The Conflict [128]
to be reflecting. Finally he came back to her question. Said he:
``To give you a trial. To find out whether you'll do.''
She drew a long sigh of relief.
``Didn't you guess?'' he went on, smilingly, nodding his round, prize-fighter head at her. ``Those suggestions about bed and breakfast--they were by way of a beginning.''
``You must give me a lot to do,'' urged she. ``I mustn't have a minute of idle time.''
He laughed. ``Trust me,'' he said.
While Jane was rescuing her property from her brother and was safeguarding it against future attempts by him, or by any of that numerous company whose eyes are ever roving in search of the most inviting of prey, the lone women with baggage--while Jane was thus occupied, David Hull was, if possible, even busier and more absorbed. He was being elected governor. His State was being got ready to say to the mayor of Remsen City, ``Well done, good and faithful servant. Thou hast been faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler over many.''
The nomination was not obtained for him without difficulty. The Republican party--like the Democratic --had just been brought back under ``safe and sane and conservative'' leadership after a prolonged debauch under the influence of that once famous and revered reformer, Aaron Whitman, who had not sobered up or released the party for its sobering until his wife's extravagant entertaining at Washington had forced him to accept large ``retainers'' from the plutocracy. The machine leaders had in the beginning forwarded the ambitions of Whitman under the impression that his talk of a ``square deal'' was ``just the usual dope'' and that Aaron was a ``level-headed fellow at bottom.'' It had developed--after they had let Aaron become a popular idol, not to be trifled with--it had developed that he was almost sincere--as sincere as can be expected of an ambitious, pushing fellow. Now came David Hull, looking suspiciously like Whitman at his worst-and a more hopeless case, because he had money a plenty, while Whitman was luckily poor and blessed with an extravagant wife. True, Hull had the backing of Dick Kelly-- and Kelly was not the man ``to hand the boys a lemon.'' Still Hull looked like a ``holy boy,'' talked like one, had the popular reputation of having acted like one as mayor--and the ``reform game'' was certainly one to attract a man who could afford it and was in politics for position only. Perhaps Dick wanted to be rid of Hull for the rest of his term, and was ``kicking him upstairs.'' It would be a shabby trick upon his fellow leaders, but justifiable if there should be some big ``job'' at Remsen City that could be ``pulled off'' only if Hull were out of the way.
The leaders were cold until Dick got his masters in the Remsen City branch of the plutocracy to pass the word to the plutocracy's general agents at Indianapolis-- a certain well-known firm of political bankers. Until that certification came the leaders, having no candidate who stood a chance of winning, were ready to make a losing campaign and throw the election to the Democrats--not a serious misfortune at a time when the machines of the two parties had become simply friendly rival agents for the same rich master.
There was a sharp fight in the convention. The anti-machine element, repudiating Whitman under the leadership of a shrewd and honest young man named Joe Bannister, had attacked Hull in the most shocking way. Bannister had been reading Victor Dorn's New Day and had got a notion of David Hull as man and mayor different from the one made current by the newspapers. He made a speech on the floor of the convention which almost caused a riot and nearly cost Davy the nomination. That catastrophe was averted by adjournment. Davy gave Dick Kelly's second lieutenant, Osterman, ten thousand in cash, of which Osterman said there was pressing need ``for perfectly legitimate purposes, I assure you, Mr. Mayor.'' Next day the Bannister faction lost forty and odd sturdy yeomen from districts where the crops had been painfully short, and Davy
``To give you a trial. To find out whether you'll do.''
She drew a long sigh of relief.
``Didn't you guess?'' he went on, smilingly, nodding his round, prize-fighter head at her. ``Those suggestions about bed and breakfast--they were by way of a beginning.''
``You must give me a lot to do,'' urged she. ``I mustn't have a minute of idle time.''
He laughed. ``Trust me,'' he said.
While Jane was rescuing her property from her brother and was safeguarding it against future attempts by him, or by any of that numerous company whose eyes are ever roving in search of the most inviting of prey, the lone women with baggage--while Jane was thus occupied, David Hull was, if possible, even busier and more absorbed. He was being elected governor. His State was being got ready to say to the mayor of Remsen City, ``Well done, good and faithful servant. Thou hast been faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler over many.''
The nomination was not obtained for him without difficulty. The Republican party--like the Democratic --had just been brought back under ``safe and sane and conservative'' leadership after a prolonged debauch under the influence of that once famous and revered reformer, Aaron Whitman, who had not sobered up or released the party for its sobering until his wife's extravagant entertaining at Washington had forced him to accept large ``retainers'' from the plutocracy. The machine leaders had in the beginning forwarded the ambitions of Whitman under the impression that his talk of a ``square deal'' was ``just the usual dope'' and that Aaron was a ``level-headed fellow at bottom.'' It had developed--after they had let Aaron become a popular idol, not to be trifled with--it had developed that he was almost sincere--as sincere as can be expected of an ambitious, pushing fellow. Now came David Hull, looking suspiciously like Whitman at his worst-and a more hopeless case, because he had money a plenty, while Whitman was luckily poor and blessed with an extravagant wife. True, Hull had the backing of Dick Kelly-- and Kelly was not the man ``to hand the boys a lemon.'' Still Hull looked like a ``holy boy,'' talked like one, had the popular reputation of having acted like one as mayor--and the ``reform game'' was certainly one to attract a man who could afford it and was in politics for position only. Perhaps Dick wanted to be rid of Hull for the rest of his term, and was ``kicking him upstairs.'' It would be a shabby trick upon his fellow leaders, but justifiable if there should be some big ``job'' at Remsen City that could be ``pulled off'' only if Hull were out of the way.
The leaders were cold until Dick got his masters in the Remsen City branch of the plutocracy to pass the word to the plutocracy's general agents at Indianapolis-- a certain well-known firm of political bankers. Until that certification came the leaders, having no candidate who stood a chance of winning, were ready to make a losing campaign and throw the election to the Democrats--not a serious misfortune at a time when the machines of the two parties had become simply friendly rival agents for the same rich master.
There was a sharp fight in the convention. The anti-machine element, repudiating Whitman under the leadership of a shrewd and honest young man named Joe Bannister, had attacked Hull in the most shocking way. Bannister had been reading Victor Dorn's New Day and had got a notion of David Hull as man and mayor different from the one made current by the newspapers. He made a speech on the floor of the convention which almost caused a riot and nearly cost Davy the nomination. That catastrophe was averted by adjournment. Davy gave Dick Kelly's second lieutenant, Osterman, ten thousand in cash, of which Osterman said there was pressing need ``for perfectly legitimate purposes, I assure you, Mr. Mayor.'' Next day the Bannister faction lost forty and odd sturdy yeomen from districts where the crops had been painfully short, and Davy