Jasper County Democrat, Volume 8, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 August 1905 — SENATORIAL CHARITY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SENATORIAL CHARITY

By JAMES HAY. Jr.

The senator, who had been disposed at first to receive his caller with as scant politeness as the dictates of politics allowed, displayed a singular graciousness of manner. The visitor was a girl, with hair like burnished bronze and eyes whose soft, brown look took In some lights the hue of old amber. She was dressed in lavender, with what the senator thought a profusion of fluffy lace across her bosom, and her little foot obtruded itself on the senatorial subconsciousness from beneath a mass of more flufflness and flounces. Besides, the senator had had a surfeit of dry political talk and committee meetings that day. “You see, I don’t ask anything for myself, even if my father and brothers do work for you at the primaries. It’s just for Jack.” She spoke in low tones, betraying a girlish awe of the important man. “And who is Jack?” ~ The member of the upper house brushed aside a pile of letters that awaited his signature and gave the girl his attention, a compliment he did not extend to all who sought his help. "He and I are engaged to be married,” she said, and the announcement, or the frank blushes accompanying it, charmed the big man. “Wte will be married as soon as he can get a position, and I know you can arrange It" “But what does he want, and why doesn’t he come himself?” The legislator represented a southern state, where women are put on a pedestal above the “business" of life, and he was genuinely puzzled. "He was discharged for drinking too much,” she admitted simply, a* little hesitant, her lips twitching the slightest bit. The glow from the open grate looked blurred and indistinct to her troubled gaze. “I see,” said the senator. She did not know how near she had come to his heart by her explanation. His thoughts went back to his son, whose dissipation was the one dark

spot on his father’s long career of political and private happiness. Maybe it was a sympathy bred of experience that softened his heart to her, and perhaps this was strengthened by the droop of her young head before him, a ray of the afternoon sunlight on her hair emphasizing its delicate fairness. “But he has promised never to do it again,” she explained, entirely argumentative, and fully trusting the promise. The senator looked at her solemnly, placing the tips of his fingers together with mathematical precision, as if to help out his thought. There was in his big, clear eyes much of sadness and a tolerant skepticism. “Such a promise," he smiled slightly, “is by no means a certified check, but I think I can help him.” He spoke this last in slow, gentle tones. She sprang to her feet, intending to take his hand while she told him her gratitude. 9 “But wait” He checked her quickly, and again the finger tips were mathematically adjusted. “He cannot have another position in the government departments. I shall get him a place where he will have a chance to rise and make a record for himself. These departments take it out of a man so. I know, because I have had others there—others whom I wanted to see do great things." The senator sighed r£ fretfully. “He can go to work for the P. and O,” he concluded. “But is that a good place?" she asked, doubting the new proposition. “It will make a man of him, and that is what we want, isn't It?” The senator passed his hand a trifle wearily across his brow and smiled sadly at the young face before him. “And he will have lots of chances to rise and get—money Y‘ “Most assuredly." And he smiled again, this time at the parted Ups of the girl and her eyes big with question and speculation. “And he can do all this soon, very soon?” “Yes.” “And be can have it right away?” “Tomorrow.” The senator somehow thought he was doing more good in the

bestowal of that place than was possible in the forming of the highest legislation. “Oh, it’s grand,” she cried, converted to the merits of the plan, "Just grand.” She clapped her hands together for sheer pleasure, like a child. “The funny part of it is,” she confided, “that Jack said he was coming to the capitol to see his friends about the place, and now I've done it better than he could.” She paused doubtfully. “He said he was afraid to come to you because you hated a man who drank, but I knew you could fix it for us.” “My dear child,” laughed the august person, “the worst thing in Washington is to be considered a good manipulator of federal patronage. But you haven’t given me the young man’s full name. I’ll have to let him take a letter from me to Johns.” “It’s funny,” she began, “that it is the same”— They looked around to the door, which had been thrown open by a young man. Surprised to find any one with the senator, be stood still for a minute, his hand upon the knob of the half closed door. He was tall and imperious in his bearing, looking more than handsome. "John,” said the senator. "Jack!” cried the girl, her high voice drowning the sound of the senator’s greeting. He, at the door, kept silence, a dull red mounting slowly to his cheeks and forehead. “Come in,” suggested the senator coldly. “This is Jack,” explained the girl, glad to Introduce him to his benefactor and disregarding the cool reception accorded him. The senator held out his hand. “Jack who?” he laughed, a trifle stiffly. “Oh,” she laughed in return, “Jack Stanlay. I had forgotten to tell you his name all this time.” Mr. Stanlay and the senator shook hands cordially, and there ensued • repetition of the outline of the new plan, which was interpolated with the enthusiastic exclamations and questions of the girl. “And,” she said at the close of the interview, “how can I ever thank you?” "You can’t,” said the senator, pronouncing the words with the mellow accent of the south and making it a compliment to the girl. "I am entirely in your debt.” When the couple had left the office he called his private secretary, who from the nature of things political, knew all his affairs, private and public. “Lorry,” said the senator, "when you have been doing things for other people and find out that after all you’ve been helping your own son you owe somebody something.” Lorry, being of a secretive nature, assented in silence. “And this time,” concluded the senator, “it will have to be a wedding present. Write out a check for”— And the rest was merely a business transaction.

“JACK!" CRIED THE GIRL.