appealed to me as rather a silly custom on astory-teller's part to invent names for the two great political partiesof the United States; and for my part, I am going to call a Democrat aDemocrat and a Republican a Republican, because these titles are not sohallowed in our time as to be disguised in print and uttered in a batedbreath. There is fortunately no _lese-majeste_ in America.

  Men inclined toward the evil side of power will be found in all parties,and always have been. Unlike society, the middle class in politicsusually contains all the evil elements. In politics the citizen becomesthe lowest order, and the statesman the highest; and, thanks to thecommon sense of the race, these are largely honest and incorruptible.When these become disintegrated, a republic falls.

  Being a journalist and a philosopher, I look upon both parties withtolerant contempt. The very nearness of some things disillusions us; andI have found that only one illusion remains to the newspaper man, andthat is that some day he'll get out of the newspaper business. I vote asI please, though the family does not know this. The mother is aRepublican and so is the grandmother; and, loving peace in the house, Idub myself a Republican till that moment when I enter the voting-booth.Then I become an individual who votes as his common-sense directs.

  The influence of woman in politics is no inconsiderable matter.The great statesman may flatter himself that his greatness is dueto his oratorical powers; but his destiny is often decided at thebreakfast-table. Why four-fifths of the women lean toward Republicanismis something no mere historian can analyze.

  In my town politics had an evil odor. For six years a Democrat had beenmayor, and for six years the town had been plundered. For six years theRepublicans had striven, with might and main, to regain the power ...and the right to plunder. It did not matter which party ruled, graft(let us omit the quotation marks) was the tocsin. The citizens wererobbed, openly or covertly, according to the policy of the party inoffice. There was no independent paper in town; so, from one month's endto another it was leaded editorial vituperation. Then Caliban revolted.An independent party was about to be formed.

  The two bosses, however, were equal to the occasion. They immediatelyhustled around and secured as candidates for the mayoralty two prominentyoung men whose honesty and integrity were unimpeachable. Caliban, as ishis habit, sheathed his sword and went back to his bench, his desk, orwhatever his occupation was.

  On the Republican side they nominated a rich young club-man. Now, as youwill readily agree, it is always written large on the political bannerthat a man who is rich has no incentive to become a grafter. The publicis ever willing to trust its funds to a millionaire. The Democrats, withequal cunning, brought forward a brilliant young attorney, whose incomewas rather moderate but whose ability and promise were great. TheDemocratic organs hailed his nomination with delight.

  "We want one of the people to represent us, not one of the privilegedclass." You see, there happened to be no rich young Democrat available.

  These two candidates were close personal friends. They had been chumsfrom boyhood and had been graduated from the same college. They belongedto the same clubs, and were acknowledged to be the best horsemen intown. As to social prominence, neither had any advantage over the other,save in the eyes of matrons who possessed marriageable (and extravagant)daughters. Williard, the Republican nominee, was a handsome chap,liberal-minded and generous-hearted, without a personal enemy in theworld. I recollect only one fault: he loved the world a little too well.The opposition organs, during the heat of the campaign, dropped vaguehints regarding dinners to singers and actresses and large stakes inpoker games. Newcomb, his opponent, was not handsome, but he had a fine,clean-cut, manly face, an intrepid eye, a resolute mouth, and atremendous ambition. He lived well within his income, the highestrecommendation that may be paid to a young man of these days.

  He threw himself into the fight with all the ardor of which his naturewas capable; whereas Williard was content to let the machine direct hismovements. The truth is, Williard was indifferent whether he becamemayor or not. To him the conflict was a diversion, a new fish toLucullus; and when the Democratic organs wrote scathing editorials aboutwhat they termed his profligate career, he would laugh and exhibit thearticles at the club. It was all a huge joke. He made very few speeches,and at no time could he be forced into the foreign districts. Hecomplained that his olfactory nerve was too delicately educated. Theleaders swallowed their rancor; there was nothing else for them to do.In Williard's very lack of ambition lay his strength. Poverty would havemade a great man out of him; but riches have a peculiar way of numbingthe appreciation of the greater and simpler things in life.

  Newcomb went everywhere; the Poles hurrahed for him, the Germans, theIrish, the Huns and the Italians. And he made no promises which he didnot honestly intend to fulfil. To him the fight meant everything; itmeant fame and honor, a comfortable addition to his income, andWashington as a finality. He would purify the Democrats while heannihilated the pretensions of the Republicans. He was what historianscall an active dreamer, a man who dreams and then goes forth toaccomplish things. His personality was engaging.

  Besides all this (for the secret must be told) Newcomb was in love andwished to have all these things to lay at the feet of his beloved, evenif she returned them. You will regularly find it to be true that thesingle man is far more ambitious than his married brother. The latterinvariably turns over the contract to his wife.

  Williard was deeply in love, too, with Senator Gordon's lovely daughter,and Senator Gordon was that mysterious power which directed theRepublican forces in his section of the state. So you may readilybelieve that Newcomb was forced to put up a better fight than Williard,who stood high in Senator Gordon's favor. The girl and the two young menhad been friends since childhood, and nobody knew whether she cared foreither of them in the way they desired. Everybody in town, who wasanybody, understood the situation; and everybody felt confident thatWilliard was most likely to win. The girl never said anything, even toher intimate friends; but when the subject was brought up, she smiled ina way that dismissed it.

  Such was the political situation at the beginning of the municipalcampaign. There have been like situations in any number of cities whichboast of one hundred thousand inhabitants or more; perhaps in your town,and yours, and yours. That bugaboo of the politician, reform, bringsaround this phenomenon about once in every eight years. For a while thewicked ones promise to be good, and you will admit that that helps.

  It was amusing to follow the newspapers. They vilified each other,ripped to shreds the character of each candidate, recalled boyhoodescapades and magnified them into frightful crimes, and declared in turnthat the opposition boss should land in the penitentiary if it took allthe type in the composing-rooms to do it. What always strikes me as oddis that, laughter-loving people that we are, nobody laughs during thesefoolish periods. Instead, everybody goes about, straining his conscienceand warping his common-sense into believing these flimsy campaign lies,these outrageous political roorbacks.

  When Williard and Newcomb met at the club, at the Saturday-nightluncheons, they avoided each other tactfully, each secretly longing tograsp the other's hand and say: "Don't believe a word of it, old boy;it's all tommy-rot." But policy held them at arm's length. What wouldthe voters say if they heard that their respective candidates werehobnobbing at a private club? Newcomb played billiards in the basementwhile Williard played a rubber at whist up stairs; a
nd the Saturdayrides out to the country club became obsolete. Only a few cynics saw thedroll side of the situation; and they were confident that when theelection was over the friendship would be renewed all the more stronglyfor the tension.

  One night, some weeks before the election, Williard dined alone with thesenator at the Gordon home. Betty Gordon was dining elsewhere. With thecognac and cigars, the senator drew out a slip of paper, scrutinized itfor a space, then handed it to his protege.

  "That's the slate. How do you like it?"

  Williard ran his glance up and down the columns. Once he frowned.

  "What's the matter?" asked the senator shrewdly.

  "I do not like the idea of Matthews for commissioner of public works.He's a blackleg--there's no getting around that. He practically runsthat faro-bank above his down-town saloon. Can't you put some one elsein his place?"

  The senator flipped the ash from the end of his cigar.

  "Honestly, my boy, I agree with your objection; but the word is given,and if we turn him down now, your friend Newcomb will stand a prettyfair show of being the next mayor."

  "You might get a worse one," Williard laughed. "Jack is one of thefinest fellows in the world," loyally.

  "Not a bit of doubt; but politically," said the senator, laughing, "heis a rascal, a man without a particle of character, and all that. Butpersonally speaking, I would that this town had more like him. Win orlose, he will always be welcome in this house. But this Matthews matter;you will have to swallow him or be swallowed."

  "He's a rascal."

  "Perhaps he is. Once you are elected, however, you can force him out,and be hanged to him. Just now it would be extremely dangerous. My boy,politics has strange bed-fellows, as the saying goes. These men arenecessary; to fight them is to cut your own throat. No one knows justhow they get their power; but one morning you will wake up and find themmenacing you, and you have to placate them and toss them sops."

  "I might at least have been consulted."

  "I appreciated your antagonism beforehand. Politics is a peculiarbusiness. A man must form about himself a shell as thick as a turtle's,or his feelings are going to be hurt. Now, if you would like to changeany of these smaller offices, the health department doesn't matter. Whatdo you say?"

  "Oh, if Matthews remains on the slate, I do not care to alter the restof it. But I warn you that I shall get rid of him at the earliestopportunity."

  "Just as you like."

  The senator smiled covertly. Matthews was one of his henchmen in thelarger matters of state. His name had been the first to appear on theslate, and the senator was determined that it should remain there. Notthat he had any liking for the man; simply he was one of the wheelswhich made the machine run smoothly. The senator knew his power ofpersuasion; he knew Williard's easy-going nature; but he also knew thatthese easy-going persons are terribly stubborn at times. He was obligedto hold on to Matthews. The gubernatorial campaign was looming up forthe ensuing year, and the senator was curious to learn the real powerthat went with the seal of a governor of a first-class state.

  There fell an intermission to the conversation. Williard smokedthoughtfully. He recalled the years during which he had accepted thegenerous hospitality of this house, and the love he held for the host'sdaughter. Only since his return from abroad had he learned the strengthof his sentiment. Heretofore he had looked upon the girl as a sister,jolly, talented, a fine dancer, a daring rider, a good comrade. He hadbeen out of the country for three years. On his return he had foundBetty Gordon a beautiful woman, and he had silently surrendered. As yethe had said nothing, but he knew that she knew. Yet he always saw theshadow of Newcomb, old Jack Newcomb. Well, let the best man win!

  "I can find a way to dispose of Matthews," he said finally.

  "I dare say."

  But Williard did not know the tenacity with which some men cling tooffice. The senator did.

  Here the servant ushered in two lieutenants of the senator's. One was anex-consul and the other was the surveyor of customs, who was notsupposed to dabble in local politics.

  "Everything is agreeable to Mr. Williard," the senator answered in replyto the questioning look of his subordinates. "He vows, however, that hewill shake Matthews as soon as he can get the chance."

  The new arrivals laughed.

  "We'll put you through, young man," said the ex-consul; "and one ofthese fine days we shall send you to France. That's the place for a manof your wit and wealth."

  Williard smiled and lighted a fresh cigar. He did possess the reputationof being a clever wit, and in his secret heart he would much prefer aconsulate or a secretaryship at the French embassy. He thoroughlydetested this indiscriminate hand-shaking which went with localpolitics.

  But Matthews stuck in his gorge, and he wondered if Newcomb was goingthrough any like ordeal, and if Newcomb would submit so readily.... Whythe deuce didn't Betty return? It was almost nine o'clock.

  Presently her sunny countenance appeared in the doorway, and Williarddropped his cigar joyfully and rose. It was worth all the politics inthe world!

  "Gentlemen, you will excuse me," he said.

  "Go along!" the senator cried jovially. "We can spare you."

  As indeed they very well could!

  In a minute Williard was in the music-room.

  "I really do not know that I ought to shake hands with you, Dick," beganBetty, tossing her hat on the piano. "You have deceived me for years."

  "Deceived you! What do you mean?" mightily disturbed.

  "Wait a moment." She brought forth a paper. "Sit down in front of me.This is going to be a court of inquiry, and your sins shall be passed inreview." He obeyed meekly. "Now listen," the girl went on, mischief inher eyes; "this paper says horrid things about you. It claims that youhave given riotous dinners to actresses and comic-opera singers. Iclassify them because I do not think comic-opera singers are actresses."

  "Rot!" said Williard, crossing his legs and eying with pleasure thecontours of her face. "Jolly rot!"

  "You mustn't say 'jolly' in this country; it's English, and they'll beaccusing you of it."

  "Well, bally rot; how will that go?"

  "That isn't very pretty, but it will pass. Now, to proceed. They saythat your private life is profligate."

  "Oh, come now, Betty!" laughing diffidently.

  "They say that you gamble at poker and win and lose huge sums."

  "Your father plays poker in Washington; I've seen him."

  "He's not on trial; _you_ are. Furthermore," went on the girl, thetwinkle going from her eye, leaving it searching yet unfathomable, "thiseditor says that you are only a dummy in this game of politics, and thatonce you are mayor, your signature will be all that will be required ofyou. That is to say, you will be nothing but a puppet in the hands ofthe men who brought about your election."

  Williard thought of Matthews, and the smile on his lips died.

  "Now, Dick, this paper says that it seeks only the truth of things, andadmits that you possess certain engaging qualities. What am I tobelieve?"

  "Betty, you know very well that they'll have me robbing widows beforeelection." He was growing restless. He felt that this trial wasn't allplay. "If you don't mind, I'd rather talk of something else. Politics,politics, morning, noon and night until my ears ache!"

  "Or burn," suggested the girl. "The things they say about your privatelife--I don't care for them. I know that they are not truths. But theword 'puppet' annoys me." She laid aside the paper.

  "Have I ever acted like a dummy, Betty? In justice to me, have I?" Hewas serious.

  "Not in ordinary things."

  "No one has ever heard that I broke a promise."

  "No."

  "Or that I was cowardly."

  "No, no!"

  "Well, if I am elected, I shall fool certain persons. I am easy-going; Iconfess to that impeachment; but I have never been crossedsuccessfully."

  "They'll know how to accomplish their ends without crossing you. That'sa part of the politicia
n's business."

  "If I am elected, I'll study ways and means. Hang it, I wasn't runningafter office. They said that they needed me. As a property owner I hadto surrender. I am not a hypocrite; I never was. I can't go honestlyamong the lower classes and tell them that I like them, shake theirgrimy hands, hobnob with them at caucuses and in gloomy halls. I am nota politician; my father was not before me; it isn't in my blood. Ihaven't the necessary ambition. Newcomb's grandfather was a wargovernor; mine was a planter in the South. Now, Newcomb has ambitionenough to carry him to the presidency; and I hope he'll get it some day,and make an ambassador out of me. Sometimes I wish I wasn't rich, sothat I might enjoy life as some persons do. To have something to fightfor constantly! I am spoiled."

  He wheeled his chair toward the fire and rested his elbows on his knees.

  "He's very handsome," thought the girl; but she sighed.