MMMMmVWMBMBMWBMHMMVNMMft**^ 
 
 Sttml
 
 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES
 
 OTHER BOOKS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 
 
 Before the Dawn 
 
 In Hostile Red 
 
 In Circling Camps 
 
 The Wilderness Road 
 
 A Herald of the West 
 
 My Captive 
 
 The Last Rebel 
 
 A Soldier of Manhattan 
 
 The Sun of Saratoga
 
 1 Guthrie knew exactly what he wanted to say, and the sentences flowed 
 from his pen " 
 
 Set page ir;
 
 Guthrie of the Times 
 
 A Story of Success 
 
 By 
 
 JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 
 
 Illustrated bj F. R. Grugtr 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 1904
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY 
 
 THE SUCCESS COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 PUBLISHED, OCTOBER, IQO4
 
 SRLF 
 URL 
 
 5140952 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. The Writer and the Bishop 
 
 II. On Common Ground . 
 
 III. A Session of the House 
 
 IV. After the First Gun . 
 
 V. In the Governor's House . 
 
 VI. A Maker of Reputations 
 
 VII. At Mount Eagle . 
 
 VIII. The Case Against Carton . 
 
 IX. Into the Wilderness 
 
 X. The Test of Steel 
 
 XI. The Great Snow 
 
 XII. Guthrie and the Senator 
 
 XHI. In the Realms of Finance . 
 
 XIV. Guthrie's Despatch . 
 
 XV. Temptation 
 
 XVI. The Fight in the Old Fourth 
 
 XVII. The Convention . 
 
 XVIII. The Secrets of a Night 
 
 XIX. The Deadlock . 
 
 XX. The Breath of Fame .
 
 THE CHARACTERS 
 
 WILLIAM GUTHRIE, the correspondent of The Times 
 
 PHILIP CARTON, the speaker of the House 
 
 PAUL HASTINGS, the governor of the State 
 
 " JIMMY " WARFIELD, a member of the House 
 
 Mr. PURSLEY, a member of the House 
 
 The Reverend ZEDEKIAH PIKE, a member of the State 
 
 Senate 
 
 Mr. COBB, a member of the State Senate 
 Mr. DENNISON, a United States Senator 
 THE BISHOP 
 
 TEMPLETON, a clerk of the State government 
 CAIUS MARCELLUS HARLOW, a lobbyist 
 " PETE " DILGER, a mountain feud leader 
 CHARLIE WARREN, a New York financier 
 Mr. STETSON, a famous editor 
 HENRY CLAY WARNER, a member of Congress 
 TIMOTHY O'HARA, a ward politician 
 JOHN RANSOME, a rich merchant 
 CLARICE RANSOME, John Ransome's daughter 
 Mrs. RANSOME, John Ransome's wife 
 LUCY HASTINGS, the governor's wife 
 MARY PELHAM, a general's daughter
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " Guthrie knew exactly what he wanted to say, and 
 
 the sentences flowed from his pen " . Fnmisni< 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 " ' I know that he is a particular friend of the 
 Governor and yourself,' replied Clarice, 'and 
 hence I am afraid not to like him " . .90 
 
 "With his rifle levelled, savage, implacable, never 
 
 dreaming of mercy " .164 
 
 " ' But I am going to ask for far more than I have 
 
 now'" . 338
 
 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES
 
 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 A STORT OF SUCCESS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 
 
 BILLY GUTHRIE of the Times was not hard 
 of heart, and he was sorry the papers had 
 come into his hands, because he saw before 
 him an unpleasant duty that must be done. The knowl- 
 edge was not of his seeking, having been brought to 
 him and there was some consolation in the thought 
 but keen though he was in the search of news, he was 
 willing that any other correspondent should have the 
 task of first reporting it to the world. 
 
 He had known Templeton a long time, a young man 
 of the kind welcome in any company, quick to tell a 
 good story, and following all amusements with a zest 
 that soon spread to others. Everybody liked Tem- 
 pleton and liked to be with him. It was these qualities 
 of good fellowship, reaching all in a little capital like 
 this, that won for him his responsible place in an office 
 of the State government where much money was 
 handled. 
 
 Guthrie's acquaintance with Templeton had not 
 been very intimate the two men were too unlike in 
 temperament and ambition but, despite his youth, the 
 
 3
 
 4 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 faculty of observation was already highly trained in 
 him by the nature of his profession, and, when he first 
 came to the capital to report the session of the Legis- 
 lature for the Times, he had taken note of Templeton, 
 as one of the figures in the scenic setting. 
 
 He had liked Templeton at first, attracted as others 
 were by his easy good humour and adaptability, but 
 after a while he began to wonder how the man could 
 attend to the duties of his office and yet have so much 
 time for good fellowship. The same thought perhaps 
 had occurred to others, but it was said that the influ- 
 ence of Templeton's family, an old and powerful one 
 established three generations in the capital, protected 
 him in a place in which the duties were nominal, or done 
 by others. 
 
 Now it was all clear to Guthrie, nor was it a surprise; 
 he had long suspected such an issue; it was a common 
 case, he had come in contact with others like it in the 
 course of his professional career a fondness for good 
 living, an excessive expenditure, and then a hand in a 
 purse not one's own. The defalcation would not em- 
 barrass the department, but it was large enough, and 
 the prominence of Templeton's family would arouse 
 still further interest. 
 
 Guthrie put the papers in his pocket, and walked 
 across the tessellated floor of the hotel toward one of 
 the front doors. It was early, but half a dozen mem- 
 bers of the House or Senate were already in the lobby 
 which was the heart of the little capital a natural 
 gathering-place, leading to the half-true jest that more 
 legislation was done there than in the Capitol. All of 
 them spoke courteously, some warmly, to Guthrie, be- 
 cause he was a young man of gravity and weight,
 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 5 
 
 and, moreover, the representative of the State's 
 most powerful newspaper; therefore, he was not to 
 be neglected. 
 
 Guthrie replied to their greetings, and went out 
 the steps, where he stood in the full glory of the morn- 
 ing sunshine, a smoothly-shaven young man, with the 
 clear-cut, classic face that one often sees in this State, 
 which is of both the South and the West, and not 
 wholly of either. 
 
 Guthrie breathed the crisp wintry air, and felt 
 it was good to live. This capital, with its ten thousand 
 people, nestling in the warm hollow between the hills 
 on the two sides of the silver river, always appealed to 
 him it seemed so snug, so homelike and so content 
 with itself and he was glad to be there. 
 
 But he could not forget Templeton, and he was 
 troubled. For Templeton himself, he did not greatly 
 care, but he knew Templeton's sister, and then there 
 was a mother such disclosures as these always fall 
 most heavily on the women. His duty, as he saw it, 
 became more unpleasant than ever. 
 
 There was a crunch of wheels on the gravel, and 
 Templeton himself in a high cart drove past. Guthrie 
 observed him keenly, and, even at the distance, noticed 
 the black marks of dissipation under his eyes. 
 Guthrie looked at his watch. 
 
 "Nine-fifteen," he murmured, "and I know that 
 Templeton is due in his office at 8.30." 
 
 Templeton drove briskly down the street, and then 
 over the bridge. Guthrie saw him presently, a dimin- 
 ished figure, on the white road that wound among the 
 hills beyond the town, a favourite drive there, and 
 he knew Templeton was enjoying time that really
 
 6 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 belonged to the State; but, as for himself, he must 
 go to work. 
 
 The session of the Legislature that day was short 
 tfnd dry, and Guthrie, returning to his hotel early in 
 the afternoon, went to his room, where he wrote his 
 brief despatch to the Times, telling of the day's events 
 at the Capitol. Then he put it aside, to be filed at six 
 o'clock, and, taking a fresh pad of paper, approached 
 the matter of Templeton's defalcation. 
 
 Guthrie's troubled state of mind returned, and again 
 he was sorry that this exclusive piece of news had come 
 into his hands; otherwise, he should have been released 
 from a responsibility that he did not like. 
 
 The despatch was hard to begin, and as he tapped 
 the pencil on the paper in thought, his bell rang. The 
 coloured boy handed him a card, with the information 
 that the gentleman was waiting below. 
 
 Guthrie read the name on the card with surprise. 
 "The Bishop!" he said to himself. "What can he 
 want with me? At any rate, I must not keep him 
 waiting." 
 
 The Bishop was one of the best-beloved men in his 
 State and beyond it. For forty years, his good deeds 
 had carried his name before him. He was one who 
 always leaned to the side of charity and mercy, and his 
 character was stamped on his features. There were 
 few who were not familiar with his gentle face, the kind 
 eyes and the crown of snow-white hair. Guthrie knew 
 him well; more than once had he been a visitor in his 
 house, and like others he felt a genuine reverence for 
 the Bishop's spotless character, and the noble distinc- 
 tion so well earned. 
 
 The Bishop was standing alone in the large parlour,
 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 7 
 
 gazing thoughtfully through the window at the silver 
 band of the river and the lofty curve of the hills beyond, 
 now clothed in the sober brown of winter. But he 
 heard Guthrie's step at the door, and he turned 
 
 at once. 
 
 "My son," he said the paternal manner became 
 hi m "I am glad that I have found you." 
 
 "But why did you come here?" exclaimed Guthrie 
 reproachfully. " Had you sent me a message that you 
 wanted me, I should have gone at once to your house. 
 I should have been glad to do so." 
 
 " I thought it best to see you here," replied the Bishop. 
 "To have brought you to my house would have been 
 taking perhaps an unfair advantage, because, old 
 as I am, it is I who have the favour to ask, and it is for 
 you to grant it if you will." 
 
 A gentle smile lighted up the fine old eyes, but 
 Guthrie, a keen and trained observer, noticed that he 
 moved his fingers nervously. He divined the purpose 
 of the Bishop's errand, and became wary at once, but 
 
 he replied: 
 
 "If there is any way in which I can be of service, it 
 shall be a great pleasure to me to do what you ask." 
 
 The Bishop looked again through the window at the 
 silver river and the brown hills beyond. A faint flush 
 came into his face, imparting to it a singular, delicate 
 beauty like that of youth; it was this vivid quality 
 in the Bishop that gave so fine a touch to his life and 
 
 c . 
 
 "Mine is a delicate errand, Mr. Guthrie, and 
 should have felt some hesitation in coming upon^it 
 to any one except yourself, whom I know so well." 
 
 Guthrie was silent, his hand resting lightly upon the
 
 8 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 back of a chair. The Bishop paused despite his own 
 words, he hesitated. 
 
 "It's about Mr. Templeton that I wish to speak to 
 you." 
 
 "Yes," said Guthrie respectfully. 
 
 "It has become known to his family that certain 
 facts concerning him were given to you this morning 
 facts which, if published to the world, would ruin him 
 and disgrace an old and honoured name." 
 
 " It is true," said Guthrie. 
 
 "And these facts, I understand," continued the 
 Bishop, "are in your hands alone; they have not, I 
 believe, come to the knowledge of any other newspaper 
 man." 
 
 "That also is true," assented Guthrie. 
 
 The Bishop paused, and with one hand threw back 
 the thick, white hair from his brow. 
 
 "It is hardly necessary for me, Mr. Guthrie, "to 
 tell now why I am here," he continued. "His mother 
 and sister came to me at once they were aware that 
 I had known you all your life, that I had confirmed you 
 it was very pitiful, their grief and terror. There 
 is no denial of the cruel and disgraceful facts he took 
 the money, but he did not learn until noon that it had 
 been discovered. They hurried him away an hour later 
 on a train to the North, where he will remain until 
 until atonement is made, which will be very soon. His 
 family will repay the money, the State will not lose any- 
 thing, and his good name and theirs will be saved 
 that is, if you do not send anything about it to your 
 newspaper, and make his disgrace and theirs known 
 to all the world." 
 
 Guthrie moved uneasily, and his eyes shifted away
 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 9 
 
 from the mild gaze of the old Bishop. He felt all the 
 pity and pathos of this tragedy, but as before, his feeling 
 was more for the mother and sister and less for Tem- 
 pleton. 
 
 His eyes came back, and met the gaze of the Bishop. 
 The sense of professional duty was strong in him, he 
 considered himself in a way a public servant, one to 
 whom the people of the State looked for a faithful report 
 about their public affairs, an office little, perhaps no 
 less than priestly, and he did not believe that he had a 
 right to take liberties with such a trust. 
 
 " If I do not send this report, the crime stands com- 
 mitted nevertheless," he said. "Templeton remains 
 the same." 
 
 "It is true that he is the same now," replied the 
 Bishop, "but will he be the same hereafter? If you 
 suppress this report, will you not be giving him another 
 chance an opportunity to reform ? Circumstances have 
 put in your hands the fate of a young man and the 
 honour of an old family; this report is a small matter to 
 you, an incident of the day's work, and why should you 
 hesitate to grant the request of this stricken mother and 
 
 sister?" 
 
 Guthrie was conscious at that moment of a keen sense 
 of admiration for the Bishop's fine face, the humanity 
 and mercy shining from his eyes, the lofty nature of an 
 appeal made without any sacrifice of dignity. Why 
 should he not give the promise at once, and feel the 
 pleasant glow that gratitude confers ? But the sense of 
 duty to his profession, his loyalty to those whom he 
 served, came back to him, and, with it, a slight rebellion 
 against an implication in the Bishop's words. 
 
 "But is it fair," he asked, "to put the burden upon
 
 10 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 me ? I have not had anything to do with this money; I 
 am not one of Templeton's associates. I suppose that 
 a man, in a measure, makes himself. Should not Tem- 
 pleton, then, stand the consequences of what he has 
 
 done?" 
 
 "In such a case as this," replied the Bishop, "we do 
 not apply a logic so cold. Templeton will reform. His 
 life will be saved from ruin, and his mother and sister 
 will be able to hold up their heads in the community in 
 which they have lived all their lives." 
 
 Guthrie in his heart did not believe in Templeton's 
 reformation, but he was willing to put that phase of the 
 matter aside and confine himself to his own personal 
 responsibility in the case. 
 
 "Would you be willing," he asked, "for me to speak 
 to you as I should to a man of my own age and position?" 
 "I would not have you do otherwise," replied the 
 Bishop with his kindly smile. " I wish to put this ques- 
 tion upon a basis wholly fair." 
 
 Guthrie's glance wandered, as the Bishop's had done, 
 to the silver river and the rim of brown hills, but came 
 back and met those of the old man. 
 
 "We have spoken only of Templeton and his family," 
 he said, "and we have disregarded my own position in 
 this affair. Suppose, we speak of myself as we should of 
 a third person. I will admit that the press is often sen- 
 sational, that it prints some things that are bad and 
 more that are frivolous. But there are also bad and 
 frivolous lawyers and physicians and pardon me 
 clergymen. These things do not alter the fact that the 
 press has a duty to perform to narrate faithfully to the 
 world the public events that are occurring each day, 
 and, if it fail in any particular, when the information is
 
 11 
 
 in its possession, is it not as much at fault as a lawyer 
 who betrays his client or a clergyman who neglects the 
 moral welfare of his people? Should there be one 
 moral standard for the church and a lower one for the 
 press ? Did I not take an unsworn oath when I entered 
 the employ of the Times to serve it to the best of my 
 power, and should I not be breaking that oath if I failed 
 to send to it the news of Templeton's defalcation? In 
 my profession, loyalty to those whom we serve is the 
 heart of our code of honour, and I am proud that it is 
 so. It enables us to endure much, to scorn the obloquy 
 that we know is undeserved, to follow with zeal a voca- 
 tion so necessary to our world, and yet you ask me to 
 violate it merely to oblige some one.'* 
 
 Guthrie's face flushed slightly. He took the loftiest 
 view of his calling, and the Bishop had asked him to 
 speak as one man would to another of like age and 
 position. It often seemed to him that people of the 
 general world "outsiders" he called them were obsti- 
 nate in not recognising these duties of a newspaper; 
 they would persist in regarding it as something which 
 should stroke and soothe the public and make it feel 
 good, and would ignore its true and only functions 
 those of the historian and the critic. The Bishop, a man 
 of the noblest character, seemed to him to typify this 
 vj ew a crude one, he considered it and again he felt 
 a sense of rebellion that one of such high qualities 
 should consider a young reporter's moral obligation less 
 than his own; in fact, something not to be reckoned with 
 in the scheme of the world's work. 
 
 The Bishop shook his head, as if in dissent, but his 
 blue eyes shone with a benevolent gaze. He laid his 
 hand lightly and for a moment on Guthrie's shoulder.
 
 12 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 The act was paternal, and Guthrie recognised in it the 
 fact that the clergyman, despite his wish to speak from a 
 plane of perfect equality in age and otherwise, could not 
 do so a long habit of thought would not permit it. 
 
 "I honour the quality in your character that makes 
 you speak as you do," said the Bishop, "but I think it 
 comes from a mistaken preconception of the world and 
 one's duty to it. It is the fault of youth to generalise too 
 much, to think that no rule has an exception, and we 
 find later that the world does not work that way. We 
 of the church, the smallest part of whose duty is the ser- 
 mons we preach, best know it. I am an old man, and I 
 tell you that it is better to spare a family than to send a 
 despatch to a newspaper." 
 
 "But should you tell me that?" exclaimed Guthrie. 
 "Mine is a public service, made so by universal necessity 
 and universal consent. I have a managing editor back 
 there in the city who is my general. He is a machine; 
 when he comes on duty at eight o'clock, he leaves all 
 human emotion behind him, not to be taken up again 
 until the paper goes to press again at three o'clock in 
 the morning that is why he is such a valuable man- 
 aging editor. He is exactly like a general in a real cam- 
 paign, marshalling his forces for the most effective 
 exertion of strength. Now, here am I, a sentinel at an 
 advanced post. I have seen something more than sus- 
 picious, and you ask me to say nothing about it to my 
 general in fact, you ask me to let a deserter slip by 
 because it will save the feelings of his family I" 
 
 The Bishop felt a faint sense of irritation, though he 
 concealed it from Guthrie. The newspapers of his 
 youth had been mere personal or political organs, de- 
 voted to the interests of a man or a party, and having
 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 13 
 
 their relations with the public only through that man 
 or party. He could not grow used to the new view, the 
 view held by a new generation, that a newspaper should 
 be a prompt and accurate chronicler of public events, 
 turning aside for nobody. 
 
 "I think you are mistaken," he said, " in looking upon 
 yourself as, in some sense, a judge." 
 
 "Not as a judge," replied Guthrie, "but as a clerk of 
 the court. It is for me to report to the judge all things 
 that come within my province, and then the judge, who- 
 ever he may be, can take what action he thinks fit." 
 
 "But you forget," said the Bishop earnestly, "that the 
 newspaper is, in its inception at least, a private enter- 
 prise, and that the materials of its trade are human 
 beings. The printed word that you write so easily and 
 forget so quickly may wreck a life. It is, therefore, a 
 power which should be used sparingly. I know of none 
 other in which self-restraint is worth so much." 
 
 "I concede all you say," replied Guthrie, "but I do 
 not think it touches the main issue. Your criticism 
 applies only to the newspapers which turn aside from 
 their duty, which exaggerate or tell untruths or distort 
 from the true proportion, and, above all, I do not think it 
 applies to my own personal responsibility in this case. 
 I serve a company which, in its turn, is supposed to serve 
 the public, and my loyalty is due directly to the com- 
 pany. I do not feel that I can betray it." 
 
 The Bishop was still standing by the window, tapping 
 lightly on the pane with his forefinger, a troubled look 
 in his blue eyes. In his heart, he thought Guthrie a very 
 stubborn young man and a creator of false issues. And 
 his sense of irritation was increased by the memory of 
 the home that he had left, the grief and terror of the
 
 14 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 mother and sister. These were the things that dwelled 
 in his mind. 
 
 The brown hills melted away in the twilight, the 
 silver river became faint, and night sank down over the 
 little capital. The Bishop's face was in the shadow as 
 he turned again to Guthrie. 
 
 "If you refuse our request," he said, and for the first 
 time there was a note of sternness in his voice, "yours 
 will be the responsibility for ruining a home." 
 
 Guthrie flushed, but he did not retreat. 
 
 "It is such a charge as that which I and any one in 
 my profession who serves it well resents most," he 
 replied. "Should I be controlled by sentiment or by 
 duty ? If I am faithless in this instance, why should I 
 not be equally so in others, and who is to judge where 
 the limit shall be ? If the claim of Templeton to sup- 
 pression of his crime be good, then the claims of all 
 others who commit crime are equally good, and I, in 
 this case at least, should become an accessory. Mine 
 would be the sin of omission which differs only in degree 
 from that of commission." 
 
 "You think of yourself only," said the Bishop, and 
 the note of reproof in his voice grew stronger. " It is of 
 your own career and of strengthening a particular 
 profession, a desire that it shall acquire a reputation for 
 omniscience, that you are thinking, not of a family's 
 honour and the forgiveness which the Book tells us we 
 must have for the weak and the erring." 
 
 It was said of the Bishop that he could have his stern 
 moments, that he could become terrible in his wrath, 
 and now Guthrie saw the suppressed fire in his eyes. 
 But the discipline of years, the code of a profession as 
 stern and exacting as the military, lay heavily upon him;
 
 THE WRITER AND THE BISHOP 15 
 
 he felt that, if he yielded to the Bishop's request, he must 
 become a traitor and regard himself as one. 
 
 Yet he valued the friendship of this man, and he was 
 not willing to lose it. 
 
 " I think that you do me an injustice," he said; "yours 
 again pardon me is the hasty view. It is no pleasure 
 to me, on the contrary, it is a pain, to send a report of 
 Templeton's crime. No man of the right kind in my 
 profession ever rejoices over having to do such a thing; 
 but we cannot escape it. We are the chroniclers of the 
 world's daily doings and that, like history, is to some 
 extent the record of its crimes and follies; but we do not 
 commit the evil, we merely state that it exists that is, 
 we tell where the poison lies." 
 
 The Bishop turned away again and looked through 
 the window. A tear glittered on his eyelid, but Guthrie 
 did not see it. The silver river shone through the dusk, 
 and the electric lights twinkled like stars. The mother 
 and sister were still in the Bishop's mind; he was faith- 
 ful to them. 
 
 "It seems to me," he said, "that too many systems 
 have been invented since my youth. We have grown 
 too fond of classifying and generalising. I find some- 
 thing cold and hard in the youth of to-day. If society 
 is to be organised into a single merciless machine, each 
 wheel and cog doing an exact part and no more, then 
 something human has gone out of it, and I, for one, 
 prefer the old to the new. I should wish to have back 
 again the editor who was swayed by human considera- 
 tions, even if he were selfish and a place-seeker, and to 
 lose him of to-day who, like your managing editor as 
 you describe him, becomes from 8 P. M. to 3 A. M. a 
 metallic creature, wound up like a watch."
 
 16 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "The more nearly we reach that ideal, the more nearly 
 my profession realises perfection," said Guthrie, "be- 
 cause it is something apart, and it is necessary for those 
 who serve it to suppress their weaker emotions. And 
 often it is hard to do it. Templeton's mother and sister 
 will grieve, and so shall I but I am helpless. It is he, 
 not I, who will make them grieve." 
 
 "I shall leave it to your conscience," said the Bishop. 
 His mild eyes were full of reproach and pain. He 
 started toward the table to take his hat and cane, but 
 Guthrie was before him, glad to serve an old man whom 
 he respected so much. 
 
 "I hope to hear to-morrow that you have suppressed 
 this news, my son," said the Bishop as he went out. 
 
 But they met by chance in the street two hours later, 
 and the Bishop's look was questioning. 
 
 "I am just coming from the telegraph office," said 
 Guthrie. "I have sent the Times a thousand words 
 about Templeton." 
 
 The Bishop frowned, and turned away without a 
 word. Guthrie raised his head, and walked on toward 
 the Capitol.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 ON COMMON GROUND 
 
 IT was near the end of the twilight hour, and over the 
 river and the hills hung a hazy dusk, through which the 
 walls of the Capitol, yellow with age, showed but dimly. 
 No lights shone at any of its windows, and the ancient 
 trees in the grounds waved solemn branches. It was a 
 small and primitive Capitol, built by the State in its 
 earliest youth when there was little money to spare, but 
 it had both beauty and nobility, and it yet resisted all 
 efforts to replace it. An old State senator had wisely 
 said, "You may erect a Capitol very much costlier, 
 very much larger, and very much uglier, and then make 
 in it very much worse laws than we do here," and his 
 words carried conviction. 
 
 Guthrie looked up at the building with a certain 
 reverence and pride. Like all citizens of the State, he 
 was intensely proud of his birth in it, and the antiquated 
 structure, where so many young men, afterward famous 
 in the larger arena of the nation, had made their maiden 
 speeches, was to him full of associations and the charm 
 of history and poetry. 
 
 It was with such thoughts as these that he sought to 
 detach himself from the severe test through which he 
 had gone. It cut him to the heart to disappoint the 
 Bishop, one of the best of men and his friend; but he 
 felt that he had done his duty though he would find only 
 
 17
 
 18 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 a minority taking the same view. For Templeton, he 
 yet had little pity; his disgrace was sure to come soon or 
 late it had merely fallen to Guthrie's lot to record it, 
 as it might have fallen to the lot of somebody else. But 
 thoughts of the mother and sister would come, neverthe- 
 less, and, turning away from the Capitol, he went to his 
 hotel. " I need lights and the sound of human voices," 
 he thought, "and I shall go where they are." 
 
 Mrs. Senator Dennison was to give one of her semi- 
 monthly receptions that evening, and it was sure to be 
 attended largely, because Mrs. Dennison was not only 
 a power socially and politically, but the house over 
 which this handsome and tactful woman presided was 
 the pleasantest in the little city. John Dennison was 
 not a State senator, which is important in itself, but a 
 United States Senator a far grander thing. An old 
 man yet fresh and robust, with a long and distinguished 
 public career in the State, he had been elected at the 
 preceding session of the Legislature to the United States 
 Senate; but his young wife still maintained a home in 
 the little capital in which she had been born and where 
 she was, with the new prestige of her husband, a social 
 queen. Here wisdom went hand in hand with inclina- 
 tion, because, as her husband was the creation of the 
 Legislature, and both he and she would certainly wish 
 him to be recreated at the end of his six years, it was 
 well to turn constantly a smiling face upon the creating 
 power. The old senator, with all his rugged ability and 
 practical judgment, did not know how much his young 
 wife helped him in the building of his political fortune. 
 
 Guthrie was sure of a welcome at the Dennison 
 home. The press in his State was not sensational, 
 and its relations with public men were friendly and
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 19 
 
 pleasant; moreover, the Times was a power, and its 
 correspondent at the capital was not a man to be neg- 
 lected. It was his second "term" there. At his first, 
 he had been but a boy, and many of the members won- 
 dered that the Times should send one so young to 
 represent it in a position of such importance; but 
 Guthrie's dignity, judgment, and absolute honesty soon 
 convinced them that the editor of the Times knew 
 what he was about when he despatched him to the 
 
 capital. 
 
 Guthrie put on his evening clothes and a light over- 
 coat, and walked out in the frosty air toward the Den- 
 nison home, which was on the other side of the river, 
 though but a short distance away. He stopped a few 
 moments at the middle of the long bridge, and looked 
 far up the broad, deep river a sheet of molten silver 
 in the dusk. On the left, in the cemetery at the top of 
 the high cliff, the marble monuments erected to the 
 State's illustrious dead gleamed snow-white; often 
 Guthrie had walked there, and oftenest he paused 
 before the shaft to those fallen in the Mexican War, 
 where the poet had first read the solemn and famous 
 line: "The muffled drum's sad roll has beat." 
 
 Guthrie's State pride swelled afresh; it always 
 seemed to him that his State was full of poetry and 
 romance, and most of all now, in the night, with the 
 deep river flowing under him, the white monuments 
 covering the hills, and the lumberman on his raft in 
 the middle of the stream singing softly some melancholy 
 ballad of the distant mountains from which he and the 
 river came. He forgot, for the moment, all about 
 Templeton and Mrs. Dennison, too. There was a 
 strain of sentiment in his nature which perhaps kept
 
 20 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 him from being the lawyer that he had wanted 
 to be, and turned him into the newspaper man that 
 he was. 
 
 But the present soon came back, and turning away 
 from the hills and the river, he was in five minutes at 
 Mrs. Dennison's door, where lights and voices alike 
 were plentiful. 
 
 "We are glad to see you Mr. Guthrie," said Mrs. 
 Dennison. "Of course we all bow to the press." 
 
 "And not to me in my humble personal capacity." 
 
 "We value you, too, for your own sake," she said. 
 
 She was tall, blonde, and smiling, a woman of will, 
 capacity, and thirty years. Beside her stood the gov- 
 ernor's wife, Mrs. Hastings, who was yet a girl Paul 
 Hastings was the youngest governor in the history of 
 the State, and he had married only a little before his 
 election and beyond her was a vista of other girls, all 
 with the fresh complexions and delicate features which 
 belong to the women of this State. 
 
 Lucy Hastings liked Guthrie he had written many 
 kind things in the Times about Paul, and she greeted 
 him with the warmth and feelings of her youth. 
 
 "We have missed you, Mr. Guthrie," she said, 
 "Haven't we, Clarice?" 
 
 Clarice, otherwise Miss Ransome, was the first girl 
 on her right, and, when the governor's wife appealed 
 to her for confirmation, Guthrie looked curiously at 
 her to see if it would come. Once before he had met 
 Miss Ransome the daughter of a rich man in the 
 metropolis of the State, she was now on a visit to her 
 friend, Lucy Hastings, the Governor's wife. Tall, 
 composed, and with a face full of strength and char- 
 acter, she smiled slightly.
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 21 
 
 "Why do you appeal to me, Lucy," she asked, "can't 
 you speak for yourself?" 
 
 Guthrie was disappointed. She seemed to him at 
 their first meeting somewhat cold and reserved, per- 
 haps a little superior; but this bearing attracted his 
 mind unconsciously, telling him that a shell of some 
 kind usually enclosed whatever was of greatest value. 
 It was such a phase of her character that induced him 
 now to stay by her as long as she would let him Mrs. 
 Hastings had turned away to assist Mrs. Dennison 
 in the reception of her guests and there was opportunity. 
 
 "You can see here to-night what a strange medley 
 we are in this State, Miss Ransome," he said. 
 
 She glanced over the crowded drawing-room, and 
 the light of interest appeared in her eyes. Guthrie 
 spoke the truth: many phases of human character 
 were represented there. The State presents sharp 
 contrasts. In the East are the untamed mountains 
 which suddenly drop down in the West into a vast val- 
 ley, one of the richest and most beautiful in the world; 
 and the people share the qualities of the particular soil 
 on which they dwell. But here, in the little capital, 
 they met on equal terms, politically and socially. 
 Every member of the Legislature was entitled, by 
 unwritten law, to all the hospitality of the little city. 
 
 "Who is the singular tall man with the white spots 
 in his hair?" asked Miss Ransome. 
 
 He of whom she spoke was leaning against the wall, 
 and Miss Ransome was not the only one who looked 
 at him with curiosity. He was over six feet four inches 
 in height, as straight and slender as a hickory-tree, and 
 his long, coal-black hair had turned white in irregular 
 patches not larger than a silver dollar. His face was
 
 22 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 straight, long, and smoothly shaven, his cheek-bones 
 high like those of an Indian, and his black eyes wary 
 and restless like those of a hunter who watches for hid- 
 den danger. The tails of a long, rusty black frock- 
 coat fell below his knees. 
 
 Guthrie followed Miss Ransome's look, and he 
 smiled slightly, although the smile was sympathetic. 
 
 "That," he replied, "is the Reverend Zedekiah 
 Pike, of Sloane County, a State senator from the moun- 
 tains, and my very good friend, I am glad to say. At 
 least he preaches sometimes in his native mountains, 
 although he is not ordained a minister by profession 
 cannot be a member of our Legislature, you know, 
 and he is also, so I am told, the chief champion of the 
 Pikes in their long feud with the Dilgers." 
 
 "A feudist in such a house as this ? How strange!" 
 exclaimed Miss Ransome, her eyes shining with inter- 
 est. "Perhaps he has a pistol with him now!" 
 
 "I have no doubt that those long coat-tails hide the 
 butt of a seven-shot self-acting revolver," replied Guth- 
 rie" but don't be afraid, Miss Ransome; Mr. Pike 
 is as gentle as a lamb, he isn't going to shoot anybody 
 here." 
 
 "Will he talk to women?" asked Miss Ransome. 
 
 "Just wait a minute and see," replied Guthrie, and 
 he crossed the room to Mr. Pike. 
 
 The tall mountaineer smiled when the young cor- 
 respondent spoke to him Guthrie had printed a pic- 
 ture of Mr. Pike in his newspaper, and under it had 
 appeared the flattering line: "The leader of the 
 mountain delegation in the Senate." 
 
 "A lady from the city wishes to meet you, Mr. Pike," 
 he said. "Come, I will take you to her."
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 23 
 
 The tall mountaineer neither hesitated nor showed 
 embarrassment, but followed Guthrie without a word, 
 and was presented duly to Miss Ransome. Clarice, 
 who knew as little of the portion of her own State from 
 which Mr. Pike came as she did of Afghanistan, was 
 surprised to find him not awkward, but, on the con- 
 trary, composed and dignified. He said "yes ma'am" 
 and "no ma'am" to her, because he had been taught 
 to say them always to women; but his manner was not 
 one with which anybody could trifle. 
 
 Clarice felt a pleasant excitement educated abroad 
 and knowing nothing of Mr. Pike's mountains, she 
 imagined much. She was talking here in this brilliant 
 drawing-room to a man who not only carried a revolver 
 in his hip pocket, but could shoot and had shot bullets 
 from it at human beings who were also firing bullets 
 at him. But his face was singularly calm and lamb- 
 like as he talked to her with his drawl and clipped 
 accent. 
 
 "I hear you are the leader of the mountain delega- 
 tion, Mr. Pike," she said. 
 
 "That's just one of Billy Guthrie's yarns, ma'am," 
 he drawled. "These newspaper fellers have got to 
 fill their columns, and I 'low they find it pow'ful hard 
 sleddin' sometimes, ma'am." 
 
 He put his hand familiarly and affectionately on 
 Guthrie's shoulder as he spoke. 
 
 "But we don't quarrel with 'em when they stretch 
 the blanket to say nice things about us, ma'am," he 
 continued, "it's when they whack our speeches that 
 we say the freedom of the press is turnin' into license." 
 
 "You don't differ from other people," said Miss 
 Ransome.
 
 24 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "No, ma'am," replied the mountaineer. "You find 
 human natur' the same on all kinds of soil." 
 
 Miss Ransome tried to draw him out, to make him 
 talk of his own people and himself, but here she struck 
 the obstacle that all must meet who seek to explore as 
 she did. The mountaineer immediately became re- 
 served and cold. He resented any suspicion of a pat- 
 ronising kindness or curiosity, however well-meant, 
 and Guthrie, who heard and observed all, smiled a 
 little. He had seen much of the mountaineers, and he 
 had penetrated their shell; he knew their bitter anger 
 at the assumed and real superiority of the lowlands, 
 and he knew how deeply their members in the Legis- 
 lature felt it when they were taunted with representing 
 the "pauper" counties that is, counties that paid 
 into the State treasury very much less revenue than 
 they drew out of it, which was true of every mountain 
 county in the State. 
 
 Miss Ransome could not account for the change in 
 the mountaineer's manner, but Guthrie knowing the 
 trouble quietly led the talk to other subjects, and Mr. 
 Pike became once more his genial but dignified self. 
 When Mrs. Hastings took him away presently, Clarice 
 said to Guthrie: 
 
 "What a singular man!" 
 
 "Yes," replied Guthrie, "and as proud as Lucifer! 
 You will hear of him before this session is over. I am 
 glad that you are beginning to find your own State 
 interesting." 
 
 "I never said that it wasn't." 
 
 " No, but you looked it. Now here is another man, 
 as marked a character as Mr. Pike; he comes neither 
 from the mountains nor from our famous lowland val-
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 25 
 
 ley, but from the hill country that slopes off into the 
 southwest. I am speaking of Senator Cobb, the big 
 man over there." 
 
 Mr. Cobb, a member of the State Senate, was not 
 quite so tall as Mr. Pike, but he was much broader and 
 heavier, and he, too, was smoothly shaven, and a pair 
 of mild and child-like blue eyes looked forth from 
 his ruddy and massive features. Thick snow-white 
 hair brushed straight back was the crown of a striking 
 face. 
 
 "Another friend of mine, Miss Ransome," said 
 Guthrie. "Senator Cobb is the connecting link be- 
 tween the rich lowlands and the poor highlands, and 
 he is the enemy of all trusts and monopolies. He is 
 the most absolutely honest man in both public and pri- 
 vate life that I have ever known." 
 "You are always speaking of the honesty of these men, 
 Mr. Guthrie," said Miss Ransome. "I had the impres- 
 sion that our public life was very corrupt; I know that 
 it is thought so in society and in Europe." 
 
 Guthrie laughed. 
 
 "Europe and society in this country," he replied, 
 "know very little about our public men, and they are 
 misled by sensational newspapers and that absolute 
 freedom of speech among us which tends to exaggera- 
 tion. I think that we have more honesty and patriot- 
 ism than you can find in parliamentry bodies anywhere 
 else in the world." 
 
 Miss Ransome was silent, but she was not convinced. 
 It was almost her first contact with the public life of 
 her native State, and she had been taught to believe 
 that it was corrupt, largely because public office was 
 not the perquisite of wealth and birth, and, naturally,
 
 26 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 bad manners were associated in her mind with bad 
 
 morals. 
 
 But, when she talked with Senator Cobb, who, she 
 knew, had been abused much by the opposition, she 
 began to allow for the exaggeration and the vague 
 charges so common in American life. This man's 
 gaze was straight and open. She had never looked 
 into eyes more honest. His dignity and the courtesy 
 that he showed to women were equal to those of Mr. 
 Pike, but, obviously, he was of a higher type than the 
 mountaineer. He showed more culture, more ac- 
 quaintance with the larger world, and a greater grasp 
 of its problems. 
 
 "Do you know what feature of this gathering im- 
 presses me most?" she said somewhat later to Guthrie. 
 "No, and I cannot guess." 
 
 "It is the size of the men. It seems to me that all 
 of them are over six feet tall. I have seen the French 
 Chambers, and I have seen the English Parliament, 
 and, after them, I seem to have come here upon a race 
 of giants physically at least." 
 
 Clarice Ransome was deeply interested more so than 
 she would have confessed to Guthrie. She had been 
 only a week at the capital, and only three months from 
 Europe, arriving with many prejudices and a view 
 which she had begun to believe was somewhat narrow. 
 It now seemed to her that much of the so-called culti- 
 vation and refinement that she had learned abroad 
 had in it the touch of effeminacy, and that was repellent 
 to her. 
 
 More than once her glance strayed to Guthrie, who 
 was now on the other side of the room, talking to Sen- 
 ator Cobb, and she did not know whether she liked
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 27 
 
 him; but she could not help noticing his fine, eager 
 face, handsome with the glow of youth, and she felt, 
 too, that he had communicated to her some of his own 
 enthusiasm and interest in everything about him. 
 
 But Guthrie was unconscious of her glances. He 
 drifted in a few moments from Senator Cobb to Jiinmie 
 Warfield, the youthful representative of one of the 
 metropolitan districts. Warfield put his hand on 
 Guthrie's shoulder and drew him to one side. 
 
 "Billy," he said. "I've heard a tale about you and 
 Templeton. I hope it isn't true." 
 
 Guthrie's form stiffened a little. Here was the issue 
 again and he would have to face criticism by one of his 
 best friends. But he did not seek to avoid it. 
 
 "I suppose you have heard that I sent the Times an 
 account of Templeton's defalcation," he replied. " Well 
 it's true." 
 
 "I don't see how you could do it, Billy," Warfield 
 said. "I am sure I'd have skipped it if I had been in 
 your place." 
 
 "It's one of the things that I'm in this city for," re- 
 plied Guthrie, and he walked away, not willing to dis- 
 cuss it any more. 
 
 Warfield, who was a tender-hearted man, ready at 
 any time to sacrifice himself for a friend, gazed after 
 him. "I couldn't have done it!" he murmured. 
 
 Guthrie knew Warfield 's thoughts, and they troubled 
 him. He believed that men of the world in constant 
 touch with public affairs ought to understand his point 
 of view, and he foresaw hostility to himself because 
 they did not. He was not by nature of a belligerent 
 temper; he preferred the friendship of everybody, and 
 he enjoyed life in the little capital. He did not wish
 
 28 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 to be spoken of as the man who had exposed Temple- 
 ton's mother and sister to disgrace, but his mind re- 
 turned to his original position as the right one. He 
 wondered what Clarice Ransome would think of his 
 activity, and he was angry with himself for trying to 
 guess her opinion. A woman would be sure to take 
 the sentimental view! But when he looked at her face, 
 and studied the firm curve of her jaw and her calm, 
 strong eyes, he was not so sure; neither was it a dis- 
 covered fact that women were softer-hearted in such 
 matters than men. 
 
 Guthrie left early, and as he passed into the vestibule, 
 he found Senator Cobb also with his hat and overcoat, 
 and the sight of the Senator's broad, bland face gave 
 him an idea. Mr. Cobb's family were not in the capi- 
 tal and he need not hurry, so Guthrie proposed that 
 they walk together. 
 
 "Certainly, my son," replied the Senator, who called 
 all young men whom he knew well "my son." "Our 
 ways are the same, anyhow. What a glorious night! 
 I'm past sixty, but this keen frosty air puts the blood 
 of thirty in my veins." 
 
 After that they walked in silence for a while, the old 
 Senator enjoying the cold air and the light but fresh 
 breeze from the hills. He was a man of immense 
 physical vigour, one who had been all his life close to 
 the soil, and Guthrie noticed with a certain pleasure 
 the free, vigorous swing of his body. They were 
 near the bridge before the Senator, taking thought 
 of his young companion's silence, glanced keenly 
 at his face. 
 
 "What's the trouble, Billy?" he asked, putting his 
 hand kindly upon Guthrie's shoulder.
 
 ON COMMON GROUND 29 
 
 "I've had to do something to-day that I found un- 
 pleasant," replied Guthrie. 
 
 "What is uncommon in that?" 
 
 "But this was more so than usual," replied Guthrie 
 with a slight laugh. Then he told the story of Temple- 
 ton, his crime, and the telegram about it. Mr. Cobb 
 listened with attention, and they were almost across the 
 bridge before the account was finished. Then Guthrie 
 waited to hear what he would say, but the Senator was 
 silent for a minute or two. 
 
 "You were right to do it," he said at last, "although 
 I should not have done it myself." 
 
 He would say no more, but Guthrie noticed that his 
 manner lost nothing of its warmth and friendliness; 
 instead, it became more fatherly. 
 
 "Who is the Miss Ransome, to whom you intro- 
 duced me?" he asked. "A rich man's daughter, is 
 she not?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Guthrie, "and she has just returned 
 to this country, after being educated in Europe." 
 
 " I thought so," was the Senator's brief comment, and 
 he added, after a moment's thought: 
 
 "We must Americanise her."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 
 
 GUTHRIE was early in his attendance at the next 
 morning's session of the Legislature, and but few mem- 
 bers were present when he arrived. It was a cold day, 
 and the boughs of the trees on the state-house lawn 
 crackled in the dry, bitter wind; but inside all was snug 
 and warm. The vast fireplaces, built before the days 
 of steam-pipes, were filled with hickory logs, which, 
 under the great blaze, kept up a crackling fire, like the 
 popping of small shot. 
 
 It was his custom to go first into the House, where 
 his desk, like that of the other correspondents, stood 
 at the foot of the Speaker's dais, facing the members, 
 and he did not depart from it this morning. The mem- 
 bers greeted him in pleasant fashion. Somehow they 
 always glided into a great family there, and the corre- 
 spondents were looked upon, too, in a semidetached 
 way as members, with certain obligations due to fel- 
 lowship in the band. For these reasons, Guthrie always 
 found it hard to criticise men for whom he might have 
 the greatest personal liking, save when they were 
 Republican; in this, a partisan State, it was deemed 
 not only a right but a duty to attack the politics of the 
 other side: a man praised by one of the opposite party 
 would have feared treachery. 
 
 After the familiar words, Guthrie took off his over- 
 30
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 31 
 
 coat, and warmed his fingers by the great open fire. 
 The wine of life was full of sparkle that morning, and 
 he looked forward to a day's good work. The Speaker 
 himself, Mr. Carton, a young man not over thirty, en- 
 tered at that moment, and, like Guthrie, warmed his 
 hands before the great blaze. 
 
 " Do you expect anything lively to-day, Mr. Carton ? " 
 asked Guthrie. 
 
 The Speaker's face clouded a little. 
 
 "I'm afraid Pursley is going to call up the 'United* 
 to-day," he replied. "He's loaded for a big speech, 
 and you know that demagogic plea of his is bound to 
 count with lots of people up in the City and through- 
 out the State, too." 
 
 Guthrie glanced toward the eastern side of the house 
 near the great window where Pursley was already in his 
 seat. The "United" was merely a short term for the 
 United Electric Gas, Power, Light, and Heating Bill 
 with which Pursley had come down from the "City" 
 and "City" here meant the metropolis of the State, 
 which is six or seven times the size of any other place 
 in it, and therefore looms large in the affairs of the Legis- 
 lature. 
 
 "Is there no way to head him off?" asked Guthrie. 
 
 "None whatever," replied the Speaker; "the bill has 
 advanced so far that he has the right to call it up, and 
 well there's Pursley he's as obstinate as a mule and 
 as thick-skinned as & rhinoceros: besides he knows 
 what he wants, and that's always no small advantage." 
 
 Guthrie glanced again at Pursley, the gentleman 
 from the Third Legislative District in the City. Purs- 
 ley's face was bent over his desk as he examined some 
 papers, but his features were not hidden. They were
 
 32 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 heavy and coarse, but the small, close-set eyes did not 
 lack intelligence, even though the intelligence in this 
 case might be classified under the unfavourable name 
 of "cunning," and the long jaw and thick neck de- 
 noted obstinacy. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Mr. Carton," said Guthrie. It will 
 be a costly fight to you to keep him down." 
 
 "But you'll give us all the help you can, Billy? 
 said Carton. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course!" replied Guthrie. 
 
 Other members from the "City" were entering and 
 taking their seats, and Guthrie regarded them with a 
 disapproving eye. It seemed to him that the city mem- 
 bers, with one or two exceptions, were on a lower moral 
 and intellectual plane than those from the country. 
 The country members, whether right or wrong in their 
 ideas, were truly representative of the people who 
 sent them, while those from the city seemed to have 
 behind them some organisation or agency, vague but 
 
 powerful. M 
 
 "I wish I knew who your best friends are, said 
 Guthrie to himself as he looked at Pursley. 
 
 His face brightened when Jimmy Warfield, who also 
 represented a "city" district, entered. Jimmy was 
 exceptional; no one could look into his open face and 
 say that he was not straightforward and honest. His 
 friendships were with the other members rather than 
 with those from the city. Warfield caught Guthrie's 
 eyes, and nodded. Then he took his seat two desks 
 away from Pursley, and began to write. 
 
 A quorum was soon present, and the Speaker called 
 the House to order. It is the custom always to open 
 the sessions with prayer, and as there is no regular
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 33 
 
 chaplain, a visiting minister or one from the capital 
 officiates. This morning the minister did not enter 
 until the last moment, and it was the Bishop. Guthrie 
 looked up and met his eye. It was grave and reproach- 
 ful, and Guthrie flushed a little, but he returned the old 
 man's gaze steadily. 
 
 All stood, and the Bishop prayed for the blessing 
 of God upon those who were assembled there to make 
 laws for the people. His fine voice filled the great 
 room, and Guthrie, looking at his face, admired, as he 
 had admired so many times before, the nobility, dig- 
 nity, and charity of his features. 
 
 The Bishop after the prayer paused a few moments 
 by the fire before going out into the cold. The mails 
 from the metropolis bringing the morning's important 
 newspapers always arrive at this moment, and the boy 
 came in with them, distributing to each member and 
 to each correspondent his share. One of the members 
 courteously handed his Times to the Bishop. 
 
 "Perhaps Europe has furnished us with a new war- 
 cloud in the Balkans," he said. 
 
 The Bishop smiled, and opened his newspaper, but 
 he did not look for the "war-cloud in the Balkans." 
 His mind was upon a thousand-word despatch sent 
 the night before by young Mr. Guthrie, whose action 
 he could not approve. Guthrie, from his desk, was 
 watching him closely, and he saw him turn page after 
 page until he came to the last, and then go back to the 
 first page, scrutinising them all again. The Bishop's 
 look of disapproval changed to one of perplexity and 
 then to one of relief, though still retaining a tinge of 
 perplexity. He folded the paper, and handed it back 
 to the obliging member with a quiet "thank you;" then
 
 34 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 he walked over to the correspondent and whispered, 
 "may I see you a moment, Mr. Guthrie?" 
 
 Guthrie arose at once, and went with the Bishop to 
 the fireplace, where they were, in a sense, detached 
 from the business of the House. 
 
 "I have looked carefully through the Times for the 
 news about young Templeton, and I do not find it," 
 said the Bishop. "What does it mean, Mr. Guthrie? 
 You told me that you sent the despatch." 
 
 "I told you the truth," replied Guthrie, meeting the 
 Bishop's eye unflinchingly. 
 
 "I never for a moment doubted that," said the 
 Bishop. "I wish to know, not because it is my affair, 
 but because of our previous conversation, why it was 
 not published." 
 
 "I suppose they did not think it worth while," re- 
 plied Guthrie vaguely. 
 The Bishop shook his head. 
 
 "I do not think that is the reason, Mr. Guthrie," 
 he said. "If you described your managing editor to 
 me correctly, and I am sure you did, he never would 
 have left it out. I think you are the cause of its omis- 
 sion." 
 
 Guthrie flushed, and looked embarrassed. 
 Bishop waited, and Guthrie saw that he expected him 
 to speak. 
 
 "When I sent my despatch, I forwarded another 
 telegram also," he said reluctantly. " It was a personal 
 one to Mr. Stetson, our editor there was a chance 
 that he might be in the city asking him to suppress 
 my news, if he could." 
 "Well?" said the Bishop. 
 "It seems," continued Guthrie, "that he was there
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 35 
 
 and suppressed the news. Mr. Stetson is the edi- 
 tor, and, : f he wanted to do it, he could he's the judge 
 of his duty to the public." 
 
 There was a new warmth in the Bishop's tone when 
 he spoke again, and he put his hand on Guthrie's shoul- 
 der in a fatherly manner. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," he said, "last night I thought you 
 hard, even cruel, but I change my opinion to-day. 
 Why didn't you tell me that you had sent this personal 
 telegram to your editor?" 
 
 Guthrie hesitated. 
 
 "Because I thought I ought to be judged according 
 to my conception of my duty," he replied at length, 
 "and not by some qualifying action. And then the 
 chances were at least five to one that Mr. Stetson would 
 not be there." 
 
 The Bishop looked puzzled, then smiled. 
 
 "Billy," he said "you are a most obstinate boy. 
 But let us be friends again." 
 
 "If you will permit it," said Guthrie. 
 
 The Bishop patted him on the shoulder, and in a few 
 moments left the house. Guthrie returned to his desk, 
 and resumed his notes. His mind was easier, but 
 he feared that he had shown what might at least 
 be called an amiable weakness. He had not looked 
 at the newspaper, but he had known from the 
 expression on the Bishop's face as he glanced down 
 the columns that the despatch was suppressed. He 
 thought of Templeton's mother and sister they 
 were saved from grief and shame, but only 
 for the present. The crash was sure to come, 
 and would be all the greater from the delay and 
 he was not convinced that he had done right.
 
 36 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 But his thoughts soon turned from Templeton to an- 
 other and vital question. 
 
 The session was not an hour old before he noticed 
 that it was under the influence of a suppressed but keen 
 excitement. Although the House was droning out 
 nothing but routine business, the members were closely 
 watching the Speaker, who apparently was unconcerned, 
 his left hand lightly resting on the handle of the gavel, 
 and his right hand turning the pages of some letters 
 which he was reading, seemingly with more interest 
 than he gave to the House. 
 
 Guthrie, even if he had not been warned would have 
 known that something was going to happen. Long 
 habit had made him familiar with these periods of ex- 
 pectancy in a crowd the decrease of noise, the lean- 
 ing forward of heads and the exchange of glances. He 
 looked across at Pursley, but the "Champion of the 
 people" as he often called himself was still bending 
 his heavy face over legal-looking documents that he 
 read attentively. 
 
 Guthrie concluded that Pursley was not yet ready 
 to spring his mine, and decided to go into the Senate 
 for a while. 
 
 "If anything happens while I'm in the other chamber, 
 let me know, won't you?" he said to Charlton, the 
 correspondent who sat next to him. 
 
 "All right," replied Charlton, "but I don't see why 
 you want to waste time over there; nothing ever hap- 
 pens in the Senate." 
 
 Guthrie crossed the hall and joined the older and 
 more dignified body. The change in atmosphere was 
 apparent at once. The House has over a hundred mem- 
 bers, the Senate less than forty, and the smaller num-
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 37 
 
 her began to wear more the aspect of a club. Besides 
 brown hair was predominant in the House, gray hair 
 here; men spoke quickly there, slowly here. Old 
 Senator Wells from the mountains had taken his boots 
 off to ease his aged feet and his gray home-knit, yarn 
 socks, undoubtedly the work of his wife, were exposed 
 for all to see. There were only eight Republican sen- 
 ators too small a number to be troublesome and 
 while rated severely in speeches they were privately great 
 favourites, because they had nothing to ask and noth- 
 ing to expect from the administration or the majority; 
 therefore they gave no trouble. 
 
 Guthrie took the vacant seat beside Senator Wells. 
 
 "Any news here this morning, Mr. Wells?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "News, my boy?" replied the old senator with a 
 soundless little laugh. "You shouldn't expect news 
 here. Why the Senate's too respectable for that. 
 You must go back to the House if you want it." 
 
 "Oh! I don't know," said Guthrie. "I thought 
 that perhaps the Republican minority was trying some 
 wicked scheme in here." 
 
 "We can't, we are surrounded by the enemy," re- 
 plied Mr. Wells, waving his hand at the long array of 
 Democratic senators. 
 
 They were passing local bills, of interest only to par- 
 ticular members, and Senator Cobb moved into the 
 vacant seat on the other side of Mr. Wells. 
 
 "I hear that there is going to be a stir in the House 
 to-day," he said to Guthrie. 
 
 "Yes," replied Guthrie, "Pursley expects to call up 
 the ' United ' bill and to attack the Speaker because he 
 smothered it so long in the Committee."
 
 38 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "I'm sorry Carton did that," said Senator Cobb. 
 "I like Carton and I don't like Pursley, but Pursley 
 is right in this matter; that bill hits at the corporations 
 and it ought to pass." 
 
 Guthrie said nothing because they were old men 
 and of official position, but he could not agree with Mr 
 Cobb. 
 
 " Carton is going to find himself in serious trouble," 
 continued the senator. 
 
 "That ought to gratify Pursley," commented 
 Guthrie. 
 
 He spoke with some resentment because he liked and 
 admired Carton, and he did not wish to see a young 
 man with such fine qualities and prospects pulled down 
 by a Pursley. 
 
 "How will the Times stand on the bill?" asked Mr. 
 Cobb of Guthrie. 
 
 "I think it will oppose it," replied Guthrie. 
 
 "Your owner, of course, has a lot of gas and electric 
 light stocks," said Senator Wells, half in jest, half in 
 earnest. 
 
 Guthrie flushed. 
 
 "Not that I know of," he replied. "I don't think 
 he paid any attention to the bill until I wrote to him at 
 length about it, and described what I thought to be 
 its nature. I think I can rightfully claim the credit 
 or discredit of the Times' opposition." 
 
 "I am sorry, my son," said Senator Cobb. "City 
 life has influenced you without your knowing it. This 
 bill ought to pass." 
 
 Guthrie said no more on the subject but listened to 
 the old men as they discussed it. His visit in the Sen- 
 ate was really to sound the senators in regard to the
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 39 
 
 bill, and he found that a majority there as in the House 
 were in favour of it. He had hoped that, if Carton let 
 the bill pass in the House, it might be defeated in the 
 Senate, and thus the purpose would be achieved with- 
 out expense to the Speaker; but it required only a few 
 minutes to tell him the plan was useless. The Senate 
 was with the House, and the battle would have to be 
 fought out in the latter. 
 
 He arose presently and went back into the House 
 where dull business was still going on, but the lobbies 
 had filled up in his absence. Mrs. Dennison, the gov- 
 vernor's wife, and their friends were there. The 
 rumour that it was going to be an interesting session 
 of the House had spread somehow in the capital, and 
 visitors could never afford to miss anything of that 
 nature. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison sat with Miss Ransome on her right 
 and Miss Pelham, a visitor from the largest city of the 
 rich lowland region, on her left. Guthrie saw the 
 Speaker glance at Miss Pelham, then smile and bow 
 and he felt sorry for Carton whom all the capital knew 
 to be in love with Mary Pelham. But the Speaker 
 was a self-made man and yet poor, while Miss Pelham 
 was the daughter of a great land-owner, and her family 
 had been furnishing governors and United States sen- 
 ators for three generations. Moreover, Guthrie knew 
 what the young Speaker would soon have to face. 
 
 His own glance passed soon from Miss Pelham to 
 Miss Ransome, to whom he bowed and from whom he 
 received a slight bow in return. But her face was cold 
 and not without a supercilious touch. The interest 
 that he had been able to rouse the night before in her 
 about her native State, its people and its ways, seemed
 
 40 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 to have passed. "Doubtless," reflected Guthrie, 
 "much of this must seem commonplace and dull to 
 her." But he made the angry addition: "She should 
 like it because it is our own people and her's." 
 
 He folded up his notes and joined the visitors in the 
 
 lobby. 
 
 "We hear that there is likely to be a scene, Mr. Guth- 
 rie, is it true?" asked Miss Ransome. 
 
 "I should hardly call it a 'scene/" replied Guthrie 
 
 quietly. 
 
 She flushed a little, then laughed lightly. 
 
 " I accept the correction," she said. " I did not know 
 the right word. I merely meant that something stir- 
 ring is going to happen so we heard. What is it ?" 
 
 "Do you see the heavy-faced man over there near 
 the east window?" said Guthrie. "Well, that's Purs- 
 ley; he's one of the members from the city districts. 
 He is expected to make a vicious attack to-day on the 
 Speaker." 
 
 He glanced from Miss Ransome to Mary Pelham, 
 when he said "the Speaker." Miss Pelham moved 
 slightly but showed no other emotion and inquired in 
 an even voice: 
 
 "Why should he attack Mr. Carton and what has 
 Mr. Carton to fear from an attack by him?" 
 
 Guthrie was attached to Carton and he thought to 
 serve him. She must know what was threatening 
 him and it was best for her to be prepared. He 
 might be able to create a prepossession in Carton's 
 favour. 
 
 "There is a powerful organisation behind this bill," 
 he replied, "all the more powerful because it is vague 
 and in a way secret. So far, Mr. Carton has been its
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 41 
 
 most successful opponent, and well Pursley will 
 leave the inference that Mr. Carton is interested." 
 
 An indignant flush reddened the cheeks of Mary Pel- 
 ham. 
 
 "No one could believe such a thing of Mr. Carton!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "Not I, certainly," replied Guthrie, and then he 
 added with perhaps less emphasis : " nor you, nor any- 
 one else who knows the Speaker, but there is a power 
 in reiteration, an incessant implication implication of 
 the light, indirect kind that seems unintentional. It 
 creates an atmosphere, so to speak." 
 
 " I thought you told me that political life here was not 
 corrupt, or at least not more corrupt than it is else- 
 where!" said Clarice Ransome, looking at him with 
 bright, ironical eyes. 
 
 " It is not," replied Guthrie with conviction. "There 
 is merely plainer speaking and more of it. Nor does 
 it follow because a charge has been made that it is true." 
 
 "I cannot believe any ill of Mr. Carton," said Mrs. 
 Dennison. 
 
 "A more honest man never breathed the breath of 
 life," said Guthrie. 
 
 He glanced again at Mary Pelham, but seemingly 
 she took no note of his zealous defence, gazing calmly 
 over the rows of members. 
 
 The Speaker from his desk looked at her again, but 
 her eyes did not meet his and he turned back in disap- 
 pointment to his work. 
 
 Guthrie was watching Pursley who now glanced up 
 frequently from his papers and always at the Speaker. 
 These movements, so Guthrie knew, foreboded action, 
 and the strained and silent attention of the House
 
 42 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 showed that the members knew it, too. At this moment 
 a thin, quiet man, his face blue with close shaving, 
 entered and modestly took a seat in the farthest corner 
 of the lobby. It was Mr. Caius Marcellus Harlow who 
 was not attached to the Legislature in any capacity, 
 but who was a frequent attendant upon its sessions. 
 Guthrie sought to read Mr. Harlow's face and to tell 
 what his interest in pending events might be, but the 
 result was nothing. Then he turned his attention back 
 to the Speaker. 
 
 He admired Carton's coolness and courage. The 
 Speaker knew perfectly well that an attack upon him- 
 self was coming and that it would be of a most vicious 
 nature, but no sign of uneasiness showed in his manner. 
 His voice as he made his rulings was as steady and full 
 as ever, and the hand that wielded the gavel never trem- 
 bled. 
 
 Pursley glanced once toward the lobby, and Guthrie 
 thought he saw a faint look like a signal pass between 
 him and the quiet Harlow, but he was not sure. Then 
 Pursley half arose as if to make a motion and called 
 "Mr. Speaker," but Carton's eye passed on and caught 
 another member who had also called "Mr. Speaker." 
 "The gentleman from Mary County," said Carton, 
 and the "gentleman from Mary County" was not 
 Pursley, but Mr. Harman, an amiable and long-winded 
 member who was devoted to a bill regulating the liquor 
 traffic, now among those before the House. Harman 
 would speak two hours, nothing could check the even, 
 monotonous flow of his words, and Pursley sank back 
 with a smothered but angry exclamation of disgust. 
 But Guthrie looking at Mr. Harlow could not see his 
 face change by a single quiver.
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 43 
 
 Mr. Harman spoke without effort and the members 
 turned to the reading of newspapers or the writing of 
 letters. There was all the rustle and noise of an ordi- 
 nary session. It was not necessary to pay close attention 
 to the gentleman from Mary County who, absorbed in 
 his own words, would not notice, and would not be 
 offended if he did. Various members also drifted to 
 the lobbies where they talked to the ladies and Guthrie 
 went with them. 
 
 "You told me something interesting was going to 
 happen," said Miss Ransome to him. "Instead I am 
 only listening to a very dull speech." 
 
 "A speech of any other kind is an exception," replied 
 Guthrie smiling, though secretly he was resentful. 
 "Mr. Pursley missed his chance and we shall have to 
 wait. Nothing can happen now until the afternoon 
 session, because Mr. Harman will certainly talk us into 
 luncheon. But it gives a good chance for conversation." 
 Guthrie was right, because when Mr. Harman came to 
 the end all were tired and hungry, and the House 
 adjourned until 2 p. M., when the lobbies were again 
 filled with visitors, hoping to witness incidents of spirit 
 and edge. Mrs. Dennison, Mrs. Hastings and their 
 friends occupied the same position in the group, and 
 the bright tints of their dresses made a vivid splash of 
 colour against the dark background of the House. 
 And now Mr. Pursley was too late a second time. 
 Another member secured the floor, was recognised and 
 began to discuss a bill relating to the codification of the 
 State's laws. "A duller subject than ever!" said Miss 
 Ransome, and Miss Pelham agreed with her. 
 
 Guthrie watched the Speaker closely, and seeing a 
 little defiant gleam in his eyes, he surmised that Mr.
 
 44 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Carton was resolved to give his enemies as much 
 trouble as possible. The bill must come up sooner 
 or later, its consideration could not be postponed 
 forever, but these men should know that the Speaker 
 was armed and ready to give them trouble, since 
 they chose to do as much for him. At least, Guthrie 
 so construed Mr. Carton's look and he gave him 
 his full sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Harlow was also in the lobby as usual. He occu- 
 pied a seat at the rear. Mr. Harlow was a modest man, 
 smooth of speech, never pushing hard against obstacles 
 and content with an obscure place; but here, owing to 
 the upward slope of the lobby, the last row of seats fur- 
 nished the best view of the House, and there was not a 
 member whom he could not see clearly. 
 
 Mr. Harlow seemed to know by instinct or acute 
 observation, which is akin to it, when the member who 
 had the floor was going to finish, and he caught Mr. 
 Pursley's eye; the same faint almost imperceptible 
 signal passed between them, and Mr. Pursley was on 
 his feet just as the other man concluded, calling: "Mr. 
 Speaker! Speaker!" There was nothing to do but to 
 recognise him, and Mr. Carton did it easily and grace- 
 fully. 
 
 Mr. Pursley standing solidly upon his feet swept the 
 House with a long semicircular smile of triumph, and a 
 thrill ran through members and lobby alike. The ex- 
 pected moment had come and the young Speaker was 
 about to go under fire. All were anxious to see how he 
 would take it, and some hoped that he would take it ill. 
 There were men who resented his superiority, his rapid 
 advance and his personal aloofness so far as they were 
 concerned, because the young Speaker was in a sense
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 45 
 
 fastidious and did not choose the commonplace or the 
 splenetic for associates. 
 
 A dozen senators, hearing that Pursley had got the 
 floor, abandoned their own chamber and came in to 
 hear the attack. Guthrie saw Mr. Cobb and Mr. 
 Wells sitting together. 
 
 Mr. Pursley began in a voice which was not without a 
 certain power and effect, and he showed that he did not 
 lack courage and resolution as he faced the House 
 boldly. 
 
 He said that his had been the honour to present a bill 
 which would be of vast benefit to the great city from 
 which he came, and by example to the public every- 
 where It was a bill that struck directly at three mo- 
 nopolies, three powerful corporations which were 
 oppressing two hundred and fifty thousand people. 
 
 Guthrie glanced at Mr. Cobb and Mr. Wells, and saw 
 approving looks on their faces. Both took fire readily 
 at the sound of the words "corporations" and "monop- 
 olies." 
 
 Mr. Pursley continued. This bill, he said, had 
 met with universal favour, had appealed strongly to the 
 people of his city, but some malign influence had been 
 directed against it. It had been referred to a committee 
 and this committee had taken a very long time in acting 
 upon it and reporting it. Even now it had been almost 
 impossible for him to get it before the House and secure 
 its free discussion." 
 
 Here Mr. Pursley paused and again that thrill of 
 
 expectation ran through the House. He was about to 
 
 come to names, and names are always so much more 
 
 interesting than abstractions. 
 
 "I have worked hard for this bill," continued Mr.
 
 46 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Pursley, "because I know it is in the interest of the 
 common people; but that malign influence of which I 
 spoke has constantly opposed me, and until the present 
 with success. It is with reluctance that I make charges; 
 I do not wish to asperse the motives of anybody; far be it 
 from me to attack a reputation, but every member of 
 this House knows that there is only one person who can 
 hold back a bill who can, from term to term, prevent 
 its consideration, and that man is the Speaker. Now 
 I ask why?" 
 
 Again he paused and swept the house with his long, 
 semicircular glance. A dark flush crept over the face 
 of the Speaker, but he made no other sign. 
 < Up sprang Jimmy Warfield, calling: "Mr. Speaker!" 
 
 "The gentleman from Hamilton County," said Mr. 
 Carton in an unmoved voice. 
 
 "As a member of this honourable body," said Mr. 
 Warfield, "I demand a clear and explicit statement. 
 The gentleman from the Third District has stated that 
 an undue influence was brought to bear against his bill 
 and he has mentioned names. Now, does he charge 
 the Speaker of this House with a personal interest in the 
 defeat of his bill?" 
 
 A buzz ran through the House and the lobby. Mr. 
 Warfield stood expectant, his good-humoured face 
 for once frowning, and his chin thrust forward like 
 the curve of an eagle's beak. But Mr. Pursley was 
 not daunted. 
 
 " I state facts," he said, " and I leave it to the members 
 of this house to draw whatever inferences they choose. 
 This bill was introduced nearly a month ago; every one 
 here knows that, and you know, too, with what diffi- 
 culty I have been able to call it up to-day. It has been
 
 A SESSION OF THE HOUSE 47 
 
 said, "hew to the line, let the chips fall where they may/ 
 and, gentlemen, I am trying to hew to the line!" 
 
 He paused again, and once more looked about the 
 House to find many an approving face. The country 
 members who were in a great majority, dwelt in con- 
 stant fear of corporations and monopolies, and to men- 
 tion such things was like the sound of a trumpet calling 
 them to war. And no doubt, too, Mr. Carton had im- 
 peded the passage of the bill. His best friends could not 
 disprove it. 
 
 Out in the lobby Mary Pelham was saying impa- 
 tiently to Clarice Ransome: 
 
 "Why does not Mr. Carton deny it, at once? I 
 should think that a man would not be able to restrain 
 his indignation at such a charge!" 
 
 Clarice recognised the anger in Miss Pelham 's voice, 
 and she knew why it was there and against whom it was 
 directed. Suddenly she felt a new interest and a new 
 sympathy in the life outspread before her. 
 
 "Perhaps it is because his dignity forbids," she 
 replied, "or may be the rules require that he shall first 
 hear formal charges. But I know I do not like the 
 looks of that Mr. Pursley." 
 
 Miss Pelham said nothing more but gazed straight at 
 the Speaker, and by and by he raised his eyes to hers. 
 His was a glance of proud defiance; he seemed to ask 
 of her neither mercy nor forgiveness, he seemed to say 
 he was choosing the right and if she could not believe 
 him, well he must endure it as best he could. Guthrie 
 saw it all, and his heart thrilled with pride in his friend 
 whom he knew to be a fighter as resolute as he was 
 honest. Then Jimmy Warfield, the champion of the 
 Speaker, arose again. He said that he, too, like the
 
 48 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 gentleman from the Third, came from the metropolis; 
 he had studied this bill, and if the Speaker opposed the 
 measure, it was because it was a bad bill and ought not 
 to pass; of that he was convinced, and their chief was 
 merely trying to defeat an organised attempt to plun- 
 der. 
 
 A hum of approval arose, but it was from the minority. 
 The majority sat in cold silence and Senator Cobb 
 frowned visibly. A member suggested that in view of 
 the gravity of the charge a committee be formed to 
 investigate, and the motion being carried without oppo- 
 sition, the Speaker said that inasmuch as he was con- 
 cerned, the chair must be taken temporarily by some 
 one else who should name the committee. 
 
 Mr. Harman was put in the chair and he at once 
 selected a committee of five non-partisan men. 
 
 Then the House adjourned amid much suppressed 
 excitement, and members and visitors passed out 
 together.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 
 
 GUTHRIE, like the members, felt excitement, and a 
 busy afternoon and evening lay before him. In open 
 session of the House a charge of gravest import had 
 been made against the Speaker, and it would be news 
 of keen interest to every man even in the remotest 
 country district. This is a State that takes its politics 
 as the great business of life, and so conspicuous a figure 
 as the Speaker of the House could not be assailed with- 
 out arousing discussion and feeling at half a million 
 hearths. There would be an important despatch for 
 him to write, and it would be a difficult matter to write 
 it correctly. 
 
 He wished to follow Mrs. Dennison's party out 
 of the building, and he saw Clarice Ransome linger a 
 moment and glance at him, as if half-suggesting that he 
 come. Almost any other man would have gone, but 
 the sense of duty was so strong in Guthrie that he stayed. 
 He looked after them regretfully as they went down the 
 circular stairway, and then turned aside to a little room 
 that opened from the outer hall. This was a private 
 apartment, set aside for the Speaker, and the door was 
 closed; but Guthrie, with the freedom of long habit 
 and uniform welcome, pushed it open and went in 
 unannounced. 
 
 The Speaker was sitting on a little sofa by the window, 
 49
 
 50 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 his eyes downcast, his face gloomy, his mind yielding 
 to a momentary depression very rare in him. Jimmy 
 Warfield was in the room trying to cheer his friend, and 
 Jimmy's presence was always a tonic, whether or not 
 his words were logical. Two others were there, Henry 
 Raynor, the Clerk of the House, and Allen, a country 
 member. 
 
 "It's a scandalous attack, but it's just hot air!" War- 
 field was saying. "It's so preposterous that it defeats 
 itself! This State knows you too well, Phil, to believe 
 such a thing of you." 
 
 But Guthrie knew that Carton was thinking not alone 
 of his political reputation and future, but also of some- 
 thing else, perhaps dearer, that was bound up with this 
 issue. 
 
 "There's a lot back of it," said Raynor, the Clerk, a 
 man with a strong, thin face. "They're hitting at you 
 over Pursley's shoulders, Carton." 
 
 Carton nodded and when he saw Guthrie he assumed 
 a more cheerful look. 
 
 "Well, Billy," he asked, "what are you going to write 
 about it for the Times? I suppose you will have to 
 spread the story all over the State ?" 
 
 "Of course," replied Guthrie. "That is one of the 
 burdens of the press. We have to write about our 
 friends as well as our enemies, but you know well 
 enough, Mr. Carton, that any reader of my despatch 
 will see that the writer of it considers this charge ridi- 
 culous." 
 
 "That's so, Billy," replied the Speaker warmly. 
 "You are a true friend and in advance I want to thank 
 you. If only all were like you!" 
 
 Other correspondents were now coming in, and the
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 51 
 
 Speaker was bound to say something for the press. 
 Every newspaper in the State would want to print his 
 statement in the morning. Now Mr. Carton began to 
 show indignation. The depression passed and the 
 fighting spirit was aroused. 
 
 "You can quote me to the people as denouncing the 
 statement in all the terms I know," he said. "It is 
 made out of whole cloth. It is true that I have held the 
 bill back, but it is because I believed it a bad bill, a bill 
 in the interest of its incorporators, and not in the inter- 
 est of the public. It was my duty to the city and the 
 State to hold it back. Any one who says or intimates 
 that I have a personal interest in beating the bill, tells 
 an unmitigated falsehood. You can elaborate on that 
 as much as you please." 
 
 " I wish he hadn't put in that admission about holding 
 the bill back!" whispered one of the correspondents to 
 Guthrie. "It looks bad." 
 
 "Oh! that's all right," replied Guthrie, but in his 
 heart he knew the assertion to be true. Carton's action 
 could be misrepresented readily, and in cold print at a 
 distance it would look much worse than in the House 
 where such action was understood. 
 
 The little room was now crowded with members who 
 had come, some to hear Carton's statement to the press, 
 some to offer him their personal sympathy and support, 
 while one or two came to rejoice in his trouble. 
 
 Guthrie left quietly, because there was one person 
 whom he wished to see before the departure of the after- 
 noon train for the metropolis, due now in a quarter of 
 an hour. He was sure that his man would go on that 
 train and he hastened to the station. To the eastward 
 the engine was whistling and a light cloud of smoke
 
 52 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 rose over the hills. In a secluded corner of the station 
 Guthrie saw Mr. Harlow, a small valise in his hand 
 and a meditative but guileless look on his face. Guthrie 
 approached him, and Mr. Harlow looked up. 
 
 "Are you going to the city too, Mr. Guthrie?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No," replied Guthrie, "I came here to interview 
 you, Mr. Harlow." 
 
 "To interview me! Why, I am a private citizen 
 dealing only with private citizens. How can any view 
 of mine interest the public? Truly, Mr. Guthrie, the 
 press is becoming wonderful in its enterprise!" 
 
 The mild face of Mr. Harlow expressed much sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " It is reported that you are interested in the ' United/ " 
 said Guthrie, "and it is reported, too, that you, or those 
 behind you, have armed Pursley for the attack upon the 
 Speaker, who is the chief obstacle to the passage of the 
 bill. Are you willing to say anything on the subject 
 for publication?" 
 
 The guileless eyes of Mr. Harlow opened wider. 
 
 "Dear me, Mr. Guthrie," he said, "you take me off 
 my feet! I scarcely know Mr. Pursley, who, by the way 
 seems an honest and able man, a worthy representa- 
 tive of our city. Really, I am at a loss; how can I say 
 anything on a subject with which I am totally unfa- 
 miliar?" 
 
 "Then I shall state in my despatch that after Purs- 
 ley's attack you left the capital at once, refusing to be 
 interviewed?" 
 
 "Why speak of me at all ?" said Mr. Harlow with an 
 aggrieved air. "Cannot a private citizen come here 
 and look on for a day or two to see Ijov they make the
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 53 
 
 laws under which he lives without having his name put 
 in the papers in all sorts of irrelevant ways?" 
 
 At that moment the train with a rush and a roar 
 pulled into the station, and Mr. Harlow with a parting 
 smile pulled himself aboard. 
 
 " He'll go down to the city and hide where our repor- 
 ters can't find him, but at any rate I can say that he 
 refused to talk," was Guthrie's thought. 
 
 Then he strolled back toward the centre of the town, 
 busy in thought. He would wait until the last moment 
 before sending his despatches in order to make them as 
 complete and informing as possible, and the state of 
 public opinion at the capital was not the least of the 
 things that he was expected to describe. 
 
 He went to the large hotel in the heart of the city 
 through which, as has been said, all the life of the little 
 capital flows. In its ample offices and halls members 
 of the Legislature and visitors meet in easy informality 
 and talk, and here many an important measure is born 
 or dies. It is an unorganised club and it has its con- 
 veniences, because one who does not wish to say any- 
 thing or commit himself upon current events can stay 
 away until the first desire for expression has passed. 
 
 Guthrie found the lobbies of the hotel crowded with 
 people and humming with talk the burden of which was 
 always Carton. Already men were taking sides. 
 Jimmy Warfield, fiercely declaiming, was surrounded 
 by a group. He charged that the attack upon Carton 
 was made for a purpose by the people interested in this 
 bill, whoever they were, and for that reason the assault 
 was so vicious. In another corner Pursley also de- 
 claimed to his followers. He had not wished to impugn 
 the Speaker's mo^ves, he disliked aspersing the actions
 
 54 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 of a man who had risen to the honourable position of 
 Speaker, but Carton had forced him to play his hand. 
 There was the bill, there was Carton's obvious inter- 
 ference with it, and people were compelled to draw their 
 own conclusions. In another corner Zedekiah Pike, 
 taller, thinner, and stronger of feature than ever, talked 
 in a low voice to half a dozen mountain members who 
 hung closely about him, plainly intimating to all who 
 might come that they did not wish any one else to enter 
 their circle or hear what was being said by their leader. 
 
 And from group to group flitted the correspondents, 
 eager to get opinions from the more prominent men or 
 to determine the temperature of the Legislature by 
 means of this infallible thermometer, and Guthrie 
 devoted some attention to the same subject. There 
 are two kinds of correspondents; those who collect news 
 and those who absorb it. Guthrie fell within the latter 
 class, which is by far the abler of the two, because the 
 former are machine-made, while the latter are born, 
 and know instinctively just what things are worth. 
 Moreover, they do not go to people for news, because 
 people come to them with it and gladly tell it. 
 
 So Guthrie wandered about in the lobbies, apparently 
 seeking nothing but finding much. He confirmed here 
 his first impression that the bulk of sentiment 
 was against Carton. The Speaker had been too 
 fastidious in his tastes and companionships. 
 He had offended inferior men by a lack of 
 consideration for their opinions, and in this 
 Carton had not been tactful, because he ignored a 
 universal trait of the human race the jealousy 
 with which the commonplace regard those of 
 higher talents. "I wish that he wasn't quite so
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 55 
 
 stiff!" was Outline's thought, because he truly liked 
 and admired Carton. 
 
 Moreover, there was a real and honest feeling in the 
 Legislature against monopolies, and it seemed to the 
 majority of the members that Carton's action had been 
 in favour of them, although they had been loath to 
 believe him dishonest. 
 
 It made Guthrie sick at heart. A great fight, pushed 
 by secret but powerful agencies, was to be made on 
 Carton, and in its train would come consequences, 
 innumerable and ruinous. It would create a split in 
 the party it was bound to do so, and Guthrie's mind 
 revolted at the thought. He was a Democrat by long 
 inheritance, association, training and belief, and never 
 could be otherwise. The State was regularly Demo- 
 cratic, too, but lately the majority had been narrowing 
 and ten thousand votes shifted the other way would 
 give the victory to the Republicans. 
 
 It grieved Guthrie to think of such a change, but a 
 long fight over Carton with its resulting bitterness was 
 almost sure to cause it. 
 
 He met Wharton, the correspondent of the chief 
 Republican daily of the State and in this State a legis- 
 lative correspondent is supposed to be not only a nar- 
 rator of news, but in an indirect way an agent of his 
 party, too. Wharton was exultant, and he clapped his 
 hand cheerfully upon Guthrie's shoulder. 
 
 "Billy, old man," he exclaimed, "you Democrats 
 are up against it this term. If you come out of this 
 fight on Carton with all your feathers left, then I'm 
 mightily mistaken!" 
 
 "I'm afraid you're right, Wharton," replied Guthrie 
 frankly. "What are you going to write about it?"
 
 56 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Five thousand words at least. Why, this is a sen- 
 sation sure enough a corker!" 
 
 "I mean what, not how much." 
 
 "Oh, well! As for that I'm a Republican, you 
 know, Billy, but I don't have to do any colouring or 
 altering of the perspective here. I merely state the 
 charges and the facts and the people draw their own 
 conclusions. I like Carton and I'm confoundedly sorry 
 for him, but news is news and politics is politics." 
 
 "I don't believe that Carton has any interest either 
 directly or indirectly in defeating that bill," said Guthrie 
 defiantly. 
 
 " Neither do I," said Wharton, " but it will be deucedly 
 hard to prove it to the satisfaction of the great American 
 public, which is ready to believe in the wickedness of 
 any man in office." 
 
 Guthrie lived in the same hotel in a quiet room on 
 the third floor, and feeling that he had learned enough 
 for his purpose, he retired to it and wrote carefully for 
 three hours. On this occasion he had no hesitation in 
 "colouring" his own despatches, that is, to indicate 
 throughout them his belief in Carton's innocence, in 
 such a way as to incline the reader to the same point of 
 view. He felt that he had a right to do this because he 
 did not think corruption in Carton possible. 
 
 But he sighed when he read over the despatch. It did 
 not look so well for Carton, after all. He filed it at the 
 telegraph office, marking at the end : " More to come," 
 which meant that he would add something, later in the 
 night. Then he put on his evening clothes and went 
 forth again. His destination was the governor's house, 
 a low, roomy old building erected early in the history 
 of the State for the use of its governors and full of com-
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 57 
 
 fort and comfortable associations. Here the young 
 governor and his wife, yet younger, had gathered around 
 them a brilliant little group for the winter. The session 
 of the Legislature is always the special season in the 
 capital, and this year, owing to the youth of the gov- 
 ernor and his wife, it had a finer social bloom than any 
 other in many years. The house was full of guests and 
 Clarice Ransome and Mary Pelham were among them. 
 
 Guthrie paused before the governor's house with his 
 hand upon the gate. He was always welcome there, 
 and he knew it. And he liked the old house, too, for 
 its own sake. It seemed to him with its dark woods, 
 its wide halls and its lack of ostentation, to be so full 
 of democratic dignity and simplicity. There was no 
 attendant on guard, no livery, but any one who chose 
 might ring the bell at the governor's door and he would 
 be answered according to his mission. 
 
 Lights were shining from all the windows and fell in 
 bars of silver across the grass which the touch of winter 
 had turned brown on the lawn. Guthrie thought he 
 heard the faint sound of voices within. He opened the 
 gate, entered the grounds and rang at the door. 
 
 Paul Hastings, the governor, met him in the hall, 
 after he had been shown in by the servant. 
 
 " Billy," he said, as he shook hands, I'm glad to see 
 you, but I was thinking it might be somebody else." 
 
 "Carton?" said Guthrie, intuitively. 
 
 "Yes, Carton. This is an awfully unpleasant thing, 
 and I've been trying to guess whether he'd shut him- 
 self up for a few days or boldly face the public at once." 
 
 Guthrie glanced at the governor's face, but he read 
 nothing there. If Carton were a guest in that house, 
 then people might attack the governor, too, as the
 
 58' GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Speaker's friend, and the governor himself, in the 
 course of time, would want more from the public. 
 Could Paul Hastings be moved by any such selfish or 
 timid impulse and hope that Carton would stay away? 
 Guthrie could not tell and he replied: 
 
 "I think Carton will face the public boldly even 
 defiantly. You know his nature, governor." 
 
 "That's so," said Mr. Hastings, "but come in; the 
 ladies are here." 
 
 He led the way to the drawing-room, whence floated 
 the sound of voices. It was an old-fashioned apart- 
 ment, very large, all hi dark oak and at one end in a 
 vast fireplace burned a great heap of hickory logs. It 
 was this rather than the gas-lights in the chandelier that 
 illuminated the room, the sparkling flames casting a 
 crimson glow over the floor and the walls. 
 
 It was all wonderfully cheerful and within Guthrie 
 saw Mrs. Hastings, Mrs. Dennison, Miss Ransome, 
 Miss Pelham, Senator Cobb, Jimmy Warfield and half 
 a dozen others. They made him welcome both for his 
 own sake, and because he was known socially as one of 
 the governor's group. 
 
 Lucy Hastings came forward to meet him. She was 
 a woman of gentle manner, who rarely said an unpleas- 
 ant thing, never mistaking cutting words for wit; con- 
 sequently she made few enemies for herself and none 
 for her husband, which was important, although she 
 did not think of it. 
 
 Then Guthrie saw that she welcomed him with 
 genuine pleasure and it made him feel at home, all the 
 more so because Clarice Ransome glanced at him rather 
 co ldly he had not followed from the Capitol when she 
 half invited him to come. Yet he wished to make
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 59 
 
 apologies and presently, when he was with Miss Ran- 
 some, he said incidentally: 
 
 "It has been a busy day for me, but not of the kind I 
 like. We correspondents always want news, but I take 
 no pleasure in that which I have had to write to-day!" 
 
 "You like Mr. Carton?" 
 
 "As I would a brother." 
 
 "Senator Cobb, who seems to me an honest man 
 says that he has done wrong," and she nodded toward 
 the other corner of the room where Senator Cobb was 
 sitting. 
 
 "Senator Cobb not only seems to be an honest man, 
 but he is one," replied Guthrie. "Nevertheless, I am 
 convinced that he is often mistaken. Still, I suppose 
 you don't want to talk of politics." 
 
 "On the contrary, I do," she said with animation. 
 "Will the men never learn that women are interested 
 in the things that seem to be within the peculiar prov- 
 ince of men? Perhaps that is why we are it is the 
 mystery that attracts us." 
 
 Beholding her interest and convinced that it was real, 
 not assumed, Guthrie undertook to explain the situation, 
 telling how his party in a way, must support its Speaker, 
 yet he was afraid the feeling in regard to corporations 
 would prove too strong; there had been for a long time 
 in the State a growing sentiment against them, some of 
 it just, some of it unjust, but whether just or unjust, it 
 was very powerful and must be recognised. And then 
 he told her of all the wheels within wheels; it was a 
 State of very strong feelings, and consequently strong 
 local jealousies existed; the mountains were nearly 
 always arrayed against the lowlands; if the lowlands 
 were for a measure, the mountains considered it their
 
 60 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 duty to be against it. In fact, there were in habit, asso- 
 ciation and point of view two different races within the 
 State. 
 
 "And I am by inheritance?" she said, 
 "A lowlander, of course." 
 
 "But I do not dislike that Mr. Pike, the mountaineer; 
 I saw much in him that was attractive." 
 
 "And much also that was different from us. Nor 
 does it follow because we are lowlanders, that the low- 
 landers are always right and the mountaineers always 
 wrong. The nearest approach to our mountaineers, 
 I think, were the Scotch Highlanders of two hundred 
 years ago, only ours, I am confident, are a better peo- 
 ple." 
 
 Then he told of journeys into the mountains with the 
 militia to put down the feuds, of nights on the peaks, 
 lone trails along the cliffs, and hidden marksmen, and 
 he interested her like a new Othello. She had piqued 
 him from the first by her indifference to her native land, 
 her educated thought that all that was old must be 
 picturesque and all that was new must be raw and 
 dull; and now when he saw that he could arouse and 
 interest her in her own, he felt intense satisfaction. 
 "You tell of life in much variety," she said at last. 
 "Yes," he replied, and he intended his words speci- 
 ally for her, "it has always seemed to me that life is 
 so much more interesting here than it is in Europe, 
 for instance, except for a very few. There a man is 
 numbered and ticketed the day he is born, and assigned 
 to his place on a shelf in a row of shelves, be the shelf 
 high or low; while here every man is free to pursue 
 his chosen career to the end, without let or hindrance, 
 and that is what makes life worth living."
 
 AFTER THE FIRST GUN 61 
 
 Guthrie paused. His face was flushed and his eyes 
 shining. Clarice noticed the light in his eyes and the 
 eagerness of his tone, and despite herself she thrilled 
 with sympathy. But she would not show it. 
 
 "And you, of course, have an ambition, Mr. Guth- 
 rie," she said. "Are you loath to tell it?" 
 
 Guthrie laughed a little. 
 
 "Mine doesn't count for much," he replied lightly. 
 "The only thing that I have ahead for which I am 
 working is our Washington bureau. Our man there 
 is getting old he's had it thirty years and as he has 
 saved plenty of money, he may retire soon. If he does, 
 I want to get it. Washington, it seems to me, is the 
 grandest arena in the world for the work of a news- 
 paper man." 
 
 "I hope you will get the post, Mr. Guthrie," she 
 said with real sympathy, and Guthrie looked his thanks. 
 
 But Mrs. Hastings told him something a little later 
 that made him regret part of what he had said to Miss 
 Ransome. 
 
 "They say she is to be married to a continental 
 nobleman, a man whom she met in Brussels, I think, 
 Count Raoul d'Estournelle," said Mrs. Hastings. It 
 was her mother that arranged it, I hear. You know 
 Mr. Ransome has made a great deal of money, and 
 Mrs. Ransome is very anxious for them to live abroad 
 and for Clarice to make what she calls a grand mar- 
 riage." 
 
 "And for the prospective Countess d'Estournelle 
 to be thoroughly miserable!" said Guthrie with some 
 heat. 
 
 Mrs. Hastings looked keenly at him but said nothing. 
 For continental noblemen he had a hatred and con-
 
 62 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 tempt partly inherent and partly cultivated. Perhaps 
 he had been unfortunate in the specimens he had seen, 
 but whenever he saw one, he thought involuntarily of 
 the bitter description of them given by his friend, Sen- 
 ator Cobb. "Half man, half monkey." And with 
 their little pointed beards, their curled hair, their per- 
 fume and above all, the suspicion of that awful thing, 
 hair-oil, they aroused all his enmity. 
 
 " I take it that such men merely come here as fortune- 
 hunters," he said. 
 
 "Let us hope not, in this case, at least," said Mrs. 
 Hastings. "Ah! there is some one else." 
 
 They heard the bell ring, and a moment later the 
 tall form of Mr. Carton stood in the doorway of the 
 drawing-room.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 
 
 THE Speaker had come. He had chosen to face 
 the public. Guthrie had not dreamed of his doing 
 otherwise. Here among his friends, or those whom 
 he wished to be his friends, he showed no sign of diffi- 
 dence or discouragement. In such a society as this 
 he was at his best, his manner all ease and lightness 
 and gayety. Clarice Ransome, looking at him, could 
 not believe such was the influence of her European 
 education that he was of obscure birth, a poor coun- 
 try boy who had raised himself so high, and who had 
 the bearing that a nobleman is supposed to have. 
 And she wondered, too, if he were innocent of the 
 charge brought against him. Mr. Guthrie believed 
 in him, but an easy manner did not always hide an 
 innocent heart. 
 
 Clarice noticed a slight constraint on the part of 
 Senator Cobb, Mary Pelham, and one or two others. 
 They did not seem to approve wholly of the Speaker 
 and his light manner at such a moment, and she began 
 to watch them covertly but none the less keenly. 
 
 Clarice Ransome was surprised and perhaps a little 
 disappointed to find that she was beginning to take a 
 great interest in these men, their ambitions and 
 their fortunes ambitions and fortunes, too, in which 
 the women were interwoven. It gave her at first a 
 
 63
 
 64 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 sense of aloofness, as if she had no part in this fresh 
 active life so full of youthful zeal and energy, and the 
 thought was not pleasant to her. Here all the men 
 were masculine and all the women feminine, and she was 
 in the midst of affairs. The talk for this night, at 
 least, was not of trivialities, but of things intimately 
 concerning the life of the State. 
 
 She was in this frame of mind when the drift of 
 the guests from point to point brought to her side old 
 Senator Cobb, a man for whom she felt a spontaneous 
 liking because of his noble, old-fashioned courtesy and 
 deference to women a manner which she knew to be 
 the result of feeling and not of purpose. 
 
 "You have been talking to Mr. Guthrie," said the 
 senator, "a fine young man, though swayed too 
 much perhaps by city and aristocratic influences. He 
 
 and I don't agree often, but I can't keep from liking 
 
 i 
 
 him. 
 
 She wondered why he had spoken to her of Guthrie, 
 and then concluded that it was a mere chance. But 
 she did not care to show great interest in Guthrie and 
 she responded a trifle coldly: 
 
 "He seems to be a favourite here and I have won- 
 dered why; in Europe I was educated abroad you 
 know representatives of the press are not such famil- 
 iar figures in official life." 
 
 The eyes of the old senator sparkled. She had 
 touched him all unconsciously upon one of his sensitive 
 points. 
 
 "This is a democracy, Miss Ransome," he said, "and 
 we should resist any attempt to create an exclusive 
 class of any kind. Public officials, no matter how 
 high, are no better than anybody else. The President
 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 65 
 
 of the United States is merely one of many millions of 
 our citizens." 
 
 Meanwhile the governor had drawn Guthrie to a 
 small apartment opening from the drawing-room 
 where Jimmy Warfield and two or three others were 
 looking at a newspaper spread upon a table. It was 
 an afternoon extra from the second city of the State 
 not more than forty miles away, and the entire first 
 page was occupied with a florid account of the sensa- 
 tional scene in the House. 
 
 Guthrie looked at the array of headlines and the 
 leaded columns, and the whole was distinctly unfav- 
 ourable to Carton. 
 
 "And see," said Jimmy Warfield in despair, "here's 
 Carton's denial at the end just a few lines, stiff, de- 
 fiant, no explanation at all. I wish the man weren't 
 so high and haughty! One ought not to be a dema- 
 gogue, but neither ought one to make enemies gratu- 
 itously!" 
 
 The governor frowned. Guthrie saw clearly that 
 he did not approve of Carton's course and that he fore- 
 saw the gravest consequences. 
 
 "He ought to have gone into details," said the 
 governor, shaking his head. "This shows how it is 
 possible for an innocent man to appear guilty." 
 
 "But not to himself," said Carton over their shoul- 
 ders. "A man conscious of his own innocence does 
 not need to plead before others." 
 
 He had entered, unintentionally, without being 
 heard. Guthrie quietly closed the door. 
 
 Carton's face was flushed and his eyes sparkled with 
 anger. He glanced once at the glaring headlines and 
 then gazed squarely at the governor.
 
 66 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Hastings," he said, "it was wrong in me to have 
 come here, and I am sorry that I did it. I do not wish 
 to imperil the political future of anybody by any social 
 intimacy of mine." 
 
 The governor's face flushed in turn and into his 
 eyes, too, came an angry light. 
 
 "Carton," he said, "in five minutes you will be 
 ready to apologise to me for that!" 
 
 "You'll do it in one minute, Phil, if you've got any 
 sense of decency left!" said Jimmy Warfield, drumming 
 on the table with his fingers. 
 
 The red passed out of Carton's face and his eyes fell. 
 Then he held out his hand to the governor who took 
 it in a firm clasp. 
 
 "Paul," he said, "I wronged you. I spoke from a 
 hasty temper and I beg your pardon." 
 
 "That's the first sensible thing you've done to-day, 
 Phil," said Jimmy Warfield. 
 
 And while not going so far as Jimmy Warfield, 
 Guthrie felt nevertheless that he was on the trail of the 
 truth. 
 
 "Carton," said Mr. Hastings with dignity, and 
 yet not without warmth and sympathy for the 
 man who had apologised to him, "this house is 
 always open to you at any time, and not only is it 
 open to you, but I shall be glad to see you 
 enter it." 
 
 "I know it, Paul, I know it," said Carton. 
 
 Guthrie quietly opened the door again and the hum 
 of voices came once more from the drawing-room. 
 An unpleasant incident had passed off better than he 
 had hoped. 
 
 "I'm going back to the ladies," he said, "and I think
 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 67 
 
 that the rest of you had better come, too, or I won't 
 know how to apologise for you." 
 
 The governor thrust the newspaper into his pocket 
 and followed Guthrie, who joined Mary Pelham for 
 the first time that evening. That the Speaker was 
 attentive to Mary Pelham was a secret to few in the 
 capital, and the ill-natured, while not denying her 
 beauty and charm, said that part of her attraction for 
 him lay in the great family connection and political 
 power that she could bring to him. 
 
 Guthrie found her animated by an artificial gayety, 
 an almost feverish glitter shining in her eyes, and her 
 conversation having the slightest touch of volubility. 
 He could not doubt that she had been deeply stirred 
 by the attacks on Carton. He knew, too, her critical 
 nature; in the course of things she must have heard 
 the insinuations against Carton's devotion to her, and 
 she could not help being affected to some extent by 
 them; that feeling would lend colour in her mind to 
 the present charges against his integrity. Guthrie, 
 although he did not speak directly of Carton, found 
 that his surmise was true; she would glance now and 
 then in a questioning or disparaging way at the Speaker. 
 Guthrie wished to speak in behalf of his friend, to say 
 something in his praise, but he did not dare; it would 
 be too obvious she would take fire both at the de- 
 fence of Carton and the impeachment of her own 
 faith in him. He could see that her pride on her own 
 account and his was deeply touched, and Guthrie began 
 to feel as much sorrow for her as he did for Carton. 
 
 It was one of Mrs. Hastings' Wednesday Evenings 
 and there was a stream of callers she was the gover- 
 nor's wife, and she was highly popular too for her own
 
 68 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 sake and the rooms began to be crowded. Many 
 of those who came -were official enemies alike of the 
 governor and the Speaker and among such were the 
 Republicans. But the Republicans socially were no 
 trouble because their political hostility was taken for 
 granted, and it rather lent a zest to private friendship. 
 It was the enemies within the party, among the Demo- 
 crats themselves who could bring social constraint. 
 But it was the custom of a century, now a rigid law, 
 for the governor and his wife to invite all members of 
 the Senate and the House to their receptions, and they 
 were coming. 
 
 Senator Dennison and his wife were present, and 
 the senator was making himself agreeable to these 
 legislators who in another year or two would vote on 
 his reelection. There were also two or three mem- 
 bers of the Lower House of Congress, and among them 
 Henry Clay Warner, the member from Guthrie's own 
 district, the Fifth, who had not turned out as well as 
 the voters had hoped. 
 
 Everybody noted the presence of the Speaker and 
 his high manner. Carton seemed to have forgotten 
 the incident in the smaller room where he allowed his 
 pride to carry him too far, at first, and once more he 
 was haughty and defiant. Guthrie exchanged a glance 
 with Jimmy Warfield; Jimmy was frowning, and his 
 look said clearly that Carton was inviting more enmity. 
 Warfield himself was so unsuspicious, so genial in man- 
 ner and such a believer in human nature that he liked 
 most men and most men naturally liked him; hence 
 he could not understand Carton's course and he did 
 not allow for the difference in temperament. 
 
 There was a slight stir near the door, a suppressed
 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 69 
 
 exclamation of surprise from Warfield, and Guthrie 
 turning about saw entering the Honourable Mr. 
 Pursley in evening dress, a great diamond stud glitter- 
 ing on the white expanse of his shirt-bosom. Guthrie 
 was with Miss Ransome at that moment and she ex- 
 pressed astonishment. 
 
 "I did ,not think he would come here to-night," 
 she said. 
 
 "He has the right," replied Guthrie. "The un- 
 written law gives it to him and the Honourable Alfred 
 Lyttleton Pursley is the man to come." 
 
 Mr. Pursley was not abashed. No scruples dis- 
 turbed his delicate soul. He advanced boldly to the 
 centre of the room, dispensing greetings to right and 
 left in suave, expansive manner. He bowed to Guthrie 
 and also extended a polite hand. 
 
 "Ah, the press is always present," he said ingra- 
 tiatingly. 
 
 "But off duty now, don't be afraid, Mr. Pursley," 
 replied Guthrie. 
 
 Mr. Pursley laughed, and lingered, looking admir- 
 ingly at Miss Ransome, and Guthrie was forced to 
 introduce him. Mr. Pursley strove to be impressive. 
 He had heard that Miss Ransome had just returned 
 to her own country after many years spent abroad, 
 and he desired to show her one of the finest flowers of 
 free institutions. He spoke with much emphasis, 
 adding to his expressiveness with an occasional ges- 
 ture, and at last became oratorical. But in a few 
 minutes he passed on. Mr. Pursley was too much of 
 a diplomatist to allow one person, even a beautiful 
 girl, to monopolise his time, when there were present 
 many others worthy of his attention.
 
 70 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Is he one of our typical public men?" asked 
 Clarice with sly irony, after Mr. Pursley had gone. 
 
 "No, thank God!" replied Guthrie with devout 
 emphasis. "That is one of our exceptions. But 
 look! He and Carton are about to meet!" 
 
 Clarice gazed with increased interest. Mr. Purs- 
 ley in his triumphal progress had been moving uncon- 
 sciously toward Carton who was standing at the far 
 side of the room. The people opened for him a lane 
 that led toward the Speaker, and he did not notice 
 where it was carrying him. He spoke suavely to 
 Senator Cobb and then looking up found himself face 
 to face with the Speaker. Mr. Pursley started and 
 despite his assurance his red face turned redder. 
 The Speaker gave him a surprised and angry 
 glance. Clarice watching them was trembling with 
 
 interest. 
 
 "What will he do?" she asked. 
 "Who? The Speaker? I don't know myself," 
 replied Guthrie. 
 
 But Mr. Carton, after his momentary surprise, 
 showed his quality. He was there, a guest, and it 
 behooved the courteous man of the world not to make 
 even the faintest semblance of a scene in the house 
 of his host. He felt, too, that the eyes of fifty people 
 were upon him and that they would tell the whole 
 State how he bore himself. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Pursley," he said with easy 
 grace. "All of us like to come here and get fresh 
 inspiration for the next day's labours, don't we?" 
 
 "Right you are," replied Mr. Pursley. Beauty 
 always appeals to me, Mr. Carton. You wouldn't 
 think it of a man like myself, all for business and may
 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 71 
 
 be, as the world sees me, a little hard, but it's a fact 
 on my honour." 
 
 Mr. Pursley made an inclusive bow to everybody, 
 especially to the ladies under his general head of 
 "Beauty." A smile passed over fifty faces and Mr. 
 Pursley sought less embarrassing company. 
 
 Guthrie uttered a low "Ah!" of relief. 
 
 "Why do you say that?" asked Miss Ransome. 
 
 "Because Philip Carton has done better than I 
 hoped he would," replied Guthrie. "He has been 
 able to swallow a little of his awful pride and to show 
 some tact." 
 
 Guthrie saw that the Speaker had raised himself in 
 the opinion of every one present, and a few minutes 
 later Lucy Hastings confided to him her relief. 
 
 "I was afraid that he would turn his back on Mr. 
 Pursley," she said frankly, "and then I should not 
 have known what to do. But I feel so sorry for Mr. 
 Carton!" 
 
 "So do I," said Guthrie frankly. "He will have a 
 hard row to hoe." 
 
 The crucial tests of the evening were now over, and 
 it passed on pleasantly. Mr. Pursley still coruscated, 
 and he was endured because he was a part of the Gov- 
 ernment of the State, and had a right there by ancient 
 custom. Carton became more flexible, although he 
 did not unbend fully, and Guthrie saw him and Mary 
 Pelham together for a little while; but their manner 
 indicated nothing. He looked at his watch by and 
 by, and decided that it was time to go to the telegraph 
 office and send the brief additional despatch to the 
 Times which he had indicated was to come. Jimmy 
 Warfield heard the light snap of the closing watch, and 
 turning asked:
 
 72 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Are you going, Billy?" 
 
 "Yes, I must," replied Guthrie; "I have a little work 
 to do." 
 
 "Then wait a moment; Carton and I are leaving, 
 too, and we can walk along together." 
 
 The three saying their good nights passed into the 
 street, Carton in the centre and Guthrie and Warfield 
 on either side. Guthrie noticed how Carton took the 
 centre as his right. 
 
 The three were silent as they walked toward the 
 hotel both Carton and Warfield had rooms there, too. 
 The capital was not brilliantly lighted, and the darkness 
 lay over it like a blanket, with stars twinkling through 
 holes, and the circle of hills looming vaguely. 
 
 "Well, boys," said Carton at last, "I did not expect 
 to meet Pursley there, but, when I did meet him, I felt 
 as I used to do sometimes when I was a boy and angry 
 at another boy: I wanted to strike him in the face!" 
 
 "'But when I became a man, I put away childish 
 things/" said Jimmy Warfield. 
 
 Carton said nothing, and they reached the flight of 
 stone steps leading up to the lobby of the hotel. A 
 man was standing there, wrapped in a long black 
 overcoat, the silk hat on his head tipped slightly to 
 one side. When the stranger heard the footsteps be- 
 side him, he turned and disclosed the face of Pursley. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Speaker," said the member cheerily, 
 "the spirit moved our feet about the same time and in 
 the same direction, didn't it?" 
 
 By the electric light flaring from the hotel, Guthrie 
 saw Carton's face flame into red. He could put the 
 rein upon his temper in the house of the Governor 
 where they were both friends, but here he let it go.
 
 IN THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE 73 
 
 "Pursley, you infernal scoundrel, don't you ever 
 speak to me again!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Pursley's cheeks turned purple, but his con- 
 trol over himself was better than Carton's. 
 
 "Mr. Carton," he replied, "what I said about you, I 
 said on the floor of the House, of which I am a member, 
 and where I have the privilege. I don't let my politi- 
 cal quarrels become personal, and I give you this piece 
 of advice without charge: don't you do it, either!" 
 
 So speaking, Mr. Pursley marched into the hotel. 
 
 "You let him score on you there, Phil," said Jimmy 
 Warfield in the light and careless tone with which he 
 knew how to speed a rebuke. 
 
 "What do you take me for?" exclaimed Carton 
 angrily. "Am I to smile and shake hands, as if I 
 liked him, with a man who has called me a thief and 
 a blackmailer?" 
 
 "'When I became a man I put away childish 
 things,'" again quoted Jimmy Warfield softly. 
 
 Carton, leaving his friends, stalked angrily into the 
 hotel, passed without a word through the lobby where 
 many men yet lingered, and went to his room. 
 
 "He'll be hard to manage, Billy," said Jimmy War- 
 field, as he looked after the Speaker's form disappear- 
 ing up the stairway. 
 
 "Very," said Guthrie emphatically. "I wonder if 
 we couldn't get old Senator Dennison to take hold of 
 him." 
 
 "We might later on, but not yet. Better let him 
 alone for the present. He's too sensitive just now, 
 and would resent anything." 
 
 Guthrie, bidding Warfield good night, sent his brief 
 despatch, and went to bed.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 
 
 THE next day's session of both House and Senate 
 was languid so far as concerned their own business, 
 but there was keen interest in both bodies to see the 
 newspaper accounts of Carton's affairs. Both sena- 
 tors and representatives knew that first impressions 
 were likely to have a deep effect upon the public, and 
 the State was bound to get all its news from the press: 
 there was no other source of either information or mis- 
 information. 
 
 This little city is peculiar in the fact that it is more 
 isolated than any other important place in the State. 
 Nestling in its hollow in the hills, it has but a single line 
 of railroad, and the members do not know how the 
 people take any act of theirs until the trains come 
 east and west, bringing the newspapers from the larger 
 cities of the State. 
 
 Guthrie saw the Speaker open his Times and read his 
 account with close attention. When Carton finished 
 it, he leaned over in his chair Guthrie sat scarcely 
 a' yard away and whispered: "Billy, I thank you;" 
 but, when he read some of the other papers, he frowned 
 and once he bit his lip savagely. Guthrie later exam- 
 ined them at his leisure, and it was his opinion that the 
 first impression upon the State would be unfavourable, 
 despite the powerful influence of the Times. But he 
 
 74
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 75 
 
 said nothing, and left Carton for the present, having 
 an engagement to which he was looking forward with 
 pleasure. 
 
 The Legislature adjourned for the day at 2 p. M., and 
 he had asked Clarice Ransome to go driving with him 
 on the beautiful river road that leads out of the town 
 and into the great lowland valley. She had accepted, 
 and half an hour later Guthrie was at the Governor's 
 door with the carriage. 
 
 "Don't forget to show her all the glory of the place," 
 said Lucy Hastings as they drove away; and Guthrie, 
 giving his promise, increased the speed of his horses 
 until they swung with their long, level trot into the 
 river road. 
 
 Winter had not come in full tide, yet the day was 
 cold and crisp with a wonderful sunny light over the 
 river and the brown hills. Guthrie felt a great exhila- 
 ration as he drew the fur robes more closely about 
 them. It was partly the crisp and tonic freshness of 
 the day and partly the presence, by his side, of Clarice 
 with whom he began to feel for the first time the sense 
 of comradeship. But its effect was to make him silent 
 rather than talkative, and he spoke so seldom that 
 Clarice glanced at him in surprise. He was looking 
 straight ahead, apparently at the hills and the river, 
 but, when she studied his face, the colour in her own 
 cheeks deepened a little; suddenly, she was embar- 
 rassed, but as suddenly the embarrassment passed 
 away. 
 
 "How is your Mr. Carton coming on?" she asked 
 at length. 
 
 "Not too well, I fear," he replied. "So far as I 
 can judge from the newspapers that have come in,
 
 76 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 the impression that he has made upon the State in this 
 crisis of his life is distinctly unfavourable. 1 shall do 
 all I can for him in the Times, and the Times is pow- 
 erful; but there are so many against us." 
 
 Then he relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and she 
 was studying him. She noticed the firm set of his head, 
 the curve of a long and masterful jaw, and her respect 
 for him increased. 
 
 "It seems to me, Mr. Guthrie," she said, "that men 
 in your profession are makers of reputations or the 
 destroyers of them!" 
 
 "That is so," replied Guthrie with a slight smile. 
 "We are the heralds, the trumpeters of fame, whether 
 it is good or evil." 
 
 "But you are trying to save Mr. Carton," she said, 
 quietly pursuing her purpose, "and, by and by, you will 
 be seeking to make or save the reputation of somebody 
 else. Now, what do you intend to do for yourself?" 
 
 Guthrie looked at her in slow surprise. He was so 
 much immersed in his present work that he had not 
 thought much about his future beyond the Washington 
 bureau. So he told her again of his design to go to the 
 national capital for the Times. 
 
 "But after that?" she persisted. 
 
 "Well I don't know," replied Guthrie slowly. "To 
 tell you the truth I haven't looked so far, but I suppose 
 I expect to be a great editor some day." 
 
 "But aren't the great editors nowadays the pro- 
 prietors ? And, as I understand it, it takes a million- 
 aire to be the proprietor of a successful newspaper. 
 And are you a money-maker?" 
 
 She smiled at him, as if she asked the questions 
 lightly or carelessly.
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 77 
 
 "No," replied Guthrie with conviction, "I am not 
 a money-maker. I'm a writer. I've thought in a 
 vague sort of way that I'd like to be rich, but I suppose 
 I never shall be. I can pursue money for a while, 
 but, just when I'm about to catch up, something else 
 that I'm more interested in draws me off." 
 
 She smiled again, and once more regarded his face 
 with attention as he gazed absently at the brown slope 
 of the hills. 
 
 "I don't think I should like to be an anonymous 
 writer all my life," she said. "No matter how bril- 
 liantly you may write a thing, only a few people in your 
 office will know who has done it, and yet prestige, credit 
 for good work, is part of one's capital in life. When 
 one's work is of a semipublic nature, one is entitled 
 to credit, not only from one's employer, but from the 
 public also." 
 
 "Still," said Guthrie, "in a country like this, journal- 
 ism must be anonymous; it cannot be carried on in 
 any other fashion." 
 
 She did not reply. It did not seem to her that he 
 had quite understood her, and she did not feel that she 
 was entitled to go further with one whom she had not 
 known long. She was quite sure that she liked him, 
 and she was beginning to admire him, partly for his 
 devotion to the cause of others; but she could not see 
 to just what point his career would lead him. 
 
 She was aware, too, that her interest in him, to a 
 great extent at least, was due to the difference between 
 him and the young men whom she had known abroad 
 Europeans and some Americans living in Europe. 
 She found in Guthrie a zeal, an enthusiasm, a love of 
 his work, a desire to make a career, and a disregard
 
 78 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 for the little things of life, that she found stimulating 
 by contact. She did not care to disregard the little 
 things herself, but she was beginning to be aware that 
 they were merely little things after all. She had been 
 accustomed to men who considered it bad form to be 
 interested in one's work, if one had any, and to feel or 
 to affect to feel indifference or cynicism toward all 
 things. She had once thought this distinguished and 
 impressive now she feared that it was only a pose or a 
 mere weakness; an air of boredom which was once 
 the hall-mark of superiority was becoming the badge 
 of ill manners. She could not endorse all that Guthrie 
 said; but she liked his sincerity, and he seemed to her 
 more masculine than those others. 
 
 His thoughts, unlike hers, were not travelling beyond 
 the one by his side. The paramount wish with him 
 was to make a convert that is, to bring her over to his 
 ways of thinking. She had piqued him by her indif- 
 ference, and sometimes by her critical coldness toward 
 her own people and their affairs. This increased his 
 desire to convert her and to interest her in her own. 
 His zeal hitherto had been wholly professional, the 
 case appealing to him somewhat in the manner of a 
 difficult assignment, the non-performance of which 
 would injure his prestige. But now, sitting by his 
 side with no one else near, she made to him an appeal 
 of a wholly different kind, and the appeal was of the 
 essence feminine. She was not a woman to be con- 
 verted, but just an attractive girl, and unconsciously 
 he liked her much the better because of it. He sud- 
 denly realised that she was very beautiful it had not 
 occurred to him to see it before, and, for the while, he 
 felt embarrassment.
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 79 
 
 A handsome old man with beautiful silver-gray hair 
 met them. He was on foot, but he walked briskly and 
 with vigour. A fine smile lighted up his face as he saw 
 Guthrie, and he bowed. 
 
 "That was the Bishop was it not?" asked Clarice 
 when the old man was out of hearing. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He seemed to know you well." 
 
 "He does," replied Guthrie. "He has known me 
 all my life." 
 
 He was tempted to tell her of Templeton's case and 
 his part in it, in order to see if she would support him; 
 but he refrained, and he was glad of it when they met 
 Templeton himself five minutes later. 
 
 Templeton was alone in a light cart behind a thor- 
 oughbred trotter, whose swift hoofs made sparks fly 
 from the road. The man himself was wrapped in a 
 great fur coat, and he handled the lines with a prac- 
 tised hand, making a brave appearance as he dashed 
 past. He bowed curtly to Guthrie, the bow having in 
 it a note of derision. " He thinks I wanted to publish 
 that story about him and couldn't," was Guthrie's 
 inference. 
 
 "That was Mr. Templeton of the treasurer's office," 
 he said in reply to Clarice's inquiring look. 
 
 "He drives well," she said. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose he is of the type that girls call 
 'dashing!'" 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. There was a slight 
 touch of bitterness in his tone, but, as he offered no 
 explanation, she could not ask for one. 
 
 The road, still as smooth as a floor, ran close beside 
 the river, and presently the hills dipped down, leaving
 
 80 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 low banks, where the water eddied into a cove. Here 
 lay a large raft in the centre of which had been built a 
 little log-house with a stove-pipe thrust through the 
 roof. Two men sat on the raft at the door of the house, 
 smoking their pipes. They were long, thin, angular, 
 bony, and yellow, and they looked at the passing car- 
 riage with dull, expressionless .eyes. 
 
 "Mountaineers," said Guthrie. "They are pretty 
 late with their raft, as the river is likely to be covered 
 with ice any tune, soon. Queer people, those. I've 
 been among them a lot, but I can't understand them. 
 As I told you, they are a different race from us of the 
 lowlands. They see everything at another angle. Ah, 
 they've got a visitor!" 
 
 As the road began to ascend again, the carriage was 
 proceeding slowly, and Guthrie saw a tall man cross 
 the way and step upon the raft, which was tied to the 
 bank. 
 
 "That looks much like the Reverend Zedekiah 
 Pike," said Miss Ransome. 
 
 "So much like him that it is he," said Guthrie. 
 "Those must be constituents of his; they float 
 their timber down here from many parts of the 
 mountains." 
 
 He was idly watching Mr. Pike, not from any par- 
 ticular curiosity, but because the member naturally 
 attracted attention, especially in a landscape which 
 now contained so few human figures. This vague 
 interest was suddenly increased to keen excitement 
 when he saw one of the men on the raft spring to his 
 feet at sight of Mr. Pike and draw a revolver. As he 
 raised it aloft, the polished barrel shone in the wintry 
 sunlight with a blue glitter, but Mr. Pike held up his
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 81 
 
 hand as if in peace, the third man interfered, and the 
 pistol was lowered. 
 
 Clarice was quivering with excitement and appre- 
 hension. She had never before seen a weapon drawn 
 in anger. 
 
 "What does it mean?" she asked of Guthrie. 
 
 "I do not know," he replied seriously, "except that 
 we were on the edge of a tragedy. I saw that moun- 
 taineer's finger on the trigger." 
 
 "And what do you infer?" she asked, not able to 
 hide her curiosity. 
 
 "That those men, instead of being Mr. Pike's con- 
 stituents, are the exact opposite." 
 
 She understood Guthrie's hint. She had heard of 
 the mountain feuds, but they always seemed far 
 away and vague; she could not realise them; even 
 here the mountains were yet distant, and this was 
 the capital of the State, full of peaceful men and 
 women. 
 
 She looked back as they passed over the hill, and 
 saw Mr. Pike standing very erect on the raft and talk- 
 ing to one of the men who was also standing. But 
 the other, he who had drawn the revolver, was sitting 
 down again, lazily smoking his pipe. 
 
 "It is no affair of mine, Mr. Guthrie," she said, 
 "but that little scene has aroused all my curiosity." 
 
 "Mine has been burning a little, too," said Guthrie 
 with a laugh. 
 
 But they said no more of Mr. Pike at present, and 
 Clarice by and by came back to Guthrie, who was a 
 subject that interested her more. She knew no par- 
 ticular reason why she should have his possible career 
 on her mind, but he seemed to her to be somewhat dif-
 
 82 GUTHRIE OP THE TIMES 
 
 ferent from the ordinary types, and she wished to know 
 how he had arrived at his present state. 
 
 Guthrie himself was a model interviewer, and much 
 of his skill in the art lay in his lack of intrusiveness, 
 his suppression of all the paraphernalia of his trade, 
 and his simplicity of manner all tending to inspire 
 confidence in his subject and to make him feel that 
 the interviewer was his confidential friend. This had 
 grown to be second nature with him, so much a mat- 
 ter of practice rather than of deliberation that he failed 
 to notice how he was confronted by an art of the same 
 character as his own, but even more delicate. 
 
 Under her deft manipulation, Guthrie told of his 
 early ambition to be a lawyer first, and then a states- 
 man. In the State in which he was born and in which 
 he lived, the law seemed to be the only pathway to pub- 
 lic life. Practically everybody who rose to distinction 
 among the people save in commerce, and for that he 
 had no vocation had begun by defending or prose- 
 cuting petty criminals in magistrates' courts. In the 
 early days of the State, the only men of culture were 
 the lawyers and the clergymen, and, in his part of it, the 
 clergymen were debarred from public life by the nature 
 of their calling. Hence it was left for the lawyers to 
 make the laws and administer them. 
 
 It had never occurred to Guthrie as a boy to choose 
 any other profession than the law, although the dusty 
 court-houses, the sheepskin-bound books, and the 
 sight of the lawyers browbeating witnesses or haggling 
 over technicalities, repelled him to the last degree. 
 Yet it was still the occupation to which all the bright- 
 est and most ambitious boys were expected to turn as 
 a matter of course. In that country, when a boy de-
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 83 
 
 veloped unusual ability, it was customary to say: 
 "Why, he's smart enough to be a lawyer!" The 
 strength of the lawyer with the public lay in his ability 
 to speak, particularly in a State which loves oratory; 
 and by oratory is meant the smooth flow of words, a 
 sort of music appealing directly to the senses rather 
 than any cogent form of logic. Guthrie early dis- 
 trusted these orators, the majority of whom seemed to 
 lean to demagogy and to whatever cause they thought 
 the majority of the voters favoured; but, in those im- 
 mature days, he believed it was his bad luck to come 
 into contact with the poorer specimens of the class: off 
 in the other counties, there were men of higher type. 
 
 So he went to the metropolis of the State and studied 
 the law, always with an eye to a public career when 
 he should have won his triumphs in the court-room 
 before judge and jury. Meanwhile and in order to 
 provide himself with funds he began to do work for 
 the Times in odd hours, aided by the friendship of an 
 influential member of its staff. He did not notice at 
 the time that his study of the law was an effort, but that 
 newspaper work was easy and spontaneous; the law 
 did not interest him a particle, his newspaper work 
 was like a game of base-ball, played for its own sake 
 for the game itself. Clever lawyers were pointed out 
 to him and it was told how this man or that man had 
 gone into court with no case at all, and by sheer ability 
 had won. It revolted his moral sense that any man 
 should use an intellect for the triumph of the wrong 
 over the right. He was not prepared to say that a law- 
 yer should not do his best for the side that retained him, 
 but he began to fear that his own mental make-up 
 forbade his doing it. One day he saw a great lawyer,
 
 84 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 famed for his skill in cross examination, frighten and 
 confuse his opponent's client on the witness stand 
 until the man made contradictory statements and lost 
 his case. Then everybody complimented the great 
 lawyer on his skill, and the newspapers printed a 
 eulogistic account of his triumph, with his picture at 
 the top; but Guthrie and all the lawyers knew that the 
 man who lost his case wa^s right and should have 
 won. He could never think of that incident without 
 a shudder. 
 
 "But not all lawyers are like that; there are excep- 
 tions," said Clarice. 
 
 "Happily there are," said Guthrie, and he thought 
 of old Senator Cobb who told him once that he had 
 never taken a case which he did not believe to be right. 
 And Guthrie knew that Senator Cobb told the truth. 
 Clarice deftly led him back to himself and Guthrie 
 resumed the thread of his story. He had been ad- 
 mitted to the bar, easily passing his examinations, 
 learning enough for that purpose by the sheer power 
 of memory and concentrated application. Then he 
 looked around for an opportunity to practise and 
 stayed a month in an office. But dry and dusty as the 
 theory had seemed, the practice was worse. Nothing 
 in it neither its form nor its spirit interested him; 
 everything seemed to proceed indirectly if you wanted 
 a particular thing, you must ask for it under some 
 other name than its own. 
 
 "Then," said Guthrie with a laugh, containing no 
 trace of bitterness, "I got down one evening and had 
 it out with myself. It came upon me suddenly, but 
 with the full power of conviction, that nature had not 
 intended me to be a lawyer and to try cases. I was on
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 85 
 
 the wrong road and I must get off at once. I was 
 more resigned to this because I saw that in the city the 
 law did not, as in the country, monopolise the best 
 talent of the community. There the intellectual life 
 was more varied; the law had good men, but there 
 were men just as good in medicine, journalism, com- 
 merce, manufactures, and other pursuits. So you see, 
 I was reconciled; every one wants to feel that the way 
 is open for him to become President, whether he ever 
 gets within a thousand miles of it or not. At any rate 
 I went to the Times office." 
 
 Guthrie stopped and laughed. His face lighted up 
 with some humorous recollections of his foray into the 
 law. 
 
 "And what happened at the Times office?" asked 
 Clarice sympathetically. 
 
 "Why, they took me at once," replied % Guthrie. 
 "I had been doing some work for them, as I told you, 
 and they seemed to like it. 'You get to the inside of 
 things here/ said the managing editor I suppose I 
 never got to the inside of the law. 'I didn't want 
 to interfere with your study of the law, but I 
 knew that sooner or later you'd come to us for 
 a job. Why shouldn't you? You'll never be 
 happy until you do the thing that suits you best.' 
 Well, I've been with the Times ever since." 
 
 "It seems to me, nevertheless," said Clarice medi- 
 tatively, "that there are more prospects in the law 
 than in journalism." 
 
 "Don't think that I pose as a critic of the law!" 
 said Guthrie briskly. "It's a noble profession, only 
 it did'nt suit me. I speak from the personal stand- 
 point of one man, your humble servant. I suppose
 
 86 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 that I've found now what the French call my metier. 
 At least the work in it comes very easy." 
 
 "But don't you ever think of public life?" asked 
 
 Clarice. 
 
 "Only in a semi-detached way now that is, as a 
 chronicler of it, with a small influence, perhaps, aris- 
 ing from that office. I am like one of the college boys 
 at the football games who isn't in the game itself, but 
 who can stand on the coaching lines and shout and yell 
 and who make a lot of noise, and sometimes delude 
 the public into the belief that he is really an im- 
 portant person. No, I'm in this business now and, 
 like General Grant, I'll have to fight it out on this 
 line, if it takes all summer." 
 
 Clarice let the subject go, nor did Guthrie resume 
 it. Instead, just as they were entering a stretch of 
 level road he cracked his whip over the horses and they 
 swung into a long, easy trot, maintaining a speed that 
 Clarice scarcely realised. But it was most invigor- 
 ating. They were young and they were marching to- 
 ward easy terms. The crisp, cold air rushed past, 
 making the blood sparkle in their veins and deepen- 
 ing the red in their cheeks. Guthrie gave Clarice a 
 sidelong glance, and again wondered why he had not 
 noticed before how handsome she was. He observed 
 the long curve of her eyelashes, the lips closed so firmly, 
 her attitude of strength, and he reflected that after all 
 it was worth while to convert this girl to his opinions; 
 she might not be frivolous, as he had first thought, or 
 devoted to secondary matters. 
 
 Though the landscape was wintry, it had also some 
 lingering aspects of late autumn. The haze on the 
 rolling hills was fine and misty like that of Indian sum-
 
 A MAKER OF REPUTATIONS 87 
 
 mer, and afar three or four threads of smoke showed 
 like silver wire against a white, cold sky. While the 
 capital lay within the heart of a coil of hills, the edge of 
 the great lowland valley was only a few miles away, 
 and now they swung into it, the fertile lands stretch- 
 ing for miles and dotted at intervals with the solid 
 brick houses, each inside its cluster of trees. 
 
 Clarice spoke her admiration and said it reminded 
 her of rural France. Then Guthrie turned interviewer, 
 and by suggestion induced her to tell much of her own 
 life abroad. He wished to hear of the Count Raoul 
 d'Estournelle, but he would not intimate anything 
 concerning him nor did she speak of him. Instead 
 she told of the teaching through which she had passed. 
 
 She had been taught to see what was only strange, 
 outre, in her own country. The press of Europe re- 
 ported solely its accidents and its crimes, and these 
 by and by, appearing as the only pictures silhouetted 
 against the screen, gave her a single mental impression 
 of it. 
 
 "There was the Spanish War," she said. "It gave 
 me a distaste. Everybody on the Continent said it 
 was the unprovoked attack of a big nation upon a little 
 one with the deliberate intention of taking the latter's 
 territory." 
 
 Guthrie smiled and said nothing. He knew all that 
 had gone before that struggle, but he judged that she 
 was, to a much larger extent than she realised, under 
 adverse influences, and it would be wiser to keep silent 
 for a while. 
 
 Then they drifted into the personal gossip of the 
 capital. She wanted to know who everybody was and 
 why they were what they were, and she could not have
 
 88 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 gone to a better guide than Guthrie. He had the en- 
 tire history of the State at his fingers' ends not only 
 its^general history, but its family and personal story as 
 well. He knew every man of importance in the State 
 and his record, and he explained the character of all 
 these people whom she had met in the capital and 
 showed their political and personal relations to each 
 other. While he was yet telling her these things, he 
 turned and drove back over the road by which they 
 had come, wishing to reach the capital at twilight. 
 As the first faint tinge of dark appeared in the eastern 
 sky they became silent. They were back among the 
 hills again, and below them they saw the silver streak 
 of the river. Clarice was impressed by the silence and 
 loneliness of the world, but it was a loneliness without 
 fear. It gave her, too, a stronger feeling of comrade- 
 ship with Guthrie a comradeship reaching a point 
 where conversation was not necessary. 
 
 The red light from the setting sun blazed across the 
 brown oaks, and covered the departing world with 
 fire. Clarice shook herself a little. She would not 
 yield to such feelings. She preferred to talk when she 
 was driving with a young man at the approach of twi- 
 light, no matter who that young man might be. 
 
 "My mind goes back to Mr. Pike," she said, 
 am still wondering about that little scene on the raft." 
 
 "I cannot guess what it meant," said Guthrie. 
 
 In another hour they were in the capital and Guthrie 
 left her at the door of the Governor's house. 
 
 "I have enjoyed my drive," she said sincerely, as 
 she bade him good night. "I think I am beginning 
 to feel. the spell of the place!"
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 
 
 A FEW hours later Clarice Ransome, Mary Pelham, 
 and Lucy Hastings were sitting by the fire in Clarice's 
 room, lingering there a while before they went to bed. 
 The wood fires are one of the chief delights of this old- 
 fashioned house; there is such a plenty of wood and 
 they burn with such a lively blaze and such a fine 
 crackle that, in these last luxurious minutes before 
 yielding to sleep, one has to be a resolute pessimist 
 indeed to feel gloomy! Moreover, at such a time peo- 
 ple grow retrospective and seeing the past through a 
 mellowed glow like to talk about it. Then they cast 
 up the day's accounts. 
 
 The evening had been quiet and they were willing 
 that it should be so. The young governor was still 
 in his office at the Capitol, looking over papers ap- 
 plications for the pardon of convicts, legislative meas- 
 ures requiring his signature or veto, and all the great 
 bulk of business that must pass through a governor's 
 hands. At this time of the year he often stayed at his 
 office until two or three o'clock in the morning. 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant drive, Clarice?" asked 
 Lucy Hastings. 
 
 "Very," Clarice replied without any attempt at 
 concealment, and even with a trace of enthu- 
 siasm. "The country was beautiful you know how
 
 90 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 beautiful it can be in winter I even thought it 
 looked romantic." 
 
 Mary Pelham smiled faintly, but said nothing. 
 
 "And Mr. Guthrie?" asked Lucy, "How do you 
 
 like him?" 
 
 "I know that he is a particular friend of the Gov- 
 ernor and yourself," replied Clarice, "and hence I am 
 afraid not to like him. But, really, I do like him for 
 
 himself." 
 
 She paused, and gazed thoughtfully into the coals, 
 which were forming themselves into glowing castles 
 and churches. The other two said nothing. 
 
 "Yes, I like him for his own sake," she continued, 
 her voice as meditative as her gaze. "He seemed to 
 me a little odd in several particulars neglecting some 
 of the things that are valued by the people to whom I 
 am accustomed, but he might be taught." 
 
 "I have no doubt that he can learn," replied Lucy 
 quietly, "that is, if he should have the right kind of a 
 
 teacher." 
 
 Mary Pelham smiled again, but Clarice did not 
 notice it; she was still gazing into the red coals, and 
 her mind was somewhere else. 
 
 "You spoke of the Count's coming to America soon," 
 said Lucy, who had, to a singular degree, the gift of mild 
 tenacity. "Has he decided?" 
 
 A slight frown appeared on Clarice's face, and in a 
 moment she was ashamed of herself because the men- 
 tion of Raoul's name had disturbed her. Then she 
 created his image in her mind's eye and she smiled. 
 
 Raoul's gayety, his easy manners, his unimpeachable 
 taste in neckties, the easy grace that he showed in any 
 position, appealed to her. He pleased her eye because
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 91 
 
 he not only looked well in any place, but was also orna- 
 mental. And then, too, as her mother had said truly, 
 he was of such an old family. His ancestors had 
 served in three of the Crusades, and there was royal 
 blood half a dozen generations back it was not well 
 to inquire too closely into its origin but it was there. 
 She remembered how easy and restful Raoul was. 
 She forgot that time when she had the faintest suspicion 
 that he believed himself to have condescended, and she 
 felt a desire to see him again he bothered her with no 
 troublesome questions. 
 
 "He is coming," she responded at last, "but I do 
 not know definitely when it will be; in the spring, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " If he comes this winter, I hope that you will bring 
 him down here," said Lucy. "If he really wants to 
 see our American life, he cannot see it in the small 
 circles of our large cities. There, I hear Paul's foot- 
 steps, so I'll tell you good night." 
 
 She went out leaving Clarice and Mary together. 
 Mary sat only a minute or two, but when she arose and 
 reached the door, she said, 
 
 "I admire Mr. Guthrie for many things, and most 
 of all because of his devotion to his friends." 
 
 Then she went out before Clarice could reply. 
 
 Guthrie, meanwhile, had gone to his dinner after 
 leaving the Governor's house, and then he strolled 
 into the lobby of the hotel, the news-centre of the capi- 
 tal. He quickly saw that he would have but little to 
 add to his brief despatch filed in the afternoon, and, 
 when he returned from the telegraph office to the hotel, 
 he was joined by Tommy Newlands, the assistant 
 clerk of the House.
 
 92 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "There's no news here, Billy," said Newlands, slip- 
 ping his arm into Guthrie's, an act that Guthrie never 
 liked. "Don't waste your time, but come up to my 
 room; I've got something really important." 
 
 Tommy was a slender youth with mild blue eyes, a 
 confiding air, and the most honest face in the world; 
 and he spoke with so much earnestness and impres- 
 siveness that Guthrie was persuaded and went with 
 him. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is when we get there," said 
 Tommy in a mysterious whisper. 
 
 His room was across the street in a boarding-house, 
 and, when they reached it, Tommy carefully locked 
 themselves in, and put the key in his pocket. Then he 
 produced a large porfolio from a bureau drawer, waved 
 Guthrie to a chair, and took another himself. 
 
 "Just listen to it, Billy," he said, smiling his child- 
 like smile, "I wrote it all to-day, and I think it's the 
 best I've ever done." 
 
 Guthrie arose in alarm, and his brow became men- 
 acing. 
 
 "Look you, Tommy Newlands!" he cried. "Have 
 you brought me over here and locked me up in your 
 room in order that you may force me to listen to your 
 original poetry?" 
 
 "Why, Billy," exclaimed Newlands, "I intended 
 that you should be the very first to hear it." 
 
 "I'd rather be the last," said Guthrie defiantly. 
 "But answer me one question, Tommy. Have you 
 ever had a line of your poetry published ? " 
 
 "Not yet," replied Newlands confidently, "but the 
 last editor who returned my verses wrote me that they 
 contained promise, though they were not exactly suited
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 93 
 
 to his needs. I think that looks favourable, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes from your point of view. But I won't 
 listen to any of it until it is published. It takes the 
 edge off either prose or poetry to hear it read in manu- 
 script. It's so much better in print." 
 
 "But we are here, and everything is so handy," en- 
 treated Newlands. 
 
 " No, I won't stand for it, and, if you don't produce 
 that key and unlock the door at once, I'll say in the 
 Times that you're the very worst assistant clerk of the 
 House the Legislature has known in a history of more 
 than a hundred years." 
 
 "You wouldn't do that, Billy?" pleaded Newlands. 
 
 "I would," replied Guthrie gravely. "Just think 
 of the alternative, Tommy!" 
 
 Newlands reluctantly produced the key, and unlocked 
 the door. 
 
 "I thought to find in you a sympathetic soul. We 
 are both writers, you know," he said reproachfully. 
 
 "One of us isn't," said Guthrie. "Tommy, I'm 
 your friend, as you know, but you mustn't take advan- 
 tage of me. As a matter of fact, I think you are an ad- 
 mirable assistant clerk of the House you write such a 
 nice, round hand. Now, come along. Let's go over 
 to the hotel, and talk politics." 
 
 "I do not care for politics," said Newlands. "It's 
 a coarse and common subject. It does not appeal to 
 one's finer nature. I do my work in the House be- 
 cause I want my bread, but I take no other interest in 
 it whatever. Neither do I care for those common and 
 pushing men about us. A higher type appeals to me." 
 
 Guthrie laughed. He was only a year older than
 
 94 
 
 Tommy Newlands, but he felt as if the difference were 
 ten years instead of one. Tommy with his desire to 
 shun all the hard knocks with his instinct always to 
 confound strength with mere roughness, seemed to 
 him to have in him something womanish, for which 
 Guthrie felt contempt; yet he liked him, his amiabil- 
 ity and honesty. 
 
 "Come, Tommy," he repeated. "These are much 
 better people than you think. Men in working clothes 
 look rougher than those in evening dress, but it may 
 be looks only. Come, it will do you good." 
 
 But Newlands was obstinate; they could neither 
 amuse nor instruct him, he said, and Guthrie leaving 
 him returned to the hotel. Jimmy Warfield was sit- 
 ting in a corner, singularly silent for him, but he gave 
 Guthrie a slight signal, and then strolled quietly into 
 the hall. After a discreet wait, Guthrie followed, and 
 the two walked down the long hall to the side entrance 
 where they were alone. 
 
 "Billy," said Warfield, "if I give you an important 
 piece of news, will you pledge your word not to use it 
 to-night." 
 
 "Are you sure that I could not get it except from 
 you?" 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 "I'm released from my promise, if anybody else 
 should come to me of his own volition and tell it to me ?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "All right; I promise. What is it?" 
 
 Warfield showed slight signs of agitation. "Billy," 
 he said, "they are going to impeach Carton, or try it." 
 
 Guthrie looked incredulous. 
 
 "Why, that's moonshine!" he said. "Such a thing
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 95 
 
 was never done in this State not even under the worst 
 political or factional pressure!" 
 
 "It's going to be tried all the same," said Warfield 
 with emphasis, "and I tell you, Mr. William Guthrie, 
 it will stir this State from centre to circumference! 
 Carton, with his high and haughty ways, has made lots 
 of enemies, and besides there are many men against 
 him in this matter who believe he has done wrong. 
 I've got it from a straight source; it's absolutely true, 
 and it's coming quick." 
 
 "Does Carton know of it?" 
 
 "Not yet; that's what I want to talk to you about. 
 Oughtn't we to warn him ? If we don't, the thing is 
 likely to burst upon him and catch him unprepared, 
 and then, without time to think, he's likely to do some- 
 thing hot-tempered and rash." 
 
 "Where is he?" asked Guthrie. 
 
 "In his room. He came into the lobby about eight 
 o'clock, and spent half an hour as lordly as you 
 please then he stalked off upstairs. But I walked 
 down the hall in front of his room fifteen minutes ago, 
 and I saw the light shining under his door. I know 
 that he's sitting there, glowering. They've struck him 
 in two ways: they are threatening him with the ruin 
 of all his political ambitions, and Mary Pelham's folks, 
 since they've heard of this thing, are putting all sorts 
 of pressure on her to make her give him up." 
 
 "Come on," said Guthrie, always ready to act in 
 an emergency. "I think we'd better tell him at 
 once." 
 
 The light was still shining under Carton's door, and 
 Guthrie knocked briskly, but received no answer. 
 
 "Let us in, Carton," shouted Warfield through the
 
 96 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 keyhole. "It is Guthrie and I, Guthrie and Warfield, 
 and we must speak to you." 
 
 "Come in!" replied Carton, and, pushing open the 
 door, they entered. 
 
 Carton was sitting at the window, looking vaguely 
 out at the darkness. Warfield had surmised truly: he 
 was "glowering." But Guthrie's first sensation was 
 of pity. Carton's pride seemed to have slipped from 
 him for the moment while he was sitting there alone, 
 and his attitude was full of depression and despair. 
 That one so strong should feel crushed and show it 
 gave Guthrie a painful thrill. 
 
 3 Guthrie and Warfield exchanged glances. War- 
 field's asked : " Is it the Speakership or the girl ? " and 
 Guthrie's replied: "Both." Carton turned his head 
 
 wearily. 
 
 "Boys," he said, "it's good of you to come here and 
 
 see me. 
 
 *; LUC. 
 
 "Well," replied Warfield cheerily, "you look so gay 
 and frivolous, sitting there by the window, that we think 
 we ought to have a share in the sport." 
 
 "You're welcome to all the fun that's going," said 
 Carton, smiling. "But sit down." 
 
 "They seated themselves and then there were a few 
 moments of embarrassed silence, because Carton 
 glanced at them inquiringly, as if he wished to know 
 why they came, seeing at once that it was no mere 
 social visit. Warfield looked at Guthrie, and Guthrie 
 looked at Warfield. At last Jimmy cleared his throat 
 defiantly, as much as to say: "I vnU speak even i 
 what I say is unwelcome!" 
 
 "Look here, Phil, you know that Billy and 
 good friends of yours," he began irrelevantly, "and
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 97 
 
 you've got lots more friends in the Legislature and 
 throughout the State." 
 
 " Now I know that your news is personal to me and 
 unpleasant," said Carton, speaking clearly and deci- 
 sively. Suddenly he put on his fighting habit. His 
 figure expanded and stiffened, and his look was chal- 
 lenging. 
 
 "It is both," said Guthrie. 
 
 "Then," said Carton, "I thank you two for coming 
 to me with it, because I know that you come to warn 
 me and stand by me and not to hurt me." 
 
 "That's so!" said Warfield, feeling great relief. 
 Then he continued: "Now, Phil, I won't tell you 
 just how I found this out, but it is true. This fight 
 on you is even bolder and more bitter than you think 
 it is. Your enemies and I don't know just who is 
 leading them are going to push it to the utmost. 
 They are going to try to expel you, to impeach you, 
 not merely to drive you from the House, but to dis- 
 franchise you, to deprive you of your rights as a citizen." 
 
 "Why, such a thing was never done in this State!" 
 exclaimed Carton, unconsciously repeating Guthrie's 
 own comment. 
 
 "I know it, but they mean to do it now, if they can," 
 said Warfield. 
 
 "And I should be a marked man all my life, a 
 pariah!" exclaimed Carton, for the moment aghast. 
 But in another moment all his courage returned. 
 "They can't do it!" he said. 
 
 "No," said Jimmy Warfield, "we'll give 'em a fight 
 they'll never forget!" 
 
 "I think I can swing the Times'* said Guthrie. 
 
 Carton, despite his effort to control himself, showed
 
 98 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 agitation, and walked back and forth in the room. He 
 saw clearly that his personal happiness and his whole 
 political future alike were at stake. Everything told 
 him to be cautious, to show the wisdom ^of the serpent, 
 but also every instinct in him rose against the use of 
 what is called diplomacy. He wanted to speak out 
 against these men, to tell Pursley just what he thought 
 of him and to defy him. But he was conscious, too, 
 that Guthrie and Warfield were watching him, and 
 while he could have ridden rough-shod over Warfield's 
 opinion, he hesitated when confronted by Guthrie. 
 
 Yet Guthrie did not say much; he felt himself to 
 be to a certain extent an outsider that is, he was not 
 really a part of the Legislature, his mission in the capi- 
 tal being the collection of news. Hence by suggestion 
 and brief interjected words he pointed out to Warfield 
 the line of argument he should adopt with Carton. 
 Under the deft hand of his second, Warfield gave 
 good advice. The other side, he said, was showing 
 craft and cunning at every stage of the battle; their 
 forces had been masked from the beginning and were 
 still masked; no hostile hand was yet in sight save 
 Pursley's; he was trumpeter, standard-bearer, van- 
 guardeverything so far; Carton then should not 
 waste his temper and his strength striking at an invis- 
 ible foe. . 
 
 Warfield had the gift of smooth speech by indirec- 
 tion if he chose, and under his persuasive words, Car- 
 ton dismissed the slight agitation that he had shown. 
 "Boys," he said, at last, "I don't know how I ever 
 can reward you for the way that you stand by me." 
 
 His words were brief but full of feeling. Warfield 
 laughed and said lightly:
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 99 
 
 "Nonsense, if I ever get into trouble I expect you to 
 do at least five times as much for me." 
 
 They left him and again he sat down by the window 
 and began to gaze vaguely into the darkness. 
 
 The second day following was Saturday, and an ex- 
 cursion had been arranged to Mount Eagle, the great 
 stock-farm in the very finest part of the lowlands, 
 about fifteen miles from the capital. This noble 
 place is the pride of the State. Covering thousands 
 of acres of gently rolling hills and valleys, it is unsur- 
 passed for beauty and fertility. Here since the early 
 days have been bred race-horses that sell for their 
 weight in silver and more, and their fame has extended 
 over the world. Here breeders from all parts of the 
 Union come to renew the original and powerful strains 
 of blood. The sideboards in the house are covered 
 with plate, won on a hundred courses, and, in a State 
 which has the inborn love of horses, people go every 
 year as to a shrine to see the stall in which was born 
 the colt that successively broke the world's one-, two-, 
 three-, and four-mile records. The owners never bet 
 on their own horses, but run them for pride and glory. 
 
 A number of members of the Legislature, ladies of 
 the political families, and other guests had been in- 
 vited to Saturday luncheon at Mount Eagle the Legis- 
 lature never meets on Saturday. Guthrie was on the 
 list, and so was Tommy Newlands. Five carriages, of 
 different types but sufficient to carry twenty-four people, 
 had been engaged, and the start was to be made from 
 the hotel at eight o'clock of a beautiful frosty morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Guthrie was early at the meeting-place, glad of the 
 excursion and the holiday after a week that he had
 
 100 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 found trying. Moreover, he would be with the people 
 and the kind of society that he liked best, and he ex- 
 pected enjoyment. 
 
 The Governor and his wife with Miss Pelham and 
 Miss Ransome in their train arrived in a few minutes, 
 and they exchanged joyous greetings, for they were 
 young, and their spirits rose in the cold, crisp morning. 
 Then came the gigantic United States Senator, Mr. 
 Dennison, willingly following the lead of his much 
 younger wife, and after them the Speaker and Jimmy 
 Warfield, and Tommy Newlands, and Senator Cobb, 
 and Mr. Pike, and others, until they formed a noisy, 
 talkative group on the hotel steps. 
 
 Guthrie glanced at Carton. The Speaker and 
 Mary Pelham had greeted each other in a rather con- 
 strained, formal manner, but Guthrie was perhaps the 
 only one who had noticed it, and the Speaker here in 
 the presence of Mary showed no care in his face. All 
 the vehicles were filled except the last, a tally-ho with 
 seats for six persons. 
 
 "Is not everybody here?" asked Carton, one of the 
 little group still standing on the steps. 
 
 "No," said the driver, "there is one more gentleman 
 to come," and at that moment the gentleman, in heavy 
 fur overcoat, fur gloves, and sealskin cap, appeared- 
 no less a personage than the Honourable Mr. Pursley. 
 "How does he happen to be here?" exclaimed Car- 
 ton, but in a low voice. Guthrie divined at once that 
 the owners of Mount Eagle, not knowing Mr. Pursley 
 as he was, had invited him under the impression that 
 he was a leader in the House a fact, within its limits. 
 All the other carriages had gone on, and there was 
 an embarrassed pause. Those left upon the steps
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 101 
 
 under the deft manipulation of Mrs. Dennison were 
 Miss Ransome, Miss Pelham, Carton, Jimmy War- 
 field, and Guthrie. The ladies knowing the state of 
 affairs looked apprehensively at the Speaker and Mr. 
 Pursley, but Guthrie in a moment seized the occasion, 
 and ruthlessly sacrificed his friend Jimmy Warfield, 
 as the good-natured are always put to the knife. 
 
 "You and Jimmy are to sit together, Mr. Pursley," 
 he said cherrily; "now up with you two there into the 
 seat next to the driver!" and he half pushed them 
 into place. Then he helped Miss Ransome into the 
 next seat and sat beside her, while the seat behind was 
 left for Miss Pelham and the Speaker. Then the 
 horses rattled away at a swift trot, and Guthrie con- 
 gratulated himself on his diplomacy. Mr. Pursley 
 was safely stowed next to a man who did not know how 
 to be anything but polite and cheerful, while he and 
 Miss Ransome sat as a guard between the Speaker and 
 his pet hatred. Then his spirits rose still further. 
 He relished a dramatic situation, and, after all, the 
 presence of Pursley lent to the excursion a spice which 
 it would have otherwise lacked. It would rest with 
 him and Jimmy Warfield to keep the peace between 
 Carton and Pursley for a whole day and to enjoy 
 themselves at the same time a task to arouse ambition. 
 
 So Guthrie talked much more than usual and in a 
 lighter manner than was his custom until Clarice 
 Ransome said, 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie, I did not know you could be so frivo- 
 lous!" 
 
 Jimmy Warfield, twisting his neck, turned a solemn 
 countenance. 
 
 "It's only his true nature coming out, Miss Ran-
 
 102 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 some," he said; "he's the official humourist of the 
 Times" 
 
 "That's the reason they send me to report the Legis- 
 lature," said Guthrie. 
 
 "Because they know his reports will be a joke," 
 said Warfield. 
 
 "No, to report a joke," said Guthrie. 
 
 "I will have no fighting," said Clarice in mock alarm, 
 "between the Fourth Estate and, and " 
 
 "The lost estate," replied Guthrie. 
 
 "Oh, well, as a body we have our redeeming qual- 
 ities ! " said Warfield. " At least we are a refuge. You 
 know, Miss Ransome, down in some of the country 
 counties, when they develop a smart young lawyer 
 that they're a bit afraid of, the old farmers get together 
 and say, 'We'll just send him to the Legislature 
 where he can't do us any harm, but can do the other 
 fellers.'" 
 
 "And did they send you here on that account, Mr. 
 Warfield?" asked Clarice serenely. 
 
 Warfield held up his hands in horror. 
 
 "Behold my importance!" he said. "I hail from the 
 city, and Carton is continually recognising me as the 
 gentleman from the Third Ward, but Miss Ransome 
 does not remember it a day." 
 
 "Jimmy, you must speak twice as often as you do, 
 and get noticed," said Guthrie. 
 
 "Do you want him to exclude all the others?" asked 
 Carton. 
 
 "I hope he'll leave a few minutes for me," said Mr. 
 Pursley, with the evident intention of being amiable. 
 
 "I'll do it," said Warfield. "I'm thinking of never 
 making another speech again. There was a fellow
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 103 
 
 here last session from one of the western counties. 
 He never opened his mouth the whole session, but you 
 could fairly see his reputation for wisdom growing. 
 People said that when Horton of Bond County did 
 speak, he would say something. He never did speak, 
 but it made no difference. People said, 'Just you 
 wait; look what an amount of reserve strength is 
 there!' Now, I had been speaking brilliantly all the 
 session, saying solid truths in the most terse, epigram- 
 matic and illuminating manner, and I got no praise 
 at all, and, instead of me, the Legislature elected Carton 
 to the Speakership this term. But, after all, that's no 
 credit to him. In a legislature, ladies, a Speaker is the 
 only man who can't speak; so always, in order to sup- 
 press him and for the general credit, we elect the worst 
 talker of us all to that position." 
 
 There was a general laugh, but Mary Pelham said: 
 "Two weeks ago, I read a speech by Mr. Carton in 
 the Times; how do you account for that Mr. War- 
 field?" 
 
 "Carton never made that speech," Warfield replied, 
 "It was written by Guthrie there and attributed to 
 him, and, as it rather took with the people, Phil accepts 
 it. We're all in the secret here, at the capital, but, of 
 course, we can't betray a fellow-member. It's like 
 that jury out in one of the mountain counties where 
 they are rather fond of shooting at each other. They 
 were trying a man for severely wounding one of his 
 neighbours; there was no doubt about the shooting 
 the man didn't even deny it, but the jury returned a 
 verdict of acquittal, and when the astonished judge 
 asked them why, the foreman replied: 'Of course 
 he is guilty we all know that but if, in a little case
 
 104 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 like this, we fellows don't stand together, what's to 
 become of our privileges?" 
 
 "It's lucky that Mr. Pike is in the next carnage! 
 
 said Guthrie. 
 
 "Oh! I should have located that story in the low- 
 lands, if he had been here," replied Warfield airily, 
 "but it tells the truth about the mountaineers, all the 
 same. They won't give up their feuds because it's 
 a time-honoured custom, and, if you were to dissect 
 Mr. Pike himself, you would find this feeling right in 
 his marrow." 
 
 The driver increased his speed a little, and in a few 
 moments they overtook the next carriage in which 
 Mr. Pike was sitting, silent and solemn. Jimmy War- 
 field upbraided him for his melancholy looks, and Mrs. 
 Dennison replied for him that it was due to his being 
 a Republican. 
 
 "It's his conscience ! " said Jimmy Warfield, 1 don t 
 see how any man can be a Republican and have a sound 
 
 conscience!" 
 
 Mr. Pike was the only Republican in the party, and 
 they jested with him at some length on the bad com- 
 plexion of his politics, all of which he took in good part, 
 merely replying that he was in the midst of enemies. 
 Guthrie was struck by his use of the phrase "in the 
 midst of enemies," and by the underlying sadness in 
 Mr. Pike's eyes. He remembered, too, the scene on 
 the raft, and he was sure the mountain member was 
 really in trouble. But no one else noticed, so good 
 was Mr. Pike's concealment, and the excursion 
 was all high spirits even Carton and Pursley, 
 separated by the craft and guile of Guthrie and 
 Warfield, forgot their enmity, and Carton, from
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 105 
 
 sympathy as well as pride, joined in the flow of 
 geniality. 
 
 From the crest of a gentle slope, they caught the first 
 view of Mount Eagle and its five thousand acres within 
 a ring fence of stone. The frosty sun glistened in alter- 
 nate streaks of silver and gold on the white walls and 
 the red roofs of buildings, and before them, mile after 
 mile of hill and valley, lay the pleasant country, beauti- 
 ful even in the winter robe of brown. It told every- 
 where of fertility and comfort. 
 
 "I don't wonder that the Indians hated to give it 
 up," said Mary Pelham. 
 
 "The Indians never had it," said Jimmy Warfield 
 with his usual vivacity. "It's one of the weaknesses 
 of an advancing civilisation, Miss Pelham, to lament 
 the passing of a hideous, painted savage, and to delude 
 itself with the idea that it has committed a crime in 
 planting enlightenment in the place of barbarism. As 
 a matter of fact, the northern and southern tribes 
 merely met and fought here and this land was occupied 
 by nobody. Here we are now; this is the gate that 
 leads to Mount Eagle." 
 
 They drove over a white road between a noble avenue 
 of trees toward the house, a great rambling structure 
 of stone, redolent of ease and dignity. 
 
 "It reminds me of an old chateau in France," said 
 Clarice Ransome. 
 
 "Only this is our own," said Guthrie. 
 
 "I begin to think that you are very much of a pa- 
 triot," said Clarice. 
 
 "So I am," replied Guthrie, "and I give you fair 
 warning, Miss Ransome, that a lot of us mean to make 
 you one, too."
 
 106 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "I am already making more progress than I antici- 
 pated," she replied frankly. 
 
 "And here we are at the house," said Jimmy War- 
 field, "and there stand our host and hostess on the 
 steps." 
 
 Guthrie helped Clarice out of the carriage, and her 
 fingers tingled slightly even through her gloves, when 
 his hand clasped hers. Had Guthrie been looking, 
 he would have seen a faint colour rise in her face. Then 
 Clarice took a resolve: she had been too much with 
 Guthrie, and she would make the return journey in 
 another carriage. She began to have a suspicion that 
 she was being managed by somebody, and she resented 
 it. Nevertheless, Guthrie was by her side as the guests 
 were received, and thus they passed into the house. 
 
 They were in a wide hall, running the full length of 
 the building a wall hung with portraits and the 
 stuffed heads of deer and bison. In open rooms on 
 either side, great fires roared and crackled in wide fire- 
 places. 
 
 "To enjoy this fully one must have driven fifteen 
 miles in the cold as we have done," said Jimmy War- 
 field. 
 
 The men turned off to the right and the women to 
 the left. The men closed the door behind them when 
 they entered a room in which a fire was roaring and the 
 black servants were already clinking the glasses. 
 
 "This is glorious after a long ride in the cold," said 
 Jimmy Warfield. "Here's to all our healths!" 
 
 When they had refreshed themselves, they met the 
 the ladies again in the hall, and began their trip about 
 the place, the stables being the first point of departure. 
 It was Clarice's plan to go with the Senator and Mrs.
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 107 
 
 Dennison, but she found herself, instead, between Guth- 
 rie and Mr. Pike, and she did not know how long Mr. 
 Pike would stay. She was not sure whether Guthrie 
 or some one else had managed it. She yielded, but 
 was displeased with herself because she did not feel 
 more reluctance at yielding. 
 
 "We shall see some of the most famous horses in the 
 world," said Guthrie, "but, to be perfectly frank with 
 you, most horses look alike to me." 
 
 In a State devoted to the horse, Guthrie was not a 
 zealous horseman. He looked upon the horse as merely 
 one of the adjuncts of human life, not its main interest; 
 but he enjoyed looking at them in a place such as this, 
 where they were cherished like children. In the first 
 stall, and gazing at the visitors out of mild incurious 
 eyes, was the bay stallion that had won as a two-year- 
 old the great Futurity in New York, and the next year 
 both the Brooklyn Handicap and the Suburban. 
 
 "He's got lots more sense than some people, and he's 
 as gentle as a child," said the black trainer. 
 
 Clarice held out some oats, and the lazy king of a 
 horse nibbled them gently from her hand. 
 
 "Of course, no horse would hurt you, Miss Ran- 
 some," said Jimmy Warfield. 
 
 Thus they paused, from stall to stall, inspecting the 
 kings and queens of the turf, some resting between 
 campaigns, others with all their campaigns done and 
 looking, as they placidly chewed their oats, as if they 
 were meditating over old triumphs. Then they went 
 into the pasture where the grass still lingered on the 
 sunny slopes, and examined the youngsters with their 
 victories yet to come. 
 
 "The older horses in the stables impress me the
 
 108 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 most," said Mrs. Dennison. "What if one could see 
 the ablest men and women collected in one company 
 in that manner! It ought at least to make an inter- 
 esting society." 
 
 "More likely it would be as dull as ditch-water!" 
 said Jimmy Warfield. "Everybody in it would be 
 bored to death by everybody else!" 
 
 Then they went in to luncheon. Guthrie always 
 remembers that luncheon with the keenest of pleasure. 
 He was in the best of company; he was hungry and 
 his cares had rolled away. All the tables had been 
 spread in the larger dining-room, and they were cov- 
 ered with a "hunter's luncheon," that is, with a lunch- 
 eon reminiscent of the State's early days, as they had 
 been told would be the case when the invitations were 
 sent. There were partridges, wild turkeys, venison 
 from the mountains, bear from Mississippi, trout and 
 perch from the State's own streams, all flanked by 
 liquids of every kind. 
 
 "I foresee a better business than making dry speeches 
 in the House!" said Jimmy Warfield. 
 
 Clarice's conscience began to hurt her again, and, by 
 careful planning, she found herself in a seat between 
 Senator Cobb and Tommy Newlands. Guthrie was 
 some distance away, but biding his time. Lucy Hast- 
 ings was on his right, and, with an intuitive sense of 
 what was wise under the circumstances, he was scru- 
 pulous in his attention to her. Clarice observed him, 
 and by and by she was sorry that his glance did not 
 meet hers. She was conscious now that there had 
 always been something solid and interesting in Guth- 
 rie's talk; she always had the feeling afterward that 
 it had been stimulating, and now, by contrast, the
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 109 
 
 chatter of Tommy Newlands seemed unusually light, 
 frothy, and vapid. 
 
 Tommy had a soul with a large S. He could not 
 abide the raw and crude. Strength appealed to him 
 less than form. In fiction, he preferred the small 
 parlour-scenes of life, the tea-table tragedies, which 
 loomed very large to him, and in poetry his soul turned 
 with an infinite longing to the vers de societc. He had 
 never been abroad, but the Old World contained for 
 him all there was of art and architecture, and hence 
 Tommy amid his surroundings was blase and cynical to 
 a degree that often entertained. 
 
 "I should like to live in a house like this/' said 
 Clarice to him in the course of their conversation. 
 
 "I understand that it has the architecture of all 
 nations and the beauty of none," replied Tommy. 
 
 "I do not see why that matters," said Clarice, "if 
 it is beautiful, then the rules do not count." 
 
 Senator Cobb on the other side of her looked puzzled. 
 He had spent a life wrestling with men, and to him 
 these things seemed unimportant. The blood of the 
 old Indian-fighters was yet in his veins, and the battle 
 of life had little to do with architecture. 
 
 "I should think that the first question was com- 
 fort," he said, "and it appears that they have attained 
 it here." 
 
 But Tommy could scarcely conceal his scorn these 
 rude men from the hills always jarred upon his finer 
 fibre. He had a cult, and, as for himself, he said, he 
 was fond of the beauty of life. He preferred the fine, 
 the minute, the indirect, the delicate shadings, to the 
 abrupt and obvious. Americans were too material; 
 he was often ashamed of his countrymen, for they neg-
 
 110 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 lected the essence in favour of the substance. Most 
 of the men were well enough in their way, but it must 
 be confessed that they represented a low order of devel- 
 opment. Those who had the true spirit always pined 
 for something higher. 
 
 Clarice listened in some amusement. She read 
 Tommy Newlands at once. She saw the lack of ear- 
 nestness in all that he said, and knew that it was an 
 affectation, although Tommy himself believed it to be 
 vital and real; it was a feeble growth upon a feeble stem. 
 But Senator Cobb, whose experience of the world was 
 in some sense inferior to Clarice's, was not amused. 
 At first he was ashamed for Tommy, and then he be- 
 came angry. At last he said impatiently, 
 
 "Then I take it, Mr. Newlands, that you would 
 rather live on air than on roast beef!" 
 
 "I was not speaking of so material a thing as the 
 physical appetite," replied Tommy. "I was referring 
 to the finer and more subtle things that are the nuances 
 of life." . 
 
 Senator Cobb did not know what ''nuances" meant, 
 but his keen mind enabled him to guess. 
 
 "Is a continent like this to be won with men of the 
 type you like?" he asked. 
 
 But Tommy flew the question. Life in the older 
 countries where everything had settled into its appointed 
 place appealed to him; there was more poetry in a bit 
 of ivy on an old wall than in any contest that ever took 
 place in a Legislature, and thus he rambled on to his 
 great satisfaction. But Senator Cobb shook his head 
 disapprovingly; it did not seem to him that Tommy 
 was dealing with the stuff of which our lives are made. 
 
 Clarice was glad when Jimmy Warfield on the other
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 111 
 
 side of the table came to their relief. Warfield beneath 
 all his lightness and good nature had a penetrating mind : 
 his feet never left the earth nor did his head reach the 
 clouds. His nimble satire played around Tommy 
 with such an easy touch that the expounder of a cult 
 was not aware for some time that he was a target. 
 When he saw it at last he said little more, because he 
 had an instinctive fear of Warfield, whom he regarded 
 as one of those rough beings without a subconscious 
 soul. 
 
 The luncheon was finished, and then they heard the 
 great organ in the music-room, the finest in the State. 
 Guthrie was really fond of music, a science of whose 
 theory and art he knew nothing, and did not wish to 
 know anything. It appealed to him as a melodious 
 voice expressing many emotions, and the knowledge 
 of how it was produced would detract from the charm 
 of hearing it. But he never talked about his love of 
 music; he indulged in no cant, and he advocated no 
 school. Therefore, he was able to enjoy. 
 
 Clarice wandered away from Tommy Newlands, 
 finding that his "protection" had become a burden. 
 His chatter ceased to be amusing, and, when Guth- 
 rie took the vacant chair beside her, she neither indi- 
 cated nor felt any objection. After all, it was a pleasure 
 to return to him, because here was something tangible 
 and solid upon which one could get a mental grasp. 
 Guthrie said nothing, as the music had begun, and 
 Clarice, too, was soon affected by the solemnity and 
 majesty of the organ tones. 
 
 She glanced presently at Guthrie's face, and she was 
 astonished at the change she saw there. He had im- 
 pressed her hitherto as one so intensely in the present
 
 112 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 that he had no time for dreams or reflections. Now 
 he was far away on the wings of fancy, and, after all, he 
 did have imagination, ideality, and sentiment. She, 
 too, was modern and practical; but the springs of ro- 
 mance were not dry within her, and she liked this new 
 phase that she beheld in Guthrie, softening and refin- 
 ing him to a woman's standard. 
 
 "Music of that type," said Guthrie when they were 
 leaving the room, "is the only thing that can bring 
 absolute forgetfulness of the world besides. It really 
 takes one quite out of oneself." 
 
 He said it simply, quite without affectation so 
 simply that no reply was needed, and they walked to- 
 gether into the drawing-room. For the moment, 
 Count Raoul d'Estournelle, and his coming visit to 
 America were forgotten by both. 
 
 "We shall start on the return journey in an hour," 
 said Guthrie, "and I hope that you will permit me to 
 occupy the same seat in the carriage beside you. I 
 feel that I am in some sense your guide, and also to 
 save trouble in rearranging the party, it was decided 
 that we should go back just as we came." 
 
 "Then why ask me when it is my orders to say yes ?" 
 
 Guthrie laughed. 
 
 "I want you to be a willing victim and to admit it," 
 he replied. 
 
 She smiled but did not say no, and left him to get 
 her wraps. Out of his presence, her conscience 
 assailed her once more. She had firmly resolved not 
 to be his immediate company on the return journey; 
 she had broken her resolve, and it not two hours old ! 
 She felt once more that she was doing a wrong to Raoul, 
 and she could see her mother's cold, disapproving eye.
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 113 
 
 She comforted herself with the old and convenient 
 proverb that, in Rome, one must do as the Romans do, 
 and, as she was thrown with this group, she must ac- 
 cept in it the role that chance seemed to have marked 
 for her. 
 
 Guthrie turned down the narrow hall toward the 
 room set aside for the men, where his overcoat was 
 hanging, and saw a broad figure just ahead of him. 
 The figure belonged to Mr. Pursley, and he was hail- 
 ing Carton who stood in front of a picture near the 
 doorway. 
 
 "It would be pleasant, wouldn't it Carton, to have 
 a place like this ? " he said with an air of friendliness. 
 
 Carton did not reply, but studied the picture more 
 intently than ever; and Mr. Pursley, who was delicate 
 neither of perception nor sensibility, repeated his re- 
 mark. Then Carton turned about, his face white with 
 anger, and his figure stiffening into the haughty pose 
 with which Guthrie was so familiar. 
 
 "Pursley," he exclaimed, "I cannot say that I hate 
 you that dignifies you too much, but I do despise 
 you. I told you once before that I wished you not to 
 speak to me again." 
 
 " I regarded it as the request of a foolish young man," 
 placidly replied Mr. Pursley, whose great strength lay 
 in his ability to keep his temper under any circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Helplessness was added to Carton's look of anger. 
 His eyes plainly asked, "What can I do when con- 
 fronted by such a man?" At last he said lamely: 
 
 "Pursley, whenever I undertake to go anywhere, I 
 shall find out whether you are going, and then I shall 
 stay away."
 
 114 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Pursley laughed, and sauntered into the room in 
 search of his coat, leaving Carton frowning with cha- 
 grin. Guthrie took Carton by the arm. 
 
 "Phil, old man," he said they were great friends, 
 and Carton himself was under thirty "would you 
 mind a little piece of advice from me ? The looker-on, 
 you know, is always in a better position to judge than 
 the actor." 
 
 Carton frowned again, but reluctantly subdued his 
 pride, and consented. 
 
 "It's this," said Guthrie. "It's not worth while to 
 attack a man like Pursley with words. His thick skin 
 turns them off like water. Besides, he's a member of 
 the House where you will have to meet him almost 
 every day, and you give him an advantage when you 
 lose your tongue and he keeps his." 
 
 "Billy," said Carton, "it hurts me to hear you say 
 this hurts me that any one should think it necessary 
 to say such things to me, but I suppose it is true. The 
 very sight of the man infuriates me; I cannot help it." 
 
 "Let's get our overcoats," said Guthrie quietly. 
 "I think the others are about ready for the start." 
 
 Thev entered the room together, and no other present 
 save Mr. Pursley knew of the brief encounter. Guth- 
 rie put on his overcoat and went out on the step in 
 front of which the carriages were waiting. 
 
 "I offer you my condolences, old man," said Tommy 
 Newlands, clapping his hand on Guthrie's shoulder. 
 
 "Why so?" asked Guthrie. 
 
 "Because Miss Ransome is going to sit by me on the 
 way back home. I have just asked her for the privi- 
 lege and she has consented." 
 
 "See here, Tommy," said Guthrie, "You can't cut
 
 AT MOUNT EAGLE 115 
 
 me out in that fashion. Miss Ransome has an engage- 
 ment with me, and I won't let her break it, even if I 
 have to kidnap her." 
 
 Tommy looked at him aghast. 
 
 "But she said I could have the seat!" he remon- 
 strated. 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," said Guthrie briskly. "She 
 forgot, for the moment, her engagement with me. Ah! 
 Miss Ransome, the carriage is waiting for us and here 
 is our place." 
 
 She had appeared that moment upon the steps, her 
 cheeks rosy with the day's exercise, and her eyes seek- 
 ing Tommy Newlands. She had resolved at the last 
 moment that she would break her unspoken word, es- 
 cape from Guthrie, and sacrifice herself to Tommy. 
 But she was caught by the fowler ?n his net; almost 
 before she was aware of it, Guthrie was assisting her 
 into the carriage, and the next moment he was in the 
 seat beside her, while the poet was left lamenting on 
 the steps. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," said Clarice, "do you know that I 
 accepted Mr. Newlands' escort home?" 
 
 "It was very wrong of you," replied Guthrie gravely, 
 "to make a promise which, you see, you could not keep. 
 Moreover, I claim to be quite as good company as 
 Tommy Newlands." 
 
 Clarice was silent, overborne by him and yet she 
 liked his masterful ways. Had he asked again for the 
 place, she would not have given it to him; but, as he 
 took it without asking, she was reconciled. She had 
 once more the singular feeling of relief that a strong 
 personality brings. 
 
 The drive home was quieter, as the return always is.
 
 116 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 The winter twilight fell long before they reached the 
 capital. The sun sank in the west and the dusk came 
 in, fold on fold, like a blanket over the sky, but the 
 moonlight glittered like silver through it on the brown 
 woods and the hills. All the world was brooding and 
 
 peaceful. 
 
 "I think sometimes that winter is as beautiful as 
 
 summer," said Clarice. 
 
 "It is," replied Guthrie, "both in its own way and 
 because it is the omen of that which is to come. What 
 is it that Shelley says 'if winter come, can spring be 
 far behind?'" 
 
 Clarice looked up at the star-shot sky. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that is it after sorrow, joy." 
 
 All of them were quiet and subdued when they 
 reached the capital, and bade each other good night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 
 
 IT was Guthrie's unpleasant duty the next day to 
 send a despatch, stating that the House would en- 
 deavour to impeach its Speaker, Philip Carton, a 
 young man of obscure parentage, who had been held 
 up to the boys of the State during the last three or four 
 years as a model of what might be achieved in the land 
 of opportunity. 
 
 The news was beginning to filter through other 
 sources, and he was released from his promise to War- 
 field. Senator Cobb told him of it, Mr. Pike brought 
 him the story, and it came, too, from many other 
 sources. 
 
 Guthrie was informed also that the powers behind 
 Pursley, as Jimmy Warfield had said, would not try 
 for mere expulsion, but for impeachment in due form, 
 carrying with it if successful the loss of citizenship. 
 The House by a two-thirds vote might expel any of its 
 members, but an impeachment would have to be laid 
 before the Senate, which would resolve itself into a 
 trial court, and if a two-thirds majority could be se- 
 cured, would find the Speaker guilty and drive him in 
 disgrace from the Legislature. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart and pen that Guthrie 
 wrote these things. He knew Carton's faults, but he 
 was confident of his absolute rectitude, although he 
 
 117
 
 118 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 could not overlook the formidable forces arrayed against 
 him and the belief in his guilt or at least fault enter- 
 tained by many who really liked him. 
 
 The next day the Times and all the other newspapers 
 of the State contained sensational despatches from the 
 capital. Carton would be put on trial, and the neces- 
 sary methods of procedure foreshadowed a long and 
 desperate fight. The whole State was eager for the least 
 scrap of news about it, and at once parties formed; 
 nor were these parties always political. Men did not 
 divide on the old Republican and Democratic lines. 
 It became a personal question, and for the moment the 
 public lost sight of the possible action of the Republican 
 minority in both House and Senate. Yet it was a 
 minority which at the crisis might wield the balance of 
 
 power. 
 
 Nor was the feeling in the State wholly of displeasure. 
 It is a State that loves a political fight particularly 
 if it is waged about a personality; and, when this 
 personality was of such prominence as the Speaker of 
 the House, and the case was so unusual, then the 
 promise for a lively winter was very good indeed. 
 The newspapers would be filled with interesting reading, 
 and, as they followed the evidence, would also discuss 
 hotly the question of Carton's guilt or innocence. To 
 the whole population, it would be a great battle with 
 themselves as the spectators and the capital as the 
 
 arena. 
 
 Clltt. . . 
 
 At the capital, however, many men were occupied 
 with other things than the mere panoramic effect of 
 the battle. This question of the Republican minority 
 was to them an immediate and pressing matter. They 
 recognised at once the power of the Republicans, but
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 119 
 
 they were unable to say what that party would do with it. 
 Would they follow the evidence and divide according to 
 their personal views, or would they act as a solid polit- 
 ical body ? And, even in the latter case, another ques- 
 tion arose would they be for Carton or against him ? 
 By either course, they could inflict damage upon the 
 prestige of the Democratic party; that is, by proving 
 their Speaker to be a scoundrel, or by saving an innocent 
 man from the rage of a Democratic mob. 
 
 There were eight Republican members of the Senate 
 and thirty-seven of the House, coming chiefly from the 
 mountains, and Guthrie was quite sure that, when the 
 fight grew hot, Mr. Pike would be their leader. Mr. 
 Pike was his very good friend and, therefore, he sought 
 him. 
 
 The Senator was in his room in a bleak boarding- 
 house all the mountain members were poor, and in- 
 variably they had poor quarters but he gave Guthrie 
 a sincere welcome. Guthrie noticed at once that the 
 mountaineer looked troubled. He pulled his whiskers 
 nervously, and gazed absently out of the window. 
 
 "Mr. Pike," said Guthrie, "I've come to interview 
 you." 
 
 "All right, go ahead," said Mr. Pike, with a faint 
 smile. "What is it you want to know? About 
 the prospects for the next wheat crop in the moun- 
 tains? Well, there won't be any; we don't raise 
 wheat." 
 
 "It's a political crop that I'm talking about. You 
 know the charges against Carton a man whom you 
 like." 
 
 "Yes, I like him," said Mr. Pike meditatively, as 
 he polished his whiskers with his left hand.
 
 120 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "And as a Republican you are perhaps in a rather 
 unusual position, so far as this case is concerned.'' 
 
 "Yes, in a delicate position like a boy balancing 
 himself on the sharp edge of a fence-rail." 
 
 Guthrie smiled. The homely simile reminded him 
 a little of Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 "Still," he said, "the boy sitting on the sharp edge 
 of the fence-rail can't stay there forever." 
 
 "That's so," said Mr. Pike meditatively, "but 
 nobody ever knows which way he's going to jump, un- 
 til he jumps." 
 
 "But the boy sooner or later has to decide, and, if 
 he has a friend standing by and looking on, he might 
 shout to him: 'Look out, I'm coming this way!' or 
 'Look out, I'm going to jump that way!" 
 
 "It isn't the nature of a boy to do that," said Mr. 
 Pike, still meditatively polishing his whiskers. "He 
 lets the jump speak for itself. Besides, it would spoil 
 half the fun if he told the other boy beforehand what 
 he was going to do." 
 
 Guthrie gave up the attempt. He had not had much 
 hope that Mr. Pike would declare himself, but he 
 wished to make the trial. 
 
 Jimmy Warfield informed him an hour later that 
 General Pelham and Mrs. Pelham had arrived, and 
 were in a suite of rooms at the hotel, but were to dine 
 with the Governor in the evening. 
 
 "Of course, you know why they have come," said 
 Warfield. 
 
 "Yes," replied Guthrie, "they demand that their 
 daughter's affianced shall be above suspicion even." 
 Guthrie knew General Pelham, and, at the first oppor- 
 tunity, he called on him and his wife in their rooms.
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 121 
 
 The General had a great name in the State because 
 of his wealth, his ancestors, his presence, and powerful 
 family connection, and the legends of his military ser- 
 vice. He had fought in the Mexican War when but 
 a boy, and had served on the Southern side in the Civil 
 War, where his title of general came to him. Though 
 more than seventy, he was yet vigorous and extremely 
 ruddy. He had long, snow-white hair, fierce white 
 imperial and moustaches, and as he always wore black 
 clothing and, when out of doors, a huge, black .slouch 
 hat, his was a figure that could not fail to attract atten- 
 tion. His conversation was usually military and remi- 
 niscent. Mrs Pelham was a pale little woman who 
 never said much. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Guthrie," said the General in a rumbling 
 voice that had in it some of the quality of a roar, "Glad 
 to see you! One always finds men of your calling in 
 the midst of the battle." 
 
 "That's what we are for, General," said Guthrie. 
 
 "Just like a soldier," rumbled the General. "Man 
 I knew said at Gettysburg, when they were falling all 
 around us, 'What fools we are to come here and get 
 ourselves killed!' 'Not so,' I replied, 'it's duty; if 
 duty says run your head against a cannon-ball, run it.' 
 He did it two minutes later. Now, sit down, Mr. 
 Guthrie, and tell us all the news of the capital. The 
 usual trifling lot of boys here, I suppose." 
 
 The General was a prodigious politician, but he 
 merely skirted the edge of politics, delivering now and 
 then sweeping condemnations, carelessly waving away 
 a man or a policy as one would brush off a fly. Also, 
 in his talk, he confined himself to general principles, and 
 usually he defined them "as laid down by Jefferson."
 
 Jefferson was always his court of final resort, and, in a 
 State where the memory of Thomas Jefferson was held 
 in great reverence, the General infallibly crushed his 
 opponent by a quotation from his writings. 
 
 "Idling away its time! idling away its time, of course, 
 just as all the Legislatures nowadays do!" continued 
 the General. "A military man would make short 
 work of such business! Not half of these members are 
 fit for the rank of corporal!" 
 
 "They are doing the best they can," said Guthrie 
 
 mildly. 
 
 "Just what they said of the piano-player when they 
 asked the audience not to shoot him," rumbled the 
 General. "Now, what's all this I hear about the 
 Speaker, Mr. Carton? Half a dozen men have been 
 pouring tales into my ear about him since I've come, 
 but I know that you'll tell me the facts, Mr. Guthrie." 
 
 Guthrie saw the pale face of Mrs. Pelham flush a 
 little, and her eyes show keen interest. He wondered 
 if this subdued little woman agreed with her husband 
 in all things. 
 
 Guthrie was fully aware that the General knew as 
 much as the public knew about the Carton case, and 
 that what he wanted was an opinion. The General 
 would seek to give the impression that the affair was of 
 no personal interest to him, Carton being merely one 
 of "those trifling boys." 
 
 So Guthrie stated quietly his view of the case, letting 
 his confidence in Carton be known, although he took 
 care not to proclaim it too loudly. The General lis- 
 tened, giving utterance to muffled "Hums!" and 
 "Ahs!" but Guthrie glanced once at his pale little wife, 
 and saw a look of gratitude on her face.
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 123 
 
 Guthrie wondered that the General should speak 
 to him so frankly of Carton in this connection, which 
 was more or less of a family affair; but he surmised it 
 to be a part of the old soldier's policy to refer to the 
 Speaker as a stranger and to give the public that 
 impression. 
 
 The General ran his hand through his shock of white 
 hair and referred to the great men with whom he had 
 been associated intimately, General Scott, and General 
 Taylor, and General Lee, and others who had names 
 in the country's history. He was really an impressive- 
 looking man, and, when he circled sagely about public 
 questions, there were many who would nudge each 
 other and whisper: "See, the General knows! The 
 old warrior cuts like a sword right to the heart of 
 affairs." 
 
 "I can't say that I ever liked Carton," continued 
 the General. "I've met the youngster once or twice, 
 casually, quite casually. There's a lack of good blood 
 there. I understand that his parents were quite com- 
 mon people, almost 'poor white trash." 
 
 "But what of that, General?" suddenly said the 
 pale little wife. "The founder of the Pelham family 
 fortunes, the man of great mind and energy, was only 
 an English peasant he came over in 1634 as you have 
 often told me." 
 
 "Madame! Madame!" rumbled the General, "you 
 show an utter lack of discrimination. William George 
 Pelham, our first ancestor, was not a peasant but an 
 English yeoman. A yeoman, madame, was of quite 
 another type." 
 
 A faint smile passed over the face of Mrs. Pelham, 
 but she said nothing more, and the General resumed
 
 124 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 the discussion of politics at the capital. The majority 
 of the leaders seemed to him to be too young: boys 
 under thirty should not have places of so much responsi- 
 bility in the State; all the generals in the Mexican 
 War were much older men men formed in the school 
 of experience, and hence that struggle was an un- 
 broken chain of triumphs. 
 
 Guthrie made no protest against the General's sweep- 
 ing assertions, but he knew that a great change was 
 coming over the State nevertheless a change made 
 necessary by the law of time rather than by any sweep- 
 ing revolution. It was now a generation since the 
 Civil War, and the atmosphere of that vast conflict 
 which so long enveloped everything was being driven 
 away by the fresher breezes of a new century, now al- 
 most at hand. Its great figures were passing, and men 
 born after the firing on Fort Sumter, men to whom 
 those issues were a part of the dead and historic past, 
 were taking the future of the State into their hands, 
 and the old generation resented it. 
 
 So Guthrie listened without feeling to the General's 
 diatribes, although he was a firm believer in the new 
 school. He saw much that was hollow and uncon- 
 sciously selfish in the old school with its sounding 
 phrases, its great show of manners, and its narrow 
 sectional views; but it was the school of this genera- 
 tion's fathers, and it should be permitted to pass with 
 dignity, and through ripeness of time, off the stage of 
 affairs. 
 
 "Come to see us often, Mr. Guthrie," said General 
 Pelham, as Guthrie left. "You will always be wel- 
 come." 
 
 Guthrie had no doubt either of the General's sincer-
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 125 
 
 ity or of his liking for himself, yet he was well aware that 
 General Pelham also would want to keep in touch with 
 one who was likely to know all the news of the capi- 
 tal. But no such consideration seemed to enter into 
 the invitation of Mrs. Pelham when she seconded that 
 of her husband. 
 
 When-Guthrie returned to the lobby of the hotel, he 
 saw Caius Marcellus Harlow sitting quietly in a corner, 
 and apparently gazing in an absent way through a win- 
 dow at the wintry landscape. It was Mr. Harlow's 
 first appearance in the capital since the correspondent 
 had found him in the railroad station on his way to the 
 metropolis of the State. 
 
 Guthrie, moved by a sudden impulse, approached 
 Mr. Harlow and greeted, him. 
 
 "Glad to see you, Mr. Guthrie," said Mr. Harlow 
 quietly. "Sorry I couldn't talk to you more fully last 
 time I saw you, but I was in a hurry then, and trains 
 won't wait, you know." 
 
 A thin, dry smile passed over the smooth, shaven 
 face of Caius Marcellus Harlow. 
 
 "It was a pity that our conversation was interrupted," 
 said Guthrie quietly, "but the misfortune is not incur- 
 able. We can resume it just where we left off, Mr. 
 Harlow." 
 
 Again Mr. Harlow smiled dryly. He had been used, 
 in the course of many years, to the evasion of questions, 
 and he was not at all embarrassed now. 
 
 "If I remember rightly," he said, "our conversa- 
 tion had passed to the further edge of the realm of fact, 
 and was just about to enter the domain of surmise. 
 So, on the whole, it was well that the train came when 
 it did."
 
 126 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "But we can turn back into the realm of fact," said 
 Guthrie. "For instance, it would interest the public 
 greatly to know just who is back of the 'United.' I 
 confess that I feel much curiosity on the subject my- 
 self." 
 
 "Naturally. Though a mere on-looker, I, too, feel 
 much interest in the question." 
 
 " It is said that you are the agent that is, the lobby- 
 ist of these unknown people," said Guthrie boldly. 
 
 "People will say anything," replied Mr. Harlow, 
 smiling his thin, dry smile, " and you, as an experienced 
 correspondent, Mr. Guthrie, knowing how to sift the 
 wheat from the chaff, are aware that the amount of 
 wheat is extremely small and the amount of chaff 
 ridiculously large." 
 
 Guthrie looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Harlow, 
 but the calm, smoothly shaven man met his gaze with- 
 out evasion. Guthrie felt that he might be mistaken; 
 Mr. Harlow looked so candid and innocent, and there 
 was nothing to connect him with the affair save the 
 fact that he seemed to have no business at the capital, 
 but kept a vigilant watch over all legislation. 
 
 "So you won't tell me anything about these people ?" 
 said Guthrie, smiling. 
 
 Mr. Harlow smiled in return. 
 
 "I should like to give you an interesting story for 
 the Times, Mr. Guthrie," he said, "for pardon me 
 when I say it the paper has seemed a little dull to me 
 recently; but I do not know any. Will you accept 
 the will instead of the deed ? " 
 
 " For the present, because I have to," replied Guth- 
 rie; "but, maybe, I shall come to you some other day 
 for information, Mr. Harlow."
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 127 
 
 Guthrie made a mental note as he went away, and 
 it read, "A second failure," the first being his fruit- 
 less interview with Mr. Pike. It annoyed him that he 
 could not grasp the "United" in any way. It was 
 intangible, but nevertheless it was a most vital presence. 
 The incorporators were well-known, yet they were not 
 men of means and power, and, beyond a doubt, they 
 were mere dummies. But Guthrie was not able to 
 get behind these dummies. 
 
 He had every inducement to penetrate the secret of 
 the "United:" his sympathy for his friend, Carton, 
 pushed him on, and such a discovery, too, would be 
 important and legitimate news. He resolved to find 
 the truth in this matter, even if it lay at the bottom of a 
 very deep well. But, as the day passed, he made no 
 progress. He confided to Jimmy Warfield his belief 
 that Harlow was the leader, at the capital, of the forces 
 against Carton, and Warfield agreed with him, but he 
 could get no hold. "When I grasp at anything," 
 said Warfield, "it melts in my hand like smoke." 
 
 Meanwhile, the forces, in Warfield's expressive 
 phrase, were "lining up for the great struggle." All 
 the ordinary business was forgotten or hurried over at 
 this critical juncture. The inborn love of a fight came 
 to the front, and Mr. Pursley, persistent, belligerent, 
 and wholly impervious to criticism, made the first move 
 in the campaign, filing in the House, as the law pre- 
 scribed, a petition for the impeachment of its Speaker, 
 Philip Carton. This petition was verified by the affi- 
 davit of Mr. Pursley, and in it he set forth duly that 
 the said Philip Carton had abused his power as Speaker 
 to impede and defeat a bill, incorporating the United 
 Electric, Gas, Power, Light, and Heating Company,
 
 128 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 a company intended to break the power of various 
 monopolies in the metropolis of the State, and mani- 
 festly in the interest of the public. He directly charged 
 that the said Philip Carton was interested in the defeat 
 of this bill; that is, that he was bribed by the old com- 
 panies to defeat it by the dilatory tactics which a skil- 
 ful Speaker could adopt. 
 
 It was a scene of the deepest solemnity in the House 
 when the petition was presented. All felt the gravity 
 of the occasion and how it was likely to rend the State 
 into factions. Carton himself was in the chair, nearly 
 all the Senators had come in and were on the floor of 
 the House with the Representatives, and the lobbies 
 were crowded. Clarice Ransome, Mary Pelham, and 
 her parents, the Governor's wife, and Mrs. Dennison, 
 all with eager, intent faces, were there. 
 
 It was one of the darkest days of winter. Since 
 morning, the clouds had been rolling up from the south- 
 west, and a raw, bitter wind whistled around the old 
 Capitol. Just as the House met, the snow began to fall 
 slowly and sullenly. 
 
 There was a dead silence in the chamber save for 
 an occasional scrape of a foot, because all knew what 
 was coming. Mr. Pursley had stated openly when he 
 would present his petition, and there was no attempt 
 to prevent him, as opposition now would have preju- 
 diced the public against Carton. 
 
 Mr. Pursley arose, presented his petition in due 
 form, and it was read by the clerk of the House. Car- 
 ton never stirred during the reading; he was erect and 
 dignified, but pale. When the reading was finished, he 
 stood up and said: 
 "Gentlemen of the House, as I, your Speaker, am
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 129 
 
 the person accused in this petition, it is obviously unfit 
 that I should preside over your further proceedings 
 in regard to it. Therefore, I name the gentleman from 
 Barlow County in my place, and I will retire to the 
 floor of the House." 
 
 A slight hum of approval arose. It was confidently 
 expected by his enemies and many of his friends.too, 
 that Carton would name one of his supporters to act in 
 his place because the rulings of the Chair might be of 
 the utmost importance. But Roger Elton, the mem- 
 ber from Barlow County, a middle-aged, reserved, 
 self-contained man, was more nearly independent 
 than any other member of the House. Broadly speak- 
 ing a Democrat, he voted now and then with the Repub- 
 licans, and he was absolutely a man of his own opin- 
 ions, who was now serving his sixth consecutive term 
 in the House. Beyond a doubt, he would decide all 
 questions strictly upon their merits, and it was seen 
 by this choice that Carton would take no advantage. 
 The first impression that he made was distinctly fa- 
 vourable. 
 
 Carton descended from the dais upon which sits 
 the Speaker's chair, but his air was not that of a man 
 who is going down. All his pride and haughtiness were 
 with him at this moment, and every line of his figure 
 said, "I shall return to this seat which is mine." 
 Even old General Pelham, sitting in the lobby between 
 his wife and daughter, was impressed and said, "By 
 George, the fellow carries it well!" But Mary Pelham 
 merely gazed straight before her, and, when Carton 
 glanced once toward the lobby, he did not meet 
 her eyes which looked over and beyond him. Guthrie 
 at this moment wrote in the despatch that he was going
 
 130 GTJTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 to send, "The bearing of the Speaker as he descended 
 from the chair aroused the admiration of all the House 
 and all the spectators; it was that of a man proud of 
 his innocence and confident of vindication." 
 
 Carton walked down the aisle, and took the seat left 
 vacant by the member from Barlow County, from 
 which he faced the new and temporary Speaker, and 
 awaited the next business of the House. 
 
 Mr. Elton briefly stated that the House must decide 
 by a majority vote whether an impeachment of its 
 Speaker, Philip Carton, should be ordered. If it 
 should be so decided, he would then appoint a com- 
 mittee to prosecute the same, and the chairman of that 
 committee five days thereafter would lay the case before 
 the Senate, which would try the case. Did the House 
 wish to vote now on the question of impeachment? 
 
 Jimmy Warfield sprang up, and was recognised by 
 the Chair. 
 
 "Mr. Speaker," he said, "this is a most extraordi- 
 nary and sensational action, unparalleled in the history 
 of the State. It is a case that demands the utmost 
 attention and thought of the Legislature. I am sure 
 that neither those who are for Mr. Carton nor those 
 who are against him wish hasty action. I move, there- 
 fore, that the vote on the question of impeachment be 
 set for 2 P. M. next Monday." 
 
 There was no opposition by either side to the motion 
 which was seconded and promptly carried, and the 
 House adjourned for the noon recess. Then arose a 
 great buzz of talk, and the spectators from the lobbies 
 poured in upon the floor. Many friends of Carton 
 wished to show their sympathy,- and among them were 
 members ready to defy the public which hated corpo-
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 131 
 
 rations and trusts, and which was now identifying 
 Carton with them. Clarice Ransome impulsively gave 
 him both her hands and exclaimed, 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Carton, I want to tell you how much I 
 admire your course!" 
 
 Guthrie, standing quietly in the background, was 
 grateful to Clarice for this warm-hearted act, but Car- 
 ton glanced again toward the lobby. Mary Pelham 
 had not come upon the floor of the House, and her 
 father, now with her arm in his as if he were afraid 
 she would escape, was taking her from the building, 
 while Mrs. Pelham meekly followed. Carton was pale 
 already, but he turned a little paler, and Guthrie knew 
 how this act like a desertion struck him to the heart; 
 a word of sympathy then from Mary Pelham would 
 have gone far. 
 
 By some unconscious process, an informal division of 
 the House seemed to take place then. Those who 
 favoured Carton flocked around him, and those who 
 were against him crowded out at the far aisle. Guth- 
 rie, always observant, noticed how much larger the 
 hostile crowd was than the other, but he was not sur- 
 prised. He had never doubted that the impeachment 
 would be laid by the House, and the great fight would 
 come before the Senate as a trial court. 
 
 He waited until most of the crowd were gone, then 
 walked slowly out, but in the lobby he found the young 
 Governor and his wife waiting. 
 
 "You must come to luncheon with us, Mr. Guthrie," 
 said Lucy Hastings. " Clarice and Mary will be there, 
 of course, and the General and Mrs. Pelham, and 
 and " 
 
 "And we invited Carton, too," said the Governor,
 
 132 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 taking up the continuance for her, "but he would not 
 come." 
 
 Guthrie appreciated the Governor's generosity in 
 supporting his friend, but, at this moment, Carton's 
 declination was wise; it would have seemed like a de- 
 fiance of public opinion. 
 
 He walked through the Capitol grounds with the 
 Governor and his wife, the other guests having gone on 
 ahead. The day was still dark and lowering, and the 
 flakes of snow were driven in their faces by the bitter 
 wind. 
 
 "What an unpleasant day!" said the Governor, 
 shivering. "I hope it is not an omen for Carton." 
 
 "It's just the other way," said Guthrie, cheerfully, 
 as he looked up at the leaden sky. " Bad beginning, 
 good ending." 
 
 Guthrie, partly through instinct and partly through 
 the stimulus of occupation, had trained his faculties 
 of observation to the highest pitch, and he noticed at 
 once that the Governor chose the longest way to his 
 house; he inferred from this that Mr. Hastings wished 
 to ask him questions, and in half a minute he was proved 
 to be right. 
 
 "Billy," said the Governor, going at once to the 
 point, "have you found out what the Republicans are 
 going to do in this affair of Carton's?" 
 
 "No, I have not," replied Guthrie, "but I would 
 give much to know. I tried to interview Mr. Pike who, 
 is as nearly their leader as they come to having any, 
 but he would not answer a question. He dealt 
 wholly in parables and allegories." 
 
 "Just like one of those mountaineers," said the 
 Governor. "It would be wrong if the Republicans
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 133 
 
 tried to 'play polities' in this, but the temptation must 
 be strong." 
 
 "No doubt of it," replied Guthrie, "and, if they see 
 a chance to split our party and throw the State into their 
 own hands, it is human nature to do it." 
 
 But Lucy Hastings would not tolerate any such idea; 
 she took only the single-minded view that every man 
 should vote according to his belief in the innocence or 
 guilt of Carton how it could be anything but inno- 
 cence, she failed to see. 
 
 Guthrie and the Governor did not reply, and in a few 
 moments they were at the executive mansion. It was 
 a quiet luncheon save for the voice of General Pelham. 
 All the others were oppressed by the case against 
 Carton, presented in due form at last, and General 
 Pelham may have been troubled by it too; but he as- 
 sumed, even to a greater extent than usual, the air of 
 an elderly man of the world who could recount much 
 strenuous experience. His reminiscences of old battle- 
 fields and of men who were men flowed in a turgid 
 stream, and the others offered few interruptions because 
 they felt little like conversation. Now and then, Mary 
 Pelham, coming out of her cold reserve, pretended 
 gayety, but it was strained and unnatural. 
 
 Obviously, there was a cloud over the luncheon, and 
 Guthrie was not sorry when he left the house, because 
 he, too, felt some constraint and, when there was con- 
 straint, he preferred to be with others rather than with 
 his friends. 
 
 He went from the Governor's house to the telegraph 
 office, wishing to file a portion of his despatch for early 
 sending, and he wrote it at a desk in the corner of the 
 room. The only operator present was the second as-
 
 134 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 sistant, a garrulous boy of eighteen, who remarked 
 when Guthrie finished his work: 
 
 "Mighty busy day for us, Mr. Guthrie! I tell you 
 a thing like the impeachment of Mr. Carton gives us 
 lots of work to do. The wires will be burnin' all day 
 and to-night, too. The boss and Tom didn't get away 
 to dinner until five minutes ago. We've been sendin' 
 columns an' columns to the evenin' papers, and lots 
 of private despatches, too." 
 
 "Ah!" said Guthrie absently. 
 
 "Yes," continued the boy, "I've been on most of 
 the private ones myself. Sent a long one for Mr. 
 Harlow all the way to New York City just a few min- 
 utes before you came in." 
 
 All Guthrie's abstraction was gone, and, in an instant, 
 he was keenly alive. A long despatch by Caius Mar- 
 cellus Harlow to New York City, and that, too, right 
 on the heels of the petition against Carton! He 
 looked again at the boy, who was none too clear- 
 witted and obviously anxious to talk about the big 
 day's work. 
 
 A great temptation assailed Guthrie at that mo- 
 ment. He had an instinctive feeling that the telegram 
 of Mr. Harlow's was sent to the people who were mak- 
 ing the fight on Carton, and there was the boy before 
 him foolish, plastic, ready to be moulded in his hands 
 as he wished. Guthrie had no doubt that, by adroit 
 questionings, he could draw from him every fact of the 
 despatch, and the boy himself remain ignorant that he 
 had told. 
 
 It was like a wireless telegram out of the dark, telling 
 where the key to the mystery lay, and Guthrie glanced 
 around the room and then out of the door and into the
 
 THE CASE AGAINST CARTON 135 
 
 street; no one was coming, they would be alone there 
 for a while longer. 
 
 He thought of all that depended on the solution 
 of this problem the future of Carton, his personal 
 happiness, the salvation of the State from a great dis- 
 grace, and the prevention of a terrible split in the party. 
 He must play the spy, the thief if one need call it so 
 and stop these things! After all, the cause of jus- 
 tice would be served. 
 
 Guthrie opened his lips to ask the boy a question, 
 but he stopped and shivered. He felt even a physical 
 revolt at this thing, the like of which he had never done 
 before. The words halted at his lips, and, hastily put- 
 ting on his overcoat, he almost ran out of the room. 
 
 He inhaled a deep gulp of the cold, fresh air, and felt 
 better. The day was still dark and lowering, but a 
 hope came to him. Harlow was in communication 
 with people in New York City, and they were the men 
 who were making the fight on Carton. That had been 
 told to him without his seeking; and he had a clue. 
 Something had been gained, and the "something" 
 was not so little. 
 
 He walked toward the hotel, and saw Jimmy War- 
 field, wrapped in a great overcoat, standing on the 
 steps. 
 
 "There's a sensation," said Warfield. "Senator 
 Pike got a telegram half an hour ago. It came from 
 Sayville; that's the nearest place on the railroad to his 
 home it's fifty miles from there across the moun- 
 tains. The Pikes and the Dilgers have broken out 
 again it seems they've had an old feud which has 
 been resting for the last two years. Pike's younger 
 brother, Nathan, has been murdered from ambush.
 
 136 GUTHRIE OF THE 'TIMES 
 
 and the Pikes have telegraphed for the Senator to come. 
 He's the head of the family, and he'll have to go." 
 
 Guthrie was startled. This was like a projection 
 from an old and bloody past. He was familiar with 
 the story of mountain feuds, but rarely did they involve 
 a State senator. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Pike?" he asked. 
 
 "In his room, packing up. He never hesitated a 
 minute; it seems that he had been expecting an out- 
 break. But I don't think he'll talk." 
 
 "It isn't that," said Guthrie. "I'm going to the 
 mountains with him." 
 
 He had taken his resolution in an instant. Such an 
 event as this, coming at so critical a juncture and in- 
 volving the leader of the Republican minority in the 
 Legislature, was an event of great importance, hardly 
 inferior in interest to the fight on Carton. Moreover, 
 the main contest over Carton could not come up for 
 at least ten days yet, and by that time he would be back 
 in the capital. 
 
 "Yes," he repeated, "I'm going with Mr. Pike. 
 You can't tell what will happen in those mountains." 
 
 "All right, Billy; but whatever you do," said War- 
 field, earnestly, "don't meddle with the feud; you 
 know that so long as you are an outsider you are as 
 safe in the mountains as you are anywhere in the world." 
 
 " I'll bear it in mind," Guthrie replied over his shoul- 
 der, as he was already hastening back to the telegraph 
 office.
 
 CHAPTER DC 
 INTO THE WILD ERNESS 
 
 to * 
 
 in time o * *""' " and 
 
 east-bound train wnfch^Ln *?** 
 " due in ,he Capitol in thrlT *"" 
 reived instruction UtS ' " nd unl ^ he 
 
 , e pushed 
 Mr. Pike was , 
 
 J 
 r ' and 
 
 ^ fl r ' 
 
 had a metallic blue look 
 -ngle glimpse that it was 
 38^alibre revolver. 
 
 Mr. Pike looked up. 
 
 "Ah! it i 
 
 a PP roac hed 
 
 ^ * e 
 seven-shot, 
 
 said 
 
 137
 
 138 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 bones were high and prominent, and the skin lay upon 
 them like parchment. 
 
 Mr. Pike's whole character seemed to have changed 
 with his appearance. There was something ferocious, 
 something savage in the look of his black eyes and the 
 angles of his lean face. It was the gaze of a North 
 American Indian, or rather of a man from whom a 
 hard-won civilisation had suddenly slipped. 
 
 Guthrie hesitated. He scarcely knew how to ap- 
 proach this new man, this stranger. 
 
 "Mr. Pike," he said, "I have heard of your mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," said Mr. Pike quietly, "Nathan was 
 my brother, and it was right that they should send for 
 me. I know my duty here I am a senator of this 
 State, and there is a great trial coming but out there 
 in the mountains, where my home is, blood is calling 
 the blood of my murdered brother. Mr. Guthrie, 
 with us of the mountains the family always comes be- 
 fore the State." 
 
 Guthrie knew this, he knew the strength of kinship 
 in the mountains, and he knew Mr. Pike must be 
 suffering. 
 
 "I am going with you," he said. 
 
 "That can't be," said the Senator. "This concerns 
 only the Pikes and the Dilgers." 
 
 "I think not," replied Guthrie firmly. "At any 
 rate, I am going. The same train that takes you to 
 Sayville will take me too." 
 
 Mr. Pike fastened the catch of his valise before he 
 replied, and, when he looked up again, his face was stern 
 and fixed. 
 
 "You had better stay here, Mr. Guthrie," he said,
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 139 
 
 "and I tell you because I like you. But, if you insist 
 on going, I can't prevent it." 
 
 "That's quite true," replied Guthrie with a slight 
 laugh. "You, for one reason, think that it is your 
 duty to go, and I, for another reason, think that it is 
 mine to go, too." 
 
 "Very well," replied the Senator, "yet I wish you 
 wouldn't do it. And, when you get in the mountains, 
 you'd better keep away from me. It's all between the 
 Pikes and the Dilgers, and there's no need of anybody 
 else's being drawn into it." 
 
 He spoke quite simply. At no time had he raised 
 his voice above its customary pitch, but Guthrie soon 
 saw that his attention was wandering; he was thinking 
 now of the wintry hills, the dwarfed undergrowth, hid- 
 den marksmen, and his dead brother. Guthrie was 
 much moved. 
 
 "Mr. Pike," he suddenly exclaimed, "I wish to offer 
 you my deepest sympathy." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Mr. Pike clasped it in a 
 firm grasp. Nothing more was said, and Guthrie left 
 the house at once. He, too, had packing to do, and he 
 intended to make a call after that. In the street, a mes- 
 senger boy handed him a telegram containing the 
 single word, " Go." Guthrie had known that it would 
 be so, and, thrusting the message in his pocket, con- 
 tinued on his way to his own room where he finished 
 his task in half an hour. 
 
 He understood that it was no light journey on which 
 he was going. The mountains are sufficiently arduous in 
 summer, but are trebly so in winter, and Guthrie pro- 
 vided himself with top-boots and a flask of strong whis- 
 key, something that he never drank at the capital.
 
 140 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Equipped now for a campaign, he went to the Gov- 
 ernor's house and sent his card to Clarice Ransome. 
 Then he waited in the parlour before the blazing wood 
 fire, and began to feel the thrill of coming action. On 
 the whole, he was not sorry that he was starting on this 
 journey. Here was something tangible. He knew 
 just how to proceed. The field of the campaign lay 
 clear before him. He was not groping in the dark, as 
 in the Carton case. 
 
 He heard a step, and he rose as Clarice Ransome 
 entered. There was a faint flush on her face as of 
 surprise that he should come back so soon, but no trace 
 of displeasure. 
 
 Guthrie hesitated, and was embarrassed. He had 
 come on an impulse to tell her that he was going into 
 the mountains, but really there was no reason why he 
 should tell her this; it occurred to him now that it was 
 of no interest or importance to her. He flushed, and 
 she, seeing his embarrassment, shared it but for a 
 moment only then, recovering herself, she was cool and 
 seemingly indifferent. 
 
 "I came to tell you good-bye," said Guthrie, some- 
 what lamely. 
 
 "Good-bye? You are going to leave the capital?" 
 
 " Yes, I am going into the mountains," said Guthrie, 
 "but I expect to be back in eight or ten days. Still it's 
 quite a journey particularly at this time of the year, 
 and I've got a mission that must seem to you remark- 
 able. Suppose, we sit down here before the fire, and 
 I'll tell you about it." 
 
 She complied with his request, and she felt a 
 little pleasurable thrill that he had come to tell 
 her of his departure. Had she been analysing
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 141 
 
 herself, she would have said that it made a slight 
 appeal to her vanity. 
 
 Guthrie told her of the despatch to Mr. Pike, the 
 state of affairs between the Pikes and the Dilgers, and 
 his interview with the Senator. He offered no apology 
 for the mountaineers, leaving her to infer what she chose. 
 But she made no comment upon them; instead, she 
 spoke of him. 
 
 'And are you really going into those wild moun- 
 tains?" she asked, "and in the depth of winter I Why 
 it is like a campaign! See it is snowing now!" 
 
 Guthrie glanced at the window. The flakes had 
 increased in size and number, and were driving against 
 the glass. He looked at the blazing logs, and the fine 
 face of Clarice Ransome, rosy in the twilight; the 
 mountains were not so inviting after all. 
 
 "In some respects, I envy you," she said. "The 
 lives of women are monotonous; those of men 
 are not, or need not be so. You are going 
 upon what is an adventure, full of excitement and 
 the unexpected." 
 
 "I did not know that a woman would take that view 
 of it," said Guthrie. 
 
 "Perhaps I should not have done so a month ago," 
 she replied, thoughtfully, "but I can do so now. I 
 suppose action is the best thing in life." 
 
 "I have no doubt of it," said Guthrie with confi- 
 dence. 
 
 She was silent, gazing meditatively into the fire. 
 She was thinking then of Raoul from whom she had 
 received a letter that morning, a letter full of the most 
 beautiful phrases. Her heart had warmed to him as 
 she read it. Raoul could be so expressive! But the
 
 142 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 picture of him with his beautiful neckties, his unim- 
 peachable coats, his delicate features, and the faint, 
 almost imperceptible odour of perfume about him rose 
 up before her. She could not conceive of Raoul plung- 
 ing into a wilderness of mountains among men half or 
 wholly wild, who were engaging with zest in the busi- 
 ness of shooting at each other: his aptitudes lay in 
 other directions. 
 
 "I must go," said Guthrie, "I have been taking up 
 your time, but I wished to say good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," she said, and she put a cool hand in 
 his. "But remember that I demand the tale of your 
 adventures when you come back." 
 
 "You shall have it," said Guthrie as he went out. 
 
 The winter twilight fell early, and with it came the 
 east-bound train which found Guthrie, wrapped in a 
 big black overcoat, a small valise in his hand, waiting 
 at the station. Mr. Pike, also valise in hand, was 
 waiting there, too, sombre and quiet. Guthrie nodded 
 to him, but did not speak, judging that the Senator 
 wished to be alone with his sorrow and his plans for 
 the future. 
 
 It was to be a hard night's journey. Express trains 
 as good as any in the world passed through the capital 
 on their way to New York, but they did not stop at 
 Sayville, and Guthrie and the Senator were forced to 
 take what is known as a "local," one that stopped at 
 every station and made slow time. It would put them 
 into Sayville early the next morning, but it had no 
 sleeping-coaches, and Guthrie, with the skill of an old 
 campaigner, made himself as comfortable as possible 
 in one of the red plush seats with his valise for a pillow 
 and his overcoat for a blanket. Mr Pike sat at the
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 143 
 
 other end of the coach staring solemnly out at the hills 
 that slid by. 
 
 They had less than a dozen persons for company, 
 and none of them made any impression on Guthrie. 
 He wished to go to sleep at once, but his eyes refused 
 to close. He, too, began to stare out of the window 
 like Mr. Pike, although he saw the hills that fled past, 
 while Mr. Pike did not. The snow cased falling, the 
 moon came out, silvery and clear, and it was a com- 
 fortable landscape, despite the wintry night, intersected 
 with stone fences, dotted here and there with big, red 
 brick houses, and bearing all the signs of opulence and 
 an old civilisation. It was hard to realise that another 
 hundred and fifty miles would take him into a region 
 so wild that the old clan feuds of the Celt yet endured, 
 and the law of the rifle was still the chief law of the 
 land. But Guthrie knew well that he would wake up 
 the next morning in a world wholly different from his, 
 and, although he had seen it often, the contrast always 
 struck him with great force. 
 
 Passengers got off at the little stations, and new 
 ones got on, but the number aboard the train did 
 not change materially, nor did their character or 
 lack of it. There was not one among them whose 
 features Guthrie could remember ten minutes later; 
 all paled before the swart, set face of Mr. Pike still 
 staring steadily out of the window at the hills flying 
 past and never seeing them. 
 
 Guthrie was glad to notice that the snow had stopped ; 
 fifty miles east of the capital, none at all seemed to have 
 fallen, and the red brick houses looked snug and warm 
 in the moonlight. At last he began to feel sleepy; the 
 dim train-lights flickered overhead, the figures of the
 
 144 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 passengers wavered, and only the stern face of Mr. 
 Pike at the window remained fixed and vivid. Then 
 he fell asleep, and was unconscious of everything till the 
 conductor awoke him on a raw, cold morning, with a 
 misty dawn creeping in at the car windows. 
 
 "Sayville!" cried the conductor. "All off for Say- 
 ville!" 
 
 Guthrie shivered, drew on his gloves, and pulled the 
 high collar of his overcoat about his ears. Mr. Pike, 
 valise in hand and watchful, was already at the door. 
 Guthrie was sure that the Senator had not closed his 
 eyes throughout the night, and, taking his own valise, 
 he followed. 
 
 He stepped out on the little platform, and the train 
 with a shriek and a whiz left him, sending back a fare- 
 well and derisive column of smoke. Guthrie looked 
 about him. The expected change from the night before 
 had come in all its completeness, and the contrast, as 
 always, struck sharply upon his mind. 
 
 He was deep in the mountains, and they lay in a coil 
 about him, ridge on ridge, until they died away in a 
 faint blur on the horizon. The dwarfed forests that 
 clothed them from base to summit were swept bare of 
 leaves by the winter winds, and the naked branches 
 hung mournfully. Sayville, a mean little village of 
 squalid houses, sprawled in a cleft between the hills, 
 and Guthrie, looking at it, wondered why anybody 
 should ever want to live there. The sun was not yet 
 risen, and the gray dawn, its vanguard, was still misty. 
 The village was asleep, but, even in its rest, it conveyed 
 to Guthrie no idea of comfort, like the snug towns of 
 the lowlands that he had left behind. 
 
 Mr. Pike tapped him on the shoulder. A long, thin
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 145 
 
 mountaineer of uncertain age, leading a spare horse, 
 had met the Senator at the station. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," said Mr. Pike, "I take horse now 
 for Briarton, and I ride fast. It wouldn't do at all for 
 you to go with me from here, and I tell you that, if you 
 go to that two-story house over there, you can get 
 breakfast and a fire." 
 
 Guthrie nodded cheerfully. 
 
 "I understand, Mr. Pike," he said. "I don't want 
 to go with you now, but I'll follow. I'll be in Briarton 
 not many hours behind you. Good-bye, Mr. Pike; I 
 hope no harm will come to you." 
 
 He held out his hand, and it was enclosed in a warm 
 and hearty clasp. Then the Senator sprang into the 
 saddle, and, with the messenger by his side, rode away 
 on the slope of the mountain. Guthrie watched them 
 until they were lost in the bleak forest, and then he went 
 to the house that Mr. Pike had pointed out to him. 
 
 He ate a poor breakfast in a cold room, and felt that 
 he was beginning the day badly. The inside of the 
 house was more cheerless than the outside; everything 
 was slatternly, and the people were lank and pasty- 
 faced. It gave Guthrie a sense of keen discomfort, 
 and he began to appreciate all the risks and troubles of 
 his venture. 
 
 He was more than an hour in securing a horse and a 
 guide, the horse to be used all the way, while the guide 
 was to stop at Lone Oak, another tiny village on the 
 way, thirty miles deeper into the mountains; he would 
 have to go the remaining twenty miles alone, and take 
 his chances. He tied his little valise on the saddle 
 behind him, and, with the twenty-year old boy, his 
 guide, he set forth. The boy, as he soon disclosed of
 
 146 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 his own accord, bore the name of Ezra Perkins, and he 
 was very curious about the world in which his own 
 orbit was so limited. 
 
 "What be you goin' to Briarton fur?" he asked with 
 the frank curiosity ot the mountains. 
 "Business," replied Guthrie vaguely. 
 "What's your line? Groceries? No! Wa'll, I rec- 
 kon then it's shoes, but I 'low it's a pow'ful bad time to 
 be goin' to Briarton. They're all took up there with 
 the feud that's broke out fresh between the Pikes and 
 the Dilgers. That was Senator Pike hisself that got 
 off the train when you did the tall man with the black 
 hair smartest man in the mountings they say he's 
 mighty nigh the head of the hull kit an' b'ilin' of the 
 Pikes, but the Dilgers hev laid his brother out cold for 
 shore!" 
 
 The road began to ascend the slope of the moun- 
 tains, and led away over the ridges. 
 
 The earth here was free from snow, and the cold 
 crisp air sparkled with freshness. Guthrie's spirits 
 returned. This was a lonely world, but it was worth 
 while to see it at times, in the brown grandeur of win- 
 ter, ridge on ridge, and peak on peak. The sun shot 
 up, and poured down a flood of gold on the wilderness, 
 in which Guthrie with a sweep of miles now saw not a 
 single house, not a singe cabin-smoke. But he en- 
 joyed the absence of human beings after the fret and 
 struggle of the capital, and, lifting up his voice, he sang, 
 then listened to the echo in the hollows of the hills. 
 
 "I took over to Lone Oak oncet a drummer who 
 sing like that," said Ezra. "I thought somethin' was 
 wrong with him, and shore nuff there was. He's in the 
 'sylum now disapp'inted in love."
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 147 
 
 Guthrie laughed. He knew how to take this, which 
 was not meant as a satire, but merely as a plain state- 
 ment of facts, irrespective of consequences or de- 
 ductions. 
 
 "I'm not like the drummer," he said, "I'm not dis- 
 appointed in love." 
 
 "You're lucky," said Ezra. "I am, an' it's a thing 
 you don't want to happen to you more'n oncet in a 
 lifetime. It was Sukey Parker, t'other side of the 
 mounting. We got religion at the same meetin' an' 
 kep' comp'ny a hull year. I thought it was all right, 
 but she sacked me an' took Bill Hubbard. I felt 
 pow'ful bad over it fur a while. You see, I'm a-gittin' 
 old, an' it's time I wuz married an' settled down." 
 
 "How old are you?" asked Guthrie. 
 
 "Twenty-one, come next June," replied Ezra sadly, 
 " an' I don't want to be no old bachelor, with all of 'em 
 hevin' the laugh on me!" 
 
 Guthrie made no comment, knowing that, by moun- 
 tain standards of development, Ezra should have been 
 comfortably married a couple of years ago. Instead, 
 he let the boy chatter on, but now he paid little atten- 
 tion, his mind becoming absorbed with the mountains 
 about him over which he rode. Although it was a 
 colder and higher region, there was no sign of snow 
 here. The sunlight streamed over everything, gilding 
 the bare rock and the brown bushes and filling the lungs 
 with tonic. 
 
 Guthrie, looking upon the sea of crests and ridges, 
 could understand how the main currents of civilisation 
 had passed them by, one turning to the North and the 
 other to the South, reuniting in a grand westward sweep 
 after they had flanked the mountain chain.
 
 148 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Silence and desolation reigned everywhere. There 
 was no sound save the faint murmur of the wind about 
 the slopes and through the bare branches. They did 
 not meet a human being, and they were two hours out 
 of Sayville when Guthrie saw the smoke of the first 
 cabin. Is was a thin stream rising from a glen half a 
 mile to the right, and he felt that it was a blur on 
 the landscape. Ezra volunteered information as to 
 who lived there, but the name made no impression on 
 Guthrie. They were now in a narrow road leading 
 along the side of a ridge, and Ezra rode before, the way 
 not being wide enough for two. 
 
 They came presently to the crest of the ridge, and 
 Guthrie saw far ahead a narrow valley. 
 
 "That," said Ezra, pointing with a long forefinger, 
 "is Lone Oak, but it's a good fifteen miles from here. 
 I reckon, stranger, that you'll have to stay all night 
 there." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Guthrie. "I suppose I can 
 get another guide in that town, and, if I don't, I can 
 push on alone." 
 
 Ezra looked questioningly at Guthrie. 
 
 " Tears to me," he said, "that you're pow'ful anxious 
 to git to Briarton; never knowed a drummer to be in 
 sich a hurry afore. An' that ain't sich a mighty big 
 grip to tote samples in neither!" 
 
 He looked at the little valise that his employer car- 
 ried on his saddle, and Guthrie knew that he was eaten 
 up with curiosity concerning its contents, but he would 
 not gratify it. He was willing to let Ezra, if he chose, 
 suppose that it was filled with improved revolvers, for 
 sale either to the Pikes or the Dilgers, whichever faction 
 made the better bid,
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 149 
 
 The promise was still all of fair weather, and the 
 horses, trained to the steep and narrow roads of the 
 mountains, made good speed toward Lone Oak. Guth- 
 rie rejoiced in the glorious peace and sunshine, but he 
 could not forget that to which he was riding. He had 
 an inborn love of order, and he respected the law; he 
 did not believe that there could be any complete civilisa- 
 tion without it; lynching shocked him as something 
 debasing to those who took part in it, and the inevitable 
 road to things yet worse; and much as he loved his 
 State, he always felt a sense of shame when any fresh 
 outbreaks in these mountains occurred; they were as 
 much a part of the State as were the lowlands, and 
 responsibility for them could not be escaped : here was 
 a new cause for disgrace in this sudden outcropping of 
 the war between the Pikes and the Dilgers. 
 
 Toward the middle of the afternoon, they reached the 
 narrow valley in which stood the village of Lone Oak, 
 a cluster of about fifteen houses, wrapped in mountain 
 isolation. Ezra expressed his joy vocally. He did not 
 care to go any farther into the mountains; the Pikes 
 were nothing to him, nor were the Dilgers, but Briarton 
 would belong for the time to the one family or the other, 
 whichever was strong enough to hold it, and even a man 
 attending strictly to his own business might get in the 
 way of a stray bullet. 
 
 His words made no impression on Guthrie, who was 
 reckoning the time of day, and how long it would take 
 him to reach Briarton after a brief stop in Ix>ne Oak, 
 as he had set his heart upon arriving without delay at 
 the seat of the trouble. 
 
 Lone Oak proved to be a lean and unpicturesque 
 village, but Guthrie found in it enough overcooked food
 
 150 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 for a dinner, and was able to hire a horse for the second 
 stage of the journey, though he could secure no guide. 
 Senator Pike and his companion had passed on three 
 hours before, riding hard, and there was sure to be 
 trouble when they reached Briarton. Ezra strongly 
 advised Guthrie to stay in Lone Oak until the next 
 morning, as darkness was likely to catch him alone on 
 the mountains, but Guthrie felt no apprehensions, since 
 the trail from Lone Oak led straight out to Briarton 
 and nowhere else. 
 
 Ezra bade him a friendly good-bye, and Guthrie rode 
 on, not sorry to be alone, because there were times when 
 his own company was good enough, and the majesty of 
 the mountains appealed to him in solitude. 
 
 In the East, long shadows began to appear on the 
 peaks and ridges, and the rocks burned in red gold. 
 Guthrie stopped once, on a crest and looked at the half 
 of the world that was beginning already to feel the touch 
 of the coming twilight. In its loneliness and its solitary 
 grandeur, it had so much solemn majesty that he won- 
 dered why the people who lived in such a world did not 
 come under its spell. But his experience in the moun- 
 tains told him that it made no appeal to them, put no 
 ennobling thoughts in their minds. Hence Guthrie 
 concluded that strength and loftiness of charatcer were 
 not developed by isolation and loneliness, but by the 
 constant struggle with other men. As for himself, he 
 wanted seclusion only at intervals, and the remainder 
 of his time he wished to spend in a crowded and there- 
 fore more interesting and stimulating arena; he saw no 
 merit in avoiding the battle of life. 
 
 The twilight deepened on the eastern peaks, but the 
 west was yet filled with the fire of the sun; every rock
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 151 
 
 and bush there stood out in sharp tracery against the 
 blazing heavens. Guthrie saw now that he would not 
 arrive in Briarton until long after dark, but he was yet 
 without fear. His horse, bred in the mountains, was 
 sure of foot, and he knew that he had only to give him 
 rein in the darkness in order to be taken safely to his 
 destination. 
 
 Some figures outlined in black against the red sun- 
 light appeared on the slope of a mountain, separated 
 from him only by a deep ravine. They were men with 
 guns on their shoulders, and Guthrie saw that they were 
 typical mountaineers, tall, lean, high of cheek-bone 
 and wary of eye. They were watching him, and, waving 
 his hand to them in friendly fashion, he rode calmly on. 
 
 "I wonder which they are," he thought; "the Pikes 
 or theDilgers?" and he found himself leaning in more 
 friendly fashion toward the Pikes. "This won't do," 
 he said ; " I must take no part in it, even if Senator Pike 
 is my friend." 
 
 The mountaineers looked at him for a minute, and 
 then, apparently satisfied that he was a harmless 
 stranger, disappeared in the undergrowth. How like, 
 it all was, to the primeval wilderness, thought Guthrie. 
 It was the primeval wilderness unchanged in four 
 generations, only the red man was gone, and a white 
 man, almost as wild had taken his place 1 When the 
 mountaineers disappeared, the world blazed again, red 
 and solitary in the light of the setting sun. Once his 
 horse neighed, and the echo ran trembling among 
 the peaks. 
 
 The sun fell behind the wall of the mountains, and the 
 night came with a fine shadowy quality, in which the 
 peaks and the ridges rose more grandly than ever and
 
 152 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 took Protean shapes. The trail was narrow, but it lay 
 clear before him, and Outline rode placidly on. 
 
 Late in the night, his horse raised his head and neighed 
 again, and Guthrie looked down into a little valley where 
 he saw dark blurs that he knew to be houses. "Briar- 
 ton!" he exclaimed in pleasure, because he was growing 
 tired and sleepy, and he had been alone long enough. 
 The thought of food, fire, and a bed appealed to him. 
 
 He halted his horse for a few moments, and looked 
 down on the hamlet. Peaceful enough, it seemed now, 
 snuggling between the cliffs, with the moonlight throw- 
 ing stray beams on the log walls. Then he rode on 
 down the hillside, and a man rising up out of the dark- 
 ness bore on his bridle rein with a heavy hand. 
 
 "Be you a-takin' any part in this, stranger?" asked 
 the phantom figure. 
 
 Guthrie knew well what he meant and he replied 
 promptly: 
 
 "Pike or Dilger, it's nothing to me!" 
 "Then what do you want?" 
 
 "Food for an empty stomach and a bed for a tired 
 back." 
 
 "Ride on, stranger, you'll find both below." 
 Guthrie resumed his journey. The questions, as he 
 knew, were purely formal the mountaineer would 
 naturally infer from his dress and manners that he did 
 not belong hi the country, and could have no part in the 
 quarrel. 
 
 Briarton in the wan moonlight was a beautiful place, 
 its log-houses frosted with silver, the little creek that 
 dashed down from the mountains foaming over the 
 stones, and all the squalor hidden by this kindly veil of 
 the dark.
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 153 
 
 He beat on the door of the largest log-house in the 
 place, and a woman came at last to his knock. Yes, 
 they took travellers, she said, and she gave his horse to 
 a sleepy boy whom she had roused. Then she raked 
 together the smouldering coals on the hearth, and put 
 on more wood. Evidently, like Ezra, she took Guthrie 
 for a "drummer," although she looked doubtfully at 
 the small size of his valise. Guthrie wondered what 
 "drummers" ever came to this remote mountain ham- 
 let, and what they came for. 
 
 He obtained food, poor in itself and badly cooked, 
 but hunger was an ample sauce. As he ate, he managed 
 to draw deftly from his hostess that nothing had hap- 
 pened in Briarton save the arrival of Mr. Pike, which 
 occurred about sundown, and was a great event in the 
 village. Guthrie inferred readily from this that the 
 hamlet was in the hands of the Pikes, and he could not 
 help being glad, because he leaned to the Senator's side 
 despite his resolution. 
 
 After his supper, he warmed himself, and went to bed 
 in the single spare room of the house. It was a rude 
 little apartment with a worn rag carpet on the floor, and 
 old pictures from illustrated papers on the roughly 
 plastered walls; but the bed looked soft and warm, and 
 Guthrie was content. Before drawing down the covers, 
 he looked out at the little window, and he realised again 
 that two hundred miles and thirty hours had put him in 
 another world. On the other side of the valley rose the 
 bald side of the mountain, gloomy and grand, and nearer 
 by flowed the creek, its waters hurrying noisily over the 
 stones. To right and left were the scattered log houses, 
 all dark and silent. Everything was primitive and wild. 
 
 Far off on the mountain, he suddenly saw a single
 
 154 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 light that blazed and went out. Another appeared 
 lower down the slope, but it, too, blazed and went out, 
 and after that the moonlight was unbroken. Some kind 
 of a signal, concluded Guthrie, but he felt only a vague 
 and fleeting interest which did not keep him from going 
 to bed in another minute and sleeping soundly through 
 the remainder of the night.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 
 
 GUTHRIE would have slept late the next morning had 
 it not been for the call of his hostess to breakfast, set for 
 a certain hour, at which time all must come or go with- 
 out. His first inquiry was for the Senator. What had 
 become of him, and what was he going to do? Mr. 
 Pike was to preach the funeral sermon of his brother, 
 and the woman pointed to the low log church just at the 
 base of the mountain. 
 
 Guthrie felt again a deep thrill of sympathy for 
 this man who was trying so hard to lead an enlight- 
 ened life, but whom association and circumstance 
 tried in so fiery a crucible. "Where does Mr. 
 Pike live?" he asked, and they pointed out to him 
 a large frame house, standing near the creek. It 
 was the only one in the place not of logs, and 
 Guthrie had not observed it the night before. The 
 immediate impression it made was of superiority to 
 its surroundings, just as he knew that its owner 
 had raised himself above the people among whom 
 he was born. 
 
 Guthrie, acting upon his impulse of sympathy, 
 approached the house, and noticing that others were 
 entering the door, fell in with the crowd after the 
 mountain custom and passed inside. The people with 
 whom he went included both men and women all with 
 
 155
 
 156 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 the mountain stamp upon their faces, and all solemn 
 and gloomy. Some of the women were crying. 
 
 Mr. Pike stood at the door of a large room in the cen- 
 tre of which rested the coffin of his brother. The Sena- 
 tor's face was pale, but his features were firm and com- 
 posed, and his long, black frock coat was buttoned 
 tightly about his body. He shook hands with the peo- 
 ple one by one, and, when he came to Guthrie, he said 
 simply, "I am glad that you are here, Mr. Guthrie, to 
 share our grief." 
 
 Guthrie, by the necessity of his career, had become 
 familiar with scenes of sorrow, and he had looked many 
 times upon the victims of violent death; but none stirred 
 him more deeply than this gathering of the rude moun- 
 taineers about their dead. Scarcely a word was said. 
 He heard only the moving of feet and the soft crying of 
 the women. 
 
 Four men lifted the coffin presently, and bore it from 
 the house toward the church. The Senator followed, 
 bare-headed, and just behind and after him came the 
 people in double file a procession of mourners. Guth- 
 rie fell into line beside a young mountaineer, and hat in 
 hand followed on. 
 
 The day was not like its predecessor; the sun no 
 longer gilded the mountains; instead heavy, leaden 
 clouds were trooping up from the southwest. Guthrie 
 felt once the touch of a wet snowflake on his face. 
 
 The solemn procession entered the church, and the 
 coffin, the body within, was placed at the foot of the 
 pulpit. The people sat on the rude wooden benches, 
 filling them to the last seat. Then the Senator ascended 
 the pulpit, and preached the funeral sermon of his 
 brother.
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 157 
 
 Mr. Pike was not a regularly ordained minister, but 
 he possessed the gift of eloquence, and, in the mountains, 
 where religion fills so large a share of discussion, he 
 often preached. The secret of his great power over 
 these people, as Guthrie saw, lay in his superiority of 
 character and culture, his readiness of speech, and his 
 capacity for the happy phrase. He had, in this moment 
 of grief and tension, a rapt and solemn air as of one who 
 is an interpreter between this world and the next 
 
 Mr. Pike spoke of the hereafter as a place of safety 
 and rest the simile was inevitable in the mountains 
 where vigilance was the best guard against danger 
 and he described our path in this life as beset with 
 thorns. Short were the days of man and full of sorrow! 
 It was only in the hereafter that joy true and lasting 
 came. Then he spoke simply of his brother, so many 
 years younger than himself who had always been but 
 a boy to him and of his sudden end without a 
 moment's warning! 
 
 He made no threats against those who had slain his 
 brother he never called their names; but through all 
 his sermon ran an indefinable note which seemed to say, 
 "Vengeance is the Lord's but man may be his instru- 
 ment," and Guthrie knew that Mr. Pike felt in his heart 
 he was "the man." 
 
 The Senator talked on. All hung on his words. 
 These were his people, and he swayed them alike as he 
 inclined to vengeance or to the blessings of the here- 
 after. Guthrie, too, followed, both his sympathy and 
 his interest keeping him intent upon every sentence that 
 fell from the speaker's lips. Once he glanced through 
 the window, and saw that clouds darker and heavier 
 than ever were filing in solemn procession across the
 
 158 
 
 sky. Now and then a snowflake struck the glass, and 
 the wall of the mountain looked black and threatening. 
 
 The quality in the speaker's sermon that seemed to 
 indicate the note of vengeance appeared again, and 
 Guthrie saw its effect on the faces of the audience which 
 grew black and lowering; but in a moment Mr. Pike 
 shifted to the peace of the hereafter, and in another 
 minute or two closed. Then he made a short prayer 
 touching in its simplicity and pathos, and descended 
 from the pulpit. 
 
 The solemn procession began its march again, and 
 passed out of the church to the foot of the mountain 
 where the burial took place; after which the crowd dis- 
 persed slowly, leaving the Senator and Guthrie together. 
 Guthrie knew that they burned with curiosity about him, 
 and later would ask him questions, especially as they 
 saw that Mr. Pike and he were friends. However, for 
 the present, they let him alone. 
 
 The Senator stood a little while beside the freshly- 
 turned earth as if in silent prayer, and then turning 
 away put on his hat, and held out his hand to Guthrie. 
 
 " Mr. Guthrie," he said, " I did not want you to come, 
 but since you are here, I am glad of it. Somehow, you 
 seem to me to represent that other world beyond the 
 mountains, and, in your person, it mourns beside my 
 brother's grave. I thank you " 
 
 Guthrie gave the Senator's hand a sympathetic clasp, 
 and then the two walked together among the trees. 
 He saw that Mr. Pike must speak to some one, 
 must find somewhere an outlet for his feelings, and he 
 listened in silence and sympathy. A secret of his popu- 
 larity with men of influence and power was this ability 
 t:> listen well.
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 159 
 
 The Senator talked of his brother and himself, of 
 the mountains and the world beyond, and Guthrie 
 listened, absorbed. Both forgot the clouds and the 
 falling snow. The flakes fell faster and larger. Al- 
 ready the new grave behind them was covered, and, 
 had they looked to see, they would have found that the 
 crests of the peaks and the ridges were lost in the mists. 
 The damp winds from the southwest came on a front 
 of snow. 
 
 But neither Guthrie nor the Senator yet noticed. 
 The stoicism of the mountaineer in this moment of 
 grief and in the company of the warm, human sym- 
 pathy that Guthrie gave him was broken at last. He 
 told how he had struggled to stop the feud, how he had 
 tried to rise above the feelings of passion and revenge, 
 and to train his people also to set their minds on higher 
 objects. He was borne up, there in the capital, by the 
 comradeship and friendship of men who had seen more 
 of the world than he, and he had believed that, through 
 his efforts, peace would last in his part of the moun- 
 tains. Then came messengers telling of threatened 
 trouble, and informing him that the Dilgers would 
 seek to renew the strife. He had not believed, he had 
 looked upon it as a false alarm, and the messages were 
 renewed, more emphatic than ever; then came the 
 news of his brother's death, and he had tried to endure 
 it like a Christian man, preaching Christian resigna- 
 tion to himself. 
 
 This and much more he poured forth, often dis- 
 jointed or half-finished, but as clear as water to Guthrie. 
 He saw the dual nature struggling in the man the old 
 mountain doctrine, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a 
 tooth, the inheritance of birth, and through all the
 
 160 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 years of his boyhood deemed a matter of course, and 
 the new principles of peace learned in manhood. He 
 was now face to face with the most powerful test, and 
 Guthrie thrilled once more with sympathy for this man 
 whom he liked so much, and to whom fate had been 
 
 so unkind. 
 
 Their walk led them far into the forest, which ex- 
 tended along the base of the mountains, a wood of tall 
 oak and beech with a dense growth of underbrush. 
 The two men followed a path which seemed to be 
 fairly well-trodden like a mountain trail. Guthrie 
 looked up, and was surprised to find the boughs cov- 
 ered with snow. The skies cleared for the moment, 
 and shone in vivid blue; beneath this, the trees veiled 
 in snow were cones of white. The forest was silent, 
 save for the occasional soft drop of snow or the crack- 
 ing of a dry branch under its weight. The air once 
 more was pure and fresh. 
 
 Guthrie looked back, and the hamlet was lost among 
 the trees. The two, absorbed, the one in talk and 
 the other in listening, had passed deep into the forest. 
 To all intents, it was still the primeval wilderness 
 in its winter robe of white Save themselves there 
 was no sign of a human being or a human habita- 
 tion. All around them under the trees stretched the 
 snow, white and untrodden. Seemingly the world 
 was wrapped in a great peace but it was only for a 
 moment. 
 
 The Senator suddenly grasped Guthrie by the arm 
 and exclaimed, "Did you not hear a footstep?" 
 But Guthrie heard nothing; the forest ear was more 
 acute than his. The next instant, the hand of the 
 Senator tightened on his arm, and he was dragged
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 161 
 
 down in the snow. Then he heard a sharp report 
 that sounded to him like the cracking of a great whip, 
 and a buzz as of something passing with lightning speed 
 over their heads. He looked up and saw a brown, 
 evil face, fifty yards away thrust from behind a tree- 
 trunk, and a pair of brown hands lowering a rifle bar- 
 rel. He heard the Senator exclaim, "Pete Dilgerl" 
 and he sprang to his feet. He knew from what he 
 had heard in the village that Pete Dilger was the worst 
 of all the Dilgers. 
 
 The Senator was up before him, and Guthrie was 
 stunned by the change in his friend. Every trace of 
 the civilised man had disappeared from his face. He 
 was crouched like an Indian in ambush, and a huge 
 self-acting revolver was held in his right hand. The 
 high and sharp cheek - bones looked higher and 
 sharper than ever, and the cruel black eyes glittered 
 with the passion and joy of revenge. His hat had 
 fallen off, and the long, straight black hair, sweeping 
 back from his brow, continued the likeness of the 
 Indian. 
 
 But, even in this tense moment, the man was not for- 
 getful of his friend. Sweeping Guthrie back with his 
 left hand, he cried: "Go back! You have nothing 
 to do with this!" Then he ran into the forest, directly 
 toward the point where the ambushed marksman had 
 lain, and Guthrie caught a glimpse of Dilger seeking 
 a new place of concealment. Then the trees shut both 
 from his view, and he was alone. 
 
 Guthrie stood on the spot where the Senator, fore- 
 seeing the shot, had pulled him down. The paralysis 
 of the moment passed, and he tried to choose a course. 
 He had no doubt that the Dilgers now identified him
 
 162 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 as a Pike follower, because he was in the company of 
 Mr. Pike. The Senator was right when he had told 
 him to stay away. 
 
 Guthrie had all an enlightened man's horror of 
 strife and bloodshed, but he thought nothing then of 
 the way that he had suddenly been projected into this 
 mountain feud. All his thoughts were of the Senator. 
 Would there be a duel between him and Dilger, or 
 would Dilger lead him into an ambush? He was 
 tempted for the moment, to follow them by their tracks 
 in the snow, but that would be folly in an unarmed 
 man, and he obeyed his second impulse to hurry to the 
 village and secure help for the Senator. He did not 
 realise in the moment of excitement and suspense that 
 he had become an ally of the Pikes, nor would he have 
 stopped, had he realised it. 
 
 He ran a few steps, and then he stopped again. Un- 
 armed though he was, he could not leave the Senator 
 alone in a struggle! even if he procured help in the vil- 
 lage, all would be over before he could arrive. He looked 
 about him, and saw again the world in white the 
 world of mid-winter, deep, still, and cold, but a cold 
 that sent the blood leaping through the veins, cleared 
 the brain, and doubled the strength of every nerve and 
 muscle. 
 
 Hills and valleys were covered with snow, soiled by 
 no human foot. There was no sound in the forest 
 save the crack of some bough breaking beneath the 
 load of snow. 
 
 Guthrie stood at his full height, and inhaled deep 
 draughts of the cold, pure air, feeling that he was a 
 strong man in a world of strong men and could care 
 for himself. A bough fifty yards away broke with a
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 163 
 
 crack louder than the rest, and its weight of snow fell 
 with a soft, crushing sound. 
 
 He saw a heavy stick lying at his feet, and he stooped 
 to pick it up for lack of a better weapon. Again he 
 did not realise that some of his own civilisation was 
 slipping from him, and he was becoming the hunter 
 the hunter of men. 
 
 As he bent down to pick up the stick, he heard a 
 slight noise, and his eyes wandered around the circle 
 of the horizon until they reached a clump of bushes on 
 his right. There they stopped, and the hand that held 
 the club remained suspended in the air. 
 
 The surprise was so sudden, so terrible, that Guthrie 
 felt for an instant as if his veins had become empty of 
 blood and he were a lifeless thing. He took only one 
 brief glance, but he saw distinctly every feature of Dil- 
 ger the leathern face, the black, exultant eyes, and 
 above all the rifle held in steady hands. He knew that 
 Dilger took him for an ally of the Pikes. And what 
 else was he now ? He was at the mercy of a merciless 
 man. 
 
 Guthrie, by a supreme effort, recovered command of 
 himself. One glance at the cruel, taunting face had 
 shown him that the mountaineer, with the instincts of 
 the savage would wish to enjoy his triumph, to play a 
 few moments with his victim before sending the fatal 
 bullet. So he pretended not to see, and sinking to his 
 knees began to brush the snow off the stick. Perhaps 
 the Senator might come! Mr. Pike might save him; 
 it was a faint chance, the shred of a hope, rather; but 
 the soul of Guthrie clung desperately to it. 
 
 His eyes, in spite of himself and his will, wandered 
 from the stick, and were dazzled by the flood that the
 
 164 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 sun poured over the snow. The world, tantalising 
 him, suddenly grew brighter. There was a new and 
 deeper tint of blue in the sky; the snow gleamed like 
 marble; countless silver rays flashed from the slopes. 
 
 Guthrie went on mechanically with his task, but his 
 brain grew dizzy. The world was in a whirl. His 
 mind ran back through the dim, discoloured mist that 
 is called the past, and then tried to enter the future. 
 But, out of the vagueness, rose one fact, clear and dis- 
 tinct, and it was the knowledge that he wanted to live. 
 
 He cast a glance from under his bent brows at the 
 mountaineer and saw him still standing there at the 
 edge of the thicket with his rifle levelled, savage, im- 
 placable, never dreaming of mercy. 
 
 Another swift glance, and he saw a figure appear in 
 the forest on the left, a tall man wrapped in a long 
 black coat the Senator. He knew that Dilger, intent 
 upon his victim, had missed the approach of his real 
 enemy. But the Senator, the skilful and wary, would 
 see, and Guthrie waited. The faint hope, that was 
 scarcely a hope, sprang up. 
 
 Would he be in time ? If only fate would give him 
 ten seconds! If not that, five! Five would be enough, 
 but the Senator might miss, even if he were first! But 
 that was impossible! He ought not to wrong his faith- 
 ful comrade so. 
 
 He longed to look up again, but he dared not glance 
 at either mountaineer. He could not know which 
 finger was nearer the trigger, but he must await, as if 
 in unconcern, that second of difference which meant 
 life or death to him. Nothing that he could do would 
 alter the future by a hair. 
 
 The whiteness and glitter of the world dazzled him.
 
 With rifle levelled, savage, implacable, never dreaming of mercy"
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 165 
 
 The hand that held the stick became wet. He affected 
 carelessness, and began to hum a song, unconscious of 
 the words he spoke. He grew impatient. Better the 
 bullet of the wrong man than to endure this terrible 
 tension! There was still not a sound in the forest. 
 The snow had ceased to fall from the boughs. He did 
 not hear his own breathing. 
 
 His muscles seemed to relax, to give way. His head 
 bent lower. He was afraid that he would fall. 
 
 The report of a pistol and a cry so close together that 
 they seemed one, rang in his ears, and, with a wild shout 
 of relief, excitement, and joy, his face white to the brow, 
 Guthric sprang to his feet as the Senator, a smoking 
 revolver in his hand, ran forward. 
 
 The relief from the tension and the expectation of 
 death was so great that Guthrie stood for a few moments 
 white and dizzy. Then, mechanically, he wiped the 
 sweat from his face. 
 
 He was aroused from his stupor by the sight of Mr. 
 Pike bent over the fallen man, every line of his face 
 expressing the thought, "O, mine enemy, thou art de- 
 livered into my hands!" 
 
 Dilger was not dead. Guthrie could see that he 
 was merely stunned by the bullet, as his chest rose and 
 fell with almost regular motion, but his gaze wandered 
 away from the face of the desperado to that of the Sen- 
 ator. Mr. Pike, too, was still the Indian the garment of 
 civilisation was yet doffed. Beneath his hand lay his 
 mortal enemy, and all his mountain code, imbibed with 
 the milk that he had drawn from his mother's breast, 
 told him to fire again. 
 
 Guthrie was still under the spell. He had been 
 fascinated when he saw the muzzle of a rifle aimed at
 
 166 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 himself, and now he was motionless when he beheld 
 the finger of Mr. Pike creep toward the trigger of his 
 revolver. 
 
 Dilger lay prone and relaxed, and the blood from his 
 wound soaked redly in the snow. Guthrie wondered 
 where the second bullet would strike, and then he saw 
 the muzzle of the Senator's pistol cover the man's 
 heart. Like Dilger, the victor would enjoy for a 
 moment his triumph. 
 
 The fallen man stirred, opened his eyes, and looked 
 up. A gleam of intelligence appeared on his face as 
 his gaze met that of his triumphant enemy, and then 
 it became full of malignant ferocity. He was the sav- 
 age still, asking no mercy, expressing only hate. 
 
 "I sent your brother on before," he said in tones 
 feeble but defiant. 
 
 The eyes of the Senator flashed, and his finger touched 
 the trigger. Guthrie at that moment remembered, 
 and the fire of the hunter died within him; all his in- 
 stincts rebelled at what he was about to see. 
 
 "Mr. Pike," he exclaimed, "you cannot kill a man 
 who is lying at your mercy!" 
 
 "He is a murderer you heard him and the enemy 
 of my people!" 
 
 But Guthrie had the gift of boldness and eloquence 
 in great emergencies, and now he rose to the crisis. 
 He seized the Senator's uplifted arm, and turned the 
 pistol away; he bade him remember who and what 
 he was, a leader of his people, one who should set to 
 them a great example. The Senator strove to raise 
 the pistol again, put Guthrie held his wrist with a firm 
 hand, and he saw the whole struggle written upon the 
 man's face as it passed in his mind. The old elemental
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 167 
 
 impulse to kill the enemy who sought to kill him was 
 strong within him; but the voice of a severer and better 
 world of duty was calling in the voice of this friend, who 
 had shared his danger and bade him to remember the 
 new teaching. Guthrie struck the right chord when 
 he appealed to his religion, and the second half of the 
 mountaineer's dual nature, his humble piety, rose in 
 the ascendant. Gradually the flame of passion died 
 in the Senator's eyes, and at last he put the pistol in his 
 pocket, and said to Guthrie: 
 
 "You do not know how much you are asking of me! " 
 
 "I can guess," replied Guthrie. "He is a murderer, 
 and should be hanged; but let it be done by law." 
 
 "Yes, he shall hang," said the Senator fiercely, "if 
 there is justice to be had in the mountains!" 
 
 Dilger raised himself on his elbow they had taken 
 away his weapons and was gazing wonderingly at his 
 enemy, as if he could not understand his action and 
 perhaps he could not but the Senator with folded arms 
 and melancholy eyes merely gazed down at him. 
 
 Guthrie suggested that he go to the town for help 
 while Mr. Pike remain on guard, and, as the other nod- 
 ded assent, he hastened away in the snow, but he looked 
 back once, and saw the erect, black-clothed, and melan- 
 choly figure still standing by the fallen man. 
 
 Much of Guthrie's excitement slipped from him as 
 he went on. The tenseness of those moments back 
 there had been too great to last, and once more he 
 looked with a seeing eye at the forests, the mountains, 
 and the sky. The snow had fallen again, and the still- 
 ness of old reigned in the forest. He no longer saw a 
 human being nor heard the sound of a footstep save his 
 own. The scene back there might have been the phan-
 
 168 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 tasy of a moment, but its impression was too deep, too 
 vivid, to pass, and he hastened on to the village. 
 
 When he returned with help, they found Dilger still 
 on his elbow, and the Senator yet standing over him, 
 silent and sombre. Great was the surprise of the peo- 
 ple to find the leader of the Pikes, with the power of 
 vengeance upon his worst enemy in his hand, and as yet 
 unused; and mingled with this surprise was a strain 
 by no means of approval. What had come upon the 
 Senator? Had he lost a part of his courage? After 
 all, was he fit for leadership? Guthrie remembered 
 those words of the Senator's, "You do not know how 
 much you are asking of me!" and their truth struck 
 home. The chief had fallen a notch in the opinion 
 of his people. 
 
 But they took up Dilger, and carried him to the vil- 
 lage. His wound was not serious, the mountain doctor 
 said, and they locked him in the little log jail, to await 
 his trial for murder. But Guthrie, as he went about 
 the place, soon saw that other plans were afoot. They 
 were all Pikes in Briarton, and their leader, they said, 
 should have shot Dilger down when he had the chance; 
 since he had not done so well, they could supply the 
 want of forethought; they knew too much to wait on 
 along trial, the testimony of perjured witnesses, and the 
 innumerable delays that the law knows how to invent. 
 Guthrie saw before him all the elements of a lynching, 
 but these elements were not yet gathered into an ag- 
 gressive whole, and swift action might prevent it. As 
 there was no one but himself to take the initiative, he 
 resolved to act. 
 
 First, however, he would see the Senator, and he 
 went to his house. Alone in the large room where the
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 169 
 
 body of his brother had rested, he found him sitting 
 staring out at the mountain side but not seeing it. To 
 Guthrie's great surprise, his whole attitude was that of 
 one crushed ; there was no triumph over the capture of 
 his foe, but the droop of one who had failed. 
 
 Guthrie, feeling that he was in a sense the intimate 
 friend and associate of the Senator, went up to him, and 
 touched him on the shoulder. The older man raised 
 his pale face. 
 
 " Mr. Guthrie," he said, and there was pathos in his 
 voice, "you see me in my shame. I have tried to be a 
 man. I told you once before how I have sought to 
 raise myself above the surroundings amid which I was 
 born to make myself a leader among my people, a real 
 leader, not one who goes the way they wish him to go, 
 but the way he thinks they ought to go." 
 
 "And it seems to me that you are such," said Guth- 
 rie. "I do not see wherein you have failed." 
 
 "Out there in the forest I failed; when Dilger lay at 
 my mercy, I would have killed him, not from motives of 
 justice, but from revenge. Everything that I have 
 schooled myself for twenty years to learn was swept 
 away by the impulse of a moment. Had you not been 
 there, I should not have held my hand; we are weak 
 clay, Mr. Guthrie!" 
 
 Guthrie felt much sorrow, as he liked Mr. Pike and 
 gave him his full esteem. He knew no man whom he 
 held more highly, but, for a few moments, he said noth- 
 ing, looking out of the window at the snow that was still 
 falling. Then he glanced at Mr. Pike who had settled 
 back in his chair, his whole figure expressive of apathy. 
 He must be roused to action, thought Guthrie, and he 
 spoke to him again. He told him of his fears, of the
 
 170 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 talk of a lynching, and he appealed to Mr. Pike's pride. 
 A flash appeared in the Senator's eyes when he heard 
 the news, and his figure swelled anew with life. 
 
 "That I will stop!" he exclaimed; "I did not spare 
 Dilger to have them lynch him. My people are against 
 me now; well, I shall give them cause!" 
 
 But Guthrie even knew better than the Senator how 
 much he had lost in authority, and, though he did not 
 believe he could prevent what the people in the village 
 were meditating, yet he deemed worth while, for the 
 Senator's own sake, that he should try. 
 
 He saw the Senator, as he sought to persuade the peo- 
 ple, feel all the pride of having done a right deed. The 
 revulsion had come, and once more he was the civilised 
 man striving for the better path. But Guthrie noted how 
 little Mr. Pike's words affected them, how the venge- 
 ful faces did not change, and, long before nightfall, a 
 messenger, heavily paid, was riding over the mountains 
 to Sayville, bearing Guthrie's report of the news and a 
 brief despatch to Governor Hastings, also signed by 
 him and saying, "The leader of the Dilgers is in jail 
 here, and will be lynched unless the militia come at 
 once." 
 
 Throughout that night which was dark and lowering, 
 with a raw wind off the peaks, the people were quiet, 
 but the next morning they began to gather again, hav- 
 ing received fresh recruits from the surrounding coun- 
 try. Guthrie feared that the explosion would come at 
 once, but then the snow began to fall, not as before 
 slowly and lazily, but in great flakes that trod upon 
 each other heels so fast they came. Never before 
 had he seen such a day. The sky was rimmed in 
 with heavy, threatening clouds through which the sun
 
 THE TEST OF STEEL 171 
 
 shone with only a faint coppery tint, as if it were the 
 faint reflection of a great fire, and, from these clouds, the 
 snow poured and poured until the last trace of the sun 
 was lost, and there was left only the brown sky above 
 and the white world below. 
 
 The snow stopped never for a moment during the 
 day nor during the night that followed, seeming rather 
 to increase in volume, and the next day it was still com- 
 ing down as fast as ever. The people, forgetting the 
 lynching, huddled in their houses, and Guthrie, at Mr. 
 Pike's, looked out aghast. His messenger had not come 
 back from Sayville he could not; the snow already 
 lay three feet deep on the levels and untold feet in the 
 clefts and the ravines, and nowhere was there a break 
 in the great white fall. 
 
 Day followed day, and the snow still heaped up around 
 Sayville, and the imprisoned Guthrie raged at the 
 thought of the capital and the trial of Carton now at 
 hand, and he far away.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 
 
 IN the capital, there was much talk of both Guthrie 
 and the Senator. Guthrie in his world was a person- 
 age, and held an established position in public affairs; 
 when he went away, one always felt that something was 
 gone. It was known that he had departed on a mo- 
 ment's notice with Mr. Pike, to watch the course of a 
 mountain feud that might involve larger interests, and 
 the people were curious to hear the result. 
 
 Then a telegraphic message came to the Governor 
 from Guthrie, dated at Sayville and saying, "The 
 leader of the Dilgers is in jail here, and will be lynched 
 unless the militia come at once." Then the Times 
 came down from the metropolis with a full account of 
 the sensational events at Briarton, and the little capital 
 was stirred by the news. 
 
 The Governor was at his house when the despatch 
 was handed to him. After he read it, his face was very 
 grave, as he had the utmost confidence in Guthrie, and 
 knew that he would not send such a message unless 
 there was full need of it. Guthrie was the last man to 
 assume the responsibilities of an official when he was 
 only a private person. 
 
 He went into the room where his wife sat with Clarice 
 Ransome and Mary Pelham before a great fire of hick- 
 ory logs, and, when he saw them, a smile lighted up the 
 
 172
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 173 
 
 young Governor's somewhat worn face there had been 
 much to worry him that winter, and his hours of sleep 
 were short and troubled. But he was not blind, and 
 the presence, in his house, of three young and beautiful 
 women, one of whom was his wife, was always a source 
 of cheerfulness. 
 
 "You have a telegram," said Lucy, when she saw the 
 slip of yellow paper in his hands. "Who wants an ap- 
 pointment ? " 
 
 "Nobody; it's a request for something bigger this 
 time." 
 
 "And can you give it?" asked Clarice. 
 
 "Oh! yes, because in this case I can be an Indian- 
 giver, and take the gift back before long. It's from Mr. 
 William Guthrie, and he wants a whole company of 
 militia." 
 
 Clarice had been paying only vague attention 
 before, but now she looked up with keen interest. Then 
 she flushed slightly, and looked into the fire again. In 
 what way did William Guthrie and his deeds concern 
 her? But she thought it necessary to say something. 
 
 "Then they have been fighting again up there in the 
 mountains?" she asked. 
 
 "I fancy so," replied the Governor. "At least this 
 despatch from Guthrie says that the leader of the Dil- 
 gers is in jail at Briarton, and will certainly be lynched 
 unless I send a company of militia to hold the place." 
 
 "There must have been fighting," said Clarice. She 
 felt a thrill of mingled excitement and apprehension. 
 She had been reading a letter from Raoul that morning 
 a letter full of pretty phrases and the lighter gossip of 
 Old World capitals, and again she made the involuntary 
 contrast. She could not conceive of Raoul up there
 
 174 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 among the peaks with those wild mountaineers, risking 
 his life perhaps. Raoul always dressed beautifully, and 
 his manners were irreproachable, which facts appealed 
 to her, but she liked masculinity in men. She was 
 troubled by her thoughts, and again she feared that she 
 was unjust to Raoul, the man whom she was to marry. 
 
 "Why so solemn, Miss Ransome?" asked the Gov- 
 ernor, noticing her grave face. 
 
 She shook her head, as if she would not answer that 
 question, and smiled. 
 
 " I think you are trying to get advice as to what to do," 
 she said, "and I refuse to give it. You are Governor, 
 and you must carry the burdens of the office." 
 
 "Oh, I don't need any advice in this matter!" said 
 Paul in the same vein, and then changing to an earnest 
 manner: "I have complete confidence in Guthrie; as 
 a matter of fact, the county officials should apply for the 
 militia company, but, within half an hour, I shall order 
 the company at Waterford, which is just at the edge of 
 the mountains, to proceed in all haste to Briarton and 
 hold the jail there. I sincerely hope that nothing will 
 happen to Guthrie." 
 
 He looked obliquely but keenly at Clarice when he 
 spoke of Guthrie, but she, gazing into the fire again, 
 seemed not to notice, and the faint deepening of the red 
 in her cheeks might easily be the reflection of its blaze. 
 
 But Lucy spoke. 
 
 "I do not believe that anything will happen to Mr. 
 Guthrie," she said. " If anybody can take care of him- 
 self, it is he." 
 
 The Governor went to the window, and looked 
 anxiously at the sweep of hills about the capital. 
 
 " I fear ugly weather," he said. " Look at those dirty
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 175 
 
 brown clouds they are stuffed so full of snow that they 
 seem ready to burst this very minute!" 
 
 It had been snowing lightly that morning, and after- 
 ward the sun shone for a while; but, as the Governor 
 spoke the clouds opened again, and the great heavy 
 flakes began to fall. In a few moments, the air was 
 filled with the dropping shower. 
 
 This State is called southern by those in the North, 
 but it is to be remembered that it is called northern by 
 those farther south, and it knows long and cold winters. 
 This was famous as the "winter of the great snow." 
 It fell throughout the whole length of the State from 
 east to west nearly four hundred miles, and, even in the 
 low and level country, three feet of it lay, while, in the 
 mountains, it was heaped to incredible depths. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night, the Governor received 
 from the captain of the Waterford militia which had 
 reached Sayville, a telegram stating the inability of his 
 men to penetrate even a mile from the railroad station 
 among the peaks and ridges. "All the mountains are 
 wrapped in a vast mass of whirling snow," the telegram 
 said. In fact, at that moment, the captain, who was 
 brave from head to toe, was standing at the door of the 
 lonely little railroad station, trying to pierce the dark- 
 ness with his eyes. Gusts of snow drove into his face, 
 and the whirlwinds enveloped him. 
 
 "I'm afraid we can't start for Briarton now," he said. 
 
 "No, nor to-morrow, nor the next day, nor next 
 week!" the station-master said, and he was right. 
 When another week had passed, the Waterford company 
 was still in Sayville, vainly seeking to pierce a way 
 through the gigantic snow-drifts. And out of Briar- 
 ton, now as good as a thousand miles away, not a word
 
 176 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 came. Guthrie's messenger was there in Sayville with 
 the militia company, and he, too, trained mountaineer 
 though he was, could not break a path to his home. 
 
 After the second day, the capital itself was isolated for 
 a while. The snow-drifts heaped up on the railroad 
 tracks and the trains from either East or West were 
 unable to come. Then the telegraph wires broke under 
 the gathering weight, and the great world slipped away 
 from them. The capital, rimmed in by its white hills, 
 was their own little world now, disconnected from all 
 else; they were as ignorant of what was passing in the 
 metropolis of the State as they were of the domestic 
 affairs of the Siberians! 
 
 To Clarice, it had all the charm of novelty and isola- 
 tion, without danger or discomfort. They were as snug 
 there in the little capital as they could be in New York 
 or Paris; they had all the comforts and the luxuries, 
 too, save the single one of knowing what the rest of the 
 world was doing, and, for the time, Clarice even enjoyed 
 that lack. 
 
 The great fires still blazed in the wide fireplaces of 
 the Governor's house, and the brightness within was 
 merely accentuated by the ramparts of snow without. 
 Senators and members of the House still went to the 
 Capitol at the regular hours, and made, or tried to make, 
 laws for a people shut out from them by a snowy wall. 
 Jimmy Warfield said it was the most glorious bit of 
 freedom that he had enjoyed in all his public career; 
 he did not hear a single complaint from his constituents. 
 
 But the trial of Carton moved on to its crisis. Mr. 
 Harlow was ever in the background, active but shadowy 
 and evasive, and no man could put his hand on him. 
 Carton's friends sought in every way to delay action, but
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 177 
 
 their efforts were unavailing, for the hidden hand was 
 pushing on the majority. The chairman of the pros- 
 ecuting committee in the appointed five days laid the 
 charge before the Senate, which, according to the Con- 
 stitution, resolved itself into a trial court, and set a time 
 for the beginning of the evidence. 
 
 Jimmy Warfield made a quiet but most dexterous 
 canvass of the Senate, and, to his grief, he found that a 
 majority of the Democrats were certainly against Car- 
 ton. What the Republicans would do was a mystery 
 a mystery even to themselves, and all the deeper 
 because of the absence of their leader, Senator Pike. 
 They floundered about, headless; and the eyes of 
 both sides strained vainly toward that tiny 
 hamlet now buried in the depths of the snow-clad 
 mountains. 
 
 But Guthrie was missed most of all by Carton and his 
 friends. They had not appreciated until now what a 
 power he was on their side, nor realised the full extent 
 of his quiet strength, his unfailing tact, and the calm 
 optimism which made others unconsciously rely upon 
 him. He was, so Jimmy Warfield now openly said, the 
 real leader of the Carton defence, and it went lamely 
 without him. But Clarice felt a sudden resentment 
 against Guthrie because she heard so much about him 
 even in his absence. It seemed to her that people 
 might find some other subject; there were other attrac- 
 tive young men in the world, and again she enumerated 
 to herself Raoul's good qualities. 
 
 The trains began to run again, the telegraph wires 
 were restored, and the capital resumed its connection 
 with the outside world, fresher and more piquant now 
 because of the lost days. But there was no word from
 
 178 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Briarton, as the snow yet lay impassable in the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 An important arrival in the capital just after the 
 trains resumed running was that of Mrs. Ransome, the 
 imperious mother of Clarice. Mrs. Ransome, with an 
 inborn pride, always asserted herself, and she had good 
 cause for her sense of importance. John Ransome, 
 her husband, was a great merchant and a millionaire 
 in the metropolis of a State that has few millionaires, 
 and consequently he was a figure in his home city. His 
 big white stone house on the "Avenue " with the wide, 
 green lawns about it was pointed out to all visitors, and 
 so was Mrs. Ransome, if she happened at the moment 
 to be alighting importantly from her carriage or enter- 
 ing it. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ransome early arrived at a satisfactory 
 division of work: Mr. Ransome made the money, and 
 Mrs. Ransome spent it in the proper manner. It was 
 said that, at their first grand reception, when they began 
 their great rise in the world and moved into their big 
 house, now more than fifteen years ago, some one in the 
 course of the evening asked for Mr. Ransome, and he 
 could be found nowhere in the crowded rooms. Dis- 
 creet servants quietly sent by the capable Mrs. Ran- 
 some to seek him at last discovered him in the cellar, 
 enjoying a quiet game of poker with three cronies who 
 had crossed the plains with him in the early sixties when 
 they were all boys. All four were in their shirt-sleeves, 
 and occasionally they took a modest drink of beer when 
 there was champagne to waste above stairs. He stub- 
 bornly refused, too, to put on his coat again and reap- 
 pear in the parlours until the game was finished and the 
 stakes had been disposed of in a satisfactory manner.
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 179 
 
 Mr. Ransome, though in the main tractable, had 
 some other obstinate and disagreeable qualities. He 
 would not cast off the friends of his youth who had not 
 prospered as much as he. Occasionally, he brought 
 them to dinner or to evening receptions to meet society 
 for which, as Mrs. Ransome truly said, they were 
 obviously unfit. He had been known to commit the 
 hideous solecism of looking bored in the presence of 
 brilliant social stars, and once or twice, in unguarded 
 moments, he had spoken contemptuously of young men 
 who were known to be brilliant makers of amusement 
 in society. As Mrs. Ransome once said, when moved 
 beyond endurance by such a faux pas of her husband, 
 he had not risen in some respects to his station, Yet 
 he was, on the whole, a good man and highly esteemed 
 in commercial circles and the business life of the city. 
 Nor did Mr. Ransome interfere greatly with the train- 
 ing of their daughter and only child. He made some 
 mild objections when Clarice was sent to Paris to get a 
 real education he always had a healthy indifference 
 for foreign countries, the United States being good 
 enough for him but they were soon overruled by his 
 more forcible spouse. When, the education being 
 finished, Mrs. Ransome went over for her daughter, and 
 remained to spend a season in the "world's capital," 
 Mr. Ransome bore her absence with Christian resigna- 
 tion. He exhibited a childish joy when his daughter 
 came home again, but he was strangely silent when his 
 wife informed him of Clarice's brilliant engagement to 
 Count Raoul d'Estournelle, whose lineage dated to the 
 Crusades and beyond; and when she intimated with 
 pride that it was more than half due to her own adroit 
 management, Mr. Ransome's sole and somewhat dis-
 
 180 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 concerting comment was, " I wonder if he will ever learn 
 to play poker with me." But he was very tender to his 
 daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome, with some misgivings, had allowed 
 Clarice to visit the Governor's wife; it seemed to her 
 that it would be a period of eclipse, for the capital she 
 knew from accounts to be a stuffy little place, almost 
 out of the world, and she had proudly told her friends 
 in Paris that she had never visited it, although she had 
 lived all her life only a hundred miles away. But the 
 Governor's wife was quite a personage, and undeniably, 
 the name sounded well. She could speak of it, and so, 
 yielding to Clarice's urgent entreaty, she let her go. 
 
 Now Mrs. Ransome was becoming dissatisfied, and, 
 if the truth must be told, she felt a faint alarm. Certain 
 reports in regard to Clarice were coming from the capi- 
 tal; she was showing a remarkable interest in the people 
 by whom she was surrounded and in the events occur- 
 ring about her. She rarely spoke of Raoul, it was said, 
 and she had shown an undue partiality for the society 
 of an obscure young man, a mere writer for the news- 
 papers. This in itself had no very formidable sound, 
 but Mrs. Ransome was a careful and far-seeing woman, 
 and she took action. She would have recalled Clarice, 
 but the set term of her visit was not reached, and such a 
 course would have been too awkward for a skilful di- 
 plomatist like Mrs. Ransome; so she came in person 
 to the capital in order to survey the field. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome did not advise Clarice of her coming, 
 but took apartments at the big hotel where everybody 
 stopped, and in the afternoon drove to the Governor's 
 house. Clarice saw the carriage at the door, and glanc- 
 ing out recognised the portly form of her mother who
 
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 181 
 
 had just alighted. She was surprised pleased, yet not 
 wholly pleased, but she greeted Mrs. Ransome warmly, 
 and the introductions were duly made. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome put on her most important manner. 
 Clarice's friends were young women, but little older than 
 Clarice herself, and her own great knowledge of the 
 world gave her a conscious superiority. She was sur- 
 prised, too, to find the Governor's wife so very youthful 
 and so gentle in manner scarcely adequate to her 
 place, it seemed to Mrs. Ransome, and her manner 
 toward Mrs. Hastings became somewhat patronising. 
 Clarice felt a growing irritation as the call proceeded, an 
 annoyance not decreased when her mother brought 
 Raoul into the talk in a rather obtrusive manner. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome not only introduced the subject of 
 Raoul, but also dwelt upon it. The young nobleman 
 was such a model, all the gifts were his! He was so 
 graceful, so gallant, and of such an old family! The 
 d'Estournelles were in the Crusades, and they were 
 related to half the great people of Europe. And Raoul 
 was coming over in May! They should see him then. 
 Oh, such a presence and such manners! 
 
 Clarice listened with reddening cheeks, but she did 
 not have anything to say. She was glad when her 
 mother declined the invitation to stay at the Governor's 
 house during her visit to the capital. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Mrs. Ransome; "I could not break 
 in upon this circle of young people! Like likes 
 like, you know, and I am here for only two or three 
 days." 
 
 Clarice drove back with her mother to the hotel. 
 Mrs. Ransome settled herself comfortably on the car- 
 riage cushion, and said to her daughter,
 
 182 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Nice people, my dear, but provincial very pro- 
 vincial!" 
 
 Clarice flushed indignantly. 
 
 "Mother," she said, "they are not provincial, I like 
 them very much, and and " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "I wish you would not try to patronise them, mother. 
 They saw it as I did and mother, they cannot be 
 patronised ! " 
 
 Clarice was flushed and embarrassed, but she was 
 glad that she had spoken. Mrs. Ransome fixed her 
 daughter with a cold eye. 
 
 "Clarice," she said, "you have inherited some of 
 your father's traits. John Ransome is a good man- 
 none knows it better than I, his wife, and none is readier 
 to proclaim it; but he has never been fully conscious of 
 his large position in the world. I have tried my best to 
 awaken in him this sense of responsibility, but I have 
 failed. I thought that I had educated you better, and I 
 was proud of my work, but I begin to fear that I have 
 failed in part." 
 
 Clarice rarely said anything when her mother adopted 
 her majestic manner, but she hid a smile. Her father 
 was very dear to her, and, if she had inherited any of his 
 traits, it was cause for gladness and pride. Mrs. Ran- 
 some resented the silence of her daughter, and came to 
 the point rather abruptly. 
 
 "Clarice," she said, "I have heard of a certain young 
 
 man named Guthrie, a newspaper writer, I believe, 
 
 who, I am told, is a somewhat conspicuous figure in the 
 
 set in which you move here. Where is he now?" 
 
 The colour deepened in Clarice's cheeks, and then
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 183 
 
 she was angry, but, in a moment, the feeling was gone. 
 A slight sense of amusement took its place. She had 
 plenty of courage. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "Mr. Guthrie is a favourite 
 among the people whom I know here, but nothing has 
 been heard of him for a week." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean? Has the man ab- 
 sconded ? " 
 
 "Oh, no! He is merely lost." 
 
 "Lost?" 
 
 "Yes, lost under the snow." 
 
 "Please explain your meaning," said Mrs. Ransome 
 with some haughtiness. 
 
 "Just before the great snow, mother, he went up into 
 the fastnesses of the mountains with Mr. Pike, a State 
 senator, to help fight in a feud." 
 
 "To help fight in a feud? What a shocking thing! 
 Is the man a desperado?" 
 
 "Oh, no, not at all! Mr. Guthrie merely went 
 along to see and to report the news. Mr. Pike 
 is to do the fighting. But the snow came, and 
 they cannot get out of the mountains or send any 
 word. So we do not know what has happened, 
 and they tell me it may be another week before we 
 can hear." 
 
 Mrs. Ransome felt relief. Providence had kindly 
 taken this objectionable Guthrie out of the way for a 
 while at least, but she did not relax her sternness. 
 
 "Clarice," she said, "I am sorry that I ever let you 
 come here. Ycu seem to have become acquainted with 
 such queer people. Do you know this creature, this 
 savage the Senator who has gone up in the mountains 
 to fight?"
 
 184 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Oh, yes, mother, I know Mr. Pike well, and he is 
 such a noble man! You could not help liking him. 
 So earnest, so honest, and so open." 
 
 Mrs. Ransome gazed at her daughter in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Clarice," she said, "I am amazed at you! Do you 
 tell me that you like a rude, wild mountaineer, that you 
 have been meeting him in society here ? What a singu- 
 lar condition of affairs!" 
 
 " But, mother, it is your State as well as mine moun- 
 taineers and all." 
 
 Mrs. Ransome did not reply to this shaft, as they had 
 conveniently reached the hotel, but she took her daugh- 
 ter with her to her rooms, and gave her much good 
 advice, to which Clarice listened dutifully. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome speedily made the acquaintance of the 
 Pelhams, who were at the same hotel, and she liked the 
 General better than anybody else whom she met in the 
 capital. He had a fine, large manner that impressed 
 her, and in a life, the most of which had been spent in 
 this State of her birth, she could not help having heard 
 of the Pelhams. Moreover, they had many feelings in 
 common concerning the state of certain affairs in the 
 little city, and this was another tie to bind them. Of 
 Mrs. Pelham herself she took little notice, considering 
 her an insignificant little thing not worthy of much 
 attention. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome had the habit of writing letters to her 
 husband about the current affairs in which she was inter- 
 ested. She knew that Mr. Ransome often failed to 
 appreciate these vital issues, and she mourned the fact, 
 but habit was strong, and she must have some one to 
 whom to pour out her soul. On the second day after
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 185 
 
 her arrival in the capital, she wrote to him, and again on 
 the day following. 
 
 Mr. Ransome, as she had truly foreseen, was not 
 deeply impressed by her news, but his attention was 
 fixed when he came to the name of his daughter Clarice. 
 Mrs. Ransome seemed to be having trouble with 
 Clarice; the girl, for some singular reason, had developed 
 a streak of quiet stubbornness. Apparently, she had 
 been influenced by surroundings of which her mother 
 did not approve; there were many queer people at the 
 capital government at best was a hodgepodge any- 
 where and, the place itself being so small, one could 
 not well avoid them. Clarice, she feared, was develop- 
 ing tastes that were not progressive. She would bring 
 her daughter away at once, but she did not wish to be 
 abrupt, nor did she care to increase the spirit of stub- 
 bornness that Clarice was developing in the most unex- 
 pected and unpleasant manner. 
 
 John Ransome smiled when he came to the end of 
 this letter, and then he read it all over again. He was 
 pleased why, he was hardly able to tell himself. He 
 loved his wife, and he loved his daughter, and, ap- 
 parently, there was nothing in a prospective conflict 
 between the two to rejoice the heart of a husband and 
 father; but such were his feelings nevertheless. He 
 wrote to his wife a rather longer letter than usual, 
 suggesting that Clarice be allowed to stay the set time 
 of her visit. 
 
 Events now began to move more rapidly at the cap- 
 ital. It was noticed that Caius Marcellus Harlow never 
 left the place. Formerly, he would disappear for brief 
 seasons, but now he was constant in his attendance. 
 Coincidently, the case against Carton made swift prog-
 
 186 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 ress; the Senate was already taking evidence, and Mr. 
 Pursley was a leading prosecutor; he disclaimed all per- 
 sonal hostility; he professed rather to like Carton, and 
 his attitude was that of a man, astonished and grieved 
 by a friend's dereliction a manner very potent with 
 the weaker members of the Legislature, and also with 
 that larger body of the public which is ready to believe 
 any evil of those in office. 
 
 Templeton, too, suddenly began to appear as an 
 enemy of Carton and a defender of the public virtue. 
 His defalcation having been paid back to the Govern- 
 ment by others, nothing more was heard about it, and he 
 bloomed anew or rather, he had never ceased to bloom. 
 He could tell things, if he would, it was said, and there 
 was talk of his taking the witness stand, but, so far, he 
 had not been called by the Senate. 
 
 Carton grew colder and haughtier than ever. All 
 questions put by the Senate he answered readily, but in 
 the most indifferent manner; his attitude seemed to 
 imply that the opinion of the Senate was not worth any- 
 thing, and Jimmy Warfield, who knew human nature, 
 believed in his heart that two or three senators would 
 vote against him solely on that account. 
 
 Warfield began now to lament the absence of Senator 
 Pike. The snow was a great misfortune. He did not 
 know how Mr. Pike would have voted; he might be 
 against Carton, but it was quite certain that without him 
 Carton was lost. The headless Republican body in the 
 Senate showed signs of drifting with the majority. 
 
 The only rock that the prosecution struck was the 
 unexpected action of Senator Cobb, who, it was well 
 known, was much opposed to Carton. He arose in the 
 Senate one cold morning, and announced that he was
 
 THE GREAT SNOW 187 
 
 opposed to such rapid action. A most influential mem- 
 ber of the Senate was not present, he said, and could 
 not attend for some days. A verdict in his absence 
 would be snap judgment. The people should always 
 be for fair play; if the presence of Senator Pike meant 
 help for an accused man, then the accused man should 
 have it. As for himself, he would fight any movement 
 to bring the matter to a vote until the missing senator 
 had returned. 
 
 There was a sudden burst of applause from the gal- 
 lery when Senator Cobb sat down, but the prosecution, 
 nevertheless, pushed the matter with the utmost vigour. 
 But Senator Cobb was true to his word, and, with a par- 
 liamentary skill and persistence that aroused the admira- 
 tion of everybody, he began to fight for delay. In the 
 Senate was the curious spectacle of an influential mem- 
 ber who opposed Carton fighting for him that is, to 
 give him more time. 
 
 Thus affairs stood at the capital, and the snow still 
 lay in the mountains.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 
 
 DEEP in the mountains, the time was passing all too 
 slowly for Guthrie and the Reverend Zedekiah Pike. 
 Guthrie fretted, and looked up at the white peaks around 
 him, but he had little else to do. He was shut out from 
 the world as completely as if he were on an island in the 
 South Seas. Once there were signs of a thaw, and a cold 
 rain fell, but in a few hours it turned colder again than 
 ever, and the rain froze on the surface of the snow, 
 making a glistening sheet of ice. It was now im- 
 possible to travel more than a quarter of a mile from 
 the village, and even the wisest of the mountain 
 prophets could not predict a change. The goose- 
 bone had foretold a hard winter, and they had no right 
 to expect anything else. 
 
 The talk of lynching was not revived for the present, 
 but Guthrie knew that it would come up again when the 
 snow melted; so he was glad that he had sent his mes- 
 sage to the Governor. But the public feeling against 
 Mr. Pike afflicted him. The Senator, by his unaccount- 
 able action in sparing Dilger when he was at his mercy, 
 had forfeited the esteem of his own party. People 
 could not understand him; his action violated all tradi- 
 tion and right feeling; he was accused of a want of 
 respect for the memory of his murdered brother; it was 
 popularly said that he was the first Pike who had ever 
 
 188
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 189 
 
 flinched. His own near relatives became rather shy of 
 him, and he was forced to rely more and more upon the 
 companionship of Guthrie, who felt for him the deepest 
 and sincerest sympathy, when he saw all that the Senator 
 had forfeited for the sake of the new and higher feelings 
 learned from the world outside. 
 
 But upon Guthrie himself, although he was known to 
 be the intimate friend of Senator Pike, none of this hos- 
 tility was visited. He was a stranger, a man not med- 
 dling in the feud, who had come there to stay a while 
 among them, forced now by stress of circumstances to 
 remain longer than he intended, and the primitive and 
 great virtue of hospitality was exercised to the full in his 
 case. If it had not been for his anxieties about affairs 
 at the capital, he could have thoroughly enjoyed his life 
 in this walled-in dell in the mountains, and, despite these 
 cares, it was not without many attractions. Beauty of 
 the grand and picturesque sort was there in abundance. 
 He saw it all around him in the ridges and the peaks 
 sheathed in their armour of glittering ice that flashed in 
 rays of yellow and silver under the wintry, but none the 
 less brilliant sun. The trees were clad to the last, least 
 twig in the same white coats of mail, and, silhouetted 
 against the sky, they looked like gigantic pieces of 
 carving in ice. Just above the village, where the 
 little river dashed over a fall, the cataract was 
 frozen, and now and then a brilliant rainbow flashed 
 its colours there. 
 
 The village itself was snug and warm. Nearly all 
 the houses were built of logs, and the surrounding forest 
 furnished an abundant supply of fuel. In every in- 
 habited building, a great fire blazed and crackled, and 
 there was an abundance of food, too most of it coarse
 
 190 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 and rough, but winter work and a winter air made its 
 taste good enough. 
 
 It was now that Guthrie began to show his wonderful 
 quality of adaptation, a trait in his nature that made him 
 acceptable everywhere, and liked by people of widely 
 varying types. He had such a keen zest in life, such a 
 readiness to see that people are chiefly the creatures of 
 their circumstances, and such a desire to see the good in 
 them, that he always approached strangers with a 
 friendly prepossession a feeling that naturally bred 
 reciprocity. He had not been in Briarton a week before 
 he knew every one of its inhabitants, and, without 
 effort on his part to acquire favour, he was the most 
 popular man there. He assumed no airs of superiority, 
 he helped the people to dig their roads through the snow, 
 now and then he cut wood in order to keep his muscles 
 in trim, he said, and, the night when the Widow Connor's 
 house caught fire, he was first on the roof with a bucket 
 of water to put out the flames. When the fire was out 
 and he slipped on the icy boards, plunging head first 
 into a five-foot snow-drift, he joined with entire hearti- 
 ness in the laugh against him. And then when the 
 Widow Connor, out of sheer gratitude, kissed him on 
 the cheek, Guthrie returned the salute in such a gallant 
 manner that he won the applause of the entire popula- 
 tion gathered there in an admiring circle. 
 
 He put the capstone to this edifice of popular esteem 
 when he beat Eli Pike, a second cousin of the Senator, 
 at rifle-shooting. Eli was the champion of the county, 
 and when Guthrie, by a most singular piece of luck, 
 bored a hole right through the centre of the target, a 
 silver coin posted on the trunk of a tree, and then put 
 the rifle aside with an air that seemed to say, "I can do
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 191 
 
 a little thing like that fifty times a day," there was noth- 
 ing in the village that he could not have. People said, 
 "Why, he don't put on no airs at all; he's jest as easy 
 as an old shoe!" 
 
 Guthrie was conscious of his growing power and he 
 used it without cessation for his friend the Senator. He 
 was speaking continually but only in an indirect man- 
 ner of the Senator's great influence, of the leadership 
 conceded to him by the Republican party not because 
 he sought it, but because of his high character and 
 abilities; he emphasised the glory that he was shedding 
 upon the mountains in general, upon his county in par- 
 ticular, and upon Briarton most of all. Invariably, in 
 his talk with the mountaineers, he quoted the Senator's 
 standard of conduct as a rule of life, and he measured 
 all things by it. Such and such a thing at the capital 
 was right, he often said, because Senator Pike ap- 
 proved it; he gave no other reason that Senator Pike 
 said so was sufficient. 
 
 He was soon happy to see that his method was 
 producing good results. The people, without knowing 
 why, began to look upon Senator Pike's conduct with 
 more leniency. Guthrie's office, too, added weight to 
 his words. It was soon known that he was the repre- 
 sentative of the State's greatest newspaper, who had 
 come into the mountains to write about them. It was 
 evident that he liked the people, and therefore fell into 
 their ways with the greatest ease. With them, print had 
 a sanctity unshaken byevery-day use,and,in their eyes, 
 the man who wrote things appearing in type was great 
 in his day. They weighed in their minds whether he 
 was not as great as a State senator, or at least as great 
 as a member of the House. Certainly, the occupation
 
 192 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 had about it an air of mystery and romance lacking even 
 in the office-holder. 
 
 Guthrie was able to repay the hospitality of his host in 
 yet another way. The Senator, feeling himself an out- 
 cast, grew heavy and melancholy, and felt, too, that he 
 was now neglecting his duty in being absent from the 
 capital at so critical a time. He did not excuse 
 himself because it was manifestly the hand of God 
 that kept him away. Guthrie became indispensable 
 to the stricken man. With his own hands, he piled the 
 logs upon the fire, and watched the blaze roar up the 
 chimney. He never abated one whit from his cheer- 
 ful tone. He talked of the ever-recurring topics of 
 public life, not only of office-holding and law-making, 
 but of the other affairs of the larger world of science 
 and society, of life and literature. He had noticed 
 that the Senator was often in the fine library in the 
 Capitol building, and now he found that the moun- 
 taineer was almost wholly self-taught. His taste was 
 chiefly for history and biography. He had read exten- 
 sively about ancient kingdoms and republics nearly 
 always pronouncing the proper names wrong, because 
 no one had ever told him better and Guthrie was sur- 
 prised to find that his admiration was for the Greek 
 democracy rather than for the all-conquering Roman 
 State. He had thought that Rome would appeal most 
 to a mountaineer in whose country might counted for 
 so much. But Mr. Pike liked the humanity and mercy 
 of the Greek character, and Guthrie thought he saw 
 in it the key to his rebellion against a prevalent moun- 
 tain custom. 
 
 Guthrie went once to see Dilger in the jail. The 
 feud leader was completely recovered from his wound
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 193 
 
 he had merely been stunned by the glancing impact 
 of a bullet against his thick skull, followed by a few 
 hours' paralysis of the muscles and he found him 
 insolent, defiant, and wholly unrepentant. Yes, he 
 had killed the younger Pike, and he was glad of it; 
 he would serve the older brother the same way if he 
 had the chance, and he expected to have it some day; 
 did they think they would hang him? They would 
 learn better before long. He sneered at the Senator. 
 He did not believe that Mr. Pike had spared him 
 through any moral scruples; such a thought had never 
 entered his head, nor could it have been driven there 
 with a hammer and a chisel; he did not know what 
 moral scruples were, or what the phrase meant. No, 
 the Senator was simply a coward; the blood in his 
 veins was white; when it came to shooting a man, he 
 had lost his nerve, he was a woman in man's clothes. 
 Dilger laughed in contempt. 
 
 On the tenth night after Guthrie's arrival, Dilger 
 broke jail, and fled along one of the newly opened paths 
 in the snow up the mountain side. It was Senator 
 Pike who responded first to the alarm, and led the pur- 
 suit through the snow and the forest. In some way, a 
 revolver had been smuggled to Dilger, and, when the 
 Senator, separated from the rest of his party, overtook 
 him, a duel ensued between this servant of the law and 
 the desperado, fighting for his life. Mr. Pike escaped 
 without a wound, but Dilger fell with a bullet through 
 his shoulder. A second time, the Senator spared the 
 life of his deadliest enemy, and brought him bleeding 
 into Briarton, amid a crowd of spectators, who could 
 not now refuse admiration. Certainly, no one could 
 impugn the courage of the Senator, for single-handed
 
 194 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 he had fought his enemy as before, wounded him, and 
 brought him in a prisoner. Nor could they deny him 
 consistency, for, in the face of ostracism and all that is 
 precious to a man, he had stood by his principles. 
 Might there not be something in such beliefs if one was 
 willing to pay so great a price to sustain them ? 
 
 Guthrie was in the crowd that stood by when the 
 Senator brought in Dilger. It was three o'clock of a 
 very cold morning, and the little street was lighted up 
 by torches. Dilger, pale and weak, had been given to 
 the constable, and near him stood the Senator, silent 
 and stern. Back of all were the snow-clad mountains 
 gleaming through the darkness. The scene stirred 
 Guthrie to the depths, and, springing upon a stump, 
 he cried: 
 
 " Gentlemen, our Bible says that he who ruleth him- 
 self is greater than he who taketh a city; therefore, I 
 call for a cheer for the greatest man in the mountains, 
 the bravest man in the mountains, for a man who has 
 done what few of us would dare to do, a man who 
 single-handed has taken a desperado fighting for his 
 life, a man who stands among us to-night, blood kin to 
 nearly all of you the Honourable Zedekiah Pike." 
 
 His sonorous periods, his cumulative sentences, 
 pleased the mountaineers, and touched a chord already 
 attuned to a response. They, too, unconsciously had 
 begun to feel the strain of the difference between them 
 and their leader, and at the sudden sight of him, stand- 
 ing there a hero a hero acknowledged and admired by 
 this representative of an outside world, all their old 
 esteem and liking came back with a rush, and they 
 burst into a spontaneous cheer. 
 
 Some of them crowded forward to shake the hand of
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 195 
 
 Mr. Pike and to tell how much they admired him. 
 Again the shifting picture etched itself deeply on Guth- 
 rie's mind: the tall, black-haired Senator, his features 
 still stem and unrelaxed; the crowd about him; the 
 fallen captive in the background; the smoking torches, 
 and the great rim of snowy mountains. 
 
 Gradually the heart of the Senator melted before 
 the surrender of his people, and Guthrie saw a mist 
 appear in his eyes. There was a little tightness at his 
 own heart, and he felt the glow of a good deed well 
 done. 
 
 Dilger was again confined in the jail, and his guard 
 was increased until the law should take its course; and 
 then Guthrie and the Senator walked slowly home, 
 neither speaking. Guthrie saw that his companion 
 was deeply moved, and he knew that a great burden 
 had been lifted from his back. As for himself, he was 
 thinking of Clarice Ransome. What would she, with 
 her foreign education, say of such a scene as this? 
 Would it not appear to her wild and singular a piece 
 out of another world than hers? 
 
 The good relations established in a burst of emotion 
 under the torchlight between Senator Pike and Briar- 
 ton retained their warmth in the cold light of the days 
 that followed. The people flowed through the Sena- 
 tor's house again, paying friendly calls, asking his ad- 
 vice about public and private matters, and putting him 
 back in his old place the place in which he belonged 
 as leading man of the village, made such by sheer 
 merit. 
 
 The Senator never spoke of the matter to Guthrie, 
 whom he now treated almost as a son the companion 
 and loyal friend of his adversity; but he talked freely
 
 196 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 of affairs at the capital, and Guthrie, taking his cue, 
 uttered many a good word for Carton, never abruptly, 
 nor badly, but always indirectly and in its proper con- 
 nection. 
 
 Mr. Pike was much troubled, and at last told his 
 views upon this important question. 
 
 "Personally, I like Mr. Carton," but he has serious 
 faults, he said. "He seems to me to be somewhat 
 arrogant, to consult too little the feelings of the other 
 members of the House in short, to lack tact (and 
 that is a serious fault in the leader of any legislative 
 body), but it had not occurred to me that he could be 
 guilty of corruption." 
 
 "Then you would vote for him in his trial before the 
 Senate?" asked Guthrie, scarcely able to conceal his 
 eagerness. 
 
 "Unless more evidence is produced than has been 
 made known to me, I should do so," replied the Senator. 
 Guthrie was wise enough not to push the question 
 further, and now he was more eager than ever to escape 
 from the mountains. He knew that the trial of Carton 
 must be approaching its climax, and he knew, too, 
 that the balance of forces present at the capital was 
 against him. He looked up at the overhanging moun- 
 tains of white. There was no sign of a thaw. A 
 road had been broken a distance of three or four miles, 
 but it was folly to attempt the entire journey to Say- 
 ville; one must turn back or perish in the mountains. 
 Although Guthrie did not know it, the Waterford 
 militia company was still at Sayville, waiting like him- 
 self for the first sign of a thaw, and eager to get 
 through to Briarton. 
 
 One afternoon, a wind blowing out of the north
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 197 
 
 arose, but in an hour it veered around to the south- 
 west, and its breath was warm. If it lasted, the snow 
 would begin to melt soon, and the weather prophet of 
 the village said that it would last. Evidently he under- 
 stood his business, because, when the twilight came, 
 the southwest wind was still blowing, and the frozen 
 surface of the snow was softening. After dark, the 
 water began to drip from the roofs. 
 
 Guthrie sat that evening with Mr. Pike, and they 
 still talked of the capital and the affairs of the State, 
 both increasingly eager for the journey, now that the 
 snow was melting and the mountains were about to be 
 unlocked. The Senator showed a quiet but serene 
 satisfaction; he seemed to Guthrie to have grown in 
 mental breadth and stature in the last few days; his 
 successful issue from his great trial had solidified and 
 strengthened him, and Guthrie foresaw in him a Repub- 
 lican leader of weight and character. A partisan Dem- 
 ocrat himself by birth, training, association, and con- 
 viction, he knew that the State needed a stronger 
 and healthier opposition than the Republicans had 
 ever been able to furnish, and he expected Mr. Pike to 
 gather together the scattered forces and to make them 
 cohesive and energetic. 
 
 The Senator spoke by and by of Templeton and his 
 defalcation, of which he had known. He held that 
 Templeton should not have been excused because his 
 friends paid back the money; he should have been 
 exposed, nor was that enough: he should have been 
 sent to prison it was the plain law. 
 
 "I heard that you haJ written an account of it for 
 the Times, Mr. Guthrie," he said, "and that you were 
 induced by the Bishop to withdraw it"
 
 198 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Guthrie said nothing; he was willing to let the affair 
 stand at that, and Mr. Pike spoke on, not noticing 
 Guthrie's failure to answer. 
 
 "It did no good to save Templeton," he said, "be- 
 cause he was saved only for the moment. He will 
 commit another and greater offence, and he is sure to 
 come to a bad end in time. Even now he is pretend- 
 ing to be a lobbyist, and he has all sorts of wild and 
 grandiloquent schemes. I heard him boasting once, 
 when he had drunk too much, that he had only 
 to say the word, and he could go to New York any day 
 he chose, and work for a firm of brokers at ten thousand 
 dollars a year. Ten thousand dollars is a great deal 
 of money. Nobody in the mountains ever made that 
 much, year after year." 
 
 Guthrie had been listening with interest, but now he 
 became suddenly eager and intent. He had the gift 
 of intuition, or rather, a logical way of connecting 
 seemingly irrelevant facts. 
 
 "Did Templeton mention the name of the broker- 
 age firm that was willing to pay him so good a salary ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 The Senator meditated a moment. 
 "He spoke the name," he replied, "but I had to 
 think a little before I could recall it. It was Purvis 
 & Eaton. I remember his words they were: 
 can get ten thousand dollars a year from a firm of 
 brokers in New York. Purvis & Eaton will be glad 
 to pay me that much any day I say I'm willing to take 
 the job/ Yes, those were his words. Do you think 
 that he was lying, Mr. Guthrie?" 
 
 "I do not know," replied Guthrie, and in a few 
 moments he spoke of something else. But his thoughts
 
 AND THE SENATOR I99 
 
 n ** tumultu . 
 
 a a 
 man in . ^ * 3ala,y to an o 
 
 out experience in A 
 
 increasing driprin' ofh T^ "'* P leaaure to 
 and he heari the it" m k eltm sno fa the 
 southwest wind on ^^^'h of the warn, 
 
 had begun, and, in a few d T ^l 8 ""* thaw 
 mountains would be oL b u t ^- " gh 
 turned his face toward ti Tiiwi " e no lo 
 that, when he re"sa^ t *** He l 
 him eastward and n^weTw ' ^ Sh U ' d 
 
 from 
 
 , the next 
 
 -'--- 
 
 which they c^uld not if CU " US fee " ng f relief - for 
 have accounted if asked, per-
 
 200 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 vaded them. No one knew how the Senator would 
 vote, or how he would influence his fellow Republicans, 
 and Guthrie had no vote at all. 
 
 Senator Cobb, backed up and aided in every way 
 by Jimmy Warfield, who, though a member of the House, 
 was not without influence in the Senate, had just fought 
 off a vote, despite the pressure of Pursley, and Harlow, 
 and all the others. Templeton, too, was doing a little 
 quiet lobbying, and it was said that he would shortly 
 leave the little city for a larger field. Finally, word 
 came that the road from Briarton was open to the ven- 
 turesome, and arrivals from there might be expected 
 in the capital on the morrow. 
 
 Clarice was sitting with her mother, Mrs. Hastings, 
 and Mary Pelham when this news was told and Mrs. 
 Ransome's look was ironical. 
 
 "I suppose that quite a fuss will be made over this 
 young Guthrie when he returns," she said. "Every- 
 body talks of him as if he were something quite out of 
 the common!" 
 
 "We think that he is above the average," said Lucy 
 Hastings with quiet dignity, "and all of us like him be- 
 cause he is so unselfish and so devoted to his friends. 
 Paul said last night that no one could be missed from 
 the capital more than he had been, and I think so, too." 
 
 Mrs. Ransome flushed slightly, and made no reply. 
 She had not found it to her advantage to quarrel with 
 the Governor's wife and her friends, and, as all her 
 efforts at patronising were skilfully turned aside, she 
 was forced for the time to choose some other course. 
 She glanced at Clarice, who had gone to the window, 
 and was looking out at the melting snow and torrents of 
 water that ran down the gutters.
 
 GUTHRIE AND THE SENATOR 201 
 
 Clarice was unhappy. She resented her mother's 
 implication that she was neglecting Raoul or rather 
 the memory of Raoul, as Raoul himself was five thou- 
 sand miles away but the insinuation was true, and she 
 knew it. However, it would be only for a little while, 
 she told herself; these were her people, and it was 
 natural that she should be interested in them ; this was 
 her country, and Europe was not, although it was to be 
 she did not thrill at this last thought. 
 
 She could not deny to herself that she should be 
 glad to see Guthrie but it was only her curiosity, she 
 said, that she would gratify. Guthrie's vigorous, mas- 
 culine life, his keen interest in the affairs of the world, 
 and his energy and optimism appealed to her. And 
 this journey of his into the mountains on such an 
 errand, and then the coming of the great snow enclos- 
 ing and shutting out him and Mr. Pike, had the savour 
 of knight-errantry there would be a fine story to tell, 
 and she relished tales of adventure. 
 
 Above all, she keenly resented the presence of her 
 mother in the guise of a mentor. She knew perfectly 
 well why Mrs. Ransome had come to the capital; 
 no quibble or excuse could conceal it from her, and she 
 was angry that she should be treated as a child. 
 
 Paul Hastings came in, and after the customary 
 words of greeting, said: 
 
 "Wilson" Wilson was the lieutenant-governor and, 
 therefore, president of the Senate "tells me that he has 
 just had a telegram from Senator Pike at Sayville, 
 saying that he will arrive here at noon to-morrow, 
 and " 
 
 He paused, and looked rather curiously around the 
 little circle.
 
 202 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "And Mr. Guthrie comes with him?" asked Mrs. 
 Hastings. 
 
 "Guthrie," the Senator added, "was to take the 
 east bound train at midnight for New York." 
 
 Clarice, despite herself, looked up in surprise. Mrs. 
 Ransome breathed a silent sigh of relief. 
 
 "Why on earth is he doing that?" asked Mrs. 
 Hastings. 
 
 "I do not know," replied the Governor.
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 IN THE REALMS OP FINANCE 
 
 GUTHRIE made the trip to Sayville with Mr. Pike, 
 and it is one that he will never forget. The moun- 
 tains shed water. Rivers of it dashed through every 
 ravine, and now and then the melting snow, under- 
 mined at the base, poured down in tons. But the two 
 escaped all dangers, and at last reached the railroad 
 station. A mile from their destination, they met the 
 Waterford militia company already on the march for 
 Briarton. Guthrie told the captain that the people 
 would now make no attempt to lynch Dilger, but the 
 officer, true to his orders, kept on his way, and in due 
 time reached the village. 
 
 At the station, Guthrie informed Mr. Pike that he 
 was going to New York instead of the capital, and 
 the Senator looked his surprise, but said nothing. 
 
 "It's of great importance," said Guthrie, "but I 
 hope to be back soon." 
 
 He sent a despatch to his home office, telling of 
 his errand and his hopes again taking the chance 
 of approval and a little later he boarded an 
 epst-bound local train, receiving a hearty grasp 
 of the hand and farewell from Mr. Pike, who was 
 yet at the station, waiting for his own westward 
 train. 
 
 Fifty miles farther on, where the expresses make 
 
 203
 
 204 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 their only stop in the mountains, he left the "local" 
 and waited for the through train for New York, which 
 arrived an hour late, and, picking him up, whirled 
 him on eastward. 
 
 Guthrie was in a berth in one of the finest trains that 
 runs between the East and the Middle West, one that 
 skims every day over the mountains, its passengers 
 surrounded by luxury, never realising the primitive 
 wilderness through which they are shot at the rate of 
 forty miles an hour. But it was all real and vital to 
 Guthrie, who was beginning to understand its pas- 
 sions and its sentiments, and who, as he sat amid the 
 plush, and the mahogany, and the polished brass, had 
 a singular little longing for tiny, lonely Briarton in its 
 cove among the peaks. 
 
 But his mind soon turned to the task before him 
 no light one and, having always made it a rule to secure 
 rest when rest was needed, he went to bed, and in half 
 an hour was sound asleep. 
 
 He awoke the next morning among the rolling hills 
 of the East, and a little after dark arrived in New York. 
 The morning after that he sent from his hotel to Jimmy 
 Warfield this telegram: 
 
 "What is state of affairs? For God's sake, fight off 
 vote as long as you can. I may bring help." 
 
 In two hours, the reply came: 
 
 "Pike arrived, and says he will vote for Carton. 
 Takes four Republican senators with him, and chances 
 now so nearly even that each side afraid to push for a 
 vote. Carton saved for present, but for future our 
 hopes in you." 
 
 "What a loyal fellow he is to his friends!" was 
 Guthrie's unspoken comment. "He doesn't know
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 205 
 
 why I'm here, but he takes my word for it that I'm to 
 make a find." 
 
 His next step was to find the address of Purvis & 
 Eaton in the city directory, and then he went down to 
 the number given in Nassau Street, near Wall. Guth- 
 rie had been in New York before, but the roar and rush 
 of the mighty down-town canyons called streets almost 
 stunned him, coming now from the silence and peace 
 of the mountains. However, his thoughts lingered 
 little on these phases; he was too intent on his plan of 
 campaign, and his object was to spy out the country of 
 the one whom he considered the enemy. 
 
 The office of the great financiers indicated massive- 
 ness and simplicity. It was on the second floor of a 
 white stone building of severe architecture, and occu- 
 pied, so Guthrie reckoned, at least a dozen rooms. 
 The men who passed in or out wore silk hats and frock 
 coats, and were mostly of full flesh. Everything bore 
 the appearance of wealth and importance. 
 
 Satisfied for the present with this external inspection, 
 Guthrie returned to his hotel, which he had purposely 
 chosen in the down-town district in order that he might 
 always be near to his field of battle. There he bought 
 all the morning papers and looked carefully over their 
 financial columns, but he found nowhere a quotation 
 of "United" bonds or stock, preferred or common. 
 He had not really expected to find such quotations, as 
 the company was yet without a charter, but he was not 
 willing to neglect any possible source of information. 
 Then he went forth upon a second expedition. 
 
 It was his purpose now to buy a share of " United " 
 stock, or at least to make an offer for it, if there was 
 such a thing in the market, and he decided to attempt
 
 206 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 the purchase as close as possible to the offices of Purvis 
 & Eaton. He had noticed brokers' signs on doors 
 in the same building, and he entered one on the third 
 floor. He gave his name and State, and then mentioned 
 the stock that he wished to buy. The broker looked 
 at him with some curiosity. 
 
 "There is no such stock in the market," he said. 
 
 "I was told that Messrs. Purvis & Eaton, the bank- 
 ers in this building, were financing the company," 
 said Guthrie boldly, surmising that this assertion 
 would act as a leading question. 
 
 "I recall it," said the broker meditatively, "and if 
 I mistake not, Purvis & Eaton were to bond and stock 
 the scheme. But I haven't heard anything of it re- 
 cently; I suppose it's fallen through; lots of these 
 Western and Southern enterprises do, you know." 
 
 Guthrie thanked him, and went out, his heart beating 
 happily. The broker's words were vague, but they 
 confirmed if a conviction can be confirmed the 
 belief that he had formed when Senator Pike's chance 
 words at Briarton gave to him the name of Purvis 
 & Eaton. He walked again by their offices, and looked 
 up at the massive sign, "Purvis & Eaton, Bankers, 
 New York, Paris, and London," and watched the 
 portly, silk-hatted, and frock-coated men go in and 
 out. "I shall get at you yet," he said to himself, con- 
 fidently and triumphantly. 
 
 He devoted all the rest of the day to inquiries con- 
 cerning Purvis & Eaton, bankers. He went to the 
 galleries of the Stock Exchange, asking chance questions 
 there, and at last he introduced himself to the financial 
 editors of the great newspapers, and sought informa- 
 tion from them.
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 207 
 
 Sometimes he was rebuffed, and sometimes his ques- 
 tions were answered; but Guthrie noticed in all the 
 replies a certain caution and reserve, as if his inform- 
 ants were not telling quite all they knew. His keen 
 instinct at once told him the cause: this firm, despite 
 its great business and its dignified connections, had 
 one little shady corner. Purvis & Eaton, he learned, 
 operated all over the world, and there were five partners, 
 three Americans, an Englishman, and a German. 
 
 This was the limit of his day's work, and after dark 
 he went to his hotel and sent to Jimmy Warfield this 
 brief telegram: "How are things?" In an hour 
 came the briefer reply: "Status quo." Guthrie had 
 a great feeling of satisfaction, and in the night he 
 walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, looking down 
 upon the scene of the world's greatest activity, all 
 dark and quiet now. It was his conclusion that the 
 darkness hid alike much that was good and much that 
 was bad. 
 
 The next day, he pursued the same line of inquiry, 
 trying to find exactly what that shady corner in the 
 business of Purvis & Eaton covered. He noticed in 
 the most solid of the morning papers a small adver- 
 tisement by the firm, stating that they were dealers 
 in State and city bonds, and could furnish good in- 
 vestments. He found later that they made a specialty 
 of the West and the South, and at last, in his pursuit 
 of shares of the United Electric, Gas, Power, Light, 
 and Heating Company, he came to one broker, who, 
 in anger, told just what he wanted to know. 
 
 "That," he exclaimed, "is one of Charlie Warren's 
 schemes 1" 
 
 Warren, as Guthrie had ascertained, was the young-
 
 208 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 est partner in the firm of Purvis & Eaton. But he 
 said nothing, waiting for the broker, who, he judged, 
 had got the worst of some transaction with Warren, 
 to continue, as he seemed willing to do. 
 
 "I don't know what has come of it," continued the 
 broker, "but, if it goes through, as likely it will, the 
 bonds and stock of the company will be worth a lot 
 of money." 
 
 "But our city is hardly large enough to pay big 
 dividends on rival street railway, electric light, heating, 
 and gas companies," said Guthrie mildly. 
 
 The broker looked at Guthrie with rather an amused 
 glance, and contracted his left eyelid just a trifle, so 
 much as to say: "Well, you are a green one." 
 
 "Do you take Charlie Warren for a fool?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I do not know anything about him." 
 
 "So it seems. Charlie Warren and the firm of 
 Purvis & Eaton do not dream of running a street rail- 
 way, an electric light, or any other kind of a company. 
 They have a better use for their time and money than 
 that." 
 
 "Then what do they want?" 
 
 "Why, to sell out to the old companies the moment 
 they get their charter. It's as plain as the nose on 
 your face, and as simple as A, B, C. It can be done, 
 too, right along, if you are powerful enough and un- 
 scrupulous enough to do it. You see, all these West- 
 ern and Southern States are aflame against corporations 
 and monopolies, and they are honest in it, too, but 
 their anger can be used for other purposes. Just find 
 a large city where a company has had an exclusive 
 public franchise of any kind, then you go up to the
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 209 
 
 Legislature with an application for a franchise for a 
 new and rival corporation to break the power of the 
 old all in the people's interest, of course and, nine 
 times out of ten, it will go through if pushed well." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "And then after a while, when the noise about it 
 has died out, the new company sells out to the old 
 compels it to buy, so to speak sort of legal blackmail, 
 and there you are; the old company still has its monop- 
 oly, the new company has its price, and the public its 
 experience. Young man, there are more ways than 
 one in this world to whip the devil around the stumpl" 
 
 "I see," said Guthrie, and thanking the man, he 
 went out. "They say that 'hell hath no fury like a 
 woman scorned,'" he murmured to himself, "but I 
 fancy that one broker worsted in a trade by another is 
 just about as bad." 
 
 This concluded another day's work, and again, at 
 nightfall, Guthrie telegraphed an inquiry to Jimmy 
 Warfield, and back came the answer, "status quo." 
 
 Then Guthrie sent another message which read: 
 "Keep it up; things here beginning to come our way." 
 
 Jimmy Warfield received this second telegram a 
 little before midnight, and his face glowed as he read 
 it. Then he took it to Carton, who was still awake, 
 gloomily gazing out of the window. "I don't know 
 what it means," said Warfield, "but Billy Guthrie 
 never would send a telegram like that unless he had 
 something up his sleeve." 
 
 "He certainly would not," said Carton, his face 
 lighting up with hope. 
 
 Guthrie now prepared himself for the boldest stroke 
 of all one that he would not have tried, had he not
 
 210 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 been absolutely sure of his ground. He went the next 
 morning to the office of Purvis & Eaton, and sent his 
 correspondent's card to the great Mr. Warren, to be 
 informed a few minutes later by the supercilious mes- 
 senger that Mr. Warren was too busy to see any news- 
 paper representative. 
 
 Guthrie was not disconcerted. He understood the 
 important manner, and he had learned early that men 
 really great never have an important manner. 
 
 He wrote a note to Mr. Warren, saying briefly that 
 he expected to send to the Times a full account of 
 Purvis & Eaton's interest in the Electric, Gas, Power, 
 Light, and Heating Company's bill. He had ascer- 
 tained that the bill was prepared in their office, pushed 
 through by their lobbyist, Mr. Caius Marcellus Harlow, 
 and that no preparation had ever been made, even to 
 begin a plant in case of the bill's passage. The public, 
 therefore, must infer that the new company, if it ob- 
 tained a charter, merely intended to force the old ones 
 to buy out its privileges. If Messrs. Purvis & Eaton 
 cared to say anything, he would be glad to annex it to 
 his account. 
 
 "Take this to Mr. Warren," said Guthrie to the 
 messenger. 
 
 The boy hesitated, but Guthrie's stern gaze cowed 
 him, and he disappeared within the doors. Guthrie 
 had no doubt of the result. He knew how, in gambling 
 language, to meet a bluff with a bluff, and he waited, 
 at ease. The messenger was a much longer time than 
 before in returning. Finally, he came with word that 
 the partners would see the visitor, and Guthrie followed 
 him through offices in which many clerks toiled at 
 great ledgers, and through one door he caught a glimpse
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 211 
 
 of a boy marking quotations on a high blackboard. 
 Then the messenger opened another door, and, with 
 the words, "the partners will see you here, sir," left 
 him. 
 
 Guthrie stepped into the private office of Messrs. 
 Purvis & Eaton, and closed the door behind him. 
 Four of the partners were present, two of the Americans, 
 the Englishman, and the German. Three of them 
 were men of fifty or more, heavy, portly, side-whiskered, 
 and dressed in black. But the fourth, who was not 
 over forty-five, was thin, smoothly shaven, and wore 
 a gray sack suit. Guthrie knew instinctively that this 
 was Mr. Warren. 
 
 No one asked him to be seated, and, of his own ac- 
 cord, he took a chair. Then he glanced coolly around 
 the room, which was darkly carpeted, had mahogany 
 chairs on the floor and large portraits of the five part- 
 ners on the wall. As none of the partners yet spoke, 
 evidently waiting for him to do so, he continued his 
 survey of the room, and also remained silent. 
 
 Guthrie noticed that the four men were gazing at 
 him in a haughty and reproving manner, but he was 
 not awed. The element of respect, even deference, 
 was not lacking in his composition. He valued money, 
 and he thought it a silly affectation to pretend to despise 
 it; but the money-king never appealed to him as a great 
 man. Once a bank cashier in a moment of conde- 
 scension had said to him: "You look like a grave and 
 sensible young man, Mr. Guthrie, and, by application, 
 you may in time become a cashier as I am," but Guth- 
 rie was not flattered. He had been taught to look 
 toward other ideals. To him, the great men were the 
 great statesmen, and writers, and soldiers, and artists,
 
 212 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 and ministers. Lincoln and Thackeray were infinitely 
 more inspiring names to him than Rothschild or Rocke- 
 feller. It was, therefore, with perfect calmness that 
 he faced the four partners, who, he knew perfectly well, 
 would try to browbeat him and make him feel as if he 
 were a presumptuous intruder. 
 
 The youngest of them held Guthrie's card in his 
 hand, and twirled it rather contemptuously. Guthrie 
 noticed the action, and glanced indifferently out of the 
 window. 
 
 " This is an extraordinary, I may say, an impertinent 
 note that you have sent us!" at last said the senior and 
 plumpest partner, Mr. Purvis. 
 
 "It did not impress me as being impertinent," re- 
 plied Guthrie coolly. " At any rate, your Mr. Warren 
 made it necessary; I sent in my card at first with no 
 note at all." 
 
 "This is a threat," continued the senior partner, 
 the dull red flushing into his cheeks. "You tell us 
 that you are going to publish an article defaming one 
 of the largest and most reputable banking firms in 
 New York City. It is blackmail, it is " 
 
 "Kindly stop where you are," said Guthrie, "you 
 make nothing by calling me names. I stated facts in 
 that note. I have ascertained beyond a doubt that 
 you originated and pushed the bill for the 'United.' 
 You are at the back of the fight against Mr. Carton, 
 the Speaker of the House in our State, because he 
 divined the purpose of this bill, and, through his power 
 as Speaker, has long prevented its passage. You are 
 the cause of his present impeachment. He is my friend, 
 and I shall serve both him and the cause of 
 justice."
 
 213 
 
 Mr. Purvis was about to speak, evidently with anger, 
 but the junior partner, Mr. Warren, raised his hand. 
 
 "May I ask, Mr. Guthrie," he said, smoothly, glanc- 
 ing at the card when he uttered the name, as if his 
 memory did not serve in so slight a matter, " where you 
 have learned all this very interesting romance?" 
 
 "You mean history, not romance; by many inquiries 
 among bankers, brokers, financial writers, and others. 
 I am willing to tell you also that, in anticipation of the 
 passage of the bill, you gave the contract for printing the 
 stock and bond certificates to the American Printing 
 Company, 24 Nassau Street, and their work, very 
 neatly and handsomely done, is now ready for delivery." 
 
 The junior partner bit his lip, but in a moment recov- 
 ered his suavity. 
 
 "Very interesting," he said, "and suppose, for the 
 sake of argument, we should grant its truth, what then ? 
 So far, we are entirely within our rights. It is our busi- 
 ness to place stocks and bonds. One of our functions 
 is that of a sales-agent." 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "What then becomes of your second charge that it is 
 our purpose, and has been our purpose from the first, to 
 compel the old companies to buy us out. That is a 
 very difficult thing to prove, and your newspaper will be 
 liable in heavy damages." 
 
 "The charge stands. I shall make it, and take all 
 chances. I know morally that it is true, and I can pile 
 up enough evidence to convince anybody. And I tell 
 you, too, for your information that you could not possibly 
 get a jury in my State, where such a case would have to 
 be tried, to give a verdict in this connection against the 
 Times and in favour of a distant corporation like yours."
 
 214 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Then, why have you come here at all?" 
 
 "To take your statement, if you care to give it. We 
 are fair; we do not wish to publish one side and suppress 
 the other." 
 
 Here Mr. Purvis, who had been heaving and flushing 
 in silence, broke all bounds. 
 
 "Get out, you impudent young rascal! How dare 
 you come here and talk in this manner to us!" he cried. 
 
 "I may be impudent, and I am glad to be young, but 
 I am not a financial pirate; I don't try to make money 
 by plundering others." 
 
 The suave Mr. Warren intervened. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie has shown himself very enterprising," 
 he said, " but I cannot understand why he wishes to put 
 such motives into a legitimate business transaction. 
 Our purpose is entirely within the law both legal and 
 moral but, at the same time, we do not care to have 
 the name of an old and honoured firm showered 
 with innuendo in the public prints. Will nothing 
 induce you to stop the sending of this despatch, 
 Mr. Guthrie?" 
 
 "Nothing! Do you care to make any statement that 
 I can publish with it?" 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
 "Then, we are wasting each other's time. Good day." 
 
 "Good day." 
 
 Guthrie put on his hat, and went out, followed by the 
 frowning glances of the partners. In the hall, he rang 
 the bell for the elevator, and, when it came, a single 
 passenger stepped from it a middle-aged man, with 
 gray hair carefully brushed back from his temples, and 
 a smoothly shaven, wary face. 
 
 It was Caius Marcellus Harlow.
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 215 
 
 He started, and Guthrie,for the first time in his life, 
 saw him show surprise. 
 
 "I am happy to see you, Mr. Harlow," he said and 
 he told the truth. "I have just come from an interview 
 with your employers." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "And they are not happy." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No, they are not. Mr. Harlow, I know the whole 
 story; it will appear in the Times in the morning." 
 
 Caius Marcellus Harlow bent upon him a curious 
 look; it was not anger nor even disappointment; there 
 was in it a trace of admiration. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," he said, "you win," and bowing he 
 passed on toward the office of Purvis & Eaton. 
 
 Guthrie walked slowly to his hotel. Once he glanced 
 back, and saw following him at a little distance the mes- 
 senger who had shown him into the private office of 
 Purvis & Eaton. But he did not care. 
 
 At the hotel, he sent to Jimmy Warfield once more the 
 inquiry "how are things?" and back came the old 
 answer, "Status quo." Then he sent to Warfield an- 
 other despatch: "Have everything; see Timet in the 
 morning," and after that he wired to his home office this 
 bulletin: "Full details of conspiracy against Carton; 
 ten thousand words to-night; pay no attention to 
 despatches from Purvis & Eaton. Absolutely sure of 
 facts." Then he went to his room, cleared his table, 
 and began to write. 
 
 There were ten thousand words to write, but Guth- 
 rie knew exactly what he wanted to say, and the sentences 
 flowed from his pen. Although he had not the shadow 
 of a doubt as to the object of Purvis & Eaton, he would
 
 216 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 not charge them directly with selling out, but the fact 
 that the scheme was born in their office and of that he 
 had plenty of proof left an implication so clear that the 
 public could never mistake it. The people, not the 
 Times, would say that the purpose of Purvis & Eaton 
 was to sell out, and Guthrie knew that no number of 
 denials could shake a belief obviously so well-founded. 
 As for the threat of a great libel suit, he had not the 
 slightest fear of it; he knew that it would never go 
 further than a menace. 
 
 He found the writing easy; the facts marshalled them- 
 selves in order, and he felt so deeply about Carton that 
 he drew in vivid lines the picture of a faithful public ser- 
 vant whom designing people sought to ruin because 
 they could not shake his policy. 
 
 He had been writing two hours when there came a 
 knock at the door, and Guthrie, without laying down his 
 pencil, called " Come in ! " The door was opened, and 
 Mr. Warren and Mr. Harlow entered. Both were 
 suave and smiling though not overdoing it, and they 
 sat down as guests who, if they were not expected, were 
 at least not unwelcome. 
 
 "Writing I see," said Mr. Harlow lightly as if he were 
 passing the time of day. 
 
 "Yes," replied Guthrie briefly, "the account of which 
 I told Mr. Warren this morning." 
 
 "I have a little to add to our conversation then," said 
 Mr. Warren; "I did not wish to speak of it before my 
 partners, who, I tell you in confidence, are absorbed in 
 issues, leaving details to me." 
 
 Guthrie put down his pencil, and gazed intently at 
 Mr. Warren, who flushed and paused a few moments. 
 "We are entirely innocent in this matter," continued
 
 IN THE REALMS OF FINANCE 217 
 
 the junior partner presently, " but an article such as you 
 are writing may do us a great deal of harm. A libel 
 once disseminated can never be thoroughly corrected. 
 We also recognise the fact that, even with a just cause, it 
 is practically impossible for us to obtain a verdict against 
 the Times, before a partisan jury devoted to home inter- 
 ests and influenced against foreign corporations by the 
 public prints." 
 
 "Well?" said Guthrie, inquiringly. 
 
 Mr. Warren hesitated again, the tint in his cheeks 
 deepened, and he glanced at his ally, Mr. Harlow. 
 
 " I merely wish to tell you," he said, " that, in a vault 
 in a safe deposit company not more than a quarter of a 
 mile from here, there is a sealed envelope containing the 
 sum of fifty thousand dollars. The key to that vault 
 could be left " 
 
 Guthrie rose at once, his face quite gray. 
 
 "Mr. Warren," he exclaimed, "leave my room at 
 once! And as for you, Mr. Harlow, I am astonished 
 that you should have come here with this man on such 
 an errand." 
 
 Mr. Harlow never flinched. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," he said quietly, "a statement is due 
 both to you and to myself. Knowing you as I do, I 
 opposed this visit and its purpose, but Mr. Warren is 
 my employer. He wished to take this last chance be- 
 cause we should have had a vote to-morrow, and the 
 impeachment of Carton would have passed the Senate 
 by a majority of two. That I know positively, and, 
 after it, our bill would have passed with a insh. Good 
 day." 
 
 "Good day," said Guthrie as they went out Then 
 he resumed his writing.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 
 
 THE next morning was full of vivid suspense at the 
 little capital one thousand miles away. The great snow 
 was gone, and the south wind still blew. Tender shoots 
 of young grass were appearing in sheltered nooks on the 
 hillsides. Spring was not far away. 
 
 All steps tended toward the senate-chamber. The 
 evidence was all in, most of the speeches had been made, 
 and in the afternoon at three o'clock, the time already 
 being set, the Senate would come to a vote on the great 
 Carton case which for weeks had rent the State into 
 factions, and which had aroused new passions in a com- 
 monwealth already taking its politics very seriously. 
 Some of the leaders may have known in advance how 
 the vote would stand, but the public did not, and the 
 uncertainty of the result lent an added lustre to a 
 case already possessing so many vital claims to popular 
 interest. 
 
 The House held a very brief session, not more than 
 half an hour long, and then the members went in to the 
 Senate to listen to the close of the famous case. Jimmy 
 Warfield was with the crowd, but he was constantly 
 turning in his mind a great secret a secret it was, too, 
 to himself as well as to others and he could not rest. He 
 read Guthrie's message over and over again, and he had 
 the utmost confidence in Guthrie. He told himself 
 
 218
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 219 
 
 that he could never doubt his friend's promise, but as 
 the time drew near he was a prey to nervous appre- 
 hension. He hired a boy to wait at the railroad station, 
 and to hurry to him as quickly as possible when the time 
 came. Then he compelled himself to take a seat in the 
 senate-chamber beside a Senator who was an avowed 
 Carton adherent. Extra chairs had been brought in, 
 and, to the members of the House, seats on the floor 
 of the Senate were courteously given. 
 
 The galleries were crowded, largely with ladies, begin- 
 ning to show touches of spring colours now in their cos- 
 tumes, their faces bright and eager. Nearly all of them 
 were in sympathy with Carton. Warfield saw in one 
 group Mrs. Hastings, Mrs. Dennison, the Pelhams and 
 the Ransomes. Mary Pclham's face was white and 
 cold, and there was the least touch of a dark ring, under 
 her eyes. Warfield knew how she suffered , and he knew, 
 too, that, if she had followed her feelings, she would have 
 stayed away that day, but her pride would not let her. 
 
 Back of the ladies were the officials of the Govern- 
 ment packed in a dense mass, and back of these wrrr 
 other curious spectators and the floating population. 
 Suddenly a thrill showing itself in a curious flutter ran 
 through the whole assemblage; Carton was coming in. 
 "Just like him," thought Warfield ; " he was sure to wait 
 until everybody was here, and then enter in defiance of 
 all his enemies." 
 
 Carton's face was stern and high, and, taking a seat 
 near the dais of the Lieutenant-Governor, he looked up 
 and bowed to three or four friends in the balconies. 
 There was no effusive demonstration of indifference, 
 but his bearing was so quietly firm and defiant that a 
 murmur of applause started in the balconies, ami
 
 220 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 began to rise, but the Lieutenant-Governor sternly 
 checked it. 
 
 The face of the Lieutenant-Governor was inscrutable; 
 if he knew how the vote was going, he made no sign ; if 
 it should be a tie, he must cast the deciding ballot, but 
 he had presided throughout the long and bitter trial 
 with an absolute impartiality and justice that had now 
 the applause of the whole State, Carton and anti-Carton. 
 
 Senator Cobb sat at one of the front desks, his face 
 quite stern, and it was known that he would vote against 
 Carton. He had opposed to the uttermost the calling 
 of the vote in fact, he blocked it until the return of Mr. 
 Pike; but, that duty done, he resumed his place with the 
 anti-Carton forces. It had been shown that the Speaker 
 had referred the bill for the "United" to a hostile com- 
 mittee purposely chosen by himself; that, at his sug- 
 gestion, the committee had delayed the report for weeks; 
 that all efforts of the friends of the bill to get it before the 
 House had failed for a long time because he would not 
 recognise a member who arose to make such a motion, 
 recognising somebody else instead. By such tactics, he 
 had fought off a measure that was obviously, so many 
 said, in the interest of the public and against monopoly. 
 
 Senator Cobb did not believe that Carton had profited 
 financially by the use of such tactics, but he did believe 
 him to be the indirect agent of the "money power," be- 
 cause he was allied with that power by tastes and sym- 
 pathy. But Mr. Pursley, sitting only a few chairs away, 
 had stated openly and many times his belief that Car- 
 ton's pockets were lined with ill-gotten gains. Now 
 Mr. Pursley's face was shining with triumph. Carton, 
 whom he hated for his superiority and who had insulted 
 him, was about to go down in disgrace, and he, Mr.
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 221 
 
 Pursley, would appear as the tribune of the people. 
 Near Mr. Pursley sat the Honourable Henry Clay War- 
 ner, the member of Congress for Guthrie's own dis- 
 trict, the famous old Fourth. He too claimed to be a 
 tribune of the people, and he had come on from Wash- 
 ington to witness the conclusion of the great trial, and 
 incidentally to shed opinion on the duties of a public 
 man. He was not less rubicund than Mr. Pursley, and 
 his heavy figure sprawled awkwardly in his chair. 
 
 Three chairs farther on was Mr. Pike. He had taken 
 little part in the great debate, but his short and few sen- 
 tences had been incisive. He had called attention to 
 Carton's lofty character as attested by numerous proofs, 
 and he thought that the Speaker of the House had a 
 right to hold back the bill by all means in his power if 
 he believed it to be introduced for corrupt purposes. 
 For the other side, he had little severe criticism; to them 
 he too ascribed honest opinions. Men said that the char- 
 acter of the mountain Senator had become singularly 
 mellowed. 
 
 There was one speech yet to be made for the prosecu- 
 tion by a senator who dealt much in fierce invectives, 
 and he began shortly after the entrance of the members 
 from the House. He had much to say about the liber- 
 ties of freemen and the corrupting influence of the 
 money power working through insidious agents. Jimmy 
 Warfield paid little attention to what he was saying, but, 
 being restless went into the lobby and joined the group 
 about the Governor's wife. He sat down by Clarice, 
 and she noticed his face with an indirect but keen glance. 
 
 "You look cheerful, Mr. Warfield, as if you expected 
 something," she said. " What do you think will be the 
 result of the vote?"
 
 222 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 "Carton's enemies claim that it will expel him," 
 replied Warfield, in so low a tone that Mary Pelham 
 could not hear. 
 
 "What a shame! I do not believe that Mr. Carton 
 ever did a dishonourable thing!" 
 
 "Neither do I," said Jimmy emphatically. 
 
 "If the vote is to go against him, how can you see 
 any cause for cheerfulness, Mr. Warfield?" 
 
 "'While's there's life, there's hope,'" quoted War- 
 field. 
 
 He excused himself in a moment, and went back to 
 his seat on the floor. The speaker for the prosecution 
 was making points, and, despite the presiding officer's 
 gavel, applause arose now and then from the anti- 
 Carton crowd. 
 
 Jimmy Warfield, notwithstanding his light manner, 
 was a man of great strength of mind, but he found it 
 hard to control his impatience. He moved in his seat; 
 he looked at his watch, and he listened eagerly for 
 something that he did not hear. The prosecuting 
 senator soared on and on, pouring out his philippic. 
 Carton in his seat near the lieutenant-governor's dais 
 never stirred, and the calm expression of his face did 
 not change. 
 
 A faint note of a whistle from the hills to the west of 
 the Capitol came to the listening ear of Jimmy War- 
 field, and he stirred again in his seat. The whistle 
 was swiftly followed by the rumble and roar of the ar- 
 riving train, and then in a few moments by another 
 rumble and roar, as it disappeared in the east. 
 
 Jimmy did not move now. He listened, but he did 
 not hear a word of the senator who was on the rising 
 side of a period. He turned in his wheeled chair pres-
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 
 
 ently, and gazed at the door, and his face was illumined 
 in a most wonderful manner when he saw a little ragged 
 boy appear at the entrance of the senate-chamber, and 
 hand to a page a small package in a paper wrapper. 
 The page tiptoed down the aisle, and gave the package 
 to Warfield. 
 
 Warfield fingered the bundle nervously. He knew 
 perfectly well that it contained his copy of the morn- 
 ing's issue of the Times, delivered to him a little ahead 
 of the others. But what would the Times contain? 
 
 He tore off the wrapper, and dropped it on the floor; 
 then he opened the newspaper, and swept the first page 
 with a comprehensive glance. Then Jimmy Warfield 
 uttered a low cry of exultation that, low as it waa, 
 startled the Senate, stopped the orator, and drew all 
 eyes to him. 
 
 But Jimmy Warfield was not abashed. Rising to 
 his feet, the outspread paper with its great, black head- 
 lines, and its columns and columns of a leaded despatch 
 spreading over the first page and beyond, held firmly in 
 his hand, he thus addressed the Senate: 
 
 " Gentlemen, I am not a member of this body, and 
 I am present upon the floor by courtesy; but something 
 of the greatest importance bearing directly upon the case 
 before you has just come into my hands. I, therefore, 
 request the gentleman from Warner County to bring 
 it to the attention of the Senate." 
 
 He handed the Times to Senator Cobb, who glanced 
 over the first page. As he did so, Warfield saw a 
 startled look appear on his face. But in a moment 
 Senator Cobb rose to his feet, and said: 
 
 "Fellow senators, Mr. Warfield has given into my 
 hand a document that changes the whole aspect of this
 
 224 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 case. I ask that the clerk of the Senate read it aloud 
 at once." 
 
 An indescribable thrill ran through the lobbies as 
 the Senator spoke. There was a hum, a murmur, the 
 noise of many people moving, and then the dead silence 
 of expectation. Jimmy Warfield saw the deep red 
 flush come into Mary Pelham's cheeks, and then retreat, 
 leaving them marble-white. Mr. Pursley, too, turned 
 white, but for another reason. Warfield saw a single 
 questioning look appear in the eye of Carton, and then 
 the face of the Speaker became as stern and expression- 
 less as ever. 
 
 "Read! Read!" cried the senators, and the paper 
 was hurriedly taken by a page to the clerk's desk. 
 
 The clerk of the Senate was a big man with a big 
 voice, and, in the attentive silence, he read first the head- 
 lines, his deep bass notes filling all the room: 
 
 SPEAKER CARTON INNOCENT! 
 
 THE GREAT CONSPIRACY AGAINST HIM UNEARTHED! 
 
 ITS HEAD AND HEART FOUND IN A BANKER'S OFFICE 
 IN NEW YORK CITY 
 
 ALL THE PLANS OF THE NEW COMPANY TO FORCE THE 
 OLD OVER TO BUY IT Our LAID BARE 
 
 CARTON WAS TO BE BROKEN ON THE WHEEL BECAUSE 
 
 HE WAS THE MAIN OBSTACLE TO THE 
 
 REAPING OF FRAUDULENT PROFITS 
 
 THE CORRESPONDENT OF THE TIMES SEES PURVIS & 
 
 EATON, THE NEW YORK BANKERS WHO WERE 
 
 FINANCING THE SCHEME
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 225 
 
 The Clerk paused for a moment after reading the 
 head-lines. 
 
 "By Jove, that head-liner understood his business!" 
 murmured Jimmy Warfield in devout thankfulness. 
 Then there came a sudden burst of applause like the 
 crackle of guns. Carton's face turned red; Warfield 
 saw his lips moving, and he knew how deep and in- 
 tense was the Speaker's relief. The presiding officer 
 was beating with his gavel for order, and in a few mo- 
 ments it was restored. 
 
 "Continue the reading, Mr. Clerk," said the Lieu- 
 tenant-Governor. 
 
 Then the Clerk read in his full, clear voice that 
 slurred no word. Guthrie's account began at the be- 
 ginning. It described the office of Messrs. Purvis & 
 Eaton, its position in New York, and the character of 
 the business that the firm did. He told how they 
 employed skilled lobbyists in distant western and 
 southern states especially in those where the feeling 
 against corporations ran the highest and how they 
 had prepared the bill for the "United." He told of 
 the printing of the stocks and bonds by the order of 
 Messrs. Purvis & Eaton; how they had paid lobby- 
 ists at the capital to work for it, and the total absence 
 of any preparations to erect plants in case the bill 
 should become a law. Everything was laid bare, 
 every detail was clear; the listening people involun- 
 tarily pictured to themselves how the plot was formed 
 in the office of the bankers, the vision of great profits, 
 the employment of shrewd agents, the arousing of the 
 Legislature and the people by the cry of "Down with 
 the monopolies!" and the purchase, perhaps, of a few 
 corrupt members to work night and day for the bill
 
 226 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 here eyes, as if by a common impulse were bent upon 
 Mr. Pursley, and he turned white again then the op- 
 position of the powerful Speaker, followed by the plan 
 of the conspirators to break and ruin him. 
 
 The Clerk read on in his clear, full voice, but long 
 before he was half-way through there were a hundred 
 more copies of the Times inside the senate-chamber, 
 and many people were quietly reading for themselves. 
 Guthrie's name in full was signed to the despatch, and 
 people began to whisper to each other: "He did it 
 alone!" "What a debt Carton owes to him!" "And 
 what a debt the State owes him, too!" But the look 
 upon Mary Pelham's face was one that Clarice will 
 always remember; she seemed suddenly to be released 
 from some great strain like unto the fear of death. A 
 devout thankfulness shone in her eyes, and the coun- 
 tenance, ordinarily so cold and fixed, smiled as a young 
 girl's should. Once her eyes and those of Carton met, 
 and a single swift lightning glance that only Jimmy 
 Warfield saw passed between them; it told of moun- 
 tains that had been rolled away; but after that the 
 face of each became cold. 
 
 The reading went on, and the crowd listened, ab- 
 sorbed. Mr. Pursley, by and by, quietly left the senate- 
 chamber. In the lobbies, they still whispered Guthrie's 
 name admiringly, but Mrs. Ransorae looked scornful. 
 "I do not see what is so wonderful in it!" she said. 
 "Anybody could have gone to New York, and could 
 have done the same thing." 
 
 Then Lucy Hastings turned, fire in her eyes. 
 
 "But nobody else went," she said shortly. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome did not pursue the subject. It was 
 not her purpose to arouse antagonisms.
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 227 
 
 Jimmy Warfield presently went over to Carton, and 
 whispered: 
 
 "Phil, you owe Billy Guthrie a debt you can never 
 pay!" 
 
 "I know it, Jimmy." 
 
 'It was a close shave; three hours more, and they 
 would have taken a vote expelling you by a majority of 
 two my figures are right and, no matter if you had 
 been proved innocent later on, that vote of expulsion 
 would have ruined you forever." 
 
 "I know it, Jimmy, and to tell you the truth, I ex- 
 pected to be expelled." 
 
 Again the Senate relapsed into intense silence, save 
 for the deep voice of the Clerk, and now and then a 
 sigh of relief that ran through the lobbies. Suddenly, 
 the people discovered that their sympathies were with 
 Carton. How handsome and heroic he looked! How 
 little he had complained! And nothing thrills the 
 popular heart more than a youth on the edge of con- 
 viction suddenly found innocent. Even old General 
 Pelham melted, and, leaning over his daughter, he 
 whispered, "Mary, I thank God for this day!" She 
 said nothing, but put her hand for a moment in her 
 mother's. 
 
 The Clerk finished at last, and the case lay plain 
 before them all. There was a moment of hesitation, 
 and then Senator Cobb rose to his feet again, his face 
 full of purpose. 
 
 "Fellow senators," he said, "the document that has 
 just been read to us is not a legal exhibit in this case. 
 Nevertheless, it is testimony of the most vital and com- 
 pelling nature. All of us know the writer of that arti- 
 cle, and all of us know his high character, his absolute
 
 228 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 truthfulness and honesty. Until I heard the reading 
 of the despatch, I was convinced that Mr. Carton had 
 improperly used his office as Speaker of the House, and, 
 therefore, deserved impeachment; now I know that 
 he did what he did for the public good, and that he is 
 a hero and almost a martyr. I shall vote for him, and 
 I ask that the vote on the impeachment proceed- 
 ings be taken at once." 
 
 "I second the motion," exclaimed Senator Pike. 
 
 "All who are in favour of taking the vote now will 
 please say 'Aye,'" said the Lieutenant-Governor. 
 
 There was a roar of "Ayes!" 
 
 "All who are against it say 'No.'" 
 
 There was not a "no." 
 
 "This is hurrying things with a vengeance," mur- 
 mured Jimmy Warfield, but he had no complaint to 
 make. 
 
 "Oh! why are they going to take a vote now?" 
 exclaimed Clarice. "It seems so unjust after Mr. 
 Guthrie has cleared Mr. Carton!" 
 
 "Hush!" said Lucy Hastings. "It is right! You 
 will see." 
 
 "Call the roll, Mr. Clerk," said the Lieutenant- 
 Governor, and the Clerk began to call it, name by name, 
 the presiding officer having put the question whether 
 or not the defendant was guilty. 
 
 The first senator voted "no," loudly and clearly, and 
 there was a murmur of applause, quickly checked by 
 the pounding of the gavel. But, as the "noes" still 
 came in an unbroken line, the applause rose again, and 
 the gavel could not suppress it. It swelled into a roar, 
 and, when the name of the last senator was called, every 
 one had voted "not guilty." Then, in one final burst
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 229 
 
 the applause died away, and the Lieutenant-Governor 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 "Gentlemen of the Senate," he said, "you have 
 voted unanimously for the acquittal of the defendant, 
 the Speaker of the House, and never was there a 
 more righteous verdict. Mr. Carton, I congratulate 
 you." 
 
 It is on record that the Senate of the State once ad- 
 journed without a motion to that effect being made, 
 and this was the day. Such a proceeding was irregular 
 and unconstitutional, but nobody ever questioned it, 
 because the Lieutenant-Governor stepped down from 
 his dais to congratulate the Speaker, and the great 
 assemblage rising, as if by one impulse, followed the 
 Lieutenant-Governor. 
 
 Mr. Carton found himself the centre of a crowd that 
 showered praises upon him and shook his hand until 
 he lost his cold reserve and dignity, and became em- 
 barrassed. But Jimmy Warfield, standing in an aisle 
 with Clarice Ransome, and looking on said in a low 
 voice, 
 
 "I am glad through and through, Miss Ransome, 
 but, after all, this final scene is like an oft-quoted one; 
 it is the play of Hamlet with Hamlet left out" 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Warfield?" she asked. 
 
 "It's Guthrie's achievement, and not Carton's: he 
 should be here." 
 
 "Yes, it is his," she said proudly, and then she added 
 the question: "Is he to get no credit?" 
 
 "Credit, yes; substantial reward, none that I know. 
 Carton would pay him if he could, but he cannot" 
 
 Her heart was full of indignant rebellion. It seemed 
 to her that Guthrie was always serving others and never
 
 230 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 doing anything for himself. Even with the climax of 
 his great achievement at hand, and the applauding 
 crowd about the acquitted, he was away, and Carton 
 held the centre of the stage. It had been the same 
 way in another great case: he had saved Senator Pike 
 from himself, off there in the mountains, but the Sena- 
 tor had returned alone and received the plaudits, while 
 Guthrie was elsewhere. 
 
 It seemed to her a great injustice, but she said noth- 
 ing, and, when the crowd thinned somewhat, she too 
 gave him her sincere congratulations. If she had felt 
 any little bitterness against Carton for being the chief 
 figure, it disappeared wholly when she saw Mary 
 Pelham's face. 
 
 At last everybody was gone, save those who con- 
 stituted the almost family group known as "the Gov- 
 ernor's set." By and by, they too went, laughing and 
 talking joyously, Carton in the centre. Clarice alone 
 was silent. Somehow she felt that much was missing, 
 but again she was afraid to analyse her own feelings. 
 
 It was several weeks later, and Guthrie and Clarice 
 drove once more along the river road. Spring was at 
 hand, all the circle of hills about the capital glowed in 
 tender green, and the south wind called to the open. 
 
 Guthrie had returned to the capital very quietly 
 two or three days after the arrival of the Times con- 
 taining his great news. He came in at midnight, and 
 appeared modestly the next morning at his accustomed 
 desk. There was sudden applause in the House that 
 made him blush in embarrassment, and, after the recep- 
 tion, the members compelled him to be the central fig- 
 ure at a sort of informal levee; but he was glad to
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 231 
 
 escape from it all, and did so as soon as he could with- 
 out being rude. 
 
 Carton said nothing then, but afterward, when they 
 were alone, he gave Guthrie the sincere hand-clasp 
 that tells of a friendship never to be destroyed, and 
 almost repeated Jimmy Warfield's words, "Billy, 
 I owe you more than I can ever pay you!" "Oh, non- 
 sense, Carton!" said Guthrie, "It was news that I was 
 after." But Carton knew better. 
 
 The Speaker had come out of his ordeal with in- 
 creased prestige. He was at once a hero and a martyr, 
 and it gave him a glamour that endeared him to the 
 people. The nomination for Congress in his district, 
 one of the most famous in the State, was now offered 
 to him without opposition, and, as it was heavily 
 Democratic, he was as good as elected, although 
 the election was more than six months away. Jimmy 
 Warfield, whose legislative district belonged to him 
 in fee simple, as the people jokingly but truly said, 
 would succeed Carton in the next Legislature as Speaker 
 of the House. Senator Pike's action, and the talk 
 about it in the press, had attracted the attention of the 
 Republican president, who was about to appoint him 
 to the important office of Pension Commissioner for the 
 State. The Governor's staunch support of Carton, 
 at a time when such support was unpopular, had made 
 him already strong yet stronger with the people, 
 and it was obvious that a great career lay before him. 
 
 Everybody but Guthrie was receiving rewards, and 
 now Clarice, as she drove with him on the river road, 
 felt bitterness for his sake. He had done it all ; it was 
 his mind and courage that had won all these triumphs, 
 and the one who alone had earned the great reward
 
 232 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 remained unpaid. But she could not see that Guthrie 
 was conscious of it. He took it as a matter of course, 
 and was now looking forward to new work in his chosen 
 profession. The Legislature would adjourn in a few 
 days, and he would immediately plunge into a hot 
 congressional fight in his home city, where the Hon- 
 ourable Henry Clay Warner was seeking renomina- 
 tion, with powerful forces opposing him. 
 
 Guthrie pointed with his whip to some lumber rafts 
 on the river, now swollen and yellow with the floods 
 from the mountains. 
 
 " Do you remember that time in the winter when we 
 saw Senator Pike board one of those rafts?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes! I could not forget it; his actions and those 
 of the other men seemed so strange." 
 
 "Those men belonged to the feudists. I did not 
 know it then, but at that time the affairs of the Pikes 
 and the Dilgers were coming to a head. We had a 
 despatch yesterday from Briarton saying that Pete 
 Dilger was duly hanged the day before, by law, in the 
 presence of ten thousand people, gathered from all 
 parts of the mountains. I hope that it will be a good 
 example, because, if ever a man deserved hanging, it 
 was he, and it may induce the mountaineers hereafter 
 to let the law takes its course, and not resort to personal 
 revenge. At least, it may help." 
 
 "That must have been an alarming experience of 
 yours in the mountains," she said. 
 
 "I did not have time to think of fear," he replied, 
 "but it was certainly interesting. I look back upon 
 it as very vivid, and, when I had lived a while with those 
 mountaineers, I really liked them. Then* faults are 
 those of circumstances and environment."
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 233 
 
 "I suppose so," she said. 
 
 Guthrie spoke presently of Carton and Mary Pelham. 
 
 "They love each other, and they ought to admit it 
 now," he said. "I wish them happiness; they would 
 make a fine couple." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "it should be arranged, though 
 there is yet constraint. General Pelham would withdraw 
 his objections; Mrs. Pelham always favoured Mr. Car- 
 ton; Mary, too, was confident of his innocence, and the 
 coldness between them arose because he would not see 
 that she loved him still, and believed in him as much as 
 ever, despite all the things that were said against him, 
 and despite appearances. That is what hurt her." 
 
 " Well, they are over the roughest places now," said 
 Guthrie joyously, "and, after all, though it is a bitter 
 experience, it will help Carton politically Every- 
 thing has turned out so well." 
 
 "Yes," she said boldly, "for Mr. Carton, and Mr. 
 Warfield, and Mr. Pike, but it was you that did it; it 
 was you, Mr. Guthrie, who saved them all, and what 
 do you get?" 
 
 "Come now, you are making sport of me!" he said 
 seriously. "My part was mere chance; I was after 
 news, you know." 
 
 "But what reward do you get?" she persisted. 
 
 " All that I am entitled to, I suppose. I have another 
 most interesting campaign just ahead. I enjoy these 
 political fights they whip one's blood like a spring 
 wind. You've seen Warner here, the Honourable 
 Henry Clay Warner, the member in the Lower House 
 of Congress from my district, the Fourth the heavy, 
 red-faced man. He has proved to be a rank dema- 
 gogue, and dissipated to boot. He gave good promise
 
 234 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 once; I went with him for the Times through his first 
 campaign, two years ago, and we helped him a lot; 
 we thought that he would be a credit to the old Fourth, 
 but he has turned out badly; now he wants a renomi- 
 nation, and he has back of him a crowd to which his 
 demagogy appeals; there are two other Democratic 
 candidates in the field, and it looks like a bitter fac- 
 tional fight, ending, maybe, in a Republican triumph." 
 
 "And they expect you to help in it politically, besides 
 describing this campaign?" she said. 
 
 "I may have a little influence with Warner," he re- 
 plied with a smile. Then he added, "You, too, are 
 going back to the city now, are you not?" 
 
 "Yes, I shall go when the Legislature adjourns; 
 mother returned two weeks ago, and she wanted me to 
 go with her, but I preferred to stay until the end. Lucy 
 Hastings and Mary Pelham both will visit me in the 
 city in a few weeks." 
 
 "And you will have another visitor," said Guthrie. 
 "The count who is coming to claim you it is no secret 
 here; Mrs. Ransome often spoke of it, or I should not 
 allude to it now. This country does not like to lose 
 you." 
 
 He spoke quietly, but there was a tone in his voice 
 that she had never heard before; it thrilled her, and 
 she turned her face away to hide the red that flushed it. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "I am engaged to be married to 
 Raoul d'Estournelle that is no news to you and 
 he said last year that he would come in the spring." 
 
 Her face was still turned away. She was gazing 
 absently over the far hills, and she did not know that 
 Guthrie was looking at her, his expression one of 
 mingled sadness and admiration. He was thinking
 
 GUTHRIE'S DESPATCH 235 
 
 that, if there were not so many " ifs " in the way if she 
 had not met d'Estournelle, if she had not become en- 
 gaged to him, if she were not a rich man's daughter, 
 if he, William Guthrie, were not poor with the prospect 
 of remaining poor then he, too, might have tempted 
 his fortune and lost; as it was, he must lose before 
 the battle. 
 
 He struck the horses impatiently, and they trotted 
 swiftly along the white road. It was a picturesque 
 drive, but never had it seemed finer to Guthrie than on 
 that day. The green of spring was everywhere, and a 
 haze like that of Indian summer was over the hills. 
 Neither spoke until the capital was four or five miles 
 farther behind them. 
 
 " I suppose that in a year or so you will leave America, 
 to stay?" said Guthrie at last. 
 
 "I do not know, but if I do, this country neverthe- 
 less will always be my own. Oh, I hate to leave itl 
 I am just learning to love it as it should be loved 1" 
 
 She spoke with a sort of angry pathos, and Guthrie 
 looked around, surprised at the new note in her voice. 
 He seemed to draw from it a singular kind of courage, 
 and, throughout the rest of the drive, he was gayer and 
 brighter in manner than Clarice had ever known him 
 to be before.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 TEMPTATION 
 
 IT was said by many in the capital in the remaining 
 days of the session that Guthrie seemed to feel no ela- 
 tion over his remarkable victory with which the whole 
 State was ringing, and these critics were not lacking 
 in acuteness, for they were right. After the first flush 
 of his triumph was gone, he felt a double sense of in- 
 completion and loneliness. Carton and Mary Pelham 
 still held aloof from each other. The Speaker had 
 received a brilliant vindication, but he was as far as ever 
 from the girl he loved. Guthrie knew that Carton 
 resented her apparent lack of faith in him when he 
 was not favoured by appearances, and, though he had 
 been able to set the Speaker right in public life, he did 
 not know how to help him in love; in that respect, his 
 work was not finished. 
 
 His sense of loneliness a feeling that had never come 
 to him before, and he wondered at it arose from his 
 own position. He realised that he was in a way a 
 maker of reputations for many, but not for himself. 
 Others, and it was he who had made it possible, were 
 having their triumphs, but he remained the same. He 
 began to feel discontent. He moved uneasily in his 
 environment, and he was galled by the circumstances 
 that made him what he was. Had he subjected him- 
 self to a keen analysis, he might have found that this 
 
 236
 
 TEMPTATION 237 
 
 chafing was due to the quiet words of a girl, spoken 
 apparently with little intent. 
 
 It was to suppress such feelings as these that he 
 plunged into his work with renewed zeal and energy, 
 and his despatches gained in force and brilliancy. 
 But his sense of mental isolation did not depart, and 
 he tried to seclude himself, keeping away from the 
 Governor's house, in order to weaken an attraction 
 which he felt that he must resist. Mr. Hastings was 
 surprised, and, meeting Guthrie in the corridors of the 
 Capitol, he asked: 
 
 " Billy, why have you cut us all ? Lucy was speak- 
 ing to-day of your desertion. Have you grown so 
 great now that you prefer lonely grandeur?" 
 
 Guthrie, embarrassed, said something about the 
 pressure of work, but the young Governor would admit 
 no such excuse. 
 
 "That won't do, Billy," he said, smiling. "Your 
 great pressure here is over, and you know it, and you 
 know that I know it. We want you. Miss Pelham 
 is still with us, and " here his voice lingered a moment 
 "and Miss Ransome, too." 
 
 Despite himself, a flush came into Guthrie's cheeks, 
 and then, because he was conscious of it, he flushed all 
 the more. But the observant Governor pretended not 
 to notice, and Guthrie, thinking that he did not, was 
 in a moment himself again. 
 
 "I thought that Miss Ransome was to return to the 
 city in a day or two," he said, in assumed carelessness. 
 "Is she not to marry shortly that Belgian count or 
 is it a Frenchman?" 
 
 "I never consider marriages of that kind sure until 
 they occur," replied the Governor in the same careless
 
 238 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 tone, and he added nothing to this off-hand statement, 
 save another warm invitation to come to his house. 
 Being a married man, the Governor knew when he had 
 said enough about an affair of the heart to the one 
 concerned a virtue that men never learn until their 
 wives teach it to them. 
 
 When the Governor went home, he sought advice 
 from Lucy on a case that he thought important, and 
 she was not loath to give it. She helped, too, to such 
 purpose that the next day she appeared with her group 
 in the lobby of the House, and they were all in raiment 
 fresh and wonderful to see. Lucy Hastings was a 
 beautiful woman, and so was Mary Pelham, but it was 
 quite the verdict of the House and it contained many 
 men no mean judges in such matters that Clarice 
 Ransome was the most beautiful of the three. It was 
 not alone the loveliness of face and figure, but it was 
 something in the expression, its frankness, the direct 
 gaze of the eyes, that gave to mere physical beauty the 
 added and finer touch that was of the mind and spirit. 
 Men, beholding her, involuntarily said to themselves: 
 "Here is a woman whom one could trust, one who 
 would be strongest of all in evil days, one who would 
 cling through all things to the man she loves." 
 
 But to-day she looked very young and slender only 
 a girl with a rose upon her breast, and a slight touch of 
 sadness in her eyes. Yet it was spring. Winter was 
 completely routed, and, from all the windows, the won- 
 derful, tender green of the circling hills was visible. 
 There was a breath of new roses in the air, and few 
 noticed the touch of sadness in Clarice Ransome's eyes. 
 
 Guthrie, looking up from his desk, thought her more 
 lovely than ever, now that he believed she was not for
 
 TEMPTATION 239 
 
 him, and had never been for him. It was a democratic 
 country, but he was not willing to be considered a 
 fortune-hunter, nor to seek what was promised already 
 to another man. So he steeled his heart, turned his 
 eyes back to his desk, and resolved not to look again at 
 the tempting balcony. But there was a power greater 
 than his will, and presently he glanced up once more. 
 Then Lucy Hastings eyes caught his, and she beckoned 
 to him so imperiously to come that he could not refuse 
 and remain a gentleman. He folded up his notes 
 it was a dull day, occupied with little local bills and 
 walking down the aisle joined the Governor's group. 
 
 Lucy Hastings was censorious, she complained of 
 his lack of attention, she said that she had depended 
 upon him to help her in the dying season at the capital, 
 and now he was failing her woefully. She said that she 
 had missed him, but she did not say that any one else 
 had missed him, too, and she was so adroit that Clarice 
 Ransome herself did not suspect any hidden motive. 
 At last, after proving to the humble Guthrie how badly 
 he had behaved, she demanded that he go with them on 
 a woodland excursion that she had arranged for three 
 days later, and he did not have the courage to refuse. 
 
 Nor did she make him sit just then by Clarice Ran- 
 some, but it was to Mary Pelham that she assigned him. 
 The dull business of the session droned on, and there 
 was no excuse for Guthrie to go. He saw out of the 
 corner of his eye that Clarice Ransome was looking 
 over the floor of the House, as if she sought friends 
 there, and, on his part, he pretended to a deep interest 
 in Miss Pelham. Nor was this all assumption. He 
 gave much admiration to Mary Pelhara, although he 
 thought her a little too cold and a little too haughty,
 
 240 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 at least in manner, which was particularly unfortunate, 
 because Carton had the same faults. But to Guthrie, 
 from some cause, which he believed he could guess, 
 she relaxed, and when he told her, half at her own sug- 
 gestion, of the events in the mountains and New York, 
 she listened with an interest that he knew to be vivid and 
 real. But he shrewdly judged that this eagerness to 
 hear was less for him than for the one on whose account 
 the journeys had been made. Guthrie, as he talked, 
 saw the red deepen in her cheeks and her eyes sparkle, 
 and he felt sure that Carton still had her heart. But 
 the old sense of helplessness returned to him. He 
 might manage some affairs, but such as these were be- 
 yond his ken. At last, he said: 
 
 "Mr. Carton, so far as public life is concerned, will 
 profit by his ordeal. To the people, he appears in more 
 brilliant colours than ever, after the lifting of the un- 
 just cloud." 
 
 "He is a fortunate man," she said. 
 
 "Perhaps, but I do not think that he is a happy one." 
 
 Guthrie, observant, saw a sudden light in her eyes, 
 as if she had heard something that pleased her, but her 
 tone was unchanged when she asked: 
 
 "Why? What more can he want?" 
 
 Guthrie was too wise to reply. He merely shook 
 his head. 
 
 "I do not know," he said, "but I am sure he is un- 
 happy. I suppose that like most of us he wants very 
 much something that he cannot get." 
 
 Carton himself had received the imperious mandate 
 of Lucy Hastings, conveyed in a simple gesture of her 
 hand, and he, too, obeyed. Calling another member 
 to the chair, he entered the lobby, and joined the little
 
 TEMPTATION 241 
 
 group of ladies. He bowed courteously to Mary 
 Pelham, and then devoted himself to Lucy Hastings 
 and Clarice Ransome. But, in spite of themselves, in 
 spite of Lucy Hastings' best efforts, a certain constraint 
 settled over them all, and it was not broken until Sena- 
 tor Pike, as grave as ever, but with a milder light in 
 his eyes, came to their help. His very absence of social 
 guile, his infinite capacity for speaking of things just 
 as they were, relieved them. Soon they were all gath- 
 ered about him, and then there was a readjustment of 
 the circle. Guthrie now found himself by the side of 
 Clarice Ransome. 
 
 In this changed condition, Guthrie felt his old sense of 
 uneasiness return. There was something about Clarice 
 that always drew him on. He had ceased to doubt his 
 feeling for her, he knew that it was love, and he was 
 afraid of himself. To-day that little touch of sadness 
 made her infinitely winning. 
 
 "I heard Lucy asking you to come with us Saturday," 
 she said, "but I do not know what your answer was. I 
 hope that you are coming, Mr. Guthrie. We feel that 
 you have quite abandoned us since your triumphal 
 return." 
 
 "Count on me," said Guthrie lightly, and then he 
 added with real earnestness: 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't speak of my triumphal return. 
 I had a little good luck, that was all, and, moreover, my 
 return isn't triumphal." 
 
 She glanced at him, and, when she saw the genuinely 
 despondent look upon his face, there was a iittle glow in 
 her eyes. She had intimated to him by the river that 
 he should think, not less of others, but more of himself. 
 These words may have left their mark.
 
 242 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 A singular spirit now animated Clarice Ransome. 
 For the first time in her life, she played the coquette not 
 the heartless coquette, but the one who is in earnest, and 
 a coquette, too, who hid all her arts from spectators. 
 She spoke to Guthrie in an ordinary voice, but there 
 was a tone, faint though it was, that still led him on. A 
 great resolve was forming in her mind, and never 
 had Guthrie found her more attractive, more brilliant. 
 There was an elusive charm that he could not grasp or 
 define, and, under its influence, he found all his strength 
 melting away. 
 
 When Lucy Hastings went home, she said to her hus- 
 band, 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie will come with us Saturday, and I 
 think that he is glad to come." 
 
 Clarice Ransome went to her room, locked the door, 
 and took from a trunk a photograph at which she looked 
 long and carefully. The photograph bore the name of 
 a foreign maker in the corner, and the face was that of a 
 young man whose mustache curled beautifully. Then 
 she shut her eyes, and her mind produced another face 
 that was wholly different, and she seemed to like it, 
 because she smiled. Then she opened her eyes again, 
 and looked at the photograph with a distinct aversion 
 which, perhaps, was not fair to the young man with the 
 beautifully pointed mustache and the beautifully curled 
 hair. At length, with impatient movements, she thrust 
 the photograph into the bottom of the trunk, heaped 
 other things on top of it, and with a jerk locked the 
 trunk. 
 
 About the same time, unusual things were happening 
 to Guthrie. When he left the Capitol, his recent feeling 
 of despondency returned to him with greater force than
 
 TEMPTATION 243 
 
 ever. He had yielded again to a charm that he had 
 taken a silent oath to resist; he had revelled in the sun- 
 shine when he had sworn to keep to the shadow, and he 
 did not like the proof of his own weakness. 
 
 He passed through the lobby of the hotel, giving and 
 taking the usual greetings, and entered the corridor that 
 led to his room; but he was stopped in the narrow pas- 
 sage by a small, smoothly shaved man dressed in gray 
 none other than Mr. Caius Marcellus Harlow, now, as 
 always, trim, suave, and calm. 
 
 Mr. Harlow held out his hand, but Guthrie hesitated. 
 Mr. Harlow, still calm and suave, offered his hand 
 again. 
 
 "You need not be angry with me, Mr. Guthrie," he 
 said. "It was not I who made you the offer of the 
 money in the trust company vault, as I told you once 
 before, nor did I advise it. In fact, I fought against it 
 strenuously. It was Charlie Warren who insisted on 
 the truth of the old saying that every man has his price, 
 and he has found out his mistake. That saying is very 
 often untrue, Mr. Guthrie, I assure you, and I have had 
 plenty of opportunities to know." 
 
 "I like to hear you say so," said Guthrie, aimlessly, 
 not knowing what Mr. Harlow had in mind, but waiting 
 
 to see. 
 
 "I arrived from New York this morning," resumed 
 Mr. Harlow, " and my chief object to-day has been to 
 meet you. I wish to have with you a private talk of 
 importance. Your room or mine will serve." 
 
 "Come to my room," said Guthrie, wondering what 
 the lobbyist could have to say to him now, and, despite 
 himself, feeling a sort of liking for this smooth, resource- 
 ful man. He gave Mr. Harlow a seat by the window,
 
 244 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 and took another chair near-by where he waited, ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 "A fine view of the river and the hills," said Mr. Har- 
 low. "The first green of spring is something wonder- 
 fully tender and beautiful." 
 
 " It is so," said Guthrie dryly. 
 
 "Which is not business," continued Mr. Harlow with 
 a laugh, "but I come to it at once. In short, Mr. War- 
 ren has gone out of the New York firm that I represent. 
 There was trouble over the exposure in the Times, and 
 the older members concluded that perhaps Mr. Warren 
 was a trifle too smart; in fact, that he was ultra-modern 
 in his methods. Their prestige has been lowered by 
 this affair, their credit damaged, and their business 
 injured. So it was thought best that they and Mr. 
 Warren should part. Now they are going to be more 
 conservative in their methods; that is, they are going to 
 eschew what I may call the risque." 
 
 "But how does this concern me?" asked Guthrie. 
 
 "It concerns you very greatly if you are willing that 
 it should do so. We want a brisk, active young man 
 one whom people will involuntarily trust, to represent 
 us in various important quarters. He is to be thoroughly 
 honest; he will not be called upon to do anything that 
 goes against the grain." 
 
 "This has to do with money?" 
 
 "Yes, and in large amounts. Would you mind telling 
 me, Mr. Guthrie, what salary you get ? " 
 
 Guthrie named a modest sum. 
 
 "We are prepared to pay you three times as much to 
 begin with and to give you a three years' contract. 
 After that, if you develop, and I have not the slightest 
 doubt that you will, you would be worth more. You
 
 TEMPTATION 245 
 
 could almost name your own price. What do you say, 
 Mr. Guthrie ? I cannot recall when such another offer 
 was made to a man of your youth." 
 
 "I am surprised," said Guthrie, "that your people 
 should want me. I did not consider their feelings when 
 I spoke to them." 
 
 "In high finance, there is no such thing as feelings." 
 
 Guthrie closed his eyes for a moment. The offer was 
 a surprise, a great surprise. Until recently, he had not 
 felt the need of money, of a much larger income. He 
 was so deeply engrossed in his work, and his wants had 
 always been so modest, that the question of salary was 
 seldom in his mind. But now a new motive had entered, 
 and it was far from being a sordid one. 
 
 The pay offered by the New York firm was large, 
 very large. Perhaps not half a dozen men in his State 
 were receiving such a salary; it was certainly more than 
 the Governor's, and, with such an income, certain bar- 
 riers that had seemed impassable would disappear. 
 He could see again a wistful, lovely face, and Guthrie 
 was sorely tempted. He would enter the lists fairly 
 against that other man in Europe, and he suddenly 
 realised that he did not now and never had feared him. 
 
 "Well, what do you say, Mr. Guthrie?" 
 
 The voice seemed to come from afar off, and Guthrie 
 did not yet answer. 
 
 The face of Clarice Ransome, the wistful eyes with the 
 little touch of sadness, lured him on, and, for a moment, 
 he felt a thrill of exultation ; but it was only for a moment, 
 then he saw the other side ; this was not work for which 
 he cared, he did not even feel a remote interest in it, and 
 he could not; there were only two things in which he 
 was deeply interested journalism, with its literary
 
 246 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 fringe, and public life and he had sufficient knowledge 
 of himself now to know that he could never change. 
 
 And, besides the work, there was the question of what 
 it would lead to. Mr. Harlow had promised that he 
 should have nothing of a shady nature to do; but that 
 promise even if it were made in good faith could it 
 be kept? "High Finance" was an expansive term. 
 There was great width between top and bottom, and 
 within its ample spaces were bred many forms of activ- 
 ity. Guthrie was convinced in fact, he knew that the 
 promise could not be kept, although he did not question 
 Mr. Harlow's good faith. The pressure of circum- 
 stance and the fierce competition of others in "High 
 Finance" would be too great. 
 
 The face of Clarice Ransome was still before him. 
 Guthrie's young soul was pure, and in it womanhood 
 was enshrined, with Clarice as the concrete embodiment. 
 He longed to enter the combat for her, but, if the victory 
 were won, he must come to her with it fairly won. She 
 would be the last to approve of shady methods, he must 
 lose her respect as well as his own, and, purely and 
 deeply as he loved her, he did not wish to win her unless 
 he could win her worthily. No; the obstacles were still 
 there, the barriers had not melted away. 
 
 He opened his eyes, they had not been closed more 
 than twenty seconds, so rapid was the passage of his 
 thoughts, and he still heard the voice of Mr. Harlow, 
 coming from far away like an echo: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Guthrie, what is your answer?" 
 
 Guthrie shook his head. 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Harlow," he said; "because I 
 think it is through your influence that this offer has been 
 made to me, but I cannot accept it. I am not fitted for
 
 TEMPTATION 247 
 
 the work; it does not interest me at all. I must fight it 
 out here as I have begun." 
 
 A shade of disappointment passed over Mr. Harlow's 
 face. 
 
 "I am sorry that you have come to this conclusion," 
 he said; "I like you, and I am sure that you would prove 
 a great success. I think that you are standing in your 
 own light, Mr. Guthrie, not alone financially, but in 
 something else that is very dear to you." 
 
 He looked squarely into Guthrie's eyes, and Guthrie 
 knew that he understood. Nothing in the little capital 
 ever escaped the keen eyes of Caius Marcellus Harlow. 
 None of all the things that had passed so quickly in the 
 mind of the young correspondent was a secret to him. 
 Guthrie flushed and then he added quietly: 
 
 "That was one of my reasons for declining, Mr. Har- 
 low." 
 
 The lobbyist arose. 
 
 "I judge from your tone, Mr. Guthrie, that this 
 answer is final," he said. "You have shown more self- 
 sacrifice than would have been possible for me, but, at 
 the same time, I can understand it and appreciate it. I 
 should like to shake hands with you before I go to the 
 telegraph office to send my answer." 
 
 He extended his hand once more, and Guthrie shook 
 it heartily. When Mr. Harlow was gone, he sat by the 
 window and looked out at the circling hills now gilded by 
 the red gold of the setting sun. The refusal had cost 
 him an effort. He did not make sacrifices merely as a 
 sort of personal flattery to himself. He was no such 
 prig as that. Clarice now seemed farther away than 
 ever, and he found no consolation in the darkening eve- 
 ning.
 
 248 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 His bell rang, and, when he responded "Come in!" 
 one of the hotel boys entered with the day's mail, and laid 
 it on the table beside him. There were half a dozen let- 
 ters, and Guthrie began to open them without curiosity. 
 The fourth was rather thick, with the address carefully 
 typewritten. Before opening it, he noticed that it was 
 postmarked New York, and this aroused some interest. 
 "Who can be writing to me from New York?" he 
 thought. But, when he began to read, his interest 
 increased rapidly. 
 
 The letter was from the proprietor of a newspaper in 
 New York, widely known and popularly classed under 
 the name of "yellow." The owner, a man of immense 
 wealth, had recently bought this paper, and was spending 
 millions upon it. He was literally buying for its service 
 men whom he thought valuable, and it had reached the 
 limits in sensationalism. 
 
 It was the owner himself who was now writing to 
 Guthrie. He said that the young correspondent's won- 
 derful penetration, will, and energy, as shown in the 
 "United " case, had been brought to his attention. Nor 
 had his informants failed to tell him of his courage and 
 judgment in the mountains with Senator Pike. It was 
 for just such men as this that he was looking. Men 
 who would faithfully do routine work or what their 
 predecessors had done were common these were the 
 ordinary virtues; but men who could think for them- 
 selves, and, having thought, dared to do things original 
 and striking were rare. They were the kind that he 
 needed in his work, and it was to this kind that he was 
 sure Mr. Guthrie belonged. Hence he sent him an 
 offer to come to New York and join his staff. He 
 named the salary, which was a thousand a year above
 
 TEMPTATION 249 
 
 that of Mr. Harlow's people, and, like Mr. Hariow, he 
 offered a three-year contract. He held forth, too, all 
 the promise of a brilliant future. 
 
 It was a typewritten letter, covering several pages, 
 and, when Guthrie had read it all through carefully, he 
 went back and read it all again with equal care. There 
 could be no question as to its authenticity, and, even as 
 he read, there was a ring at the door, and a telegram from 
 the owner of the newspaper was delivered to him, saying: 
 " Kindly answer my letter of the 7th inst. as soon as pos- 
 sible. Waiting for you." 
 
 Guthrie felt again that sudden swell of triumph. He 
 was young. It was impossible not to be flattered by 
 these great and unexpected offers. This last was in his 
 own profession. It was merely a moving forward. 
 New York was the first arena of modern journalism, 
 and there he could find full opportunity for the exercise 
 of the powers that he felt within him. Like every other 
 American youth of ambition, his mind had often turned 
 longingly to this mighty metropolis of all the States, and 
 now the opportunity to go was brought to him, and he 
 was almost begged to take it. To him there were but 
 two great theatres of action on the Western continent; 
 one was Washington, the theatre of public life, and the 
 other was New York, the theatre of all the talents. 
 
 Guthrie again looked out of the window, but it was 
 dark on the hills, and the shadows found their coun- 
 terpart in his own mind, because now, as in the first 
 case, the picture was presenting the other side. And 
 there was another side. 
 
 He had often seen the newspaper which was now 
 making him so munificent an offer in fact, it could 
 escape the attention of few, and his mind revolted at its
 
 250 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 crude pages. In his opinion, no newspaper could be 
 great without a purpose, without convictions. It must 
 have beliefs, real and sincere, concerning the chief 
 topics of the day, and must express them even in the face 
 of the majority and at a risk. He despised an editor or 
 an owner who would run with the crowd, merely because 
 it was the crowd. Vigilant news-gathering he respected, 
 but he did not believe it to be all; beyond lay the duty 
 to instruct, to teach, to lead the way, to stand in the face 
 of all things for what the owner believed to be the right. 
 
 Guthrie could see no proof of such a purpose in the 
 newspaper that was seeking him. No stir of life lighted 
 up its arid pages ; its sole object seemed to be the achieve- 
 ment of circulation; its owner apparently had no con- 
 victions on the great questions of the day perhaps he 
 did not know that they existed. 
 
 Could he do himself justice there? What would his 
 work be ? He recalled the last copy of the newspaper 
 that he had seen, and he could not remember any place 
 in it for what he had to give. Yet the offer was most 
 tempting. Perhaps the owner was about to enter new 
 fields of journalistic endeavour, and, having it in mind, 
 had chosen Guthrie as one of his pilots. Again he 
 thought of Clarice with the touch of sadness in her eyes. 
 
 There was a step in the hall outside, a quick knock 
 at the door, and Jimmy Warfield, scarcely waiting for 
 an invitation, entered noisily and cheerfully. 
 
 "What, ho, Billy!" he cried. "Why don't you light 
 up ? Don't you see that the dark has come upon us ? " 
 
 Guthrie turned on the lights. 
 
 "Why do you look so serious?" exclaimed Warfield 
 when he saw his face. " Have you another great prob- 
 lem on hand?"
 
 TEMPTATION 251 
 
 "Yes, I have, Jimmy, but it is one that concerns me 
 only. However, I am not above advice from a friend. 
 Read that, and tell me what you think of it." 
 
 He handed the letter to Warfield, who read it care- 
 fully, and then whistled. 
 
 "That's a lot of money, Billy," he said. "I don't 
 expect to earn as much in a good many years." 
 "But that is not telling me what you think of it." 
 " Well, Billy, I've seen a few copies of this newspaper, 
 which has suddenly got the idea that you are a great 
 man." 
 
 "But you don't give advice." 
 
 "I'd rather not. I can say, however, that we'd be 
 mighty sorry to lose you in this State." 
 
 "Jimmy," said Guthrie, and he felt something stir at 
 his heart, "I believe that what you are telling me 
 is true." 
 
 "Of course! Of course I" said Warfield cheerily, 
 affecting lightness because he saw that Guthrie was 
 really moved. 
 
 "I won't ask you for your opinion again," said Guth- 
 rie, "but I'll tell you what I'll do. You've come in to 
 see me because you didn't have anything particular on 
 hand. Suppose, we sit here and talk about everything 
 under the sun except this letter." 
 
 "Good enough," said Warfield, and he launched at 
 once upon the gossip of the town. He was never gayer 
 and brighter, and he was like a whiff of a spring wind 
 in the room which had been so lonely before. 
 
 Jimmy Warfield was a wise man and observant, and 
 he soon brought the cheerful flow of his talk to the Gov- 
 ernor's group. 
 "Miss Ransome is going back to her father's house
 
 252 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 next week," he said, "and Mrs. Hastings and Miss Pel- 
 ham are to visit her very soon." 
 
 "What about Carton?" 
 
 "I think it likely that he will go up there, too. The 
 trouble between him and Mary Pelham is bound to be 
 settled before long. All it needs is an explosion." 
 
 "An explosion?" 
 
 " Yes, somebody or something to smash up the barrier 
 that has formed between them. I've a good notion to 
 get the two together by force, if necessary tell them 
 to their faces that they have been very foolish, and then 
 leave them to settle it as best they can." 
 
 Guthrie laughed. 
 
 " I wouldn't risk it if I were you, Jimmy," he said. 
 
 "No, I suppose I won't, but I'm tempted. Now 
 there's another thing on my mind : Clarice Ransome is 
 going to marry that jumping-jack of a count I've never 
 seen him, but I know he must be a jumping-jack. It's 
 a genuine wasting of sweetness on the desert air. You 
 know how honourable and high-minded she is what 
 lofty ideas she has of things. He can't possibly be 
 worthy of her. I hope some good man in our State will 
 kidnap her, and compel her to marry him; it would be a 
 violent deed in a just cause." 
 
 Guthrie did not laugh this time. He was thinking of 
 Warfield's words: "how honourable and high-minded 
 she is what lofty ideas she has of things." The very 
 same thought of her had been running in his own mind. 
 
 When Jimmy War-field left, Guthrie went to the 
 telegraph office, and sent to the owner of the great news- 
 paper in New York this short despatch: 
 
 "I thank you for your generous offer, but I cannot 
 accept it. Urgent personal reasons forbid."
 
 TEMPTATION 253 
 
 It is needless to say that Guthrie did not feel regrets 
 over his double refusal. He had plenty of ambition, 
 and now there was another motive still more powerful 
 to drive him on. He thought often and with regret of 
 the high pay offered to him and of all that it would 
 make possible; but he had no idea of changing his 
 resolve in either case. 
 
 The news of the two great offers to Guthrie spread in 
 the little capital, one he had no doubt through Mr. Har- 
 low and the other through Jimmy Warfield he had not 
 thought in the stress of the moment to bind either to 
 secrecy and now he was compelled to blush. The 
 little newspaper of the town announced with a fine 
 flourish that the fame of Mr. Guthrie, the correspond- 
 ent of the Times, so popular with all who knew him and 
 they were many, had spread far. Then it described 
 with generous detail the grand offers that had been made 
 to him, and announced loftily that he was considering 
 them. 
 
 Guthrie was compelled to hide. His modesty suf- 
 fered in reality. He understood the local pride which 
 always painted its own in as vivid colours as possible, 
 but this was going pretty far, and he felt as if he were 
 made to appear very much more than he was. 
 
 True to his former resolution, he did not go near the 
 Governor's house until the morning for the excursion 
 in the woods, knowing now that he had all the greater 
 reason for self-denial. 
 
 The day was good for their arrangements, the spring 
 unfolding fresh beauty and loveliness in every curve of 
 hill and valley. Here and there tiny wild flowers were 
 beginning already to show vivid colours in the grass. 
 
 They wandered far back from the river until the
 
 254 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 S 
 
 capital was hidden from their sight by the swelling hills. 
 Only a plume of smoke marked where it stood. Here, 
 in the general drift, Guthrie at last found himself again 
 with Clarice, and none other was near. He had noticed 
 that she was unusually silent that day; the little touch 
 of sadness in her eyes seemed to have deepened, and it 
 found a sympathetic chord in his own heart. 
 
 " I suppose, Mr. Guthrie," she said, after some aimless 
 talk, "that you are going to leave the old State and 
 achieve your fortune in New York. We have been 
 reading of all your triumphs, and everybody has been 
 talking of them, too." 
 
 " I am not going to do either. The old State cannot 
 get rid of me just yet." 
 
 She had picked one of the tiny wild flowers from the 
 grass, and held the delicate blossom between her fingers. 
 She glanced covertly at him when he spoke, but her 
 eyes did not express surprise. 
 
 "No," he continued, "I am not going." 
 
 "They were great offers, unless report has exagge- 
 rated." 
 
 "Financially, they were large offers very large for 
 me. In neither case, should I have been worth the 
 sum." 
 
 "Was that the reason you declined ?" 
 
 He had fallen, almost without knowing it, into the 
 habit of telling her his hopes and fears, and it was 
 natural for her to ask him his reasons. He flushed sud- 
 denly as he thought of the real cause. But he replied 
 frankly. 
 
 "No, it was not. I had in my mind the good opinion 
 of others. I could not do the work those men wanted 
 me to do."
 
 TEMPTATION 255 
 
 He had felt the wish to talk to some one, to excuse 
 himself even for his refusals, and now he poured out all 
 his thoughts to her. There was something inexpressibly 
 sweet to him in this confidence, this liberty to tell her all. 
 He described to her every detail of the interview with 
 Mr. Harlow, and he gave her the letter of the newspaper 
 editor to read. 
 
 Guthrie watched her as she read the letter, but some 
 of her emotions were hidden from him. When she 
 finished, she said quietly, "I think you were right, 
 Mr. Guthrie; you could not accept either this offer 
 or the other. You were made for a different kind of 
 work." 
 
 But she uttered a little sigh, so soft that she scarcely 
 knew of it herself, and Guthrie did not hear. 
 
 That night she took the photograph from the bottom 
 of her trunk, tore it up, and threw the pieces in the fire. 
 
 The Legislature adjourned three days later, and, amid 
 many regrets, the great political family dispersed, each 
 to his own corner of the State. But these were not sad 
 regrets. In this State, everybody is continually meeting 
 everybody else all through life. 
 
 Clarice went directly to her home in the city, and her 
 father met her with joy unrestrained upon his broad 
 honest face. How big and kind he looked! And how 
 handsome was his homely face! How could she ever 
 go away and leave him! Then she looked at the great 
 brick house with the white shutters, in which she was 
 born, and at the wide green lawn with the shadowing 
 oaks; she would find abroad nothing more beautiful 
 and nothing more friendly or protecting. 
 
 That night, at dinner, her mother said : 
 
 "I suppose, Clarice, since you are no longer com-
 
 256 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 pelled to meet him, that you will see no more of young 
 Mr. Guthrie." 
 
 "On the contrary, mother," replied Clarice, "I have 
 asked him to call upon me here, and he has promised 
 to do so."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 
 
 WHEN the Legislature adjourned, Guthrie did not 
 linger at the capital, but joined at once in the general 
 exodus. The train which bore him to the city, his home, 
 also carried Tommy Newlands, Jimmy Warfield, Mr. 
 Pursley, Carton, who had business to transact in the 
 metropolis, and many others belonging to the capital 
 circle. 
 
 They made a big group, with the exception of Mr. 
 Pursley, who was crestfallen and under a very thick 
 and black cloud. There was nothing tangible against 
 him, although everybody believed that he had been the 
 paid agent of the "United," which never again would 
 have the slightest chance of passing the Legislature. 
 This belief was sufficient to ruin Mr. Pursley's political 
 career for the time at least, and he was not to be a can- 
 didate for reelection to the Legislature, wisely choosing 
 a temporary obscurity, although Guthrie believed that 
 he would try to make capital out of the coming fight 
 over the congressional election in the Fourth District 
 But, as it was, Mr. Pursley was now gloomy, and 
 secluded himself in a forward car, while all the others 
 sat in the "smoker." 
 
 Carton was vastly improved in manner. The ordeal 
 through which he had passed so triumphantly had soft- 
 ened his nature. He seemed to realise at last that, to 
 
 257
 
 258 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 some extent, he had brought hostility upon himself, and 
 he was grateful, too, to these friends who had stood by 
 him through all, and who had saved him. There was yet 
 coldness between him and Mary Pelham, but Guthrie 
 began to believe in Jimmy Warfield's prediction that an 
 "explosion" would drive it away, and he looked forward 
 hopefully to the time when the "explosion" would 
 come. 
 
 As for Guthrie, he was yet a hero, much to his embar- 
 rassment, and, when they were half-way to the city, 
 Tommy Newlands drew from his pocket a sheet of 
 paper with ominous writing upon it. 
 
 "Billy," he said, "I have written a poem describing 
 your gallant deeds, and I really think it is the best thing 
 I have ever done. Gentlemen, I will read it to you." 
 
 "Read it! Read it!" they cried. 
 
 Guthrie arose, a ferocious frown on his face. 
 
 "Tommy," he exclaimed, "I warned you once what I 
 should do if ever again you undertook to read one of 
 your poems to me, and now you not only try to read one 
 to me, but it is about me! " 
 
 He snatched the paper from Newlands' hands, and 
 threw it out of the window. Newlands groaned, and 
 the others laughed. 
 
 "Never mind, Tommy," said Warfield, "it is not lost. 
 Some farmer will pick it up, and it will be passed about 
 all through the rural districts. It will have a wonder- 
 ful circulation." 
 
 An hour later they were in the city, and the next day 
 Guthrie attended a caucus of the party leaders in the 
 Fourth Congressional District, called to consider the 
 action of Henry Clay Warner, the incumbent, who was 
 giving the most serious trouble.
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 269 
 
 It gratified Guthrie's pride to be present at the secret 
 caucus of the party leaders, but the fight in the Old 
 Fourth was a weight upon his mind, and it became 
 evident to him as the men talked that none of them 
 saw a way out of the trouble. Neither could he, a 
 much interested spectator, suggest any course, were 
 he asked, and he was glad to be free from the responsi- 
 bility. 
 
 He sat near the window, and, his attention wandering 
 at last from the unsolved and vexing political question, 
 he looked idly through the dusty pane at the people pass- 
 ing in the street. An automobile, the first to arrive in 
 the city, whizzed by, and he followed it vaguely with his 
 eyes, until it disappeared around the next block; the 
 electric cars passed at intervals with a heavy, jarring 
 sound, and then a carriage full of pretty girls in light 
 fluffy dresses held him for a moment; but it was only a 
 moment, because there, on the other side of the street, 
 was Clarice Ransome, prettier than any of the pretty 
 girls in the carriage even the dusty window-pane could 
 not hide her youth and freshness and, by bending his 
 head forward a little, his eyes were able to follow her 
 longer than they had traced the course of the auto- 
 mobile. 
 
 Clarice had been increasingly in his thoughts lately, 
 and he was beginning to realise that her place there was 
 not likely to diminish. Both Lucy Hastings and Mary 
 Pelham would be at her house in a few days for a long 
 visit. Carton was likely to come, the Governor would 
 run down no wand then, Senator Pike's new office was 
 located in the city, Warfield lived there, and Senator 
 Cobb would certainly be present at the convention. 
 The seat of action, but not the people, was changed.
 
 260 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 He would yet be surrounded by the old capital group 
 with all its influences and associations. 
 
 Guthrie still felt that he had no right to seek Clarice 
 Ransome that is, to pay court to her; but he would not 
 deny himself the sight of her face, or an occasional hour 
 in her presence. There was no moral law calling for 
 such self-denial, and he would exercise his privilege 
 until that hideous count came to claim her, despite the 
 frowns of Mrs. Ransome who, fortunately, was not all- 
 powerful. Then his thoughts returned to the meeting 
 that he was attending. 
 
 "It's absolutely certain that we must get Warner off 
 the track, or we are done for," said Hay, the chief party- 
 worker. " If we don't, a Republican Congressman will 
 go to Washington from the Old Fourth as sure as shoot- 
 ing!" 
 
 But no one could suggest a way to make Warner retire. 
 
 "It never had a Republican representative," said Mr. 
 Parton, the editor of the Gazette, an afternoon Demo- 
 cratic daily, a man of ability and lofty character, " We 
 have been free of that disgrace so far." 
 
 "A freedom that does not promise to last," said Willis, 
 the county judge. " What a shame that the party should 
 be loaded up with a stupid, obstinate man like Warner! 
 Is there no way to placate those Prohibitionists ? " 
 
 "None, except to get Warner off the track," replied 
 Hay, "and that we haven't been able to do. He 
 claims that he is entitled to a renomination, says we are 
 down on him because he wouldn't help our men to office, 
 and swears he'll stay in the race until the polls close on 
 Election Day." 
 
 "And he's been seen drunk twice on the streets of 
 Washington," said Tom Graham, Hay's chief lieuten-
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 261 
 
 ant. "It's the first time the Old Fourth was ever dis- 
 graced before the whole nation!" 
 
 It seemed a shame to Guthrie that the glorious old 
 party should be wrecked in the Fourth District by an 
 obstinate, drinking man like Warner. It was clear 
 that the Prohibitionists, five thousand strong, who 
 usually voted with the Democrats would never support 
 Warner, and since many straight Democrats would 
 reject him, too, the split in their ranks was sure to give 
 the Republicans an easy victory. It was enough to 
 make a man, bred in party traditions, as all are in this 
 State, hot with wrath, and seek everywhere for a way 
 out of the trouble. 
 
 Perkins, the Republican candidate, in an ordinary 
 time would have had no chance, as the Old Fourth 
 was at least five thousand Democratic with a united 
 party, but now, alas, the party was grievously, hope- 
 lessly split, and the heavy-jawed, coarse-minded Per- 
 kins was to sit for the famous Old Fourth in the Capitol 
 of the nation. All the correspondents hated him, as 
 he habitually violated the code of ethics established in 
 this State by the press and public men in their mutual 
 dealings. Guthrie remembered very well an interview 
 with Perkins that he had written once for the Times, 
 chiefly at the man's own suggestion, but which Perkins 
 afterward denied, the effect being other than he wished. 
 Guthrie's face flamed now at the memory of it, and his 
 blood grew hot. 
 
 Avery, the national committeeman, made a little 
 speech, speaking in a low, even voice, but very much 
 to the point. He reminded them that the next House, 
 so every shrewd observer said, would be almost even 
 between the Democrats and the Republicans, and a
 
 262 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 single district might turn the balance of power, hence 
 the trouble in the Old Fourth, and a district usually so 
 sure for the Democrats had risen to national impor- 
 tance. The big men at Washington those of both 
 parties were watching it, and while the Republicans 
 were glad, the Democrats were sad. Warner's fellow 
 members had tried to make him listen to reason, the 
 two white-headed senators from the State had talked 
 to him again and again, telling him how he was ruin- 
 ing the party as well as himself, but in vain nothing 
 could move the stubborn man from his purpose; par- 
 ticularly as he thought he had a grievance against the 
 party leaders in his district, and his stubbornness was 
 increased by his feeling of injury. He was egged on 
 by Timothy O'Hara, an Irish demagogue who posed 
 as a labour leader. 
 
 The speech was received with attention, but still no 
 one could suggest a way, and they adjourned without 
 action. 
 
 Guthrie remained a while with several of the others 
 and talked in a desultory way about the general pros- 
 pects of the campaign, and the respective chances of 
 Graves and Headly, also candidates for the Demo- 
 cratic nomination. Graves was a rich distiller, who 
 had long cherished a political ambition, and who 
 thought the time had come to gratify it. Headly was 
 a lawyer of ability, desirous also of going to Congress. 
 Both were respectable men, not brilliant, but of good 
 standing and industrious, and the leaders present in 
 the caucus did not care which was nominated. Both 
 were willing to go into a convention or submit their 
 claims to a primary election, but Warner refused to do 
 so, claiming that all the party machinery would be
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 263 
 
 used unfairly to beat him, and, therefore, he intended 
 to run on his own platform a thing unheard of before 
 in the Old Fourth, and well calculated to make the 
 party leaders stand aghast 
 
 Guthrie left alone, after the talk, lingered a little by 
 the way; twilight was coming: the afternoon heat 
 was over, and everybody was on the streets. 
 
 It was a good city of 200,000 people, sitting beside 
 a great river, on the border line of North and South, 
 and looking both ways. Thus, northern people called 
 it southern, and southern people sometimes called it 
 northern; but it was more southern than northern, 
 because, while now and then northern in mode of 
 thought, it was always southern in manner and speech. 
 
 .The street down which he was walking, led straight 
 and quickly to the river, a light yellow current, nearly 
 a mile wide, flowing on slowly and quietly with all the 
 gravity of ages. The "knobs," as the high hills on 
 the farther shore are locally called, were hi the fresh 
 bloom of early spring, and made a brilliant background 
 for the wide, yellow river. But here and there, amid 
 the masses of green that almost covered the rugged 
 slopes, the delicate pink of a peach-tree in new bloom 
 shone like a rose against a lady's dress. And above 
 and beyond the green was the blue of the sky with 
 streaks of red gold from the setting sun. 
 
 Guthrie was on the main artery of retail traffic, a 
 street which five or six blocks from the heart of the 
 city changes its character and becomes the finest and 
 most fashionable residence avenue of the place. In 
 either capacity, the town life flows through it, and 
 Billy Guthrie knew everybody, and at least half of 
 them called him by his first name.
 
 264 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 He was busy now, bowing or speaking to his acquain- 
 tances, and some of the heavy political gloom that had 
 settled over him was lifted. Then he met Clarice 
 Ransome, and it was all gone for the time. When 
 Clarice left the Capital, she had found that her newly 
 awakened interest in public life was continuous. She 
 knew that Guthrie was deeply concerned about the 
 fight in the Old Fourth, and she wished, too, to know 
 its developments. 
 
 When they had spoken of the Capital and their 
 friends, Guthrie told her that he had been attending 
 a caucus of the Democratic leaders. 
 
 "Didn't it form a plan to get Mr. Warner out of 
 the way?" she asked. 
 
 "It was willing enough, but it couldn't devise any," 
 he replied. 
 
 Then, seeing his gloomy feelings, she changed the 
 talk to lighter topics, and the brightness of life came 
 back to him as he walked home with her in the twilight. 
 In June, that hour, when the narrowest rim of the sun 
 is lingering just beyond the western hills and the night 
 has not yet come, is a wonderful time in the city. It 
 breathes of tender grass and new fkfwers, and troubles 
 roll away. Guthrie felt it now in its fullest and keen- 
 est delight. 
 
 He left her at her father's door. He would not go 
 in, not because he was afraid of Mrs. Ransome, but 
 for the reason that he was to call the next evening and 
 he did not wish to push himself. Mr. Ransome he 
 knew already and liked. 
 
 But Guthrie stopped at the corner of the next block 
 and looked back at the big house standing in the centre 
 of the wide, green lawn. Again he felt that acute but
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 265 
 
 recent desire to be rich. He sighed and turning 
 abruptly away, walked rapidly down the avenue. 
 
 The Times the next morning contained a double- 
 leaded editorial, written by its celebrated editor, and 
 headed, "To Your Tents, O Israel," dwelling on the 
 necessity of party harmony, and why it was pleasant 
 for brethren to dwell together in unity. No names 
 were called, nor was there any direct reference to the 
 Old Fourth, but who and what were meant was plain 
 to everybody. The great editor put the matter truth- 
 fully and in eloquent language, but several days passed 
 and no sign came from Warner and his friends. 
 
 Guthrie meanwhile called at the Ransome house, 
 and was well received by Clarice and her father, and 
 non-committally by Mrs. Ransome, who talked through- 
 out the evening about dear Raoul and his coming visit 
 to America. Guthrie observing keenly, noticed that 
 Mr. Ransome did not like it, but he was unable to 
 judge of Clarice's feelings. 
 
 Two days later, Lucy Hastings and Mary Pelham 
 arrived for their visit, and Guthrie called again. Now 
 he knew that Mrs. Ransome was unhappy; her daugh- 
 ter was still surrounded by the associations that she had 
 disliked at the capital, but old John Ransome was the 
 prince of hosts, and when he saw Guthrie much by the 
 side of Clarice, he was not offended. It was at this 
 second call that he spoke of the congressional race. 
 John Ransome shai^d Guthrie's feelings, but Mrs. 
 Ransome expressed privately to her husband her hor- 
 ror of their awful politics; common politeness would 
 not let her speak that way before Lucy Hastings, who 
 was the wife of a governor. "Oh, pshaw 1 Jane," 
 said Mr. Ransome.
 
 266 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Guthrie found that the temptation to be often at the 
 Ransome house was irresistible. The wistful, almost 
 pathetic look in Clarice's eyes that he surprised there 
 now and then, drew him on, and while he was already 
 sorry for himself, he began to feel sorry for her too. 
 He did not know how dangerous to him was such a 
 feeling. 
 
 Old John Ransome seemed to delight in the com- 
 pany of these young people, and he always pressed him 
 to come back again. "They are my kind, and I like 
 my kind," he once said to his wife. Warfield, too, 
 came, and Carton, and the Governor, and one evening 
 when Guthrie brought Senator Pike and Senator 
 Cobb, they were all gathered in Mr. Ransome's big 
 drawing-room. Even Tommy Newlands was not 
 lacking, and it was a bright evening for the whole 
 group, 
 
 The next morning at the breakfast table, when only 
 the Ransomes were present, Mrs. Ransome said with 
 obvious meaning: 
 
 "I am glad that Raoul will be here soon." 
 
 "He will not be here," said Clarice. 
 
 Mrs. Ransome let her fork drop. Mr. Ransome 
 looked at his daughter and saw a firm, set expression 
 upon her face. "My goodness, Clarice is not afraid 
 of her mother!" was his sudden thought. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Ransome in her 
 most terrible tones. 
 
 "I have written to him not to come," replied Clarice. 
 
 "Not to come?" 
 
 "Not to come; never to come; I have told him that 
 I cannot marry him. It was a mistake. His people 
 are not my people, and my people are not his. We
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 267 
 
 could never be happy together, and I have taken the 
 course that I think is right. 
 
 "And you are right, Clarice, God bless you!" ex- 
 claimed John Ransome. And in his foolish fondness 
 he arose from the table and kissed his daughter on either 
 cheek. But Mrs. Ransome was all ice. 
 
 "Then I suppose, since you have behaved so badly 
 to Raoul, you mean to marry this newspaper fellow, 
 Guthrie," she said. 
 
 "If he asks me I certainly shall," replied Clarice 
 serenely, though she was very pale, "but he has not 
 asked me yet." 
 
 Mrs. Ransome, aghast with horror, swept out of the 
 room. Mr. Ransome was silent, overwhelmed by his 
 rising admiration for his daughter. 
 
 Guthrie often talked over the political situation with 
 Clarice, and she shared his wish to find a way out, if 
 such a way there was. She had an abiding faith in 
 Guthrie. She admired his zeal and believed in his 
 ability. He still cherished the hope that he would 
 become some day the head of the Washington bureau 
 of the Times, and there on the great stage of the national 
 capital find full scope for his talents. Wallace, the 
 present head, was getting old and stiff, and before many 
 years he must have an assistant an assistant nominally, 
 but a chief so far as the work was concerned 
 
 "When that assistant is selected, I intend to be the 
 man, Miss Ransome," he repeated, "and then I won't 
 be going around the counties here, hunting up the news 
 of peanut politics. One can find at Washington the 
 things that count." 
 
 He never spoke to her of love, but she could see it in 
 his eyes, and she knew what held him back. For the
 
 268 GUTHRIE OF THE TIME 
 
 first time in her life, she was dissatisfied with her fath- 
 er's wealth. The news of her broken engagement to 
 Raoul was soon spread over the city. She mentioned 
 it herself to a few of her personal friends, and she did 
 not ask them to keep it a secret. Lucy and Mary 
 offered her their quiet congratulations. "I think you 
 have chosen the wise course, Clarice," each of them 
 said. Her father, too, was a tower of strength to her 
 in these days, and she had a vast sense of relief. 
 
 She was happy now in the big house, surrounded by 
 her friends of the two cities, the capital and this, and 
 she did not notice how seldom they spoke of Guthrie 
 in his absence. He was never obtruded upon her, but, 
 besides seeing him often, she heard of him almost daily 
 in the general flow of the public life of the city. 
 
 Warner returned suddenly from Washington, but 
 his friends, apprised in advance of his coming, organ- 
 ised a great reception and a torchlight parade, accom- 
 panied by so much tumult and such a flashing of sky- 
 rockets and Roman candles, that the masses were 
 impressed. Warner himself was exultant, and took 
 no pains to conceal it. "After all, the people are for 
 me," he said, and his opponents felt that they had been 
 caught napping. 
 
 The leaders decided upon a convention rather than 
 a primary election, although it would be useless unless 
 they could get Warner into it. Still, for the sake of 
 regularity, they must observe the forms, and Guthrie 
 went forth the very next day to follow the campaign 
 which Warner was beginning. 
 
 The member intended to make what he called a 
 "whirlwind campaign" that is, to use his own expres- 
 sion, he was going to talk the people "clean off their
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 269 
 
 feet," speech succeeding speech so fast that they would 
 not have time to recover from one before they were hit 
 with another. But, when Guthrie looked at his schedule, 
 he noticed that at least half the speeches were to be 
 made in the eleventh and twelfth wards, thickly in- 
 habited by the most ignorant part of the city's popu- 
 lation. Warner cunningly preferring to campaign 
 among his own friends, where he would receive the 
 most applause, and, therefore, make the deepest im- 
 pression on the public. 
 
 Headly and Graves were already in the field, each 
 making a vigorous canvass, and each announcing in 
 every speech that he was ready to abide by the decision 
 of a convention. Each also challenged Warner to a 
 joint debate, or series of debates, in which the three 
 should participate, but Warner declined all such offers, 
 and made a merit of it, saying that Headly and Graves 
 were silk stockings, and the representatives of pluto- 
 crats, and he, a real Democrat, could not afford to as- 
 sociate with them. No, he preferred to talk to the 
 people in his own way. 
 
 Warner was glad when he heard that Guthrie was 
 to report him, having a strong faith in Guthrie, despite 
 the fact that he worked for the enemy. But he soon 
 began to feel disappointed with the accounts of his 
 campaign that appeared in the Times, although he 
 could not tell just where the fault lay. They seemed 
 to miss the effect that his speeches, in his opinion, cre- 
 ated, although he could not pick out a single sentence 
 anywhere and say it was untrue. When he read his 
 Times every morning at the breakfast table, it fell upon 
 him like a wet blanket, and he went back to his cam- 
 paign with decreased energy and spirits.
 
 270 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Guthrie in thus reporting Warner's campaign was 
 not pursuing any preconcerted plan. He had asked 
 to go with him in behalf of his newspaper, because he 
 thought that, by dwelling upon one or two points in 
 their talk, he might influence the man's mind, and there 
 was always a chance that the campaign would develop 
 some favourable opportunity. Unconsciously, he began 
 to colour his reports with his own feelings; as his con- 
 tempt for Warner increased, he could not keep from 
 putting in his accounts every foolish display that the 
 member made of himself, and they were numerous. 
 These were the incidents that appealed to Guthrie most 
 strongly now, and, as a consequence, they appeared 
 most vividly in his narrative. Mr. Stetson saw what 
 was happening, but he kept his own counsel. 
 
 At the Ransome house, where Guthrie was a con- 
 stant visitor, these reports were read with the greatest 
 interest. John Ransome chuckled over them, and 
 more than once avowed his opinion that "young Guth- 
 rie was a deuced clever fellow." Clarice said nothing, 
 but in such moments she had a very warm feeling 
 for her father. Mrs. Ransome preserved a majestic 
 silence. She had told her husband once that she 
 was going to "have it out" with Clarice, and after she 
 "had it out," she looked so glum that he did not ven- 
 ture to ask her any questions. But he laughed softly 
 and said to himself, "Jane ought to remember that 
 Clarice is her own daughter." 
 
 Nearly two weeks passed, and whenever Guthrie 
 saw Clarice and was asked to report progress, he would 
 shake his head doubtfully. "I'm sure of only one 
 thing," he would say, "namely, that the bottom is 
 falling out of Warner's canvass. But the weaker he
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 271 
 
 becomes with the people, the more stubborn he may 
 grow personally; it often has that effect, you know. 
 And if we can't get him off the track or into the con- 
 vention, we're done for, anyhow. Five thousand 
 Prohibitionists bolting from us make it a sure thing 
 for Perkins." 
 
 But she would not despair. She did not know just 
 why it was, she said, but she felt that everything would 
 yet come out all right, the Old Fourth would be saved, 
 and he would get his appointment. 
 
 Warner began to turn to Guthrie for suggestions 
 which would go well in his speeches, ideas about democ- 
 racy, and the duty of a member to his constituents, 
 and Guthrie, who had made a thorough study of poli- 
 tics, besides having a wide experience as a spectator, 
 always furnished them. He still retained a certain 
 sympathy for Warner, and he could not refuse such 
 requests. In this way, and almost unconsciously, he 
 became an increasingly heavy contributor to the mate- 
 rial of Warner's speeches, and the really good parts 
 of them the parts which dealt with genuine public 
 questions, and not mere local squabbles, came from 
 Guthrie. 
 
 This had been going on for some time before Guth- 
 rie realised suddenly what he was doing, and the dis- 
 covery put an idea in his head. He was hopeful again 
 of getting Warner into the convention, and he wrote 
 a speech of renunciation for the refractory member. 
 He wrote it without any suggestion from Warner, in 
 fact, without his knowledge, but it appealed to him as 
 the speech the member ought to make in the conven- 
 tion ; it was the duty that he owed to his district, to his 
 party and to justice.
 
 272 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Guthrie was so full of the subject, he had looked at 
 it so keenly from every point of view, and he felt so 
 deeply about it, that it was not hard for him to trans- 
 fer his thoughts to paper, and to express them in the 
 manner that seemed to him fitting. So he was pleased 
 when he finished the speech and read it over to see its 
 effect. In order not to be deceived, he read it also to 
 Clarice, whom he usually found to be a just and fear- 
 less critic. 
 
 "Fine! Fine!" she said, "but it is wasted. What 
 do you expect to do with it ? You know that you can 
 never make Warner deliver that speech." 
 
 "I'm not so sure that I can't," he replied. "Any- 
 way I may be able to instill it into him, bit by bit, and 
 in the end he'll say it all, though I admit that the effect 
 like the speech will be scattered." 
 
 He laughed a little, and then added resolutely: 
 
 "No, he's got to say this speech all at once, and I'll 
 make him. I'll find an opportunity yet." 
 
 The time set for the convention was drawing near, 
 and Guthrie's whole plan now was to accustom War- 
 ner's mind to the idea of renunciation. Holding this 
 in view, he sought to instil little bits of his speech to 
 that effect into Warner's addresses, succeeding in some 
 cases, and failing in others. Nevertheless, he created 
 an effect, changing to a slight extent the tone of War- 
 ner's campaign, and he persisted. 
 
 The fact that Guthrie had written a speech, which 
 he wanted Warner to make became known in some 
 manner to others than Clarice and himself. Perhaps 
 Clarice whispered it to somebody, who whispered it 
 to somebody else, but in any event, Mr. Stetson called 
 him into his private office one evening, and said:
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 273 
 
 "I hear that you have written a speech for Warner, 
 Mr. Guthrie." 
 
 Guthrie reddened and was confused, but answered 
 in a few moments: 
 
 "Yes, I have, but I'm afraid he won't deliver it." 
 
 "Is it a good speech?" asked Mr. Stetson whim- 
 sically. 
 
 "I don't know, but I think it fits the case." 
 
 "If it does that, it is certainly a good speech. Let 
 me see it." 
 
 Guthrie was embarrassed by this unexpected request, 
 which, coming from his superior officer, amounted to 
 an order, and he was glad that he did not have his 
 manuscript with him. But Mr. Stetson would not con- 
 tent himself with such an explanation, and he demanded 
 that Guthrie repeat to him the speech, or at least 
 the gist of it. Guthrie despite many endeavours 
 to evade the request, was compelled to yield at 
 last, and recite the speech, which he knew word for 
 word. 
 
 The keynote of this address was self-sacrifice the 
 necessity, when one becomes an obstruction, of stand- 
 ing aside for the sake of the party and for the good of 
 the country, the sinking of ambition, in order to pro- 
 mote the general welfare. Other things were em- 
 phasised, but this was the point upon which he dwelt, 
 and he felt everything that he said, as he recited his 
 speech to Mr. Stetson. He spoke in a low tone, but 
 his voice was full of feeling he had thought so long 
 and so hard upon this subject that he was carried a 
 little bit out of himself as he spoke. When he came 
 to the end, he was surprised to find that he had delivered 
 it without embarrassment.
 
 274 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Mr. Stetson said only a word or two, just enough to 
 indicate his satisfaction. 
 
 "I hope you'll get him to make that speech in the 
 convention, and then withdraw/' said he. 
 
 Guthrie did not know that Mr. Stetson's eyes fol- 
 lowed him as he went out, and that after his steps died 
 away down the hall, the great editor's face wore a very 
 thoughtful look. 
 
 The convention was now almost at hand, and Guth- 
 rie felt that affairs were going well. The Prohibition- 
 ists still refrained from a nomination, though their 
 front was as menacing as ever, and beyond a doubt 
 they would keep their word unless Warner was forced 
 off the track. But Guthrie reported to the leaders that 
 Warner might yet weaken, as he was daily growing 
 more discouraged. 
 
 "I think I'll see Washington, Miss Ransome," he 
 said, "but the odds are still against me, and I've got 
 to fight awful hard." 
 
 The day before the convention Guthrie heard a 
 piece of news that affected him very greatly, touching 
 as it did, his tenderest feelings. It was already known 
 to many people, but as often happens, he whom it con- 
 cerned so much was among the last that it reached. 
 He was with Warfield, and he was compelled to speak 
 in some connection of the distant Raoul. 
 
 "I suppose he will be here soon," he said. 
 
 Jimmy Warfield stared at him in amazement. 
 
 "Why, haven't you heard?" he exclaimed. "He's 
 not coming." 
 
 "Not coming?" 
 
 "No; the engagement is broken. Miss Ransome, 
 fortunately, I think, found out in time that she didn't
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE OLD FOURTH 275 
 
 love him, and she had the courage to tell him so, or at 
 least write him so. Why, the whole town knows it!" 
 
 Guthrie was silent, and Jimmy Warfield watched 
 his face curiously, but he did not allude again to the 
 subject. Guthrie felt at first a mighty sense of relief, 
 but after a while it passed away. He had never really 
 feared Raoul; he could never persuade himself that 
 Clarice was going to marry that hirsute foreigner, and 
 now the news was but a confirmation of his belief. 
 The real obstacle remained. 
 
 But he honoured Clarice for her courage, and when 
 next he met her there was such a strain of tenderness 
 in his voice, that, startled, she looked at him question- 
 ingly, and then dropped her eyes. But he spoke only 
 of current subjects
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 THE CONVENTION 
 
 A CONVENTION in the Old Fourth, as well as any 
 other district of this State, is more than a political 
 occasion; it is also social and sportive, or, at times, 
 it may even have a religious colour, becoming, in short, 
 a festive event, tinged now and then with solemnity, 
 and an underlying, but never forgotten serious purpose. 
 They develop, too, the variety and humour of life in a 
 State, rich in all these respects, and hence everybody 
 except the defeated candidates, who are supposed not 
 to complain, enjoys them. 
 
 But no one of this generation remembered a con- 
 vention in the Old Fourth which excited so much in- 
 terest as the one now about to be called to order. It 
 contained the elements likely to excite keen curiosity 
 and a desire to attend: Warner's peculiar position, 
 the uncertainty of his course, the angry shadow of the 
 Prohibitionists hovering over them, and the well- 
 known fact that the whole fate of the next Congress 
 might turn upon this convention. Guthrie had a talk 
 with Warner on the eve of it, but he could get from him 
 no promise. 
 
 He reported this lack of success again at the Ransome 
 house, and his look was disconsolate as he made his 
 report. But Clarice spoke cheerfully. 
 
 "I believe that you will succeed yet, Mr. Guthrie," 
 
 276
 
 THE CONVENTION 277 
 
 6 said, and Guthrie gave her a grateful glance. Her 
 faith in him reacted upon him, and gave him self- 
 confidence. 
 
 Carton was in the city again, having decided to attend 
 the convention in the Fourth, which would be of ab- 
 sorbing interest to every public man in the State, and 
 he said to Guthrie: "The party in this State already 
 owes you a great deal I need not speak of myself 
 again, and how much I owe you and, to tell you the 
 truth, you seem to be the chief reliance in this affair. 
 Now what do you expect if you succeed in it?" 
 
 It was the same question that Clarice Ransome had 
 asked him more than once, and the coincidence struck 
 Guthrie. 
 
 "The Washington bureau of the Times has been 
 promised to me," he replied, "and I tell you, Philip 
 Carton, that if you get on the wrong side in Congress 
 I shall say so." 
 
 "I sincerely hope that you will get what you want, 
 Billy, said Carton with emphasis. 
 
 Guthrie, although deeply disappointed by Warner's 
 actions, was forced to be resigned and await the course 
 of events in the convention itself. 
 
 It was said that Warner would be present on the 
 floor of the convention, a proceeding unusual in a 
 candidate quite contrary to the code of political 
 ethics, as practised throughout the State and it was 
 certain that the delegations from the eleventh and 
 twelfth wards would be composed almost wholly of his 
 friends. 
 
 Guthrie ascertained also that Pursley was working 
 incessantly in Warner's favour, although he was very 
 quiet about it, as his support, while the cloud of scandal
 
 278 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 still rested upon him, was a doubtful asset. Guthrie 
 knew that Pursley cared nothing for Warner, but was 
 merely carrying on an agitation against those in power, 
 hoping to profit by a revolution. 
 
 Templeton, too, appeared in the city, and was often 
 with Pursley. All that Guthrie had foreseen was 
 coming to pass Templeton was sinking lower and 
 lower. 
 
 The convention met early in the morning of a beau- 
 tiful June day one of those days that are not so rare 
 in June in this State. Guthrie, from his seat at the 
 press table on the stage in Music Hall, where the con- 
 ventions always meet, could see through the rear win- 
 dows, between the clefts of houses far across the wide, 
 yellow river, to the hills, now clad in a deeper green. 
 There all was peace and beauty, and he thought, with 
 a half-smile, of the stormy times so soon to come on 
 the floor here before him. 
 
 The earliness of the hour set for the opening of the 
 convention did not keep the people from pouring into 
 the hall before then. It is a great hall, the largest in 
 the State, with an immense auditorium, two balconies 
 above and eight boxes, but it was soon apparent that 
 every seat would be taken. The boxes were filled with 
 prominent men and their feminine relatives. 
 
 In one, sat the familiar "governor's group," the Gov- 
 ernor and his wife, Mary Pelham, Clarice Ransome, 
 Mrs. Dennison, Mr. Carton, Mr. Ransome, and Mr. 
 Pike, now the pension commissioner. Mrs. Ransome 
 had refused to come, saying that the affair did not inter- 
 est her, but General and Mrs. Pelham were present. 
 
 Deep as was the political interest in this convention, 
 it was evident at once that the social phase would not
 
 THE CONVENTION 279 
 
 be inferior. The city is famous for its pretty girls, 
 and they are seen at their best in May and June, when 
 they come out in thin, white or light-coloured dresses. 
 Then, indeed, is the poet's simile of a "garden of girls" 
 most fit. They were thick in the hall everywhere 
 except in the space railed off for the delegates, and 
 there was not one who did not carry flowers or roses 
 in her hair, or on her dress, in addition to those in her 
 cheeks. The great hall was alive with vivid, beauti- 
 ful, and varied colours, now contrasting, now blend- 
 ing into one harmonious whole. 
 
 It seemed like a vast bouquet to Guthrie, sitting 
 modestly at the back of the stage, and looking toward 
 the crowd, and it gave him a deep sense of pleasure and 
 of pride. This was his district and his State, and these 
 were his people. The convention rose before him, ter- 
 race on terrace of colour, but the crowd, nevertheless, 
 still thickened, always seeking room for one more. 
 Guthrie saw Warner slip in under the cover of his 
 friends, and take a seat in the centre of the delegation 
 from the twelfth ward, where his presence was not dis- 
 covered, until he had been there some time, and thus 
 the force of the blow was broken. Then an angry buzz 
 of comment arose and filled the hall, but it soon died, 
 because the convention was about to open, and Warner 
 could not be permitted to occupy its attention now for 
 any long period. Moreover, the great men were fast 
 arriving, and they always came in state, a state which 
 often they did not intend, but which the public en- 
 forced. 
 
 There were the two United States Senators, men of 
 really large calibre, mentally as well as physically, and 
 well-known throughout the nation, and Mr. Stetson,
 
 280 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 more famous than either, and an ex-governor of the 
 State with a bushy white head of hair, who had been 
 a famous Confederate general, and another ex-governor 
 of the State, also with a bushy white head of hair, who 
 had been a famous Federal general. After these came 
 the member from the Third District, a tall man with a 
 smoothly shaven, classic face who was serving his third 
 term as Speaker of the House, an office which the peo- 
 ple of this State rank next to the presidency itself, and 
 they shared, therefore, in the glory which the member 
 from the Third shed about him. Hence they received 
 him with applause fully equal to that which they be- 
 stowed upon Mr. Stetson, and after him came many 
 others of more or less prominence, each recognised 
 instantly by everybody, and each receiving his share 
 of applause, graded in exact proportion to his merits. 
 
 It was all like a big family gathering. This is a 
 peculiar State, not much affected by immigration, and 
 having certain idiosyncrasies of character which dif- 
 ferentiate it from the rest of the Union, but which bind 
 its people more closely together. It is said that mortal 
 enemies from this State, if they meet in a foreign land, 
 become very much better friends than they can ever 
 be with anybody around them. There was a great 
 hum of talk, and the brightly coloured fans of the ladies 
 were fluttering, but this hum was soon lost in the strains 
 of popular music as the band in an upper box began 
 to play. 
 
 The band swung into "Dixie," and a tremendous 
 shout of applause was raised. " Dixie " being finished, 
 it passed on to "Yankee Doodle," and again a shout 
 of applause went up, though not so loud as before. It 
 was all in perfect good humour, and the old Confed-
 
 THE CONVENTION 281 
 
 crates, and the old Federals sitting in the audience, 
 often brother delegates, knee to knee, began to ex- 
 change for the fifteen hundredth time reminiscences 
 of Antietam and the Wilderness. The two old ex- 
 governors, the Federal and the Confederate, sitting 
 side by side in a box were seen to shake hands vigor- 
 ously in the enthusiasm of the moment, and then the 
 roof lifted itself up at least an inch with the impact of 
 the applause. 
 
 As Guthrie glanced over the audience, he caught the 
 eye of Jimmy Warfield, who was chairman of the dele- 
 gation from the sixth ward, who also was most zealous 
 in the attempt to shelve Warner, believing it abso- 
 lutely necessary, both in the interests of the party and of 
 morality. He gave back a cheerful smile to Guthrie's 
 look, but beyond him were the eleventh and twelfth 
 wards, a solid mass of frowning delegates, bent on rule 
 or ruin that is, either to nominate Warner or to bolt 
 the convention. Now, there was a distinct and mani- 
 fest feeling of hostility on the part of the rest of the 
 convention toward the eleventh and twelfth wards. 
 The delegates who were compelled to sit nearest the 
 space reserved for them, drew their chairs as far away 
 as possible, and ostentatiously turned their backs. 
 Mr. Pursley moved from seat to seat, helping his friends 
 and fellow-rebels. 
 
 The sound of angry words arose; the buzz of fem- 
 inine talk suddenly ceased, and many fans fluttered 
 apprehensively. It was apparent that the convention 
 should be called to order at once, and Grayson, the 
 district committeeman, promptly did so. Then in 
 accordance with the universal custom, prayer was 
 offered. It was the Bishop who prayed. Having
 
 282 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 come up from the capital on a visit, he had been asked 
 to serve, a request with which he promptly complied. 
 Never had Guthrie seen him looking nobler, with his 
 fine head of white hair and lofty features. He prayed 
 for the blessing of God upon the nation, upon the 
 president, and upon all those assembled in the hall. 
 When the prayer was over he quietly took a half-hidden 
 seat at the rear of the stage. 
 
 Then Grayson quickly gave way to the temporary 
 chairman, a non-committal and negative man named 
 Andrews, who could be depended upon to pass a short 
 and harmless life in the chair, yielding in his turn to 
 the permanent chairman. There was no fight over the 
 rules, nor was there a single contested seat among the 
 delegates, everything being in clean-cut condition for 
 the convention to proceed at once to its business, but 
 while the committees were being selected the great 
 political guns fired a few shots, much as the thirteen- 
 inch cannon on a battleship are discharged for enter- 
 tainment and instruction before the real test of the 
 smaller calibre rapid-fire arms is made. 
 
 The first call from the crowd was for Mr. Stetson, 
 who was always doubly welcome, as he rarely meddled 
 in local politics, and, therefore, trod on no toes. After 
 him came the two ex-governors, and the speaker of the 
 National House. 
 
 Guthrie left the table after the second speech, and 
 went to the room where the leaders were in conference, 
 securing admittance on account of his well-known 
 grave and high character, his deep and unselfish inter- 
 est in politics, and the semi-official position that he had 
 achieved. It was a bleak apartment, used ordinarily 
 as a dressing-room by actors or singers who appeared
 
 THE CONVENTION 283 
 
 at Music Hall, but now it contained the elements of 
 civil war. 
 
 All the leaders were in the room, and so were the 
 representatives of Headly and Graves, each with a 
 name ready to be proposed for the permanent chair- 
 manship. But the centre of interest was a little red- 
 faced angry Irishman, O'Hara, the leader of the War- 
 ner forces. He was with his back to the wall both 
 literally and metaphorically, his doubled-up fists thrust 
 into the pockets of his short sack coat, a shiny silk hat 
 tipped back on his head all the others were hatless. 
 
 "But what we want to know, Mr. O'Hara, is this," 
 said Mr. Stetson, in a smooth, polite tone; "what does 
 your principal, Mr. Warner, intend to do? Here are 
 the representatives of Mr. Headly and Mr. Graves 
 speaking for their principals, and willing to abide 
 by the decision of the convention, whatever it may be. 
 Will you not do the same?" 
 
 But O'Hara fiercely denounced what he called a 
 lack of fair play, refused to agree to anything, and was 
 strongly supported by Mr. Pursley, who adopted a 
 smoother manner. That ended the conference and the 
 attempt at peace. 
 
 O'Hara resumed his seat among the twelfth ward 
 delegates, a motion to adjourn until two o'clock was 
 made, seconded and carried without opposition, and 
 the convention adjourned, the spectators going out 
 amid a great murmur of talk, the rustle of summer 
 dresses, and the fluttering of fans. 
 
 It would be two hours now until the convention met 
 again, but much might be done in two hours, and 
 everybody intended that much should be done. 
 
 The first step of the leaders was to suggest Mr. Stet-
 
 284 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 son for permanent chairman. He was an editor, not 
 directly a politician, and not even the Warnerites 
 would dare to accuse him, the idol of the State, of 
 unfairness in his rulings. This is a State which loves 
 its great men, and it would brook no such insult to 
 Mr. Stetson. There were limits which O'Hara him- 
 self would not dare to pass. The case was put at once 
 before Mr. Stetson, and reluctantly he accepted. 
 
 Music Hall was filled long before two o'clock when 
 the convention was to meet again. The women and 
 the girls came as in the morning in their pretty sum- 
 mer dresses, only they were yet more numerous now, 
 and the audience as seen by those on the stage reminded 
 them, with increasing vividness, of a great rose garden 
 of colour. They even overflowed the space, railed off 
 for the delegates who with true gallantry crowded 
 themselves together to make room, because conven- 
 tions in this State being always social and spectacular, 
 as well as political, the rights of spectators are thor- 
 oughly recognised. 
 
 The crowds in the aisles, too, were so dense that 
 Guthrie and the other members of the press had great 
 difficulty in making their way to the stage. Again the 
 big building resounded with the hum of many voices 
 and the flutter of a forest of painted fans. All the 
 windows were thrown open to admit the fresh air. 
 
 The temporary chairman called the convention to 
 order and announced that nominations for permanent 
 chairman would now be made. The words were 
 scarcely out of his mouth before Jimmy Warfield sprang 
 to his feet and presented the name of Mr. Stetson. 
 
 The nomination came as a surprise to all except the 
 leaders, and was much the more effective on that ac-
 
 THE CONVENTION 285 
 
 count. The roar of applause from both delegates and 
 audience was so spontaneous, so swelling that nothing 
 could withstand it. Guthrie glanced down toward 
 the camp of the insurgents, the delegates from the 
 eleventh and twelfth wards, and he saw the faces of 
 Warner, O'Hara, and those nearest them fall. They 
 were, in fact, taken unawares and swept off their feet. 
 Some one jumped up and made a motion that Mr. 
 Stetson be nominated by acclamation. The motion 
 was seconded, and then it was carried at once, amid 
 thunderous applause, although there was a sullen 
 silence on the part of the rebellious gentlemen represent- 
 ing the eleventh and twelfth wards. 
 
 Mr. Stetson was escorted to the chair, and made a 
 short speech, according to custom. 
 
 Then, the people bent forward in their seats. The 
 combat was about to begin, and they were in it, heart 
 and soul. 
 
 The chairman, the man who was now to rule the 
 battle, settled himself fairly in his seat, his square 
 shoulders and massive chest rising up like a stone 
 tower. With a slight motion of his left hand, he threw 
 back the thick gray hair from his brow, and then swept 
 the convention with one keen, comprehensive glance. 
 
 Up sprang Timothy O'Hara, delegate from the 
 twelfth ward, standing amid the faithful crowd of his 
 henchmen, and nominated with orotund speech the 
 Honourable Henry Clay Warner, the friend and cham- 
 pion of the people. 
 
 The delegates from the eleventh and twelfth wards 
 moved by a common impulse sprang to their feet, and 
 uttering tremendous shouts waved their hats and 
 stamped the floor. "Warner!" "Warnerl" they
 
 286 
 
 cried. The rest of the convention was cold and 
 silent. 
 
 Then the names of Headly and Graves in turn were 
 put before the convention by their lieutenants in 
 speeches in which their merits and their necessity to 
 the State were proclaimed. 
 
 The last nomination was finished, the last sound of 
 applause died, and the forces now stood upon the 
 battlefield, horse, foot, and guns, each in its proper 
 place ready for action. 
 
 A throb ran through the convention, delegates and 
 spectators alike. A great murmur arose as people 
 began to whisper to each other. Down in the two 
 rebellious wards the delegates looked anxious, and 
 O'Hara closely scanned the convention. 
 
 Right here was a critical moment. The convention 
 could now proceed by either of two methods: it could 
 adopt a resolution to drop the weakest candidate after 
 the third ballot, and continue to a choice, or continue 
 as they stood to a choice. The first was sure to cause 
 the bolt of the Warnerites, as he was obviously the 
 weakest of the three, and there were votes enough at 
 any time to adopt the resolution. 
 
 The temptation among the younger men to offer the 
 resolution, and "put Warner out of business," as they 
 termed it, was strong, but the hands of the cool and 
 wary leaders held the bridle, and they pulled back on 
 the bit. They did not wish merely to win here that 
 in itself would be a bootless triumph, but to win at 
 the November election, unscarred, and with no feud 
 behind them. What they wanted now, as ever, was 
 time, time, time, in which something might happen. 
 
 The resolution was not offered. O'Hara saw nobody
 
 THE CONVENTION 287 
 
 rise to his feet with a threat in his eye. He, too, did 
 not want the resolution. Neither he nor Warner 
 wished a bolt; that they would take as a last resort, 
 hoping in preference to wear the convention out, and 
 by sheer obstinacy and perversity force the nomina- 
 tion of Warner in the end, thus saving to themselves 
 the colour of regularity. 
 
 This anxious pause anxious for both sides was 
 over, and the chairman ordered the first ballot. The 
 vote was cast by wards twelve in all but the number 
 of votes allowed to each ward was proportioned to its 
 population, the eleventh and twelfth having the most. 
 
 The total number of votes in the convention was 332. 
 
 The vote of each ward was cast by its chairman of 
 delegates, and the clerk in a mechanical voice an- 
 nounced the result: 
 
 Headly 136 
 
 Graves 124 
 
 Warner . . 72 
 
 To be nominated, a candidate must receive a majority 
 of all the votes cast, nobody had received such a major- 
 ity, and, therefore, nobody was nominated. 
 
 A second ballot was taken, and a third, and a fourth, 
 always with the same result. So fixed and immutable 
 was the vote that not a single figure was changed. 
 
 The convention was in a dead-lock. 
 
 The afternoon waned, none of the audience left, 
 everybody hoping that something would happen, and 
 the monotony, too, being relieved now and then by 
 passages at arms between the delegates on whose tem- 
 per the fight was beginning to wear.
 
 288 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 The day was near its end. Guthrie glancing through 
 a rear window of the hall saw again the wide yellow 
 river, and the hills beyond, their green, now shaded into 
 purple and gold, and rose by the sunset shadows. 
 Then he looked back once more at the battlefield be- 
 fore him, and wondered how it would end. 
 
 The sixth ballot was just finished, and the clerk in 
 that cold mechanical voice like a sound coming from 
 a phonograph, announced the same result. 
 
 Then Jimmy Warfield made a motion to adjourn 
 until the next morning, the motion was seconded, and, 
 the recalcitrants raising no objection, it was carried 
 unanimously. 
 
 The convention broke up for the day, and the people 
 passed slowly out of the hall, talking over what had 
 happened. 
 
 The sun set on the first day's fighting and it was a 
 drawn battle, but a second day was soon to come, and 
 the night between would be filled with such work as 
 the Old Fourth had never seen before. Pale and de- 
 termined the leaders slipped quietly from the hall. 
 
 That was a memorable night in the Old Fourth, 
 and the people felt alike the danger and the honour. 
 They were not out of the hall before the telegraph wires 
 were sending the news all over the United States. This 
 was a pivotal district; always so reliable, it had sud- 
 denly become doubtful, and every newspaper in the 
 Union had said so. Hence all eyes were turned that 
 way. 
 
 Guthrie left the convention hall with Clarice, and 
 together they walked down the street. The sun had 
 gone behind the hills and the cool of the evening had 
 come. She had thrown a light shawl over he? shoul-
 
 THE CONVENTION 289 
 
 ders, but otherwise she was all in white, and to Guth- 
 rie she seemed the most beautiful of all the women 
 who had been in the hall. 
 
 He knew himself as he was. He loved her. The 
 Count was gone, out of the way, and he was sure that 
 she did not hate him. Then why not speak? But 
 Guthrie thought again of the difference in their mate- 
 rial fortunes. She was a great heiress, and he, how- 
 ever much people liked him, and however well he stood 
 in his own profession, could not look forward to any 
 great pecuniary success. He might get the Washing- 
 ton bureau of the Times, but even then he would be in 
 no position to ask her to marry him. She might re- 
 fuse him, she probably would, but he had no right to 
 put her to the proof. 
 
 His usually sanguine and optimistic temperament 
 was afflicted with a few moments of painful melancholy, 
 but then he resolutely cast it aside, and would not let 
 her see. 
 
 The summer night came down swiftly over the city, 
 but the electric lights twinkled through the dusk, and 
 threw a silver shadow across the sidewalks. The 
 streets were full of people, and many bowed to Guth- 
 rie and Clarice, as they walked on together. 
 
 They walked among friends, and now and then 
 some one asked Guthrie what he thought the result 
 of the fight in the Old Fourth would be, but he 
 always shook his head and maintained his ignorance; 
 he would state his hopes, but he preferred not to 
 predict. 
 
 Guthrie had no notion of quitting the field of battle 
 until the next day he was too good a soldier for that, 
 knowing how important the night would be. But again,
 
 290 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 like the good soldier, he would eat and refresh himself 
 before the contest, and, leaving Clarice at her father's 
 door, he hurried home for that purpose. 
 
 He had scarcely finished a hasty dinner before a 
 message came, and he hurried away ready to do his part 
 in the strenuous conflict.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 
 
 ON a quiet street was a quiet little office, where a man 
 with a heavy jaw often sat thinking. He was Hays, 
 familiarly known as the " boss," in reality a hard political 
 worker, who took little reward, giving his services from 
 pure love of the life. He was in many respects a 
 rough man, and perhaps, in some, a trifle harsh. He 
 had had a hard time, having been born in the gut- 
 ter, and the successful struggle to emerge from it left 
 scars. But he was wonderfully kind to his wife and 
 children, for whom he obtained advantages that had 
 been denied to himself, and his friends always found 
 him as true as steel he made no secret of hating his 
 enemies. 
 
 Hays was not alone to-night, Grayson, Avery, 
 Jimmy Warfield, and several other workers in the cause 
 being with him. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and the next moment 
 Guthrie entered. All were pleased to see him and 
 greeted him warmly. 
 
 " We want you to take Warner out for a ride," said 
 Warfield. "Tell him you've got something of the 
 utmost importance to say about this fight, which is the 
 truth. Take a carriage and drive out toward the coun- 
 try say, on the waterworks road, and the later you get 
 back the better. One of Hays' men will be your driver 
 
 291
 
 292 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 and he will understand. Can't you do it? You see 
 how much is at stake." 
 
 Guthrie thought for a little while and then answered 
 in the affirmative, although he announced that he would 
 deal with Warner in perfect fairness. A trip together 
 seemed to him entirely legitimate, falling within 
 the limits of moral suasion. "The carriage is 
 waiting at the corner," said Hays, "and you'd better 
 go right away. He'll be rising from the table in five 
 minutes." 
 
 Guthrie had grown up in a stern school, and he wasted 
 no more time in words. Bidding them good-night, he 
 started. The carriage, as Hays had said, was waiting 
 at the door, and Guthrie delayed only to glance up at 
 the driver on the seat. It was Jim Curley, one of Hays' 
 best workers, a man well known to Guthrie for courage 
 and fertile resource. 
 
 Warner's home was not far away, and in less than 
 five minutes Guthrie was there, just as the front door 
 opened, and Warner himself appeared. Guthrie judged 
 that the member intended to go down town and meet 
 O'Hara, and he knew he must act quickly. Behind 
 Warner appeared the face of a woman, that of Mrs. 
 Warner. 
 
 "I was just coming to see you, Mr. Warner," ex- 
 claimed Guthrie, leaping out of the carriage. "I've 
 got something important to say. Get in with me, will 
 you, and we can drive along while we talk." 
 
 Warner hesitated. 
 
 "O'Hara's waiting for me," he said, "and I guess 
 you've talked enough already, Billy." 
 
 Mrs. Warner looked at Guthrie with approval and 
 said:
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 293 
 
 "I'd go with him, Henry, if I were you. Let Mr. 
 O'Hara wait." 
 
 Guthrie inferred that Mrs. Warner did not approve 
 of either O'Hara or her husband's course in the con- 
 vention, and taking advantage of the impression made 
 by her words, he put his hand upon the member's arm 
 and half pulled him into the carriage, saying a polite 
 good evening to Mrs. Warner as he shut the carriage 
 door. 
 
 "All right, driver," he said to Curley, "go ahead 1" 
 
 Curley cracked his whip over two fine horses and they 
 spun along at a great rate through the city and out upon 
 the waterworks road. It was an open carriage, and the 
 fresh breeze created by the rapid motion was wonder- 
 fully pleasant and invigorating after the heat and tur- 
 moil of the day. Warner, who seemed to have fallen 
 into a sort of collapse after a long period of excitement 
 and stimulated strength, leaned back in his seat, closed 
 his eyes, and enjoyed it to the full. As Guthrie looked 
 at his broad red face, the old feeling of mingled con- 
 tempt and pity for this sodden man rose in him, unbid- 
 den. 
 
 It was indeed an evening to lull a tired man this 
 wonderful June dusk that sometimes falls over this city 
 with the scent of roses in the air, and the faint sighing 
 breeze that comes up from a far wilderness, bringing its 
 hint of deep woods and wild grass untrodden by man 
 It is said that all the young couples in this city get en- 
 gaged on such summer evenings as these. 
 
 Guthrie, too, felt the peace of the evening and the 
 night wind's cradle-song. It seemed to him so unfitting 
 a time for the strenuous task that he and his friends had 
 to do. Down the cross-street he saw again the wide
 
 294 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 yellow river now silver under the light of the clear 
 stars, but the green hills on the far shore were hidden 
 in the mists and dusk. 
 
 They were away now from the business part of the 
 city, passing toward the region of smaller houses. The 
 electric lights twinkled at far intervals, and cottage 
 windows already were darkening as the sober inhabitants 
 sought their early beds. They met scarcely a human 
 being; the noise of the city was dead behind them, the 
 wheels of the carriage rolled smoothly over the asphalt, 
 and they heard only the sighing of that glorious June 
 breeze about their ears, making soft harmonies, as if it 
 were playing upon invisible violin strings. 
 
 The houses moved far apart, the asphalt often ran 
 between turfy fields, and off on the left hung the shadow 
 of a forest. They were reaching the country. 
 
 The silent driver on the seat looked back once at his 
 two passengers, but neither Guthrie nor Warner noticed 
 it, so much interested were they in what they were say- 
 ing. The driver was still silent and merely looked 
 straight ahead again, where the loom of a mighty wall 
 arose, a deeper dark against the dusk. 
 
 It was one side of the great reservoir of the water- 
 works, a wall many yards high and a full quarter of a 
 mile long. They were now five miles from the city and 
 this was the turning-back place, but Curley, glancing up 
 at the wall, and then at his absorbed passengers, calmly 
 left the road which ran beside it and turned into a nar- 
 rower road leading toward the South. A wise man was 
 Curley, and he knew his business, which often was to 
 act first and to explain not at all. 
 
 " Why, where are we ?" suddenly asked Warner, look- 
 ing up.
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 295' 
 
 Guthrie glanced about him, and he did not know 
 either. 
 
 "Oh, the driver is taking us along some new road, 
 he replied carelessly and honestly. "I wouldn't bother 
 about it." 
 
 "We must return at once," said Warner decidedly. 
 "Turn around and drive back, and drive back quick 
 
 tool" 
 
 "All right," said Curley in the same indifferent tone, 
 and wheeling his horses he began the return journey in a 
 trot. When he had gone about a mile, he came to a 
 place where the road forked and he took the wrong fork, 
 although neither Guthrie nor Warner knew it, continuing 
 in a trot toward the southeast and away from the city. 
 Guthrie and the member had begun a conversation in 
 regard to the merits or demerits of the fight in the Old 
 Fourth, and again Guthrie was seeking earnestly to con- 
 vert Warner. 
 
 Deeper and deeper they went into the forest, 
 road grew duskier and Warner at last noticed their 
 strange pathway. 
 
 "Why, where are we?" he exclaimed, straightening 
 up in surprise. ''I don't remember ever to have seen 
 this place before. Say, driver, where are you taking 
 
 us?" 
 
 Curley glanced back he was unknown personally 
 to Warner and replied with the phlegmatic calm that 
 had marked him all along: 
 
 "It's just a short cut that I'm taking through 
 woods. You said you were in a hurry and I'm trying 
 to save time." 
 
 "Oh! it's all right then," said Warner, and 
 lapsed again into talk and content.
 
 296 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Another half-hour passed, and the road led among 
 small hills, but still in dense forest, the way darkened 
 by overhanging boughs, and the misty bars of moonlight 
 becoming less numerous. Then Warner's mind turned 
 again to the subject of the return, and taking out his 
 watch he looked at it with alarm. 
 
 "See here," he exclaimed to the driver, "at this rate 
 we won't get home before midnight. You told me that 
 you were taking a short cut, and if this is the short one 
 I wonder what the long one can be." 
 
 The driver with a pull upon the lines stopped the 
 horses and then turned a calm, unruffled countenance 
 to Warner. 
 
 "I am sorry to tell you," he said, "but we are lost." 
 
 " Lost ? What do you mean ? " asked Warner. 
 
 "It's just as I say," replied Curley easily. "You 
 said you wanted to get back quick, and I was anxious to 
 do it for you. So I took this short cut across the hills, 
 thinking it would be dead easy, but I've got so tangled 
 up here in the woods that I don't know where I am. It 
 jars me to have to confess it, but it's so, and I'll have to 
 call on one of you gents to show the way out." 
 
 Guthrie observed Curley closely, and such was the 
 man's earnestness of tone that he was unable to decide 
 about him. But Warner had no doubts. Nevertheless 
 he was aghast; and Guthrie, too, was uneasy. 
 
 "Billy, do you know the way out?" cried Warner. 
 
 Guthrie looked anxiously at the dark woods, just as 
 Warner had done, and was forced to shake his head in 
 the negative. 
 
 "We've got to figure on it somehow or other, Mr. 
 Warner," he said. 
 
 After holding a short conference, they decided that it
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 297 
 
 would be better to turn back, and they drove over their 
 own tracks at a brisk pace. But there was also a fork 
 in this road on the return journey, and the cabman again 
 took the wrong fork, driving into it with such speed and 
 certainty that neither Guthrie or Warner ever doubted 
 for a moment that it was the right one. 
 
 The road now led directly away from the city and still 
 passed through a deep forest. 
 
 The night, far advanced, darkened considerably, 
 the moon being hid most of the time by shifting clouds, 
 while the road, as before, was overshadowed by the long 
 boughs and dense foliage of the trees. 
 
 They ceased now to talk as they drove slowly on, and 
 a certain awe laid hold of Guthrie, who had never before 
 been lost in the forest in the night. The silence was so 
 deep, save for a moaning of the wind through the leaves 
 and the far hoot of an owl, that it oppressed heart and 
 brain alike. The giant tree-trunks marched by in 
 ordered rows like phantoms of the dusk, and here and 
 there a knot-hole or a convolution of the bark was dis- 
 torted into a mocking face like a ghostly light. The 
 boughs, too, waved at him as if deriding him, and 
 sometimes a soft and leaf-covered twig switching across 
 his face as he passed made him quiver. 
 
 The gloom and immensity of the wilderness had taken 
 hold of Guthrie as it takes hold of many in its depths, 
 although he was not fifteen miles from a city of 200,000 
 inhabitants. 
 
 The driver suddenly started in his seat, although 
 neither Guthrie nor Warner noticed the movement, and 
 bent his head a little aside in the attitude of one who 
 listens intently. 
 
 He listened for a full minute. Then he straightened
 
 298 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 himself up in his seat and from him burst one sharp, 
 sibilant exclamation: 
 
 "Gee!" 
 
 At the same moment his cigar was dashed from his 
 teeth and the burning end struck one of the horses on 
 the back. The animal neighed, reared, and then draw- 
 ing his mate with him, ran away down the smooth, hard 
 road. Curley swore, set his shoulders as one does when 
 he pulls hard, but the lines hung loose over the backs of 
 his horses. 
 
 Both Guthrie and Warner were much startled at this 
 sudden action of the horses, which threw them violently 
 against the carriage, although the soft cushions saved 
 them from bruises. 
 
 "What's the matter?" exclaimed Guthrie to the 
 driver. 
 
 Curley did not look back. He was too busy for that, 
 but he shot over his shoulder in response just two illu- 
 minating words: "Running away!" 
 
 The country now began to open out somewhat, the 
 trees moved farther apart, and the filtering bands of 
 moonlight grew broader. 
 
 On they sped, the carriage swinging from side to side 
 and half bounding over the rough places, but under 
 Curley's sure guidance remaining in the centre of the 
 road, That worthy never ceased for a moment the 
 peculiar see-saw motion so irritating to the mouth of a 
 horse. 
 
 It was like a race, with the cool night air fresh on their 
 faces, the trees running in the other direction, and the 
 regular beat of the horses' feet on the smooth, gravelled 
 road making a harmonious sound. Once, at the 
 top of a rise, the driver bent his right ear down again as
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 
 
 if he were listening, and then that look of apprehension 
 came over his face a second time. When he straightened 
 up a little, his horses were going faster than ever. 
 
 It seemed to Guthrie as they passed down the slight 
 slope and into the level beyond that he, too, heard a 
 faint, far noise behind them, a sound like the echo of the 
 beat of their own horses' feet; and an echo he thought 
 it was at first, but it grew too distinct by and by it had 
 about it too much of solid reality to be an echo, and 
 when they reached soon the crest of another little rise, 
 he looked back again. 
 
 Guthrie almost started from his seat in surprise at 
 what he saw. There on the summit of the swell behind 
 them, the one they had just left, focussed in the moon- 
 light was another carriage, and it, too, had been driven 
 hot and fast, for even at the distance Guthrie could see 
 the horses in a lather. 
 
 But it was not the horses, it was the man behind them 
 on the seat beside the driver who interested Guthrie. 
 The face of this man was red like the setting sun, and 
 tipped low down on his forehead was a silk hat, so 
 glossy that it gleamed in the moonlight. Guthrie 
 believed he would have known that face and figure 
 even were there no moonlight. It was O'Hara. The 
 doubts that had been forming in Guthrie's mind became 
 almost a certainty, but he did not know what to do. 
 Meanwhile their carriage sped on. 
 
 They topped another swell presently, and Guthrie 
 again glanced back. Great was his joy despite himself, 
 when he did not see O'Hara, and however attentively 
 he listened, he failed to hear the beat of pursuing hoofs. 
 
 Curley, too, who had a keener or better trained ear 
 than Guthrie, ceased to hear the sounds of pursuit, and
 
 300 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 gradually slackened the speed of his horses. He also 
 turned them into another by-road and presently brought 
 them down to a walk. At last he stopped the carriage 
 in the centre of a wide, open space, and springing out, 
 began to soothe the horses and rub them down with 
 great care. 
 
 Warner, who seemed to be somewhat carried away 
 by the rapid swing of events, the knowledge of pursuit 
 not having come to his heavy understanding, opened 
 his watch. 
 
 "Billy," he said to Guthrie, "do you know what time 
 it is?" 
 
 "No, and I couldn't guess either." 
 
 "It's two o'clock in the morning. I wonder what 
 O'Hara thinks has become of me!" 
 
 "We must let the horses rest at least half an hour 
 longer," said Curley, "because they are dead beat, I tell 
 you." 
 
 At the end of that time they started again, Guthrie 
 and Curley walking beside the carriage and Warner 
 riding in it. 
 
 They went on, perhaps three-quarters of an hour in 
 this manner, and saw no sign of a human habitation. 
 Warner fell asleep, and Guthrie and Curley began to 
 look around for a farm-house, where they might find 
 breakfast, as day was approaching. 
 
 Guthrie was growing cold and weak. The long 
 strain and the lack of rest and food were telling even 
 upon one so young and vigorous. Moreover, in the 
 chilly dawn chilly despite the June morning, the 
 comic element of the situation passed from him and now 
 he saw only the tragic. He was a man of honourable 
 and high motives, one who loved frank and open deal-
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 301 
 
 ing and who disliked secret and underground methods. 
 When he took Warner driving the evening before, it was 
 his purpose merely to reason with him and to keep him 
 as long as possible away from the evil influence of 
 O'Hara. What had happened since was due to a chain 
 of circumstances and events over whjch he had no con- 
 trol, and he was sincerely sorry that it had happened 
 at all. He would certainly aid Warner as best he could 
 in his effort to get back to the city as soon as possible. 
 At any rate, their present position was not his fault. 
 
 They trudged along, neither Guthrie nor Curley 
 speaking for a while, and a gray tint in the East deep- 
 ened. Then it turned suddenly to flaming gold, and 
 the sun shot up, flooding the heavens with rosy light. 
 The summer morn had come, and after the chill of the 
 long hours before the dawn, the warmth and light were 
 pleasant to Guthrie* 
 
 They saw presently a house amid the fields, a two- 
 story, wooden structure of plain appearance, where 
 they obtained food, and learned that they were at least 
 thirty miles from the city. Willville, on the D. & S., 
 was the nearest railroad station, though there was no 
 train due for the city until 3:30 in the afternoon, and 
 it was more likely to be 4:30, the D. & S. being a 
 second-rate branch road. 
 
 Warner saw no alternative but to go to the railroad 
 station and wait for the train, and he resigned 
 himself with curious facility. The road was now 
 rough, but neither Warner nor Guthrie complained, 
 as they were sustained by recent food and the morning 
 was so fresh and clear. They talked of the convention, 
 and Warner seemed to assume as a matter of course 
 that O'Hara was keeping his name before it. More-
 
 302 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 over, he spoke of drawing votes from Headly and Graves 
 in the course of the balloting. But his talk seemed to 
 Guthrie to lack spirit and fire, as if he did not wholly 
 believe what he was saying, and was talking in order 
 to convince a somewhat incredulous listener himself, 
 Henry Clay Warner. 
 
 They came to an extremely rough place in the road, 
 and Curley picked his way through it. Guthrie was 
 dreaming that is, thinking of things thirty miles away, 
 and he saw vaguely a large log lying diagonally across 
 one-half the width of the road. Curley turned his 
 horses, but not in time; the front wheels hit the log 
 with a heavy jolt, passed over it and came down again 
 on the other side with a jolt yet heavier. Warner and 
 Guthrie felt the spring of the carriage smash under 
 them with the force of the impact. 
 
 "The carriage has broken down," said Curley, 
 "and it's for you gents to pay me." 
 
 "We'll talk about that later," replied Warner. 
 "What I want to know now is how we are to get to 
 Willville." 
 
 "Walk!" said Curley sententiously and impolitely. 
 
 Warner sighed deeply. He was a slothful man and 
 disliked physical exercise, but no freedom of choice 
 was left to him. 
 
 "Luck with you, gents," called Curley with grim 
 humour. "I'll come on behind with the carriage." 
 
 Guthrie may forget the trials of that walk, but 
 Warner never will. It gave him more muscular ex- 
 ercise than he had known since he was a boy, and as 
 the afternoon grew warm and the sun shone brightly 
 he panted and perspired. They saw at last from the 
 top of a hill a church spire in the far distance.
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 303 
 
 "Willville!" exclaimed Warner joyfully. 
 
 A long, shrill, but lonesome note rose on the air, 
 and assailed their ears. They gazed at each other 
 in dismay. 
 
 "It's the 3:30!" gasped Warner, "and it's on time!" 
 
 The noise of the distant train ceased for about a 
 minute, indicating the stop at Willville, then began 
 again and was lost at last in the distance. They had 
 missed the 3:30. 
 
 Warner was the first to recover from the disappoint- 
 ment, and Guthrie observed with interest the curious 
 development of his character. He had always known 
 that Warner was a coarse man one in whom the finer 
 instincts were lacking. Mental excitement caused 
 him to deteriorate, but a physical strain had the re- 
 verse effect. Put now next to the soil, with an en- 
 forced absence from the stimulants that he loved, 
 Warner seemed to improve like an animal of a differ- 
 ent order returned to his natural state. 
 
 "Hey, you fellers, why ain't you pullin' on for that 
 train?" 
 
 It was Curley coming over the brow of the hill, the 
 horses with the carriage following slowly. 
 
 "The 3:30 passed half an hour ago," replied Warner. 
 
 Then, the procession took up its line of march again, 
 and passed on, Warner leading, Guthrie next, and 
 after him Curley, who was followed by the horses and 
 the carriage. Thus they passed into the village amid 
 the deep and outspoken curiosity of the population, 
 a curiosity to which neither Warner nor Guthrie vouch- 
 safed an answer whatever Curley may have done. 
 
 Warner and Guthrie went first to the station and 
 inquired about the next train to the city. There was
 
 304 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 an accommodation freight at 8:30, very slow, taking 
 two hours for the thirty miles to the city, but it would 
 get them there at last, if they only had patience 
 plenty of patience. 
 
 "Patience is about all I've got left," said Warner. 
 
 "We can telegraph, telling our people where we 
 are," said Guthrie, "and you can wire, too, your 
 instructions to your delegation in the convention." 
 
 "Billy," said Warner emphatically, "not a word 
 of mine shall touch a telegraph wire. Don't you 
 think I'm going to wire to that convention that I'm 
 stuck out here in the woods! Why it would take a 
 message as long as a page of the Times to explain it 
 all, and anything less would be worse than nothing. 
 No, sir, they shan't know anything at all until they see 
 Henry Clay Warner walk into the convention hall, 
 and then I'll explain if I feel like it." 
 
 And he swaggered with a brief return of his old 
 importance. As they had plenty of time ahead, Guth- 
 rie proposed that they go to the hotel and get a bath, 
 shave, and dinner, and return to the city at least look- 
 ing like gentlemen and Christians. They did all 
 three to the great improvement alike of appearance 
 and physical feeling, Warner growing positively ami- 
 able over his dinner, and when the coffee was finished 
 he suggested that they sit on the hotel porch a while 
 in the cool of the evening after the country custom. 
 
 Here they tilted back chairs, lighted cigars, and a 
 deep, soothing content stole over both. Warner in 
 particular felt that to enjoy rest, it was necessary to 
 have worked, and to have worked hard. 
 
 " Billy," he said in a slow, happy tone, " I am almost 
 glad to be away from the convention at this time. But
 
 THE SECRETS OF A NIGHT 305 
 
 look yonderl Unless I'm mightily mistaken ours 
 isn't the only broken-down carriage coining into town 
 to-day!" 
 
 Down the road by which they had entered Willville 
 an hour ago, toiled a slow and melancholy procession. 
 A driver walked on before as Curley had done, but 
 with drooping head and slack arms. Behind him 
 came a carriage in a woeful plight, deep in dirt, sagging 
 on broken springs, and drawn by horses which drooped 
 their heads like the driver, seeming to have lost all 
 their ambition and interest in life. In it sat a drooping 
 man, and the man was Timothy O'Hara, dusty, lank- 
 jawed, pale, disconsolate, and angry, closing in now 
 on what had been hitherto a hopeless quest. 
 
 The carriage approached, and O'Hara raising the 
 head beneath the hat looked up. His eyes blazed, 
 and he leaped out of the carriage. Three steps took 
 him to the porch, and another took him inside it. In 
 that sudden moment of passion all his true nature 
 came out, and, shaking his fist in Warner's face, be 
 shouted: 
 
 "What do you mean by running away from me 
 from me, your only friend, the man that's made you ? 
 I say, what do you mean by it, Hank Warner?" 
 
 The Honourable Henry Clay Warner had not been 
 called "Hank" since he was a boy, and Guthrie, in 
 considering the scene afterward, was quite sure that 
 the application of the term "Hank" was more offen- 
 sive than anything else O'Hara said. It was here an 
 expression of contempt, so intended and so received. 
 Warner had all the fighting qualities of his State, 
 and he would never stand personal abuse for a moment 
 Moreover, he had the consciousness of innocence, and
 
 306 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 springing to his feet he retorted in a manner not less 
 warlike than O'Hara's own. But O'Hara continued 
 with angry charges. 
 
 Guthrie at length felt that it was time to interfere, 
 and he put his hand upon Warner's arm with a quiet : 
 "Come away, Mr. Warner, I would not quarrel with 
 such a man. He is beneath you ! " 
 
 Warner, taking his advice, turned on his heel, and 
 went to the other end of the porch with Guthrie. 
 O'Hara glared fiercely after them a moment or two, 
 and then went into the bar-room. 
 
 The train was at the station in a few minutes, and War- 
 ner and Guthrie, boarding it, took a seat at the far end of 
 the single passenger car attached to the freight. Guth- 
 rie looked back, and saw O'Hara, still beneath the 
 crumpled hat, coming aboard. But the Irishman 
 sat in the extreme seat at the other end of the car and 
 gazed sternly out of the window at the trees and fences 
 and houses flitting by. Warner and Guthrie did 
 likewise, and all the time Guthrie was trying to guess 
 what Warner would do, but the member made no sign. 
 
 Thus pursuer and pursued returned to the city.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 THE DEADLOCK 
 
 THE morning of that day had been an uncommon 
 one in the city, its like unknown since the days of the 
 great Civil War when half the people thought one way, 
 and half, the other. It began for most at the breakfast 
 table when the morning papers were served with the 
 toast and coffee, and they read in those printed col- 
 umns the amazing fact that Henry Clay Warner, one 
 of the three candidates for the nomination, and Tim- 
 othy O'Hara, his lieutenant and chief worker, had dis- 
 appeared, leaving not a trace behind. It was added 
 that William Guthrie, the well-known political writer 
 of the Times was gone, too, and he was believed to be 
 with Mr. Warner. 
 
 This was news, news of the deepest and most vital 
 importance, still further complicating the fight in the 
 Old Fourth, and lending to it the sombre colours of 
 mystery and tragedy The telegraph wires had been 
 very busy early in the night, but it was nothing to the 
 burden they were called upon to carry toward morning. 
 
 Clarice Ransome read the account at the breakfast 
 table in the same casual unexpected fashion that other 
 people learned it. But the Times expressed no alarm 
 about Guthrie, because it felt none, and as she pon- 
 dered over it her own apprehension departed. Placed 
 now in an atmosphere of keen political rivalry, and 
 
 307
 
 308 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 possessed of great natural powers, she inferred that 
 there was more behind the curtain than she could see. 
 Yet she would have given much to discover what it all 
 meant, and like others she was filled with a deep and 
 abiding curiosity to know where Warner was and why 
 he had gone. 
 
 Lucy Hastings and Mary Pelham were on the other 
 side of the table, and her glance met theirs. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie will be back in good time," said 
 Lucy Hastings, "I never knew him to fail." 
 
 Mr. Ransome appeared at this moment, being some- 
 what late, and she pushed the papers toward him. 
 He uttered an exclamation of surprise, when he saw 
 the headlines and the pictures, and then he read long 
 with interest. After he finished the newspapers he 
 drank his coffee with deliberation, and putting the cup 
 back in the saucer said' 
 
 "I suppose that young Guthrie is very much mixed 
 up in all this?" 
 
 She answered quietly: 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie is never 'mixed up' in anything." 
 
 Mr. Ransome picked up a newspaper, as if he would 
 read again, and hid a faint smile that curved the cor- 
 ners of his mouth. 
 
 "Well, perhaps I did use rather a rough phrase," 
 he rejoined, "but I didn't mean to attack the young 
 man's character at all. I believe that nothing is to 
 be said against him on that score. Everybody speaks 
 highly of him." 
 
 "They couldn't do anything else," she rejoined 
 spiritedly. 
 
 Mr. Ransome smiled again behind his newspaper. 
 He was not a hard man, and he loved his daughter.
 
 THE DEADLOCK 309 
 
 Many extra chairs were placed back of the regular 
 seats in Music Hall, and all were filled long before the 
 convention was called to order again. Clarice and 
 friends were In a box once more. Mr. Stetson 
 went upon the stage amid a dead silence, and knocked 
 loudly for order. Then Mr. James Bluitt, the member 
 of toe council from the twelfth ward, and an ally of 
 
 Hara s arose and made a fiery speech about the dis- 
 appearance of Warner and O'Hara. It must be ex- 
 plained, he said. 
 
 The day lagged on with idle votes, and still nothing 
 was heard from the three missing men. The conven- 
 tion, not knowing what else to do, adjourned at 
 5 P. M. to reassemble three hours later, and the peo- 
 ple went home to dinner or supper, according to their 
 social stations. 
 
 Among those who wondered about the missing men, 
 as they left the hall, were three besides Clarice, who 
 were thinking far more of Guthrie than of the other 
 two. They were Carton, Mary Pelham, and Senator 
 Pike. 
 
 Carton, aside from the gratitude that he owed him, 
 and which he most willingly acknowledged, had a 
 strong personal attachment for Guthrie, hidden some- 
 times by his naturally cold manner, and now he felt 
 a slight apprehension lest harm had befallen him. 
 But even with Guthrie there for the present, Mary 
 Pelham was always in his thoughts. He had come to 
 the city ostensibly as a looker-on in the great political 
 combat, but in reality it was Mary Pelham that drew 
 him. General and Mrs. Pelham, after his triumphant 
 acquittal, had not discouraged him, and had made 
 some awkward attempts to be polite to him, but his
 
 310 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 feeling against Mary remained for a while, and then 
 gave way to constraint. Each day as he sat near her 
 in the box, he thought she looked beautiful, but very 
 distant, and the heart of the man was lonely. 
 
 The Ransome party usually went home in two car- 
 riages, Clarice or Mr. Ransome assigning them, but 
 now neither did it, thinking perhaps that all was taken 
 for granted, and Senator Pike, Carton, and Miss Pelham 
 found themselves left for the second carriage. The 
 three stood a moment just outside the building, waiting 
 for the crowd to pass. 
 
 "I do not think any harm could have happened to 
 Mr. Guthrie," said Mary Pelham. 
 
 "No," said the Senator, "that boy has a wonderful 
 way of taking care of himself, but it does not equal 
 the way in which he looks out for his friends." 
 
 "That is true," said Carton, "and you and I, Sena- 
 tor, know best of all." 
 
 Even in the dusk Carton saw a benevolent but some- 
 what thoughtful look overspread the lean, angular face 
 of the mountain man. 
 
 "Yes," said the Senator, as if in retrospect, "he was 
 the best friend I have ever had, and as for you, Mr. 
 Carton, he saved you, and then he brought you and 
 your sweetheart there together again, which I know 
 was one of his dearest wishes." 
 
 Carton started and glanced quickly at Mary. A 
 deep blush covered her face. 
 
 "But I will leave you now," said the Senator, "I 
 know that, in such a case as this, two are company and 
 three are none." 
 
 He raised his hat with the formal courtesy usual 
 with him, and was gone, leaving the two together at
 
 THE DEADLOCK 311 
 
 the curb, with the cabman holding the carriage door 
 open for them. Carton never knew whether the Sen- 
 ator spoke from benevolent ignorance or consummate 
 craft, but mechanically he helped Mary into the car- 
 nage, stepped in after her, and then closed the door. 
 The driver cracked his whip and the carriage rumbled 
 away over the granite toward the Ransome home. 
 
 ^ Carton was silent for a moment, but he could hear 
 his own breathing and that of the girl beside him 
 Then he said in a low voice: 
 
 "The Senator made an error, Mary; shall we per- 
 mit it to remain one?" 
 
 There was no answer, but the breathing became 
 more hurried. 
 
 "Mary," said Carton, and his voice was strong with 
 feeling, "people thought me a criminal once!" 
 "I never thought so!" 
 
 "No, I know now that you did not. I was not a 
 criminal, but I am a fool, and I have long been one. 
 But Senator Pike has shown me the way, and I should 
 be a coward if I did not try to tread it. At least, I shall 
 risk my fortune. Mary, forgive all the past and listen 
 to me when I tell you that I love you. Won't you?" 
 "You have more to forgive than I." 
 "It is not so. But love can overlook all. At least, 
 I feel that such as mine ought to win me forgiveness. 
 I love you with all my soul; say that you can return 
 it just a little!" 
 
 "Not just a little, but a good deal!" 
 Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the lips. 
 She blushed deeply, but she had no words of reproof 
 for him. 
 When Mary Pelham returned to the Ransome house,
 
 312 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Clarice met her, and one glance at the vivid eyes and 
 happy face was enough. 
 
 "Oh, Mary," said Clarice, "he has spoken at last!" 
 
 Then the two girls kissed each other. 
 
 They were all very quiet at dinner, and immediately 
 afterward they made ready to attend the convention 
 again, except Mrs. Ransome, who majestically de- 
 clined to be a spectator at such an affair. 
 
 Night came down on the city a hot, troubled, ap- 
 prehensive night, sown with rumors, reports, and 
 threats like dragons' teeth. The eleventh and twelfth 
 wards again marched away from the hall in solid 
 phalanx, dark and ominous, but everybody came back 
 once more at eight o'clock, keyed to the highest point of 
 interest. 
 
 Mr. Stetson took the chair amid a white, expectant 
 silence. It was remarked then by many that the long 
 strain had begun to tell even on his iron powers. 
 A ballot was now ordered and showed no change. 
 
 The hot night dragged on and Mr. Bluitt arose 
 again to relieve himself of the angry thoughts that 
 surged in his brain. His hints of foul play grew 
 broader. Jimmy Warfield, ever an effervescent soul, 
 took fire at the charge, and springing up in his chair 
 he shouted that the convention was tired alike of hint 
 and menace; if the eleventh and twelfth wards had 
 any accusation to make, let them make it now in the 
 face of all men. The decent people of the city were 
 tired of being blackguarded and obstructed by rebels 
 and traitors. 
 
 The convention was in an uproar in an instant. 
 The eleventh and twelfth wards sprang up in a body, 
 hurling epithets from powerful lungs at Warfield and
 
 THE DEADLOCK 313 
 
 all his kind. There was, too, that strange indescriba- 
 ble sound as the whole convention by a single impulse 
 rose to its feet. Some women cried out. Men shouted 
 Order!'' "Order!" "Sit down!" "Sit down'" 
 Fhe chairman, a look of alarm on his face, beat on 
 the table until the head of his gavel flew off, and the 
 whole hall resounded with tumult. 
 
 "Look! look!" cried Clarice in an excited tone, 
 seizrng her father's arm. "Look! there they come!" 
 The whole convention heard that sharp, strained 
 cry, and instantly faced about. 
 
 The three missing men were entering the hall at the 
 same time, Warner and Guthrie through one door, and 
 O'Hara through another. 
 
 All the convention saw in a glance, and the keen- 
 eyed chairman noticed with indescribable relief that 
 Warner and Guthrie were together, and O'Hara alone. 
 The tumult in the hall was not decreased, but it had 
 now another note. It was a roar of mingled relief, 
 curiosity and excitement. The band perched far up 
 in the balcony, suddenly struck up "Johnny comes 
 marching home," and Clarice, and Lucy, and Mary, 
 in the enthusiasm of the moment, waved their hand- 
 kerchiefs repeatedly. Clarice was waving hers for 
 Guthrie, although she was unconscious of it then. 
 
 The tumult suddenly died and was followed by the 
 deep silence of strained waiting. What was Warner 
 going to do ? He and Guthrie presented a sharp con- 
 trast to O'Hara; they were clean-shaven, well-brushed, 
 and trim, having rested and repaired themselves at the 
 hotel at Willville, while O'Hara was still unkempt and 
 unshaven. The silk hat with the cruel rent in it he 
 carried in his hand, his beard was fuzzy, and his clothes
 
 314 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 were all awry. He looked no longer natty, even in the 
 eyes of the eleventh and twelfth wards, but disreputable. 
 
 Warner and Guthrie separated in the centre of the 
 hall, Guthrie going down a side-aisle, and thence 
 through a side-door to the back of the stage, where he 
 slipped quietly into a chair, hidden from notice. War- 
 ner, on the contrary, the focus of all eyes, and conscious 
 of it, continued toward a seat in the centre of the 
 twelfth ward. 
 
 The convention was surprised to see the member 
 looking so jaunty. Both complexion and eyes were 
 clearer, and he held himself with more dignity than 
 usual. But he gave no signs of his intentions, quickly 
 taking his seat, and shaking the numerous hands that 
 were held out to him. 
 
 O'Hara sat down with the eleventh ward, and there 
 he made a sudden change of face. He seemed to 
 awake suddenly to the fact that his angry accusations 
 were injurious to his campaign, and he smoothed out 
 both his clothes and his countenance. He whispered 
 some words to one of his men, and the latter, going 
 over to Warner began to whisper also. Evidently he 
 was opening negotiations for a treaty of peace, and the 
 leaders who saw it from their seats of vantage were 
 alarmed. The whole convention noticed the act also, 
 and there was a loud buzz of comment. 
 
 Guthrie saw it, but just then he paid little attention, 
 as a code of mental telepathy was in perfect operation 
 between him and Clarice. He informed her by means 
 of these silent signals that he was well in both body 
 and mind, that no misfortune whatever had happened 
 to him; that he believed everything was coming out 
 all right, and that she was more beautiful than ever.
 
 THE DEADLOCK 315 
 
 She telegraphed back that she was overjoyed to see 
 him, that she cared nothing for the disappearance or 
 return of either Warner or O'Hara, that she had per- 
 feet confidence in him, and that he was the greatest 
 man m all the world to her. 
 
 Few more satisfactory messages than these have 
 been sent and answered, and they established a per- 
 fect circuit, connecting these two, and wholly ignoring 
 the rest of the convention. 
 
 It was well that the telegraphy was quickly done, 
 Outhne was soon dragged from his seat by eager 
 hands and carried off to one of the little rooms where 
 he told the story of the night to eager listeners. 
 
 Then he went back to the stage and saw Warner 
 still among his friends, whispering to them. Mr. 
 Stetson had ordered another ballot in order to mark 
 time, and the clerk was calling the monotonous roll 
 of the wards. Guthrie took advantage of the lull and 
 went into the box where Clarice sat with her father 
 and friends. He faced Mr. Ransome without trepi- 
 dation, and offered him his hand, which the merchant 
 shook with heartiness. 
 
 [ am glad to see you returned in safety, Mr. 
 Guthrie," he said, "both for your own sake and be- 
 cause you are one of the central figures in a very inter- 
 esting event." 
 
 Clarice's welcome was still conducted through the 
 medium of mental telepathy, but at a much shorter 
 range, and, therefore, with greater effect 
 
 Carton and Mary Pelham were sitting side by side 
 at a corner of the box, a glow of happiness in the eyes 
 of each, and when Guthrie saw, he knew that somehow 
 or other all was now right between them. The "ex-
 
 316 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 plosion," predicted by Jimmy Warfield, had come. 
 "I o awful glad," he said under his breath when he 
 shook hands with Carton, and Carton replied in the 
 same whisper: "Without you it could never have 
 
 k^lr" Ransome and Carton began to talk with each 
 other, and as the fog horn voice of the clerk, dining 
 out the vote, kept the convention occupied Clarice 
 and Guthrie hJ a chance to change the telepathic 
 communication for real words with sound to them^ 
 The others were in the front of the box looking toward 
 the audience, and Clarice and Guthrie were back m 
 the shadow. 
 
 She put her hand in his, a moment. 
 
 "Mr Guthrie," she said, "I do not know where 
 you have been or why you went, but I know it was 
 
 t0 ?uX" ^ said, "I have been on a long 
 journey which I did not mean to take, and I am co 
 fident that if I have done anything at all, it has been 
 
 good." 
 
 Then her eyes met his in supreme trust 
 "I shall tell you all about it to the last detail, whei 
 the convention is over," he added. 
 
 "What is going on there now?" she asked. 
 Mr. Warner has left the hall." 
 
 "No " replied Guthrie, "he has gone into one of the 
 side rooms, and so has O'Hara; it is nothing 
 
 Yet he was troubled. But he did not see what he 
 could do just then, and it was very pleasant there 
 Clarice. He was still under a great strain, tmrty-s 
 hours without sleep, and his whole nervous system 
 keyed to the highest pitch. So he remained talking
 
 THE DEADLOCK 317 
 
 with Clarice, and what was passing in the hall outside 
 their box was a great blur and buzz. But she gave 
 back encouragement to him. Both word and look 
 were alive with it, and for the while he was content. 
 
 Thus time passed easily, how long he did not know 
 until Jimmy Warfield burst into the box, his hair flying, 
 and his face aghast. 
 
 "Come, Billy! Come at once!" he cried, forgetting 
 his courtesy to a lady, which indicated extreme excite- 
 ment on the part of Jimmy Warfield. 
 
 "What's the matter?" exclaimed Guthrie taking 
 alarm. 
 
 "Everything's the matter!" replied Warfield. 
 "O'Hara and those fellows have got hold of Warner 
 again, and you know his weakness well they've 
 played on it and now he's irresponsible, and they 
 are making him say he'll never withdraw. He won't 
 speak to any of us but you. Come at once or every- 
 thing will go to ruin!" 
 
 "Go," added Clarice in a tone low, but none the 
 less emphatic. He glanced once at her and her eyes 
 met his. That command, he saw, was as much for 
 their sakes as the party's, and he hastened at once 
 from the box. 
 
 "In there!" said Warfield, indicating one of the 
 small rooms, and Guthrie, promptly pushing open the 
 door, entered alone. 
 
 It was indeed a pitiful spectacle that saluted him in 
 the little room. Warner, whatever his moral growth, 
 and whatever his intentions may have been during 
 that return journey, had fallen again into the han.is 
 of the toiler. O'Hara, Bluitt, and Pursley had re- 
 turned to the charge, and they knew the breach in the
 
 318 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 fortifications. Warner had yielded to temptation, and 
 now he was lying upon a sofa, his face inflamed, and 
 his eye wild, while he babbled of a long ride through 
 dark woods and the fact that he, Henry Clay Warner, 
 was the friend of the people and would defend them 
 forever. He was in the race to stay. O'Hara, Bluitt, 
 and Pursley stood by in silence, while a gigantic black- 
 smith, one Connell, leaned against the wall, his face 
 expressionless. 
 
 Frowning looks met Guthrie as he entered, but 
 disregarding them he went straight to Warner. 
 
 "Hello, Billy! They didn't lose us did they?" 
 exclaimed the member, holding out his hand and 
 laughing foolishly. 
 
 "No, but I wish they had!" replied Guthrie from 
 the bottom of his heart. "Mr. Warner, come with 
 me. These are no friends of yours." 
 
 "See here, young man," cried O'Hara threaten- 
 ingly, "that sort of talk don't go with us any longer. 
 Now you clear out, and be quick about it!" 
 
 The crowd gave forth a menacing growl, but sudden 
 intervention came, and it was the blacksmith, Connell, 
 who furnished it. 
 
 "Let the boy have his talk with Mr. Warner," he 
 said. "This is a free country, and if he wants to say 
 anything, he's got the right to say it." 
 
 Two or three others indorsed Council's emphatic 
 words, and O'Hara and Bluitt hesitated. They were 
 confronted by a rebellion in their own ranks, and they 
 neither liked it nor knew exactly how to meet it. See- 
 ing his opportunity, Guthrie assailed Warner fiercely 
 with unanswerable arguments. He knew that he had 
 a power over the man a power increased by their
 
 THE DEADLOCK 319 
 
 comradeship in the woods, and while O'Hara, Bluitt 
 and Pursley wrangled with Connell and his friends' 
 he pursued the member with all the energy needed 
 for a last and desperate chance. 
 
 Meanwhile the convention was again in a turmoil 
 
 The departure of Warner and O'Hara from the floor had 
 
 been viewed with interest by all and suspicion by many. 
 
 A rumour-one of those rumours that start no one 
 
 knows how, and gain colour and strength as they go, 
 
 spread through the hall, and was believed by nearly 
 
 everybody. It said that Warner had promised to 
 
 withdraw, that he had told Billy Guthrie so, that 
 
 3'Hara, Bluitt, and Pursley were now trying to make 
 
 him take back the promise. 
 
 This rumour, winged and ominous, reached the 
 eleventh and twelfth ward delegates, who yet remained 
 in their seats, and they shifted their feet uneasily. 
 They did not know whether to believe or disbelieve, 
 but they were bound to admit that they were shaken. 
 They had stood in close phalanx a long time, but the 
 long doubt, the heat and the heavy pressure from 
 without disconcerted them. They looked up at the 
 white glare of the electric lights, and they listened to 
 the buzzing of the tiny flies, but they found no answer 
 in either. A bell in a church spire, not far away, tolled 
 midnight. 
 
 The rumour continued to grow and took on new 
 colours. It was said that Warner had collapsed sud- 
 denly, overpowered by hardships during that long and 
 mysterious absence, but Billy Guthrie knew what he 
 wanted to say. A sudden cry of "Guthrie I" arose, 
 and it was taken up and repeated till it became insis- 
 tent. "Guthrie!" "Guthrie!" "Guthrie!" rang
 
 320 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 through the hall, a chorus rising and falling like a 
 wave, but never stopping. 
 
 Clarice was alarmed at first when she heard the cry. 
 She did not know why they should call for Guthrie, 
 and she felt that they had some accusation against him. 
 
 Louder and more insistent grew the cry for Guthrie, 
 but neither he nor O'Hara, nor Bluitt, nor Pursley 
 reappeared, although minute after minute passed until 
 they made an hour. But nobody left the convention, 
 and still they shouted for Guthrie.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 
 
 THE convention had reached an impassable barrier. 
 There was no doubt of it, and the fact was apparent 
 even to the youngest of the audience. It needed no 
 words to tell it; the "feel" of it was in the air. The 
 hall was closer and hotter than ever, and the electric 
 lights glared with a searching cruel, white light Down 
 in the body of the hall the delegates showed all the 
 marks of a long, fierce, and bitter battle. Their eyes 
 were red and so were their eyelids. Their faces were 
 drawn, and disclosed new wrinkles, their hair was di- 
 shevelled, and every collar was limp. The angry, down- 
 ward turn of the lips showed, too, that they would not 
 stand much more. The cry for Guthrie'was, there- 
 fore, a sort of relief perhaps the last left to them, and 
 it was taken up and repeated by all, swelling continually. 
 But Headly and Graves had quite reached the end 
 of their patience. They were in open and unquelled 
 rebellion, and in a side room opposite the one in which 
 Guthrie and Warner and O'Hara were talking they 
 were telling the leaders that the time for them to act 
 had come, and no further excuse for delay would suffice. 
 It was now past one o'clock in the morning, a ballot 
 must be ordered, and after that Warner must be declared 
 out of the race. Nothing that the leaders said could 
 soothe two angry men or extend their patience. 
 
 321
 
 322 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 Meanwhile the convention still stamped the floor 
 and roared for Guthrie, without knowing just why it 
 called him. 
 
 But Guthrie, engrossed in a hard task behind closed 
 doors, did not hear the cry. Again it was a struggle 
 between him and O'Hara for Warner, with Bluitt and 
 Pursley actively seconding O'Hara, and the black- 
 smith, Connell, inclining to Guthrie's side. Even in 
 those moments of excitement and haste this psychologi- 
 cal aspect appealed to Guthrie; it was a combat between 
 the good and evil in Warner, and, for the present, the 
 fight seemed to be waged on even terms. Again and 
 again the man wavered; now he was ready to go and 
 announce to the convention that he would withdraw, 
 and then he was equally ready with his old assertion: 
 "I am in the fight to stay." 
 
 The struggle across the hall with Headly and Graves 
 was equal to this in fire and intensity, but it lacked its 
 dramatic phases, and there was less at stake. Warner 
 now and then got upon his feet and walked, or rather 
 staggered, across the room, and then back and forth, 
 until he was tired, after which he would fall upon the 
 sofa again. He wanted, too, at times to declaim upon 
 his wrongs, and the unfairness of the leaders toward 
 him, but he never varied in his esteem and liking for 
 Guthrie, whom he frequently called his "good friend," 
 before O'Hara and Bluitt themselves. 
 
 Pursley presently slipped out and returned in a few 
 moments with a brimming cocktail. " Here, Mr. War- 
 ner," he said, "drink this; it will refresh you and 
 clear you mind." Warner swallowed it instantly, and 
 then under the influence of the potent fire grew more 
 belligerent.
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 323 
 
 "Billy," he exclaimed, waving his hands in an ora- 
 torical manner, "I am in the fight to stay. Go back 
 and tell them that I shall never withdraw I" 
 
 Then he fell exhausted by his effort, and Guthrie 
 suddenly losing hope, turned away in despair. Was 
 all his work to come to this miserable end ? Nor will 
 he ever forget the sneering look of triumph on the 
 faces of Warner and Bluitt. With his hand on the 
 door-knob he could not withhold a farewell shot. 
 
 "Mr. Warner," he said, "I think you will live to be 
 a better man than you are at this moment." 
 
 Then stepping out he closed the door and entered 
 the narrow aisle leading to the stage. He paused 
 there a moment, his face suddenly growing pale and 
 the blood leaping up from his heart. It was the sound 
 of his own name repeated by thousands of voices that 
 startled him and held him to the spot.' It is a thing 
 that has a marvellous effect upon a man when he hears 
 it for the first time, touching new pulses and arousing 
 new emotions, and Guthrie for a moment trembled. 
 Nor could he understand this cry, why it had begun, 
 or why it continued. 
 
 He stood there, still hesitating, a solitary figure in 
 the dusky little aisle, while the great audience without 
 still roared his name. 
 
 As he stood listening two figures hastened to him. 
 They were Jimmy Warfield and Connell, and Guthrie 
 forgot to be surprised at seeing them together. 
 
 "Billy," exclaimed Warfield, "he'll withdraw! He'll 
 withdraw ! He takes it all back ! Ask Connell here if it 
 isn't so!" 
 
 Billy looked at Connell and the big blacksmith 
 nodded his head. There was started afterward, no
 
 324 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 one knows how, a rumour that Warner later on asked 
 Connell just when he gave him that message, but it has 
 never been verified. Guthrie, however, was not 
 thinking then of such questions as the manner and 
 origin of the message, but of its import. He felt as if 
 a mighty and crushing weight had been lifted, and for 
 a moment he felt himself on the verge of collapse. The 
 triumph had come so unexpectedly that he could hardly 
 believe it, and he remained speechless a few seconds, 
 while the sound of his own name still thundered in his 
 ears. 
 
 "Does he mean it? Does he really mean it?" he 
 asked at last. 
 
 " Yes," replied Warfield, and the blacksmith nodded. 
 
 " Then, for God's sake bring him on at once and let 
 him make his speech of withdrawal. The convention 
 can't hold together much longer!" 
 
 He was looking down the narrow aisle toward the 
 stage. He saw that Mr. Stetson had temporarily 
 abdicated the chair in favour of another man, and was 
 coming toward him, while over and beyond the 
 head of the editor he saw a cross-section of the great 
 audience hot, impatient, angry, and making much 
 noise. 
 
 "We must get Warner on at once," he repeated 
 half mechanically. 
 
 "He can't come," replied Warfield significantly. 
 "He's sick, don't you know? He can't stand up and 
 he says he won't face an audience now!" 
 
 The big blacksmith nodded again. 
 
 "Then what's to be done?" cried Guthrie. 
 
 "Why, you must speak for him," replied Warfield. 
 "He says you are to do it, that you have a speech for him
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 325 
 
 and somebody has told the audience, too. Don't 
 you hear 'em shouting your name!" 
 
 The chairman reached Guthrie at that moment, and 
 at once grasped the full import of the talk. 
 
 "Come Billy! Come!" he cried, "you must go on 
 instantly." 
 
 "But I can't make a speech!" exclaimed Guthrie. 
 "You can!" 
 
 "But I haven't any to make!" 
 "That speech you wrote for Warner! The one 
 you recited for me in my office! Hurry! The people 
 will tear the house down, if you don't come!" 
 
 Guthrie still hesitated, overcome by a sudden and 
 great terror. 
 
 "The fate of the Old Fourth now depends on you 
 alone," shouted the Chairman in his ear. 
 
 It was a cry for help, that touched the inmost fibres 
 of Guthrie's being, one to which he never failed to re- 
 spond, and he took a step forward. Others came 
 .crowding behind him, Mr. Stetson, Warfield, 
 Grayson, Hays, and so many more that in a 
 moment he found himself on the stage, face to the 
 audience. 
 
 Then that great cry of "Guthrie!" "Guthrie!" 
 rolling, insistent, ever-growing ceased so suddenly 
 that the silence following it, was deathly and painful. 
 Guthrie was white to the lips, and he felt every nerve 
 in him trembling, but he walked to the centre of the 
 stage, swaying slightly. 
 
 Not a thought would come, his tongue lay dry in his 
 mouth, and before his eyes there was a blur and a haze, 
 in which thousands of upturned, expectant faces 
 melted into a great, threatening human cloud. Then
 
 326 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 his gaze wandered to one side and there he saw her in 
 the box, not in a cloud nor in a haze, a flushed and 
 beautiful face, and two luminous eyes that met his and 
 said: "I know you cannot fail!" 
 
 Then he turned again to that mighty curve of human 
 faces, rising before him, row on row, every pair of eyes 
 bent upon him. The silence in the hall was yet deathly 
 and painful. A sheet of paper was heard fluttering to 
 the floor. 
 
 Then a spark leaped up suddenly in Guthrie's 
 breast and burst into a flame. The blood came flush- 
 ing to his face, and with it a giant courage that held 
 him in its grasp. The mist and the haze floated away, 
 and the faces still rose before him, row on row, but 
 beckoning and friendly now. All the thoughts, all the 
 ideas that had been growing in his brain all these years 
 crowded for utterance, and the words rushed to the 
 tip of his tongue. 
 
 He began to speak, at first in a voice nervous 
 and trembling a little, but soon gaining volume and 
 decision, until its rich tones filled every corner of the 
 great hall. He began with the speech that he had 
 written for Warner, the renunciation, the sacrifice of 
 self for party, and the general good, changing from 
 the first to the third person, but somehow Warner 
 soon glided from his scheme of things. He forgot all 
 about the red-faced man on the sofa in the little room, 
 and his veering to and fro as the wind blew all about 
 the squalid struggle with Headly and Graves on the 
 other side of the hall, and remembered only his con- 
 ception of public life and public duty. He was still 
 within the lines of the speech that he had written, but 
 it no longer had a personal and particular application.
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 327 
 
 He was speaking from the heart, and the words came 
 fast but in orderly sequence. 
 
 He looked down once at the Chairman, who 
 had resumed his seat, and whose eyes met his 
 in a fixed, admiring gaze, then his look passed 
 on and met another pair of eyes in a box, softer, more 
 luminous, and shining now with absolute faith 
 and joy. 
 
 Guthrie felt a curious exaltation. Timid at first 
 he has now absolute ease and confidence. He 
 was a musician who knew his instrument, and there 
 before him was that instrument, the audience. He 
 noted then how the look upon that mighty curve of 
 faces changed, as he willed that it should change, how 
 it expressed joy, or sadness, or anger, as he touched 
 the keys. 
 
 And as he spoke the deep, intense, rapt silence of 
 the audience continued. 
 Something wonderful was happening. 
 And everbody in that great crowd knew it. 
 They knew that an orator of the first rank, a states- 
 man and a man of genius had been disclosed suddenly 
 to them. The form of the man on the stage seemed 
 to them to grow, his eyes were alight, his face inspired, 
 the deep rich tones of his voice filled their ears, and his 
 words appealed alike to head and heart. Many of 
 them began to think of an earlier day, when a man of 
 their State was the first in the Union, one upon whose 
 words the nation hung, and now they foresaw that the 
 day had come back again and the great man's successor 
 stood before them. 
 
 Guthrie spoke on, gathering power as he went. 
 The thoughts and the aspirations of his boyhood,
 
 328 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 his youth, and his young manhood were finding vent, 
 and he rejoiced like a strong man in his strength and 
 skill. 
 
 New thoughts came crowding upon each other, and 
 all were fresh, original, phrased in striking language, 
 and delivered in a compelling voice. It was a speech, 
 too, on a new plane, something higher and loftier than 
 the ordinary, something that took the listeners out of 
 themselves, something that made them think now of 
 better things. 
 
 Guthrie looked once down toward the eleventh and 
 twelfth wards, and he saw the dense cohorts of the 
 rebels, their faces eager and bent forward like the rest. 
 And he saw, too, in the very centre of the group, the 
 red and startled face of Warner, and beside him the 
 broad features of the blacksmith, Connell. He did 
 not know how they had come there, and it was not for 
 him to wonder then. But he knew that he held all 
 under his spell, the eleventh and twelfth wards with 
 the others. 
 
 He painted for them new ideals, he inspired them 
 with a sense of new duties, he showed a contempt of 
 sordid party squabbles, he made them look beyond the 
 narrow confines of the Old Fourth District, however 
 glorious it might be, toward the affairs of the Union 
 and the world. His were the views of a true states- 
 man one who did not build merely for to-day, but 
 for time, one who was not seeking personal advantage, 
 but the good of all. 
 
 And they listened and believed. The hour and the 
 man, so often quoted, and so often quoted falsely, had 
 come together this time in truth and reality, and 
 every one knew it. In the moment of doubt, anger,
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 329 
 
 and despair, he had appeared and involuntarily all 
 turned to him, as the compass turns to the pole. 
 
 Clarice in her box listened with wet eyes and over- 
 flowing heart. She had long believed in him, and now 
 all that she had believed, and more, was coming true. 
 She looked up at her uncle, who kept his eyes fixed on 
 Guthrie, and then at her father, who was leaning for- 
 ward now, his hands on the edge of the box, and lis- 
 tening with the air of a man who did not care what 
 came afterward. The feeling of triumph deepened, 
 and when she looked out again at the great audience, 
 held by the magician's spell, her heart was filled with 
 pride and exultation. 
 
 The clock in the church steeple boomed two o'clock, 
 but no one noticed. It was hotter than ever in the 
 hall, long crowded by the multitude, and the thrice- 
 breathed air grew thicker and thicker, but no one 
 noticed it. Behind Guthrie at the press tables, one of 
 which he had so lately left, the reporters were writing 
 for dear life, and noiseless messenger boys were slip- 
 ping away to the telegraph offices with page after page 
 of the most sensational speech of the decade, Again 
 the wires were clicking industriously with the news 
 from the fight in the Old Fourth, but it was news of 
 another kind. Despatch after despatch was sent to 
 the great newspaper offices in New York and Boston, 
 and Chicago, and elsewhere, all foreshadowing the 
 end, all foreshadowing it in the same way. "What 
 a pity we haven't his picture nowl" more than one 
 shirt-sleeved night editor said. 
 
 But Guthrie unconscious of all the wires that he 
 had set to talking, spoke on, eye and mind fixed on 
 that political ideal which he had so often imagined
 
 330 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 for himself, and down there among the rebel delegates, 
 Warner, still red-faced and startled, never moved nor 
 said a word. 
 
 Guthrie was still playing on the great instrument, 
 his audience, and his hand was the hand of a master. 
 He tore the secrets out of their hearts, there was no 
 emotion they could feel that he did not arouse; they 
 saw white or they saw black, as he pleased, but always 
 he led them on to higher thoughts and higher ideals 
 than those of every day. They, too, forgot the hot 
 and crowded hall, the stifling air, the glaring electirc 
 lights, and followed him into loftier and purer regions. 
 
 Clarice alone in all that multitude was able to take 
 her eyes from the orator, and it was because she loved 
 him best. Great as was his speech, the man was more 
 to her, and in that hour of her supreme joy and triumph 
 she looked to see its effect upon others. The Chairman, 
 an uncommon man himself, still had his eyes fixed on 
 the speaker's face, her uncle and her father, Mr. Car- 
 ton, and Mr. Pike did not move, nor did Warner, the 
 rebel, the irreconcilable, and O'Hara himself was 
 crushed down in his seat, anger, fear, and admiration 
 struggling on his face which was always turned toward 
 Guthrie. 
 
 Guthrie spoke on and on. The fountain of speech 
 had been unloosed suddenly in him, and it came spark- 
 ling in all its vigour and freshness. The crowd hung 
 on every word. There was the faint rustle of a skirt 
 now and then, the soft, sighing sound of the painted 
 fans as they moved slowly, and the deep drawn ah! 
 of some one stirred to new emotion, but no other sound. 
 Golden speech had indeed come back to earth for them, 
 and they were held by its spell. The night grew closer
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 331 
 
 and hotter, and the heavy air hung heavier in the hall, 
 but they noticed it not; they were seeing new scenes, 
 thinking fresh thoughts, as the orator led them into 
 purer regions, free from the mean and sordid aspects of 
 common life. 
 
 It was the very boldness and loftiness of Guthrie's 
 ideal that charmed the people so much. He dared to 
 speak for the right, the best in all things, he appealed 
 to the good instinct in every one, and it came so spon- 
 taneously, so flowingly, ringing so clearly with the 
 truth, and clothed in such beautiful words that it car- 
 ried conviction to the dullest. There was none who 
 could not understand him, there was none to whom 
 he did not make an appeal, and there was none whom 
 he did not carry with him into that higher region 
 where one can think only good thoughts. 
 
 He, too, was borne up by a mental exhilaration. 
 The words came of their own accord it seemed to 
 him that he was merely speaking them, an organ upon 
 which some one was playing he used few gestures, 
 and his face was still pale, but his eyes were alive. 
 Thoughts of long ago, illustrations forgotten until 
 then, came crowding for utterance, and always he had 
 the right words and the right way to say them. The 
 great men of the convention those who had spoken in 
 its beginning, leaned forward like the others, and let its 
 music and logic pervade them. They knew, like the 
 crowd, that here was one of golden speech, and they 
 knew, too, it was a gift direct from the gods: an orator, 
 like a poet born, not made. 
 
 The reporters wrote on and on, and the telegraph 
 boys still slipped from the hall with sheet after sheet 
 of the speech, but no voice was heard save Guthrie's
 
 332 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 as he spoke of his ideal-the ideal public life, and the 
 ideal people the two were dependent on each other, 
 they went hand in hand, he said. And the crowd 
 hearing, believed. They could not resist the logic of 
 that voice and manner; what he said to them was 
 true, because it was the truth, and because he said it. 
 The end came now, the last of the golden word; 
 was spoken, the orator made a brief bow, and turned 
 from the stage. For a few moments the spell lingered 
 and the silence continued. Then the long-pent emo- 
 tion and delight of the audience burst forth, and 
 storm of cheers swelled and roared against the roof. 
 Again that powerful and insistent cry, 
 "Guthrie!" was taken up and every one in the 
 vention sprang to his feet. 
 
 It was an emotional crowd, keyed to a high pitch by 
 a long strain of doubt and excitement, and now it broke 
 bounds. Handkerchiefs were waved like the flutter- 
 ing of a snow-storm, and the shifting fans glittered 
 like prisms of many colours. Again and again the 
 applause rose and swelled like waves of the sea, but 
 Guthrie sat at his desk, limp and tired, his face pale 
 again. The Chairman at length took him by the arm 
 and compelled him to go forward and bow. Then the 
 applause broke out afresh, and the great building 
 trembled with the concussion. 
 
 The cheering died at last, and then watchful Jimmy 
 Warfield, back again in his seat among the delegates, 
 sprang to his feet on his chair, and instantly caughl 
 the Chairman's eye. A look of complete understand- 
 ing passed between the two. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," shouted Warfield, and again the 
 convention became silent.
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 333 
 
 Warfield, too, was silent a moment, and swept the 
 hall with a comprehensive eye. He saw that another 
 critical moment had come, and he was ready. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," he said, "there has been a fight 
 for the nomination in the Fourth District, this glorious 
 Old Fourth that all of us love so much. It has been a 
 long, hard, and bitter fight, and through it all every 
 one has been in the dark. We have not been able to 
 see how it would end, we could not see a light ahead, 
 and many of us have thought it would come to dis- 
 aster and ruin for the Old Fourth. But at the last 
 moment the very last moment there has arisen one 
 who, all unconsciously, has shown us the way." 
 
 He paused for a few moments, but he held the con- 
 vention with his eye. 
 
 "Yes," he resumed, "there is one who has shown us 
 the way, he has come among us like an apostle, his 
 words are tipped with lightning, and there is none here 
 who has resisted their force none who has cared to 
 do so. Gentlemen of the convention, we know the 
 opposing elements that are in this hall, we know how 
 bitter the three candidates have become against each 
 other, we know that they can never be reconciled, and 
 we know now that no one of the three can ever 
 be elected. But, gentlemen of the convention, there is 
 another another man, the very mention of whose 
 name will set you all on fire one whose supreme 
 fitness for the place has been disclosed in such a man- 
 ner that the blind may see. Gentlemen of the con- 
 vention, I wish to place in nomination an orator, a 
 statesman and a genius, William Guthrie." 
 
 Again that mighty volume of cheering went up 
 against the roof. Guthrie tried to spring to his feet,
 
 334 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 but Grayson and Hays held him down. When the 
 cheering died there was another man on a chair, and 
 it was the member from the Old Fourth. He was 
 pale now, but he stood steadily, and everybody in the 
 convention knew that the grace of God had touched 
 Henry Clay Warner at last. 
 
 The Chairman recognised Mr. Warner, and the 
 convention settled into silence. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," said the member in a full, firm 
 voice, "I have listened to all that the gentleman has 
 said, and I wish to endorse every word of it. I have 
 known William Guthrie a long time since he was a 
 little boy. No truer or more honest man ever drew 
 the breath of life. He has been a good and loyal 
 friend of mine, and he is yet. I have wanted the 
 nomination from the Old Fourth, but I recognise 
 that a greater than myself has appeared, without any 
 will of his own, in the field. Therefore, while with- 
 drawing in favour of William Guthrie I second his 
 nomination, and move also that it be made unani- 
 mous." 
 
 Again the audience cheered and cheered, and now 
 they cheered for Warner, too. Headly and Graves 
 quietly left the hall, as they saw their forces slip from 
 them, swept on by the universal tide. The convention 
 had been stampeded for Guthrie, without any inten- 
 tion on his part, and the eleventh and twelfth wards 
 were not the last in enthusiasm. O'Hara, Bluitt, 
 and Pursley said nothing, but in stoical silence watched 
 the waves roll over them. 
 
 Guthrie tried to spring up again, but as before Gray- 
 son and Hays held him back. 
 
 The Chairman instantly put the vote on the motion.
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 335 
 
 When the ayes were called they were thundered out, 
 when the noes were called there was silence. 
 
 William Guthrie was the nominee of the convention. 
 
 His eyes wandered again to the box and met hers 
 shining with pure joy. 
 
 "Accept!" "Accept!" cried the crowd. 
 
 "Accept!" cried the Chairman. "Headly and 
 Graves have just notified me of their withdrawal. 
 See, here are their notes. It is you or nobody!" 
 
 "Accept!" "Accept!" still roared the crowd. 
 
 Guthrie saw that the way had opened without any 
 will of his own, and that it was the only way. Many 
 thoughts passed like lightning through his head. He 
 was a true friend of Warner, and he had worked faith- 
 fully for Headly and Graves, but this was the call of 
 destiny. He met her eyes again, and she told him to 
 accept. Then he hesitated no longer. 
 
 But Guthrie made no more speeches that night. 
 He walked forward and announced simply that he 
 accepted the great honour conferred upon him so 
 unexpectedly by the convention, and, if elected would 
 do his best for the district, his State, and the country. 
 Then he sat down amid more cheers, and the Chairman 
 sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Gentlemen," Mr. Stetson exclaimed, "Mr. Guthrie 
 is now the nominee of the convention, and we promise 
 each and every one of us, to make his majority six 
 thousand." 
 
 The convention roared back approval, but Mr. 
 Stetson underestimated it. When the vote was counted 
 at the close of the polls on election day, Guthrie's 
 majority proved to be over seven thousand. 
 
 Guthrie was still in a sort of dream. Something
 
 336 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 new and wonderful had happened in his life, a thing 
 perhaps which he had imagined at times in a vague 
 twilight or a misty dawn, but which it had never oc- 
 curred to him might become real. The hall and the 
 figures in it were hazy, and he did not feel that he had 
 yet come quite back to earth. 
 
 But they were calling for him again, calling so pow- 
 erfully and so insistently that he must respond, and he 
 walked forward still in a mist, and bowed again and 
 again to the applause which leaped up afresh at the 
 sight of his face. When he returned to his seat, War- 
 ner himself came upon the stage, and he grasped 
 Guthrie's hand. 
 
 "Billy," he said and there was genuine pleasure in 
 his face, and relief, too relief at escape from the snare 
 of the toiler, "I congratulate you. It was the finest 
 speech I ever heard in my life, and since I couldn't 
 have the nomination myself I see now that I couldn't 
 I'm glad you got it. And I know, too, that it came 
 to you because it had to; you never worked for it." 
 
 Guthrie returned Warner's hand-shake with sincere 
 joy. He would not have in Warner's mind any lurk- 
 ing feeling against him because, if it were there, it 
 would spoil all his pleasure in the nomination, but he 
 knew now that Warner saw and understood. 
 
 Then his friends came, the Governor and his wife, 
 Carton and Mary Pelham, Jimmy Warfield, Senator 
 Pike, the Bishop, and others. He saw sincere joy 
 shining in the eyes of every one of them. 
 
 "Billy," said Carton, "we shall go to Washington 
 together, but I shall never be the great man that you 
 are. I can never reach the heart of the people as you 
 do."
 
 THE BREATH OF FAME 337 
 
 "God bless you, my son!" said the Bishop simply. 
 
 Then came a quiet, smoothly shaven man in a gray 
 sack suit. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," he said, "I am perhaps less sur- 
 prised at this revelation than anybody else in the hall. 
 Believe me when I say that I congratulate you from 
 the bottom of my heart." 
 
 It was Caius Marcellus Harlow who spoke. 
 
 Next came the gigantic blacksmith, Connell, who 
 imprisoned his hand in a grip like that of his own vise. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," he said, "I thought of you for it, 
 when you were in that room talkin' so well to Mr. 
 Warner, and I'll be proud to vote for you." 
 
 "Billy," exclaimed Tommy Newlands with enthu- 
 siasm, "I'm going to write another poem about you!" 
 
 "And I'll see that it gets printed this time!" said 
 Warfield. 
 
 Guthrie glanced toward the auditorium where the 
 crowd still lingered, and he saw O'Hara and Bluitt 
 sheepishly leaving the hall. Council's eyes followed his. 
 
 "They'll vote for you, and they'll work for you, 
 too," said the blacksmith. "They have to or they'll 
 be dead forever politically. The eyes of the eleventh 
 and twelfth wards are on 'em." 
 
 The crowd began to go out at last. The clock in 
 the church steeple was striking three. Guthrie looked 
 at the empty seats, the floor littered with newspapers, 
 and the electric lights that still glared overhead. " What 
 a change has occurred in those last two hours!" he 
 thought. 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," said Mr. Ransome who stood at his 
 elbow, "it is late, and you are very tired. We have 
 two carriages waiting for our party, and we shall be
 
 338 GUTHRIE OF THE TIMES 
 
 glad to drop you off at your house. We shall consider 
 it an honour." 
 
 Clarice was behind them and she said nothing, but 
 there was a deep colour in her face; her eyes told him 
 to come. 
 
 Mr. Ransome turned away to see about the carriages, 
 and Clarice said to Guthrie: 
 
 "All your life you have been helping people to great 
 rewards, and now your own has come to you at last." 
 
 "But I am going to ask for far more than I have 
 now," he said. 
 
 "Why what is it?" she exclaimed, and then her 
 face flooded with sudden and deeper colour. 
 
 "I am asking for you, Clarice. Don't you see that 
 I love you, that I have long loved you I I can ask you 
 now. Won't you be my wife, Clarice?" 
 
 She put her hand in his and replied softly: 
 
 "Yes, I am yours." 
 
 "Mr. Guthrie," said Mr. Ransome, as they drove 
 through the streets, "I should think that you are a 
 very happy man this morning." 
 
 "I am, but there is one thing lacking to complete 
 my happiness," replied Guthrie. 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 "Your daughter. Give her to me," said the new 
 statesman boldly. 
 
 A twinkle appeared in Mr. Ransome's eye. 
 
 "Perhaps I should," he replied, "because if I 
 don't you will take her. I'll see that Jane approves 
 too. Leave that to me. And Mr. Guthrie I have 
 just learned to believe in you." 
 
 A soft, warm hand stole into his. 
 
 "Billy, I always believed in you," she said.
 
 " ' But I am going to ask for far more than I have now
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 NON-RENEWABLE 
 
 MAR 27199
 
 IX SOUT>RN BtGOtAl 
 
 000 778 702 1