________________________________________________
Then with astounding suddenness something happened that changed
his plans and put an end to his burglaries.
Mr. Macy sent for him one afternoon and with a great show of
jovial mystery asked him if he had an engagement that night. If
he hadn't, would he please call on Mr. Alfred J. Fraser at eight
o'clock. Dalyrimple's wonder was mingled with uncertainty. He
debated with himself whether it were not his cue to take the
first train out of town. But an hour's consideration decided him
that his fears were unfounded and at eight o'clock he arrived at
the big Fraser house in Philmore Avenue.
Mr. Fraser was commonly supposed to be the biggest political
influence in the city. His brother was Senator Fraser, his son-
in-law was Congressman Demming, and his influence, though not
wielded in such a way as to make him an objectionable boss, was
strong nevertheless.
He had a great, huge face, deep-set eyes, and a barn-door of an
upper lip, the melange approaching a worthy climax if a long
professional jaw.
During his conversation with Dalyrimple his expression kept
starting toward a smile, reached a cheerful optimism, and then
receded back to imperturbability.
"How do you do, sir?" he laid, holding out his hand. "Sit down.
I suppose you're wondering why I wanted you. Sit down."
Dalyrimple sat down.
"Mr. Dalyrimple, how old are you?"
"I'm twenty-three."
"You're young. But that doesn't mean you're foolish. Mr.
Dalyrimple, what I've got to say won't take long. I'm going to
make you a proposition. To begin at the beginning, I've been
watching you ever since last Fourth of July when you made that
speech in response to the loving-cup."
Dalyrimple murmured disparagingly, but Fraser waved him to
silence.
"It was a speech I've remembered. It was a brainy speech,
straight from the shoulder, and it got to everybody in that
crowd. I know. I've watched crowds for years." He cleared his
throat as if tempted to digress on his knowledge of crowds--then
continued. "But, Mr. Dalyrimple, I've seen too many young men
who promised brilliantly go to pieces, fail through want of
steadiness, too many high-power ideas, and not enough
willingness to work. So I waited. I wanted to see what you'd
do. I wanted to see if you'd go to work, and if you'd stick to
what you started."
Dalyrimple felt a glow settle over him.
"So," continued Fraser, "when Theron Macy told me you'd started
down at his place, I kept watching you, and I followed your
record through him. The first month I was afraid for awhile.
He told me you were getting restless, too good for your job,
hinting around for a raise---"
Dalyrimple started.
"---But he said after that you evidently made up your mind to
shut up and stick to it. That's the stuff I like in a young man!
That's the stuff that wins out. And don't think I don't
understand. I know how much harder it was for you after all that
silly flattery a lot of old women had been giving you. I know
what a fight it must have been---"
Dalyrimple's face was burning brightly. It felt young and
strangely ingenuous.
"Dalyrimple, you've got brains and you've got the stuff in you--
and that's what I want. I'm going to put you into the State
Senate."
"The WHAT?"
"The State Senate. We want a young man who has got brains, but
is solid and not a loafer. And when I say State Senate I don't
stop there. We're up against it here, Dalyrimple. We've got to
get some young men into politics--you know the old blood that's
been running on the party ticket year in and year out."
Dalyrimple licked his lips.
"You'll run me for the State Senate?"
"I'll PUT you in the State Senate."
Mr. Fraser's expression had now reached the
point nearest a smile and Dalyrimple in a happy frivolity felt
himself urging it mentally on--but it stopped, locked, and slid
from him. The barn-door and the jaw were separated by a line
strait as a nail. Dalyrimple remembered with an effort that it
was a mouth, and talked to it.
"But I'm through," he said. "My notoriety's dead. People are
fed up with me."
"Those things," answered Mr. Fraser, "are mechanical. Linotype
is a resuscitator of reputations. Wait till you see the HERALD,
beginning next week--that is if you're with us--that is," and
his voice hardened slightly, "if you haven't got too many ideas
yourself about how things ought to be run."
"No," said Dalyrimple, looking him frankly in the eye. "You'll
have to give me a lot of advice at first."
"Very well. I'll take care of your reputation then. Just keep
yourself on the right side of the fence."
Dalyrimple started at this repetition of a phrase he had thought
of so much lately. There was a sudden ring at the door-bell.
"That's Macy now," observed Fraser, rising. "I'll go let him in.
The servants have gone to bed."
He left Dalyrimple there in a dream. The world was opening up
suddenly--- The State Senate, the United States Senate--so life
was this after all--cutting corners--common sense, that was the
rule. No more foolish risks now unless necessity called--but it
was being hard that counted-- Never to let remorse or self-
reproach lose him a night's sleep--let his life be a sword of
courage--there was no payment--all that was drivel--drivel.
He sprang to his feet with clinched hands in a sort of triumph.
"Well, Bryan," said Mr. Macy stepping through the portieres.
The two older men smiled their half-smiles at him.
"Well Bryan," said Mr. Macy again.
Dalyrimple smiled also.
"How do, Mr. Macy?"
He wondered if some telepathy between them had made this new
appreciation possible--some invisible realization. . . .
Mr. Macy held out his hand.
"I'm glad we're to be associated in this scheme--I've been for
you all along--especially lately. I'm glad we're to be on the
same side of the fence."
"I want to thank you, sir," said Dalyrimple simply. He felt a
whimsical moisture gathering back of his eyes.
Read next: The Four Fists: Chapter I
Read previous: Dalyrimple Goes Wrong: Chapter VII
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