“Yes,” he said; “the reporters.”
She went out. Read got up and began to pace the floor. He had noticed that lately he had been thinking about women a good deal. Not a woman; just women. It worried him. “I’m forty-three,” he told himself; “I’m no longer exactly young. I’m getting to what is known as the dangerous age. If I’m not careful I’ll get myself in a jam. That wouldn’t do at all. If I’m re-elected, I’ll be a big man. I’ll be heard of nationally. I may even run for the presidency some day; quite a few Ohio governors have. I’d better get married. Marry Eileen. Why not?” Then he laughed shortly. “If I’m re-elected, that is.”
Eileen’s father, Major Bradley, would probably insist on that. If Read was defeated he was a nobody. Major Bradley was a powerful man; one of the most powerful in the State. He wouldn’t want a nobody for a son-in-law.
Charley Parrott opened the front door and stepped in.
“All set, Read?”
“Yes. Bring in the animals.”
The reporters boiled through the door. Read smiled and sat down.
“If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “I catch a faint odor of alcohol.”
There was a laugh.
“Oh, no,” said Charley, smiling wearily.
“All right,” said Read to the reporters. “Go ahead.”
They started firing questions at him. He answered them slowly and calmly, making them smile occasionally by his clever evasions. When they got around to the
Independent’s
straw vote, he said: ”The
Independent
is a Democratic sheet, isn’t it? I’m a Republican candidate, am I not?”
There was a laugh. But Spencer of the
Independent
interposed:
“Do you want us to print that, Governor?”
“Print what? I asked two questions.”
There was another laugh. But Spencer persevered. “You know, Governor, that our straw vote has always been pretty close. It looks like the farm districts are against you.”
“They gave me a majority before. They don’t go to the polls till next Tuesday.”
“That’s only six days. Can we print that?”
“Print what?”
“That you think there will be a change of sentiment in the farm districts in six days?”
“Yes.”
The reporters started, then wrote furiously. Charley glanced at the Governor with what would
have been mild indifference in another man; he was amazed.
When the reporters had gone, he said:
“What’s up, Read?”
“I’ve been thinking. I’m going after the farm vote. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Not till I talk it over with Gregg.”
Read got up and put on his coat and hat.
“Going out to lunch?”
“Yes. I’ll be at the Massey for an hour. Crystal Room.”
“Shall I tell Miss Wilson to go to lunch?”
Read smiled.
“Why don’t you take her to lunch, Charley?”
“No, thanks. I don’t waste my time.”
“Meaning?”
“When I spend time and money on a woman I like to get to first base.”
Read laughed and started out. So Miss Wilson affected other men that way. Oh, well!
Harold was waiting for the Governor in the outer office.
“Note from Mr. Upham,” he said.
Read opened the note.
Dear Gov:
Major Bradley is lunching with us so be on your good behavior. Eagle Beak has the rich boys worried; looks like they are all going to hang onto you and try to get you to pull their chestnuts out of the fire. Don’t be late.
Your pal,
Gregg
Read crossed the huge dim rotunda slowly. He loved it; it was quiet and dignified and, to him, beautiful. Behind the tall glass cases on the walls were tattered battle flags: Civil War, Spanish War, World War. They seemed to mean nothing to anybody. But they meant a lot to Read, though he never mentioned the fact. He was very proud of his American ancestry. His grandfather had fought in the Civil War; his father in the Spanish War; and he himself had fought in France and had been wounded. He hadn’t an ounce of foreign blood of any kind; his people had been in America for at least six generations: all Scotch-Irish. He did not like foreigners at all; had no sympathy with them. But he kept this to himself.
It was cold and gray outside. A wintry wind was blowing through the State House yard, stirring the dead leaves. Read walked across to the Broad Street entrance past the Victory Group, then turned west. The Massey Hotel was only half a block away. Men spoke to him respectfully and raised their hats.
When Read walked through the lobby of the Massey Hotel there was a murmuring and men pointed him out and women sitting in chairs along Midland City’s Peacock Alley craned their necks to get a better look. Read pretended not to notice; pretended even to himself that this sort of thing meant nothing to him; in reality, he enjoyed it extremely. It soothed his ego, which was enormous; though he masked it ordinarily behind a pleasant, somewhat distant, polite, offhand manner.
The Crystal Room was crowded. Read saw the impassive foreign waiters moving expertly about among the closely packed tables. As it was a dark day, the huge crystal chandeliers were ablaze with light and the silverware and china gleamed brightly on the snow-white tablecloths. He took off his coat absentmindedly and, without looking, handed it to the check-girl.
“Your hat, too?” said a strange, soft voice.
“Oh, yes,” said Read, smiling. “I forgot.” Then he looked at the check-girl and his heart missed a beat and he flushed.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “This is my first day.”
“Yes,” said Read, smiling a little foolishly, “I thought I didn’t remember…”
She glanced at him, then turned to get his check. It was obvious that she had no idea who he was. He studied her, resenting the disturbance she had aroused inside him. She was small and plump and young, not over twenty, certainly; she had a fine fresh complexion and curly dark-brown hair. Her eyes were very blue with long black lashes. Her face was softly rounded and her nose just missed being snub. “She is what is called cute!” Read told himself savagely, and looked determinedly away from her. He resented her; she was so young and pretty. It made him feel old and out of it just to look at her.
“Your check,” she said, turning and smiling. Their eyes met. There was something in his gaze that she did not understand, but she did not lower her eyes. In fact, in a moment, she smiled rather significantly, Read thought, and her smile seemed to say: “Well, you look like you’d like to date me up. Why not try? Who knows?”
“Thank you,” said Read and, turning abruptly, went into the Crystal Room.
The headwaiter hurried over and bowed and was embarrassingly obsequious. Read turned to see if the check-girl was watching; she was. She even smiled a little. He wondered what she was thinking.
Gregg Upham was waiting for him.
“Hello, Gov,” he said, when Read sat down.
“Hello, Gregg. Where’s His Nibs?”
“Be along in a minute. You know how it is with these big important men. After all, you’re only the Governor of the State. You can wait.”
“Don’t be funny.”
“I’m not being funny. I know the Major. I’ve worked for him long enough. How’s things, pal?”
“Fair to middling, as my father used to say.”
“That straw vote looks bad.”
“Very bad,” said Read with a smile.
“You don’t seem to be taking it very much to heart.”
“Why should I? I’ve been in worse holes than this. I’ve got several very good ideas. We’ll talk them over after lunch.”
“Old Eagle Beak has sure given the boys a scare. What a laugh! Can you imagine Eagle Beak as Governor? First he’ll let all the prisoners out of the State Penitentiary and put them on their honor, and then when they start murdering people and sticking up banks and burning down buildings and raping women, he’ll be so terribly hurt, and then he’ll blame it all on the Rich.”
Read laughed. There was always a good deal of shrewd sense in Gregg’s exaggerations. It was true that Asa Fielding, Old Eagle Beak, was a hopeless visionary; Gregg had put the matter in a nutshell.
“You should have been a cartoonist,” said Read.
“I should have, yes. But I turned out to be a plain comic. Writing editorials for the Major. Is that your idea of a life work?”
“Not exactly.”
“I often wonder if anybody under fifty ever reads any of them.”
Read laughed. Gregg was always the same; a prize beefer. He was number one man with Major Bradley. He did nothing but write editorials, usually of a political nature, which were printed simultaneously in the Major’s seven papers; and yet he had the title of Editor in Chief of the Bradley sheets and drew down what was considered in Ohio a good-sized salary: $15,000 a year. He claimed to be a frustrated great writer, and when he got drunk, which was frequently, he would bore everybody with his literary erudition, and call himself the embryo Balzac of the Midwest. He was tall and slightly stooped, with a shrewd, rather handsome, dark face. He looked both young and dissipated. He had served overseas in the same company with the Governor. He was a bachelor with—according to Midland City standards—very doubtful morals.
They smoked in silence for a while, then Gregg said:
“So you think you can outnose Eagle Beak in the home stretch, eh? That’s nice. And speaking of politics, did you notice that little honey checking coats?” Read hesitated, put on his poker-face. Looking up, he saw Major Bradley stalking across the dining room convoyed by the bowing headwaiter.
“His Nibs,” said Read, then added: “Yes, I did notice her. New, isn’t she?”
“If that’s the best you can do, you’re getting old. She floored me. Where did they find her? She’s got what it takes. Oh, hello, Major. Pull up a chair.” Major Bradley smiled condescendingly and sat down. He was immensely conscious of his vast importance. From his carefully polished tan shoes to his carefully clipped white businessman’s mustache he was perfect. His florid fat face was smooth as a baby’s and his pale blue eyes were clear and shining.
“I ordered,” said Gregg.
“Good,” said the Major, stroking his mustache. “Well, how are you, Governor?”
“Never better, thanks.”
“We’re in a pretty fix, all of us, aren’t we? We’ve sat around and let that old windbag steal the show. But who could ever take him seriously…?” The Major’s face got very red; he detested Eagle Beak. ”… except of course the down-and-outers. He is promising them the moon. They believe every word he says. We’re starting after him tomorrow. Has Gregg told you? We’ll make him a laughingstock if it’s physically possible. I hope we’re not too late.” Read shrugged and began to eat his soup.
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said.
The Major glanced at Gregg.
“No?”
“Read has tricks up his sleeve,” said Gregg.
“Yes? Well, it’s time to produce them. Pardon my saying so, Governor: but I don’t think you made a very strong impression when you stumped the State. You talk too much sense. In politics what you need is nonsense. Am I right?”
“You’re always right, Major,” said Gregg.
The Major smiled; he quite agreed with Gregg. “We wouldn’t be in the fix we’re in if you were more of a demagogue, Governor. We need a rabble-rouser. Or rather a rabble-unrouser. Eagle Beak has got them all up in the air. If the farmers bolt, we’re done for. Eagle Beak will get in and then the fun will begin. But I’ll save my breath.”
Over the dessert the Major said:
“I suppose you’ve heard the rumors about the general strike?”
“Vaguely,” said Read.
“I’m breaking a great editorial by Gregg tomorrow. It may throw a scare into the middle class. This general strike business is just a threat; but the way things are…”
Read calmly finished his ice cream.
“Major,” he said, “I’m not quite ready to talk yet. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”
“All right. I’ll stop worrying. You’re a good man at keeping promises. But you’re really in serious trouble this time. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I think I do.”
“Good. Tomorrow night I’d like to have you come out to my house. A few of the boys will be there. They’re all willing to back you to the limit, financially, I mean.”
“I’ll bring Mr. Sullavan with me. You can talk finances with him.”
“Fine.” The Major drank his coffee hurriedly, then got up. “Will you excuse me? Important engagement. I’ve enjoyed your society very much. Eileen dropped by this noon and tried to crash our luncheon, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She sent her best.”
When the Major had gone, Gregg lit a cigarette and settled back comfortably. For a long time he studied Read, then he said:
“Getting in deep, eh, pal?”
“In what way?”
“Every way. Got the rich boys spending money on you. They’ll want plenty of service.”
“They’ll get what’s coming to them, nothing more.”
“Easy to say.”
“Easier to do.”
“I hope you’re right. Read, we hardly ever talk about anything. Let’s talk.”
“All right.”
“You used to be a thorn in the side of that gang. The Bradley interests, the Freytags, the Meadowses, the Joneses. Remember? They only accepted you as the lesser of two evils. Anything is better to them than a Godforsaken Democrat. Now they’re parking on your doorstep.”
“They’re scared.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not at all.”
Gregg glanced at Read.
“Not really? You mean it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll be frank with you, Read. I think you’re slipping. I think you’re going to end up as just another politician.”
“I’m going to end up as President with a little luck.”
“Maybe. If you beat Eagle Beak after all this hullabaloo, all the stuffed shirts in America will be writing you fan letters. But that’s not what I mean. You used to think about other things besides merely getting elected.”
“And you used to think about other things besides pulling down a big salary and writing editorials you don’t believe in yourself.”
‘‘I see. In short, we’re middle-aged. Maybe you’re right. Oh, well; worse things could happen. But I can’t see Read Cole married to Eileen Bradley surrounded by an aura of painful respectability and eating out of the hands of the stuffed shirts. It’s not a pretty picture.”