Complete Works of L. Frank Baum
Page 443
The orator paused impressively to wait for more cheers, but the audience was silent. In the outskirts of the crowd a faint hissing began to be heard. It reached the speaker’s ear and he hurriedly resumed the oration.
“I do not say Mr. Forbes is not a good citizen,” said he, “but that he is misguided and unreasonable. A certain degree of deference is due the young man because he inherited considerable wealth from his uncle, and — ”
Again the hisses began, and Mr. Hopkins knew he must abandon personal attacks or he would himself be discredited before his hearers. Kenneth and his supporters sat silent in their places, the three girls, who were now well known in the district, forming part of the Republican group; and none of them displayed the least annoyance at the vituperation Mr. Hopkins had employed.
“I have already called your attention in my circulars,” resumed the speaker, “to the fact that advertising signs are the source of large income to the farmers of this district. I find that three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three dollars have been paid the farmers in the last five years, without the least trouble or expense on their part; and this handsome sum of money belongs to them and should not be taken away. Stop and think for a moment. Advertising is the life of every business, and to fight successfully the great army of advertisers whose business is the life-blood of our institutions is as impossible as it is absurd. Suppose every farmer in this district refused to permit signs upon his property; what would be the result? Why, the farmers of other sections would get that much more money for letting privileges, and you would be that much out of pocket without suppressing the evil — if evil can attach to an industry that pays you good money without requiring either investment or labor in return.”
After continuing in this strain for some time, Mr. Hopkins announced that “he would now give way to his youthful and inexperienced opponent,” and asked the audience to be patient with Mr. Forbes and considerate of “his extraordinary prejudices.”
Hopkins’s policy of discrediting his opponent in advance was not very effective, for when Kenneth arose he was more enthusiastically cheered than Hopkins had been. The meeting was disposed to be fair-minded and quite willing to give Mr. Forbes a chance to explain his position.
“The arguments of our distinguished Representative are well worthy of your consideration,” he began, quietly. “It is only by understanding fully both sides of an argument that you can hope to arrive at a just and impartial decision. Mr. Hopkins has advocated advertising signs on the ground that your financial gain warrants permitting them to be placed upon your premises. I will not deny his statement that three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three dollars have been paid the farmers of this district by advertisers in the last five years. It is quite likely to be true. I have here the report of the Department of Agriculture showing that the total amount paid to farmers of the eighth district in the last five years, for produce of all kinds, is eleven millions, five-hundred thousand dollars.”
A murmur of amazement rose from the audience. Kenneth waited until it had subsided.
“This seems surprising, at first,” he said, “and proves how startling aggregate figures are. You must remember I have covered five years in this estimate, as did Mr. Hopkins in his, and if you will figure it out you will see that the yearly average of earnings is about six hundred dollars to each farmer. That is a good showing, for we have a wealthy district; but it is not surprising when reduced to that basis. Mr. Hopkins slates that the farmers of this district received three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three dollars during the last five years for advertising signs. Let us examine these figures. One-fifth of that sum is seven hundred and fifty-six dollars and sixty cents as the income to you per year. We have, in this district, twenty-five hundred farmers according to the latest reports of the Bureau of Statistics, and dividing seven hundred and fifty-six dollars and sixty cents by twenty-five hundred, we find that each farmer receives an average of thirty and one-quarter cents per year for allowing his fences and buildings to be smothered in lurid advertising signs. So we find that the money received by the farmers from the advertising amounts to about one-quarter of one per cent of their income, a matter so insignificant that it cannot affect them materially, one way or another.
“But, Mr. Hopkins states that you give nothing in return for this one-quarter of one per cent, while I claim you pay tremendously for it. For you sacrifice the privacy of your homes and lands, and lend yourselves to the selfish desire of advertisers to use your property to promote their sales. You have been given an example of clean barns and fences, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of this district when I ride through it and see neatly painted barns and fences replacing the flaring and obtrusive advertising signs that formerly disfigured the highways. Why should you paint advertising signs upon your barns any more than upon your houses? Carry the thing a step farther, and you may as well paint signs upon your children’s dresses, in the manner you see illustrated before you.”
At this, Louise made a signal and the fifty children so grotesquely covered with signs rose and stepped forward upon the stage. The orchestra struck up an air and the little girls sang the following ditty:
”Teas and soaps,
Pills and dopes,
We all must advertise.
Copper cents,
Not common sense.
Are the things we prize.
We confess
Such a dress
Isn’t quite becoming,
But we suppose
Hopkins knows
This keeps business humming.”
As the girls ceased singing, Kenneth said:
“To the encroaching advertiser these signs of the times are considered legitimate. There is no respect for personal privacy on the advertiser’s part. Once they used only the newspapers, the legitimate channels for advertising. Then they began painting their advertising on your fences. When the farmers protested against this the advertisers gave them a few pennies as a sop to quiet them. After this they gave you small sums to paint the broad sides of your barns, your board fences, and to place signs in your field. If you allowed them to do so they would paint signs on the dresses of your children and wives, so callous are they to all decency and so regardless of private rights. Look on this picture, my friends, and tell me, would you prefer to see this — or this?”
At the word each child pulled away the sign-painted slip and stood arrayed in a pretty gown of spotless white.
The surprise was so complete that the audience cheered, shouted and laughed for several minutes before silence was restored. Then the children sang another verse, as follows:
”Now it is clear
That we appear
Just as we should be;
We are seen
Sweet and clean
From corruption free:
We’re the signs
Of the times —
Fair as heaven’s orbs.
If we look good,
Then all men should
Vote for Kenneth Forbes!”
The cheering was renewed at this, and Mr. Hopkins became angry. He tried to make himself heard, but the popular fancy had been caught by the object lesson so cleverly placed before them, and they shouted: “Forbes! Forbes! Forbes!” until the Honorable Erastus became so furious that he left the meeting in disgust.
This was the most impolite thing he could have done, but he vowed that the meeting had been “packed” with Forbes partisans and that he was wasting his time in addressing them.
After he was gone Kenneth resumed his speech and created more enthusiasm. The victory was certainly with the Republican candidate, and the Elmhurst people returned home thoroughly satisfied with the result of the “joint debate.”
CHAPTER XVI
A CLEW AT LAST
The servants at Elmhurst all ate in a pleasant dining room with windows facing a garden of geraniums. Tom Gates had been at the house two days before he encountered Eliza Parsons at the table, for the servants
were not all able to take their meals at the same time.
It was at luncheon, the day of the joint debate at Fairview, that the young man first met Eliza, who sat opposite him. The only other person present was old Donald, the coachman, who was rather deaf and never paid any attention to the chatter around him.
As he took his seat Tom gave a half-frightened glance into Eliza’s face and then turned red as she smiled coquettishly and said:
“Dear me! It’s the young man who called me his dear Lucy.”
“You — you’re very like her,” stammered Tom, unable to take his eyes from her face. “Even now I — I can’t believe I’m mistaken.”
She laughed merrily in a sweet, musical voice, and then suddenly stopped with her hand on her heart and cast at him a startled look that was in such sharp contrast to her former demeanor that he rose from his chair.
“Sit down, please,” she said, slowly. And then she studied his face with sober earnestness — with almost wistful longing. But she shook her head presently, and sighed; and a moment later had regained her lightness of manner.
“It’s a relief to have a quiet house for a day, isn’t it?” she asked, eating her soup calmly. “I’ll be glad when the election’s over.”
“Have you been here long?” he asked, although Beth had told him of Eliza’s coming to Elmhurst.
“Only a short time. And you?”
“Two days,” said he. “But where did you live before you came here?”
She shook her head.
“I wish you would answer me,” he begged. “I have a reason for asking.”
“What reason?” she demanded, suddenly serious again.
“Two people have never lived that were so near alike as you and Lucy Rogers.”
“Indeed?”
“Will you show me your left arm?”
“No.”
She was again studying his face.
“If you are Lucy Rogers you have a scar there — a scar where you burned yourself years ago.”
She seemed frightened for a moment. Then she said:
“I have no scar on my left arm.”
“Will you prove it?”
“No. You are annoying me. What did you say your name is?”
“Tom Gates.”
She was thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head.
“I have never heard of you,” she declared, positively, and resumed her eating.
Tom was nonplussed. One moment he believed she was Lucy, and the next told himself that it was impossible. This girl possessed mannerisms that Lucy had never exhibited in all the years he had known her. She was bold and unabashed where Lucy was shy and unassuming. This girl’s eyes laughed, while Lucy’s were grave and serious; yet they were the same eyes.
“Let me tell you about my lost Lucy,” he said, with a glance at the unconscious Donald.
“Go ahead, if it will relieve you,” she answered, demurely.
“She lived on a farm five miles from here, and she was my sweetheart. Her mother is blind and her father old and feeble. She worked for a dentist in the town and was accused of stealing a ring, and it nearly broke her heart to be so unjustly suspected. In order to make good the loss of the ring, a valuable diamond — I — I got into trouble, and Lucy was so shocked and distressed that she — she lost her head — became mad, you know — and left home during the night without a word to any one. We haven’t been able to find her since.”
“That’s too bad,” remarked Eliza Parsons, buttering her bread.
“About the time that Lucy went away, you appeared at Elmhurst,” continued Tom. “And in face and form you’re the image of my Lucy. That is why I asked you to tell me where you came from and how you came here.”
“Ah, you think I’m mad, do you?” asked the girl, with a quizzical smile. “Well, I’m not going to satisfy your curiosity, even to prove my sanity; and I’m not anxious to pose as your lost Lucy. So please pass the sugar and try to be sociable, instead of staring at me as if I scared you.”
Tom passed the sugar, but he could not eat, nor could he tear himself away from this strange girl’s presence. He tried again to draw her into conversation, but she showed annoyance and resented his persistence. Presently she went away, giving him an amused smile as she left the room — a smile that made him feel that this was indeed a case of mistaken identity.
In fact, Tom Gates, on sober reflection, knew that the girl could not be Lucy, yet he could not still the yearning in his heart whenever he saw her. His heart declared that she was Lucy, and his head realized that she could not be.
While he waited in the library for Mr. Forbes to return from Fairview a man was shown into the room and sat down quietly in a corner.
He was a small, lean man, of unassuming appearance, with a thin face and gray eyes set close together. When he looked at Tom Gates he scarcely seemed to see him, and his manner conveyed the impression that he disliked to attract notice.
“Waiting for Mr. Forbes, sir?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” was the quiet reply.
Suddenly it struck the young man that this might be the detective who called every evening to give his report, and if so Tom was anxious to talk with him. So he ventured to say:
“It’s Mr. Burke, isn’t it?”
The man nodded, and looked out of the window.
“I’m Tom Gates, sir.”
“Yes; I know.”
“You’ve seen me before?” asked the youth, astonished.
“No; I’ve heard of you. That’s all.”
Tom flushed, remembering his recent crime. But he was eager to question the detective.
“Have you heard anything of Lucy Rogers, Mr. Burke?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there no trace of her at all?”
“A slight trace — nothing worth mentioning,” said Mr. Burke.
For a few moments Tom sat in silence. Then he said:
“I thought I’d found her, day before yesterday.”
“Yes?” There was little interest in the tone.
“There’s a girl in the house, sir, one of the maids, who is the living image of Lucy Rogers.”
“You ought to be able to identify her,” suggested the detective, his gaze still out of the window.
“But they are not alike except in looks. Her form and face are identical with Lucy’s. I was so sure that I begged her to let me see if there was a scar on her left arm; but she refused.”
“Was there a scar on Lucy Rogers’s left arm?”
“Yes, sir. Several years ago, when we were children, we were making candy in the kitchen and Lucy burned herself badly. It left a broad scar on her left forearm, which she will bear as long as she lives.”
“It is well to know that,” said Mr. Burke.
“This girl,” continued Tom, musingly, “says her name is Eliza Parsons, and she says it in Lucy’s voice. But her manner is not the same at all. Eliza laughs at me and quizzes me; she is forward and scornful, and — and perfectly self-possessed, which Lucy could not be, under the circumstances.”
“Have you seen her closely?” asked the detective.
“Yes, sir.”
“And are still unable to decide who she is?”
“That’s it, sir; I’m unable to decide. It’s Lucy: and yet it isn’t Lucy.”
“Who is Eliza Parsons?”
“She refuses to say where she came from. But it seems she arrived at Elmhurst only a day or two after Lucy disappeared from home. It’s that coincidence that makes me doubt the evidence of my own senses.”
“Who hires the servants here?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Mr. Burke abandoned the conversation, then, and confined his gaze to the landscape as it showed through the window. Tom busied himself addressing circulars of instruction to the Republicans who were to work at the polling places. This was Saturday, and the election was to be on the following Tuesday. The meeting at Fairview was therefore the last important rally of the campaign.
Kenneth greeted Mr. Burke and introduced him to the young ladies, who begged to remain during the interview.
“We are all alike interested in Lucy Rogers, Mr. Burke,” said the boy; “so you may speak freely. Is there any news?”
“Nothing of importance, sir, unless a clew has been found in your own house,” replied the detective.
“Here at Elmhurst?” asked the astonished Kenneth.
“Yes. Tom Gates has seen a girl — one of your maids — who so strongly resembles Lucy Rogers that he at first believed she was the missing girl.”
“I know,” said Beth, quickly. “It’s Eliza Parsons. But Tom was mistaken. He saw her in the dim light of a corridor, and the resemblance confused him.”
“I’ve seen her since,” remarked Tom, “and the likeness is really bewildering. It’s only her manner that is different.”
“When I first saw her, before Tom came, I was astonished at her resemblance to Mrs. Rogers,” announced Beth. “I have never seen Lucy, but I know Mrs. Rogers, and it seemed to me that Eliza was exactly like her in features. Mr. Forbes and I first saw her riding in a buggy with Mr. Hopkins. That was before either of us knew she was employed at Elmhurst. You see she isn’t one of the servants who come much in contact with the family; she does the mending and takes charge of the linen room.”
Beth then related the manner in which they first noticed Eliza, and how they had discovered her to be a spy in the service of Mr. Hopkins.
The detective was much interested in the recital and seemed surprised that he had not been informed of this before.
“Of course,” said Kenneth, “the girl is not Lucy Rogers. It is not possible they could be the same.”
“Why not?” asked Mr. Burke.