It is a part of the history of human progress that grand moral movements, once they have fulfilled their immediate1 purpose, swing backward to the establishment of some new abuse. The net gain is, no doubt, century by century, continuous. But to those who look for episodic interest rather than epochal meaning the march of the race must often seem crab2 like—as when a Henry VIII utilizes3 a reforming revolt to crush and plunder4 a vast system of benefaction, and create a hard-fisted, commercial plutocracy5 with one hand, while calling into existence with the other a permanent class of starving poor; or when a Bonaparte makes the waning6 impetus7 of a democratic uprising serve his imperial ambition, and converts the legions of the Republic into the guards of a Caesar.
So, in our own time, in our own country, craft and greed had climbed to the control of a great organization, baptized in the name of Freedom and excited still with the thoughts of its tremendous achievements, and diverted its forces to the service of base ends.
This ignoble8 mastery had not gone unchallenged. More than one revolt against it had given promise, for a little, of success. But each in its failure had but repeated the familiar experience of yeomanry against trained troops, of sporadic9, scattering10 popular impulses against the cool, consecutive11 plans of organized power. But it is the fate of despotisms, whether of a man or of a machine, to by excesses sap their own foundations. There came a time when the political usurpers who, through the listlessness of some citizens, the ancient prejudices of others, the mean lust12 for profit and place of still a third class, had attained13 power, went just a step too far.
As this is a romance, and not a political history, it is permitted to avoid both dates and any details which might seem to fix a particular occurrence, and ask the reader to conceive that the crisis grew out of the manner in which these politicians obtained control of an imaginary but important Convention—that they bribed14 delegates, that they forged telegrams to secure a majority for themselves on the organizing committee, and that they made drunk the poor tool they had selected for Chairman and locked him in his hotel room that he might not escape them. It strains credulity to assume all this, I know, but its acceptance is essential to the story. Fortunately it is less difficult to credit the corollary—that the decent people of the State, led by an honest press, rose en masse and pulverized15 this machine at the following election.
It was at the outset of this crisis that Seth became Editor of the Tecumseh Chronicle. The young man had been, it need scarcely be said, deeply interested in the events which led up to it, and when the first of the party papers came out frankly16, the morning after the Convention, refusing to support its nominations17, he was in a tremor19 of delight. He scarcely dared hope that the Chronicle would follow their lead, but still he did hope. Mr. Samboye remained downstairs in consultation20 with Mr. Workman longer than usual on that eventful forenoon. They were settling the policy of the paper, of course, and the young news editor, perfunctorily weeding out copy for the “first side,” was conscious all the while of being eagerly anxious to know what this policy was to be.
Mr. Samboye presently came up, took his seat without the ordinary prelude21 of conversation, and began writing. He finished his article, still without a word to any one, and took it down to Mr. Workman. He was absent but a few moments. On his return Seth asked him:
“Do we bolt the ticket?”
Before he could answer, a telegraph boy came running up the stairs (this one actually did run) with a dispatch for Mr. Samboye. The editor opened and read it in a puzzled way at first, then more carefully and with a light of comprehension on his broad face. He folded the telegram up carefully, put it into his inner vest pocket and said to Seth:
“No, we occupy a picturesque22 position on the top rail of the fence.”
The editor did not seem quite himself that day. He stayed about the editorial room instead of going out to lunch, until the leader proof was ready, and then he asked to read it himself, instead of letting it go in the ordinary course to the proof-reader. He made a good many corrections on it, which was unusual for him. Finally, about half-an-hour before the paper went to press, he took his departure, saying briefly23 to Seth that he would not return that day.
Two hours later the office boy summoned Seth to the counting-room below. Mr. Workman sat alone at his desk, with the day’s Chronicle spread out before him, and with the original proof-sheet of the leader in his hand. He motioned Seth to close the doors, and to take a seat close beside him.
“You have read this leader?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.
“Yes.”
“What do you think of it?”
“I shouldn’t like to say all that I think of it.”
“Neither should I,” replied Mr. Workman with an iron-clad smile. He was very pale, and Seth scented24 a storm in the manner in which the grim smile faded from his face after an instant of hovering25, as a gleam of wintry sunshine passes off the snow. “There’s a story—a very curious story—back of this leader. I only know part of it; perhaps you can help me to get at the rest.”
Not knowing what to say, Seth remained silent. The proprietor26 continued: “When this leader left my hands this morning, it bolted the ticket, out and out. There was no mistake about it. It was squarefooted. As it is now, it’s neither fish, flesh nor fowl27. It condemns28 the Convention and the frauds, but it practically says that the result must be accepted. The worst of it is I didn’t see the paper until the edition had been worked off. The alterations29 in the proof here, which make all the difference between white and black, are in Samboye’s hand. Did he say anything to you about it? Was anybody up in the editorial room to see him?”
“No one came up to see him; he said nothing to me except that we were on the fence. That disgusted me so much that I asked nothing further.”
“Did he say that when he came up from here—or later, after he had gone over the proof?”
“He said it when—or no, hold on—he received a dispatch just before;” and Seth recounted the episode of the telegram.
Mr. Workman was much impressed with this. He covered his blotter thick with scrolls30 and geometrical figures while he pondered it. At last he spoke31.
“You don’t know where the telegram came from?—no, of course not. I think I know about where, and I think I can guess about what it said. It said that, in this matter of bolting tickets, one day’s delay might make an immense amount of difference, and that it would be worth his while to keep the Chronicle non-committal in its first issue by hook or by crook32. Take my word for it, that is what it said in substance. The fellows who sent it were scared about the Chronicle. They knew what an effect its course would have on the weeklies, most of which go to press to-morrow. They couldn’t spend money better than in having us accept the ticket, and not only commit ourselves but the country editors—and they’ve bought Samboye!”
There was a long silence. The two men looked at each other. Finally Workman said:
“The worst feature of it is, there is no way of getting at the thing—of proving it. I suppose I could get an order compelling the Company to produce the telegram, but I am not sure, and then it would be a big scandal and a big expense.” He lapsed33 into pencil work again and sighed.
“But is Samboye that kind of man?” asked Seth. “Oh yes, I have no illusions on that score. I very nearly caught him in a thing of this sort—on a smaller scale, of course—three years ago.”
“But why then——”
“Why have I kept him? You were going to ask. Well, he is a good man in his way. He is an immensely clever writer, if you don’t care much for solid argument, and do care for decorative34 stuff, with a good deal of fun, and epigram, and big words. People used to talk about his articles. I suppose hundreds of people buy the Chronicle just to read them. Well, we will have to lose those people, and all the others who will quarrel with us for bolting the ticket. For she’s going to be bolted! So you better go to bed early to-night, and eat raw meat for breakfast, for we want a leader to-morrow that will make their hair curl.”
“Do you mean——” began Seth in a flutter of strange excitement.
“Yes, you will have to take hold. Samboye shall never show his face in that room again. That’s settled! I may get somebody else, later—we’ll see. But you can carry it along for a time, can’t you?”
“I’ll try—but I am afraid——”
“You needn’t be afraid. In a campaign you simply want straightforward35, red-hot, to-the-point writing. It is the rest of the year, when one must write general matter, that pulls on a man. Besides, Ansdell will help you out, if you need him. Oh, yes, and that reminds me—your brother Albert didn’t show to very good advantage in that Convention. He might easily have made a better beginning in politics than that. From all accounts he had the Dearborn County delegates in his pocket, and, although these other scandals have diverted attention from it, I think the way they ratted over was about the worst thing in the whole affair.”
“It wasn’t nice, for a fact,” said Seth.
“I haven’t had it mentioned in the paper, mostly on your account. But I am not so clear about keeping silent next week, when the Congressional Convention comes up. Your brother, I suppose, has Dearborn County solid for his own candidacy. But here in Adams County the delegates are for Ansdell—and of course he is our sort of man. I don’t think much of a party paper interfering36 before the nomination18 is made, but this may be a case where it will be necessary—especially if Abe Beekman, up in Jay County, tries any of his funny work. However, it will be time enough to cross that bridge when we get to it. Meanwhile, say not a word to anybody, in the office or out of it, about what has happened. Just go ahead with the work, and pay attention to no one.”
There was no scandal. Mr. Samboye took his punishment quietly, and left Tecumseh shortly afterward37, ostensibly on a long vacation. There was some little gossip, but no whisper of the actual facts in the case.
Seth surprised himself by the excellence38 and evenness of his work in the new position. Probably he will never do better or stronger writing than he did in this his first campaign. For one thing, it is doubtful if any political contest can ever again appeal to his enthusiasm, and stir all his emotions to the glowing point of ardency39, as this one did. In one sense his new position was embarrassing, for a number of the old time readers of the Chronicle refused to support it now against their party, and some of them said very disagreeable things about the youngster rattling40 about in Samboye’s shoes. But there was another class, a larger class it seemed to him, who shared his enthusiasm, and, in their excited admiration41 for the course of the paper, heaped praises upon him even beyond his deserts. So he worked on, writing almost the entire page daily, coming down early in the morning and staying long after the paper was out, and giving scarcely a thought to the outside world.
He had barely seen Ansdell since his promotion42. He felt an even greater sense of loss in this than he would have done under ordinary circumstances, for the tremendous mental outpouring to which he was daily subjected made him almost famished43, at times, for food in the form of conversation with this man who, of all others, most sympathized with him.
But there was a difficulty in the way—of which Seth’s sensitiveness made, no doubt, a great deal too much. The fight for the Congressional nomination in the district was attracting attention all over the State, and, as evil luck would have it, Seth’s brother was pitted against Seth’s dearest friend. It was no ordinary contest, in which a man could with ease maintain a friendly neutrality. Everywhere the struggle in the Thirty-sixth District was regarded as a sample conflict, as embodying44 in itself all the features of the larger issue between the machine and the people. Albert Fairchild had identified himself so thoroughly45 with the party organization, and had played so prominent a part in the scandals which provoked the revolt, that his cause was distinctly that of the politicians; while Ansdell was just as distinctively46 the representative of the independent and rebellious47 element. In no other district of the State were the lines so clearly drawn48.
It was a fortnight or so after Seth’s assumption of the editorship that the District Convention was held—at the little village of Tyre, some dozen miles from Thessaly, up in Jay County. The Chronicle had taken no part in the contest. No one doubted that its sympathies were with Ansdell, but still it had not said so. The night before the Convention Mr. Workman advised Seth to write to his brother, warning him that if he were nominated the Chronicle could not support him.
“So long as we are in the bolting business, we might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,” said the proprietor.
It was not a pleasant task, but Seth performed it as graciously as he could.
There was no news from Tyre next day save that Mr. Beekman of Jay was also a candidate, and that the Convention was in a deadlock49. The second day, along with the news announcement that the Convention, after seventy-odd fruitless ballots50, had adjourned51 for a week, came a despatch52 from Albert begging Seth to visit the farm for a couple of days, and talk the thing over, before the Chronicle took action. Upon consultation with Mr. Workman Seth replied that this was impossible, owing to the necessities of his work.
Then there came a letter from Albert, brief, but very much to the point.
“DEAR Brother: I am sorry if your work must suffer by your coming to me, but I think I have a claim upon you superior to even that of the Chronicle. If I have not, I ought to have. I decline to believe that, if you represent the matter to him as really imperative53, my former friend, Mr. Workman, will place any obstacles in your way. But if he does I still insist that your choice between him and me must be a final one. I do not write a word to you about gratitude54. I simply say, be here at the farm on Sunday—or never again.
“Albert.”
After this there was nothing to do but for Seth to telegraph that he would come.
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1
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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3
utilizes
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的第三人称单数 ) | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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plutocracy
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| n.富豪统治 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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9
sporadic
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| adj.偶尔发生的 [反]regular；分散的 | |
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10
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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13
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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15
pulverized
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| adj.[医]雾化的，粉末状的v.将…弄碎( pulverize的过去式和过去分词 )；将…弄成粉末或尘埃；摧毁；粉碎 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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nominations
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| n.提名，任命( nomination的名词复数 ) | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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25
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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28
condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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ardency
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| n.热心，热烈 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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41
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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42
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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embodying
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| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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distinctively
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| adv.特殊地，区别地 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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48
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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deadlock
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| n.僵局，僵持 | |
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ballots
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| n.投票表决( ballot的名词复数 )；选举；选票；投票总数v.（使）投票表决( ballot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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53
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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