Half a Rogue - Harold MacGrath (phonics books TXT) 📗

her!-as I never hoped or dreamed of loving any woman. You're a man, John; you will understand. I've been alone all my life; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without any particular restraint on my desires. The dear old aunt was the only tie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good and kind she was. I miss her; months from now I shall miss her a hundredfold. I'm very lonely. You've all been so good to me. To be alone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is a torture. My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led me into plenty of mischief. I love Patty. What do you say, John?"

"Say? Why, you are good enough for any woman alive. I am very glad, Dick. Patty married to you! You old farmer," affectionately, "I've always been mentally pairing off you two! Come on; let's hear what the political windmill has to say. They're burning red fire in front of the hall."

But a moment gone their feet had dragged with each step; now there was a lightness that was dancing. John knew that it was all a lie; and his heart was as light as his feet. Kate, dear Kate! He was a wretch! He slapped Warrington on the shoulder.

"To think of your marrying Patty, the little sister!"

"Don't go too fast, John," said Warrington with less enthusiasm. "I haven't said a word to Patty yet; and if she's a sensible young woman, she'll give me my conge first-off."

"By George, women are strange creatures. It's the truth, Dick; you can't tell which way they'll go. But Patty's no fool." John hadn't felt so good in many hours.

"But I love her, and God knows I shall try to be worthy of her, even if I lose her. ... Sky-rockets!" with an upward glance. "That's the signal for Rudolph's arrival at the hall."

"Come on, then!"

Rudolph was the great Jeffersonian Democrat, not by excellence, rather by newspaper courtesy, and that, to be specific, by his own newspaper. He had come up from New York that day to deliver his already famous speech. He was one of the many possibilities in the political arena for the governorship. And as he was a multimillionaire, he was sure of a great crowd. As an Englishman loves a lord, so does the American love a millionaire. Rudolph's newspaper was the only one in the metropolis that patted him on the back regularly each morning. He was the laboring man's friend; he was the arch enemy of the monopolies (not yet called trusts); and so forth and so on. For all that some laughed at him, he was an able politician, and was perfectly honest in all his political transactions, which is something of a paradox. So he came up to Herculaneum to convert the doubting. The laboring party greeted him en masse, and stormed the hall for choice seats.

The hall was a low, rambling structure, bad for the voice, but capable of seating a few thousands. The curbs glared with green and red fire, and a band blared out the songs of freedom. The crowds surged back and forth, grumbling and laughing and shouting. And the near-by saloons did a land-office business. It was a great night for the man who had nothing to do. All at once there was loud hurrahing. An open hack drove up to the entrance, and the great Jeffersonian stood up, bowing, bowing. The green light on one side and the red on the other gave to his face a Gargantuan aspect rather than that of a Quixote, to whom he was more often likened than to any other character in fiction. The police cleared a pathway for the great man, and he hurried up the steps. Another cheer, and another blast from the band. Great is popularity, whose handmaiden is oblivion.

"They'll be doing all this to you some day," John declared, as he and Warrington elbowed through the crowd, the dog between their legs.

"That's him!" cried a voice.

"Who?"

"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man."

"Salt licks for him!" came in derision.

"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money."

"Not in a thousand years!"

All this amused Warrington.

"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?"

A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington saw Osborne's rubicund nose.

"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?"

"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. A man with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinary mortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have that barrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts of birds."

Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, but Jove managed to turn up each time.

"We'll stand at the left," said John; "it's nearer the exits."

"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance in a crowd like this."

They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked toward the stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who was that night to address them.

"And," concluded the mayor, "Mr. Rudolph will lead us to a victory such as the party in this state has not yet known." And half a hundred more final words. Man approaches nearest woman's postscript when he says: "And, gentlemen, just one word more!"

Meantime Warrington's gaze wandered here and there. He saw many familiar faces,-politicians, prominent merchants of both parties, and the usual exuberant hundreds drawn thither only by curiosity. These were willing to applaud anything and anybody, without knowing or caring what about. Quiet one moment, roaring the next; murmur, murmur, like angry waters on shingle. These make and unmake public men; they have nothing, but they can give everything. Strong tobacco smoke rolled ceilingward, and those on the stage became blurred and nebulous. Once Warrington caught a glimpse of a battered face, but it disappeared quickly. However, he said nothing to Bennington. Again, he saw McQuade moving about, within fifty feet. From time to time McQuade stooped, and Warrington knew that the white dog was present.

"Gentlemen," concluded Donnelly, with a flourish, "William Henry Rudolph, of New York, our next governor."

And, to quote the sympathetic reporters, "tremendous applause shook the rafters." Mr. Rudolph rose majestically, and smiled and bowed. Heigh-ho! man accepts applause so easily; the noise, not the heart behind it; the uproar, not the thought. Man usually fools himself when he opens his ears to these sounds, often more empty than brass. But so porous is man's vanity that it readily absorbs any kind of noise arranged for its benefit.

He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophes till that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spoke of Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generally forget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progress rearranges principles and constitutions, that what passed as good statesmanship in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr. Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a sudden commotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro.

"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger.

The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks. Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted their seats. A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to mouth.

"Somebody's dropped dead!"

"Sit down in front! Sit down!"

"What's the matter?"

"Where are the police?"

"Put him out!"

"A fight!"

Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolph still paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and take away popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged by occult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. We are educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matter of a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the Stone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment.

Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way and that, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to use canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs were impervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many interfered that there was no interference.

It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled then and there.

McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly in the side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breaking the grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would have fallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up.

"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, white in the face.

"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington," replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed him aside so easily.

"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington; "but at any rate there'll be a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bring these dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has been licked soundly. You ought to be satisfied."

Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, bloody and excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him.

McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way the impression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he made haste to approach Warrington.

"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admit I was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry."

"All right, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, who would have preferred leaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade's reason for bending.

"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one good punch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look out for him after this, Dick."

"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriage for me?"

"Sure, Mr. Warrington," said the policeman.

The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward the exits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort before a two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel that night disgusted with humanity