Chapter 14. The President Takes A Hand

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_ CHAPTER XIV. THE PRESIDENT TAKES A HAND

One evening late in January, Leigh entered Cardington's room with his post-prandial pipe still burning.

"What do you say," he demanded, "to going down to the opera house to hear the President of the United States speak? Here I 've been shut up all day, and forgot what was going on till I picked up the paper just now. I'm ripe for some excitement, the mood which in my undergraduate days would have tempted me to go out and paint the town." He threw himself into a chair, looked about with a sense of being at home, and passed his fingers wearily through the disordered masses of his hair.

The other looked at him attentively. "You make a great mistake," he remarked, "in allowing yourself to get out of condition. With a reasonable regard to the laws of health, you could keep yourself looking like the discus-thrower, thinly disguised in modern habiliments." He spoke like an impersonal judge, who appreciates the excellence of a type and wishes to see it maintained.

Leigh laughed with some bitterness. "You remember what the German professor said to his American student when he wished to take a rest. 'Who ever heard of a real mathematician with any health?'"

"Ah, yes," Cardington returned, with a comprehending look in his eyes, "but I 'm afraid you had too good a time down there in New York, and that now you 're working too hard by way of penance. But in regard to your suggestion, I am inclined to think favourably of it. Not that the President per se is an object of great interest to me. His mental processes are tolerably familiar, and I don't feel particularly in need of instruction concerning my duty toward God and my duty toward my neighbour. Still, this is an occasion of more than usual interest, as perhaps you are aware."

A change had come into the relationship of these two, or rather a readjustment of the view of the younger man concerning the older, dating from the time when Cardington had disposed so neatly of his tentative wish to accompany him to Bermuda. He had returned from the South alone about a fortnight before, quite uncommunicative in regard to his trip, merely saying that the Wycliffes would come by a later boat. The shadow of the woman in the case was undoubtedly between them, and yet it could not be said that jealousy, in the ordinary sense of the word, was operative as an estranging element. Leigh had too much reason to know that neither of them had much chance of winning her, and he thought he divined in Cardington not so much a lover's interest as a friend's deep concern on her behalf and an unwillingness to mention her name in casual conversation.

Upon the present occasion Leigh was impressed with his air of subdued excitement, with a hint of tension and expectancy, as if something untoward were about to happen; and as they took their way toward the city together, the reason of this mood became apparent.

"Now, you know," he began, "great things were happening this afternoon, and as I sometimes like to view history in the making, I went out to see what I could see. I 'm afraid that our respected mayor is destined to play a very inconspicuous role in this evening's entertainment. If I am correctly informed, he is not to have a speaking part. As an accidental mayor, pitchforked into his present position by Fortune in one of her ironical moods, he is to be allowed merely a seat on the platform, where he may be seen but not heard. But to go back to the beginning. When it was learned that the President of the United States intended to honour us with a visit and to stand and deliver a speech, it occurred to a group of representative citizens that a professional baseball player and street-car conductor was scarcely a fit person to receive so distinguished a guest; so they very properly resolved that his part in the exercises should be reduced to a minimum. To that end a committee, including among others Mr. Bradford, Mr. Parr, and our worthy alumnus, Mr. Cobbens, wrote a letter to Emmet in which they suggested that his speech of welcome at the station be limited to three, or at the most to five, minutes. They intimated also that after the speech of welcome was concluded, Mr. Emmet need not concern himself further in the entertainment of the President."

"I call that beastly snobbishness," said Leigh indignantly. "Whatever the man's former position may have been, he is now the mayor and entitled to all the honours of his office. On the same principle, the swells of forty years ago might have refused to recognise Lincoln as the President because he once split rails. And in fact they practically did. He had to be dead before they began to think that his rise in the world was a vindication of the equality of opportunity they pretended to believe in."

"'Beastly' is perhaps the proper adjective under the circumstances," the other admitted, "but why should we lose sleep and shorten our days with fruitless indignation because men of a certain kind act as men of that kind always have acted? I prefer to look at the dramatic and humorous side of it, having, perhaps unfortunately, reached the speculative and acquiescent time of life. And the situation at the station was not without its amusing aspect. Mr. Emmet's well-known oratorical powers being thus curtailed, the President was delayed but a few minutes and then conducted to a carriage and driven about the city, attended by the honourable trio before mentioned. It is said by those who were within earshot that the President inquired for his friend the mayor, when he saw that he was to be deprived of his company. However that may be, I myself saw our tribune of the people riding by himself in solitary grandeur in the third carriage."

At the memory of Emmet's discomfiture he interrupted his story to indulge in one of his silent laughs, an expression of mirth which, to his listener's excited mind, seemed almost an inhuman exhibition of his professed detachment from the passions about him. Perhaps, had he seen the dapper Cobbens and the lethargic Parr escorting the unsuspicious President to the carriage, and Emmet's expression as he found himself shoved into the third place in the procession, he might have appreciated his companion's sense of the ridiculous. But it was the inward struggle, not the outward aspect, that stirred his emotions. Emmet's most bitter strictures upon Cobbens and his kind were justified by this incident, and he imagined the mayor's sensations when he found himself out-generalled and humiliated. What would Felicity have felt, had she been present to witness the scene? How it might have affected her toward her husband, whether it would have aroused her to champion him the more, or whether it would have moved her to scorn of his stupidity in allowing himself to be put aside, Leigh could only guess; but his own instinct was to make common cause with the man that was wronged.

"And who appointed the committee," he inquired, "if Emmet had nothing to do with it?"

"Why, they appointed themselves, without any more regard for the mayor than if he had been a professor in St. George's Hall. Now perhaps you begin to appreciate why I remarked that this was an occasion of more than ordinary interest. Can we doubt that word has gone round among the proletariat that their mayor has been insulted, and can we doubt that they will be at the opera house in full force to express their opinion of the committee? You see now my motive in coming. I am like the man that went to the animal show in the hope of seeing the lion eat the trainer. In other words, if the people are going to give us a specimen of the psychology of the mob, I wish to be there to enjoy it. Such a thing might help one to an appreciation of certain incidents in Roman history, like the turmoils in the time of the Gracchi, and the scene in the forum when Mark Antony played on the heartstrings of the populace. Everything is grist that comes to our mill. Even a football game is a modern rendition of a gladiatorial combat. Don't you think so?"

When they reached the edge of the great throng that already filled the street in front of the opera house, Cardington, instead of plunging into it as his companion had anticipated, turned down an alley, like one familiar with the locality, and led the way to the stage door. The manoeuvre disclosed to Leigh the fact that his colleague had intended all the time to come, and also his own good fortune in obtaining such a guide.

"Pass right in, professor," one of the guard said, as soon as he caught sight of Cardington's tall figure. "A friend of yours? All right. Sergeant, these are two friends of mine."

They made their way behind the scenes and came down into the pit, where a few people, similarly favoured, were slowly selecting their seats.

"What kind of a pull have you got with these fellows?" Leigh asked, secretly amused at the surprise his companion had reserved for him.

"A prophet is not always without honour, even in his own country," Cardington returned evasively.

Apparently his vein of talk was worked out to the end, for he fell into a profound silence as soon as he had taken his seat, his arms folded and his head bent forward, like one oblivious of his surroundings.

Leigh, not sorry to be left to his own thoughts and observations, listened to the roar of the increasing multitude in the corridor without. He was struck by an absence of that good humour which usually characterises such a gathering. From time to time the doors creaked and bulged inward as the people surged against them, clamouring menacingly for admittance. Each repetition of the forward movement was followed by an accentuated babel of voices: women screaming that they were being crushed and shrilly demanding more room, men protesting that they themselves were powerless to resist the pressure from behind. It was evident that Cardington had not miscalculated their animus, for they hurled maledictions at the janitor, who stood waiting within, his watch in his hand, wavering between fear for the stability of the bolts and an unwillingness to disobey orders. Those already admitted listened with increasing uneasiness, momentarily anticipating that the doors would give way with a crash, and that they might see men and women trampled under foot in an irresistible stampede.

Every electric light in the place was now turned on, disclosing the bare tiers of seats, the stage filled with chairs, the great flags looped on either side of the national shield, the speaker's table surmounted by a glass and pitcher. Then the scene changed. The janitor, struggling to open the doors, was thrown violently aside as they swung back and launched the mob into the hall. A great roar ascended to the roof; the nearer seats were submerged by the black mass, which sent out thin streams between the rows, like an advancing tide creeping shoreward between ledges of rock. Leigh and Cardington rose to their feet and stood gazing at the spectacle. For the most part the crowd was composed of labouring men, who looked as if they had just come from the factory or the shop, but here and there could be seen a glimpse of bright ribbon, or a feather, or the silk hat of a pale-faced clerk. So rapid was the movement that the two spectators were forced to resume their seats in a few minutes to forestall their seizure.

It was eight o'clock, the time set for the appearance of the President, when Mayor Emmet came from one of the wings, entirely alone, and took a chair near the centre of the stage. He had not been invited to meet the President at dinner, and while the great man and his entertainers lingered over their cigars, the mayor appeared promptly in the opera house, as if keeping a business engagement. No one who listened to the welcome he received could doubt his personal popularity or the intensity with which his constituents resented the slight he had endured. At first he sat facing the tumult imperturbably, and then a smile slowly mounted to his eyes, as he rose and bowed his acknowledgements. Demands for a speech were shot out at him from various parts of the pit, but he merely shook his head and indicated his refusal by a familiar yet graceful gesture.

Cardington sat gazing at the solitary figure, muttering half inarticulate strictures upon the demagogical spirit that had led the man to make such an open bid for sympathy and vindication, but his companion experienced very different emotions. There sat Felicity's husband, handsome, self-contained, and effective. With a rueful appreciation of a type that differed so much from his own, the astronomer wondered whether she could resist him now, were she there to witness his triumph. The difference in social station between her and her husband seemed unimportant now. What he lacked was easy to acquire compared with what he had already won; and his weakness for Lena Harpster was, after all, much less serious than the moral delinquencies of the men of Felicity's own class. For Warwick, like all rich cities, was honeycombed with social scandals, and scarcely one of Emmet's opponents would have been justified, if all were published, in casting the first stone at him. Surely, Leigh reflected, she must know these facts, for even he, a comparative stranger, had heard of them.

Was her pride so exacting that she demanded perfection in return for her condescension? Would she make no allowances whatever? It seemed to Leigh that such an attitude on her part would be inhuman. During his visit to New York he had recovered his grip upon himself, for he was not one to throw away his days like the petals of a discarded flower because he had failed to win the woman he loved. Love, he reminded himself bitterly, was not the main business of life. This mood of renunciation gave him an almost impersonal appreciation of his successful rival; but the tribute left him heartsick. Like all personally ambitious men who have failed of popular applause, the success of another filled him with momentary self-depreciation. To be sure, this popular triumph of Emmet was fleeting and local, while he himself meant yet to win a permanent, though restricted, fame. Of this he had no doubt. The present scene stirred him to grim emulation. To-morrow he would realise that shouting and the clapping of hands are as transient as the wind in the trees; but to-night they were, after all, something well worth winning.

Presently, as if a play previously rehearsed were being acted before the eyes of the audience, the "prominent representatives" of the city and state began to swarm out from the wings and fill the chairs. Senators, judges, millionaires, popular preachers, all sunk to the dead level of a supporting chorus, an impressive illustration of the littleness of the locally great. To all those thousands of intent eyes these were merely the background upon which, in another moment, was to be projected the one figure of national importance.

And now he was standing before them, instantly recognisable, though his appearance magically bettered expectation. The committee, virtuously true to the course of action they had planned, had passed Emmet by without a look, but the people surged to their feet and cheered, as they saw the President pause and take their mayor by the hand. The two stood in front of the passing chorus, apparently chatting like old friends, and as the audience caught sight of the President's famous smile, they laughed aloud. Even those who might later call the President's action shrewd politics now felt that it was dictated by unaffected humanity, and their carefully nursed attitude of criticism melted for the time in the warmth of that solvent personality.

As the confusion began to subside, while the observed and the observers resumed their seats, Leigh suddenly saw Bishop Wycliffe sitting beside the local bishop of the Roman Catholic Church. The proximity of the two men, the easy courtesy of their manner as they exchanged a whispered remark and turned again to glance at the President, stirred Cardington to comment.

"That's a touching picture of Christian charity," he murmured, with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, "our Anglican and Latin ecclesiastical princes side by side, forgetful of the Eve of St. Bartholomew and of Henry VIII. I have n't the slightest doubt that they are more conscious at this moment of those very things and of their respective traditions than of the situation before them."

His companion, looking for the bishop's daughter, scarcely heard what he said. He discovered her in a box at one side of the stage, in the midst of her friends, and was not surprised at the studied unconcern of her manner. She must have come prepared to play her part. It was her beauty only that surprised him. His mental picture of her was pale compared with the glowing reality, for she seemed to have brought with her all the warmth and colour of the south. Though her eyes were turned in Emmet's direction, the casual observer might naturally have supposed that the President, sitting in the same line of vision, was the object of her interest. Only Leigh, glancing from one to the other, saw her falter slightly as she encountered her husband's fixed and meaning look. There was a determination in his aspect that shook ever her fortified resolve. The colour slowly mounted in his face, and his cheek pulsed with emotion. As her gaze fluttered away, he turned himself in his chair with a decisive motion, like one who bides his time, and sat looking upon vacancy. He seemed to forget the scene before him and his own position between the warring forces so dramatically brought together.

The silence of expectancy that had fallen upon the house was pierced by a low hissing sound, for Anthony Cobbens had risen to his feet and advanced to the footlights to make the speech of introduction. As the malignant greeting reached his ears, his face paled and his fingers tightened on the rim of the silk hat which he held awkwardly in the bend of his arm. The scene Cardington had anticipated was about to be enacted. Upon Cobbens, as the mouthpiece of the committee, the fury of the people now turned itself, a fury no less intense because restrained to some extent by the presence of the President. Perhaps the unfortunate spokesman had thought that this presence would save him entirely, for his reception seemed to turn him to stone. As he waited for the hissing to subside, he presented an appearance at once so grotesque and pitiful that his bitterest enemy must needs have felt some twinges of compassion. That tight-waisted and wide-skirted coat, those faultless trousers, served only to give a waspish effect, and to emphasize the insignificance of the figure they were meant to dignify. He wore a solitary pink carnation, selected with solicitous care. His thin face seemed to shrivel under the fierce rays of scorn concentrating from thousands of eyes, and his large, bald crown began to glisten with slow drops of sweat. Even his voice, when he was permitted to speak, had lost its timbre and suggested the voice of a somnambulist.

It was evident that he had prepared a long and elaborate address, for presently in the monotonous mumble of his words familiar phrases began to reach the ears of those who listened,--"when police commissioner of New York"--"the Rough riders"--"San Juan Hill,"--but for once their conjuring power was gone, and they were greeted in silence or drowned in mocking catcalls. Not one in ten of his audience knew or cared what he was saying; not one in a thousand was moved to pity for his plight. The people had been visited with scorn that day through an insult to their elected representative, and now they paid it back with interest. The lion was eating his trainer, and licking his chops with grim satisfaction. The spirit was that of class against class, bitter, ugly, and revengeful.

Leigh's personal interest was supplemented by the curiosity of a comparative stranger, who drinks in every detail of a situation typical of the country in which he has come to dwell. He studied the various faces on the platform attentively, and wondered whether Judge Swigart were now convinced of the existence of the class feeling which he had so blandly belittled in the joint debate; but the defeated candidate, like the majority of his companions, had assumed a studied and enigmatic expression. So great was the tension that no one ventured to look at his neighbour. In a way they were all sharers in the humiliation of Cobbens, and co-recipients of the people's scorn. He saw Felicity and Mrs. Parr putting their heads together in whispered comment. The bishop stirred uneasily and glanced with irritation at the speaker's back, as if he would fain have bid him make an end. In a moment of pardonable weakness the mayor's lips parted in the briefest of smiles. Then he took out his handkerchief to conceal his emotion, and having propped his chin upon the palm of his hand, he gazed abstractedly at the floor.

The President, twitching in his chair, appeared well-nigh unable to control his nervousness. He grasped the arms of his seat convulsively, he polished his glasses, he screwed up his eyes, he smiled, he frowned. Watching him with intense interest, Leigh entirely forgot the speaker. He had not imagined the President's build so powerful. There was a brute strength in the neck and shoulders that would have been no inadequate endowment for a pugilist; yet this suggestion was offset by an expression of which his pictures had given scarcely a hint. It was not difficult to understand how his enthusiastic biographer had been carried away by that probity and sweetness, so that he made both himself and his hero ridiculous and aroused inextinguishable laughter among the arbiters of good taste. The subject was one that tempted men to violent opinions on one side or the other.

Meanwhile the speech continued, but now the listeners began to appreciate a curious change in the temper of the speaker and of his tormentors. At first he had stood before them like one hypnotised, unable to save himself by shortening the oration he had prepared. By little and little, however, the innate power of the man asserted itself, malign and hateful as ever, but no less surely effective. His eyes began to glisten, his voice gained in volume and steadiness. He gradually made himself heard more continuously, until the hissing and catcalls became less frequent, and finally ceased. After a struggle of fifteen minutes, he finished strong. Like some ill-favoured terrier, he had persisted in spite of odds, and had worried his great antagonist into wondering submission.

When his figure disappeared from view, to be replaced by that of the President, his supporters exchanged sidelong glances and meaning smiles. They had chosen their champion well, a nasty fighter, to crack the whip over the class from which he had risen.

It was now that the President increased to passionate devotion the popularity his attitude thus far had won him. As he heard Emmet's name combined with his own in the cheering, his face lightened up with his extraordinary and spontaneous smile. He turned, and pulled Emmet to his feet beside him; then he sat down and looked on with keen enjoyment while the mayor bowed his thanks. It was some time before the demonstration ceased and the people, satisfied and vindicated, settled down to listen.

But the President evidently had a score of his own to settle, and a snub to administer. He turned to the senior Senator who sat at the far left of the stage and thanked him for his welcome to the State; then he turned to Mayor Emmet and thanked him for his welcome to the city. There was not one word of reply to the ill-starred Cobbens, not one syllable in appreciation of the efforts of the committee. He had taken his manuscript from his pocket and laid it on the table before the full meaning of this omission dawned upon the audience, and then they broke loose with an animus which made their previous demonstrations seem comparatively mild. The President gathered his manuscript together, raised his hand for silence, and began to read.

His speech was simple in content and devoid of imaginative passages; his delivery was conspicuously defective; his voice, uneven in quality, now low, now breaking into a shrill note, seemed to come forth only at the bidding of a tremendous will. Every word appeared to necessitate an effort and to be ground out between clenched teeth. Yet his listeners hung on every word with breathless attention. His smile broke forth, and they found it irresistible; he grew serious, and they reflected his mood; he made a patriotic appeal, and the response was instant. Without any of the arts of the orator, he swayed them as he would. It was the triumph of personality over art. The ugly memories of the recent scene faded away; local struggles were forgotten; Emmet and Cobbens receded equally into the background, and only the country's glory and interests filled the minds of the listeners.

During all this time the bishop's daughter sat as one rapt in a reverie that had little connection with the emotions that swayed the crowded house before her. Emmet made no further attempt to look at her, and to do so would have necessitated a conspicuous movement and turning; but the young mathematician gazed in her direction from time to time, wondering at the nature of her thoughts, and hoping that their eyes might meet. As often before, he noted that her expression in repose suggested a profound sadness, as if her beauty had brought its heritage of unrest. There is a type of beauty that suggests a setting of fashion and clothes and jewelry; but Felicity's loveliness was of the twilight kind, far removed from realism, setting the imagination free with fancies of the mountains and the woods. To the man who loved her and had seen her in just such a setting, the appeal was all the more powerful. Even now the shadows of the trees seemed to lurk in her eyes, in her hair, and in the exquisite curve of her lips. It was difficult for him to realise that she was a fashionable woman, loving the opportunities of her social life, for he saw her otherwise. Hers was a face toward which men gravitated, not drawn by her beauty alone, nor by the brilliancy of her mind, but by a sense of mystery beyond the outward seeming.

The atmosphere which the President's speech had created outlasted the effort itself, and remained warmly in the minds of the hearers. All too soon they were reaching for their hats and coats and beginning to realise that the great occasion was over. Soon the stage was bare, and the receding tide in the pit had left large patches of empty seats.

The experience had wrought a wonderful transformation in Leigh. Emmet's initial triumph and his claims were now forgotten. Had the mayor been allowed to speak, he would doubtless have scored a hit, but Cobbens had succeeded in reducing him to a mere pawn. The people had thrust him forward on the board; Cobbens had neatly lifted him off and usurped his square. The mayor's position had been far from heroic, battered between contending forces and finally rescued by the President's strong arm. Doubtless Cobbens had killed himself politically, but he had won a certain kind of victory. Emmet was already beaten when he failed to grasp the opportunity the President's visit presented and allowed the committee to thrust him aside. No amount of subsequent championing could restore him to a position of dignity. His enemies had decided that he must not be allowed to introduce the President, for they knew he would do it well. They had brought the fury of the people down upon their heads, but they had exhibited their chosen representative before them in a mute and inglorious role. They had even succeeded in making him an object of pity. The damage he had received in the imagination of his supporters was incalculable, and while they burned with indignation, they instinctively paid a treacherous tribute to Cobbens's amazing cleverness and audacity.

Though no such tribute was paid the lawyer by Leigh, it was still true that the turn of affairs forced Emmet from his consideration until, instead of a star of the first magnitude, he became a mere point of light, and finally disappeared. During the President's speech, he felt that he had been holding secret communion with Felicity, and the accumulated excitement of the evening worked in his thoughts an unexpected license and daring. It was possible to allow Emmet's claims when he was receiving the homage of the people alone, and she had not yet appeared; but her presence had revived the old passionate torment in his heart. Love returned triumphant, making light of all other claims and considerations.

Upon some natures oratory, the successful swaying of the crowd, has the same effect, irrespective of the tone and content of the speech, that is produced by the harmony of a great orchestra, an effect of exaltation and lawlessness. In the young mathematician this responsiveness was a marked trait, at variance with another more coldly intellectual quality. He began to feel that he ranged at will, freed from artificial and unreal restraints. He, too, would do some great thing. On that full wave of excitement he was carried beyond the dikes which in cooler moments he had erected against himself.

When the audience arose to depart, he looked longingly in the direction of the box in which Felicity sat. He would fain have leaped upon the stage and have gone to her before she could escape him; he was burning to speak to her, to hear her voice and touch her hand. But her departure with her friends was little less than precipitate. It did not now occur to her lover that she might wish to avoid her husband; as far as he was concerned, she had no husband. He only appreciated his own disappointment, and stood chafing before the stupid herd that blocked his way to the street.

In this mood he cared not at all to discuss the events of the evening with his companion; but Cardington was full of caustic comment.

"It was a great occasion," he mused. "We have seen what we came out to see, and what more have we a right to demand? The dear people rampant, the respected mayor quiescent, but biding his time, Cobbens couchant but fanged, the President raised to a sublime apotheosis. It is always a pleasure--is it not?--to witness transcendent ability, even if it be in the line of practical politics. The perfection of each thing is worth observing. These local politicians are fools compared with the President, mere blundering tyros in the hands of a master of the craft." His eyes began to gleam with merriment. "And, by the way, that was a noble effort of Mr. Cobbens, 'apples of gold in pitchers of silver.'"

His soliloquy lasted unbroken until they reached the street. To his companion there was now no inspiration in the moonlight, no sweetness in the unusual mildness of the air. His restless eyes searched in vain the long line of carriages, but Felicity was nowhere to be seen. He caught sight of the bishop driving off alone, and Cardington noticed the direction of his glance.

"Ah," he said, "the bishop is doubtless about to betake himself to the final reception to the President at the Warwick Club. Which reminds me that the Bradford House is only a short walk from here." _

Read next: Chapter 15. "I Plucked The Rose, Impatient Of Delay"

Read previous: Chapter 13. Furniture And Family

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