Elder Conklin, Frank Harris [life books to read .TXT] 📗

The book would not advance, and what she wrote did not seem to her wonderful—not inspired and fascinating as it ought to have been. Her reading had given her some slight critical insight. She then showed parts of it to her admirers, hoping thus to justify vanity, but they used the occasion to pay irrelevant compliments, and so disappointed her—all, save Will Thornton, who admitted critically that “it was poetic” and guessed “she ought to write poetry.” Accordingly she wrote some lyrics, and one on “Vanished Hopes” really pleased her. Forthwith she read it to Will, who decided “‘twas fine, mighty fine. Tennyson had written more, of course, but nothing better—nothing easier to understand.” That last phrase killed her trust in him. She sank into despondence. Even when Ida Gulmore, whom she had learned to dislike, began to outshine her in the class, she made no effort. To graduate first of her year appeared a contemptible ambition in comparison with the dreams she had foregone. About this period she took a new interest in her dress; she grew coquettish even, and became a greater favourite than ever. Then Professor Roberts came to the University, and with his coming life opened itself to her anew, vitalized with hopes and fears. She was drawn to him from the first, as spirit is sometimes drawn to spirit, by an attraction so imperious that it frightened her, and she tried to hold herself away from him. But in her heart she knew that she studied and read only to win his praise. His talents revealed to her the futility of her ambition. Here was one who stood upon the heights beyond her power of climbing, and yet, to her astonishment, he was very doubtful of his ability to gain enduring reputation. Not only was there a plane of knowledge and feeling above the conventional—that she had found out by herself—but there were also table-lands where teachers of repute in the valley were held to be blind guides. Her quick receptivity absorbed the new ideas with eagerness; but she no longer deluded herself. Her practical good sense came to her aid. What seemed difficult or doubtful to the Professor must, she knew, be for ever impossible to her. And already love was upon her, making her humility as sweet as was her admiration. At last he spoke, and life became altogether beautiful to her. As she learned to know him intimately she began to understand his unworldliness, his scholar-like idealism, and ignorance of men and motives, and thus she came to self-possession again, and found her true mission. She realized with joy, and a delightful sense of an assured purpose in life, that her faculty of observation and practical insight, though insufficient as “bases for Eternity,” would be of value to her lover. And if she now and then fell back into the part of a nineteenth-century Antigone, it was but a momentary relapse into what had been for a year or so a dear familiar habit. The heart of the girl grew and expanded in the belief that her new r�le of counsellor and worldly guide to her husband was the highest to which any woman could attain.

A few days later Mr. Hutchings had another confidential talk with Professor Roberts, and, as before, the subject was suggested by an article in “The Republican Herald.” This paper, indeed, devoted a column or so every day to personal criticism of the Professor, and each attack surpassed its forerunner in virulence of invective. All the young man’s qualities of character came out under this storm of unmerited abuse. He read everything that his opponents put forth, replied to nothing, in spite of the continual solicitation of the editor of “The Democrat,” and seemed very soon to regard “The Herald’s” calumnies merely from the humorous side. Meanwhile his own speeches grew in knowledge and vigour. With a scholar’s precision he put before his hearers the inner history and significance of job after job. His powers of study helped him to “get up his cases” with crushing completeness. He quickly realized the value of catch-words, but his epigrams not being hardened in the fire of life refused to stick. He did better when he published the balance-sheet of the “ring” in pamphlet form, and showed that each householder paid about one hundred and fifty dollars a year, or twice as much as all his legal taxes, in order to support a party organization the sole object of which was to enrich a few at the expense of the many. One job, in especial, the contract for paving the streets, he stigmatized as a swindle, and asserted that the District Attorney, had he done his duty, would long ago have brought the Mayor and Town Council before a criminal court as parties to a notorious fraud. His ability, steadfastness, and self-restraint had had a very real effect; his meetings were always crowded, and his hearers were not all Democrats. His courage and fighting power were beginning to win him general admiration. The public took a lively though impartial interest in the contest. To critical outsiders it seemed not unlikely that the Professor (a word of good-humoured contempt) might “whip” even “old man Gulmore.” Bets were made on the result and short odds accepted. Even Mr. Hutchings allowed himself to hope for a favourable issue.

“You’ve done wonderfully well,” was the burden of his conversations with Roberts; “I should feel certain of success against any one but Gulmore. And he seems to be losing his head—his perpetual abuse excites sympathy with you. If we win I shall owe it mainly to you.”

But on this particular morning Lawyer Hutchings had something to say to his friend and helper which he did not like to put into plain words. He began abruptly:

“You’ve seen the ‘Herald’?”

“Yes; there’s nothing in it of interest, is there?”

“No; but ‘twas foolish of your father to write that letter saying you had paid his Kentucky debts.”

“I was sorry when I saw it. I know they’ll say I got him to write the letter. But it’s only another incident.”

“It’s true, then? You did pay the money?”

“Yes; I was glad to.”

“But it was folly. What had you to do with your father’s debts? Every house to-day should stand on its own foundation.”

“I don’t agree with you; but in this case there was no question of that sort. My father very generously impoverished himself to send me to Europe and keep me there for six years. I owed him the five thousand dollars, and was only too glad to be able to repay him. You’d have done the same.”

“Would I, indeed! Five thousand dollars! I’m not so sure of that.” The father’s irritation conquered certain grateful memories of his younger days, and the admiration which, in his heart, he felt for the Professor’s action, only increased his annoyance. “It must have nearly cleaned you out?”

“Very nearly.”

“Well, of course it’s your affair, not mine; but I think you foolish. You paid them in full, I suppose? Whew!

“Do you see that the ‘Herald’ calls upon the University authorities to take action upon your lecture? ‘The teaching of Christian youth by an Atheist must be stopped,’ and so forth.”

“Yes; but they can do nothing. I’m not responsible to them for my religious opinions.”

“You’re mistaken. A vote of the Faculty can discharge you.”

“Impossible! On what grounds?”

“On the ground of immorality. They’ve got the power in that case. It’s a loose word, but effective.”

“I’d have a cause of action against them.”

“Which you’d be sure to lose. Eleven out of every twelve jurymen in this state would mulct an Agnostic rather than give him damages.”

“Ah! that’s the meaning, then, I suppose, of this notice I’ve just got from the secretary to attend a special Faculty meeting on Monday fortnight.”

“Let me see it. Why, here it is! The object of the meeting is ‘To consider the anti-Christian utterances of Professor Roberts, and to take action thereon.’ That’s the challenge. Didn’t you read it?”

“No; as soon as I opened it and saw the printed form, I took it for the usual notification, and put it aside to think of this election work. But it would seem as if the Faculty intended to out-herald the ‘Herald.’”

“They are simply allowed to act first in order that the ‘Herald,’ a day later, may applaud them. It’s all worked by Gulmore, and I tell you again, he’s dangerous.”

“He may be; but I won’t change for abuse, nor yet to keep my post. Let him do his worst. I’ve not attacked him hitherto for certain reasons of my own, nor do I mean to now. But he can’t frighten me; he’ll find that out.”

“Well, we’ll see. But, at any rate, it was my duty to warn you. It would be different if I were rich, but, as it is, I can only give May a little, and—”

“My dear Hutchings, don’t let us talk of that. In giving me May, you give me all I want.” The young man’s tone was so conclusive that it closed the conversation.

 

*

 

Mr. Gulmore had not been trained for a political career. He had begun life as a clerk in a hardware store in his native town. But in his early manhood the Abolition agitation had moved him deeply—the colour of his skin, he felt, would never have made him accept slavery—and he became known as a man of extreme views. Before he was thirty he had managed to save some thousands of dollars. He married and emigrated to Columbus, Ohio, where he set up a business. It was there, in the stirring years before the war, that he first threw himself into politics; he laboured indefatigably as an Abolitionist without hope or desire of personal gain. But the work came to have a fascination for him, and he saw possibilities in it of pecuniary emolument such as the hardware business did not afford. When the war was over, and he found himself scarcely richer than he had been before it began, he sold his store and emigrated again—this time to Tecumseh, Nebraska, intending to make political organization the business of his life. He wanted “to grow up” with a town and become its master from the beginning. As the negroes constituted the most ignorant and most despised class, a little solicitation made him their leader. In the first election it was found that “Gulmore’s negroes” voted to a man, and that he thereby controlled the Republican party. In the second year of his residence in Tecumseh he got the contract for lighting the town with gas. The contract was to run for twenty years, and was excessively liberal, for Mr. Gulmore had practically no competitor, no one who understood gas manufacture, and who had the money and pluck to embark in the enterprise. He quickly formed a syndicate, and fulfilled the conditions of the contract. The capital was fixed at two hundred thousand dollars, and the syndicate earned a profit of nearly forty per cent, in the first year. Ten years later a one hundred dollar share was worth a thousand. This first success was the foundation of Mr. Gulmore’s fortune. The income derived from the gas-works enabled him to spend money on the organization of his party. The first manager of the works was rewarded with the position of Town Clerk—an appointment which ran for five years, but which under Mr. Gulmore’s rule was practically permanent. His foremen became the most energetic of ward-chairmen. He was known to pay well, and to be a kind if strenuous master. What he had gained in ten years by the various contracts allotted to him or his nominees no one could guess; he was certainly very rich. From year to year, too, his control