Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 83, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 January 1912 — THE MAN HIGHER UP [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAN HIGHER UP

By HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

CHAPTER XXIL sagger's card. THE big anteroom of the Republican headquarters was filled by an excited, noisy crowd—it was the afternoon before election day. No one seemed able to stand in one spot for two consecutive minutes; no one thought of sitting. “Sure to win; it’s a cinch.” “Ten to three McAdoo wins is best odds." “They say Harland’s thrown up the sponge.” “Old man’s sick. I hear.” “Twentieth ’ll go for Harland. though.” “Sick nothin’! Couldn’t kill McAdoo with dynamite." “The Fourth’ll make the Twentieth look like thirty cents when the majorities come in.” “Tom Haggin told me so himself.” “Five to ten he wins by more than 10,000." Late in the afternoon a bomb was exploded in the midst of the crowd. A man, breathless and red faced, burst into the room. He 1 rushed to ttye group nearest the door. “Remington’s thrown McAdoo down!” he shouted hoarsely. “Aw, go on!” was the derisive answer. “I tell you”— x “Chronicle! Extry! Great s’nsashun! All ’bout Remington's exposher!” A strident voiced newsboy ran into the room, waving a paper around his head. Great red letters flared on the sheet. There was an instant scramble to reach him, men shoving one another and snatching the papers that others paid for. The news once read, papers fell from nerveless hands. Men stared at one another with seared, uncomprehending eyes. An overwhelming personal calamity seemed to have fallen on every one. The silence was broken by a faltering cry. “It’s—it’s a dashed lie!" The speaker was a young man—new to politics—who had met Bob during the campaign and had become one of the big man’s most ardent followers. He was an earnest young man who cherished high ideals of civic duty and purity. “1 won’t believe it," he repeated, raising his voice appealingly. “It’s all a lie!” Just then Haggin came through one of the rear doors, coatless, hat shoved back, a cold cigar sticking at an aggressive angle from his mouth. “What’s the matter with you guys?” he demanded sharply. “That’s the noisest silence I ever heard.” One of them handed to him a paper. He read slowly.

“My God!” he gasped, stunned as were the others. “I dunno what to do. He’s a sick man—doctor said typhoid—got out o’ bed to come downtown—he’s cornin' here now—don’t let him know, an’ ” His voice rose in a hoarse bellow. “Curse Remington for a dirty traitor!” A man near the door swore sickeningly. “He’s coming!” The murmur ceased instantly. A carriage drew up before the ram shackle building. Out of it stepped Bob McAdoo—the man who never be*' fore had needed a vehicle for his com ings and goings. He was a very sick man; every one saw that. As he passed from the carriage, fretfully waving aside the driver, who had sprung down to assist him. he almost tottered. The hand that reached for the doorknob trembled visibly. He opened the door and passed slow* ly along the narrow aisle, nodding mechanically. Then the strange silence struck in on him. He raised his head sharply, the lips parting a little. |. “What is it?” he said. His volc«» was high pitched and querulous. Prom the street, came the strident voice of the newsboy. He was too far away for his words to be distinguished, but he was coming rapidly nearer. “Stop that newsie!” a man exclaimed involuntarily. “What is it? Why stop the newsie?” The tone was still sharp and querulous. -—— ■ ■

The young man who cherished ideals standing before Bob sought to hide his paper behind his back. The movement caught Bob’s attention. Just before the paper disappeared behind the young man’s back he saw in big. flaring red letters. “Reming”— He held out his hand. “Give me that paper.” ' ™ The-young man stared at him mutely, a scared look coming into his eyes. “Give me that paper!” Bob repeated fiercely. He caught the young mad by the shoulder, swung him around roughly and seized the paper. Then he unfolded it and read. The crowd lodked on in dumb discomfort. Somehow every one present found himself suffering horribly.. As the flaring headline Bob felt his heart contract convulsively. There was a sudden sharp throb in his brain, and then a strange numbness spread through him. He read through the affidavit without being able to comprehend what it meant. There, in its bold type, it seemed so impersonal, so much the thing which he was used to see in the newspapers, that he could not realize that it was Paul’s, his friend’s, public disavowal of him. Be

reaj It a second time; and still it did not seem real— the numbness persisted. E|£ looked at the young man. “What does it mean?” His hand passed before his eyes. “I—l don’t understand.” The young man sobbed aloud. “It isn’t true. Mr. McAdoo? Say it isn’t true.” Bob looked at him. the smile still playing about his mouth. ' “Is it, bad?" The querulousness was gone. The voice was tired and gentle “Then it's true—whatever it is.” The crowd stood stupidly" mute. The young man sobbed again. He caught one of Bob’s hands in both his own. “I don’t care if it is true.” be said brokenly. “I’ll starid by you.’’ He turned to face, the others and through unshamed tears looked* defiance at them. They stirred uneasily. A mutter of approval arose.

Bob exerted all his will power to bring back his straying mind to the thing before him, to realize what it was that made these men stand around him in stupid silence. The paper,had fallen from his hands. He was standing rigidly upright, his head thrown back, his feverish, glittering eyes taking no account of the present Haggin took a step forward and laid his hand on Bob’s shoulder, “Bob," he said—and no one wondered then at the gentleness in the old prizefighter’s voice—"ye’re sick. Let’s go home. Bob.” Bob started. He looked at Haggin with a puzzled, childish frown. “Eh. Tom? I came 'to see you about , something. 1 ' 1 forget what. It was something—l’m always forgetting today. Tom. let MacPherson go to thunder, and you and I’ll go home," Haggin took one of Bob’s arms, earnest young man caught the other. Together they half led, half supported, him to the carriage. Then they got in with him and drove away.

There was a rustle as the men in the crowd changed their attitudes stiffly. Then some one laughed unpleasantly. “Don’t,” another rebuked him complainingly—“don’t laugh. I feel like I’d just seen a man hung.” Haggin and the young man leaned forward anxiously, ready to catch Bob if the jolting of the carriage should throw him off balance. When they were halfway home Haggin ‘ ordered the driver to stop. “Git out.” be commanded the young man. “an’ phone fer a doctor to be at his house! Quick! See?" ~ When the carriage resumed its journey the old saloon keeper took a seat beside Bob and awkwardly put a steadying arm around his liege’s shoulders. He noticed that Bob’s lips were moving. “What is it"“ Haggin inquired, bending over. “1 can t near , Bob. Can’t ye speak louder?’ Bob’s eyes opened slowly. He stared at his companion unrecognizlngly. He began to mutter. Haggin could catch only snatches of it. Delirium had gripped Bob. “It’s the face of the little newsie. I can’t get it out of my sight. They’ll beat me In the end. The miracle won’t come, Kathleen. Beaten by a woman. I’ll get out of your way, I tell you. I have nothing to say. You’ve said it all. Paul. This is the end.” Haggin blasphemed tearfully to the driver. “Can’t you drive faster?’ (To be continued.)

THE CROWD LOOKED ON IN DUMB DISCOMFORT.