Counsel for the Defense

Another matter, one that had concerned her little while Bruce had held but a dubious place in her esteem, now flashed into her mind and assumed a large importance. The other party, as she knew, was using Bruce’s friendship for her as a campaign argument against him; not on the platform of course – it never gained that dignity – but in the street, and wherever the followers of the hostile camps engaged in political skirmish. Its sharpest use was by good housewives, with whom suffrage could be exercised solely by influencing their husbands’ ballots. “What, vote for Mr. Bruce! Don’t you know he’s a friend of that woman lawyer? A man who can see anything in that Katherine West is no fit man for mayor!”

All this talk, Katherine now realized, was in some degree injuring Bruce’s candidacy. With a sudden pain at the heart she now demanded of herself, would it be fair to the man she loved to continue this open intimacy? Should not she, for his best interests, urge him, require him, to see her no more?

She was in the midst of this new problem, when her Aunt Rachel brought her in a telegram. She read it through, and on the instant the problem fled her mind. She lay and thought excitedly – hour after hour – and her old plans altered where they had been fixed, and took on definite form where previously they had been unsettled.

The early afternoon found her in the office of old Hosie Hollingsworth.

“What do you think of that?” she demanded, handing him the telegram.

Old Hosie read it with a puzzled look. Then slowly he repeated it aloud:

“‘Bouncing boy arrived Tuesday morning. All doing well. John.’” He raised his eyes to Katherine. “I’m always glad to see people lend the census a helping hand,” he drawled. “But who in Old Harry is John?”

“Mr. Henry Manning. The New York detective I told you about.”

“Eh? Then what – ”

“It’s a cipher telegram,” Katherine explained with an excited smile. “It means that he will arrive in Westville this afternoon, and will stay as long as I need him.”

“But what should he send that sort of a fool thing for?”

“Didn’t I tell you that he and I are to have no apparent relations whatever? An ordinary telegram, coming through that gossiping Mr. Gordon at the telegraph office, would have given us away. Now I’ve come to you to talk over with you some new plans for Mr. Manning. But first I want to tell you something else.”

She briefly outlined what she had learned the night before; and then, without waiting to hear out his ejaculations, rapidly continued: “I told Mr. Manning to come straight to you, on his arrival, to learn how matters stood. All my communications to him, and his to me, are to be through you. Tell him everything, including about last night.”

“And what is he to do?”

“I was just coming to that.” Her brown eyes were gleaming with excitement. “Here’s my plan. It seems to me that if Blind Charlie Peck could force his way into Mr. Blake’s scheme and become a partner in it, then Mr. Manning can, too.”

Old Hosie blinked.

“Eh? Eh? How?”

“You are to tell Mr. Manning that he is Mr. Hartsell, or whoever he pleases, a real estate dealer from the East, and that his ostensible business in Westville is to invest in farm lands. Buying in run-down or undrained farms at a low price and putting them in good condition, that’s a profitable business these days. Besides, since you are an agent for farm lands, that will explain his relations with you. Understand?”

“Yes. What next?”

“Secretly, he is to go around studying the water-works. Only not so secretly that he won’t be noticed.”

“But what’s that for?”

“Buying farm land is only a blind to hide his real business,” she went on rapidly. “His real business here is to look into the condition of the water-works with a view to buying them in. He is a private agent of Seymour & Burnett; you remember I am empowered to buy the system for Mr. Seymour. When Mr. Blake and Mr. Peck discover that a man is secretly examining the water-works – and they’ll discover it all right; when they discover that this man is the agent of Mr. Seymour, with all the Seymour millions behind him – and we’ll see that they discover that, too – don’t you see that when they make these discoveries this may set them to thinking, and something may happen?”

“I don’t just see it yet,” said Old Hosie slowly, “but it sounds like there might be something mighty big there.”

“When Mr. Blake learns there is another secret buyer in the field, a rival buyer ready and able to run the price up to three times what he expects to pay – why, he’ll see danger of his whole plan going to ruin. Won’t his natural impulse be, rather than run such a risk, to try to take the new man in? – just as he took in Blind Charlie Peck?”

“I see! I see!” exclaimed Old Hosie. “By George, it’s mighty clever! Then what next?”

“I can’t see that far. But with Mr. Manning on the inside, our case is won.”

Old Hosie leaned forward.

“It’s great! Great! If you’re not above shaking hands with a mere man – ”

“Now don’t make fun of me,” she cried, gripping the bony old palm.

“And while you’re quietly turning this little trick,” he chuckled, “the Honourable Harrison Blake will be carefully watching every move of Elijah Stone, the best hippopotamus in the sleuth business, and be doing right smart of private snickering at the simplicity of womankind.”

She flushed, but added soberly:

“Of course it’s only a plan, and it may not work at all.”

They talked the scheme over in detail. At length, shortly before the hour at which the afternoon express from the East was due to arrive, Katherine retired to her own office. Half an hour later, looking down from her window, she saw the old surrey of Mr. Huggins’ draw up beside the curb, in it a quietly dressed, middle-aged passenger who had the appearance of a solid man of affairs. He crossed the sidewalk and a little later Katherine heard him enter Old Hosie’s office on the floor below. After a time she saw the stranger go out and drive around the Square to the Tippecanoe House, Peck’s hotel, where Katherine had directed that Mr. Manning be sent to facilitate his being detected by the enemy.

Her plan laid, Katherine saw there was little she could do but await developments – and in the meantime to watch Blake, which Mr. Mannings’ rôle would not permit his doing, and to watch and study Doctor Sherman. Despite this new plan, and her hopes in it, she realized that it was primarily a plan to defeat Blake’s scheme against the city. She still considered Doctor Sherman the pivotal character in her father’s case; he was her father’s accuser, the man who, she believed more strongly every day, could clear him with a few explanatory words. So she determined to watch him none the less closely because of her new plan – to keep her eyes upon him for signs that might show his relations to Blake’s scheme – to watch for signs of the breaking of his nerve, and at the first sign to pounce accusingly upon him.

When she reached home that afternoon she found Bruce awaiting her. Since morning, mixed with her palpitating love and her desire to see him, there had been dread of this meeting. In the back of her mind the question had all day tormented her, should she, for his own interests, send him away? But sharper than this, sharper a hundredfold, was the fear lest the difference between their opinions should come up.

But Bruce showed no inclination to approach this difference. Love was too new and near a thing for him to wander from the present. For this delay she was fervently grateful, and forgetful of all else she leaned back in a big old walnut chair and abandoned herself completely to her happiness, which might perhaps be all too brief. They talked of a thousand things – talk full of mutual confession: of their former hostility, of what it was that had drawn their love to one another, of last night out in the storm. The spirits of both ran high. Their joy, as first joy should be, was sparkling, effervescent.

After a time she sat in silence for several moments, smiling half-tenderly, half-roguishly, into his rugged, square-hewed face, with its glinting glasses and its chevaux de frise of bristling hair.

“Well,” he demanded, “what are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking what very bad eyes I have.”

“Bad eyes?”

“Yes. For up to yesterday I always considered you – But perhaps you are thin-skinned about some matters?”

“Me thin-skinned? I’ve got the epidermis of a crocodile!”

“Well, then – up to yesterday I always thought you – but you’re sure you won’t mind?”

“I tell you I’m so thick-skinned that it meets in the middle!”

“Well, then, till yesterday I always thought you rather ugly.”

“Glory be! Eureka! Excelsior!”

“Then you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” cried he. “Did you think that I thought I was pretty?”

“I didn’t know,” she replied with her provoking, happy smile, “for men are such conceited creatures.”

“I’m not authorized to speak for the rest, but I’m certainly conceited,” he returned promptly. “For I’ve always believed myself one of the ugliest animals in the whole human menagerie. And at last my merits are recognized.”

“But I said ‘till yesterday’,” she corrected. “Since then, somehow, your face seems to have changed.”

“Changed?”

“Yes. I think you are growing rather good-looking.” Behind her happy raillery was a tone of seriousness.

“Good-looking? Me good-looking? And that’s the way you dash my hopes!”

“Yes, sir. Good-looking.”

“Woman, you don’t know what sorrow is in those words you spoke! Just to think,” he said mournfully, “that all my life I’ve fondled the belief that when I was made God must have dropped the clay while it was still wet.”

“I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t try to comfort me. The blow’s too heavy.” He slowly shook his head. “I never loved a dear gazelle – ”

“Oh, I don’t mean the usual sort of good-looking,” she consoled him. “But good-looking like an engine, or a crag, or a mountain.”

“Well, at any rate,” he said with solemn resignation, “it’s something to know the particular type of beauty that I am.”

Suddenly they both burst into merry laughter.

“But I’m really in earnest,” she protested. “For you really are good-looking!”

He leaned forward, caught her two hands in his powerful grasp and almost crushed his lips against them.

“Perhaps it’s just as well you don’t mind my face, dear,” he half-whispered, “for, you know, you’re going to see a lot of it.”

She flushed, and her whole being seemed to swim in happiness. They did not speak for a time; and she sat gazing with warm, luminous eyes into his rugged, determined face, now so soft, so tender.

But suddenly her look became very grave, for the question of the morning had recurred to her. Should she not give him up?

“May I speak about something serious?” she asked with an effort. “Something very serious?”

“About anything in the world!” said he.

“It’s something I was thinking about this morning, and all day,” she said. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very thoughtful of you. And I’m afraid you haven’t been very thoughtful of yourself.”

“How?”

“We’ve been together quite often of late.”

“Not often enough!”

“But often enough to set people talking.”

“Let ’em talk!”

“But you must remember – ”

“Let’s stop their tongues,” he interrupted.

“How?”

“By announcing our engagement.” He gripped her hands. “For we are engaged, aren’t we?”

“I – I don’t know,” she breathed.

“Don’t know?” He stared at her. “Why, you’re white as a sheet! You’re not in earnest?”

“Yes.”

“What does this mean?”

“I – I had started to tell you. You must remember that I am an unpopular person, and that in my father I am representing an unpopular man. And you must remember that you are candidate for mayor.”

He had begun to get her drift.

“Well?”

“Well, I am afraid our being together will lessen your chances. And I don’t want to do anything in the world that will injure you.”

“Then you think – ”

“I think – I think” – she spoke with difficulty – “we should stop seeing each other.”

“For my sake?”

“Yes.”

He bent nearer and looked her piercingly in the eyes.

“But for your own sake?” he demanded.

She did not speak.

“But for your own sake?” he persisted.

“For my sake – for my sake – ” Half-choked, she broke off.

“Honest now? Honest?”

She did not realize till that moment all it would mean to her to see him no more.

“For my own sake – ” Suddenly her hands tightened about his and she pressed them to her face. “For my sake – never! never!”

“And do you think that I – ” He gathered her into his strong arms. “Let them talk!” he breathed passionately against her cheek. “We’ll win the town in spite of it!”

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CANDIDATE AND THE TIGER

The town’s talk continued, as Katherine knew it would. But though she resented it in Bruce’s behalf, it was of small importance in her relationship with him compared with the difference in their opinions. She was in constant fear, every time he called, lest that difference should come up. But it did not on the next day, nor on the next. He was too full of love on the one hand, too full of his political fight on the other. The more she saw of him the more she loved him, so thoroughly fine, so deeply tender, was he – and the more did she dread that avoidless day when their ideas must come into collision, so masterful was he, so certain that he was right.

On the fourth evening after their stormy ride she thought the collision was at hand.

“There is something serious I want to speak to you about,” he began, as they sat in the old-fashioned parlour. “You know what the storm has done to the city water. It has washed all the summer’s accumulation of filth down into the streams that feed the reservoir, and since the filtering plant is out of commission the water has been simply abominable. The people are complaining louder than ever. Blake and the rest of his crew are telling the public that this water is a sample of what everything will be like if I’m elected. It’s hurting me, and hurting me a lot. I don’t blame the people so much for being influenced by what Blake says, for, of course, they don’t know what’s going on beneath the surface. But I’ve got to make some kind of a reply, and a mighty strong one, too. Now here’s where I want you to help me.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

“If I could only tell the truth – what a regular knock-out of a reply that would be!” he exclaimed. “Some time ago you told me to wait – you expected to have the proof a little later. Do you have any idea how soon you will have your evidence?”

Again she felt the impulse to tell him all she knew and all her plans. But a medley of motives worked together to restrain her. There was the momentum of her old decision to keep silent. There was the knowledge that, though he loved her as a woman, he still held her in low esteem as a lawyer. There was the instinct that what she knew, if saved, might in some way serve her when they two fought their battle. And there was the thrilling dream of waiting till she had all her evidence gathered and then bringing it triumphantly to him – and thus enable him through her to conquer.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you the proof for a while yet,” she replied.

She saw that he was impatient at the delay, that he believed she would discover nothing. She expected the outbreak that very instant. She expected him to demand that she turn the case over to the Indianapolis lawyer he had spoken to her about, who would be able to make some progress; to demand that she give up law altogether, and demand that as his intended wife she give up all thought of an independent professional career. She nerved herself for the shock of battle.

But it did not come.

“All right,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer, then.”

He got up and paced the floor.

“But I can’t let Blake and his bunch go on saying those things without any kind of an answer from me. I’ve got to talk back, or get out of the fight!”

He continued pacing to and fro, irked by his predicament, frowning with thought. Presently he paused before her.

“Here is what I’m going to say,” he announced decisively. “Since I cannot tell the whole truth, I’m going to tell a small part of the truth. I’m going to say that the condition of the water is due to intentional mismanagement on the part of the present administration – which everybody knows is dominated by Blake. Blake’s party, in order to prevent my election on a municipal ownership platform, in order to make sure of remaining in power, is purposely trying to make municipal ownership fail. And I’m going to say this as often, and as hard, as I can!”

In the days that followed he certainly did say it hard, both in the Express and in his speeches. The charge had not been made publicly before, and, stated with Bruce’s tremendous emphasis, it now created a sensation. Everybody talked about it; it gave a yet further excitement to a most exciting campaign. There was vigorous denial from Blake, his fellow candidates, and from the Clarion, which was supporting the Blake ticket. Again and again the Clarion denounced Bruce’s charge as merely the words of a demagogue, a yellow journalist – merely the irresponsible and baseless calumny so common in campaigns. Nevertheless, it had the effect that Bruce intended. His stock took a new jump, and sentiment in his favour continued to grow at a rate that made him exult and that filled the enemy with concern.

This inquietude penetrated the side office of the Tippecanoe House and sorely troubled the heart of Blind Charlie Peck. So, early one afternoon, he appeared in the office of the editor of the Express. His reception was rather more pleasant than on the occasion of his first visit, now over a month before; for, although Katherine had repeated her warning, Bruce had given it little credit. He did not have much confidence in her woman’s judgment. Besides, he was reassured by the fact that Blind Charlie had, in every apparent particular, adhered to his bargain to keep hands off.

“Just wait a second,” Bruce said to his caller; and turning back to his desk he hastily scribbled a headline over an item about a case of fever down in River Court. This he sent down to the composing-room, and swung around to the old politician. “Well, now, what’s up?”

“I just dropped around,” said Blind Charlie, with his good-natured smile, “to congratulate you on the campaign you’re making. You’re certainly putting up a fine article of fight!”

“It does look as if we had a pretty fair chance of winning,” returned Bruce, confidently.

“Great! Great!” said Blind Charlie heartily. “I certainly made no mistake when I picked you out as the one man that could win for us.”

“Thanks. I’ve done my best. And I’m going to keep it up.”

“That’s right. I told you I looked on it as my last campaign. I’m pretty old, and my heart’s not worth a darn. When I go, whether it’s up or down, I’ll travel a lot easier for having first soaked Blake good and proper.”

Bruce did not answer. He expected Blind Charlie to leave; in fact, he wanted him to go, for it lacked but a quarter of an hour of press time. But instead of departing, Blind Charlie settled back in his chair, crossed his legs and leisurely began to cut off a comfortable mouthful from his plug of tobacco.

“Yes, sir, it’s a great fight,” he continued. “It doesn’t seem that it could be improved on. But a little idea has come to me that may possibly help. It may not be any good at all, but I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to drop in and suggest it to you.”

“I’ll be glad to hear it,” returned Bruce. “But couldn’t we talk it over, say in half an hour? It’s close to press time, and I’ve got some proofs to look through – in fact the proof of an article on that water-works charge of mine.”

“Oh, I’ll only take a minute or two,” said Blind Charlie. “And you may want to make use of my idea in this afternoon’s paper.”

“Well, go ahead. Only remember that at this hour the press is my boss.”

“Of course, of course,” said Blind Charlie amiably. “Well, here’s to business: Now I guess I’ve been through about as many elections as you are years old. It isn’t what the people think in the middle of the campaign that wins. It’s what they think on election day. I’ve seen many a horse that looked like he had the race on ice at the three quarters licked to a frazzle in the home stretch. Same with candidates. Just now you look like a winner. What we want is to make sure that you’ll still be out in front when you go under the wire.”

“Yes, yes,” said Bruce impatiently. “What’s your plan?”

“You’ve got the people with you now,” the old man continued, “and we want to make sure you don’t lose ’em. This water-works charge of yours has been a mighty good move. But I’ve had my ear to the ground. I’ve had it to the ground for nigh on fifty years, and if there’s any kind of a political noise, you can bet I hear it. Now I’ve detected some sounds which tell me that your water-works talk is beginning to react against you.”

“You don’t say! I haven’t noticed it.”

“Of course not; if you had, there’d be no use for me to come here and tell you,” returned Blind Charlie blandly. “That’s where the value of my political ear comes in. Now in my time I’ve seen many a sensation react and swamp the man that started it. That’s what we’ve got to look out for and guard against.”

“U’m! And what do you think we ought to do?”

Bruce was being taken in a little easier than Blind Charlie had anticipated.

“If I were you,” the old man continued persuasively, “I’d pitch the tune of the whole business in a little lower key. Let up on the big noise you’re making – cut out some of the violent statements. I think you understand. Take my word for it, quieter tactics will be a lot more effective at this stage of the game. You’ve got the people – you don’t want to scare them away.”

Bruce stared thoughtfully, and without suspicion, at the loose-skinned, smiling, old face.

“U’m!” he said. “U’m!”

Blind Charlie waited patiently for two or three minutes.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“You may be right,” Bruce slowly admitted.

“There’s no doubt of it,” the old politician pleasantly assured him.

“And of course I’m much obliged. But I’m afraid I disagree with you.”

“Eh?” said Blind Charlie, with the least trace of alarm.

Bruce’s face tightened, and the flat of his hand came down upon his desk.

“When you start a fight, the way to win is to keep on fighting. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Blind Charlie started forward in his chair.

“See here,” he began, authoritatively. But in an instant his voice softened. “You’ll be making a big mistake if you do that. Better trust to my older head in this. I want to win as much as you do, you know.”

“I admit you may be right,” said Bruce doggedly. “But I’m going to fight right straight ahead.”

“Come, now, listen to reason.”

“I’ve heard your reasons. And I’m going right on with the fight.”

Blind Charlie’s face grew grim, but his voice was still gentle and insinuating.

“Oh, you are, are you? And give no attention to my advice?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I see it.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I don’t see it.”

“I know; but I guess I’m running this campaign,” retorted Bruce a little hotly.

“And I guess the party chairman has some say-so, too.”

“I told you, when I accepted, that I would take the nomination without strings, or I wouldn’t take it at all. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to let you ruin the party.”

Bruce looked at him keenly, for the first time suspicious. Katherine’s warning echoed vaguely in his head.

“See here, Charlie Peck, what the devil are you up to?”

“Better do as I say,” advised Peck.

“I won’t!”

“You won’t, eh?” Blind Charlie’s face had grown hard and dark with threats. “If you don’t,” he said, “I’m afraid the boys won’t see your name on the ticket on election day.”

Bruce sprang up.

“Damn you! What do you mean by that?”

“I reckon you’re not such an infant that you need that explained.”

“You’re right; I’m not!” cried Bruce. “And so you threaten to send word around to the boys to knife me on election day?”

“As I said, I guess I don’t need to explain.”