Very thoughtfully he unfolded the morning paper, and the next moment uttered a roar of wrath and vexation. Briggs was one of his stand-bys, and the Herald heretofore had always supported him; yet here across the first page were big black letters saying: “Vote for Forbes!” And the columns were full of articles and paragraphs praising Forbes and declaring that he could and would do more for the district than Hopkins.
“I must see Briggs,” muttered the Honorable Erastus. “He’s tryin’ to make me put up that hundred — an’ I guess I’ll have to do it.”
He looked over the other newspapers which were heaped upon his desk in the sitting-room, and was disgusted to find all but one of the seven papers in the district supporting Forbes. Really, the thing began to look serious. And he had only been absent a week!
He had not much appetite for breakfast when Mrs. Hopkins set it before him. But the Honorable Erastus was a born fighter, and his discovery had only dismayed him for a brief time. Already he was revolving ways of contesting this new activity in the enemy’s camp, and decided that he must talk with “the boys” at once.
So he hurried away from the breakfast table and walked down-town. Latham was first on his route and he entered the drug store.
“Hullo, Jim.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. Anything I can do for you?” asked the polite druggist.
“Yes, a lot. Tell me what these fool girls are up to, that are plugging for Forbes. I’ve been away for a week, you know.”
“Can’t say, Mr. Hopkins, I’m sure. Business is pretty lively these days, and it keeps me hustling. I’ve no time for politics.”
“But we’ve got to wake up, Jim, we Democrats, or they’ll give us a run for our money.”
“Oh, this is a Republican district, sir. We can’t hope to win it often, and especially in a case like this.”
“Why not?”
“Looks to me as if you’d bungled things, Hopkins. But I’m not interested in this campaign. Excuse me; if there’s nothing you want, I’ve got a prescription to fill.”
Mr. Hopkins walked out moodily. It was very evident that Latham had changed front. But they had never been very staunch friends; and he could find a way to even scores with the little druggist later.
Thompson was behind his desk at the general store when Hopkins walked in.
“Look here,” said the Honorable Representative, angrily, “what’s been going on in Elmwood? What’s all this plugging for Forbes mean?”
Thompson gave him a sour look over the top of his desk.
“Addressin’ them remarks to me, ‘Rast?”
“Yes — to you! You’ve been loafing on your job, old man, and it won’t do — it won’t do at all. You should have put a stop to these things. What right have these girls to interfere in a game like this?”
“Oh, shut up, ‘Rast.”
“Thompson! By crickey, I won’t stand this from you. Goin’ back on me, eh?”
“I’m a Republication, ‘Rast.”
“So you are,” said Mr. Hopkins slowly, his temper at white heat “And that mortgage is two months overdue.”
“Go over to the bank and get your money, then. It’s waiting for you, Hopkins — interest and all. Go and get it and let me alone. I’m busy.”
Perhaps the politician had never been so surprised in his life. Anger gave way to sudden fear, and he scrutinized the averted countenance of Thompson carefully.
“Where’d you raise the money, Thompson?”
“None of your business. I raised it.”
“Forbes, eh? Forbes has bought you up, I see. Grateful fellow, ain’t you — when I loaned you money to keep you from bankruptcy!”
“You did, Hopkins. You made me your slave, and threatened me every minute, unless I did all your dirty work. Grateful? You’ve led me a dog’s life. But I’m through with you now — for good and all.”
Hopkins turned and walked out without another word. In the dentist’s office Dr. Squiers was sharpening and polishing his instruments.
“Hello, Archie.”
“Hello, ‘Rast. ‘Bout time you was getting back, old man. We’re having a big fight on our hands, I can tell you.”
“Tell me more,” said Mr. Hopkins, taking a chair with a sigh of relief at finding one faithful friend. “What’s up, Archie?”
“An invasion of girls, mostly. They took us by surprise, the other day, and started a campaign worthy of old political war-horses. There’s some shrewd politician behind them, I know, or they wouldn’t have nailed us up in our coffins with such business-like celerity.”
“Talk sense, Archie. What have they done? What can they do? Pah! Girls!”
“Don’t make a mistake, ‘Rast. That’s what I did, before I understood. When I heard that three girls were electioneering for Forbes I just laughed. Then I made a discovery. They’re young and rich, and evidently ladies. They’re pretty, too, and the men give in at the first attack. They don’t try to roast you. That’s their cleverness. They tell what Forbes can do, with all his money, if he’s Representative, and they swear he’ll do it.”
“Never mind,” said Hopkins, easily. “We’ll win the men back again.”
“But these girls are riding all over the country, talking to farmers’ wives, and they’re organizing a woman’s political club. The club is to meet at Elmhurst and to be fed on the fat of the land; so every woman wants to belong. They’ve got two expensive automobiles down from the city, with men to make them go, and they’re spending money right and left.”
“That’s bad,” said Hopkins, shifting uneasily, “for I haven’t much to spend, myself. But most money is fooled away in politics. When I spend a cent it counts, I can tell you.”
“You’ll have to spend some, ‘Rast, to keep your end up. I’m glad you’re back, for we Democrats have been getting demoralized. Some of the boys are out for Forbes already.”
Hopkins nodded, busy with his thoughts.
“I’ve talked with Latham. But he didn’t count. And they’ve bought up Thompson. What else they’ve done I can’t tell yet. But one thing’s certain, Doc; we’ll win out in a canter. I’m too old a rat to be caught in a trap like this. I’ve got resources they don’t suspect.”
“I believe you, ‘Rast. They’ve caught on to the outside fakes to win votes; but they don’t know the inside deals yet.”
“You’re right. But I must make a bluff to offset their daylight campaign, so as not to lose ground with the farmers. They’re the ones that count, after all; not the town people. See here, Doc, I had an idea something might happen, and so I arranged with my breakfast food company to let me paint a hundred signs in this neighborhood. A hundred, mind you! and that means a big laugh on Forbes, and the good will of the farmers who sell their spaces, and not a cent out of my pocket. How’s that for a checkmate?”
“That’s fine,” replied Dr. Squiers. “There’s been considerable talk about this sign business, and I’m told that at the meeting last night one of the girls made a speech about it, and said the farmers were being converted, and were now standing out for clean fences and barns.”
“That’s all humbug!”
“I think so, myself. These people are like a flock of sheep. Get them started a certain way and you can’t head them off,” observed the dentist.
“Then we must start them our way,” declared Hopkins. “I’ve got the order for these signs in my pocket, and I’ll have ‘em painted all over the district in a week. Keep your eyes open, Doc. If we’ve got to fight we won’t shirk it; but I don’t look for much trouble from a parcel of girls.”
Mr. Hopkins was quite cheerful by this time, for he had thought out the situation and his “fighting blood was up,” as he expressed it.
He walked away whistling softly to himself and decided that he would go over to the livery stable, get a horse and buggy, drive out into the country, and spend the day talking with the farmers.
But when he turned the corner into the side street where the livery was located he was
astonished to find a row of horses and wagons lining each side of the street, and in each vehicle two men in white jumpers and overalls. The men were in charge of huge cans of paints, assorted brushes, ladders, scaffolds and other paraphernalia.
There must have been twenty vehicles, altogether, and some of the rigs were already starting out and driving briskly away in different directions.
Mr. Hopkins was puzzled. He approached one of the white-overalled men who was loading cans of paint into a wagon and inquired:
“Who are you fellows?”
“Sign painters,” answered the man, with an amused look.
“Who do you work for?”
“The Carson Advertising Sign Company of Cleveland.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Hopkins. “Got a big job in this neighborhood?”
“Pretty big, sir.”
“Who’s your foreman?”
“Smith. He’s in the livery office.”
Then the man climbed into his wagon and drove away, and Hopkins turned into the livery office. A thin-faced man with sharp eyes was Talking with the proprietor.
“Is this Mr. Smith?” asked Hopkins.
“Yes.”
“Of the Carson Advertising Sign Company?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve got a big job for you. My name’s Hopkins. I want a hundred big signs painted mighty quick.”
“Sorry, sir; we’ve got all we can handle here for two or three weeks.”
“It’s got to be done quick or not at all. Can’t you send for more men?”
“We’ve got thirty-eight on this job, and can’t get any more for love or money. Had to send to Chicago for some of these.”
“Rush job?”
“Yes, sir. You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got to get started. This is only our second day and we’re pretty busy.”
“Wait a minute,” called the bewildered Hopkins, following Smith to his buggy. “What concern is your firm doing all this painting for?”
“A man named Merrick.”
Then the foreman drove away, and Mr. Hopkins was left greatly puzzled.
“Merrick — Merrick!” he repeated. “I don’t remember any big advertiser by that name. It must be some new concern. Anyhow, it all helps in my fight against Forbes.”
He again returned to the livery office and asked for a rig.
“Everything out, Mr. Hopkins. I’ve hired everything to be had in town for this sign-painting gang.”
But Mr. Hopkins was not to be balked. As long as these sign-painters were doing missionary work for his cause among the farmers, he decided to drive over to Fairview and see the party leaders in that important town. So he went back to Dr. Squiers’s house and borrowed the Doctor’s horse and buggy.
He drove along the turnpike for a time in silence. Then it struck him that there was a peculiar air of neatness about the places he passed. The barns and fences all seemed newly painted, and he remembered that he hadn’t seen an advertising sign since he left town.
A mile farther on he came upon a gang of the sign painters, who with their huge brushes were rapidly painting the entire length of a weather-worn fence with white paint.
Mr. Hopkins reined in and watched them for a few moments.
“You sign-painters don’t seem to be getting any signs started,” he observed.
“No,” replied one of the men, laughing. “This is a peculiar job for our firm to tackle. We’ve made a contract to paint out every sign in the district.”
“Paint ‘em out!”
“Yes, cover them up with new paint, and get rid of them.”
“But how about the advertisers? Don’t they own the spaces now?”
“They did; but they’ve all been bought up. John Merrick owns the spaces now, and we’re working for John Merrick.”
“Who’s he?”
“Some friend of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst.”
Mr. Hopkins was not a profane man, but he said a naughty word. And then he cut his horse so fiercely with the whip that the poor beast gave a neigh of terror, and started down the road at a gallop.
CHAPTER IX
OL’ WILL ROGERS
Beth had her folding table out in the rose garden where Kenneth was working at his easel, and while the boy painted she wrote her campaign letters and “editorials.”
At first Ken had resented the management of his campaign by his three girl friends; but soon he was grateful for their assistance and proud of their talents. It was at their own request that he refrained from any active work himself, merely appearing at the meetings they planned, where he made his speeches and impressed his hearers with his earnestness. He was really an excellent speaker, and his youth and enthusiasm counted much in his favor.
He protested mildly when Louise invited the Women’s Political Club to meet at Elmhurst on Thursday afternoon, but Mr. Watson assured him that this was an important play for popularity, so he promised to meet them. Tables were to be spread upon the lawn, for the late October weather was mild and delightful, and Louise planned to feed the women in a way that they would long remember.
Patsy had charge of the towns and Louise of the country districts, but Beth often aided Louise, who had a great deal of territory to cover.
The automobiles Uncle John had ordered sent down were a great assistance to the girls, and enabled them to cover twice as much territory in a day as would have been done with horses.
But, although they worked so tirelessly and earnestly, it was not all plain sailing with the girl campaigners. Yet though they met with many rebuffs, they met very little downright impertinence. Twice Louise was asked to leave a house where she had attempted to make a proselyte, and once a dog was set upon Beth by an irate farmer, who resented her automobile as much as he did her mission. As for Patsy, she was often told in the towns that “a young girl ought to be in better business than mixing up in politics,” and she was sensitive enough once or twice to cry over these reproaches when alone in her chamber. But she maintained a cheerful front; and, in truth, all the girls enjoyed their work immensely.
While Beth and Kenneth were in the garden this sunny afternoon James came to say that a man wanted to see “one of the politics young ladies.”
“Shall we send him about his business, Beth?” asked the boy.
“Oh, no; we can’t afford to lose a single vote. Bring him here, James, please,” said the girl.
So presently a wizened little man in worn and threadbare garments, his hat in his hand, came slowly into the garden. His sunken cheeks were covered with stubby gray whiskers, his shoulders were stooped and bent from hard work, and his hands bore evidences of a life of toil. Yet the eyes he turned upon Beth, as she faced him had a wistful and pleading look that affected her strangely.
“Afternoon, miss,” he said, in a hesitating voice. “I — I’m Rogers, miss; ol’ Will Rogers. I — I s’pose you hain’t heerd o’ me before.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” replied the girl in her pleasant voice. “Have you come to see me about the election?”
“It’s — it’s sump’n ‘bout the ‘lection, an’ then agin it ain’t. But I run the chanct o’ seein’ ye, because we’re in desprit straits, an’ Nell advised that I hev a talk with ye. ‘Frank an’ outright,’ says Nell. ‘Don’t beat about the bush,’ says she. ‘Go right to th’ point an’ they’ll say yes or no.”
Beth laughed merrily, and the boy smiled as he wielded his brush with delicate strokes.
“Ye mustn’t mind me, miss,” said Will Rogers, in a deprecating tone. “I’m — I’m sommut broke up an’ discouraged, an’ ain’t th’ man I used to be. Nell knows that, an’ she orter came herself; but it jes’ made her cry to think o’ it, an’ so I says I’ll come an’ do the best I kin.”
Beth was really interested now.
“Sit down on this bench, Mr. Rogers,” she said, “and I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”
He sat down willingly, bent forward as he rested upon the garden bench, and t
wirled his hat slowly in his hands.
“‘Taint easy, ye know, miss, to say some things, an’ this is one o’ the hardest,” he began.
“Go on,” said Beth, encouragingly, for old Will had suddenly stopped short and seemed unable to proceed.
“They say, miss, as you folks is a-spendin’ uv a lot o’ money on this election, a-gittin’ votes, an’ sich like,” he said, in an altered tone.
“It costs a little to run a political campaign,” acknowledged Beth.
“They say money’s bein’ poured out liken water — to git votes,” he persisted.
“Well, Mr. Rogers?”
“Well, thet’s how it started, ye see. We’re so agonizin’ poor, Nell thought we orter git some o’ the money while it’s goin’.”
The girl was much amused. Such frankness was both unusual and refreshing.
“Have you a vote to sell?” she asked.
He did not answer at once, but sat slowly twirling his hat.
“That’s jet’ what Nell thought ye’d ask,” he said, finally, “an’ she knew if ye did it was all up with our plan. Guess I’ll be goin’, miss.”
He rose slowly from his seat, but the girl did not intend to lose any of the fun this queer individual might yet furnish.
“Sit down, Mr. Rogers,” she said, “and tell me why you can’t answer my questions?”
“I guess I’ll hev to speak out an’ tell all,” said he, his voice trembling a little, “although I thought fer a minnit I could see my way without. I can’t sell my vote, miss, ‘cause I’ve been plannin’ t’vote fer Mr. Forbes anyhow. But we wanted some uv th’ money that’s being wasted, an’ we wanted it mighty bad.”
“Why?”
“Thet’s the hard part uv it, miss; but I’m goin’ to tell you. Did ye ever hear o’ Lucy?”
“No, Mr. Rogers.”
“Lucy’s our girl — the on’y chick er child we ever had. She’s a pretty girl, is Lucy; a good deal liken her mother; wi’ the same high spirits my Nell had afore she broke down. Mostly Nell cries, nowadays.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 438
