Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “And, indeed, I remember it very well, Mr. Vancouver.”

  “Just so. Now you see, Mr. Ballymolloy, I am speaking to you entirely as a friend, though I hope I may before long bring about an official agreement. But you see the difficulty of making a contract a year ahead, when a party of Democratic senators and Congressmen may by that time have upset the duty on steel rails, don’t you?”

  “And indeed, I see it as plain as day, Mr. Vancouver. And that’s why I was saying I wished every one had such principles as yourself, and I’m telling you no lie when I say it again.” Verily Mr. Ballymolloy was a truthful person!

  “Very well. Now, do not you think, Mr. Ballymolloy, that all this talk about free trade is great nonsense?”

  “And, surely, it will be the ruin of the whole country, Mr. Vancouver.”

  “Besides, free trade has nothing to do with Democratic principles, has it? You see here am I, the best Republican in Massachusetts, and here are you, the best Democrat in the country, and we both agree in saying that it is great nonsense to leave iron unprotected.”

  “Ah, it’s the principle of you I like, Mr. Vancouver!” exclaimed Ballymolloy in great admiration. “It’s your principles are beautiful, just!”

  “Very good, sir. Now of course you are going to vote for Mr. Harrington to-day, or to-morrow, or whenever the election is to be. Don’t you think yon might say something to him that would be of some use? I believe he is very uncertain about protection, you see. I think you could persuade him, somehow.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Vancouver, it’s the truth when I tell you I was just thinking of speaking to him about it, just a little, before I went up to the State House. And indeed I’ll be going to him immediately.”

  “I think it is the wisest plan,” said Vancouver, rising to go, “and we will speak about the contract next week, when all this election business is over.”

  “Ah, and indeed, I hope it will be soon, sir,” said Ballymolloy. “But you’ll not think of going out again in the snow without taking a drop of something, will you, Mr. Vancouver?” He went to the sideboard and poured out two stiff doses of the amber liquid.

  “Since you are so kind,” said Vancouver, graciously taking the proffered glass. He knew better than to refuse to drink over a bargain.

  “Well, here goes,” he said.

  “And luck to yourself, Mr. Vancouver,” said Ballymolloy.

  “I think you can persuade him, somehow,” said Vancouver, as his host opened the street-door for him to go out.

  “And, indeed, I think so too,” said Ballymolloy. Then he went back to his study and poured out a second glass of whiskey. “And if I cannot persuade him,” he continued in soliloquy, “why, then, it will just be old Jobbins who will be senator, and that’s the plain truth.”

  Vancouver went away with a light heart, and the frank smile on his delicate features was most pleasant to see. He knew John Harrington well, and he was certain that Mr. Ballymolloy’s proposal would rouse the honest wrath of the man he detested.

  Half an hour later Mr. Ballymolloy entered Harrington’s room in Charles Street. John was seated at the table, fully dressed, and writing letters. He offered his visitor a seat.

  “So the election is coming on right away, Mr. Harrington,” began Patrick, making himself comfortable, and lighting one of John’s cigars.

  “So I hear, Mr. Ballymolloy,” answered John with a pleasant smile. “I hope I may count on you, in spite of what you said yesterday. These are the times when men must keep together.”

  “Now Mr. Harrington, you’ll not believe that I could go to the House and vote against my own party, surely, will you now?” said Patrick. But there was a tinge of irony in his soft tones. He knew that Vancouver could make him great and advantageous business transactions, and he treated him accordingly. John Harrington was, on the other hand, a mere candidate for his twenty votes; he could make John senator if he chose, or defeat him, if he preferred it, and he accordingly behaved to John with an air of benevolent superiority. “I trust you would do no such thing, Mr. Ballymolloy,” said John gravely. “Without advocating myself as in any way fit for the honors of the Senate, I can say that it is of the utmost importance that we should have as many Democrats in Congress as possible, in the Senate as well as in the House.”

  “Surely you don’t think I doubt that, Mr. Harrington? And indeed the Senate is pretty well Democratic as it is.”

  “Yes,” said John, smiling, “but the more the better, I should think. It is a very different matter from the local legislature, where changes may often do good.”

  “Indeed and it is, Mr. Harrington. And will you please to tell me what you will do about free trade, when you’re in the Senate, sir?”

  “I am afraid I cannot tell you anything that I did not tell you yesterday, Mr. Ballymolloy. I am a tariff reform man. It is a great Democratic movement, and I should be bound to support it, even if I were not myself so thorough a believer in it as I am.”

  “Now see here, Mr. Harrington, it’s the gospel truth I’m telling you, when I say you’re mistaken. Here are plenty of us Democrats who don’t want the least little bit of free trade. I’m in the iron business, Mr. Harrington, and you won’t be after thinking me such an all-powerful galoot as to cut my own nose off, will you?”

  “Well, not exactly,” said John, who was used to many peculiarities of language in his visitors. “But, of course, iron will be the thing last on the tariff. I am of opinion that it is necessary to put enough tax on iron to protect home-producers at the time of greatest depression. That is fair, is not it?”

  “I dare say you may think so, Mr. Harrington,” said Ballymolloy, knocking the ashes from his cigar. “But you are not an iron man, now, are you?”

  “Certainly not,” said John. “But I have studied the question, and I know its importance. In a reformation of the tariff, iron would be one of the things most carefully provided for.”

  “Oh, I know all that,” said Ballymolloy, somewhat roughly, “and there’s not much you can tell me about tariff reform that I don’t know, neither. And when you have reformed other things, you’ll be for reforming iron, too, just to keep your hands in. And, indeed, I’ve no objection whatever to your reforming everything you like, so long as you don’t interfere with me and mine. But I don’t trust the principles of the thing, sir; I don’t trust them the least little bit, and for me I would rather there were not to be any reforming at all, except for the Chinamen, and I don’t care much for them, neither, and that’s a fact.”

  “Very good, Mr. Ballymolloy. Every man has a right to his free opinion. But we stand on the reform platform, for there is no country in the world where reform is more needed than it is here. I can only repeat that the interests of the iron trade stand high with the Democratic party, and that it is highly improbable that any law will interfere with iron for many years. I cannot say more than that and yet stick to facts.”

  “Always stick to facts, Mr. Harrington. You will find the truth a very important thing indeed, and good principles too, in dealing with plain-spoken men like myself, sir. Stick to the truth, Mr. Harrington, forever and ever.”

  “I propose to, Mr. Ballymolloy,” answered John, internally amused at the solemn manner of his interlocutor.

  “And then I will put the matter to you, Mr. Harrington, and indeed it’s a plain matter, too, and not the least taste of dishonesty in it, at all. I’ve been thinking I’d make you senator if you’ll agree to go against free trade, and that’s just what I’ll do, and no more.”

  “It is impossible for me to make such a bargain, Mr. Ballymolloy. After your exposition of the importance of truth I am surprised that you should expect me to belie my whole political life. As I have told you, I am prepared to support laws to protect iron as much as is necessary. Free trade nowadays does not mean cutting away all duties; it means a proper adjustment of them to the requirements of our commerce. A proper adjustment of duties could not possibly be interpreted to mean any injury to the iron
trade. You may rely upon that, at all events.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure I can,” said Ballymolloy incredulously, and he grew, if possible, redder in the face than nature and the action of alcohol had made him. “And I’m not only sure of it, but I’ll swear it’s gospel truth. But then, you know, I’m of opinion that by the time you’ve done reforming the other things, the reformed gentlemen won’t like it, and then they’ll just turn round and eat you up unless you reform us too, and that just means the ruin of us.”

  “Come now, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is exaggeration,” said John. “If you will listen to me for a moment”–

  “I haven’t got the time, sir, and that’s all about it. If you’ll protect our interests and promise to do it, you’ll be senator. The election is coming on, Mr. Harrington, and I’d be sorry to see you thrown out.”

  “Mr. Ballymolloy, I had sincerely hoped that you would support me in this matter, but I must tell you once more that I think you are unreasonable. I vouch for the sufficient protection of your interests, because it is the belief of our party that they need protection. But it is not necessary for you to have an anti-reform senator for that purpose, in the first place; and secondly, the offer of a seat in the Senate would never induce me to change my mind, nor to turn round and deny everything that I have said and written on the subject.”

  “Then that is your last word of all, Mr. Harrington?” said Ballymolloy, heaving his heavy body out of the easy-chair. But his voice, which had sounded somewhat irate during the discussion, again rolled out in mellifluous tones.

  “Yes, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is all I have to say.”

  “And indeed it’s not so very bad at all,” said Patrick. “You see I just wanted to see how far you were likely to go, because, though I’m a good Democrat, sir, I’m against free trade in the main points, and that’s just the truth. But if you say you will stand up for iron right through, and use your best judgment, why, I guess you’ll have to be senator after all. It’s a great position, Mr. Harrington, and I hope you’ll do honor to it.”

  “I hope so, indeed,” said John. “Can I offer you a glass of wine, or anything else, Mr. Ballymolloy?”

  “Indeed, and it’s dirty weather, too,” said Patrick. “Thank you, I’ll take a little whiskey.”

  John poured out a glass.

  “You won’t let me drink alone, Mr. Harrington?” inquired Patrick, holding his tumbler in his hand. To oblige him, after the manner of the country, John poured out a small glass of sherry, and put his lips to it. Ballymolloy drained the whiskey to the last drop.

  “You were not really thinking I would vote for Mr. Jobbins, were you now, Mr. Harrington?” he asked, with a sly look on his red face.

  “I always hope that the men of my party are to be relied upon, Mr. Ballymolloy,” said John, smiling politely.

  “Very well, they are to be relied upon, sir. We are, every man of us, to the last drop of Christian blood in our blessed bodies,” said Patrick, with a gush of patriotic enthusiasm, at the same time holding out his heavy hand. Then he took his leave.

  “You had better have said ‘to the last drop of Bourbon whiskey in the blessed bottle!’” said John to himself when his visitor was gone. Then he sat down for a while to think over the situation.

  “That man will vote against me yet,” he thought.

  He was astonished to find himself nervous and excited for the first time in his life. With characteristic determination he went back to his desk, and continued the letter which the visit of the Irish elector had interrupted.

  Meanwhile Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was driven to the house of the Republican candidate, Mr. Jobbing.

  Chapter XVI.

  SYBIL WAS RIGHT when she said the family politics at the Wyndhams’ were disturbed. Indeed the disturbance was so great that Mrs. Wyndham was dressed and down-stairs before twelve o’clock, which had never before occurred in the memory of the oldest servant.

  “It is too perfectly exciting, my dears,” she exclaimed as Joe and Sybil entered the room, followed–at a respectful distance by Ronald. “I can’t stand it one minute longer! How do you do, Mr. Surbiton?”

  “What is the latest news?” asked Sybil.

  “I have not heard anything for ever so long. Sam has gone round to see– perhaps he will be back soon. I do wish we had ‘tickers’ here in the house, as they do in New York; it is such fun watching when anything is going on.”

  She walked about the room as she talked, touching a book on one table and a photograph on another, in a state of great excitement. Ronald watched her in some surprise; it seemed odd to him that any one should take so much interest in a mere election. Joe and Sybil, who knew her better, made themselves at home.

  It appeared that although Sam had gone to make inquiries, it was very improbable that anything would be known until late in the afternoon. There was to be a contest of some sort, but whether it would end in a single day, or whether Ballymolloy and his men intended to prolong the struggle for their own ends, remained to be seen.

  Meanwhile Mrs. Wyndham walked about her drawing-room descanting upon the iniquities of political life, with an animation that delighted Joe and amused Ronald.

  “Well, there is nothing for it, you see,” she said at last. “Sam evidently does not mean to come home, and you must just stay here and have some lunch until he does.”

  The three agreed, nothing loath to enjoying one another’s company. There is nothing like a day spent together in waiting for an event, to bring out the characteristics of individuals. Mrs. Wyndham fretted and talked, and fretted again. Joe grew silent, pale, and anxious as the morning passed, while Sybil and Ronald seemed to enjoy themselves extremely, and talked without ceasing. Outside the snow fell thick and fast as ever, and the drifts rose higher and higher.

  “I do wish Sam would come back,” exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham at last, as she threw herself into an easy-chair, and looked at the clock.

  But Sam did not come, nevertheless, and Joe sat quietly by the fire, wishing she were alone, and yet unwilling to leave the house where she hoped to have the earliest information.

  The two who seemed rapidly growing indifferent to the issue of the election were Sybil and Ronald, who sat together with a huge portfolio of photographs and sketches between them, laughing and talking pleasantly enough. Joe did not hear a word of their conversation, and Mrs. Wyndham paid little attention to it, though her practiced ears could have heard it all if need be, while she herself was profoundly occupied with some one else.

  The four had a somewhat dreary meal together, and Ronald was told to go into Sam’s study and smoke if he liked, while Mrs. Wyndham led Joe and Sybil away to look at a quantity of new things that had just come from Paris. Ronald did as he was bid and settled himself for an hour, with a plentiful supply of newspapers and railroad literature.

  It was past three o’clock when Sam Wyndham entered the room, his face wet with the snowflakes and red with excitement.

  “Hollo!” he exclaimed, seeing Ronald comfortably ensconced in his favorite easy-chair. “How are you?”

  “Excuse me,” said Ronald, rising quickly. “They told me to come in here after lunch, and so I was waiting until I was sent for, or told to come out.”

  “Very glad to see you, any way,” said Sam cordially. “Well, I have been to hear about an election–a friend of ours got put up for senator. But I don’t expect that interests you much?”

  “On the contrary,” said Ronald, “I have heard it so much talked of that I am as much interested as anybody. Is it all over?”

  “Oh yes, and a pretty queer business it was. Well, our friend is not elected, anyway”–

  “Has Mr. Harrington been defeated?” asked Ronald quickly.

  “It’s my belief he has been sold,” said Sam. “But as I am a Republican myself and a friend of Jobbins, more or less, I don’t suppose I feel so very bad about it, after all. But I don’t know how my wife will take it, I’m sure,” said Sam presently. “I expect we had better go and t
ell her, right off.”

  “Then he has really lost the election?” inquired Ronald, who was not altogether sorry to hear it.

  “Why, yes–as I say, Jobbins is senator now. I should not wonder if Harrington were a good deal cut up. Come along with me, now, and we will tell the ladies.”

  The three ladies were in the drawing-room. Mrs. Wyndham and Joe sprang to their feet as Sam and Ronald entered, but Sybil remained seated and merely looked up inquiringly.

  “Oh now, Sam,” cried Mrs. Wyndham, in great excitement, “tell us all about it right away. We are dying to know!”

  Joe came close to Mrs. Wyndham, her face very pale and her teeth clenched in her great anxiety. Sam threw back the lapels of his coat, put his thumbs in the armholes of his broad waistcoat, and turned his head slightly on one side.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “John’s wiped out.”

  “Do you mean to say he has lost the election?” cried Mrs. Wyndham.

  “Yes–he’s lost it. Jobbins is senator.”

  “Sam, you are perfectly horrid!” exclaimed his spouse, in deepest vexation.

  Josephine Thorn spoke no word, but turned away and went alone to the window. She was deathly pale, and she trembled from head to foot as she clutched the heavy curtain with her small white fingers.

  “Poor Mr. Harrington!” said Sybil thoughtfully. “I am dreadfully sorry.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham and Ronald moved toward the fire where Sybil was sitting. No one spoke for a few seconds. At last Mrs. Wyndham broke out:

  “Sam, it’s a perfect shame!” she said. “I think all those people ought to be locked up for bribery. I am certain it was all done by some horrid stealing, or something, now, was not it?”

  “I don’t know about that, my dear,” said Sam reflectively. “You see they generally vote fair enough in these things. Well, may be that fellow Ballymolloy has made something out of it. He’s a pretty bad sort of a scamp, any way, I expect. Sorry you are so put out about it, but Jobbins is not so very bad, after all.”

  Sybil suddenly missed Joe from the group, and looked across to where she stood by the window. A glance told her that something was wrong, and she rose from her seat and went to her friend. The sight of Josephine’s pale face frightened her.