_ PART THREE CHAPTER V
There was but one important measure to deal with in this session of the legislature, but David's penetration into a thorough understanding of each bill, and the patience and sagacity he displayed in settling all disputes, won the approbation of even doubtful and divided factions. He flashed a new fire of life into the ebbing enthusiasm of his followers, whom he had led to victory on the Griggs Bill. At the close of the session, early in May, he was presented with a set of embossed resolutions commending his fulfillment of his duties.
That same night, in his room at the hotel, as he was packing his belongings, he was waited upon by a delegation composed alike of horny-handed tillers of the soil and distinguished statesmen.
"We come, David," said the spokesman, who had been chairman of the county convention, "to say that you are our choice for the next governor of this state, and in saying this we know we are echoing the sentiment of the Republican party. In fact, we are looking to you as the only man who can bring that party to victory."
He said many more things, flattering and echoed by his followers. It made the blood tingle in David's veins to know that these men of plain, honest, country stock, like himself, believed in him and in his honor. In kaleidoscopic quickness there passed in review his life,--the days when he and his mother had struggled with a wretched poverty that the neighbors had only half suspected, the first turning point in his life, when he was taken unto the hearth and home of strong-hearted people, his years at college, the plodding days in pursuit of the law, his hotly waged fight in the legislature, and his short literary career, and he felt a surging of boyish pride at the knowledge that he was now approaching his goal.
The next morning David went to Lafferton in order to discuss the road to the ruling of the people.
"Whom would you suggest for manager of my campaign, Uncle Barnabas?" he asked.
"Knowles came to me and offered his services. Couldn't have a slicker man, Dave."
"None better in the state. I shouldn't have ventured to ask him."
Janey was home for the summer, and on the first evening of his return she and David sat together on the porch.
"Oh, Davey," she said with a little sob, "Jud has come home again, and they say he isn't just wild any more, but thoroughly bad."
The tears in her eyes and the tremor in her tone stirred all his old protective instinct for her.
"Poor Jud! I'll see if I can't awaken some ambition in him for a different life."
"You've been very patient, Davey, but do try again. Every one is down on him now but father and you and me. Aunt M'ri has let the Judge prejudice her; Joe hasn't a particle of patience with him, and he can't understand how I can have any, but you do, Davey. You understand everything."
They sat in silence, watching the stars pierce vividly through the blackness of the sky, and presently his thoughts strayed from Jud and from his fair young sister. In fancy he saw the queenly carriage of an imperious little head, the mystery lurking in a pair of purple eyes, and heard the cadence in an exquisite voice.
The next morning he began the fight, and there was an incessant cannonade from start to finish against the upstart boy nominee, who proved to be an adversary of unremitting activity, the tact and experience of Knowles making a fortified intrenchment for him. All of David's friends rallied strongly to his support. Hume came from Washington, Joe from the ranch, and Wilder from the East, his father having a branch concern in the state.
Through the long, hot summer the warfare waged, and by mid-autumn it seemed a neck and neck contest--a contest so susceptible that the merest breath might turn the tide at any moment. The week before the election found David still resolute, grim, and determined. Instead of being discouraged by adverse attacks he had gained new vigor from each downthrow. All forces rendezvoused at the largest city in the state for the final engagement.
Three days before election he received a note in a handwriting that had become familiar to him during the past year. With a rush of surprise and pleasure he noted the city postmark. The note was very brief, merely mentioning the hotel at which they were stopping and asking him to call if he could spare a few moments from his campaign work.
In an incredibly short time after the receipt of this note he was at the hotel, awaiting an answer to his card. He was shown to the sitting room of the suite, and Carey opened the door to admit him. This was not the little princess of his dreams, nor the charming young girl who had talked so ingenuously with him before the Braden fireside. This was a woman, stately yet gracious, vigorous yet exquisite.
"I am glad we came home in time to see you elected," she said. "It is a great honor, David, to be the governor of your state."
There was a shade of deference in her manner to him which he realized was due to the awe with which she regarded the dignity of his elective office. This amused while it appealed to him.
"We are on our way to California to spend the winter," she replied, in answer to his eager question, "and father proposed stopping here until after election."
"You come in and out of my life like a comet," he complained wistfully.
Mrs. Winthrop came in, smiling and charming as ever. She was very cordial to David, and interested in his campaign, but it seemed to him that she was a little too gracious, as if she wished to impress him with the fact that it was a concession to meet him on an equal social footing. For Mrs. Winthrop was inclined to be of the world, worldly.
"You have arrived at an auspicious time," he assured her. "To-night the Democrats will have the biggest parade ever scheduled for this city. Joe calls it the round-up."
"Oh, is Joe here?" asked Carey eagerly.
"Yes; and another friend of yours, Fletcher Wilder."
"I knew that he was here," she said, with an odd little smile.
"We had expected to see him in New York, and were surprised to learn he was out here," said Mrs. Winthrop.
"He came to help me in my campaign," informed David.
"Fletcher interested in politics! How strange!"
"His interest is purely personal. We were together in South America, you know."
"I am glad that you have a friend in him," said Mrs. Winthrop affably. "The parade will pass here, and Fletcher is coming up, of course. Why not come up, too, if you can spare the time?"
"This is not my night," laughed David. "It's purely and simply a Democratic night. I shall be pleased to come."
"Bring Joe, too," reminded Carey.
When Mr. Winthrop came in David had no doubt as to the welcome he received from the head of the family.
"A man's measure of a man," thought David, "is easily taken, and by natural laws, but oh, for an understanding of the scales by which women weigh! And yet it is they who hold the balance."
"Fletcher and David and Joe are coming to-night to watch the parade from here," said Carey.
"You shall all dine with us," said Mr. Winthrop.
"Thank you," replied David, "but--"
"Oh, but you must," insisted Mrs. Winthrop, who always warmly seconded any proffer of hospitality made by her husband. "Fletcher will dine with us, of course. We can have a little dinner served here in our rooms. Write a note to Mr. Forbes, Carey."
The marked difference in type of her three guests as they entered the sitting room that night struck Mrs. Winthrop forcibly. Joe, lean and brown, with laughing eyes, was the typical frontiersman; Fletcher, quiet and substantial looking, with his air of culture and ease and his modulated voice, was the type of a city man; David--"What a man he is!" she was forced to admit as he stood, head uplifted in the white glare under the chandelier, the brilliant light shining upon his dark hair, and his eyes glowing like stars. His lithe figure, perfect in poise and balance, of virile strength that was toil-proof, wore the look of the outdoor life. His smile banished everything that was ordinary from his face and transmuted it into a glowing personality. His eyes, serious with that insight of the observer who knows what is going on without and within, were clear and steady.
The table was laid for six in the sitting room, the flowers and candles giving it a homelike look.
As Mrs. Winthrop listened to the conversation between her husband and David she was forced to admit that the young candidate for governor was a man of mark.
"I never knew a man without good birth to have such perfect breeding," she thought. "He really appears as well as Fletcher, and, well, of course, he has more temperament. If he could have been born on a different plane," thinking of her long line of Virginia ancestors.
She had ceded a great deal to her husband's and Carey's democracy, and reserved many an unfavorable criticism of their friends and their friends' ways with a tactfulness that had blinded their eyes to her true feelings. Yet David knew instinctively her standpoint; she partly suspected that he knew, and the knowledge did not disturb her; she intuitively gauged his pride, and welcomed it, for a suitor of the Fletcher Wilder station of life was more to her liking.
Carey led David away from her father's political discourse, and encouraged him to give reminiscences of old days. Joe told a few inimitable western stories, and before the cozy little meal was finished Mrs. Winthrop, though against her will, was feeling the compelling force of David's winning sweetness. The sound of a distant band hurried them from the table to the balcony.
"They've certainly got a fair showing of floating banners and transformations," said Joe.
As the procession came nearer the face of the hardy ranchman flushed crimson and his eyes flashed dangerously. He made a quick motion as if to obstruct David's vision, but the young candidate had already seen. He stood as if at bay, his face pale, his eyes riveted on those floating banners which bore in flaming letters the inscriptions:
"The father of David Dunne died in state prison!"
"His mother was a washerwoman!" _