_ CHAPTER X. A POLITICAL CONVERT
For two days Harlan Thornton rode about over the Fort Canibas district. He talked to men at their doors, in their shops, over the fences of their fields. He knew that some sneered at him behind his back. Some even dared to arraign him, boldly and angrily, and flung his motives in his face, accusing the grandfather of inciting the grandson to this attempt to catch votes.
He realized that most of the voters did not understand him aright. They did not understand sincerity in politics. But his own consciousness of rectitude supplied his consolation and provided his impetus. Till then he had employed the Thornton grit only in his business efforts; he employed it now with just as much vigor in his proselyting. Once in the fight, he was awake to what it meant. His frank earnestness impressed those with whom he talked. He did not lose his temper, when men assailed him and tried to discredit his protestations. Here and there, in neighborhoods, knots of farmers gathered about him and listened. He began to win his way, and he knew it. The knowledge that Harlan Thornton was a square man in business needed no herald in that section.
That this integrity would extend to his politics grew into belief more and more as he went about.
The distrust of him, because of his associations, a suspicion fostered by the paid agents of the opposition, began to give way before his calm, earnest young manhood. But in every knot of men he found a few bitter irreconcilables still. They were those whom change invites, and the established order offends. One man, unable to provoke him by vituperation, and in a frenzy of childish rage because Harlan's calm poise was not disturbed by his outpourings, ran at him and struck him. He was a little man, and though he leaped when he struck, the blow landed no higher than the shoulder that Harlan turned to him. And when he leaped again the young man caught him by the wrist and smiled down on him, unperturbed.
"If that's the way you talk politics, Sam, I'll have to adjourn the debate," he said, quietly. And the story of that went the rounds, accompanied by much laughter, and the big, sturdy, serene young man who was master of his own passions met smiles wherever he went.
Another story preceded him, too. "Fighting" MacCracken, of the Jo Quacca neighborhood, smarting ever since that day in the yard of "The Barracks," jealous of his prestige as a man of might, offered obscene and brutal insult to the name of Thelismer Thornton in the hearing of his grandson. It had been hinted previously along the border that the six-foot scion of the Thorntons was a handy man in a scrap, but now his prowess was surely established. MacCracken went about, a living advertisement of how effectually righteous anger can back up two good fists.
Therefore, respect attended on good-humor and went with, or ahead of, the candidate.
He wondered at himself sometimes. He hardly understood the zeal that now animated him, so sudden a convert. But the zest of youth was in him; the spirit of the toil of the big woods, of the race with drought when the drives are going down, the everlasting struggle with nature's forces, the rivalry between man and man where accomplishment that bulks large in the eyes of men is the only accomplishment that counts--all these spurred him to make good, now that he had begun. In the open arena of life his training had been that of man to man, and the best man taking the prize. And his reading during the long evenings had been more in the way of education in public matters than he had realized. As for ideals, he had followed the masterful men who preached a gospel that appealed to him, living the life of the open, battling for the weak against the selfishly strong--so it seemed to the one who studied their achievements on the printed page. With his own opportunity now thrust upon him, Harlan Thornton determined to make candor his code, honesty his system. He entertained no false ideas of his personal importance. But his lack of experience did not daunt him. He simply made up his mind that he would go forward, keeping soul and heart open, as well as eyes and ears. He believed that the square deal could not be hidden from those who entered public life in that manner.
He did not discuss all this with his grandfather. If he had, Thelismer Thornton would have been vastly interested. He might have been amused. Probably he would have been more amused than interested, for hot youth and glowing ideals have humorous phases for the man who has lived among men for more than eighty years.
But that he had unloosed a bottle imp in his own family would not have occurred to the old man, even after he had listened, for he still had the cynical belief that circumstances must control, interest convert, and personal profit kill the most glowing ardor in reform.
Lacking the gift of divination, Thelismer Thornton watched the rapid development of this bottle imp with much complacency. "Whispering" Urban Cobb brought him reports from the field. Talleyrand Sylvester was trying to place bets on Harlan Thornton, but there were no takers. It was even stated that Enoch Dudley was finding it hard work to secure pledges enough to warrant his running as an independent candidate.
Harlan Thornton, looking in from the outside, had found politics, as managed
for him, an abhorrent mess. Now, plunged in, he was embracing his opportunity, and finding good in the contest.
On the other hand, Harlan Thornton, making his own plea and his own pledges as a candidate, was embraced by the voters. He was not a mere legatee forced on them by a boss--he was speaking for himself, and the sincerity of the young man made itself felt.
At the end of the appointed two days he knew that his prospects were safe. One of the other towns in the district and three of the plantations had endorsed his name in caucus. If Thelismer Thornton had been responsible for his candidacy, so was his own personality responsible for this clearing away of difficulties. He felt his self-respect returning. That cruel wound to his pride was healing.
He was riding home in the evening of the second day, past the end of the long bridge, finding comfort in this thought.
A white figure, framed in the black mouth of the bridge, startled rider and horse.
"It's only Clare," she said. "I heard you were up the river to-day, and I've been waiting for you."
He rode closer. It was a new and strange Clare who was revealed to him in the dim light. She was gowned and gloved, and her broad hat hid her boyish curls. She walked out of the gloom and leaned against the bridge rail.
"Ah, the little playmate did ride away from me forever!" he cried, looking her up and down. "But this young lady--why, she takes my breath away!" He took off his hat and bowed to the pommel.
"You needn't make fun of me, Mr. Harlan Thornton," she returned, crisply. "And a real young lady wouldn't come down in this bridge and wait for you. I wanted to tell you I'm glad. I hear all about your success. When I was a little girl I didn't want you to go away and be a big man. But now that I'm a woman I'm glad you're going. I wanted you to realize, Mr. Harlan Thornton, that I'm a woman, so if you'll reach down your hand I'll shake it and congratulate you."
He took her little hand in both his own.
"You were a real little woman two days ago right here in this place," he said, gratefully. "I didn't realize it at that moment, but it was what you said to me that put some real sense into my head, after all. It set me to thinking."
"What kind of laws are you going to make?" she demanded.
"I don't think I'll have much to do with making laws, Clare. All I can do is listen and try to be on the right side when the voting comes."
"Can't you make a law to oblige old men to stop fighting each other," she demanded, petulantly--"fighting each other, and making all their folks uncomfortable?"
"I think it would be a good law, especially in one case I know about. But sometimes the best laws don't get passed."
"I'll come down and make a speech for it. You said I talked like old folks the other evening."
"A speech from you would convert them all," he returned, indulging her in this childish banter. "You see, you converted me with only a few words, and I was a hard case just then."
"Then I'll come down to your legislature and we'll make it into a law, and the punishment shall be, if they don't make up and allow their folks to be comfortable and friends, they must have their old heads bumped together--bumped harder and harder till they shake hands and make up and live happy ever after. Old folks haven't any business to stay mad. They won't get into heaven if they do."
She withdrew her hand, and went away into the black mouth of the bridge.
"That's all, Big Boy!" she cried. "It was some business, you see, that I waited to talk over with you. And a grown-up young lady mustn't stay after her business is finished."
"But I'll walk home with you!" he called.
"No, I'll not be frightened at the dark until I get old enough to be called an old maid," she said, mischievously. "Good-night!"
He waited by the side of the river until he saw her white figure safely through the dark bridge, and on its way up the quiet hillside past the church. Then he rode to "The Barracks," his mind dwelling a bit more particularly on the vagaries of womankind than it ever had before.
He joined his grandfather on the porch after he had eaten his supper alone.
"The fences, so I hear, Harlan, will pass the inspection of the most expert fence-viewers," he chuckled. "So I suppose you'll be ready to leave with me to-morrow."
"If you think it's necessary to have me go anywhere with you, grandfather, I'll go."
There was silence for a time. The young man was waiting. The old man smoked placidly.
"Is there any reason why you can't tell me where we are going?" inquired Harlan.
"No especial reason--only I'll be wasting time telling you. You'll see for yourself. We'll meet a big man or so--that's all!"
"The man I'd like to meet," began the young man, fervently, "is one that every young chap in this country can follow and ought to follow, if he's got red blood and honesty in him. I wish I could meet him now when I'm starting out, if only to shake his hand."
"You'd better not meet any man so long as he's wearing a halo, where you're concerned. You'll find political halos, bub, when you get too near to 'em, something like restaurant doughnuts--holes surrounded by poor cooking. Better keep away a spell. That's why I'm not going to tell you where we're going--not just now. I might go to cracking up the man too much. I'll let you build your own halo for him--and then maybe you can eat your own cooking, provided you find the halo a doughnut."
They left Fort Canibas the next morning, travelling humbly by mail stage to the railroad terminus. The branch line took them to a populous junction, and by that time Harlan Thornton began to appreciate that his grandfather was rather more of a figure in State politics than he had dreamed. He had made many trips with him through the State in years past, but never before when men understood, some dimly, some fearfully, that a political crisis was on. Thelismer Thornton's seat in the train, his room at the hotel, was besieged by those who respectfully solicited his opinions. They seemed to realize that some of the wisdom of the fathers in State politics, of the patriarchs with whom he had trained, had fallen to him by natural inheritance. But though he listened patiently, he said but little. Harlan noticed, however, that he did take especial pains to deprecate some of the suppressive movements advised by the more hot-headed managers.
"Let things swing as they're going," he advised. "She'll take care of herself, give her free run right now. But you can't pinch up a line gale by putting a clothespin on the nose of the tempest. Let her snort! Brace the party and face it like a hitching--post! Don't try to choke off Arba Spinney. Let him froth."
His grandfather was so insistent on this point that Harlan took notice of its frequent repetition and the earnestness with which it was pressed. He began to understand that some plan lay back of his grandfather's silence to him and to others as to his private reasons for this appeal. He began to take lively interest in the ramifications of practical politics as played by the hand of a master. _