All the newspapermen had disappeared, running for the nearest telephone. Spencer of the Independent had fallen down the stone steps, breaking his arm, and had been trampled. Women had fainted all over the hall. Outside, sirens were going.
Senator Greeley got shakily to his feet, still mopping his brow. He looked at Read for a long time, then said:
“New times, new methods.”
Gregg went home with Read that night and they sat in the library talking and smoking.
“I was ashamed of myself all the time it was going on,” said Read. “I almost didn’t do it.”
“It’s done now.”
“Yes, it’s done.”
FOUR: SUNDAY
I
It was a bright, cold morning. read was sitting in the big sunny library in a dressing gown, reading the local papers. Outside, the bare trees on the bare lawn surrounding the Mansion snapped with frost. Inside, it was warm and comfortable and a wood fire was leaping in the fireplace. From time to time, Read smiled. The story of the Steelton Armory speech and riot was so big that it had crowded Ohio’s 10-to-0 surprise victory over Wisconsin off the front pages. There were pictures of Read and Colonel Putnam and Old Eagle Beak. Column after column was filled with accounts of Read’s life and his record as Governor, and the whole editorial section of the Examiner, thanks to Gregg, was devoted to him. He was hailed as a savior; as a strong man indispensable owing to the present economic crisis. The Independent, however, sang a different tune.
To the Independent he was a turncoat, an impudent opportunist, a would-be dictator. In the account of the riot, the Independent said in part:
… this was worthy of a Central American General. Strong evidence points to the fact that the “Riot” was prearranged. The Governor had his own claque in the auditorium; a claque with reverse English. Governor Cole deliberately incited the innocent members of the audience to violence by making a red-baiting speech worthy of Hitler or Mussolini. Then his own claque got to work and there was a prolonged disturbance … several witnesses claim that Colonel Putnam left the stage BEFORE there was the slightest indication of violence or even disagreement … but at the psychological moment, there is a bugle call, very martial, then the doors burst open and in comes Colonel Putnam with a platoon of State Militia … if it weren’t so serious, if it weren’t such a portent of things to come, it would be ridiculous … Why the bugle call? Pure showmanship on the part of Governor Cole, or his manager, Mr. Edward Sullavan … Colonel Putnam defends himself by saying that the platoon of Militia was acting as honorary bodyguard to the Governor … since when do our Governors have to go around followed by a flying column of soldiers armed to the teeth? … There were many casualties. Martin Becker, well-known printer and South-Side politician, died of a heart attack while the riot was at its height … twenty-two people, men, women and children, were treated for a variety of injuries, including cuts, bruises, broken or dislocated limbs … Alonzo Spencer of the Independent suffered a broken arm and internal injuries due to falling and being trampled and is in serious condition … Mr. Theodore Austeen, of N.P.’s New York office, is carrying his arm in a sling; he fell during the scuffling and his right hand was stepped on, breaking two fingers … No, Governor Cole, this won’t do … this is not South America, or Chicago, or Russia; this is Ohio; and while we take our elections seriously, we don’t resort to bloodshed…
Read shrugged and picked up the Examiner. In it he was extolled for his bravery and presence of mind. According to the Examiner, he and Colonel Putnam were the heroes of the hour and deserved a place in Ohio’s Hall of Fame.
… this is all the result of irresponsible radicalism. The ordinarily sensible and docile public has been inflamed by the incendiary utterances of Asa Fielding till there is no holding it … the Governor threatened Fielding with arrest as an enemy of the State … we hope this threat is carried out … Women and children were trampled underfoot by a mob of drunken, brawling, irresponsible loafers and troublemakers; the very sort now howling so loudly for Asa Fielding … an honorary bodyguard, headed by calm and courageous Colonel Putnam, was actually called upon to quell the disturbance which was getting seriously out of hand; so seriously out of hand that Governor Cole’s life was actually in danger and friendly members of the audience jumped from their seats and threw a protective cordon around him … We can all imagine Asa Fielding’s delight … people of Ohio, you in the farming districts, you of the conservative and 100% American Agrarian party, you workers, who have benefited by the progressive legislation Read Cole has fathered during the last five years, is Asa Fielding your idea of a man fitted to be the Chief Executive? …
Read dropped the paper to the floor and sat meditating. His plan had worked. He had thrown a scare into the ordinary voter. He had a chance to be elected now; a very good chance. Ohioans in general were a conservative lot; a radical to them meant a long-haired foreigner. But they had gradually come to accept Asa Fielding in spite of his radical utterances. Fielding’s family had been in Midland City for four generations. Old Eagle Beak himself was a familiar figure, striding along, seedy and eccentric, through the city streets. For years he had been a well-known lawyer and politician. He was a landmark and not considered dangerous. Now things would be different. Read had tarred him with the true radical stick. The farmers would hem and haw and spit, but they’d probably go to the polls now and vote the straight Republican ticket as their fathers and their grandfathers had done before them.
Boyle came in and stood waiting for the Governor to look up.
“Yes?”
“Phone call for you, Governor. Massey Hotel. It was the operator. I couldn’t make out who was calling. Will you take it?”
“I’ll take it in the den. Jean go out?”
“Yes sir. Miss Jean went to church. Said she was going horseback riding if it warmed up.”
Read went into the den and took up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Governor Cole?” said a muffled woman’s voice.
“Speaking.”
There was a pause.
“It’s me.”
“Kitten?”
“Yes. I went past twice this morning very early. Gee, it was cold.”
“You mustn’t do that, honey.”
“Oh; you called me ‘honey.’ Do you mean it?” Read hesitated. His heart was beating unevenly.
“Why don’t you say something? Don’t hang up, please. I want to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Could I see you tonight?”
“Well, I…”
“Late, I mean. I’ll work till after one. Could you meet me?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Oh, gee! Park the car just around the corner on Front and I’ll come arunning. That way nobody will see you. Will you really do it?”
“I’ll be there at ten after one. Is that all right?”
“That’s perfect. Please be there, won’t you? I’d be so disappointed I couldn’t stand it if… Gee, I got to go. If I get caught using this phone I’ll get fired. Goodbye, Governor. You wouldn’t kid me, would you?”
“I’ll be there.”
Read walked out into the hallway, feeling guilty. He heard voices. Boyle came in from the library.
“Mr. Upham and Mr. Austeen in the library, Governor.”
Read nodded, then stopped for a moment to compose himself. Austeen? What was Austeen doing with Gregg? Read went into the library, trying to smile cordially.
Austeen and Gregg were standing by the fire. Austeen had his right arm in a sling. He smiled.
“Morning, Governor. Mind my crashing in? I wanted a last-minute interview. Somebody told me to see Gregg Upham. Here I am.”
“Hello, Austeen. Hello, Gregg. Sit down, won’t you?” Read was very much annoyed, but showed no signs of it. They all sat.
“Excuse me, Governor,” said Austeen, “if I seem to rush you, but I’ve got a plane to catch. Any statement you’d like to make?”
“I don’t kn
ow of any.”
Gregg cleared his throat.
“Austeen means in regard to the violence. We’ve been getting telegraphic reports from all over the State since six o’clock. Things are pretty bad.”
“So I heard from Charley Parrott. Colonel Putnam is already taking steps.”
“Good,” said Austeen, seriously. “I’ll print that. Did you know, Governor, that I.W.A. headquarters in Toledo had been wrecked by a mob of Vigilantes and a couple of radicals seriously hurt?”
“I hadn’t got that report yet. It’s up to the Colonel now. That’s his province.”
“Sounds like martial law.”
“It may come to that. I hope not.”
“Did you know that a radical organizer had been killed by the farmers in South County? Did you know that a couple of deputy sheriffs in Springvalley saved three radicals from being lynched?”
“I heard so.”
“Any particular statement?”
“Well, I’d like to predict my re-election. Martial law may be declared during the election, but I doubt it. Things will be absolutely normal after Tuesday.”
“Thanks. Governor, did it ever occur to you that there might be an attempt to assassinate you?”
“A man in public office always takes that chance.”
“Are you taking any unusual precautions?”
“I may before the election is over.”
Austeen got up.
“Thank you, Governor. I’m taking a plane in a little while. Will you shake hands with me?”
Read laughed.
“Certainly. Office call you back?”
“No. My work’s done. Anyway, I want to get out before the pogroms start.”
“It isn’t as bad as that.”
“Who knows? Well, Governor; remember me when you get to the White House. I’ll be camping on your doorstep telling the other boys I predicted it.”
“I’ll remember. Austeen, you irritated me somewhat, I’ll admit, but no hard feelings now.”
“Same here. Goodbye.”
When he had gone, Gregg said:
“Well, Frankenstein, how do you like your monster?”
“What did you expect?”
“I didn’t expect murder exactly.”
Read winced.
“These things happen.”
There was a long pause, then Gregg said: “Anyway, you’ve got the right stuff in you. Lots of men would be hunting cover in your place. Doesn’t it bother you to shoulder the responsibility for all this violence?”
“Why should it? Things would be much worse if I sat back and let Eagle Beak beat me.”
“The long view. The end justifies the means. Well, in the long run you’re probably right. But I couldn’t stand it.”
They sat silent, looking at the fire. After a while Jean came in from the hall followed by Watwood Jones, a small, dapper, painfully polite young man.
“Hi, Daddy. According to the papers they did everything but shoot you last night but you don’t look very worried. Really you must be careful.”
“How do you do, Governor. How do you do, Mr. Upham,” said young Jones, painfully correct.
“Where’s Fred?” asked Read.
“He drove to Cleveland or some place,” said Jean, indifferently. “I never want to see him again after the way he acted at the football game.”
“What!”
“Ask Wat.”
Read turned to look at young Jones, who was blushing.
“He… I think he had a drink too many,” said Watwood, shifting about and avoiding Read’s eyes. ”He objected to Jean talking to me and pretty soon he hit me.”
“It was between halves, just when those hoodlums were hissing you, Daddy,” Jean interposed.
“Yes,” said Watwood, “he got very very angry and then he hit me. I had my glasses on, too, and they fell and broke on the cement.”
“I almost have to lead him around,” said Jean, with a laugh.
“You see, I’m so nearsighted.”
Read grimaced at Gregg and when young Jones and Jean had gone he said:
“Young love! All they do is fight and make up, fight and make up.”
Gregg sighed.
“I’m away past that. But it used to be such fun. I haven’t even got energy enough to start a fight now.” Read said nothing. He sat staring into the fire, thinking about Kitten.
II
Read was sitting in the President’s office, looking out the window at the gray and brown autumn landscape spread out before him. The Academy was built on a hill and dominated the little town of Benton which lay far below, half hidden by smoke-gray autumn mist. The landscape, the little sleepy town, looked melancholy in the dim afternoon light. Read drummed on the chair-arm, listening to Colonel Brower, a big, pompous, deadly serious man of sixty.
“…to say that we were shocked is to put it mildly. Your son especially… I can hardly talk about it. Drinking whiskey; meddling with those really awful loose girls. Incredible! We’ve always been proud of John Cole. He is a very talented young man, a little sullen, a little brusque; difficult sometimes; but in the last analysis a fine specimen of American young manhood…”
The Colonel began to remind Read of Senator Greeley; he had the same unction, the same essential emptiness. Why didn’t he come to the point? Read pictured Johnny’s precociously intelligent, satirical face. The Colonel was certainly not the man to advise or instruct Johnny, who was already an enemy of sham.
The Colonel glanced at Read, feeling that his attention had wandered. Clearing his throat loudly, he went on:
“I won’t go into detail. Captain Davies’ letter, I think, conveyed all that was necessary. I know you must be tired and under a great strain, Governor, after the deplorable events of last night; your being here at all speaks volumes. How you must love your son. I really didn’t expect you. Captain Davies and I were talking it over and…”
There was a knock.
“Yes? Come in.”
A tall angular man with a big bony face opened the door and stepped in. He was in uniform. He bowed slightly and took off his cap.
“Captain Davies, our Commandant, Governor Cole. Captain Davies is a West Pointer.”
“How do you do, Governor. It’s a great pleasure.”
“Anything to report, Captain?”
“Well, Cadet Simpson seems to be weakening. His mother is a widow, you know, Colonel. She hasn’t much money. It’s a sacrifice for her to send her boy here. I’m using that angle. I think he may tell.”
Read glanced away, veiling his contempt.
“I’ll want Cadet Cole in a minute, Captain.”
“Yes, Colonel. Right away. I’ll have him in the hallway.” The Captain went out.
“Here is our plan, Governor,” said the Colonel. “We’ve promised absolute immunity to the boy who tells where the liquor was procured. No punishment. The rest must be disciplined. I’ll be frank and say that if your son weren’t involved all would be expelled. But that is out of the question, of course. Governor, please prevail upon your son to tell us where the liquor was bought. I’d rather have him tell. I hate punishing him. Cadet Simpson doesn’t matter. He’s a troublemaker. Comes from very ordinary people.”
“Have the Captain bring Johnny in.”
“Wouldn’t you like to talk to him alone?”
“No.”
The Colonel glanced at Read, puzzled, then he rang. In a moment, the door opened and Read glanced up. There was his son Johnny, looking big and strong in his khaki uniform. His black hair was smoothly combed and parted nicely. His rather heavy face was pale and sullen. Read was surprised at the size of his son. Why, he must be over six feet and big in the shoulders, a typical athlete except for the rather sulky, sharply intelligent face.
Johnny brought his heels together smartly and saluted the Colonel, then he turned and smiled slightly at his father.
“Hello, Johnny. In trouble, I see.”
“Hello, Dad.”
�
��Sit down, Cadet Cole,” boomed the Colonel.
Johnny sat down, lounging for a moment; then he remembered; he sat bolt upright and folded his arms across his chest. Captain Davies came in and closed the door, standing with his back against the wall; his blue eyes cold and inquisitorial.
“Cadet Cole,” said the Colonel, “we are giving you one last chance. You understand what is expected of you. Your father, the Governor, has come all the way down here, hoping that you’ll do your duty as you should and tell us the name of the monster who was low enough to procure whiskey for young boys…”
Read pitied Johnny and sympathized with him. He understood Johnny’s dilemma if these martinets didn’t. Johnny was facing a crucial test. According to the code of boys and young men everywhere, there was nothing worse than a snitcher. You could steal and lie and bully and brag, and still retain the respect of your companions. But if you had that streak known as yellow and snitched under compulsion, you were beyond the pale.
Read saw Johnny wetting his lips and glancing up first at the Colonel, then at his father. Was he wondering at the obtuseness and conventionality of adults? Was he sneering inwardly at the Colonel’s gross exaggeration of a trivial incident? Was he bewildered by the clash of inimical points of view, the Colonel’s and the school’s?
After all, no matter how intelligent, he was just a boy going it alone, faced by constituted authority in the person of the Colonel, the Commandant, and his own father!
Read got a little anxious and stared off across the brown, melancholy country, wanting a cigarette badly, but knowing that the Colonel would silently disapprove. He didn’t know exactly what to do. He knew that he had greatly disappointed the Colonel by refusing to urge Johnny to clear the matter up. He also knew that Johnny was very much puzzled by his noncommittal attitude. Both the Colonel and Johnny expected him to interfere and guide the course of the interview. But he just couldn’t do it. So far as he was concerned, the Colonel and the peccadillo didn’t matter at all. Johnny’s reaction to this affair, however, mattered very much. Read was afraid that, if he spoke, he’d influence Johnny unduly. It was one of the most trying moments of Read’s life. He fidgeted and twice reached absent-mindedly for his cigarette case, stopping halfway.
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