CHAPTER 7
"Spirits of old that bore me, And set me, meek of mind, Between great deeds before me, And deeds as great behind,
Knowing Humanity my star As forth of old I ride, O help me wear with every scar Honor at eventide."
THE REBEL DISCOVERS THAT ADHESION IS A PROPERTY OF MUD; ALSO THAT ASOLDIER MUST SOMETIMES TURN HIS BACK AND BURN THE BRIDGES BEHIND HIM
Part 1
The fight for the control of the state developed unprecedentedbitterness. The big financial interests back of the political machinespoured out money like water to elect a ticket that would be friendlyto capital. An eight-hour-day bill to apply to miners and undergroundworkers had been passed by the last legislature and a supreme courtmust be elected to declare this law unconstitutional. Moreover, a UnitedStates senator was to be chosen, so that the personnel of the assemblywas a matter of great importance.
Through the subsidized columns of the _Advocate_ and the _Herald_ allthe venom of outraged public plunder was emptied on the heads ofJeff Farnum and Captain Chunn. They were rebels, blackmailers, andanarchists. Jeff's life was held up to public scorn as dissolute andlicentious. He had been expelled from college and consorted only withcompanions of the lowest sort. A free thinker and an atheist, he wantedto tear down the pillars which upheld society. Unless Verden and thestate repudiated him and his gang of trouble breeders the poison oftheir opinions would infect the healthy fabric of the community.
There was about Jeff a humility, a sort of careless generosity, thatcould take with a laugh a hit at himself. But in the days that followedhe was often made to wince when good men drew away from him as from amoral pervert. Twice he was hissed from the stage when he attemptedto talk, or would have been, if he had not quietly waited until theindignant protesters were exhausted. It amused him to see that his oldcollege acquaintance "Sissie" Thomas and Billy Gray, the ballot boxstuffer of the Second Ward, were among the most vehement of those whothus scorned him. So do the extremes of virtue and vice find commonground when the blasphemer raises his voice against intrenched capital.
The personal calumny of the enemy showed how hard hit the big bosseswere, how beneath their feet they felt the ground of public opinionshift. It had been only a year since Big Tim O'Brien, boss of the cityby permission of the public utility corporations, had read Jeff's firsteditorial against ballot box stuffing. In it the editor of the _World_had pledged that paper never to give up the fight for the people untilsuch crookedness was stamped out. Big Tim had laughed until his paunchshook at the confidence of this young upstart and in impudent defiancehad sent him a check for fifty dollars for the Honest Election League.
Neither Big Tim nor the respectable buccaneers back of him were laughingnow. They were fighting with every ounce in them to sweep back the waveof civic indignation the _World_ had gathered into a compact aggressiveorganization.
Young Ned Merrill, who represented the interests of the alliedcorporations, had Big Tim on the carpet. The young man had not been outof Harvard more than three years, but he did not let any nonsense aboutfair play stand in his way. In spite of the clean-cut look of him--hewas broadshouldered and tall, with an effect of decision in the squarecleft chin that would some day degenerate into fatness--Ned Merrillplayed the game of business without any compunctions.
"You're making a bad fight of it, O'Brien. Old style methods won't winfor us. These crank reformers have got the people stirred up. Keep yourward workers busy, but don't expect them to win." He leaned forwardand brought his fist down heavily on the desk. "We've got to smashFarnum--discredit him with the bunch of sheep who are following him."
"What more do youse want? We're callin' him ivery black name underHiven."
Merrill shook his head decisively. "Not enough. Prove something. Catchhim with the goods."
"If youse'll show me how?"
"I don't care how, You've got detectives, haven't you? Find out allabout him, where he comes from, who his people were. Rake his life witha fine tooth comb from the day he was born. He's a bad egg. We all knowthat. Dig up facts to prove it."
Within the hour detectives were set to work. One of them left next dayfor Shelby. Another covered the neighborhoods where Jeff had lived inVerden. Henceforth wherever he went he was shadowed.
It was about this time that Samuel Miller lost his place in the citylibrary on account of his political opinions. For more than a year heand Jeff had roomed together at a private boarding house kept by a Mrs.Anderson. Within twenty-four hours of his dismissal Miller was on theroad, sent out by the campaign committee of his party to make speechesthroughout the state.
Jeff himself was speaking nearly every night now that the day ofelection was drawing near. This, together with the work of editing thepaper and the strain of the battle, told heavily on a vitality nevertoo much above par. He would come back to his rooms fagged out, oftendejected because some friend had deserted to the enemy.
One cold rainy evening he met Nellie Anderson in the hall. She had beensaying good-bye to some friends who had been in to call on her.
"You're wet, Mr. Farnum," the young woman said.
"A little."
She stood hesitating in the doorway leading to the apartment of herselfand her mother, then yielded shyly to a kindly impulse.
"We've been making chocolate. Won't you come in and have some? You lookcold."
Jeff glimpsed beyond her the warm grate fire in the room. He, too,yielded to an impulse. "Since you're so good as to ask me, Miss Nellie."
She took charge of his hat and overcoat, making him sit down in a bigarmchair before the fire. He watched her curiously as she moved lightlyabout waiting on him. Nellie was a soft round little person withconstant intimations of a childhood not long outgrown. Jeff judged shemust be nineteen or twenty, but she had moments of being charminglyunsure of herself. The warm color came and went in her clear cheeks atthe least provocation.
"Mother's gone to bed. She always goes early. You don't mind," she askednaively.
Jeff smiled. She was, he thought, about as worldly wise as a fluffykitten. "No, I don't mind at all," he assured her.
Nor did he in the least. His weariness was of the spirit rather than thebody, and he found her grace, her shy sweetness, grateful to the jadedsenses. It counted in her favor that she was not clever or ultra-modern.The dimpling smiles, the quick sympathy of this innocent, sensuous youngcreature, drew him out of his depression. When he left the pleasantwarmth of the room half an hour later it was with a little glow at theheart. He had found comfort and refreshment.
How it came to pass Jeff never quite understood, but it soon was almosta custom for him to drop into the living room to get a cup of chocolatewhen he came home. He found himself looking forward to that half houralone with Nellie Anderson. Whoever else criticized him, she did not.The manner in which she made herself necessary to his material comfortwas masterly. She would be waiting, eager to help him off with hisovercoat, hot chocolate and sandwiches ready for him in the cozyliving-room. To him, who for years had lived a hand-to-mouth boardinghouse existence, her shy wholesome laughter made that room sing of home,one which her personality fitted to a dot. She was always in good humor,always trim and neat, always alluring to the eye. And she had the prettylittle domestic ways that go to the head of a bachelor when he eatsalone with an attractive girl.
Their intimacy was not exactly a secret. Mrs. Anderson, who was ratherdeaf and admitted to being a heavy sleeper, knew that Jeff dropped inoccasionally. He suspected she did not know how regularly, but she wasone of that large class of American mothers who let their daughtersarrange their own love affairs and would not have interfered had sheknown.
Once or twice it flashed upon Jeff that this ought not to go on. Sincehe had no intention of marrying Nell he must not let their relationshipreach the emotional climax toward which he guessed it was racing. Buthis experience in such matters was limited. He did not know how to breakoff their friendship without hurting her, and he was eager
to minimizethe possibility of danger. His modesty made this last easy. Out of herkindness she was good to him, but it was not to be expected that sopretty a girl would fall in love with a man like him.
The most potent argument for letting things drift was his own cravingfor her. She was becoming necessary to him. Whenever he thought of herit was with a tender glow. Her soft long-lashed eyes would come betweenhim and the editorial he was writing. A dozen times a day he could seea picture of the tilted little coaxing mouth. The gurgle of her laughtercalled to him for hours before he left the office.
He got into the habit of talking to her about the things that weretroubling him--the tactics of the enemy, the desertion of friends,the dubious issue of the campaign. Curled up in a big chair, her wholeattention absorbed in what he was saying Nellie made a good listener. Ifshe did not show a full understanding of the situation, he could alwayssense her ready sympathy. Her naive, indignant loyalty was touching.
"I read what the _Advocate_ said about you today," she told him onenight, a tide of color in her cheeks. "It was horrid. As if anybodywould believe it."
"I'm afraid a good many people do," he said gravely.
"Nobody who knows you," she protested stoutly.
"Yes, some who know me."
He let his eyes dwell on her. It was easy to see how undisciplined oflife she was, save where its material aspects had come into impact withher on the economic side.
"None of your real friends."
"How many real friends has a man--friends who will stand by him nomatter how unpopular he is?"
"I don't know. I should think you'd have lots of them."
He shook his head, a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Not many. They keeptheir chocolate and sandwiches for folks whose trolley do'esn't fly thewire."
"What wire?" she asked, her forehead knitted to a question.
"Oh, the wire that's over the tracks of respectability and vestedinterests and special privilege."
She had been looking at him, but now her gaze went to the fire with thatslow tilt of the chin he liked. Another color wave swept the oval of thesoft cheeks.
"You've got more friends than you think," she said in a low voice.
"I've got one little friend I wouldn't like to lose."
She did not speak and his hand moved forward to cover hers. Instantlya wild and insurgent emotion tingled through him. He felt himselftrembling and could not steady his nerves.
Without a word Nellie looked up and their eyes met. Something electricflashed from one to another. Her shy fear of him was adorable.
"Oh, don't, don't!" she murmured. "What will you think of me now?"
He had leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.
Jeff sprang to his feet, the muscles in his lean cheeks standingout. Some bell of warning was ringing in him. He was a man, young anddesirous, subject to all the frailties of his sex, holding experiencesin his past that had left him far from a puritan. And she was a woman,of unschooled impulses, with unsuspected banked passions, an innocentcreature in whom primeval physical life rioted.
He moved toward the door, his left fist beating into the palm of hisright hand. He must protect her, against himself--and against herinnocent affection for him.
She fluttered past him, barring the way. Her cheeks were flaming withshame.
"You despise me. Why did I let you?" A sob swelled up into her softround throat.
"You blessed lamb," he groaned.
"You're going to leave me. You--you don't want me for a friend anylonger."
Her lips trembled--the red little lips that always reminded him of ababy's with its Cupid's bow. She was on the verge of breaking down. Jeffcould not stand that. He held out his hands, intending to take hers andexplain that he was not angry or disappointed at her. But somehow hefound her in his arms instead, supple and warm, vital youth flowing inthe soft cheeks' rich coloring and in the eyes quick and passionate withthe tender abandon of her sex.
He set his teeth against the rush of desire that flooded him as her softbody clung to his. The emotional climax he had vaguely feared had leapedupon them like an uncaged tiger. He fought to stamp down the fires thatblazed up in him. Time to think--he must have time to think.
"You don't despise me then," she cried softly, a little catch in herbreath.
"No," he protested, and again "No."
"But you think I've done wrong."
"No. I've been to blame. You're a dear girl--and I've abused yourkindness. I must go away--now."
"Then you--you do hate me," she accused with a quivering lip.
"No... no. I'm very fond of you."
"But you're going to leave me. It's because I've done wrong."
"Don't blame yourself, dear. It has been all my fault. I ought to haveknown."
Her hands fell from him. The life seemed to die out of her whole figure."You do despise me."
Desire of her throbbed through him, but he spoke very quietly. "Listen,dear. There is nobody I respect more... and none I like so much. Ican't tell you how... fond of you I am. But I must go now. You don'tunderstand."
She bit her lip to repress the sobs that would come and turned away tohide her shame. Jeff caught her in his arms, kissed her passionately onthe lips, the eyes, the soft round throat.
"You do... like me," she purred happily.
Abruptly he pushed her from him. Where were they drifting? He must gethis anchors down before it was too late.
Somehow he broke away, leaving her there hurt and bewildered at hisapparent fickleness, at the stiffness with which he had beaten back thesweet delight inviting them.
Jeff went to his rooms, his mind in a blind chaotic surge. He sat beforethe table for hours, fighting grimly to persuade himself he need notput away this joy that had come to him. Surely friendship was a goodthing... and love. A man ought not to turn his back on them.
It was long past midnight when he rose, took his father's sword from thewall where it hung, and unsheathed it. A vision of an open fireplace ina log house rose before him, his father in the foreground looking like apicture of Stonewall Jackson. The kind brave eyes that were the soul ofhonor gazed at him.
"You damned scoundrel! You damned scoundrel!" Jeff accused himself in alow voice.
He knew his little friend was good and innocent, but he knew too she hadinherited a temperament that made her very innocence a anger to her.Every instinct of chivalry called upon him to protect her from theweakness she did not even guess. She had given him her kindness and herfriendship, the dear child! It was up to him to be worthy of them. If hefailed her he would be a creature forever lost to decency.
There was a sob in his throat as Jeff pushed the blade back into theworn scabbard and rehung the sword upon the wall. But the eyes in hislifted face were very bright. He too would keep his sword unstained andthe flag of honor flying.
All through the next day and the next his resolution held. He took painsnot to see her alone, though there was not an hour of the day when hecould get away from the thought of her. The uneasy consciousness waswith him that the issue was after all only postponed, that decisions ofthis kind must be made again and again so long as opportunity and desirego together. And there were moments of reaction when his will was like arope of sand, when the longing for her swept over him like a great wave.
As Jeff slipped quietly into the hall the door of her room opened. Theireyes met, and presently hers fell. She was troubled and ashamed at whatshe had done, but plainly eager in her innocence to be forgiven.
Jeff spoke gently. "Nellie."
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Aren't we ever going to be friendsagain?"
Through the open door he could see the fire glowing in the grate andthe chocolate set on the little table. He knew she had prepared for hiscoming and how greatly she would be hurt if he rejected her advances.
"Of course we're friends."
"Then you'll come in, just for a few minutes."
He hesitated.
"Please," she whispered. "Or I'll kn
ow you don't like me any more."
Jeff followed her into the room and closed the door behind him.
Part 2
Two days before the election Big Tim's detective wired from Shelby,Tennessee, the outline of a story that got two front page columns inboth the _Advocate_ and the _Herald._ Jefferson Davis Farnum was theson of a thief, of a rebel soldier who had spent seven years in thepenitentiary for looting the bank of which he was cashier. In additionto featuring the news story both papers handled the subject at length intheir editorial columns. They wanted to know whether the people ofthis beautiful state were willing to hand over the Commonwealth to beplundered by the reckless gang of which this son of a criminal was thehead.
The paper reached Jeff at his rooms in the morning. He had lately takenthe apartments formerly occupied by his cousin, James moving to Mrs.Anderson's until after the election. The exchange had been made at thesuggestion of the editor, who gave as a reason that he wanted to beclose to his work until the winter was past. It happened that James wasjust now very glad to get a cheaper place. He was very short of fundsand until after the election had no time for social functions. All heneeded with a room was to sleep in it.
Jeff was still reading the story from Shelby when his cousin came inhurriedly. James was excited and very white.
"My God, Jeff! It's come at last. I knew it would ruin me some day," thelawyer cried, after he had carefully closed the door of the bedroom.
"It won't ruin you, James. Your name isn't mentioned yet. Perhaps it maynot be. It can't hurt you, even if it is."
"I tell you it will ruin me both socially and politically. Once it getsout nobody will trust me. I'll be the son of a thief," James insistedwildly.
"You're the son of a man who made a slip and has paid for it," answeredJeff steadily. "Don't let your ideas get warped. This town is full ofmen who have done wrong and haven't paid for it."
"That's one of your fool socialist theories." James spoke sharply andirritably. "No man's guilty till the law says so. They haven't been inthe penitentiary. He has. That's what damns me if it gets out."
Jeff laid a hand affectionately on his cousin's shoulder. "Don't youbelieve it for a moment. There's no moral distinction between the manwho has paid and the man who hasn't paid for his sins toward society.There is good and there is bad in all of us, closely intertwined, knittogether into the very warp and woof of our lives. We're all good andwe're all bad."
It was with James a purely personal equation. He could not forget itsrelation to himself.
"My name is to be voted on at the University Club next month. I'll beblackballed to a dead certainty," he said miserably.
"Probably, if the story gets out. It's tough, I know." Jeff's eyesgleamed angrily. "And why should they? You're just as good a man to-dayas you were yesterday. But there's nothing so fettering, so despicableas good form. It blights. Let a man bow down to the dead hand of customand he can never again be true to what he thinks and knows. His judgmentgets warped. Soon Madame Grundy does his thinking for him, alongwell-grooved lines."
"Oh, well! That's just talk. What am I to do?" James broke outnervously.
"I know what I would do in your case."
"What?"
"Come out with a short statement telling the exact facts. I'd make noapologies or long explanation. Just the plain story as simply as youcan."
"Well, I'll not," the lawyer broke out. "Easy enough for you to say whatI ought to do. Look at who my friends are--the Fromes and the Merrillsand the Gilmans. Best set in town. I strained a point when I broke loosefrom them to take up this progressive fight. They'd cut me dead if astory like this came out."
"I daresay. Communities are loaded to the guards with respectablecowards. But if you stand on your own feet like a man they'll think moreof you for it. Most of them will be glad to know you again inside offive years. For you're going to be successful, and people like theMerrills and the Gilmans bow down to success."
The lawyer shook his head doggedly. "I'm not going to tell a thing Idon't have to tell. That's settled." He hesitated a moment before hewent on. "I've got a reason why I want to stand well with the Fromes,Jeff. I'm not in a position to risk anything."
Jeff waited. He thought he knew that reason.
"I'm going to marry Alice Frome if I can."
"You've asked her." Jeff's voice sounded to himself as if it belonged toanother man.
"No. Not yet. Ned Merrill's in the running. Strong, too. He's beingbacked by his father and old P. C. Frome. The idea is to consolidateinterests by this marriage. But I've got a fighting chance. She likesme. Since I went into this political fight against her father she'staken pains to show me how friendly she feels. But if this story getsout--I'm smashed. That's all."
"Go to her. Tell her the truth. She'll stand by you," his cousin urged.
"You don't understand these people, Jeff. I do. Even if she wanted tostand by me she couldn't. They wouldn't let her. Right now I'm carryingall the handicap I can."
Jeff walked to the window and stood looking out with his hands in hispockets. The hum of the busy street rose to his ears, but he didnot hear it. Nor did he see the motor cars whizzing past, the drayslumbering along, the thronged sidewalks of Powers Avenue. A door thathad for years been ajar in his heart had swung to with a crash. Theincredible folly of his dream was laid bare to him. Despised, distrustedand disgraced, there was no chance that he might be even a friend toher. She moved in another world, one he could not reach if he would andwould not if he could. All that he believed in she had been brought upto disregard. Much that was dear to her he must hammer down so long asthere was life in him.
But James--he had fought his way up to her. Why shouldn't he have hischance? Better--far better James than Ned Merrill. He had heard theechoes of a disgraceful story about that young man in his college days,the story of how he had trampled down a working girl for his pleasure.James was clean and honorable... and she loved him. Jeff's mind fastenedon that last as a thing assured. Had he not seen her with starry eyesfixed on her hero, held fast as a limed bird? She too was entitled toher chance, and there was a way he could give it to her.
He turned back to James, who was sitting despondently at the managingeditor's desk, jabbing at the blotting sheet with a pencil.
Jeff touched the _Advocate_ he still held in his hand. "Did you readthis story carefully?"
"No. I just ran my eye down it. Why?"
"Whoever dug it up has made a mistake. He has jumped to the conclusionthat I'm Uncle Robert's son. Why not let it go at that?"
His cousin looked up with a flash of eager hope. "You mean--"
"I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Let it go the way theyhave it."
The lawyer's heart leaped, but he could not let this go without aprotest. "No, I--I couldn't do that. It's awfully good of you, Jeff."
The managing editor smiled in his whimsical way. "My reputation has longbeen in tatters. A little more can't hurt it."
James conceded a reflective assent with a manner of impartiality. "Ofcourse your friends wouldn't think any the less of you. They're notso--so--"
"respectable as yours," Jeff finished for him.
"I was going to say so hidebound."
"All the same, isn't it?"
"But it would be a sacrifice for you. I recognize that. And I'm notsure that I could accept it. I will have to think that over," the lawyerconcluded magnanimously.
"You'll find it is best. But I think I would tell Miss Frome, even if Ididn't tell anybody else. She has a right to know."
"You may depend upon me to do whatever is best about that."
James was hardly out of the office before Captain Chunn blew in like asmall tornado. He was boiling with rage.
"What's this infernal lie about you being the son of a convict, David?"he demanded, waving a copy of the Herald.
"Sit down, Captain. I'll tell you the story because you're entitled toit. But I shall have to speak in confidence."
"Confidence! Dad bu
rn it, what are you talking about? Are you trying totell me that Phil Farnum was a thief and a convict?"
Jeff's steel-blue eyes looked straight into his. "Nothing so impossibleas that, Captain. I'm going to tell you the story of his brother."
Jeff told it, but he and the owner of the _World_ disagreed radicallyabout the best way to answer the attack.
"Why must you always stand between that kid glove cousin of yours andtrouble? Let him stand the gaff himself. It will do him good," Chunnstormed.
But Jeff had his way. The _World_ made no denial of the facts charged.In a statement on the front page that covered less than three stickshe told the simple story of the defalcation of Robert Farnum. One thingonly he added to the account given in the opposition papers. This wasthat during the past two years the shortage of the bank cashier had beenpaid in full to the Planters' First National at Shelby.
There were many forecasts as to what the effect of the Farnum storywould be on the election returns. It is enough to say that the ticketsupported by the _World_ was chosen by a small majority. James waselected to the legislature by a plurality of fifteen hundred votes overhis antagonist, a majority unheard of in the Eleventh District.