Chapter XI: Part 11

His private correspondence furnished him as little comfort. Some persons there were--and a few of these men and women of repute--who wrote to him letters that should have been consoling, for they agreed very heartily with his view, or what they thought was his view, and commended him without stint for his attitude: but never an one spoke of the sacrificial love of a father for his daughter--_justice to the negro_ was their theme. Upon such letters from men--it would have surprised the writers much to hear it--he uttered maledictions profane; while, for the one woman who thus approved him, he forebore profanity, but relieved his wrath with a volcanic "Freak!"

From the time the announcement burst upon the public the President was overwhelmed with a flood of newspaper comment, most of it harsh, the best of it deprecatingly sympathetic, none, except that from negro papers, uncritical. Very shortly the clippings bureau which served him was ordered to discontinue everything referring to Mrs. Hayward Graham's marriage.

Mr. Phillips did not give that order because he was too weak to stand criticism. Far from it. He was schooled to conflict, and knew the rules. He had never asked concession from an opponent in all his life of struggle, and he would have scorned to ask it then, even with the uncounted odds against him. His critics might have shrieked till the crack o' doom and he would have listened without a quiver of his resolution.

But the impartial bureau had sent, among an avalanche of criticism, an appreciation in the form of the following editorial clipped from the columns of _The Star of Zion_:

"The dramatic culmination of the beautiful romance in which Miss Helen Phillips, daughter of the President of the United States, proudly proclaims herself the wife of Mr. John Hayward Graham, and the graceful acquiescence of the bride's distinguished father in his beautiful daughter's love-match, is but another proof of the rapid coming of the negro race into its own as the recognized equal of any race of men on earth. Mr. Graham's career is an inspiration to his people, for it teaches the rising generation of negro boys and girls that they need no longer live Within the Veil, that in the most enlightened minds there is no longer a silly prejudice against colour, but that if the young negro will only make the most of himself and his opportunities he will be graciously received as an equal, as a member, in the proudest families in this mighty nation.--"

President Phillips read just that much of that editorial. Then went the order to shut off the press clippings.

It required all the father's self-control to dissemble in Helen's presence and he feared that he would be unable to keep the truth from her. It was fortunate for the girl that her condition demanded seclusion and that her removal from Washington took her away from the danger of enlightenment. At her father's instance preparations were hurried with all speed, and she and her husband went to Hill-Top for their belated honeymoon and a stay indefinite....

Hayward Graham would have been a paragon if he had conducted himself with entire discretion when the limelight first was turned upon him. The colour of his skin was not responsible for his foolish mistakes in those first days. Any footman so suddenly elevated to that pinnacle likely would have made them. One of his errors of judgment was serious. That was his continued offence against the dignity of Henry Porter. The withering letter he had written in answer to the old man's apology was of itself enough to call up the devil in old Henry's heart; but that doubtless would have been forgotten had Hayward remained in obscurity.

To dispute with the President the title to a son-in-law, however, was a distinction too fascinating to the negro magnate. He had already been to Bob Shaw's office for a tentative discussion of the law in his case and was just coming away when he ran plump into Hayward on the sidewalk. A judicious condescension on the young man's part even then might have placated him, but instead an evil spirit called to Hayward's memory his first meeting with Porter, the insufferable affront, and his own oath to even the score. Too strong in Hayward's heart was the temptation to "take it out of him for keeps" then and there. At the worst, though, he hardly did more than any gentleman would do upon meeting another who had driven him from his house.

"Mr. Hay-- Mr. Graham!" said Porter, hardly knowing himself whether he intended to be polite or other, but having a general purpose to fetch the young fellow up roundly for that letter.

"I believe I don't know you," said Hayward, stopping and observing him coolly for two seconds, and turning away to continue his journey up the street.

Now, to those of his race, Henry Porter was a "figure" on the streets of Washington, and Graham was by that time almost as well known as the President himself. There were but four people who could have witnessed the meeting of these celebrities. These were three negroes of low degree loafing along the sidewalk and a dago pushing a cart just outside the curb.

At his rebuff Henry Porter gave a gasp, swallowed it, and looked around to see who had seen him. The "common niggers" at his elbow snickered, and as they passed on burst out into loud guffaws.

"Um-huh! Tried to butt into the White House, but _Mister_ Graham _he_ don't know him! Can't interdoose 'im! _Too_ black! Law-dee, didn't he th'ow 'im down!"

Henry Porter heard enough of this. He rapidly retraced his steps to Shaw's office.

"Here, Mr. Shaw, you can jist git them papers out this evenin'. There's no use waitin'."

"All right, Mr. Porter," said Shaw, who didn't favour the idea but was too much afraid of his client to refuse. "But wouldn't to-morrow do as well? We could think it over a little further."

"No, suh, Mr. Shaw. We don't wait till no to-morrer. We don't think about that damn young nigger no mo' till we take him with the papers and let him think about hisself awhile. Can't you git 'em served on him this evenin'?"

"If he's to be found in the city," said Shaw.

"Oh, he's to be found all right. I saw him goin' up the street jist awhile ago. You jist git them papers out and have 'em served on him this evenin' and no mistake about it."

"All right, if you say so," Shaw consented.

"Well, I say so--and I can pay the damage," said the irate client with emphasis, and stalked out of the office, only to stick his head back into the door with the last injunction:

"This evenin' now, and no mistake about it!"

* * * * *

As chance ordained, Henry Porter did not go amiss in his haste to have the summons served on Graham. It was late in the afternoon and less than four hours before the former footman and his wife were scheduled to leave the city for Stag Inlet that the officer served the paper.

A bomb exploding under Hayward's feet could not have been so unexpected by him. As the officer read the summons and its import broke upon his mind he felt, for the first time in his life, physical weakness in the presence of danger. It staggered him to think of possible results. He had no feeling of guilt: but an awful fear.

President Phillips had passed out of the White House for his regular constitutional while the process was being served, and recognized the officer by his badge and Graham's excitement by the look on his face, but had not stopped to inquire what the trouble was,--for which Graham was profoundly thankful, as it gave him time to catch his breath.

Think as he would, no way of escape could Graham conceive. Being virtually without money, he could not hope in four hours to bring Henry Porter to terms and avoid a publication of the scandal. Exactly what the old man had in mind, anyway, was uncertain, excruciatingly uncertain. The precise nature of the complaint did not appear from the summons. As the suit was based on a lie, it well might be any sort of a lie. But surely, surely, he thought, no woman would _falsely_ speak disgrace to herself. He had had a genuine respect for Lily Porter's character. She had been the best of them all, with the highest ideas and the highest ideals. He would have sworn that she could not have lent herself to a thing of this sort. But since she had been willing to do so at all, to what lengths might she not go? What was the limit they had set? To what public disgrace were they trying to bring him? To what awful lie must he make answer?

As he thought of it the keen sense of his peril, the disgrace, the loss of his commission, and his helplessness, became well-nigh unbearable. If Henry Porter could only have known the extremity of torture he had inflicted in thus making the young fellow "think about hisself awhile," his wrath might have been appeased.

Hayward trembled to think of the moment when the public should know of this suit, but he quaked in absolute terror as he thought of Mr. Phillips' hearing it. And Helen!--what must he do to save her from this shame?--he gladly at the moment could have strangled Old Henry.... But heroics would do no good. He was helpless, bound hand and foot. If he could be saved, if Helen was to be saved, there was but one arm that had the power: her father's. Perhaps, _perhaps_, with all his attributes of strength and force, he might be able to bring the vengeful negro capitalist to terms. Whatever his terror of Mr. Phillips, he must tell him.... And what were done must be done quickly.

* * * * *

"I would like to speak with you a moment, sir, about a--a matter," said Hayward to the President as soon as he returned from his walk.

Mr. Phillips could tell with half an eye that it was a matter of some moment. He led the way to his private office.

"Well, what is it, Hayward? You look excited."

Mr. Phillips spoke very kindly, for he did so with studied purpose. It was necessary that he keep that purpose continually and consciously before him. For Hayward the footman he had had quite a high regard: as he had for any man or thing that was efficient. For the negro as his son-in-law, he could not bring himself to consider him with any toleration, nor did he lie to his soul by telling it he wished to. For the negro as a mate for Helen, every rebellious, tortured nerve and fibre of the man was an eternal, agonized protest. It was indeed very necessary that he keep his kindly purpose always consciously before him.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"I had a paper--a summons, I believe they call it--served on me this afternoon," Hayward stumbled along to say; and then stopped, uncertain how to go at it.

"Well. And what's the trouble?"

"I don't know, sir, exactly what's the trouble; or, rather, I would say I didn't know there was any trouble."

"Then what's it about? Who is it that's suing you? What does the summons say?"

"The summons doesn't say what the trouble is about." Graham was dodging in spite of himself.

"But who is the person that is suing you?" Mr. Phillips questioned again testily.

"The summons says '_Lily Porter, by her father and next friend, Henry S. Porter, against John Hayw--_"

"Says _what_? A WOMAN?"

President Phillips jumped to his feet and went pale as ashes. Graham, dry-lipped, could only nod his head weakly in affirmation. For five seconds Mr. Phillips was speechless. Then words came back, along with a rush of blood to his face that looked to burst it. So terrible was his wrath, the killing look in his eyes, that Graham instinctively squared away to defend himself from bodily injury. Such a torrent, such a blast, of withering, blistering profanity, wild, incoherent, unutterable, he never had listened to in all his life. Try as he would to interpose a word, an explanation, a defence, his efforts only drove the father to more abandoned fury. After a dozen fruitless attempts he realized there was nothing to do but wait for the furor to burn itself out. To the young man, conscious of the passing of precious time, it seemed that his anger would never cool. When the President showed the first signs of exhaustion he took courage to speak again.

"I swear to you, sir, the young woman has no cause to complain of me. I have done her no--"

"Oh of course not, of course not," said Mr. Phillips in the most bitingly sarcastic tone. "Of course not, of course not! But who the devil is she?"

"Miss Lily Porter, daughter of Henry S. Porter--_Black Henry_ the newspapers sometimes call him. Perhaps you have heard--"

"What! That nigger? Not a _nigger_ woman! But of cour--oh my God, Helen, how can I pr--" but he choked for a moment in livid anger before he writhed into another frenzy, that was as volcanic, as horrible, and as pitiable as it is unprintable. He cursed, he raved, he choked, he tore wildly at his collar for breath.

It was frightful to look upon, and if Graham had feared for his own safety in the first outburst, he feared for Mr. Phillips' life in the last. It looked as if in the violence of his wrath he would burst a blood-vessel. Graham was in mortal fear that he would die in his tracks, and tried desperately to reinforce his denial of guilt as the only possible relief for his father-in-law's dementia, but all his attempts only inflamed Mr. Phillips the more. The negro seemed not to know that it was not a question of his guilt or innocence that was tearing the father's vitals and threatening his reason, but shame--insufferable shame!

After an age, it seemed to Graham, Mr. Phillips became calmer. His son-in-law, wholly at a loss what to say or do, started out of the door in search of a clearer atmosphere and a chance to regain his scattered faculties. The President looked around and saw him beating a retreat.

"Come back here!" he ordered sharply. "We can't leave this thing like this! Something must be done with it at once, or the scandal will be all over the--" He trembled with the passion of another outburst, but controlled himself by a mighty effort.

"I swear to you no scandal may rightly be laid at my door," said Graham with some dignity. The outrageous injustice of the thing gave him a little of the dignity of righteousness.

"Scandal doesn't depend on truth or falsehood, so we needn't discuss that now." Mr. Phillips cut him off short. "What we must do is to stop this scandal, for scandal it will be if it gets to the public. Where does this--this Porter live? How far from here?"

"About fifteen minutes drive, sir."

"Well--er--send Mr. O'Neill here--in a hurry."

Graham, glad to get action on himself, was out of the room and back with the secret service man in less than a minute. In that short space the President had taken a grip on his self-control.

"Here, O'Neill, take Hayward with you to show you the house, and go fetch Henry Porter up here to see me. He's not to be arrested, mind you, but is to come to see me at my request _at once_, and nobody is to know. And he is not to speak to anybody or see anybody, not even Hayward here, before you bring him to me. So get along and get him here as soon as you can. No force, remember; but he is to come along, at my request." ...

O'Neill and Hayward hurried out, and, finding a street cab, lost no time in getting to Henry Porter's house. On the way Hayward gave the officer some idea of the man he was to deal with and, bringing him to the door, left him to his own devices and himself took a car back home. When Old Henry came to the door O'Neill told him half a dozen lies in half as many minutes, and at the end of the time he had the worthy coloured gentleman safely in the cab and on the way to the White House.

The President was waiting for him, and when the two fathers were alone together he went at him with a directness calculated to take the negro's breath. Black Henry was much awed, in fact well-nigh overcome by the situation, and he was hardly in condition to make the most of his opportunities; but his native shrewdness did not entirely forsake him. In the drive to the White House he had had time to think it over, and he had concluded that the President wanted to see him very much or he would not have sent for him. He tried to keep that in mind all the time the negotiations were pending. It helped in some degree to steady his shaking confidence in himself.

"You are Henry S. Porter, I believe?" There was an accusing quality in the voice.

"Yes, suh."

"The father of Lily Porter who has instituted a suit against my--against Hayward Graham?" The tone was more accusing.

"Yes, suh." Black Henry wished the suit hadn't been instituted. But he remembered again he had been sent for and he braced up a little.

"Now what is the nature of that suit?" The President was somewhat in fear of his own question, for all his bravado of manner.

"Breach o' promise," Henry answered shortly.

"Anything else?"

"Nothin' but breach o' promise to my daughter Lily. He was engaged to her and married your daughter, or was already married to her, I don' know which."

For five seconds a murderous passion all but got control of Mr. Phillips' will. He turned away and closed his eyes tight till he had subdued it.

"What evidence have you that he was engaged to your daughter?"

Henry Porter knew he was a fool to give away his case to the opposition, but the President's eyes and manner were too compelling for him.

"My daughter says so and--and I've seen enough myself, and besides that he has written letters to her. I reckon we've got evidence enough all right."

"Well, I have evidence that there is not a word of it true, and I sent for you to tell you you'd better drop it. You'll find it a profitless--more than that--a _very expensive_ undertaking."

The last statement was unfortunate. It struck fire in Old Henry's pet vanity.

"Oh, I guess I can stan' the expense all right," he rejoined with the oddest possible mixture of deference and defiance.

"You can, can you!" said Mr. Phillips sharply, his anger beginning to redden. "But I tell you again you can't get a verdict from the courts--no, sir, not for a cent--so what's the use?"

"I don't need the money." ... Clearly Mr. Phillips had given the purse-proud old darkey the wrong cue.

"Then what the devil are you after?"

"That young nig--young man is mos' too sassy. He's got to know his place."

"His place!" Mr. Phillips' face was again twisted in wrath. But wrath could not serve Helen's cause. He stifled it.

"Yes; he mus'n' come flyin' roun' my daughter for fun, and then go off when he fin's somebody mo' to his notion, and th'ow his impidence in my face."

Through all his blinding anger Mr. Phillips could see clearly enough to realize that it was indeed not a matter of money, but of insult. He was more and more inclined to believe Hayward's statement that there was little or no basis for the suit. But that didn't help matters in the least.

"Now look here, Porter," he said in his most vigorous and decided manner, "I am convinced your claim has no real basis in fact, but is the outcome of pique pure and simple. Nevertheless, it must be settled here, to-night; and I'm willing to see that you don't lose any money in the way of expenses and lawyer's fees for the procedure so far. To that end I will have Hayward pay you a thousand dollars if you will withdraw the suit to-night. What do you say?"

"I don' need the money," said Porter in maddening reiteration. "Besides that I don' know what my lawyer will charge." At the mention of money, however, the sharp-dealing old negro felt a little more at ease and interested in the discussion.

"Who is your lawyer?"

"Mistuh Shaw--Mistuh Robert Shaw."

"Robert Shaw. Is he the Shaw that wants that special solicitorship in the treasury department? A negro?"

"Yes, suh, a negro; but I don' know about the treasury department."

"Well, he's the man, I have no doubt--Robert Shaw, a negro lawyer. Now let me tell you. I had had some idea of giving him the place he asks for, but I say right now if he's inclined to be a fool in a matter of this sort he's not the man the government wants. If he gets his fee he will be well enough satisfied, won't he? He's not the fool kind that wants to advertise himself in a sensational suit, is he?"

"No, suh, no, _suh_! Mistuh Shaw is a ve'y nice young man, suh. He ain't no fool, suh."

"Well, he would be if he disobeyed your wishes and mine in this matter. I think I can speak for _him_ myself. Now what do _you_ say? A thousand dollars?"

Involving Shaw in the affair was most fortunate for Mr. Phillips. With Hayward out of the running, Henry Porter now looked with much assurance upon Shaw as a son-in-law. That financial-political combination between himself and Shaw was again his pet dream as before Hayward's interference. With Black Henry the controversy was really settled and he was ready to compromise. The smaller purpose was lost in the presence of the master passion. But his personal pride and cupidity were aroused. If his hoped-for son-in-law Shaw was going to get both honour and revenue out of this thing, he himself ought not to fall too far behind.... And again he remembered that he had been sent for.

"Of cou'se I don' need the money," he said once more, "but if money is to settle it I think five thousan' 'd be little enough. We was suin' for twenty-five."

"Five thousand the devil! I'll not pay it. It's outrageous!"

"Well, suh, I don't need the m--"

"Ah, shut that up, for heaven's sake! What's the best you'll do? Speak out now in a hurry."

"Well, suh, five thousan' is mighty little considerin' the standin' of the pahties. As my lawyer, Mistuh Shaw, said, the standin' of the pahties calls for big damages. My daughter and your son-in-law are up in the pic--"

"Hold on!" said Mr. Phillips. "You can stop that argument right there. Will you take five thousand and shut the thing up?"

"Well, suh, as I said, I don' need--"

"Will you take the five thousand?" The President's eyes had a dangerous blaze in them.

"Yes, suh."

"That settles it. Now get right out after that lawyer of yours at once, to-night, and have him withdraw those papers and destroy them--or no, better than that, you bring them here to me to-morrow--no, bring them _to-night_--I'll wait for you. And hurry, will you please, for I'm quite busy and must be rid of this as quickly as possible. I'll look for you within an hour."

* * * * *

Mr. Phillips could not have been very busy, for he did nothing but walk the room till Porter returned. And two hours had passed before that time.

"I'm sorry to keep you waitin' so long, suh," the negro apologized; "but me and Mistuh Shaw had to hunt up the officer to git the papers. It was so late when he served 'em he couldn' retu'n 'em to court to-night, and he was holdin' 'em over in his pocket till mornin'."

"Thank Heaven for that. Did you tell him to keep his mouth shut?"

"Yes, suh."

"And will he do it?"

"I think he will, suh. Mistuh Shaw fixed him. He's a frien' of Mistuh Shaw."

"Well, he'd better. I'll hold Shaw responsible for him. Let me see the papers.... Yes, this is all right.... Now here's ten dollars and a receipt for that much in full of all claims for breach of promise and so forth you and your daughter have against Hayward Graham. You just sign the receipt, and I'll pay you the balance of the five thousand to-morrow--there's not a tenth of that sum in the house to-night. You'll take my promise for the balance, won't you?"

"Yes, suh--oh yes, suh," said Mr. Porter, his manner showing his full appreciation of the fact that between gentlemen of standing the ordinary strict rules of business could be waived with perfect safety. With all his discernment, however, he saw nothing more in this proceeding than his trusting Mr. Phillips for $4,990 till the morning.

* * * * *

When he was ushered into the President's office the next morning Henry Porter received from Mr. Phillips' own hands the $4,990 in currency of the highest denominations fresh from the treasury. He verified the correctness of the amount almost at a glance.

"I'll give you a receipt, suh," he said.

"Oh, no, don't trouble; the receipt for ten dollars in Hayward Graham's name in settlement of the claim for breach of promise answers every purpose legally."

As he spoke the President smiled in a satisfied way, and it occurred to Black Henry that a ten dollar breach of promise suit would be quite a contemptible and ridiculous affair if it got to the newspapers.

"And now, Mr. Porter," said Mr. Phillips, anxious as ever to make every bid for silence, "you can see that, adding force to your contract, every consideration of decency and self-respect demands that not the slightest whisper of this matter shall reach the public. The highest consideration I have not hitherto referred to. That is your daughter's good name. It could only do injury to her reputation--injury, and nothing but injury. I am indeed surprised that she was so unwise, that she had the disposition to bring this suit and bring herself into what would have been such unfavourable public notice."

"Well, suh, _Mistuh Shaw_ said she wouldn't like it, and I had a hard time makin' him bring the suit. He said she wou--"

"Didn't she instigate it?" asked Mr. Phillips.

"No, _suh_--that she didn'. Fact is I've been fraid to tell her about it--fraid she'd make me stop it, she thinks such a heap of Mistuh Hayward.... But we've got it all settled satisfact'ry now and there ain't no reason why she sh'd ever know it happened, suh. Good mornin', Mistuh President."

"You old scoundrel!"--when Mr. Porter had closed the door behind him.

*CHAPTER XXXVI*

In trying to be philosophical Rutledge took what comfort he could from Elise's "no" in the fact that he would be less distracted from the work of his campaign against Senator Killam. He gave all his energies to that task, which promised to tax his resources to the utmost if he would hope to win. The owners of _The Mail_ were more than willing that he should make the attempt. His temporary stay in the Senate had given the paper a very considerable shove toward the front rank in prominence and authority in affairs political, and there was nothing to be lost by a tilt with that most picturesque figure in national politics, Senator Killam.

Let it be understood, however, that Rutledge did not run simply to advertise himself or his paper. His unfailing friend Robertson wrote to him: "There is a very real opposition to Senator Killam growing up in the State, although at this time its force and numbers are very difficult to compute with accuracy. Your admirable conduct of yourself in your short trying-out has commended you to those who are looking for a leader of conceded ability yet not identified with any of the petty factions in State politics nor with any of the local issues upon which the party is divided and dissentient. Your friends think you fill all the requirements in the broader sense and, besides, that you are the antipode of all things peculiarly, personally and offensively Killamic."

Although they were of the same broad political creed, the stage of antagonism to which he and Senator Killam had come during the younger man's short term in the Senate bordered on the acute. It had reached the point where they were studiously polite to each other. Senator Killam did not usually trouble himself to be civil to any person who aroused his antipathy, but he had the idea that it would be conceding too much to young Rutledge's importance to show any personal unfriendliness to him. Nevertheless, with all their outward show of friendliness, they were both out for blood: Rutledge, because of the many of the older man's taunts and sarcasms which still rankled in his memory; and Senator Killam, because, whatever the time and whoever his opponent, he always gave a correct imitation of being out for the blood of any man that opposed him.

Rutledge had already begun to be very busy with his campaign before his decisive conversation with Elise. When, some ten days later, he received a letter from his mother in which she set out to discuss his admiration for Elise in light of Helen's marriage, he found himself entirely too pressed for time to do more than read the opening sentences, and lay it reverently away.

He tried to forget Elise,--as many another lover has done before him, and with about the usual lack of success. For the remainder of the Washington season he cut all his social engagements that were not positively compelling and fortunately did not chance to see her again but twice before he went South to take an active hand in the primary campaign.

On those two occasions she exhibited the perfection of impersonal interest, but Rutledge, remorseful for his indefensible behaviour toward her at Mrs. Hazard's, was conscious that, curiously enough to him, her gentle dignity had not the faintest trace of offence. It seemed rather to hold an elusive though palpable element of friendliness. This was puzzling, but he did not attempt to explain it to himself. He had suffered enough from the riddle of her moods, and he was afraid to try to explain it. He was convinced that she was not for him--had she not told him so?--and that, having lost her, it was imperative that he think no more about her lest he lose everything else he had set to strive for. So he strove only to lose the disquieting thought of her out of his work.

President Phillips, also, in those days was attempting to flee his thoughts in a wilderness of work. Unlike Rutledge, with him there was a tax upon heart as well as brain in the political task before him. Rutledge could not feel aggrieved if the people of his State declined to send him to the Senate, for by no merit or custom had he a pre-eminent claim upon them. Defeat, however disappointing, could bring him no heart-burning.

Mr. Phillips, however, was asking no more than was his due: renomination at the hands of his party. By every consideration both of merit and custom it was his due. His official record was _efficiency, faithful execution, striking ability and uncompromising honesty_. But by very virtue of his honesty and ability he had gone up against the two powers in this country that go furthest to make or unmake Presidents: law-breaking corporations and machine politicians. The Greed and The Graft could never be at ease while a Fearless Honesty abode in the White House. They long had planned to displace Mr. Phillips.

The fight was not an open one, with each army aligned under its own banners. It was a night attack where the clash and the struggle could be heard and felt but the assailants could not be distinguished and called by name. Mr. Phillips could well imagine who were the leaders of his enemies, but they were too shrewd as yet to openly declare their opposition.

The consummate skill with which the campaign was conducted made it appear that there was a growing manifestation of the people's disapproval. The boomlets of a dozen or more favourite sons were assiduously cultivated each in its limited field--but all by the master hand. The favourite sons as a rule deprecated the mention of their names and waived it aside as unworthy of serious thought; but it takes a very great or a very small man to recognize his own unfitness for the presidency of the nation,--and modesty would permit no favourite son to say he was too big for the office.

Mr. Phillips was not of the holy sort that is above using some of the traditional methods of the politician. With good conscience he could drive men to righteousness when necessity demanded it: and believing that his own re-election would be for the country's weal he would not have hesitated perhaps to turn the power of the administration to that purpose if he had not been measurably handicapped.

He was an honest man--as his predecessors in office had been. He desired--as they had desired before him--to give the country a clean and honest lot of officials to administer its interests. But, unlike some of the Presidents gone before, he had made extraordinary personal efforts to see and know for himself that the men of the government corps were of honest purposes at heart and honest practices in office. Result: many and many a cog-wheel, great and small, in the machine had been broken and thrown into the scrap pile.

Therefore the machine silently prayed for deliverance from this Militant Honesty in the executive office, and, with its praying, believed--first article in the creed of Graft: Heaven helps those who help themselves--to deliverance as well as to the public money. So, there was no pernicious activity in Mr. Phillips' behalf among the office-holding class. The defection from his support was impalpable but none the less assured. He could not put his finger upon the men and say "Here are the deserters," for they had not as yet, at four months before the convention, declared against him. But they were not throwing up their hats for him. It was apathy that presaged disaster.

And Greed had so quietly and effectively extended its propaganda that "vested" interests began to think they "viewed with alarm" Mr. Phillips' activities. They were persuaded that he had already gone to the limit in bringing to book the methods of Capital and of Business, and were asked to note that not even yet was there the faintest hint of a promise that he would not run amuck amongst them. They preferred to defeat him in the convention. If not, they would defeat him at the polls. With them there was no sentiment about it. They simply wanted no more of him. They desired a "safe" man.... Few times in the political history of this nation has Money failed to get what it really truly wanted.

Finished politician that he was, Mr. Phillips could read the signs clear. He knew that his political death was being plotted, had been plotted for months. In the consciousness of his official rectitude and efficiency, and with confidence in the discernment and appreciation of his countrymen, for a long time he had thought contemptuously of the plotters. At length, however, his trained eye had caught the flash of real danger: and his heart was oppressed. Not that overweening ambition made him crave continuance in his exalted office and sicken at the thought of denial. It was not that: not the loss of a double meed of honour in a second term. No; it was the threatened loss of his first term, of the four years already gone, with their unstinted expenditure of energy and honest purpose, brain-fag and strain of heart. To be disapproved, discredited, by the people for whom he had given the very essence of his life! Keener than the sting of ingratitude, even, was the sense of possible loss. _Four years_ for naught! four years _for naught_!--if the people should repudiate him. He trembled to think it was possible for him to fail of renomination. He was fighting for his life: for the life he had already given to his country in that four years.

As the weeks and months wore on toward summer he felt that he was losing strength with every sunset. The Southern delegations, makers of so many second terms, were being sent to the national convention uninstructed. That was not conclusive; but it was ominous, for any administration having Mr. Phillips' political faith that cannot hold the delegations from that section is politically in a bad way.

Plausible explanations were offered, assuredly: "Southern delegates have so regularly worn the administration label that they have lost influence and self-respect"--"This time it is unnecessary. There is only one real candidate and they must all vote for him"--"It is better not to appear to endorse the negro luncheon too vigorously, for the negro in the South does not count any more and some of the tenderfoot white recruits might desert." The explanations did appear to explain it; but Mr. Phillips knew that Money and the Machine were taking his Southern delegates from him.

And the Southern delegates were not the only ones that were going wrong. The Trusts and the Grafters were throwing Northern and Western delegations into confusion. Beyond that, the Southern country was somewhat surprised to hear that a negro son-in-law to the Presidency was a little too strong even for Northern stomachs, and that some Northern white folks were making bold to say so.

Hayward Graham's commission? The opposition in the Senate did not have the slightest difficulty in holding it up. Mr. Phillips with unflinching courage unhesitatingly used every whit of his power and influence to have that commission confirmed. He had nominated Hayward because he believed him worthy; and he said to the Senators with a touch of humour, but with much emphasis nevertheless, that being his son-in-law ought not to be held to the negro's discredit. He said many other things, for he was really very much in earnest: but the Senate was non-committal. It postponed consideration of Mr. Hayward Graham for days, and weeks, and finally adjourned without a vote upon him. That ended it.... With a show of grim determination the President stated that he would send the nomination to the next session, but he knew when he said it that Helen's husband would never be a lieutenant of cavalry in the United States Army.

Let it not be inferred that, as the matter is thus dismissed briefly here, there was little or no discussion of it. This entire volume would not compass a tenth of what was said about it, and the reader who cares for details must seek the files of the newspapers of the period. There is not space here even for a digest of all that talk.

* * * * *

Mr. Phillips could ill brook defeat. In his thinking there were few things worse than failure. So it was that, while in the desperate fight he was making he did nothing unconscionable, he did stand for some things nauseating to him.

It was necessary that in the North he hold the full negro vote, which was the balance of power in several States. It certainly looked an easy thing to do. And it was easy--to everybody concerned except Mr. Phillips. The negro race rallied to him with an enthusiasm that was surpassing even for those emotional folk. The overflowing, smothering approbation which they heaped upon him was loud-mouthed, unceasing, extravagant. Yet it took all his self-control to receive it with any show of satisfaction. In fact on several occasions he was almost goaded to break with his negro allies for good and all. In some of those moments he easily could have done so--as far as personal reasons held him. The personal pride in being decorated with a second term was not always a match or antidote for his personal humiliation and suffering under the mouthings and love-makings of the admiring black men. But a rupture, and a declaration of his real sentiments, meant not alone his defeat: it meant the success of the enemies of honest government: it meant that, his tongue once unloosed, Helen must know--and her heart would break. So he held his peace, and let the negroes say on with their fulsome friendlinesses.

And what he bore as he kept the faith! It tore his nerves to tatters. One incident as an example:

He was invited to address a convention of the Afro-American Association, which was holding its biennial meeting in Washington in May. He accepted the invitation with very great pleasure. It gave him the opportunity he desired. The negroes had been talking to him or at him for months: and he had somewhat to say to them. He welcomed the chance to say it. He was full of his speech, and was intending to be very emphatic. It was _his_ day to talk.

But the distinguished chairman of the convention who introduced him thought that it was _his_ day to talk. He presented Mr. Phillips in fifteen minutes of perfervid oratory, sonorous, unctuous, and filled with African imagery. He recited a brief history of the President's life, lauded him as Civilian, Soldier, and Chief Executive, credited to him about every good thing that had come to the human race since he was inducted into office, and crowned him as the negro's Friend, Champion and Hope. He detailed the evidence of Mr. Phillips' love for the negro race, and hailed him as the true and great Exemplar of the Genuine Brotherhood of Man.

"Yes, my Brothers," the orator-chairman swept volubly to his conclusion, "this great man who holds the Stars of Our Flag in his right hand and in his left hand the Golden Sceptre of Supreme Authority and Power in this Peerless Nation has proved himself beyond any Question or Peradventure the very Apostle and Archetype of Equality and Fraternity in this land of theoretical Freedom and Equal Rights. In each of the three great departments of our life he has practised that Equality and Fraternity. In the civil administration of this Great Government he has called to his assistance black men of Mighty Brain-Power to advise with him about his policies of Statecraft and they have spoken Words of Wisdom to him. In the military department he has appointed to an officer's commission under the Stars and Stripes a brave young negro, a Gentleman, a Scholar, a Soldier, who will reflect Honour upon the Star-Spangled Banner and show the world that the Negro is a Patriot and a Fighter. And more than that, my Brothers! As the crowning act of his Fearless Career the Honourable and Honoured Gentleman who will address you has openly recognized the negro's rightful place in the Homes of this Country, for he has admitted the race as an Equal into the Holy of Holies of his own domestic life, and furnished supreme and convincing proof of his love for black men by freely giving his tender and gentle daughter, the Fairest among Ten Thousand and the One Altogether Lovely, over into the arms and affections of that same young Negro Soldier! Connubial Bliss knows no Colour Line, my Brothers! May the union be blessed with--"

But fifteen hundred lusty black throats, not able longer to choke down their cheers, were wildly, exultingly screaming "Phillips! Phillips!! Phillips!!!" The chairman said a few more words in pantomime and gave Mr. Phillips the right to speak.

Mr. Phillips was very slow in coming to his feet. The speech that he had purposed to make was gone--all gone. The chairman's last words like a chemical reagent, had turned his every though to vitriol, and he was all afire with the impulse to pour it burning and blistering down their open throats.

He stood impassive with tight-shut lips while they cheered and cheered and cheered. In the fires that scorched his spirit, personal and political ambition shrivelled into a cinder and was entirely consumed. A second term--the honour, the approval, the country's weal--might sink into the Pit rather than that he would blacken his soul even by tacit assent to such a monstrous, awful lie! Given Helen freely to a negro's arms!--he would blast that lie with--

But Helen! in the tumult he thought of _her_. And the tenderness of his love for her made him to tremble. In a moment a war was on within him, and the struggle between his pride and his love shook him as with an ague.

But he knew the end from the beginning. As the cheering died away Helen dominated his thoughts as she dominated his heart,--and he did make a speech to the convention. It was not a forcible speech nor a very long speech, for a man cannot think about one thing and discourse very effectively about another. It was on the order of a prayer-meeting talk, consisting mainly of platitudes and good advice. When it was finished he went directly home and lay down on a couch to rest, for he was tired, mortally tired.

From that day forth Mr. Phillips was in terror of his negro allies. He made no other addresses to them. But he could not escape them. The negro papers called on the race to rally to the Phillips standard. This the joyful blacks construed to mean that they must form themselves in squads and go over to Washington and tell Mr. Phillips about it personally. Many were the delegations from political clubs and orders and associations of all black sorts that called to pay their respects and assure the President of their loyal support and good wishes; and despite all his forehandedness and precautions it was a very dull day when he was not openly hailed as a brother to the race by virtue of the affinity in Helen's choice of a mate. He was not permitted to forget Helen's plight for an hour,--if he had chosen to forget.

Indeed, however, he had lost the zest of thinking about anything else. True, he fought his political battle with energy to the finish, and gave it the best thought his brain could furnish--but that was because he was a born fighter and knew not how to be a laggard: the burden of his voluntary, uncompelled thinking was of Helen, and it grew larger and larger upon his mind. And the more he thought of her, the more he would think of her: and the tragedy of her mating loomed more darkly hopeless and appalling before his face, until his days became one long prayer for a miracle of deliverance.

In his meditations he suffered the tortures of a lost soul. He was too brave a man to shirk his accountability for Helen's undoing. In moments of solitude when he was most racked with remorse and wildly despairing he would cry out against the fatal interpretation she had put upon his words and his deeds--"I did not _mean_ that, I did not mean _that_, oh my daughter, my little girl, my little girl!"--but these moments of self-excusing were only the wild cries of unbearable agony. In composed self-confession he accused himself--with a bitterness that had in it the bitterness of death--and in the genuineness of his penitence he might have proclaimed his error and put his countrymen on guard: if only _Helen must not know_!

* * * * *

Summer was come and the convention was less than two weeks away when Mr. Phillips' first political lieutenant came back from a trip to New York with the very definite news for his chief that even if at that late day he would promise to be more considerate of the business interests of the country the nomination might yet be his. Mr. Phillips promptly sent his answer to the railroad president who had presumed to speak for Business that he "would see the _business interests_ damned before he would make any such promise." ...

Three days before the convention met, Mr. Phillips received a letter written in pencil in a weak and uncertain handwriting.

"We have named the boy Hayne Phillips. When are you coming to see us? Daddy dear, it tires me so to write. I love you. HELEN."

*CHAPTER XXXVII*

The Mr. Phillips who on July the 3d, 191-, alighted from the car at the little station that served the Stag Inlet folks was a very different figure of a man from the vigorous person who on a day in the preceding October had taken the train there to go back to his work in Washington.

There was now no spring in his step, no quickness in his movement. He was plainly fatigued and preoccupied, and he was alone. There was no member of his family with him, nor any of them, except Hayward, to meet him at the station. A single secretary followed him at some little distance as he walked down the platform mechanically raising his hat and smiling at the half score of persons who had stopped to see him take his carriage. He climbed up beside Hayward into the single-seated affair the negro was driving, nodded to the secretary to follow him in the formal and stately victoria that was waiting, and with a parting lift of his hat left the small crowd staring at him as he drove away.

The onlookers commented, as onlookers will, upon everything that struck their eyes in the simple proceeding. They wondered why he appeared so listless and careworn. They wondered why he crowded into the narrow buggy instead of taking the roomy carriage. They wondered why none of his daughters nor his wife accompanied him--why he looked just a little bit carelessly dressed--and what had become of his swinging, buoyant stride--and whether he was altogether in good health and--well, they left no question unasked, no surmise unturned.

Mr. Phillips had very little to say to Hayward during the drive to Hill-Top. He really desired to say nothing, but it was impossible to ignore all the demands of gentlemanly politeness and interest in his son-in-law's family.

"How is Helen?" he asked after a long while.

"Not so very well yet, sir," answered Hayward. "She doesn't seem to regain her strength very rapidly."

A very much longer silence.

"And the baby?"

"The finest boy in the world, sir--you ought to see him--strong and healthy, with lungs like a steam piano."

Mr. Phillips made no comment. Hayward looked round at him.

"He's not very pretty, sir--no really young baby is, I'm told--but the nurse says it's unusual the way he notices things already. I know all new fathers are said to talk like that about the first baby, but really I think he must be an exception, sir. I think he'll be a credit to his name--which is the most I could say for him."

Mr. Phillips acknowledged the compliment by nothing further than a lifting of his chin---which Hayward had no means of interpreting. Having exhausted the subject and not being encouraged to proceed, the young father became silent--and Mr. Phillips was glad. He had not chosen to ride with Hayward for the pleasure of his conversation, but for the benefit of the onlookers at the railway station; and, having asked the questions absolutely demanded by the occasion, he did no more.

* * * * *

Mr. Phillips waited in the library till he should be told that his daughter and grandson were ready to receive him. Not in the lull before the battle of Valencia did he so prepare himself for a trial of his nerves and his courage. His courage was of the same old sort, but his nerves were sadly shaken by the cumulative happenings of the last half year; and with Helen's happiness as the ruling purpose of his life he felt almost afraid to trust himself before her eyes in the ordeal through which he must pass. Perhaps she might still be unable to read his dissembling. God save them both if she should read him truly.

The nurse came in to tell him that Mrs. Graham was waiting to see him. Hayward had intended to witness that meeting, but there was something in the father's manner as he passed him in the hall which caused him to forego his purpose. Mr. Phillips followed the nurse into the darkened room. Helen half rose to a sitting posture and clasped her white arms about his neck and sobbed in nervous joy.

"Oh, daddy, you have come!" she said brokenly--and for a long time neither spoke.... "I thought you would never come! I have wanted to see you so. I've been so lonely, daddy. Where are mamma and Elise that they have deserted me?"