Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1913 — CALEB CONOVER, RAILROADER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CALEB CONOVER, RAILROADER

BY ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE

Author of ‘‘Syria from the Saddle," “Columbia Stories” Etc.. Copyright. 1907, Albert Payson Terhune

CHAPTER IX. The Grafton Opera House List. The next five days witnessed practical repetitions of the foregoing experiences. In almost every town the local newspaper not only refused to report a line of Standish’s speeches, but would not accept his advertisements. Nor, in most places, could he find a job office willing to print handbills for him. His agent had nearly everywhere been able to engage a hall; but as no adequate preliminary notice of the meeting had been published, audiences were pitiably slim. In one or two towns, where the papers did not belong to the “Machine,” it was discovered that every hall, lodgeroom or other available meeting-place had been engaged in advance by some mysterious competitor. Clive, at such settlements, was forced to speak in open air. Even then the police at one town dispersed the gathering under excuse of fearing a riot; at two others the mayor refused a license to hold an outdoor meeting, and at a fourth, a gang of toughs, at long range, pelted the audience with stones and elderly eggs, the police refusing to interfere. At length Clive’s advance agent returned to the candidate in abject despair. “I’ve been doing this sort of work eight years,” the man reported, “but this time I’m cleaned stumped. I can’t make any headway. The papers, the city authorities, the opera-house-and-hall-proprietors and the police are all under Conover’s thumb. It’s got so that as soon as I reach a town I can find out right away who is and who isn’t in the ‘Machine’s pay. Where the papers aren’t muzzled — and there are precious few such places —the halls are closed to us, and either the mayor or the police will stop the meeting. Where the papers are working for Conover, we can get all the halls we want, because the Boss knows the news of your speech can’t circulate except by word of mouth. “Oh, they’ve got us whipsawed in grand shape! I’m wondering what’ll happen at Grafton. Monday night That’s the biggest city next to Granite, and there’s always been more or less of a kick there against Conover rule. They’ve got a square man for mayor, and one of their three newspapers is strong for you. I was able to get the opera house, too. It’s your big chance of the campaign, and your last chance on this tour. The rest of the towns on your route I can’t do anything with. I’m waiting to see what dirty game Conover will play at Grafton, now that he can’t work his usual tricks there. He'll be sure tc try something.”

Billy Shevlin, who had also acted (unsuspectedly as unofficially) as advance agent of Clive Standish’s tour, had in three respects excelled the authorized agent: In the first place, ho had been as successful as the other had been a failure. In the second, he had not turned back. Third, and last, he was not In the very least discouraged. Nor had he need to be. Yet even to him Grafton presented the first serious problem. And to it he devoted much of his time and more of his cleverness. At last ho formed a plan and saw that his plan was good. • p Clive reached Grafton at noon of the day he was scheduled to speak. This was the second largest city In the Mountain State. Here, next to Granite, must the chief battle of the campaign be waged. On the effect of his speech hero hung a great percentage of Clive’s hopes for the coming State convention as Grafton went, so would Matawan County, whose centre it was. And Grafton,wavering in fealty to Conover, might yet be won to the Standish ranks by the right sort of speech. So with the glow of approaching struggle upon him Clive awaited the night All he asked was a fair hearing. This, presumably. was for once to be accorded him. At the hotel on his arrival he found Karl Ansel waiting. The big. lean New Englander was in a state of white-hot wrath. "You got my telegram and the notice of the caucuses, I suppose!” he growled as Clive met him. "No. I ordered all mail forwarded here, and telegrams, too. I broke away from my route Saturday, when I found I couldn’t get a hall at Smithfield. I cancelled my date there and went over to Deene, leaving word for everything to be sent on to Grafton. Then, yesterday—’’

"Never mind that We’re done! Beat! Tricked!” "What do you mean?” ’ "The county conventions —the caucuses! In every—nearly every one of the eight counties Conover worked some blackguardism. To some he sent telegrams that you backed out In others his chairman tried the ‘back door* act And I wrote you how they'd ’snapped* the dates and caught us unready. Then—’’ Clive recalled the anonymous letter which later events had driven from his memory. If only he had been able to lower himself to his opponent’s level and take advantage of it—of the treachery in the Conover ranks! It — But Ansel was still pouring out the flood of his ill-temper. “Whlpsawed us, right and left," he declared. "Beat us at every point as easy as taking candy from a baby. What are we doing In politics? We’re a lot of silly amateurs against—” "We’re a lot of honest men against a gang of crooks. And in the long ran we’ll win. We—’’ “The long run, eh? Well, the run has begun, and they've got us on it We’re beat!” "Poor old Ansel,” laughed CUvo, "how many times during the past fortnight have I heard you say that? And •very time you pick yourself up again And go on with the fight. Just as you’ll do now.” j‘Not on your life! I —oh, well, I suppose I will, If it comes to that! But it's a burning, blazing shame.” "If it wasn't for just such ‘burning, blazing shames,* there’d be no 5 need tor our campaign. It's to crush such 'shames* that we’re working. Cheer up! I*vo great hopes for to-night’s meeting.”

Tersely he described his trip, the drawbacks he had encountered, and the better chances that seemed to attend the Grafton rally, Ansel Interspersing the tale with a volley of queries and expletives. • “I’d heard of this press-muzzling,” Mid he as Standish ended, "and I have one way of blocking it I’ve arranged for your speeches and ‘ads.’ and advance notices to be printed in the biggest paper in the next State, and scattered all through the Mountain State as campaign documenta I dont* think •ven Conover can block that move.” "Splendid!” cried Standish. “Old man, you’re a genius!" "No, I’m not,’ contradicted Ansol, rather ruefully, "but someone also is. I don’t know who." "I don’t understand." "Why, the Idea was dent to me three days ago, anonymously. Typewritten on foolscap. No signature. What d*you think of that?" "Anonymously ?’’ "Yes. I wonder why. The Idea’s so good, one would think the originstor’d claim it Unless— *' "Unless it came from ths Conover •amp?” "Just what occurred to me. Anyhow I’ve adopted the suggestion. I suppose you’d have refused to accept anonymous help, eh?” "Every man to his own folly. It’s done now."

"It aura la. And with a few more such tips, Conover would be ‘done,* too. He’s carried matters highhandedly for years, but now maybe someone he's ridden rougb-chod aver has turned on him." % x The great night had coma, dire and Ansel, arriving at the Opera House, found that gaudy, gaylylighted auditorium full to the doors. On the stage sat ‘he mayor, the proprietor of one of the papers, a half dozen clergymen and a score of civic dignitaries. The boxes were Ailed with well-dressed women. livening suits blended with the less conspicuous costumes of the spectators who stretched from stage to entrance, from orchestra to roof. A band below the stage played popular and national airs. w The news of Clive’s eccentric proson vention tour, of his eloquence, his Mean manliness and the obstacles ho

bad overcome, had drawn hundreds through sheer curiosity, < More had some because they were weary of Conover’s rule and eagerly desired to learn what his young antagonist had to offer them in place of bossism. Skilled, byg experience, in reading the sentiment of crowds, Clive, as ho stepped onto the stage, felt instinctively that the main body of the house was kindly disposed toward him. Not only was this proven by the spontaneous applause that heralded his appearance, but bi’ a ripply —a rustle —of interest that irose on every hand. The sound nerve* him. He considered once more how much hung on to-night’s success or failure, and the advance auaury was as music to his ears. w - The mayor, a Ittle, nervous man with a monstrous mustache and a cast in one eye, opened the meeting with a brief speech, defining the purpose of the evening, an<. ended by introducing the candidate. Clive came, forward. A volley of applause such as ho had never before known hailed him. He bowed and bowed again, waiting for it to imbside. But it did not It - continued from every quarter of the house.

From pleasure Clive felt a growing uneasiness. The majority of the audience seemed to have relapsed into silence, and were staring about them in wonder at the unduly continued ovation. The thumping of feet and canes and the shouts of welcome increased rather than diminished. Jtt settled down into a steady volume of sound, regular and rythmic, shaking the whole auditorium, losing any hint at spontaneity and degenerating into a deafening, organized babel. The men on the platform glanced at each other in angry bewilderment. For fully ten minutes the tumult endured, g rendering Intelligible words out of the question. The mayor, as chairman, rapped for silence. But his efforts were in valni The sound was drowned In the va,ster, reechoing volume of rythmic sound. Clive held up his hand with a gesture of authority. The applause doubled. <--v —— —- This was growing absurd. The quiet majority of the audience waxed restive, and half rose in its seats to locate the disturbance. To end the embarrassing delay Standish began to speak, hoping the clamor would die down. But his words did not reach the second row of seats. Ansel slipped forward to his side. "This is a put-up job!” he exclaimed, shouting to make himself heard above the uproar. “They are pretending to applaud because they think you dare not call them down fbr that They TT keep ft up an evening if they get a chance, and you won’t be able to speak ten words.” In a front orchestra seat a man stood up waving a flag and bawling: "Standish! Standish! We want STANDISH!" The rest of Billy Shevlin’s carefully drilled cohorts took up the cry, and it was chanted a hundred times to the accompaniment of resounding sticks and boot heels. The mayor beckoned a deputy sheriff from the wings. Pointing to the front-seat ring-leader he commanded:

"Put that follow out.” The deputy descended the steps to the orchestra, grabbed the vociferating enthusiast by the collar and started to propel him up thfc aisle. In an instant, as though the action were a signal, every sound ceased. The house was as still as death. And through the silence soared the shrill, penetrating protest of the man who had Just been collared. "You leave me be! ’’ he yelled. ‘Tve got as much right here as you have. An* I’m earnin’ my money.” "What money F' shouted a trained guerlst in the gallery. “Tho cash Mr. Standish promised mo for loadin’ the applause of course. He's payin’ me an* the rest of the boys good, an’ woTe goin* to earn our dough. Standish! Standish! We want—* Thon pandemonium broke loose. Hundreds of yoioes caught up tho rhythmic refrain, while hundreds more shrieked "Fake!” and a counter rhythm arose of Take! . Fake! Fake! Poke! FAKE!” Standish, abandoning all present hope of making the audience understand that the shrlll-voicod man was a hireling of Conover’s and that the whole affair was a gigantic, well-re hearsed trick, turned to face tho group on the platform. But there, at.’ a glance, read in a dozen pahs of* eyes suspicion, contempt. "I’m sorry. Mr. sneered, tho little mayor, "that ypur friends

are over-zealous jin earning their—” "Do you mean that you—that any-body-can believe such an absurdity?" cried - Standish. “Can’t you see —?” “I can only see,” said the mayor, rising, “that' I have evidently misunderstood the purpose and nature of this meeting. Good night.” To Clive’s horror the little dignitary walked off the stage, followed by twothirds of those who had sat there with him. The majority of the boxes’ occupants followed suit. 'The few who remained on the platform did so, to judge from their expression, more from (interest in the outcome of the riotous audience’s antics than through any faith in Clive. For by this time the erstwhile orderly place was in full riot.. Individual fights and tussles were waging here and there. Men were shouting aimlessly. Women Were screaming. People were hurrying in a jostling, confused mass up the aisles toward the exits, while others bellowed to them to sit still or move faster. And through all (both factions of shouters having united in a common slogan) rang to an accompaniment of smashing chairs and pounding feet that endless metrical refrain of “Fake! Fake! Fake! Fake! FAKE!”

Standish, Ansel at his side, was once more at the platform’s edge, striving in vain to send his mighty voice through the cataract of noise. One tough, in the pure joy of living and rioting, had climbed .over the rail of a proscenium box —the only one still occupied—and, throwing an arm about the neck of a young girl, sitting there with an elderly man and woman, tried to kies her. The girl screamed. Her elderly escort thrust the rowdy backward, and the latter, his insecure balance on the box-rail destroyed, tumbled down among the orchestra chairs. The scene was greeted with a howl of delight from kindred spirits. The youth scrambled to his feet and, joined by a half dozen intimates, once more swarmed up the side of the box. The girl shrank back, and futilely tugged at the closed box door, which had become jammed. The old man, quivering with senile fury, leaned over the box-front and grappled the foremost assailant. He was brushed aside and, amid a hurricane of laughter from the paid phalanx in the gallery, the group of half-drunk, wholly-inspired young brutes clustered across the box rail. The whole incident had not .occupied five seconds. Yet it had served to draw the multidivided attention of the mob and the rest of the escaping audience to that particular and new point of interest And now, dozens of the tougher element, seeing a prospect of better spoi-t than a mero campaign row, elbowed their way to the spot. The girl’s cry and that of the woman with her had barely reached the stage when Clive Standish, with one tremendous spring, had cleared the six-foot distance between footlights and box. There was a confused, whirling, cursing mass of bodies and arms. Then the whole group rolled outward over the rail. Before they had fairly touched ground Clive was on his feet, the centre of a surprised but bellicose swirl of opponents who were nothing loath to change their plan of baiting a welldressed girl into the more thrilling pastime of beating a well-dressed candidate. As the score of toughs rushed him, Clive had barely time to get his back into the shallow angle between the bulging outer bases of the two proscenium boxes. Then the rush was upon him. Hitting clean and straight, and with the speed and unerring deadliness of the trained heavyweight boxer, Clive for the moment held his own. There was no question of guarding. He relied rather for protection on the unusual length of his arms. - Nor could a blow be planned beforehand. It was bit, hit, and keep on hitting. Fully twenty youths and men surged forward at him, and at nearly every blow one went down among the pushing throng. But for each' who fell there were always two more to take his place. The impact and crash of ■ blows sounded above the yells and shuffle of feet. Tljls was not boxing. It was butchery. Only his semi-sheltered position and

the self-confusing hurry and numbers of his assailants kept Clive on his feet and allowed him to bold his,own. as he dimly realized even through the wild lust of battle that gripped and Intoxicated him, the fight was but a question of moments. Soon someone, running in, must grapple or trip him, or a kick would reach and disable him. And once down, in that bedlam of stamping, kicking feet, his life would not be worth* a scrap of paper.

While It lasted, though, it was glorious. The veneered shell of civilization had been battered away. He was primitive man, gigantic, furious, terrible; battling against hopeless odds. Yet battling (as had those ancestors from whom his yellow hair, great shoulders and bulldog jaw were inherited) all the more gladly and doughtily because of those very odds. He was aware of a man who, running along the box rail from the stage, had dropped to his side and stood swinging a gilded, blue-cushioned chair about his head. This apparition and the whizzing sweep of his odd weapon caused the toughs to give back for an Instant "Good old Ansel!" panted Clive. "Save your breath!" grunted Kart. "You’ll need It." Then a yell from twenty threats and the rush was on again. At first. «ticipating the easy triumph which sir type ap love, the toughs had

turned from the milder fun of frightening a girl of .the better class to the momentary work of thrashing the solitary man who had Interfered with that amusement. Now, faces, swollen eyes and than one fractured jaw and nose had transformed the earlier phase of rough spirits into one of murderous rage. The maagwho had so mercilessly punished must not be allowed to escape alive. The tough never fights fair. When fists fail, a gouge, bite or kick is considered quite allowable. When, as in the present instance, the Intended victim is so protected as to render these tactics difficult of success, pockets are usually ransacked for more formidable weapons. Ansel’s arrival on the scene had but checked the onrush. No two men, big and powerful as both were, could subdue nor hold out against that assault. Clive struck, right, left, with the swiftness of thought And each blow crashed into yielding, reeling flesh. Down whirled Ansel’s chair on the bullet head of one man, and down went the man beneath the Impact - Up whirled the chair and again it descended on another head —descended and shivered into kindling wood. Dropping the fragments, Karl ranged close to Clive and together the two struck out, the one with the wild force and fury of a kicking horse, the other with the colder but no less terrific accuracy of the trained athlete. A tough, ducking one of Ansel’s wild swings, ra i in and caught him about the waist Doubling his left leg under him, Karl caught the man’s stomach with the 1 oint of his knee. The assailant co lapsed, gasping. But the momentari lapse of the tall New Englander's fl tic attack had opened a breach thr ugh which two more men 7 * rushed an flung themselves bodily on him. •Clive, ui vare of his ally’s plight, yet felt th increised impetus of the onslaught on himself, and had to rally his every faculty to withstand it His breath w» s coming hard from his heaving ciiest, and his head swam with fatlg ;e and excitement Mors than one t eavy blow had reached his face and bJdy. Then — "Clear the wuy there, youse!” howled ai insane, mumbling voice. ‘Lemme at ’im! I’ll pay *lm for this smashed ji w!” The press immediately in front oi Clive Standish slackened and the crowd opened. In its centre reeled a horrible figure -Mood-stained torn ol clothing, paging and distorted of face, one hand nursing an unshaven jaw, while the other flourished a revolver. "Lemme at ’Im!” mumbled the painmaddened tough through a hedge of splintered teeth. “Clear the way oi I’ll shoot to clear!” Then, finding himself directly Lb front of Standish, the maniac halted and levelled his weapon.

Something swished through the alt from behind Clive’s head. A big shapeless object hurtled forward and smote the broken-Jawed tough full across the eyes on tho very Instant he fired at point Mank range. The ball went wild, and surprised at the odd blow he bad received (apparently from nowhere), caused the man’s pistol to clatter to the ground. The girl in tho <&ox—lnnocent cause of the whole battle —had paid her debt to the man who had imperilled his Ilfs In her defence. She had crouched, trembling, In the background watching the progress of the fray. But as ths Intended murderer’s trigger-finger had tightened, she had hurled at his face, with all her frail force, the huge bouguot she carried. For once a woman’s alm was unerring, and thereby a man’s life was saved. Her act—melodramatic, amaafhg, unlooked for, eccentric In Its pestle justice and theatric -rff—tf rent s roar of applause from tho aniaahwm oven as tho pistol-shot uwuseaßasßp startled tho group of ruffians into now tty. ■ CMve, without waiting the renoß of tho shot, had flung Mmasfit Upon tho little knot ot toughs who wuso looked In death-grip about Ansel t But oven as he did ml a asp «fi warning rang from a I sots pesto of tho big building: "The copel Lights out! The sapnt** ' The e hastftyemnmonad echoed of blue-coated reserves, ptststo end nightsticks daawa, charged damn toe centre aisle. And before thsto osswt too rabble molted like enow to Agsto, Tho bistorts Oonfton Opens Mesne tots wee o thing to top past. (To bo Continued.)

"Put that fellow out."

Something swished through the air from behind Clive’s head.