“I haven’t had any encouragement.”
“What do you mean by encouragement? I haven’t exactly held you at arm’s length.”
“Oh, well. I guess I don’t understand such things.” There was a short silence. Read shifted uneasily. He knew that Eileen was very much upset about something; he decided that he’d pay no attention to what she had said.
“I’m glad you don’t. I was clowning, Read. You know that. Come over here in the shadows and kiss me goodnight. I think the Trevors across the way get out their opera glasses as soon as they see me drive up. I’m the wicked Countess.”
Read held on to himself with difficulty; Eileen kissed him more warmly and much more insistently than ever before. Finally she drew away from him and went in quickly, shutting the door without turning.
Read was unpleasantly excited. His hands were trembling and he began to swear softly. Shrugging, he turned up his coat collar, then he took out a cigar and lit it. His Irish chauffeur, O’Leary, opened the car door for him.
“I’ll sit up in front, Barney,” he said.
On the way home he sat smoking in silence, seeing nothing. What about Eileen after all?
TWO: FRIDAY
I
Read woke with a peculiar feeling of expectancy the next morning; a feeling he tried hard to account for. All the time he was shaving he searched his mind, and it was only at breakfast that it came to him. The check-girl! He had had a vague dream about her; she had wanted him to do something for her, pardon somebody or use his influence in some way; he never made out just what it was. But she herself had been plain as day in a red dress which set off her plump figure beautifully; her white teeth shone, her dark hair was curly and lustrous.
Boyle was speaking to him. He turned. The Negro was looking at him in a rather peculiar way. Had he been thinking out loud? He cleared his throat.
“Oatmeal or breakfast food, Governor?”
“Either. I don’t care. Is Jean up?”
“Yes, sir. Will be right down. I’ll bring the oatmeal, then?”
“Yes.”
The Negro went out. Read turned and sat staring out the tall dining-room windows. It was a gray November day; sparse white snowflakes were falling slowly down from the low clouds. The trees and lawns were bare. Beyond the iron fence, Read saw the morning traffic of East Broad Street. He glanced at his watch: quarter till nine.
Boyle came in with the oatmeal, but paused. There was a commotion of some kind on the front porch. Read heard angry voices and scuffling.
“See what that is.”
The Negro put down the tray and went out into the hall, passing Jean, who dashed into the dining room, kissed her father, then sat down and began banging her plate with a spoon.
“Food!” she cried. “I’m starving.”
“Be quiet, baby,” said Read, smiling. “If you’re not a case of arrested development, I…”
But he was interrupted. A dirty little man in a ragged coat burst in from the hallway, eluding Boyle and Barney O’Leary, who rushed in behind him and collared him.
“Here you!” said Barney, his Irish up, and his fist all ready for a blow.
The little man was gasping and sputtering.
“Hit me!” he cried. “That’s right. Hit me!”
Jean stared with her full-lipped, babyish mouth slightly open. The Governor said:
“Wait a minute, Barney.” Then he looked at the ragged man. “What do you want?”
“I want to see the Governor.”
“I’m the Governor.”
“So I see. So I see. Lovely house; soft carpets. Nigger servants. Chauffeurs. A pretty girl at breakfast…”
“That’s my daughter,” said Read, sharply. “If you want to see me about anything, speak up.”
“I just want to see you. I just want to look at our Chief Executive. Living like a king while lots of us starve. I was in South County. They took my house away from me. You took it away. You sent them soldiers…”
“He’s just a plain nut, Governor,” said Barney. “Let me give him the bum’s rush.”
“If I was any kind of a man I'd of brought a gun. But I ain’t. I’m whipped…” The little man put his head down and began to cry.
Read hesitated, then said:
“Send Blake down to the State Employment Agency with him. If he’s sound mentally, tell them to get him a job. I said so. Otherwise…” Read didn’t finish but nodded significantly at Barney.
“Oh, I’m all right that way, Governor,” said the little man. “I just wanted to see you with my own eyes. They told me you was the son of a poor man. Excuse me. I guess I was wrong to break in this way.” He glanced at Jean and bowed slightly. “Excuse me, young lady.”
When Barney had taken him away, Read sat down and stared at his plate. Jean said:
“You should have had him arrested, Dad. He’s dangerous. Such a dirty filthy man. Doesn’t matter how poor he is, he could at least wash.”
Read said nothing. He was a little shaken, remembering what Gregg Upham had said: “There are hungry men in this State.” Yes, there were hungry desperate men, plenty of them; men without hope, the most dangerous kind; while he lived like a king and woke with a feeling of expectancy because of a little check-girl.
“I’ll bet you’ll have them running after you all the time till this old election is over,” said Jean. “If I were you, Dad, I’d get a bodyguard. It’s not safe for you anymore with these crazy, dirty people running around every place and…”
“Stop prattling.”
“Well, it’s only because I’m thinking about you. Suppose that dirty little man had had a gun. He might have shot… why, he might have shot me!” Jean seemed genuinely appalled and sat staring.
Read laughed and went on with his breakfast. Boyle served them silently, rolling his eyes from time to time; Read saw that his hands were shaking.
Finally Read wiped his mouth with his napkin and lit a cigarette.
“Boyle,” he said, “be a little careful how you open that front door after this.”
“Yes, sir. He went past me like a streak.”
Jean dawdled over her breakfast, pouting a little. Finally she said:
“Daddy, don’t you think Eileen is just a tiny bit upstage?”
“Maybe.”
“Didn’t you think it was sort of pointed the way she treated Vincent?”
“Who is Vincent?”
“Now, Daddy. Vincent Riquetti.”
“Eileen doesn’t like him, and don’t call him Vincent.”
“Why not? He calls me Jean. He’s taking me to the hockey game this afternoon.”
“Fast worker.”
“Well, of course the Baylor girls are going.”
“What about Fred?”
“Oh, he has to work. He’s mad at me again. On account of Vincent. I told him: ‘Well, Fred, after all I can’t just sit at home waiting around till you get through selling hardware.’ “
“He doesn’t sell hardware. But I suppose that doesn’t interest you.” Read was really very much irritated.
“Of course he does. I mean, well, his firm does. Anyway, it makes him mad when I talk like that; that’s the reason I said it. And anyway, what kick has he got coming? I’ll be well chaperoned. Oh, very well chaperoned. Those Baylor girls are just silly over Vince.”
“Now it’s Vince. Listen, Jean: yesterday, if I’m not mistaken, you were howling around here because you and Fred didn’t make connections on your elopement. What do you think about?”
“Plenty,” cried Jean, leaping up and coming over to kiss Read. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to marry Fred, all right.”
“He may have other plans if you annoy him too much with your female ways.”
“He loves it. ’Bye, Daddy. Be careful today. I just feel like something is going to happen.” She started for the hall, but turned. “Eileen’s going to the hockey game with Watwood Jones. Did you know?” Read shrugged and got up. Boyle came in.
“Did
Charley look after that mail?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want the car now.”
“Right away, Governor.”
II
When Read entered Republican Headquarters at noon with Charley Parrott a number of men rushed forward to greet him. Read shook hands with all of them, smiling automatically. Some of them were unsuccessful job hunters, who, unable to land a sinecure during Read’s first term, had attached themselves to Headquarters, hoping for the best. Some of them were lazy hangers-on; not wanting a job at all, doing their damnedest to keep from working. A few of them were sincere party men. Read talked with them for a while, then he went into his campaign manager’s office.
Ed Sullavan was sitting at a huge desk, dictating to a platinum-blond stenographer. He was a big, fat, white-haired Irishman with a surprisingly refined and sensitive face. He dismissed the stenographer, who smiled at the Governor on her way out, then he stood up to shake hands.
Sullavan was one of the smoothest politicians in the State. When there was work to be done he was always on hand and he did not seem to know what it meant to be tired. He could go without sleep indefinitely yet show no signs of fatigue, looking as rosy and bland as ever. But when the campaign was over and all the loose ends had been gathered together, he got roaring drunk and made all the gambling joints in the city. He used to be called Sky’s-the-Limit Sullavan, but since he had joined forces with Read Cole he had acquired some reflected respectability and was not mentioned quite so often in sporting sheets and other disreputable publications. Read had been severely criticized at first for his connection with so notorious a man; and even now some of the die-hards said that the name of Sullavan was “a blot on the Governor’s otherwise immaculate escutcheon.” But Read said nothing and Sullavan continued to be his campaign manager and adviser.
They shook hands and sat down.
“Well, Read?”
“Tonight’s the night.”
Big Ed smiled, and ran his hand over his smooth, closely-shaven big face.
“I know. How much can we honestly accept from the big shots; all they’ve got?” Sullavan laughed, shaking his belly.
“Ed, we’ve got to be careful about this. I don’t want any headlines about a slush fund. Eagle Beak would just love to spread something like that over the State. However, take plenty. We’ll need it.”
“I intend to. Those boys were mighty standoffish two years ago. They didn’t dig very deep into the sock. Now they’ve got to really dig down.”
“Have you talked to Gregg Upham?”
“Yes. He was here this morning. Looked a little off color. He carouses too much.”
“No use to talk to him about that.”
“I know. I know. I go on a bender myself now and then. Words would just be wasted on me. But Gregg keeps at it and at it. Oh, well. It’s his own funeral.”
“Did he mention my plans?”
Sullavan nodded, then looked off across the room; presently he smiled.
“Read, you’ve got what it takes.”
“You approve then?”
“I sure do. Listen, it does my Irish heart good to see a Governor with guts. I almost broke out singing Kathleen Mavourneen after I got through talking with Gregg. Put the iron in ’em, Read. We got too many goddamn windy radicals in this State. Put the fear of God in ’em.” Sullavan hesitated. “Listen at me. Damned if I ain’t going for it myself. You see?” Read hesitated.
“Ed, you understand this is a purely political move. I intend to do my best for everybody if I’m elected.”
“You been doing it. Why stop?”
“Yes, but Gregg started calling me Hitler.”
“Don’t pay no attention to him. He’s a little on the long-hair order himself.”
“It does look bad. I’ve always been more or less of a liberal, you know. Too much of one for the Bradleys and that crowd. They have merely been putting up with me. It’s going to look bad, Ed.”
“After Tuesday, it’ll all be forgotten. By the way, Kelly up in Cuyahoga County called me long-distance last night. He says the farmers in the county are thinking two ways about Eagle Beak right now. That last speech of his scared them.”
“He’s a fool. He’s going too far. He’s going to hang himself with his own rope and I’m going to help him. But things are going to be bad for a while.”
There was a long pause, then Sullavan said: “Clem’s closing up this afternoon. All through. Did pretty well with our Speaker’s Bureau. Though God knows we sent out some lemons. It sure is hard to get a hold of men who can talk. By the way, everything is set for your speech at Memorial Hall next Monday night. We’ll pack it or my name isn’t Sullavan. Give ’em the works that night, Read.”
“I intend to. Ed, I brought Charley along. He’ll go over the accounts with you.” Read got up. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”
They shook hands. Sullavan grinned.
“Governor, are you going to let me manage your campaign for President next election?”
Read laughed.
“I’ll think it over.”
Read went out into the anteroom, shook hands all around again, told Charley Parrott to go in and see Sullavan, then he took the elevator to the main floor and started for the Massey Hotel. Much to his disgust, his heart began to beat fast. Did it mean so much to him, then, just to see this little curly-headed girl? Why, she was no older than his daughter, Jean; younger, perhaps. He did not even know her name! He hurried along, nodding absent-mindedly to three men who spoke to him.
“What a fool you are!” he told himself. “You might at least wait till after the election…” A slight chill ran through him. Then he did mean to have some kind of personal relations with this girl! His Honor, James Read Cole, Governor of the Sovereign State of Ohio in this year of our Lord… Strikes in the northern part of the State; miners’ families starving in the south; the whole community in an uproar over the coming election, which was approaching the proportions of a revolution; and Read Cole, the Chief Executive, worrying about a little check-girl he had seen but once!
He crossed the lobby hurriedly, looking straight ahead. The women were sitting along Peacock Alley as usual and there was the usual subdued murmuring. Today he wished that he wasn’t quite so conspicuous. A State Legislator from up north stepped up and respectfully detained Read for a moment; he hadn’t anything to say, anything to talk about; he just wanted to be seen conversing with the Governor. While the legislator talked, Read turned slightly and looked in the direction of the check-room; then he started. His own little girl wasn’t there at all; he saw a tall, slender, blond girl. He was overcome by a sudden rush of irritation.
“Yes, yes,” he said, impatiently.
The man stammered.
“Sorry to have bothered you, Governor. I know you’re a busy man. Just wanted to pay my respects.”
Read pulled himself together. This wouldn’t do at all. He shook hands and smiled graciously.
“Thanks. Very glad to have seen you.”
The legislator had been worried. He had seen the Governor’s eyes narrow and was afraid that he had been too forward. Now he was reassured. He beamed all over and went swaggering back to his chair on Peacock Alley where he sat staring at the women and picking his teeth.
Read left his hat and coat at the check-room and was escorted to his usual table by the headwaiter. Gregg was sitting with a cigarette burning up in his fingers, staring out the huge south windows at the gray November day. He grinned when Read sat down. Read saw that he was a little drunk and this increased his irritation.
“Don’t say it,” said Gregg. “I had a bad one to write this morning and I took one too many. I’ll snap out of it after another cup of coffee.”
“I hope so. I can’t afford to associate with drunks till after the election.”
“Too bad. I was going to invite you over to my place tonight. Very nice shindig.”
“I couldn’t go, anyway. Got to meet the big boys tonight.”
; “I know. But that won’t take all night. Please come around. We’ve missed you since the big push has been on.”
“I’m tired at night. I’m getting old.” Read did feel very old at this moment. All day he had been looking forward to seeing that girl again. He had wakened feeling alert and young. But now old thoughts had begun to creep back; old fears and doubts; even old pains. He rubbed his right shoulder and stared indifferently at the menu. “This November weather gets me a little,” he said. “My old wound’s paining right now.”
They ordered, Read having a hard time making up his mind. When the waiter had gone, he studied Gregg’s flushed face. Would he mention the vanished check-girl?
Over the dessert, Gregg said:
“I hate to bring up a thing like this, Read, knowing your ascetic nature, but did you notice anything strange about the old stamping ground today?”
Read knew what he meant at once. Involuntarily his face stiffened.
‘‘No. What do you mean?”
“Little bright eyes isn’t on the door.”
“Oh, yes. I noticed when I came in.”
“You’re improving.”
“What do you suppose happened to her?” Read spoke indifferently, avoiding Gregg’s eyes. “They certainly wouldn’t fire her after one day.”
“Oh, she’s downstairs. Corinthian Room. That’s where they get the traveling salesmen and the out-of-town guys on the loose. I guess the manager thought she’d be more at home down there. It’s pretty snooty up here.”
“I guess it is,” said Read. He finished his dessert, then glanced up, smiling. The pain in his shoulder had stopped; the day looked brighter. “Gregg,” he said, after a long pause, “let’s go over to Louis's and get a whiskey-sour. I feel like it. One more won’t hurt you.”
“First he bawls me out for drinking, then he tempts me. What is this?”
Over their drinks at Louis’s they talked leisurely about the coming election, both cautious, then Gregg changed the subject. Midland City was football mad; the University team was playing Wisconsin on Saturday and the huge stadium with a seating capacity of ninety thousand was already sold out. ”Going to the game, aren’t you, Read?”
King Cole Page 4
