 CHAPTER XI. And the day of the election arrived next morning, and brought cold clouds shot through with occasional gleams of pale sunshine, only to be followed by light but threatening flurries of snow. All through the Sunday night, David had sat over in the editorial rooms of the journal beside Andrew Severe, talking, writing, and sometimes silent with unexpressed sympathy. For as the last sheets of his editorial work slipped through his fingers, Andrew grew white and austere. Once for a half hour they talked about his business affairs, and he turned over a bundle of papers to David, and discussed the investment of the money that had come from his heavy royalties for the play now running, and the thousands paid in advance for the new drama. As David ran carefully through them to see that they were in order for him to handle, Andrew turned to his desk and wrote rapidly for some minutes, then sealed a letter and laid it aside. After he had read the last batch of proof from the composing room, he turned to David, and with a quiet look handed him the letter, which was directed to Caroline Dara. If she ever finds out, give her this letter, please, it will make her understand why I go, I hope. I can't talk to you about it, but I want to ask you, man to man, to look after her, Dave. I'll leave her to your care and febis. And his rich voice was composed into an utter sadness. The work here and the night are both over, let's go down to headquarters. He added, and like two boys with hands tight gripped, they passed out into the winter street. Down at the gray picket they found some of David's ardent supporters still fresh and enthusiastic, though they had been making a night of it. Soon waves of excitement were rising and falling all over the city, and the streets were thronged with men from out through the county. At an early hour, heavy wagons moved with the measured tread of blind tigers and deposited blind tiger kittens, donned up in innocent and deceptive-looking crates, at numbers of discreet alley covers near the poles. At the machine headquarters, rotund and blooming gentlemen grouped and dissolved and grouped again, during which process wads of greenbacks unrolled and flashed with insolent carelessness. The situation was and had been desperate, and this last stand must be brought through for the whiskey interest, come high as it would. And so through the morning, delegations kept dropping in to David's headquarters to keep up the spirits of the candidate, and incidentally to have their own raised. There were ugly rumors coming from the poles, the police were machine instruments, and the back door of every saloon in the city was wide open, while a repeating vote was plainly indicated by crowds of floaters who drifted ward to ward. The faces of the bosses were discreetly radiant. Lord David. Grown cap cantrel. They're turning loose kegs and bootle and barrels of booze will never beat them in the world. They got this city tied up and thrown to the dogs, what's the use of? David exclaimed the major excitedly. We're in for a rally, and look at them. Down the street they came, the new kitties, a hundred strong, led by Phoebe's freckle-faced red-headed devil, whose mouth stretched from ear to ear with a grin. They carried huge poster banners, and their inscriptions were in a language of their own, emblazoned in inkpot script. I love my Dave, but jump meant much to them, but failed to elucidate the fact that they were referring to the gift of a flatboat, canvassed for a swimming-booth, which David had had moored at the foot of the bridge during the dog days of the previous summer so that they might have a joyous dip in the river between additions. He had gone down himself occasionally for a frolic with them, and jump had been the signal for the push-off of any timid diver. He shouted with glee when he read the skit. He was taking his high-dive in life. Run Dave, run, tigers loose, knit, was another witticism, and a crooked pole bore aloft these words. Judge David Kildare soaks old booze the first round. They lined up in front of the headquarters, and gave a shrill cheer that made up an enthusiasm for what had lacked in volume. They took a few words of banter from the candidate in lieu of a speech, and paraded off around the city, spending much time in the front of the camp of the opposition, and indulging in as much of derisive vituperation as they dared. They were followed by another picturesque visitation. A dignified old-colored man brought twenty pathetic little-paganinis from the orphan's home, to which the men at headquarters learned for the first time, David Kildare had given the modest building that sheltered the waifs. Decidedly murder will out, and there come times when the left and right hands of a man are forced into confession to each other about their most secret actions. A political campaign is apt to bring such a situation into the lives of the aspiring candidates. The little-coons set up a musical wail that passed for a cheer, and marched away munching the contents of a huge box of candy that Polly had sent down to headquarters the night before, such being her idea of a flagon with which to stay the courage of the contestants. And through it all, the consultation of the leaders, the falling hopes of the pole scouts, the gradual depression that crept over the spirits of the Major and Cap and the rest of his near-supports, David was a solid tower of strength. Then during the day the tension became tight and tighter, for how the fight was going exactly no one could tell, and it seemed well-nigh impossible to stop the vote-steal that was going on all over the city, protected by the organized government. Defeat seemed inevitable. So at six o'clock the disgusted Cap picked up his hat and started home, and to the astonishment of the whole headquarters, David Kildare calmly rose and followed him without a word to the others, who failed to realize that he had deserted until he was entirely gone. Billy Bob looked dashed with amazement. Obson sat down limply in the deserted chair. Tom whistled, but the Major looked at them with a quizzical smile, which was for a second reflected in Andrew's severe space. Phoebe sat in Millie's little nursery in the failing winter light, which was augmented by the glow from the fire of coals. Little Billy Bob stood at her side within the circle of her arm, his head against her shoulder, and his eyes wide with a delicious horror, as he gazed upon a calico book whose pages were brilliant with the tragedy of the three bears, which she was reading very slowly and with many explanatory annotations. Crimey balanced himself against her knee and beat with a spoon against the back of the book, and whooped up the situation in every bubbly way possible to his lack of classified vocabulary. Millie and Mammy Betty were absorbed in the domestic regions, so Phoebe had them all to herself, all four, for the twins lay cuddled asleep in their crib nearby. And though Phoebe had herself well in hand, her mind would wander occasionally from the history of the Bruins, to which mistake patiently recalled her by a clamor for. In a hurried response to one of his goads, she failed to hear a step in the hall for which she had been telling herself that she had not been listening for two hours or more, and David Kildare stood in the doorway, the firelight full on his face. It was not a triumphant David, with his judiciary honors full upon him, and gubernational, senatorial, ambassadorial, and presidential astral shapes manifesting themselves in dim perspective. It was just old whimsical David, tender of smile and loving, though bantering of eye, albeit a somewhat pale and exhausted addition. Ha ha ha, Phoebe! He said with a low laugh. Nobody wants Dave for anything. And it was then that the fire that had been lighted in the heart of Phoebe in her night watch blazed up into her face as she held out her arms to him, and in the twinkle of a fire spark David found himself on his knees, with Phoebe, the low chin's covered chair, and the two kitties clasped to his heart. For a glorious moment he held them all close, and his head rested on Phoebe's shoulder just opposite that of mistake, while crimey squirmed between them. Then he discovered that he was gazing under her chin into the wide open, slightly resentful orbs of Big Brother, who eyed him a moment as scant. Then, feeling at time to assert himself, reached up and landed a plainly proprietary and challenging kiss against the corner of his lady's mouth. David laughed delightedly and embraced the trio with greater force, as he said propitiatingly. Ha, good snuggling, isn't it, old man? But at this exact moment crimey took the situation into his own hands, slipped his cable, grabbed the book as he went and rolled over a couple of yards with a delighted giggle. Billy Bob, seeing his treasure captured, instantly followed, and therefore with ensued a tussle that was the height of delight to the two good-natured youngsters. And Phoebe's arms closed around David more closely as she held him embraced against her shoulder, her soft cheek on his. Dave? She whispered. You know I really don't care at all, don't you? What? Demanded David with alarm in his voice as he raised his head and looked at her in consternation. The election makes no. Oh, that! I'd forgotten all about it. Don't scare me like that anymore, Peachbud, please. He besought, and he took her chin in the hollow of his hand as she lent to him, her eyes looking into his, level and confident but glorious with bestowal. For a long minute he gazed straight into their dawn-grey depths. Then he said gently, the caress suspended. Woman, if you were ever going to take any of this back, do it now. Never. She answered and clashed her hands against his breast. It's still the loafer out of a job. Just Dave do nothing. He insisted, a new dignity in his voice that stirred her pride. Please. He closed her eyes as she entreated. It's for a long time, always. His voice was heaven-sweet with its note of warning, and he laid his other strong warm hand on her throat where a controlled sob made its pulse. I'm being very patient. She whispered, and her lips quivered with a smile as two tears jeweled her black lashes. But David had made his last stand. He folded her in, locked his heart, and threw away the key. Love. He whispered after a long time. I know this is just a dream. I had him for ten years, but don't let anybody wake me. To which plea Phoebe was making the tinderest of responses when the door burst open and Billy Bob shot into the room. Hip hip! He yelled at the top of his voice. Six hundred and ten plurality at all from the two coon wards. Count all in and verified. No difference now how the others go in. He paused, and the situation dawned upon him all in a heap as Phoebe hit her head against David's collar. Davey! He remarked in subdued tones. You're elected, but I don't suppose you care. Go away, Billy Bob. Don't you see I'm busy? Answered David as he rose to his feet, keeping Phoebe still embraced as she stood beside him. Jerusalem the Golden, have you cornered heaven, David? Gassed Billy Bob, again rising to the surface. Help somebody, help! At which exact minute, mistakes succeeded in dispossessing crimey of the last tatters of the adventures of the bears, and thus bringing down upon them all a tumult of distraction. Billy Bob caught up the roar and threw him almost up to the ceiling. Hoorah for Dave! She said, and to the best of his ability, crimey hurrah, while mistake joined in enthusiastically. The hubbub had penetrated the slumbers of the twins, who added to the uproar to such an extent that Mammy Betty hurried to the scene of action and cleared the deck without further delay. And? continued Billy Bob to Millie, and the pair of serene and only slightly attentive young people. You should have seen Jeff, dressed in Dave's last year frock coat and high hat, whizzing around the coon haunts in Caroline's gray car handing out invitations to the Chocolate Country Club Jamboree. They put the bottle in the dimes completely out of business, and he voted the whole gang straight. They tried hard to fix up the returns, but Hobb and I were at the count, and we saw it clean. Holy smoke, what a sell for the machine! Slip the cog in the nigger, vote that they have handled for years. Not a dollar spent, said David with pride, which goes to show that at times women keep their own counsels, for Phoebe ducked her head to hide a smile. And now it's up to you to hurry and get to the University Club by 8.30. You are to dress the poppas and two brass bands from the northeast window at Nine Sharp, two extras out announcing it. Everybody has been looking for you an hour. You old moonspooner, you, urged Billy Bob. Then keep up the hunt. Phoebe and I are going. Well, we are going where nobody can find us for this evening, anyway. Answered David with danger in his eyes. No, said Phoebe as she slipped her hand into his. I've had you as long as as fair as it is. Won't you go and see them all? If you will, I will dress in a hurry and you can come by for me. Please. Don't pull back on the leash, David, remarked Billy Bob. It's just beginning. Trod to heal and be happy. He laid his arm round Millie's waist as he spoke and gave her a little squeeze. And it was into the midst of a glorious roundup of a whole joyous convention of friends that David Kildare stepped several hours later, a resplendent and magnificent David, with Phoebe glowing beside him, and two, it was not only his own high particulars that surged around him, for Phoebe had fixed it with the Board of Governors and made out a very careful list of every campaign friend he had made and had all the girls at the phones for hours inviting each and every one. If at any time in his political career, David Kildare should lack the far vision, Phoebe was fully capable of taking a long sight for him. So Mike O'Rourke was there, stuffed carefully into a rented dress suit and was being attentioned to the point of combustion by Polly, who was thus putting off a reckoning with young New England, promised for after the election. Freckles the Devil was having the lark of his life in removing hats and coats under the direction of an extremely dignified club official. There were men from the downtown district in plain business clothes who stood in excited groups discussing the issues of the day. The head of the Cotton Mills, who had voted every employee perfectly in line without coercion, was expatiating largely to four old fellows in gray, for whom Cap had succeeded in obtaining furloughs from the commandant out at the home and was keeping overnight as his guests. They also were having the lark of their young lives and were being overwhelmed by attentions from all the Confederate dames present. Susie Carey was wonderful in some dangerously contrived greep draperies and over by the window held court on the subject of a city beautiful under a council of artistic city fathers. She announced the beginning of sittings for a full life-sized portrait of Judge Kildare for the city hall, at which Billy Bob raised such a cheer as almost to drown out the orchestra. Mrs. Buchanan received everybody with the most beaming delight and Mrs. Shelby was so excited that she asked Billy Bob about the children, which concession brought the stars to Millie's gentle eyes. Mrs. Cherry, as usual, was in full and resplendent regalia with Tom in attendance, displaying a satisfied and masterful manner that told its own tale. Her amazing encounter with Timpy had remained a secret between her and the discreet old negro, and her manner to Caroline Dara was so impressively cordial that Phoebe actually unbent to the extent of an exchange of congratulations that had a semblance of friendliness. The widow's net, having hauled up Tom, hopes for untroubled waters again could be indulged. In the midst of all the hilarity, the delegations and the bands began to arrive outside. The cheering rose to a roar and from the brilliantly lighted ballroom, David Kildare stepped out on the balcony and stood forty-five minutes, laughing and bowing, not managing to get in more than a few words of what might have been a great speech if his constituency had not been entirely too excited to listen to it. It was almost midnight when they all marched away to Dixie, played to ragtime measure, and sung by five hundred strong. With a sigh of relief, David held out his arms to Phoebe and started to swing her into the whirl of the dancers. As his arms fell about her, Phoebe pressed close to him, with a quick breath, and his eyes followed hers across the room. Under the lights that hung above the entrance to the fern room stood Caroline Dara like a flower blown against the deep green of the tall palms behind her, and her eyes were lifted to Andrew's face, which smiled down at her with suppressed tragedy. For an instant she laid her hand on his arm, and they were about to catch step with the music, when suddenly she swung around into the green tangle beyond her and reached out her hand to draw him after her. Pray, David, pray, said Phoebe as they glided over the polished floor. I am. David whispered back, and his arms tightened. I can't think of anything, but now I lay me, but won't it help? In the wide window at the end of the long room, Caroline turned and waited for Andrew. The lights from the city beat up into her face, and she was pale, while her jewel eyes shone black under their long lashes. Her white gloved hands wrung themselves against his breast as she held him from her. Out there while we danced, she whispered, I don't know what, but something told me that you are going to leave me and not tell me why. You were saying goodbye to my heart, with yours. Tell me, what is it? And with full knowledge of the strange, subtle, super conscious thing that had been between them from the first, and which had manifested itself in devious mystic ways, Andrew Severe had dared to think he could hold her in his arms in an atmosphere charged with the call of a half-barbarous music, and take farewell of her, she all unknowing of what threatened. What is it? She demanded again, and her hands separated to clasp his shoulder convulsively. Her words were a flutter between her teeth. Then the god of women struck light across his blindness, and taking her in his arms, he looked her straight in the eyes, and told her the whole gruesome, bitter tale. Before he had finished, she closed her eyes against his, and swayed away from him to the cold windowpane. I see. She whispered, You don't want me. You couldn't. You never did. And at that instant the blood bond in Andrew Severe's breast snapped, and with an odd comprehension of the vast and everlasting source from which flows the love that constrains and the love that heals, the love that only comes to bind in honor, he reached out and took his own. In the seventh heaven, which is the sole haunt of all in like case, there was no need of word mating. Hours later, one by one the lights in the houses along the avenue twinkled out, and the street lay in the grasp of the after midnight silence. Only a bright light still burned at the major's table, which was piled high with books into which he was delving with the hunger of many long hours of deprivation strong upon him. He had scouted the idea of the ball, had donned dressing gown and slippers, and gone back to the company of his immortals with alacrity. On their return Mrs. Buchanan and the girls had found him buried in his tomes tin deep, and it was with difficulty that Phoebe, kneeling beside him on one side, and Caroline on the other, made him listen to their joint tale of modern romance, to which Mrs. Matilda played the part of a joyous commentator. To Phoebe he was merciless, and a war of wits made the library echo with its give and take. Of course, my dear Phoebe, he said, It is an established fact that a man and his wife are one, and if you will just let that one be judged to kill there, semi-occasionally, it will more than content him, I'm sure. Why, major, can't you trust me to be a good wife to David? Don't be unkind to me. I promise to—to— Don't, Phoebe, don't. That love, honor, and obey clause is the direct cause of all the woman legislation ever undertaken, and it holds a remarkably short time after marriage as a general thing. Now there's Matilda. For over thirty-five years, I've—but where is Andrew? He demanded anxiously. Andy, answered David, with the greatest delight in his happy eyes, and the red-lock rampant over his brow, is sitting on the end of a hard bench, down at the telegraph office, trying to get a cable through to his chief, for permission to wait over for a steamer that sails her Panama two weeks from today. What? Demanded the major in surprise, looking at Caroline. Oh, she's going with him. There are no frills to the affection of Caroline Dara. She'll be bending over his campfire, yanking out his hot tamales in less than a month. Glad to do it, won't you, beautiful? Answered David gleefully to Caroline's beautiful confusion. David killed there. Observed the major with the utmost solemnity. When a man and a woman embark with love at the rudder, it is well the almighty controls the wind and the tides. I know, Major. I know. And I'm scared, some. Only, I'm counting on Phoebe's chart and the stars. I'm just the jolly paddler. Answered David with a laugh across at Phoebe. Well— Remarked the major judicially. I think she will be able to accomplish the course if undisturbed. It will behoove you, however, to remember that husband love is a steady combustion, not a conflagration. What do you call a love that has burned constantly for between ten and fifteen years, Major? Asked David as he smiled into the keen old eyes that held his. That— Answered the major. Is a fire fit to light an altar, sir? And in my heart, uh, Major, can you trust me to keep it burning? Said Phoebe, thus making her a vowel before them all with gallant voice and eyes of the dawn. Moments later after Phoebe and Mrs. Buchanan had retired down the hall and up the stairway, Caroline Dara still knelt by the major's chair. They were both silent, and the major held her hand in his. They neither of them heard the latch-key, and in a moment Andrew Sevier stood across the fire-light from them. I want to tear it, Major. He entreated, as he laid his hand on Caroline's shoulder when she came to his side and held out his other to the major. Say it, if you will, sir. The almighty bless you, boy, and make his son to shine upon you. He is doing it in giving you Caroline to wife. Some women he holds as hostages until the greater men in us can rise to claim them, and tonight his eyes have seen your fulfillment. The major looked straight into the pain-ravaged but radiant face before him, and his keen old eyes glowed through the mist that spread across them. Child, he said after a moment's silence as he laid his hand on Caroline's other shoulder. Across the many waters that cannot drown love you have brought back to my old age young Andrew the Glad.