Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 89, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 February 1912 — THE MAN HIGHER UP [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAN HIGHER UP

By HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

CHAPTER XXV. ATONEMENT. THERE was one matter to be settled before Bob might begin to work out his own and his city’s political regeneration. Two good friends took this burden from his shoulders. Hardly had his convalescence begun when Sanger’s newspapers began to bint, at first vaguely, then more boldly, at possible criminal prosecutions, even impeachment proceedings, on the ground of Bob's fraudulent nomination. Haggin went to District Attorney Martin. “We got to stop it," he said anxiously. “We got to stop it—an' now. But I dunno how. 1 don't want Bob to know nothin’ about it till it’s all set-, tied one way ’anther. He’s got troubles enough of his own without botherin' with mine.’' "I should think that this is his trouble more than yours,” Martin suggest-s ed dryly. “Air that's where you're dead -wrong.” Haggin answered eagerly. “It wasn't him bought up those dele gates; it was me!” Martin sprang to his feet excitedly. 6 “What! You did it? But his confession—Remington's affidavit! Haggin, you’re lying to save him!" “No, I ain’t lyin'. It was Bob lyin’ when he told Remington that he done it. I tell you I done it. It%as this way, Martin. They comes to me—l s'posin’ it was MacPherson all the time, but it was Sanger really—an’ tries to buy mean' my votes in the convention. I jollies ’em along till I knows all they've got up their sleeve. Then I tells Bob. He ain’t feazed. There ain’t time for him to see all the Hemenway delegates, so he me some of ’em to handle an’ he takes the rest. Ap' he tells me: 'Mind you, Tom. use no money now. That's straight. I’ve got to come out of this with clean hands.’ He sees his men an’ bluffs ’em—he’s got the goods on ’em, you know—an’ lines ’em up right under Mac’s and Sanger’s noses. 1 sees my men. Some of ’em I bluffs an’ some of ’em 1 can't. I gets cold /eet on the clean hands proposition an’ buys ’em off—uses my own money, an’ he don't know nothin’ about it—does it spite of his orders.” “But Remington said”— “I’m coinin’ to that. Afterward—’bout two weeks before election day . he finds out about it from that skunk Malassey. He ought to kick me out, but he don't; just sits down, writes out a 1 check fer what I spent an’ makes me take it; never says a word excep' somethin’ about there not bein’

enough soap an’ water in the world to wash his hands‘clean. Then when Remington accuses him of buyjn’ the delegates lie takes all tlje blame an' never sa*ys a word about me. I wish to God,” Haggin concluded miserably, “somebody ’d kill me! Say, Martin, why can't you prosecute me ter it? I’ll plead guilty an’ tell everything up to where he paid me back' my money.” “You'd go to jail. I couldn’t protect you.” “1 don't care,” Ilaggiu answered des , perately. “I'd like to. It'd serve me right fer bein' such a fool as not to do what he told me, an’ it’d clear him.” Suddenly Martin pushed a book toward Haggin. '•Haggin. put your hand on this Bible.” The “Bible” happened to be a dictionary, but Haggin knew no better. “Do you swear on this book that Wbat you have said is the truth?” “I swear,” Haggin answered. steadily, his eyes not faltering before Martin’s searching glance. .“Upon my soul!” Martin dropped limply back into his chair. "I don’t know whether you’re lying or not.” Haggin swore in his misery. “Course I’m tellin’ the truth. Do you think I want to go to pail fer nothin’?” Martin wrinkled his brow over the problem. “Haggin.” he said abruptly after a few minutes’ thinking, “tell me all you know about that convention business.” And Haggin told him a tale oft wholesale corruption such as to cause even Martin, familiar as he was with •the devious and foul methods of our politics, to experience a quahn of dis gust. . . “We’ll see,” he said when the account was finished. “1‘ don't think you’ll have to go to jaik Haggin ” It was reported next morning that Pistrict Attorney Martin had left the city for a two weeks’ vacation. As a matter of fact, he was quietly at work ferreting out certain facts in.connection with the convention bribery. The end of his two weeks' work was Okarfced by a. series of meetings between film and certain lesser politlhad been prominent in Harihoid'* campaign. These were followhf « conference with MacPherrggn, atr •;!«*- conclusion of which the lafler and’shaking. Tie-* Idartin called on Henry Sam gWfcJfr/ The tiro were closeted for ah Martin rote to leave he •W. W then—your papers

i. 0 - are muzzled or I publish these affidavits and begin proceedings myself. YOu understand, too. that the statute of limitations runs two years on these offenses? That is clear. 1 hope?” “Perfectly.” Sanger answered coolly. “For two years you have mo tied. After that we shall resume hostilities on an equal footing. You’re a smart lawyer, Martin." “And, by the way, Mr. Sanger,” Martin added. “yoli will be surprised to learn that McAdoo did not bribe those delegates and knew nothing about it until weeks after the convention. You are now fighting an honest man.” “Indeed!" Saitger answered indifferently. -“Good afternoon, Mr. Martin.” Thereafter newspaper discussion of the nbmination was dropped. When Bob was strong enough to be allowed to receive visitors Martin went to him and told him all these things! Bob listened without interrupting the flow of the tale. _ At its conclusion be said simply. “You’re a good friend, Martin.” And Martin somehow felt very happy. 'll owe you an apology, Mr. McAdoo.” he said after a moment’s silence. "When Haggin told me that you hadn't known of the bribing. 1 thought he was lying—until 1 had other evidence. I’m ashamed that”—

“Don’t!" Martin thought he caught a note of pain in Bob’s voice. “You had no reason to think me above it. I had done things as bad—or worse. My hands aren't very clean. Martin. And Haggin was my agent in the matter. He ilid it for me.” “Glean hands or hot, Mr. McAdoo.” Martin exclaimed impulsively, "I'd rather fight under you than under any other man in the country.” He went away wondering at the new McAdoo he had found. Others, too. saw and wondered. For there was a. new McAdoo indeed. The lesson had sunk deep. Kathleen, watching closely, in real dread lest With-returning strength the old spirit should return, saw that the change was complete and permanent. The old Bob, arrogant, self aggrandizing, hard, lay dead amid the fragments of his shattered self god. Something more Kathleen saw—that he bore the burden of a profound sorrow and shame. ' * None the less, however, his old certainty and fopeeftilness remained with him. as his enemies soon discovered. And his was no easy task, to keep his people’s interest in him and his work at effective heat. He had need of popular support. The old corrupt methods were forever discarded. His enemies had much material with which to work. Although he had been elected, they had succeeded in electing a slight majority in the city conn-, cils. Their forces were carefully organized to fight him. Yet the advantage was all with Bob, for Sanger's ring, bound only by the ties of self interest, must needs foster many corrupt measures in the city’s legislature. Bob. looking only to thb people's needs, was free to veto these measures. Each successive election saw his organization, both in his party and in the city government, become stronger.'

Nor were, Bob’s political activities confined to the Steel City. Mnrchell. although he amazed his friends and physicians by the tenacity with which he held on to life, grew steadily weaker. Under his guidance Bob and Dunmeade together fought against the railroad steel interests, with whom the open break had at last come. It was tremendous struggle that stirred the commonwealth to its uttermost limits. Bolt's part in the state campaign to k him often to the capital, where he was received frankly into the beautiful home life of the governor's family. Sometimes, he found himself alone witji Mrs. Duumeade. From her lie received his-miriy news of Eleanor Gilbert during all those long months. "You have Mrs. Gilbert’s address?” he asked abruptly one evening when, after a long conference, they had induced him to remain overnight at the capital. “Yes. She is in New York doing settlement work. From her letters I know that ini|,her work, the first real work she has ever had, even though it is small, she is happier than ever liefore."

“I'm glad she is happy. Will you write to her." he added immediately, "that we have found no trace of J'aul Remington, but that I am still searching?" Mrs. Dunmeade did not ask why die himself should not write. This was just before the famous “gas franchise war,” finally gave Bob’s enemies into his hands. The Steel. City’s homes were dependent for beat upon natural gas. supplied by a company operating under an exclusive franchise from the'city. This franchise provided for an extortionate maximum charge, the enforcement of 'which had worked great hardship on the consumers. But when the McAdoo administration was a year old the monopoly's rights had almost expired and an extension under the old terms was Remanded' by the gas company. Bob Immediately in a public message declared that he would oppose the extension unless it provided for- a reasonable. rate to the consumer. His message was hailed with huzzas by the long suffering public. MacPherson led the fight for the ordinance. His genius for corruption, never sq shamefully’ brilliant, was given free play. The measure passed both houses of councils.

When it was presented to Bob for approval be vetoed it with a cl,ear explanation of his reasons for so doing. The bill was reintroduced into councils in the hope of securing the twothirds majority necessary to pass it over the mayor's veto. The councilmen found themselves between two hot fires. On the one hand was MacPherson. and the mayor saw more than one supposedly stanch fol-

lower caught in his enemy's net. On the other hand, was Bob—with the people awakened to a fury of indignation. The tale is told thaj during the, night and day preceding the final reading of the ordinance MacPherson kept his councilmen secretly locked together in an obscure hotel, away from the influence of the crowds. On the hour of the council's mating thev were quietly marched to their chamber in a poay, guarded by MacPherson in person. When they reached the council chambers those renegades must have trembled. Every available inch of space in the spectators’ gallery was packed by indignant citizens. Over the gallery significant fact! hung ropSs, each with a noose tied at its dangling end. MacPherson’s glare could not stay the panic in his creature’s hearts. He was a bold man, indeed, W’ho would vote for the ordinance that night. And into the chamber they saw Bob walk. From the gallery came one hoarse shout, stilled instantly by his 1 raised hand. Straight to MacPherson. standing at one side, where he could watch, the proceedings, Bob strode. “Get out of this chamber!” It was Bob who spoke in a quiet, repressed tone which nevertheless carried a threat. MacPherson sneered. “I have the right to be here.” “Get out of this chamber!” This time the voice rang through the silence of the crowded hall. “I’ll slay here until I’m good and ready to leave. Bob McAdoo!” “MacPherson”—Bob pointed to the 'crowded gallery—“you-see that crowd!

If I were to give the word they would tear you to pieces. That crowd means business. I won't give them the word, but unless you go, and now, I’ll throw you out. 1 won’t nnswer for what happens after that.” MacPherson began what was meant to be a defiant reply. “You dare, lay one finger on me”— ° He got no further. He saw Bob’s big hand shoot out toward him. felt a grip like a steel vise clutch his shoulder. MacPherson turned tail and ran, slinking out of the hall amid unbroken silence. Bob turned to the councilman. "Now. then, beat that ordinance,” he said quietly. So the ordinance was defeated. Some days later a new’ ordinance, drawn up under Bob’s direction, was introduced. In due time it passed, was signed and accepted by the gas company.

The night after Bob's victory ."0,000 of the Steel City’s best citizens paraded before his home and cheered him as the next governor. The cheering thousands marched on, leaving street to return to its wonted dingy calm. Kathleen, proud and rejoicing, sought Bob in his library. The man in whose honor a great city had made holiday sat before the tire in an attitude of complete dejection. “Bob.” she cried tremulouslv, “what is it?” “Nothing. Kathleen,” he said in a tired voice—“nothing that matters much. I haven’t meant to trouble you with my moods.” “And tonight, with all these people showing you their love and pride in you—when you have deserved it so jwell—when yoti should be only proud and happy—l find you here—so!” Her voice almost broke. , “Don’t!" He shrank from her praise as he never shrank from a physical blow’. “That's what hurts tonight. 1 have not deserved their kindness. I have done so little—nothing!" “Nothing! It means nothing to you to have stood between nearly a million people and injustice?" “But I didn't do that.” he insisted, with weary patience. “What has been done the people did themselvtes 1 . All I did was to veto a bill any clever politician would have vetoed as a matter of policy and to pull off a shallow, theatrical trick that, after all. probably wasn't necessary. They forget all the evil and remember only the little good. But I can’t. And tonight they have made me feel small and mean.” “Small and mean! Bob. will you never learn to know yourself? I”--her voice broke in a little laugh that was near to tears—“l'd like to shake you!” He smiled. “I wish you would, Kathleen. That's the only w’ay 1 can learn, it seems, by having the truth shaken, pounded, into me.”

Tears came to her eyes. “Ah, don’t think I don’t know what this long year has been to you!” she said pityingly. “You were always cruel to yourself, driving yourself mercilessly. Haven’t I seen your heartache? I know how you have counted on finding Paul and remaking his life and how bitter the disappointment has been. And.” she rushed, on, though she knew his saul was writhing at being thus laid bare, “I- know about her. Bob, give over your self inflicted punishment Go to her and take happiness—for both of you.” “Not that,” he said sternly. She knew that the sternness was for the hope within him that would not die. “That can never be.” ( “But it can be. She loves you.” “Do you suppose I could seek’happiness while Paul Remington’s life is spoiled because I drove him into temp-, rations lie couldn’t resist?. I might have made him strong, a good man, but never by word or act did I teach him anything but selfishness and hyI>ocrisy. If 1 were to shirk my punishment I’d be a couteipptible coward. My punishment is just—exactly the penalty a just God would devise. I'm not whining.” » "You poor, elemental child!” she exclaimed pityingly. "What are you—what is any of us-in God's scheme of things that our punishment should be so, important?" , Bob looked at her. even in his fanatical self torture startled by the new thought. She rose to leave him. “Duty ought to ipean happiness, and you get nothing but a useless misery out of it. I thought you' had found yourself. But you haven't. You have still one lesson to ler.rn—faith, if 1 had not faith I shouldn’t want to live. I couldn’t be happy.” "Yes; you are happy. And yet,” he said slowly—“and yet I have sometimes fancied that you have had your heartache.” “Yes; 1 am happy,” she said, and her face glowed. “I am happy. I’d hate to be so small as to be unhappy merely because God hasn’t arranged everything to my liking.” She left him. “If only 1 could find him—if only I could find him!” he cried to himself. (To be Continued.)

“get out of this chamber!"