"I mean by your set the people who think as you do. I understand your point of view. I should have liked," she added, "to ask you to share with me the responsibility of directing the policy of the Benham Free Hospital, had I not known that you would listen to the voice of conservative authority in preference to that of fearless innovation."
"I certainly should have hesitated long before I overruled the experience of those who have devoted their lives to conscientious effort to discover truth."
"That illustrates admirably the difference between us, Pauline. No one is more eager to aid the discovery of truth than I, but I believe that truth often is concealed from those who go on, day after day, following hum-drum routine, however conscientious. I recognized that Dr. Ashmun was a live man and had fresh ideas, so I chose him as our chief of staff, notwithstanding the doctors were unfriendly to him. As a result, my hospital has individuality, and is already a success. That's the sort of thing I mean. Good-by," she said, putting out her hand. "I don't expect to convert you, Pauline, to look at things my way, but you must realize by this time that it is the Benham way."
"Yet the leading physicians of Benham disapprove of your plans for the management of the hospital," said Pauline firmly.
"But the people of Benham approve of them. I prefer their sanction to that of a coterie of cautious, unenthusiastic autocrats."
Selma, true to her intentions, did not return to Washington with her husband when Congress reassembled in December. While she was absorbed with her philanthropic plans in Benham, Lyons was performing his public duties; seeking to do the country good service, and at the right moment to attract attention to himself. The opportunity to make a speech along the line of his public professions in behalf of labor against corporate monopoly did not offer itself until late in the session. He improved the few minutes allowed him to such advantage that he was listened to with close attention, and was at once recognized as one of the persuasive and eloquent speakers of the minority. Before Congress adjourned he obtained another chance to take part in debate, by which he produced an equally favorable impression. The newspapers of the country referred approvingly to his cogent gift of statement and dignified style of delivery. Both the bills against which he spoke were passed by the Republican majority, but echoes of his words came back from some of their constituents, and Lyons was referred to as certain to be one of the strong men of the House if he returned to Congress. He went home at the close of the session in a contented frame of mind so far as his political prospects were concerned, but he was not free to enjoy the congratulations accorded him for the reason that his business ventures were beginning to give him serious solicitude. The trend of the stock market was again downward. In expectation of a rise from the previous depression, he had added to the line of shares which Williams & Van Horne were carrying for him. A slight rise had come, sufficient to afford him a chance to escape from the toils of Wall street without loss. But he needed a profit to rehabilitate his ventures in other directions—his investments in the enterprises of his own state, which had now for some months appeared quiescent, if not languishing, from a speculative point of view. Everything pointed, it was said, to a further advance as soon as Congress adjourned. So he had waited, and now, although the session was over, the stock market and financial undertakings of every sort appeared suddenly to be tottering. He had not been at home a month before prices of all securities began to shrink inordinately and the business horizon to grow murky with the clouds of impending disaster. To add to his worry, Lyons was conscious that he had pursued a fast and loose mental coarse in regard to the railroad bill in which his broker, Williams, was interested. He had given Williams to understand that he would try to see his way to support it; yet in view of his late prominence in Washington, as a foe of legislation in behalf of moneyed interests, he was more than ever averse to casting a vote in its favor. The bill had not been reached before adjournment, a result to which he had secretly contributed, but it was certain to be called up shortly after Congress reassembled. It disturbed him to feel that his affairs in New York were in such shape that Williams could embarrass him financially if he chose. It disturbed him still more that he appeared to himself to be guilty of bad faith. His conscience was troubled, and his favorite palliative of conciliation did not seem applicable to the case.
CHAPTER VIII.
Until this time the course of financial events in Benham since its evolution from a sleepy country town began had been steadily prosperous. There had been temporary recessions in prices, transient haltings in the tendency of new local undertakings to double and quadruple in value. A few rash individuals, indeed, had been forced to suspend payments and compound with their creditors. But there had been no real set back to commercial enthusiasm and speculative gusto. Those who desired to borrow money for progressive enterprises had found the banks accommodating and unsuspicious, and to Benham initiative it yet appeared that the development of the resources of the neighborhood by the unwearying, masterful energy of the citizens was still in its infancy.
But now, after a few months of inactivity, which holders of speculative securities had spoken of as another healthy breathing spell, the tendency of prices had changed. Had not merely halted, but showed a radical tendency to shrink; even to tumble feverishly. Buyers were scarce, and the once accommodating banks displayed a heartless disposition to scrutinize collateral and to ask embarrassing questions in regard to commercial paper. Rates of interest on loans were ruthlessly advanced, and additional security demanded. A pall of dejection hung over Benham. Evil days had come; days the fruit of a long period of inflation. A dozen leading firms failed and carried down with them diverse small people. Amid the general distrust and anxiety all eyes were fixed on Wall street, the so-called money centre of the country, the Gehenna where this cyclone had first manifested itself. The newspapers, voicing Benham public opinion, cast vituperation at the bankers and brokers of Wall street, whose unholy jugglings with fortune had brought this commercial blight on the community. Wall street had locked up money; consequently funds were tight in Benham, and the plans of its honest burghers to promote enterprise and develop the lawful industries of the country were interrupted. So spoke public opinion, and, at the same time, hundreds of private letters were being despatched through the Benham Post Office in response to requests for more margins on stocks held for the honest burghers by the fraternity of Wall street gamblers. There was private wailing and gnashing of teeth also, for in the panic a few of these bankers and brokers had been submerged, and the collateral of Benham's leading citizens had been swept away.
The panic itself was brief as panics always are, but it left behind it everywhere a paralyzed community. So far as Benham was concerned, only a few actually failed, but, in a host of instances, possessors of property who had thought themselves wealthy a year before found that they were face to face with the knotty problem of nursing their dwarfed resources so as to avoid eventual insolvency. Everything had shrunk fifty—often one hundred—per cent., for the basis of Benham's semi-fabulous development had been borrowed money. Many of Benham's leading citizens were down to hard pan, so to speak. Their inchoate enterprises were being carried by the banks on the smallest margins consistent with the solvency of those institutions, and clear-headed men knew that months of recuperation must elapse before speculative properties would show life again. Benham was consequently gloomy for once in despite of its native buoyancy. It would have arisen from the ashes of a fire as strenuous as a young lion. But, with everybody's stocks and merchandise pledged to the money lenders, enterprise was gripped by the throat. In the pride of its prosperity Benham had dreamed that it was a law unto itself, and that even Wall street could not affect its rosy commercial destinies. It appeared to pious owners of securities almost as though God had deserted his chosen city of a chosen country.
Lyons was among those upon whom the harrow of this fall in prices and subsequent hand-to-mouth struggle with the banks pressed with unpleasant rigor. In business phraseology he was too much extended. Consequently, as the margins of value of the securities on which he had borrowed dropped away, he was kept on tenter-hooks as to the future. In case the process of shrinkage went much further, he would be required to supply more collateral; and, if the rate of money did not fall, the banks would refuse to renew his notes as they became due, unless he could furnish clear evidence of his solvency. He was owing over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on paper secured only by the stock and bonds of brand-new enterprises, which had no market negotiability. From the money which he had borrowed he had sent, from time to time, to Williams and Van Horne an aggregate of forty thousand dollars to protect some two thousand shares of railroad stocks. Williams had especially commended the shares of the coal-carrying roads to his attention, and the drop in prices had been uniformly severe in these properties. Instead of being the possessor of a stable quarter of a million, which he considered to be the value of his property at the time of his election to Congress, Lyons suddenly realized that he was on the brink of a serious financial collapse through which he might lose everything before he could discharge his liabilities. It seemed cruel to him, for he believed that all his ventures were sound, and that if he were not forced to sacrifice his possessions, their future value would attest his sagacity. But at present the securities of speculative enterprises were practically worthless as procurers of ready money. The extreme circumstances had come upon him with startling rapidity, so that he found himself in the unpleasant predicament of having used for temporary relief some of the bonds belonging to the Parsons estate which he held as executor. He had forwarded these to Williams merely as a matter of convenience before he had become anxious, expecting to be able to replace them with funds coming to him within thirty days from a piece of real estate for which he had received an offer. He had held off in the hope of obtaining a higher price. The following week, when signs of danger were multiplying, he had found the would-be purchaser unwilling to buy at any price. Realizing the compromising position in which he had placed himself by his action, he had cast about feverishly for the means to redeem the hypothecated securities, but all his resources were taxed of a sudden by the advent of the panic. It occurred to him to ask Selma to allow substitution of the twenty thousand dollars, which had been apportioned, to her as her legacy, for the bonds, but at first he had shrunk from the mortification of disclosing his condition to her, and now that the situation had developed, he feared that he might be obliged to borrow this money from her for the protection of his other interests. It gave him sore concern that he, a champion of moral ideas, a leading church member, and a Representative of the Federal Government should be put in such an equivocal position. Here again there was no opportunity for conciliation, and dignified urbanity was of no avail. If the condition of drooping prices and general distrust, a sort of commercial dry-rot, which had succeeded the panic, continued much longer he would be driven to the wall unless relief were forthcoming. Nor was it much consolation that many others were on the verge of failure. Financial insolvency for him would mean the probable loss of his seat in Congress, and the serious interruption of his political career. From what source could he hope for relief? The preparations for the autumn campaign were already being considered, and there was likelihood of another close contest between the two political parties. But for the worry occasioned by his plight, he would have resumed the contest with hopeful ardor, appreciating that the pecuniary distress of the community would be likely to work to his advantage. His own nomination was assured; his re-election appeared probable. But after it what could he expect but the deluge?
One source of the effectiveness of Horace Elton was that he was wont to exercise foresight, and make his plans in advance while other men were slumbering. He had been prepared for the panic because he had been expecting it for more than a year, and the ship of his financial fortunes was close reefed to meet the fury of the overdue gale. Also he was quick to recognize that the wide-spread depreciation of values would inevitably be followed by a period of business inactivity which would throw out of employment a large number of wage earners whose ballots as a consequence would be cast against the political party in power. As far back as the time when he made the acquaintance of Selma at Washington and selected her as the wearer of his cameo pin, he had been incubating on a scheme for the consolidation of the gas companies in the cities and towns of the state into one large corporation. For this corporation he required a liberal charter, which the next legislature would be invited to grant. He expected to be able to procure this franchise from the legislature, but he judged that the majority in favor of the bill would not be large enough to pass it over the Governor's veto. Accordingly it was of the first importance that the Governor should be friendly to the measure.
This was the year of the Presidential election. Both political parties were seeking to nominate their strongest candidates for the various federal and state offices. A promoter of large business schemes was at a disadvantage in a campaign where party feelings ran high and national issues were involved, and Elton knew it. He commonly chose an off year in politics for the consummation of his business deals. But he had chosen to push his bill this year for the reason that he wished to be in a position to buy out the sub-companies cheaply. The community was pressed for ready money, and many men who would be slow in prosperous times to extract gas shares from their tin boxes and stockings would be glad to avail themselves of a reasonable cash offer. Elton was a Republican on national issues. His experience had been that the Republican Party was fundamentally friendly to corporations, in spite of occasional pious ejaculations in party platforms to the contrary. He had a Republican candidate for Governor in mind who would be faithful to his interests; but this candidate was put aside in the convention in deference to the sentiment that only a man of first-rate mental and moral calibre could command the allegiance of independent voters, whose co-operation seemed essential to party success. The Republican state convention was held three weeks prior to the date fixed for that of their opponents. Within twenty-four hours subsequent to the nomination of Hon. John Patterson as the Republican candidate for Governor, while the party organs were congratulating the public on his selection, and the leaders of the party were endeavoring to suppress the murmurs of the disappointed lower order of politicians who, in metaphorical phrase, felt that they were sewed up in a sack for another two years by the choice of this strong citizen, one of the most widely circulated democratic newspapers announced in large type on its front page that Hon. James O. Lyons was the only Democrat who could defeat him in the gubernatorial contest. Behind the ledger sheet of this newspaper—which was no other than the Benham Sentinel—lurked the keen intelligence of Horace Elton. He knew that the candidate of his own party would never consent to indicate in advance what his action on the gas bill would be, and that he would only prejudice his chances of obtaining favorable action when the time arrived by any attempt to forestall a decision. This did not suit Horace Elton. He was accustomed to be able to obtain an inkling before election that legislation in which he was interested would not encounter a veto. His measures were never dishonest. That is, he never sought to foist bogus or fraudulent undertakings upon the community. He was seeking, to be sure, eventual emolument for himself, but he believed that the franchise which he was anxious to obtain would result in more progressive and more effectual public service. He had never before felt obliged to refrain from asking direct or indirect assurance that his plans would be respected by the Governor. Yet he had foreseen the possibility of just such an occurrence. The one chance in a hundred had happened and he was ready for it. He intended to contribute to the Republican national campaign fund, but he did not feel that the interests of his State would suffer if he used all the influences at his command to secure a Governor who would be friendly to his scheme, and Congressman Lyons appeared to him the most available man for his purpose.
It had already occurred to Lyons that his nomination as Governor was a possibility, for the leaders of the party were ostensibly looking about for a desirable Democrat with whom to confront Patterson, and had shown an intention to turn a cold shoulder on the ambition of several aspirants for this honor who might have been encouraged in an ordinary year as probable victors. He knew that his name was under consideration, and he had made up his mind that he would accept the nomination if it were offered to him. He would regret the interruption of his Congressional career, but he felt that his election as Governor in a presidential year after a close contest would make him the leader of the party in the State, and, in case the candidate of his party were chosen President, would entitle him to important recognition from the new administration. Moreover, if he became Governor, his financial status would be strengthened. The banks would be more likely to accommodate one in such a powerful position, and he might be able to keep his head above water until better times brought about a return of public confidence and a recovery in prices. Yet he felt by no means sure that even as Governor he could escape betraying his financial embarrassment, and his mind was so oppressed by the predicament in which he found himself that he made no effort on his own part to cause the party leaders to fix their choice on him. Nor did he mention the possibility of his selection to Selma. Mortification and self-reproach had made him for the moment inert as to his political future, and reluctant to confide his troubles to her.
The clarion declaration of the Benham Sentinel in favor of Lyons evoked sympathetic echoes over the State, which promptly convinced the political chieftains that he was the strongest candidate to pit against Patterson. The enthusiasm caused by the suggestion of his name spread rapidly, and at the end of a week his nomination at the convention was regarded as certain.
The championship of the Sentinel was a complete surprise to Selma. She had assumed that her husband would return to Washington, and that political promotion for the present was out of the question. When she saw her husband's features looking out at her from a large cut on the front page of the morning newspaper, and read the conspicuous heading which accompanied it—"The Sentinel nominates as Governor the Hon. James O. Lyons of Benham, the most eloquent orator and most public-spirited citizen of the State"—her heart gave a bound, and she eagerly asked herself, "Why not?" That was just what they needed, what she needed to secure her hold on the social evolution of Benham. As the wife of the Governor of the State she would be able to ignore the people who held aloof from her, and introduce the reforms in social behavior on which her heart was set.
"James, have you seen this?" she asked, eagerly.
Lyons was watching her from across the breakfast table. He had seen it, and had laid the newspaper within her reach.
"Yes, dear. It is very complimentary, isn't it?"
"But what does it mean? Are you to be Governor? Did you know of it, James?"
"I knew that my name, with others, had been mentioned by those who were looking for a candidate whom we can elect. But this nomination of the Sentinel comes from a clear sky. Would you like to have me Governor, Selma?"
"Yes, indeed. If the chance is offered you, James, you will surely accept it. It would please me immensely to see you Governor. We should not be separated then part of the year, and—and I should be able here in Benham to help you as your wife ought to help you. I know," she added, "that you have been looking forward to the next session of Congress, in the hope of distinguishing yourself, but isn't this a finer opportunity? Doesn't it open the door to splendid possibilities?"
Lyons nodded. His wife's eager presentation of the case confirmed his own conclusions. "It is an important decision to make," he said, with gravity. "If I am not elected, I shall have lost my place in the Congressional line, and may find difficulty in recovering it later. But if the party needs me, if the State needs me, I must not think of that. I cannot help being gratified, encouraged by the suggestion that my fellow-citizens of my political faith are turning to me as their standard-bearer at this time when great public issues are involved. If I can serve God and my country in this way, and at the same time please you, my wife, what can I ask better?"
He spoke with genuine feeling and reverence, for it was in keeping with his religious tendencies to recognize in advance the solemn responsibilities of high office, and to picture himself as the agent of the heavenly powers. This attitude of mind always found Selma sympathetic and harmonious. Her eyes kindled with enthusiasm, and she replied:
"You view the matter as I would have you view it, James. If this trust is committed to us by Providence, it is our duty to accept it as lovers of our country and promoters of true progress."
"It would seem so. And in some ways," he said, as though he felt the impulse to be reasonably frank toward Providence in his acceptance of the trust, "my election as Governor would be advantageous to my political and business interests. I have not sought the office," he added with dignified unction, "but my knowledge of local conditions leads me to believe that this action of the Sentinel signifies that certain powerful influences are working in my favor. I shall be able to tell you more accurately in regard to this before long."
Lyons happened to know that the Benham Sentinel had enlarged its plant two years previous, and that Horace Elton was still the holder of its notes for borrowed money. The transaction had passed through his bank, and in the course of his mental search for reasons to account for the sudden flat-footed stand of the newspaper, the thought came into his mind and dwelt there that Elton was at the bottom of it. If so, what was Elton's reason? Why should Elton, a Republican, desire his nomination? Surely not to compass his defeat.
In this connection Elton's friendship and the prophecy made to Selma as to his political future occurred to him and forbade an invidious supposition. "Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and thou shalt be what thou art promised!" Lyons left Selma with the conviction that he would find Elton to be mainly responsible for what had taken place. Shortly after reaching his office he received a note from him asking for an appointment. Punctually at twelve o'clock Elton arrived and was shown into Lyons's private room. Lyons gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, for he believed that the results of the interview were likely to have a serious bearing on his career as a statesman.
Both men were of heavy physique, but as they sat facing each other an observer would have remarked that Elton's visage possessed a clean-cut compactness of expression despite its rotund contour. His closely trimmed whiskers, his small, clear, penetrating eyes, and the effect of neatness conveyed by his personal appearance were so many external indications of his mental lucidity and precision.
In contrast Lyons's moon-shaped face, emphasized by its smooth-shaven mobile mouth, below which his almost white chin beard hung pendent, expressed a curious interplay of emotional sanctity, urbane shrewdness, and solemn self-importance.
"Governor Lyons, at your service," said Elton, regarding him steadily.
"Do you think so?"
"I know so, if you desire it."
"The nomination, you mean?"
"The election by a comfortable majority."
Lyons breathed hard with satisfaction. "If the people of the State choose to confide their interests to my custody, I shall not refuse to serve them."
"So I supposed. You may be wondering, Lyons, why I, a Republican, should be talking like this. I will tell you. Observation has led me to believe that the people of this State will elect a Democratic Governor this year. The hard times will hurt the administration. Consequently, as your friend and my own friend, I have taken the liberty to indicate to the managers of your party their strongest man. I am responsible for what you saw on the front page of the Sentinel this morning. There need not be much difficulty," he added, significantly, "in securing emphatic endorsement throughout the State of the Sentinel's preference."
Lyons looked grave. "You must be aware that our views on public questions—especially those which concern the relations of capital and labor—are not the same."
"Certainly. I tell you frankly that while, from a humanitarian point of view, I respect your desire to relieve the inequalities of modern civilization, as a business man and a man of some property I do not regard the remedies presented by your party platform as just or adequate. I recognize that your opinions are hostile to corporate interests, but I have gathered also that you are disposed to be reasonable and conciliatory; that you are not inclined to regard all men and all measures as dangerous, merely because they have means or are introduced in the name of capital."
"It has always seemed to me that a conciliatory spirit secures the most definite results for the public," assented Lyons.
"Precisely. See here, Lyons," Elton said, leaning forward across the table at which they were sitting, "I wish to be entirely frank with you. You know me well enough to understand that I have not offered you my support in any philanthropic spirit. I could not have deceived you as to this had I tried. I am a practical man, and have an axe to grind. I am urging your election as Governor because I believe you to possess intelligent capacity to discriminate between what is harmful to the community and what is due to healthy, individual enterprise—the energy which is the sap of American citizenship. We capitalists have no fear of an honest man, provided he has the desire and the ability to protect legitimate business acumen against the slander of mere demagogues. I have a bill here," he added, drawing a printed document from his pocket, "which I am desirous to see passed by the next legislature. It embodies a charter authorizing the acquisition and merger in one corporation of all the gas companies of this State, and an extension of corporate powers so as to cover all forms of municipal lighting. Were your hands not tied by your prospective election, I should be glad to offer you an opportunity to become one of the incorporators, for I believe that the undertaking will be lucrative. That, of course, is out of the question. Now then, this is a perfectly honest bill. On its face, to be sure, it secures a valuable franchise for the petitioners, and consequently may encounter some opposition. But, on the other hand, no one who considers the matter candidly and closely can fail to recognize that the great public will secure cheaper gas and more efficient service as the result of the consolidation. And there is where I felt that I could count on your intelligence. You would not allow the plea that capitalists were interested in obtaining a profitable franchise to obscure the more vital consideration that the community will be the true gainers."
Lyons bowed graciously, and stroked his beard. "What is it you wish me to do?" he asked.
"To read the bill in the first place; to convince yourself that what I have told you is true; to satisfy yourself that the measure is essentially harmless. The bill is not long. Read it now and let me hear your objections. I have some papers here to look over which will occupy me a quarter of an hour, if you can spare me the time."
Lyons acquiesced, and proceeded to peruse slowly the document. When he had finished it he folded it solemnly and returned it to Elton. "It is a bill framed in the interest of capital, but I cannot say that the public will be prejudiced by it. On the contrary, I should judge that the price of gas in our cities and towns would be lowered as a consequence of the reduction in running expenses caused by the projected consolidation. What is it that you wish me to do?"
"Agree to sign the bill as it now stands if it passes the legislature."
Lyons rested his head on his hand and his mouth moved tremulously. "If I am elected governor," he said, "I wish to serve the people honestly and fearlessly."
"I am sure of it. I ask you to point out to me in what manner this bill trenches upon the rights of the people. You yourself have noted the crucial consequence: It will lower the price of gas. If at the same time I am benefited financially, why should I not reap the reasonable reward of my foresight?"
"I will sign the bill, Elton, if it comes to me for signature. I may be criticised at first, but the improved public service and reduction of the gas bills will be my justification, and show that I have not been unmindful of the interests of the great public whose burdens my party is seeking to lighten."
"I shall count on you, then," said Elton, after a pause. "The failure of the bill at the last stage when I was expecting its passage might affect my affairs seriously."
"If the legislature does its part, I will do mine," responded Lyons, augustly. "I will sign the bill if it comes to me in the present form."
"I thank you, Governor."
Lyons looked confused but happy at the appellation.
"By the way," said Elton, after he had returned the papers to his pocket, "these are trying times for men with financial obligations. It is my custom to be frank and not to mince matters where important interests are concerned. A candidate for office in this campaign will need the use of all his faculties if he is to be successful. I should be very sorry for the sake of my bill to allow your mind to be distracted by solicitude in regard to your private affairs. Some of the best and most prudent of our business men are pressed to-day for ready money. I am in a position to give you temporary assistance if you require it. In justice to my interests you must not let delicacy stand in the way of your accepting my offer."
Lyons's bosom swelled with the tide of returning happiness. He had scarcely been able to believe his ears. Yet here was a definite, spontaneous proposition to remove the incubus which weighed upon his soul. Here was an opportunity to redeem the bonds of the Parsons estate and to repair his damaged self-respect. It seemed to him as though the clouds of adversity which had encompassed him had suddenly been swept away, and that Providence was smiling down at him as her approved and favorite son. His emotion choked his speech. His lip trembled and his eyes looked as though they would fill with tears. After a brief pause he articulated that he was somewhat pressed for ready money. Some explanation of his affairs followed, the upshot of which was that Elton agreed to indorse Lyons's promissory notes held by the banks to the amount of $60,000, and to accept as collateral for a personal loan of $40,000 certain securities of new local enterprises which had no present marketable value. By this arrangement his property was amply protected from sacrifice; he would be able to adjust his speculative account in New York; and he could await with a tranquil soul the return of commercial confidence. Lyons's heart was overflowing with satisfaction. He pressed Elton's hand and endeavored to express his gratitude with appropriate grandiloquence. But Elton disclaimed the obligation, asserting that he had acted merely from self-interest to make the election of his candidate more certain.
The loan of $40,000 was completed within forty-eight hours, and before the end of another week Lyons had rescued the bonds of the Parsons estate from pawn, and disposed of his line of stocks carried by Williams & Van Horne. They were sold at a considerable loss, but he made up his mind to free his soul for the time being from the toils and torment of speculation and to nurse his dwarfed resources behind the bulwark of Elton's relief fund until the financial situation cleared. He felt as though he had grown ten years younger, and without confiding to Selma the details of these transactions he informed her ecstatically that, owing to certain important developments, due partly to the friendliness of Horace Elton, the outlook for their future advancement had never been so bright. When a month later he was nominated as Governor he threw himself into the contest with the convincing ardor of sincere, untrammelled faith in the reforms he was advocating. His speeches reflected complete concentration of his powers on the issues of the campaign and evoked enthusiasm throughout the State by their eloquent arraignment of corporate rapacity at the expense of the sovereign people. In several of his most telling addresses he accused the national administration of pandering to the un-American gamblers who bought and sold stocks in Wall street.
CHAPTER IX.
Lyons was chosen Governor by a large majority, as Elton had predicted. The Republican Party was worsted at the polls and driven out of power both at Washington and in the State. Lyons ran ahead of his ticket, receiving more votes than the presidential electors. The campaign was full of incidents grateful to Selma's self esteem. Chief among these was the conspicuous allusions accorded her by the newspapers. The campaign itself was a fervid repetition of the stirring scenes of two years previous. Once more torch-light processions in vociferous serried columns attested the intensity of party spirit. Selma felt herself an adept through her former experience, and she lost no opportunity to show herself in public and bear witness to her devotion to her husband's cause. It pleased her to think that the people recognized her when she appeared on the balcony or reviewing stand, and that her presence evoked an increase of enthusiasm.
But the newspaper publicity was even more satisfying, for it centred attention unequivocally on her. Columns of descriptive matter relative to her husband's personality began to appear as soon as it became obvious that he was to be Governor. These articles aimed to be exhaustive in their character, covering the entire scope of his past life, disclosing pitiless details in regard to his habits, tastes, and private concerns. Nothing which could be discovered or ferreted out was omitted; and most of these biographies were illuminated by a variety of more or less hideous cuts showing, for example, his excellency as he looked as a school boy, his excellency as a fledgling attorney, the humble home where his excellency was born, and his excellency's present stately but hospitable residence on Benham's River Drive. Almost every newspaper in the State took its turn at contributing something which it conceived to be edifying to this reportorial budget. And after the Governor, came the turn of the Governor's lady, as she was called.
Selma liked best the articles devoted exclusively to herself; where she appeared as the special feature of the newspaper issue, not merely as an adjunct to her husband. But she liked them all, and she was most benignant in her reception of the several newspaper scribes, principally of her own sex, who sought an interview for the sake of copy. She withheld nothing in regard to her person, talents, household, or tastes which would in her opinion be effective in print. She had a photograph of herself taken in simple, domestic matronly garb to supplement those which she already possessed, one of which revealed the magnificence of the attire she wore at the President's Reception; another portrayed Littleton's earnest bride, and still a fourth disclosed her as the wistful, aspiring school-mistress on the threshold of womanhood. These, and the facts appropriate to them, she meted out to her biographers from time to time, lubricating her amiable confidences with the assertion that both she and her husband felt that the people were entitled to be made familiar with the lives of their public representatives. As the result of her gracious behavior, her willingness to supply interesting details concerning herself, and her flattering tendency to become intimate on the spot with the reporters who visited her, the newspaper articles in most cases were in keeping with Selma's prepossessions. Those which pleased her most emphasized in the first place her intellectual gifts and literary talents, intimating delicately that she had refused brilliant offers for usefulness with her pen and on the lecture platform in order to become the wife of Congressman Lyons, to whom her counsel and high ideals of public service were a constant stimulus. Emphasized in the second place her husband's and her own pious tastes, and strong religious convictions, to which their constant church attendance and the simple sanctity of their American home bore testimony. Emphasized in the third place—reproducing ordinarily a sketch and cut of her drawing-room—her great social gifts and graces, which had made her a leader of society in the best sense of the word both in Benham and in New York. A few of the articles stated in judicious terms that she had been twice a widow. Only one of them set this forth in conspicuous and opprobrious terms: "Her Third Husband! Our Chief Magistrate's Wife's Many Marriages!" Such was the unsympathetic, alliterative heading of the malicious statement which appeared in an opposition organ. It did no more than recall the fact that she had obtained a divorce from her first husband, who had in his despair taken to drink, and intimate that her second husband had not been altogether happy. Selma wept when she read the article. She felt that it was cruel and uncalled for; that it told only half the truth and traduced her before the American people. She chose to conceive that it had been inspired by Pauline and Mrs. Hallett Taylor, neither of whom had sent her a word of congratulation on her promotion to be the Governor's wife. Who but Pauline knew that her marriage with Littleton had not been completely harmonious? Who but Mrs. Taylor or one of her set would have the malice to insinuate that she had been merciless to Babcock? This was one libel in a long series of complimentary productions. The representation of the family group was made complete by occasional references to the Governor elect's mother—"Mother Lyons, the venerable parent of our chief magistrate." Altogether Selma felt that the picture presented to the public was a truthful and inspiring record of pious and enterprising American life, which showed to the community that its choice of a Governor had been wise and was merited.
Close upon the election and these eulogistic biographies came the inauguration, with Lyons's eloquent address. Selma, of course, had special privileges—a reserved gallery in the State House, to which she issued cards of admission to friends of her own selection. Occupying in festal attire the centre of this conspicuous group, she felt that she was the cynosure of every eye. She perceived that she was constantly pointed out as the second personage of the occasion. To the few legislators on the floor whom she already knew she took pains to bow from her seat with gracious cordiality, intending from the outset to aid her husband by captivating his friends and conciliating the leaders of the opposition party. On her way to and from the gallery she was joined by several members, to each of whom she tried to convey subtly the impression that she purposed to take an earnest interest in legislative affairs, and that her husband would be apt to consult her in regard to close questions. On the morning after the inauguration she had the satisfaction of seeing her own portrait side by side with that of her husband on the front page of two newspapers, a flattering indication, as she believed, that the press already recognized her value both as a helpmate to him and an ornament to the State. She took up her life as the Governor's lady feeling that her talents and eagerness to do good had finally prevailed and that true happiness at last was in store for her. She was satisfied with her husband and recognized his righteous purpose and capacity as a statesman, but she believed secretly that his rapid success was due in a large measure to her genius. Her prompting had inspired him to make a notable speech in his first Congress. Her charms and clever conversation had magnetized Mr. Elton so that he had seen fit to nominate him for Governor. A fresh impulse to her self-congratulation that virtue and ability were reaping their reward was given a few weeks later by the announcement which Lyons read from the morning newspaper that the firm of Williams & Van Horne had failed disastrously. The circumstances attending their down-fall were sensational. It appeared that Van Horne, the office partner, who managed the finances, had shot himself as the culmination of a series of fraudulent hypothecations of securities and misrepresentations to which it was claimed that Williams was not a party. The firm had been hopelessly insolvent for months, and had been forced to the wall at last by a futile effort on the part of Van Horne to redeem the situation by a final speculation on a large scale. It had failed owing to the continuation of the state of dry rot in the stock market, and utter ruin followed.
The regret which Lyons entertained as he read aloud the tragic story was overshadowed in his mind by his own thankfulness that he had redeemed the bonds and settled his account with them before the crash came. He was so absorbed by his own emotions that he failed to note the triumphant tone of his wife's ejaculation of amazement. "Failed! Williams & Van Horne failed! Oh, how did it happen? I always felt sure that they would fail sooner or later."
Selma sat with tightly folded hands listening to the exciting narrative, which Lyons read for her edification with the urbanely mournful emphasis of one who has had a narrow escape. He stopped in the course of it to relieve any solicitude which she might be feeling in regard to his dealings with the firm, by the assertion that he had only two months previous closed out his account owing to the conviction that prudent investors were getting under cover. This assurance gave the episode a still more providential aspect in Selma's eyes. In the first flush of her gratitude that Flossy had been superbly rebuked for her frivolous existence, she had forgotten that they were her husband's brokers. Moreover the lack of perturbation in his manner was not calculated to inspire alarm. But the news that Lyons had been shrewd enough to escape at the twelfth hour without a dollar's loss heightened the justice of the situation. She listened with throbbing pulses to the particulars. She could scarcely credit her senses that her irrepressible and light-hearted enemy had been confounded at last—confronted with bankruptcy and probable disgrace. She interrupted the reading to express her scepticism regarding the claim that Williams had no knowledge of the frauds.
"How could he be ignorant? He must have known. He must have bribed the reporters to put that in so as to arouse the sympathy of some of their fashionable friends. Van Horne is dead, and the lips of the dead are sealed."
Selma spoke with the confidence born of bitterness. She was pleased with her acumen in discerning the true inwardness of the case. Her husband nodded with mournful acquiescence. "It would seem," he said, "as if he must have had an inkling, at least, of what was going on."
"Of course he had. Gregory Williams, with all his faults, was a wide-awake man. I always said that."
Lyons completed the reading and murmured with a sigh, which was half pity, half grateful acknowledgment of his own good fortune—"It's a bad piece of business. I'm glad I had the sense to act promptly."
Selma was ruminating. Her steel bright eyes shone with exultation. Her sense of righteousness was gratified and temporarily appeased. "They'll have to sell their house, of course, and give up their horses and steam-yacht? I don't see why it doesn't mean that Flossy and her husband must come down off their pedestal and begin over again? It follows, doesn't it, that the heartless set into which they have wormed their way will drop them like hot coals?"
All these remarks were put by Selma in the slightly interrogative form, as though she were courting any argument to the contrary which could be adduced in order to knock it in the head. But Lyons saw no reason to differ from her verdict. "It means necessarily great mortification for them and a curtailment of their present mode of life," he said. "I am sorry for them."
"Sorry? Of course, James, it is distressing to hear that misfortune has befallen any person of one's acquaintance, and so far as Gregory Williams himself is concerned I have no wish to see him punished simply because he has been worldly and vainglorious. You thought him able in a business way, and liked to meet him. But as for her, Flossy, his wife," Selma continued, with a gasp, "it would be sheer hypocrisy for me to assert that I am sorry for her. I should deem myself unworthy of being considered an earnest-minded American woman if I did not maintain that this disgrace which has befallen them is the logical and legitimate consequence of their godless lives—especially of her frivolity and presumptuous indifference to spiritual influences. That woman, James, is utterly hostile to the things of the spirit. You have no conception—I have never told you, because he was your friend, and I was willing to let bygones be bygones on the surface on your account—you have no conception of the cross her behavior became to me in New York. From almost the first moment we met I saw that we were far apart as the poles in our views of the responsibilities of life. She sneered at everything which you and I reverence, and she set her face against true progress and the spread of American principles. She claimed to be my friend, and to sympathize with my zeal for social truth, yet all the time she was toadying secretly the people whose luxurious exclusiveness made me tremble sometimes for the future of our country. She and her husband were prosperous, and everything he touched seemed to turn to gold. It may sound irreverent, James, but there was a time during my life in New York when I was discouraged; when it seemed as though heaven were mocking me and my husband in our homely struggle against the forces of evil, and bestowing all its favors on a woman whose example was a menace to American womanhood! Sorry? Why should I be sorry to see justice triumph and shallow iniquity rebuked? I would give Florence Williams money if she is in want, but I am thankful, very thankful, that her heartless vanity has found its proper reward."
Lyons fingered his beard. "I didn't know she was as bad as that, Selma. Now that they have come to grief, we are not likely to be brought in contact with them, and in all probability they will pass out of our lives. Williams was smart and entertaining, but I never liked his taking advantage of the circumstances of my having an account in his office to urge me to support a measure at variance with my political convictions."
"Precisely. The trouble with them both, James, is that they have no conscience; and it is eminently just they should be made to realize that people who lack conscience cannot prosper in this country in the long run. 'They have loosed the awful lightnings of his terrible swift sword.'"
"I say 'amen' to that assuredly, Selma," Lyons answered. His predilection to palliate equivocal circumstances was never proof against clear, evidence of moral delinquency. When his religious scruples were finally offended, he was grave and unrelenting.
The downfall of the Williamses continued to be a sweet solace and source of encouragement to Selma. It made her, when taken in conjunction with her own recent progress, feel that the whirligig of time was working in her behalf after all; and that if she persevered, not merely Flossy, but all those who worshipped mammon, and consequently failed to recognize her talents, would be made to bite the dust. At the moment these enemies seemed to have infested Benham. Numerically speaking, they were unimportant, but they had established an irritating, irregular skirmish line, one end of which occupied Wetmore College, another held secret midnight meetings at Mrs. Hallett Taylor's. Rumors of various undertakings, educational, semi-political, artistic, or philanthropic, agitated or directed by this fringe of society, came to her ears from time to time, but she heard them as an outsider. When she became the Governor's wife she had said to herself that now these aristocrats would be compelled to admit her to their counsels. But she found, to her annoyance, that the election made no difference. Neither Pauline nor Mrs. Taylor nor any of the coterie had asked her to join them, and she was unpleasantly conscious that there were people on the River Drive who showed no more desire to make her acquaintance than when she had been Mrs. Lewis Babcock. What did this mean? It meant simply—she began to argue—that she must hold fast to her faith and bide her time. That if she and her friends kept a bold front and resisted the encroachments of this pernicious spirit, Providence would interfere presently and confound these enemies of social truth no less obviously than it had already overwhelmed Mrs. Gregory Williams. As the wife of the Governor, she was clearly in a position to maintain this bold front effectively. Every mail brought to her requests for her support, and the sanction of her signature to social or charitable enterprises. Her hospital was flourishing along the lines of the policy which she had indicated, and was feeling the advantage of her political prosperity. She was able to give the petition in behalf of Mrs. Hamilton, which contained now twenty-five thousand signatures, fresh value and solemnity by means of an autograph letter from the Governor's wife, countersigned by the Governor. This, with the bulky list of petitioners, she addressed and despatched directly to Queen Victoria. Her presence was in constant demand at all sorts of functions, at many of which she had the opportunity to make a few remarks; to express the welcome of the State, or to utter words of sympathy and encouragement to those assembled. In the second month of her husband's administration, she had the satisfaction of greeting, in her double capacity as newly-elected President of the Benham Institute and wife of the Governor, the Federation of Women's Clubs of the United States, on the occasion of its annual meeting at Benham. This federation was the incorporated fruit of the Congress of Women's Clubs, which Selma had attended as a delegate just previous to her divorce from Babcock, and she could not refrain from some exultation at the progress she had made since then as she sat wielding the gavel over the body of women delegates from every State in the Union. The meeting lasted three days. Literary exercises alternated with excursions to points of interest in the neighborhood, at all of which she was in authority, and the celebration was brought to a brilliant close by a banquet, to which men were invited. At this Selma acted as toastmaster, introducing the speakers of the occasion, which included her own husband. Lyons made a graceful allusion to her stimulating influence as a helpmate and her executive capacity, which elicited loud applause. Succeeding this meeting of the Federation of Women's Clubs came a series of semi-public festivities under the patronage of women—philanthropic, literary or social in character—for the fever to perpetuate in club form every congregation, of free-born citizens, except on election day, had seized Benham in common with the other cities of the country in its grasp, to each of which the Governor's wife was invited as the principal guest of honor. Selma thus found a dozen opportunities to exhibit herself to a large audience and testify to her faith in democratic institutions.
On the 22d of February, Washington's birthday, she held a reception at their house on River Drive, for which cards had been issued a fortnight previous. She pathetically explained to the reporters that, had the dimensions and resources of her establishment permitted, she and the Governor would simply have announced themselves at home to the community at large; that they would have preferred this, but of course it would never do. The people would not be pleased to see a rabble confound the hospitality of the chief magistrate and his wife. The people demanded proper dignity from their representatives in office. The list of invitations which Selma sent out was, however, comprehensive. She aimed to invite everyone of social, public, commercial or political importance. A full band was in attendance, and a liberal collation was served. Selma confided to some of her guests, who, she thought, might criticise the absence of wine, that she had felt obliged, out of consideration for her husband's political prospects, to avoid wounding the feelings of total abstainers. The entertainment lasted from four to seven, and the three hours of hand-shaking provided a delicious experience to the hostess. She gloried in the consciousness that this crush of citizens, representing the leaders of the community in the widest sense, had been assembled by her social gift, and that they had come to offer their admiring homage to the clever wife of their Governor. It gratified her to think that Pauline and Mrs. Taylor and the people of that class, to all of whom she had sent cards, should behold her as the first lady of the State, and mistress of a beautiful home, dispensing hospitality on broad, democratic lines to an admiring constituency. When Mr. Horace Elton approached, Selma perpetrated a little device which she had planned. As they were in the act of shaking hands a very handsome rose fell—seemingly by chance—from the bouquet which she carried. He picked it up and tendered it to her, but Selma made him keep it, adding in a lower tone, "It is your due for the gallant friendship you have shown me and my husband." She felt as though she were a queen bestowing a guerdon on a favorite minister, and yet a woman rewarding in a woman's way an admirer's devotion. She meant Elton to appreciate that she understood that his interest in Lyons was largely due to his partiality for her. It seemed to her that she could recognize to this extent his chivalrous conduct without smirching her blameless record as an American housewife.
Meantime the Governor was performing his public duties with becoming dignity and without much mental friction. The legislature was engaged in digesting the batch of miscellaneous business presented for its consideration, among which was Elton's gas consolidation bill. Already the measure had encountered some opposition in committee, but Lyons was led to believe that the bill would be passed by a large majority, and that its opponents would be conciliated before his signature was required. Lyons's reputation as an orator had been extended by his term in the House of Representatives and his recent active campaign, and he was in receipt of a number of invitations from various parts of the country to address august bodies in other States. All of these were declined, but when, in the month of April, opportunity was afforded him to deliver a speech on patriotic issues on the anniversary of the battle of Lexington, he decided, with Selma's approval, to accept the invitation. He reasoned that a short respite from the cares of office would be agreeable; she was attracted by the glamour of revisiting New York as a woman of note. New York had refused to recognize her superiority and to do her homage, and New York should realize her present status, and what a mistake had been made. The speech was a success, and the programme provided for the entertainment of the orator and his wife included the hospitality of several private houses. Selma felt that she could afford to hold her head high and not to thaw too readily for the benefit of a society which had failed to appreciate her worth when it had the chance. She was the wife now of one of the leading public men of the nation, and in a position to set fashions, not to ask favors. Nevertheless she chose on the evening before their return to Benham to show herself at dinner at Delmonico's, just to let the world of so-called fashion perceive her and ask who she was. There would doubtless be people there who knew her by sight, and who, when they were told that she was now the wife of Governor Lyons, would regret if not be ashamed of their short-sightedness and snobbery. She wore a striking dress; she encouraged her husband's willingness to order an elaborate dinner, including champagne (for they were in a champagne country), and she exhibited a sprightly mood, looking about her with a knowing air in observation of the other occupants of the dining-room.
While she was thus engaged the entrance of a party of six, whom the head waiter conducted with a show of attention to a table which had evidently been reserved for them, fettered Selma's attention. She stared unable to believe her eyes, then flushed and looked indignant. Her attention remained rivetted on this party while they laid aside their wraps and seated themselves. Struck by the annoyed intensity of his wife's expression, Lyons turned to follow the direction of her gaze.
"What is the matter?" he said.
For a few moments Selma sat silent with compressed lips, intent on her scrutiny.
"It's an outrage on decency," she murmured, at last. "How dare she show herself here and entertain those people?"
"Of whom are you talking, Selma?"
"The Williamses. Flossy Williams and her husband. The two couples with them live on Fifth Avenue, and used to be among her exclusive friends. Her husband has just ordered the dinner. I saw him give the directions to the waiter. It is monstrous that they, who only a few months ago failed disgracefully and were supposed to have lost everything, should be going on exactly as if nothing had happened."
"People in New York have the faculty of getting on their feet again quickly after financial reverses," said Lyons, mildly. "Like as not some of Williams's friends have enabled him to make a fresh start."
"So it seems," Selma answered, sternly. She sat back in her chair with a discouraged air and neglected her truffled chicken. "It isn't right; it isn't decent."
Lyons was puzzled by her demeanor. "Why should you care what they do?" he asked. "We can easily avoid them for the future."
"Because—because, James Lyons, I can't bear to see godless people triumph. Because it offends me to see a man and woman, who are practically penniless through their own evil courses, and should be discredited everywhere, able to resume their life of vanity and extravagance without protest."
While she was speaking Selma suddenly became aware that her eyes had met those of Dr. George Page, who was passing their table on his way out. Recognition on both sides came at the same moment, and Selma turned in her chair to greet him, cutting off any hope which he may have had of passing unobserved. She was glad of the opportunity to show the company that she was on familiar terms with a man so well known, and she had on her tongue what she regarded as a piece of banter quite in keeping with his usual vein.
"How d'y do, Dr. Page? We haven't met for a long time. You do not know my husband, Governor Lyons, I think. Dr. Page used to be our family physician when I lived in New York, James. Everyone here knows that he has a very large practice."
Selma was disposed to be gracious and sprightly, for she felt that Dr. Page must surely be impressed by her appearance of prosperity.
"I had heard of your marriage, and of your husband's election. I congratulate you. You are living in Benham, I believe, far from this hurly-burly?"
"Yes, a little bird told me the other day that a no less distinguished person than Dr. Page had been seen in Benham twice during the last three months. Of course a Governor's wife is supposed to know everything which goes on, and for certain reasons I was very much interested to hear this bit of news. I am a very discreet woman, doctor. It shall go no further."
The physician's broad brow contracted slightly, but his habitual self-control concealed completely the inclination to strangle his bright-eyed, over-dressed inquisitor. He was the last man to shirk the vicissitudes of playful speech, and he preferred this mood of Selma's to her solemn style, although his privacy was invaded.
"I should have remembered," he said, "that there is nothing in the world which Mrs. Lyons does not know by intuition."
"Including the management of a hospital, Dr. Page. Perhaps you don't know that I am the managing trustee of a large hospital?"
"Yes, I was informed of that in Benham. I should scarcely venture to tell you what my little bird said. It was an old fogy of a bird, with a partiality for thorough investigation and scientific methods, and a thorough distrust of the results of off-hand inspiration in the treatment of disease."
"I dare say. But we are succeeding splendidly. The next time you come to Benham you must come to see me, and I will take you over our hospital. I don't despair yet of converting you to our side, just as you evidently don't despair of inducing a certain lady some day to change her mind. I, for one, think that she is more fitted by nature to be a wife than a college president, so I shall await with interest more news from my little bird." Selma felt that she was talking to greater advantage than almost ever before. Her last remark banished every trace of a smile from her adversary's face, and he stood regarding her with a preternatural gravity, which should have been appalling, but which she welcomed as a sign of serious feeling on his part. She felt, too, that at last she had got the better of the ironical doctor in repartee, and that he was taking his leave tongue-tied. In truth, he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak. He simply glared and departed.
"Poor fellow," she said, by way of explanation to Lyons, "I suppose his emotion got the better of him, because he has loved her so long. That was the Dr. Page who has been crazy for years to marry Pauline Littleton. When he was young he married a woman of doubtful character, who ran away from him. I used to think that Pauline was right in refusing to sacrifice her life for his sake. But he has been very constant, and I doubt if she has originality enough to keep her position as president of Wetmore long. He belongs to the old school of medicine. It was he who took care of Wilbur when he died. I fancy that case may have taught him not to mistrust truth merely because it isn't labelled. But I bear him no malice, because I know he meant to do his best. They are just suited for each other, and I shall be on his side after this."
The interest of this episode served to restore somewhat Selma's serenity, but she kept her attention fixed on the table where the Williamses were sitting, observing with a sense of injury their gay behavior. To all appearances, Flossy was as light-hearted and volatile as ever. Her attire was in the height of fashion. Had adversity taught her nothing? Had the buffet of Providence failed utterly to sober her frivolous spirit? It seemed to Selma that there could be no other conclusion, and though she and Lyons had finished dinner, she was unable to take her eyes off the culprits, or to cease to wonder how it was possible for people with nothing to continue to live as though they had everything. Her moral nature was stirred to resentment, and she sat spell-bound, seeking in vain for a point of consolation.
Meantime Lyons, like a good American, had sent for an evening paper, and was deep in its perusal. A startled ejaculation from him aroused Selma from her nightmare. Her husband was saying to her across the table:
"My dear, Senator Calkins is dead." He spoke in a solemn, excited whisper.
"Our Senator Calkins?"
"Yes. This is the despatch from Washington: 'United States Senator Calkins dropped dead suddenly in the lobby of the Senate chamber, at ten o'clock this morning, while talking with friends. His age was 52. The cause of his death was heart-failure. His decease has cast a gloom over the Capital, and the Senate adjourned promptly out of respect to the memory of the departed statesman.'"
"What a dreadful thing!" Selma murmured.
"The ways of Providence are inscrutable," said Lyons. "No one could have foreseen this public calamity." He poured out a glass of ice-water and drank it feverishly.
"It's fortunate we have everything arranged to return to-morrow, for of course you will be needed at home."
"Yes. Waiter, bring me a telegram."
"What are you going to do?"
"Communicate to Mrs. Calkins our sympathy on account of the death of her distinguished husband."
"That will be nice," said Selma. She sat for some moments in silence observing her husband, and spell-bound by the splendid possibility which presented itself. She knew that Lyons's gravity and agitation were not wholly due to the shock of the catastrophe. He, like herself, must be conscious that he might become the dead Senator's successor. He poured out and drained another goblet of ice-water. Twice he drew himself up slightly and looked around the room, with the expression habitual to him when about to deliver a public address. Selma's veins were tingling with excitement. Providence had interfered in her behalf again. As the wife of a United States Senator, everything would be within her grasp.
"James," she said, "we are the last persons in the world to fail in respect to the illustrious dead, but—of course you ought to have Senator Calkins's place."
Lyons looked at his wife, and his large lips trembled. "If the people of my State, Selma, feel that I am the most suitable man for the vacant senatorship, I shall be proud to serve them."
Selma nodded appreciatively. She was glad that her husband should approach the situation with a solemn sense of responsibility.
"They are sure to feel that," she said. "It seems to me that you are practically certain of the party nomination, and your party has a clear majority of both branches of the Legislature."
Lyons glanced furtively about him before he spoke. "I don't see at the moment, Selma, how they can defeat me."
CHAPTER X.
The body of Senator Calkins was laid to rest with appropriate ceremonies in the soil of his native State, and his virtues as a statesman and citizen were celebrated in the pulpit and in the public prints. On the day following the funeral the contest for his place began in dead earnest. There had been some quiet canvassing by the several candidates while the remains were being transported from Washington, but public utterance was stayed until the last rites were over. Then it transpired that there were four candidates in the field; a Congressman, an ex-Governor, a silver-tongued orator named Stringer, who was a member of the upper branch of the State Legislature and who claimed to be a true defender of popular rights, and Hon. James O. Lyons. Newspaper comment concerning the candidacy of these aspirants early promulgated the doctrine that Governor Lyons was entitled to the place if he desired it. More than one party organ claimed that his brilliant services had given him a reputation beyond the limit of mere political prestige, and that he had become a veritable favorite son of the State. By the end of a fortnight the ex-Governor had withdrawn in favor of Lyons; while the following of the Congressman was recognized to be inconsiderable, and that he was holding out in order to obtain terms. Only the silver-tongued orator, Stringer, remained. On him the opposition within the party had decided to unite their forces. To all appearances they were in a decided minority. There was no hope that the Republican members of the Legislature would join them, for it seemed scarcely good politics to rally to the support of a citizen whose statesmanship had not been tested in preference to the Governor of the State. It was conceded by all but the immediate followers of Stringer that Lyons would receive the majority vote of either house, and be triumphantly elected on the first joint ballot.
And yet the opposition to the Governor, though numerically small, was genuine. Stringer was, as he described himself, a man of the plain people. That is he was a lawyer with a denunciating voice, a keen mind, and a comprehensive grasp on language, who was still an attorney for plaintiffs, and whose ability had not yet been recognized by corporations or conservative souls. He was where Lyons had been ten years before, but he had neither the urbanity, conciliatory tendencies, nor dignified, solid physical properties of the Governor. He was pleased to refer to himself as a tribune of the people, and his thin, nervous figure, clad in a long frock-coat, with a yawning collar and black whisp tie, his fiery utterance and relentless zeal, bore out the character. He looked hungry, and his words suggested that he was in earnest, carrying conviction to some of his colleagues in the Legislature. The election at which Lyons had been chosen chief magistrate had brought into this State government a sprinkling of socialistic spirits, as they were called, who applauded vigorously the thinly veiled allusions which Stringer made in debate to the lukewarm democracy of some of the party leaders. When he spoke with stern contempt of those who played fast and loose with sacred principles—who were staunch friends of the humblest citizens on the public platform, and behind their backs grew slyly rich on the revenues of wealthy corporations, everyone knew that he was baiting the Governor. These diatribes were stigmatized as in wretched taste, but the politicians of both parties could not help being amused. They admitted behind their hands that the taunt was not altogether groundless, and that Lyons certainly was on extremely pleasant terms with prosperity for an out and out champion of popular rights. Nevertheless the leading party newspapers termed Stringer a demagogue, and accused him of endeavoring to foment discord in the ranks of the Democracy by questioning the loyalty of a man who had led them to notable victory twice in the last three years. He was invited to step down, and to season his aspirations until he could present a more significant public record. What had he done that entitled him to the senatorship? He had gifts undeniably, but he was young and could wait. This was a taking argument with the legislators, many of whom had grown gray in the party service, and Lyons's managers felt confident that the support accorded to this tribune of the people would dwindle to very small proportions when the time came to count noses.
Suddenly there loomed into sight on the political horizon, and came bearing down on Lyons under full sail, Elton's bill for the consolidation of the gas companies. The Benham Sentinel had not been one of the promoters of Lyons's senatorial canvass, but it had not espoused the cause of any of his competitors, and latterly had referred in acquiescent terms to his election as a foregone conclusion. He had not happened to run across Elton during these intervening weeks, and preferred not to encounter him. He cherished an ostrich-like hope that Elton was in no haste regarding the bill, and that consequently it might not pass the legislature until after his election as Senator. If he were to come in contact with Elton, the meeting might jog the busy magnate's memory. It was a barren hope. Immediately after the Sentinel announced that Governor Lyons was practically sure to be the next United States Senator, the gas bill was reported favorably by the committee which had it in charge, and was advanced rapidly in the House. Debate on its provisions developed that it was not to have entirely plain sailing, though the majority recorded in its favor on the first and second readings was large. It was not at first regarded as a party measure. Its supporters included most of the Republicans and more than half of the Democrats. Yet the opposition to it proceeded from the wing of the Democracy with which Stringer was affiliated. Elton's interest in the bill was well understood, and the work of pledging members in advance, irrespective of party, had been so thoroughly done, that but for the exigencies of the senatorial contest it would probably have slipped through without notice as a harmless measure. As it was, the opposition to it in the lower branch was brief and seemed unimportant. The bill passed the House of Representatives by a nearly two-thirds vote and went promptly to the Senate calendar. Then suddenly it became obvious to Lyons not merely that Elton was bent on securing its passage while the present Governor was in office, but that his rival, Stringer, had conceived the cruel scheme of putting him in the position, by a hue and cry against monopoly and corporate interests, where his election to the senatorship would be imperilled if he did not veto the measure. By a caustic speech in the Senate Stringer drew public attention to the skilfully concealed iniquities of the proposed franchise, and public attention thus aroused began to bristle. Newspapers here and there throughout the state put forth edicts that this Legislature had been chosen to protect popular principles, and that here was an opportunity for the Democratic party to fulfil its pledges and serve the people. Stringer and his associates were uttering in the Senate burning words against the audacious menace of what they termed the franchise octopus. Did the people realize that this bill to combine gas companies, which looked so innocent on its face, was a gigantic scheme to wheedle them out of a valuable franchise for nothing? Did they understand that they were deliberately putting their necks in the grip of a monster whose tentacles would squeeze and suck their life-blood for its own enrichment? Stringer hammered away with fierce and reiterated invective. He had no hope of defeating the bill, but he confidently believed that he was putting his adversary, the Governor, in a hole. It had been noised about the lobbies by the friends of the measure earlier in the session that the Governor was all right and could be counted on. Stringer reasoned that Lyons was committed to the bill; that, if he signed it, his opponents might prevent his election as Senator on the plea that he had catered to corporate interests; that if he vetoed it, he would lose the support of powerful friends who might seek to revenge themselves by uniting on his opponent. Stringer recognized that he was playing a desperate game, but it was his only chance. One thing was evident already: As a result of the exposure in the Senate, considerable public hostility to the bill was manifesting itself. Petitions for its defeat were in circulation, and several Senators who had been supposed to be friendly to its passage veered round in deference to the views of their constituents. Its defeat had almost become a party measure. A majority of the Democrats in the Senate were claimed to be against it. Nevertheless there was no delay on the part of those in charge in pushing it to final action. They had counted noses, and their margin of support had been so liberal they could afford to lose a few deserters. After a fierce debate the bill was passed to be engrossed by a majority of eleven. The Democrats in the Senate were just evenly divided on the ballot.