AN INDIANA MAN 
 
 PRDrERTY OF 
 
 Af.PKA EPSlLOrC 
 
 lilv*?/ )l?7 
 
 ?.'-EAcE RIPLACL Uy, RACK 
 By LeRoy Armstrong 
 
 OF THE CHICAGO HERALD 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 1890 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 
 By Le Roy Armstrong. 
 
OONTONTS 
 
 Chapter, Page, 
 
 1. His First Estate 7 
 
 2. The Spelling-School 13 
 
 3. Beginning the Canvass 25 
 
 4. First Lessons in Government 30 
 
 5. Hostilities Declared 36 
 
 6. Haberly and Esther 42 
 
 7. The Gang Defied 49 
 
 8. Ellet’s First Humiliation 57 
 
 9. The County Convention 67 
 
 10. A Popular Candidate 79 
 
 11. A Sunday at the Farm 89 
 
 12. The Rally 96 
 
 13. Sautern Defendant 103 
 
 14. Poole Wakes to Manhood _iio 
 
 15. Who Edits the Newspaper? 122 
 
 16. Election.. 137 
 
 17. A Patriot’s Gospel. 143 
 
 18. A Night with the Boys 157 
 
 19. Beyond All Pardon 165 
 
 20. After That— the Deluge 171 
 
 21. In Cider-Making Time 184 
 
 22. They Met in an Upper Room 188 
 
 23. Too Base for Insult 198 
 
 24. The Wreck 209 
 
 25. Quite Through the Valley — 216 
 
AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HIS FIRST ESTATE. 
 
 The preacher had lifted his hands in benedic- 
 tion over his people, and in the pauses between 
 his solemn sentences they heard the rain driven 
 fiercely against the window panes. There was a 
 furtive looking about for overshoes, a quiet gath- 
 ering up of umbrellas; and on the untamed bor- 
 ders of ceremony near the door, some men and 
 women were putting on their gossamers. 
 
 Ellet Grant, up there in the choir’s corner, near 
 the pulpit, lifted his head from the moment’s 
 devotion, and caught the bright eyes of John 
 Haberly fixed upon him. There was something 
 more than friendship between these two men, and 
 yet they could by no means be called intimate. 
 There was a phase of nature in each one which 
 caught its like reflected from the other; and they 
 said less when they met, yet seemed to under- 
 
 1 
 
8 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Stand each other better, and enjoy more each 
 transient meeting. 
 
 “ Come to dinner with me,” said Haberly, as 
 the two shook hands at his pew door. “It is 
 raining too hard for you to ride home.” 
 
 They hurried through the gusty street, turned 
 at the corner and met the rain-laden wind, picked 
 their difficult way over the crossing, and entered 
 Haberly’s gate. It was one of the handsome 
 houses in Fairview, and its owner somehow con- 
 trived, even here in midwinter, and in a mid- 
 winter rain storm, to keep it presentable. 
 
 “ Do you know what I was thinking to-day, as 
 I watched you back there in the church, Ellet.?” 
 said Haberly, as they sat by his wood fire after 
 dinner. 
 
 “ Thinking how beautifully I was listening to 
 the sermon, I suppose.” 
 
 Haberly’s red lips parted and his white teeth 
 showed in appreciation of what he took for humor. 
 
 “ I was thinking of something I have heard 
 forty times since the last election. You ought to 
 run for sheriff.” 
 
 (< 1 ?” 
 
 “Yes, you. There are a good many reasons. 
 Hall has had two terms, and cannot serve any 
 longer. The office ought to go to the country 
 next time. It has been given to a town man fo' 
 
HIS FIRST ESTATE. 
 
 9 
 
 the past ten years. Frank Logan talks of run- 
 ning on the Democratic side, and Jim Cowan 
 wants to run against him. But it will take a 
 stronger man than Cowan to beat Frank. You 
 have a good many relatives in different parts of 
 the county, and they are all good men. You are 
 well known, are believed to be wealthy, a moral 
 man, and a very successful farmer. The people 
 think — ” 
 
 “Don’t, Haberly,” protested Ellet. “If I am 
 all that, I had better stay out of politics. If I am 
 less than that, I don’t deserve an office.” 
 
 “Well, this is in earnest. You can have it if 
 you want it. It is a good thing. You think 
 about it for a week or two, and we’ll talk 
 again.” 
 
 Then he allowed the conversation to drift in 
 other lines, and, when the rain had ceased, Ellet 
 Grant found his horse in the stalls up there behind 
 the meeting-house, mounted, and rode home. 
 
 He did not think Haberly had made any im- 
 pression upon him. Office seeking was not in his 
 line. It had never been indulged in by any of his 
 family. He knew he would rather go on as he 
 had been — happy at home, making money com- 
 fortably, and never catching sight of an enemy — 
 than to have all the political preferment even 
 Haberly might name. 
 
10 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ There’s nothing in it,” he said, as he swung 
 from the saddle, and led his horse through the big 
 farm gate. 
 
 Jim was busy with the feeding, and Ellet helped 
 him, as he always did. When they had finished, 
 the man went away across the fields to his hum- 
 bler home, and Ellet took up the lantern to go to 
 the house. He was elated in a way different from 
 any he had ever known. This was a fine humor 
 to be in. He enjoyed it. He stopped in front of 
 the bays, put his hand across the manger, crowded 
 full of fragrant hay, and stroked the smooth faces 
 of his team. He put down the lantern again, 
 shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared at the 
 light, wondering how it would seem to be elected 
 to office — must be a charm about it, surely. Lots 
 of men went nearly wild. 
 
 His sister stood on the back porch, and called 
 him to supper. Father was reading before an 
 open fire. He never ate more than two meals on 
 Sunday. Mother was rocking contentedly near 
 him, her small figure half lost in the spongy depths 
 of a cushioned chair. 
 
 Esther poured the tea, and asked her brother 
 who had been at church, and what they had worn. 
 Alice inquired about the music and the sermon; 
 but Ellet was very unsatisfactory in all his report- 
 ings. He called to his- father, and told him. 
 
ms FIRST ESTATE. 
 
 11 
 
 laughing, what Haberly had said. He received 
 no response beyond one of pleased interest, and 
 while the girls were clearing away the dishes he 
 wandered to the library, and found himself wish- 
 ing there was a book on “ County Politics, and 
 How To Master It.” He tried to read a little 
 from The Churchman., but found Haberly, and 
 Hall, and Frank Logan, and Cowan, all drifting 
 in between the lines. 
 
 “ Come, this is nonsense,” he said, impatient 
 that the vision still invited him. “Alice, let us 
 have some music.” 
 
 His sisters drew the folding doors between them 
 and the smaller room, where father and mother 
 were sitting. They took up the pieces which had 
 come last from town, and sang them together. 
 He went over to the piano, studied the bass, and 
 added a rich, trained voice to their melody. From 
 the later they passed to the older music, sometimes 
 with the sheet before them, sometimes remember- 
 ing the lines. The stately harmony of hymns ; the 
 deep, impassioned fervor of evangelical praise; the 
 homely words that had hovered about belfries, 
 and echoed through chancels with two centuries 
 of approval upon them — these marked the close 
 of Sunday. - Mother pushed open the doors a little, 
 and returned to her cushioned chair. Father had 
 dropped his book, and was listening to his chil- 
 
12 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 dren’s voices, his whole great soul bathed in thank- 
 fulness for countless mercies. 
 
 Midnight came upon the farm-house, and found 
 it hushed in sleep, while equi-distant upon either 
 hand stood dual spirits, each named Happiness — 
 one folding the borders of the day just gone, one 
 waiting to usher in to-morrow. 
 
 Ellet was dreaming. The ichor of official dei- 
 ties was working in his veins. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SPELLING-SCHOOL. 
 
 Inside the school-house a motley, noisy crowd 
 was busy with a score of themes. Candles, set 
 on little brackets by the windows, gave light to 
 the room. Around the stove some dozen men, 
 just verging on majority, were chaffing each 
 other, and laughing hoarsely at the banter of a 
 pretty girl who sat on a plain poplar bench in a 
 row of forms. She wore real furs, and seemed a 
 center of attraction. They called her Sadie, and 
 uncouth fellows from across the stove tossed her 
 stentorian badinage, which she repaid with some 
 allusion that aroused a laugh. Ellet’s entrance 
 was noted and remarked; and for a time the 
 place was comparatively quiet. 
 
 He pushed forward with a sort of rudeness 
 that did not seem to give offense, and, after warm- 
 ing, turned and found a few acquaintances among 
 the men who were seated. Then the general con- 
 versation was resumed, a little milder than before; 
 for any stranger brought restraint. Older men 
 filled the benches on the left, and talked with 
 
 1? 
 
u 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 each other about the weather, Dave Edwards’ 
 new barn, and the price of cattle. 
 
 On the other side of the house women and 
 girls were gathered. Among them one or two 
 men appeared — brave fellows, gallants, who dared 
 pursue their ladies into the stronghold of the 
 enemy. Boys came in and went out noisily. They 
 were playing some game in the school-yard, and 
 yelled incessantly. 
 
 Presently the teacher disengaged himself from 
 a group of rather animated girls, and went to his 
 desk. As he busied himself with some perfunc- 
 tory preparations, the hub-bub subsided a little. 
 Several men about the stove made a movement 
 to secure seats. A few took off their hats. Then 
 the teacher tapped upon his bell, and every sound 
 within the house was hushed. The boys outside 
 seemed madder than before. 
 
 “ Charley Clay and Jane Austin will choose 
 up,” announced the teacher; and two persons 
 began bustling around with suspicious tokens of 
 surprise. They could hardly get away from de- 
 taining hands. One was a slender man of thirty- 
 five, dressed a little better than a farm hand, but 
 not so well as the teacher; the other was a rosy 
 girl of eighteen, formerly a pupil, and still the 
 champion speller of the district. They came to 
 the desk, and stood facing the teacher, the girl 
 
THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 
 
 15 
 
 sober and womanly now, the man all muffled up 
 in dignity. 
 
 “ The one choosing nearest the page I hold,” 
 said the teacher, “ gets first choice.” 
 
 Jane “chose” 240; Charley said “Six hundred,” 
 with great gallantry, knowing there could not be 
 so many pages in the book. 
 
 “It’s 31 1,” announced the teacher in a high- 
 pitched voice, as one having authority; “Miss 
 Austin’s first choice.” And he laid the book wide 
 open before him, whereat four or five of those 
 nearest pushed forward and scrutinized the page. 
 He might have been cheating. 
 
 “Bill Adams,” said Jane, and a murmured “Of 
 course ! ” went round the house. Bill was a noted 
 speller . 
 
 “Alice Corse,” said Charley, and the people 
 seemed a little surprised. Either Alice’s rank as 
 a speller was not known, or some celebrated 
 person near at hand had been overlooked. The 
 two chosen came forward and took seats behind 
 the desk. 
 
 “Ed Ogden,” said Jane, very quickly, and 
 there was a ripple of assent, as if the girl had 
 scored a point. The boys outside abandoned 
 their sport, and came clattering in, snatching 
 hats from uncombed heads as they neared the 
 door, and stamping to seats with an av/ful tread. 
 
16 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Charley Clay waited a moment, and then called 
 “ Effie Wheeler.” 
 
 “Ella Wheeler,” said Miss Austin, instantly, 
 with an accent on the baptismal name. Evi- 
 dently here was a family of spellers. 
 
 “Jed Brooks.” 
 
 “ Doc Lough.” 
 
 “ Ed Hendrickson.” 
 
 “Mrs. Hamilton.” 
 
 It was the first recognition of the family tie, 
 and a suppressed titter directed attention to a ' 
 buxom young woman with a white bonnet, who 
 crowded past her seatmates and went forward to 
 her place at Miss Austin’s side. Mrs. Hamilton 
 was evidently a bride, and this was her first pub- 
 lic appearance in that newer relation. 
 
 So the choosing went on. Each person took 
 position on the bench which ran all about the 
 school-room, giving place to nothing but the door. 
 
 A few said “ Wish to be excused,” in an unfa- 
 miliar way ; and these were always passed. At 
 length all who cared to spell had been chosen, 
 and had taken their places in one of the long 
 lines. 
 
 The teacher had all this time stood at his desk, 
 with one elbow resting easily upon it, and one 
 foot crossed upon the other, in an attitude of 
 studied grace. He held a spelling-book, and 
 
THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 
 
 17 
 
 thrummed the leaves. Jane and Charley found 
 places at the heads of their respective lines. 
 
 “I will appoint Seth Reed and John Rhinehart 
 to keep tally,” was the next official announce- 
 ment; and these two, non-combatants, were sup- 
 plied with slates on which they entered double- 
 entry accounts by drawing a straight line from 
 top to bottom, and writing “Jane ” on one side, 
 and “ Charley ” on the other. 
 
 Then the spelling began. The teacher pro- 
 nounced a word in turn to those on either 
 side, and every time a miss was scored down went 
 a white mark against Jane’s or Charley’s account. 
 After proceeding some ten minutes the teacher, 
 turned over his book and hand lamp to a visiting 
 pedagogue — a courtesy always extended. 
 
 Twenty minutes of spelling, and then the 
 teacher resumed his sway and announced an in- 
 termission. He called for the reports of the tally- 
 keepers, and when one said Jane’s side had missed 
 more words than had Charley’s, a little clapping 
 of hands in the camp of the latter proclaimed the 
 sweets of victory. The other scorer could not 
 rhake his figures quite agree with those just pub- 
 lished. Great interest was awakened by his per- 
 plexity. Poor Jane came forward, claiming a 
 suspension of judgment. But when the tardy 
 accountant said his slate showed she had lost by 
 
18 
 
 ^iV INDIANA MAN. 
 
 thirty-four words instead of thirty, the poor girl 
 retired in a whirlwind of confusion. 
 
 As soon as the recess was taken the troop of 
 boys broke from the room as if it were a prison. 
 They ran and leaped and yelled about the house 
 like spirits from Bedlam. Older youths, and even 
 adults, joined the crowds without. They formed 
 a ring by joining hands, and round about it two 
 figures flitted, while all the others sang: 
 
 King William was King George’s son, 
 And at the royal race he run; 
 
 Upon his breast he wore a star 
 Which was won in time of war. 
 
 A girl was running about the circle, pursued 
 by a youth who carried a handkerchief. She had 
 dropped it behind him in passing, and he broke 
 from the line to answer her challenge. If he 
 shall overtake her before she make the circuit 
 and reach the place he occupied, a kiss will 
 reward him — after a struggle. How swiftly he 
 ran! How the girl sped! How Ellet, look- 
 ing on fiom a distance, held his breath and 
 hoped for her — no, for him! Now she is safe. 
 No, he caught her; but she was nearly home, 
 and claimed a little grace. He was not a rigid 
 collector, and so released her and went forward 
 with the handkerchief, while half the gathered 
 boys taunted him. 
 
 I 
 
 
THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 
 
 19 
 
 “Cowardy calf!” they cried, in great derision. 
 He dropped the handkerchief behind his pet 
 divinity, and she had to be shown how favored 
 she was among women. She snatched the cam- 
 bric with great haste, but there her hurry ended. 
 The chase was a mild one. He could not force 
 her to catch him, and so stepped into the circle, 
 and the song went forward: 
 
 Go, look to the east; go, look to the west; 
 
 Go, look to the one that you love best. 
 
 If he’s not here to take your part. 
 
 Go, choose another with all your heart. 
 
 Presently the school bell rang again, and then 
 the tumbling through that narrow door suggested 
 Noah’s famed menagerie, frightened at the flood. 
 So far as possible every person took again the 
 seat he held before recess, and order was restored. 
 
 Mary Green, with great solemnity, recited a 
 comic poem. Billy Etherby, chubby and rollick- 
 ing in ten years of health, made far more comic a 
 doleful strain about the stars. Hetty Webster 
 read a paper, full of allusions to “ a certain young 
 man,” or “a girl from Bruce’s Lake;” full of 
 queries as to “ why Bert Osburn wears his good 
 clothes all the time,” each of which was listened 
 to with gaping interest, and laughed at immoder- 
 ately in the pauses wise Hetty made. 
 
 Then the real event of the evening came. 
 
20 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Stand up, and spell down,” commanded the 
 teacher; and all the chosen found their feet amid 
 a din of shuffling. 
 
 “ Balcony.” 
 
 The word was fired at Jane Austin with a dis- 
 tinctness that defied misunderstanding. 
 
 “ Barony.” 
 
 It was Charley Clay’s turn, and he spelled the 
 word with elaborate plainness. It was a sort of 
 challenge and response. 
 
 “ Fallacy.” 
 
 Jane’s second spelled and missed. “ F -a-l-l-a-s-y,” 
 he said, then covered his face in shame, for all the 
 crowded house held its breath in astonishment. 
 He sat down, and the word was passed across the 
 room. Charley Clay exulted a little. It was first 
 blood for him. Ten minutes saw as many spellers 
 go down before some stubborn words, and on the 
 third round the teacher pronounced “million.” 
 
 “ M-i-l-l-i-o-n,” spelled a girl, sweetly. 
 
 “ Bilious,” said the teacher to Ellet. 
 
 “ B-i-double 1 — ” Then he hesitated. Surely 
 there was only one 1. He was confused, and 
 finished the word: “i-o-u-s.” 
 
 “ Next ! ” exclaimed the teacher, with judicial 
 severity. 
 
 Twenty minutes saw all the spellers in their 
 seats save four, who stood like lonesome teeth in 
 
THE SPELLING SCHOOL. 21 
 
 a hard-used comb. They spelled rapidly, without 
 hesitation, and with a constant undercurrent of 
 defiance for the other side. Charley Clay and 
 Alice Corse stood alone against Jane Austin and 
 Bill Adams. In a moment of weakness poor 
 Charley went down. Some young men near the 
 door were conversing aloud. 
 
 “ Keep order, there,” warned the teacher. The 
 trespass was modified, but not abated. The 
 teacher strolled back, pronouncing and listening 
 conscientiously. The youths grew bolder, and 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 “ Shut up, or get out ! ” The master was furi- 
 ous. He towered like a fate before the head and 
 front of the offending. The youth “shut up,” but 
 presently he went out also, though he preserved a 
 discreet care as to his movements. 
 
 Five minutes more and Jane Austin was alone, 
 facing her fair antagonist. The interest was 
 intense. Every word pronounced was followed 
 from the teacher to the speller, and when it had 
 dropped, correctly framed, from ruby lips, the 
 people waited breathlessly for the next assault. 
 There was no defiance in the spelling now: it was 
 prompt, precise, mechanical. But a nervous strain 
 was upon the audience. Age and youth, gallant 
 and girl, were all attention. It was lo o’clock, 
 and these two seemed determined to spell cor- 
 
22 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 rectly till daylight came. The teacher was look- 
 ing through the book for difficult words. He 
 wished to end the agony. 
 
 “Sieve,” “seine,” “frankincense,” all the array 
 was marshalled, and the fair young woman who 
 had spelled so glibly every harder word tripped 
 on “until,” and sat down, crushed with a 
 double 1. 
 
 Alice Corse spelled it easily, and looked to the 
 teacher. No, it was late enough. He would not 
 try to spell her down. There was a little clapping ; 
 of hands, a little flutter of triumph from Charley 
 Clay’s side, and then a moment’s pause, while the ' 
 teacher thanked his audience for its good behavior, 
 invited “each and every one to return two weeks 
 from to-night,” and opened the door with all the 
 grace of a Chesterfield — grace that changed to > 
 rage as a huge log, stood upon the step and leaned ; 
 against the door by the ejected young man, came 
 tumbling into the room. i 
 
 But he was helpless. His reign was over. 
 School was dismissed, and he was plain Jim Fennel 
 now. The log was removed, while rude boys 
 shouted their glee. 
 
 Youths gathered about the door, chaffing each 
 other, holding their places against much shoving 
 this way and that. As the crowd filed slowly out, 
 girls would see an elbow projected into that narrow 
 
THE SPELLING SCHOOL- 
 
 23 
 
 lane by some Darby who hoped that this, his Joan, 
 might be kind to-night. 
 
 “Can I see you safe home.?” 
 
 Month-old derision sprang from her refusal, 
 and a nest of mad rogues proclaimed his scorn. 
 But some were fortunate. Fair girl with hood 
 and tippet, framing a face of guilelessness and 
 health, would drop a timid hand upon that awk- 
 ward arm, and hurry through the door before the 
 peal of ribaldry could come; hurry into the high- 
 way, then walk more slowly home, pausing at the 
 doorway, giving goodbye again and again, then 
 living in ecstacy till the silent winter night erased 
 all wakefulness, and poured a flood of dreams 
 about her bed. 
 
 While the youthful crowd was filing out, 
 Ellet shook hands with the older and prosier 
 voters about the stove, and shook them 
 warmly. 
 
 “Can’t spell much, can you, Ellet.?” laughed 
 one jolly old fellow of the opposite family of 
 political faith. 
 
 “ I alwa57^s try to follow the million,” said the 
 younger man, and his hearers enjoyed the moder- 
 ate jest. 
 
 “ Come home with me, and stay all night,” said 
 Dave Edwards, gray-haired, but vigorous as any 
 of his boys. 
 
24 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ No, you better stay with us to-night, Ellet,” 
 interposed an uncle. But young Mr. Grant con- 
 sidered the first invitation the better one, and 
 after becoming hesitation, accepted it. He could 
 count on his uncle’s vote and influence in the com- 
 ing campaign, while some labor might be needed 
 in the Edwards vineyard. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 BEGINNING THE CANVASS. 
 
 In the language of the Republicans the “polit- 
 ical pot was boiling.” That was a phrase grown 
 hoary with age in Indiana. Ellet Grant had con- 
 cluded to seek the service of the public, and he 
 had come to the spelling-school chiefly because it 
 was a good way to begin the canvass. He 
 believed he could secure the nomination for sheriff, 
 and was comfortably confident of an election in 
 that event. True, the party majority was very 
 small, and likely at any time to be smaller, or 
 even overturned entirely by a good national nomi- 
 nation on the other side, or by some potent local 
 issue. The Democrats used to carry it with 
 Hendricks whenever they chose to run him; Til- 
 den carried the county in 1876, and Hancock 
 again in 1880. One other time, when the opposi- 
 tion raised the cry that the auditor’s books ought 
 to be opened, they carried it again from top to 
 bottom. Now and then a treasurer, clerk or 
 recorder from the enemy’s camp had broken 
 through the lines, and won an election from an 
 
 25 
 
26 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 unsavory nominee, even while the rest of the ticket 
 was saved. Added to this was the undoubted 
 personal strength of Frank Logan, upon whom 
 the Democrats had already fixed as their nominee 
 for sheriff. But spite of it all, Ellet did not fear 
 defeat. The party’s normal majority, the recent 
 fairly good record in county affairs, and his own 
 strength in a large and influential circle of rela- 
 tives, would overcome, he believed, any possibility 
 of defeat. 
 
 So he sauntered out into the night with his 
 friends, almost the last to leave the school-room, 
 and they all walked slowly home. The farmer’s 
 wife was abed, but her good nature was proof 
 against trespass, and the noisy entry into the house 
 was in no wise tempered. 
 
 “William, go down cellar and get some apples 
 and cider,” said the farmer, as he drew up the 
 chairs to the fireplace. “We keep the stove back 
 there to warm the room,” he said, rather gaily, 
 “but I burn a fireplace myself, because I like it.” 
 
 While William was absent in the caverns under 
 the house, young David, last born and favorite of 
 the patriarch, invaded the kitchen, and returned 
 with the fried cakes that hold in their curling 
 brown sides a key to rural felicity. 
 
 “I don’t want no glasses to drink cider out of,” 
 said the farmer, noting with gratification that 
 
BEGINNING THE CANVASS. 
 
 27 
 
 Ellet had chosen a tincup, and was helping him- 
 self to a brimming measure of the beverage. 
 “ The boys and girls like glasses better, and that^s 
 all right; but I take more comfort out of the old 
 ways.” 
 
 The four young men sat with their father and 
 his guest, in a semi-circle about the blazing hickory 
 upon the hearth, chatting with each other, or in- 
 terjecting, with a pleasant deference, a question 
 or comment in the principal talk. The late 
 luncheon was nearly at an end, when Ellet turned 
 to his host and launched the message he had come 
 to bring: 
 
 “Uncle Dave, I am thinking of making the 
 race for sheriff this year. What do you think.? ” 
 
 The boys were all attention to that. Three of 
 them were voters, and the fourth would miss it 
 by so short a time that, barring the simple act of 
 suffrage, he, too, was a man. 
 
 “Well,” drawled Edwards, growing serious at 
 once, “I dono how the land lays. Who else is 
 out.?” 
 
 “ No one on our side. The Democrats will 
 nominate Frank Logan, I hear.” 
 
 “Well, you ought to make a good race, Ellet.” 
 This with feeling, and a frank facing of the 
 younger man. “ But it will cost more than it 
 comes to, won’t it.? ” 
 
28 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Oh, I think not. It will cost nothing for a 
 corruption fund — that’s certain. I believe a man 
 ought to be chosen for office because the people 
 want him; not because he is the most successful 
 purchaser of votes. I shall make the canvass 
 simply on my merits, and if the Republicans 
 want some other man there, that settles it. I will 
 get out of the way.” 
 
 “Good enough! good enough I” warmly. Then 
 with less feeling, “How do you find things so 
 far.^ ” 
 
 “ Well, honest. Uncle Dave, I find men inclined 
 to encourage me. They tell me wherever I have 
 gone it is time the out-of-town districts had some 
 representation in the court-house, and they even 
 seem to think I am the man.” And he laughed 
 a little, to wash away the vanity. 
 
 “ Good enough, um-m-m. Well, if that clock 
 aint striking ’leven. You’re tired, Ellet. We 
 better all go to bed.” 
 
 And so the matter ended; but the candidate 
 felt hopeful of the support of the Edwards family. 
 Coming here for the night was a good idea. One 
 of the boys took a candle and led him to the big 
 spare room. There was an ancient chest of 
 drawers, surmounted with a swinging mirror that 
 had been broken across some chilly night by the 
 too ardent heat of the candle. There was a pic- 
 
BEGINNING THE CANVASS. 
 
 29 
 
 ture of “Washington Crossing the Delaware,” 
 and a flashy print representing “A Home in the 
 West.” The floor was covered with a carpet of 
 rag, woven long ago, but still untarnished; its reds 
 and blues and greens and yellows appearing with 
 that method known as “ hit and miss.” The 
 paper window blinds were drawn exactly half 
 way down, and back of them swept white muslin 
 curtains, relieved with red rosettes and gaudy 
 feathers. The mammoth bed was sentineled with 
 four tall posts. It held an open net of crossing 
 ropes that creaked as he clambered between the 
 soft wool sheets, adjusting itself to his weight, but 
 rising to complaint again as he turned from side 
 to side, exulting, fearing, hoping, planning for the 
 future. The great clock by the chimney down 
 stairs invoked attention by a premonitory whirr, 
 and then tolled off twelve. 
 
 Ellet sank to sleep with visions of a following 
 both numerous and earnest, strong enough to bear 
 down any opposition he might encounter when he 
 came to town. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FIRST LESSONS IN GOVERNMENT. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon in May, Esther Grant 
 walked home from church with young John 
 Haberly. If she had followed her own inclination 
 in the matter she never would have invited him, 
 for Haberly did not enjoy the most savory of 
 reputations in certain moral lines; but the ante- 
 convention campaign was now open, and this was 
 a vastly useful man to Ellet. He stood as the 
 intermediary between the staunch purity of that 
 young man’s political methods and the more prac- 
 tical rules and elastic consciences of the workers. 
 He was handsome, acute, possessed of something 
 resembling culture, and was undoubted authority, 
 when he chose to express himself, on young Grant’s 
 chances for success. 
 
 “ Oh, Ellet is doing nicely,” he said, in answer 
 to the girl’s inquiry. “He is popular all over 
 the county, and would have no opposition even 
 in town, but for the notion they entertain there 
 that his father is too strong a temperance man.” 
 
 “Can one be too strong a temperance man.^” 
 asked Esther, in surprise. 
 
 30 
 
FIRST LESSONS IN GOVERNMENT. 
 
 31 
 
 “With politicians, yes. They urge that his 
 father is not true to the party; that he trains with 
 the Prohibitionists, and that Beal was defeated 
 two years ago through your father’s efforts for 
 the cold-water ticket.” 
 
 “You certainly do not blame father for favor- 
 ing temperance, do you.? ” 
 
 “ Not at all. But active work for that party 
 may put a man where he can ask few favors of 
 any other.” 
 
 All that was good and noble in the girl rebelled 
 at the doctrine. A Moloch could not be more 
 merciless than that. She was as sure that her 
 father was right as that the decalogue was wise. 
 Not a shadow of doubt could enter her heart. If, 
 then, he were right, if wine be a mocker and 
 strong drink be raging, what need a man fear for 
 opposing them.? Why should he — how could he 
 be punished.? And who dare visit that wrath on 
 his children.? Was it not enough that he was 
 right .? 
 
 But she said little of all this to Haberly. She 
 was bound up in the hope of her brother’s success, 
 and had determined to win a stronger support 
 from this ally. She had learned in the conversa- 
 tion at home that Haberly could do things no one 
 else dared attempt; that he was very influential 
 even among church members, and yet maintained 
 
32 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 a strong place in the less critical ranks of the poli- 
 ticians. He was a man who could preside at a 
 temperance meeting one night, and. ask for a 
 reduction of the dramshop license the next. He 
 could make a telling speech to the graduating 
 class on Friday, and extend all the courtesies of 
 the city to visiting bacchanals on Saturday. He 
 could sit in his pew in the morning, smooth shaven 
 and genteel, attentive to the sermon and not neg- 
 lectful of the contribution box, and in the afternoon 
 could open a bottle of wine in Sautern’s back ; 
 room, and play seven-up to see who should pay for 
 it. He was strongly opposed to vice and drunken- ' 
 ness, yet unalterable in his defense of license. 
 
 He sat in the cool parlor of Wesley Grant’s big' i 
 farm-house after dinner, and enjoyed to the full ; 
 the entertainment of his host’s charming daughters. { 
 Esther’s loveliness, her vivacity, her mental i 
 endowments, surprised Haberly. But he turned ; 
 from her to a deeper wonder at the charms of her ii 
 younger sister. Alice just touched the borders of 
 womanhood. Her native talents had been trained 
 and polished in the best of schools. She was 
 devoted to music, and made each Sabbath after- 
 noon a season of melody. Whether she caught 
 her sister’s spirit of service in Ellet’s cause, one 
 could not say; but surely her voice never rose so 
 sweetly to the clear heights of song, and her hands 
 
FIRST LESSONS IN GOVERNMENT. 
 
 33 
 
 never drew from the keys strains so entrancing. 
 
 “You have outdone yourself, Alice,” said her 
 father proudly, as he left the parlor to the younger 
 people. 
 
 Afternoon had drifted into evening. Wesley 
 Grant strolled from the house, his wife beside him, 
 and looked over the farm. Ever since they had 
 owned a home this had been one of the weekly 
 ordinances. They wandered through a mossy 
 gate by the garden, and passed into the orchard. 
 
 “ That russet isn’t dead, after all,” said the 
 farmer; and then, continuing in the half musing 
 way he always employed in these rambles: “ The 
 row of pearmains is looking well; too much sod 
 about them, though. The boys don’t plow as I 
 used to. Good mind to sow the orchard down in 
 oats next year, just to get it cultivated. These 
 old trees are going. Can’t expect much more 
 from them. We set them out the spring Ellet 
 was born. You held them straight, and I packed 
 the soil about the roots. What a heap of comfort 
 we have had from this orchard.” 
 j At the farther side they went through the bars 
 ! that had long served occasional use as a gate, and 
 passed down the east lane between the fields — the 
 ! woman silent, almost content; the man talking 
 i on as if his thoughts became audible on these 
 Sunday strolls. 
 
34 
 
 an INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Meadow getting pretty short already, and this 
 only May. We are needing rain. Better put that 
 field in clover another year. Wheat coming on 
 splendidly. Boys have this piece aboixt ready for 
 corn. Guess I will plant that York State seed 
 here; it matures quicker than our larger kind.” 
 Then he hummed a little of Alice’s last song, and 
 continued: 
 
 “Did a big thing when we hauled that sand 
 hill into this swamp; raise pretty good crops on 
 both places now. Must have the boys move this . 
 fence next winter, and throw these fields together. 
 Since we got the woods pasture we don’t need so = 
 many fences. House and barns look pretty good 
 from here.” They had reached the farther 
 fields, and were crossing to the west lane. “ Don’t ; 
 know as good farm buildings in the county; but; 
 the granary ought to be painted. Pretty good; 
 house; pretty good house. Pretty good children, 
 in it. Wish Ellet wouldn’t run for sheriff.” ; 
 “ So do I.” 
 
 This from the wife — promptly, fervently. 
 Then she was silent again. Somehow, Wesley 
 Grant was silent after that. They strolled back 
 through the west lane, they looked at the stock, 
 stroked the sides of the large, gentle, odorous 
 cows; repelled advances of nibbling sheep; 
 smoothed the silken coats of the horses that were 
 
FIRST LESSONS IN GOVERNMENT. 
 
 86 
 
 enjoying their one day in seven; inspected the 
 poultry-houses whose tenants were already re- 
 tired, and counted the nests where hermit hens — 
 misanthropes — sat silent on comfortless eggs, ex- 
 pectant of chickens as comfortless. 
 
 Then into the barn, across unlittered floors, 
 under mows yet stored with hay, and past cribs 
 yet rich with corn; looking into stalls where 
 comfort waited, winter and summer. Then 
 across the grassy yard as the sun went down, and 
 so to their bench on the porch. Had they worked 
 years to make this home.^ Were their hands 
 hard and their hair white and their frames stiff- 
 ened by unceasing labor.? Yes, but eyes and ears 
 and brain were full of payment now. Hear those 
 voices in the parlor. Know that loving children 
 are happy there. See the strong horses, the 
 smooth cattle, the contented sheep; hear that 
 melody of milking-time — white streams against 
 bright tin; see the last ray of sunshine come like 
 a flaming herald across the fields, the woods, the 
 orchard, till it sweeps to them and touches their 
 very feet with beauty, then vanishes, and brings 
 soft twilight to receive the dying day. 
 
 See that black cloud on the very verge of the 
 world, with his foldings of silver, his centre of 
 burnished gold. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOSTILITIES DECLARED. 
 
 Next morning John Haberly met Sautern in the 
 market, where each had come for the day’s supply 
 of meat. They walked away together. 
 
 “ Saut,” said the polished man, “ I was out to I 
 Pretty Lake Church yesterday, and went home to 
 dinner with Ellet Grant’s folks. He is going to 
 be a candidate before the convention.” 
 
 “Yes, I know it. Wants to be sheriff.” This 
 somewhat surlily. 
 
 “And I shouldn’t wonder if he succeeded. Ellet ; 
 has been doing some pretty good work. And then ; 
 he has relatives all over the county. He would 
 make a strong race.” i 
 
 “ Oh, anybody will make a strong race.” 
 
 “Well, I don’t know.' If the Democrats 
 nominate Frank Logan, and it looks as if 
 they would, we don’t want to take anything for ; 
 granted.” | 
 
 “If we can’t elect anybody we can’t elect ^ 
 
 nobody.” The saloon-keeper was not in a pleasant i 
 
 mood. J 
 
 M 
 
HOSTILITIES DECLARED. 
 
 87 
 
 “What do you mean by that? ” asked Haberly, 
 for the epigrams of Sautern were sometimes very 
 profound. 
 
 “ If we are not strong enough to elect our man 
 — no matter who he is — just because he is our man, 
 we are not strong enough to elect anybody. It is 
 not a question of candidates; it is a question of 
 party.” 
 
 “ In my opinion we are not strong enough to 
 elect a man regardless of who he is. Recollect 
 we lost Beal two years ago because too many 
 Republicans were down on him.” 
 
 “Yes,” retorted Sautern, hotly, “and Beal was 
 beaten by this same Ellet Grant’s father. What 
 right has he to come up and ask for favors?” 
 
 “Well, Beal was a pretty rocky nomination, 
 Saut,” said Haberly, persuasively. 
 
 “But he was nominated, wasn’t he? That’s 
 enough for you and me to know. I’m agin it. I 
 tell you now, John, I’m agin Ellet’s nomination 
 all the time.” 
 
 They had reached Sautern’s side gate. He 
 opened it angrily, and walked up to the house, in 
 the evident mood of a power to be placated. 
 Haberly wanted to stand there and argue awhile. 
 He did not like to leave so potent an actor in an 
 ill humor. But he could do or say no more. He 
 went on to his home, where his sisters awaited 
 
AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 him, and spent the morning after breakfast in the 
 barn, where he pretended to be busy with a har- 
 ness, but where he was in fact sitting on an 
 inverted half-bushel basket, studying out some 
 way to enlist the workers without sacrificing 
 Grant’s candidacy. He knew if Sautern were un- 
 opposed he would run Cowan for sheriff, and Jim 
 could not be elected. The one redeeming thing 
 about him was an honorable discharge from the 
 army of the United States. He was past middle ; 
 life, had been a member of the legislature, ! 
 and was “favorably mentioned” for re-election; . 
 but his course in the house and his record at home ' 
 would bar him from any election, no matter who 
 backed him. His public and private life were such 
 that good people simply did not want Jim Cowan 
 for any office. ■ 
 
 All these things hung very heavily upon i 
 Haberly’s mind, and along toward noon he washed ; 
 his hands and went down town. He entered the 
 hardware store, and talked the matter over with 
 Sims, of the county central committee. 
 
 “Oh, you are worrying too much,” said the 
 merchant. “ Sautern is valuable, but he don’t 
 run the county. If Ellet gets the delegates he can 
 have the nomination. He has nearly a month of 
 time to work yet. The way things lay now that ■ 
 office ought to go to the country this year, but no i 
 
HOSTILITIES DECLARED. 39 
 
 one can tell how it will turn out. As a member 
 of the committee of course I have nothing to say ; 
 but don’t you be getting mad at Sautern or any- 
 body else. What we all want is harmony.” 
 While they spoke, a man of sixty years, upright, 
 rugged and strong, with the beard of a patriarch 
 and the eye of a boy, entered the store. 
 
 “ Hello, Haberly,” he cried, cheerily. “ Hello, 
 men. My boys want two more of your plow 
 points for the iron beam: one with cutter, one 
 without. Seems as if this summer’s plowing was 
 costing more than the land was worth. Haberly, 
 thank your stars you live in town.” 
 
 “I’d thank my stars if I owned a farm like 
 yours, Wesley,” retorted the younger man. “ The 
 dinner I ate there yesterday tastes good yet.” 
 While the clerk was filling the farmer’s orders, 
 Haberly sounded him on his views of his son’s 
 candidacy, and the campaign in general. 
 
 “Well, I don’t want Ellet to run,” said the old 
 man; “but he concluded to make the race, and — 
 well, he’s of age, you know,” laughingly. 
 
 “ Some of the boys in town talk of running 
 Cowan against him,” said Haberly, as a feeler. 
 The old man looked very keenly at the smooth 
 junior, his bright eyes twinkling. 
 
 “You want me to say something. Maybe I 
 shouldn’t do it; but you men know I always 
 
41) 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 speak ray mind. Cowan can’t be elected. I 
 wouldn’t insure Ellet’s election; but he will stand 
 as far ahead of Cowan as you will, John, ahead of 
 Sautern,” Haberly removed his hat, and bowed. 
 “ I suppose your heelers here in town will oppose 
 Ellet because I fought Beal two years ago. Yet 
 I was right. Beal died of delirium tremens less 
 than a month after election. He was in no way 
 fit to be auditor of this county, and the man that 
 beat him — barring politics — is without a single 
 objection.” 
 
 “Did you work for the man that beat Beal.^” 
 asked the central committeeman. 
 
 “No, I worked for the Prohibition candidate, 
 and he got enough Republican votes to show you 
 fellows that decency in nominations is the surest 
 way to success in elections.” 
 
 Several men had drifted into the store, some to 
 buy, some to listen. 
 
 “Would you oppose Cowan’s election in 
 the same way if he were nominated.^” asked 
 Sims. 
 
 “ I certainly should. It isn’t good politics for 
 rhe to say so, but I give you fair warning, Cowan 
 or no man like him can be elected in this county. 
 If thing^have come to that pass in the county 
 seat, better make the offices appointive at once, 
 and give Sautern the patronage.” 
 
HOSTILITIES DECLARED. 
 
 41 
 
 Something of a laugh, a little of applause 
 greeted the sentiment. Wesley Grant made a 
 few remarks about the weather, paid for his hard- 
 ware, asked the price of clover seed, and went 
 out, sturdy and unimpaired as he came in. 
 
 Haberly rocked vigorously on a deal chair, 
 chewing a toothpick and trying to assume a face 
 of lesser gravity. 
 
 “Wish we hadn’t waked him up,” he said to 
 Sims. 
 
 “ Might as well have it out one time as another,” 
 said the committeeman, and he looked across the 
 street at Sautern’s saloon, where the proprietor 
 was already receiving a report of the farmer’s 
 expressions — report that won the newsbearer a 
 generous drink from the proprietor’s own bottle. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HABERLY AND ESTHER. 
 
 The day for the primaries was at hand. They 
 would be held on Friday, and the following 
 Monday was the date for the county convention. 
 The Democratic nominations would riot occur 
 until two weeks later. It was thought by the 
 shrewder of that party that as they must of 
 necessity be on the defensive, some advantage 
 might be gained by waiting. Furthermore, the 
 leaders ielt assured the fight for sheriff, on the 
 Republican side, lay between Ellet Grant and 
 James Cowan. On their own Frank Logan was 
 conceded the nomination. Should they hold their 
 convention first, and name their man, the Repub- 
 licans might be afraid to choose Cowan, owing to 
 his bad record, and the enmity against him in the 
 out townships. Ellet Grant would give them a 
 harder struggle, and they were not in position to 
 invite difficulties. Beyond the sheriff they had 
 really little or no hope of electing any one, but 
 they would name a full ticket, and were already 
 working like beavers. Taken first and last, the 
 
 42 
 
HABERLY AND ESTHER. 
 
 43 
 
 situation had never been quite so interesting to 
 the politicians, and no farmer was so base he 
 could not entertain at least four candidates a 
 week. 
 
 Thursday evening John Haberly drove out to 
 the Grant farm for a final consultation with his 
 friend. Ellet was not at home. He had gone 
 over to Uncle Dave Edwards’, to arrange some 
 details for to-morrow’s work, but would soon 
 return. Esther met the politician, and invited 
 him to a seat on the broad porch. 
 
 “Be honest, Mr. Haberly,” she said; “have 
 you been to tea.^ ” 
 
 “Miss Esther, I cannot tell a lie. I have not, 
 and am hungry as a harvest hand.” 
 
 “ Then you shall have a treat. Sit here and 
 tell father about politics till I call you.” 
 
 “You are not abandoning me to starvation, and 
 your father to torture, are you.^” he asked. 
 
 “ No, truly. You shall have your supper. And 
 as for father, he will take care of himself, I think.” 
 She went gaily into the house and prepared for 
 the entertainment of the guest. The young man 
 found Wesley not so easily approached on the 
 subject of politics as might have been expected. 
 They all knew his position, and he had nothing to 
 alter or explain. He hoped Ellet would be nomi- 
 nated, now that he had entered the field, but 
 
44 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 would clearly have preferred that his family re- 
 main uncontaminated; for with all deference to 
 Haberly, in whom he recognized an active mana- 
 ger and a passably clean man, the sturdy old 
 farmer had little use for politicians. No one 
 related to him had ever asked for office, and this 
 was a matter of keen gratification when he 
 saw fit to protest against some odious nomina- 
 tion or measure. He held that honest men could 
 not make a living in politics ; that those who 
 managed canvasses and kept within the law must 
 have ample means outside the revenue from 
 parties. It was his contention that official prefer- 
 ment was largely bartered and sold by the men 
 who could control the most votes, to the men who 
 would pay the most for them. 
 
 “What men like me must do,” he said, “is to 
 stay out entirely and watch you fellows. While 
 you rule well, we can let you go; but when 
 you abuse power, we must take it away from 
 you.” 
 
 Haberly had treated the matter lightly, assur- 
 ing his host that parties were necessary, and this 
 fact made management also necessary. 
 
 “ Of course we do a shady thing now and 
 then,” he admitted, laughingly; “but the Demo- 
 crats are so corrupt we have to. Fight the devil 
 with fire, you know.” 
 
HABERLT AND ESTHER. 
 
 45 
 
 “Would you fight Niagara with water?” 
 asked the farmer. 
 
 “No, probably not.” 
 
 “Well, then, don’t talk of fighting the devil 
 with fire. He can stand that longer than you 
 can. Fight the devil with purity. He hasn’t 
 a shield in all hell thick enough to turn one dart 
 of truth. Believe me, John, if you have a devil 
 to fight, honesty — not treachery," soberness — not 
 rum; light — not darkness, is what you want to 
 use.” 
 
 “ Mr. Haberly ! Mr. Haberly ! ” called Esther 
 from the dining room, “ come in to tea. I heard 
 father using some of the warmest words. You 
 two must not get angry. Look at that table. 
 How can men quarrel about a thing like politics?” 
 
 He stopped at the door and lifted his hands in 
 a comic amazement. China and silver that an 
 earlier Grant had hidden at the family home in 
 Maryland when the British burned Washington; 
 linen that Esther had spun and Alice had woven; 
 tea that heated an urn as old as the Northwest 
 Territory, and sugar that came from the depths 
 of the forest when winter grew tender in the 
 arms of spring ; bread that proved the housewife, 
 and butter as fragrant as clover — all this he saw. 
 But chiefest of all to the sated palate was a heaping 
 dish of crimson cherries — the first of the season. 
 
46 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “Wherever did you get them? ” he gasped. 
 
 “ In our little garden,” said the girl, enjoying 
 his tribute to her taste and care. Haberly grew 
 impressive. 
 
 “ Miss Grant,” he said, “ if I could sit down 
 once a day to a feast like that, I would never 
 touch politics again; never — not a single pol.” 
 
 “I shall tell your sisters that you reviled their 
 housekeeping.” 
 
 “You may; and in the light of this spread, 
 they would tell you I was justified.” 
 
 She poured his tea, and presided at the little 
 table ; she told him bits of history about the 
 service, and gave him glimpses into a home life 
 more pure and happy than he had thought to be 
 possible. She drew from him his views of her 
 brother’s prospects, and when he had finished his 
 meal, permitted him to sit in the room while she 
 pinned on a broad apron and “did the tea things.” 
 Throughout it all the charm of music came to 
 them from the parlor. Alice had taken her place 
 at the piano, and was closing her day with the 
 melody suited to her mood. To-night it was 
 almost pensive, and the faithful fingers that had 
 been busy since sunrise in the homely cares of 
 life, touched gently, lovingly, the springs of sound, 
 mingling the minor chords with richer strains, as 
 sorrow must temper the hey-dey of joy. Com- 
 
HABERLY AND ESTHER. 
 
 47 
 
 fort came as the moments passed, and when 
 Esther led the guest from the dining room, Alice 
 was reveling in the easy, old-time music they 
 loved so well. 
 
 “ Come and sing,” she said, without pausing 
 from her prelude. No lamp had been lighted. 
 Twilight is welcome in the farm-house. They 
 stood behind her and joined their voices until, 
 indeed. 
 
 The night was filled with music, 
 
 And the cares that infested the day 
 Had folded their tents, like the Arabs, 
 
 And silently stolen away. 
 
 “ Ellet is late,” said Wesley Grant, as the young 
 people walked out on the porch. 
 
 “ If I knew where Edwards lived I would drive 
 over, and go onto town,” said Haberly. “I ought 
 to be there now.” 
 
 “You turn north at the brick school-house, you 
 know,” said Esther. 
 
 John Haberly had an inspiration. 
 
 “You get into my buggy,” he said to the girl; 
 “ go with me to Edwards’, unless we meet Ellet 
 on the way, and then come back with him. I 
 would get lost if I undertook to find the way.” 
 
 It did not occur to Esther that John Haberly, 
 practical politician, knew that road and all other 
 roads in Fairview County. There was just one 
 
48 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 instant of hesitation, and then Wesley Grant said: 
 “You will most likely meet him on the way.” 
 And she took that for assent. Ten minutes later 
 she was driving swiftly behind Haberly’s team, 
 past the rippling fields of ripening wheat, between 
 broad acres of springing corn, under as mellow a 
 moonlight as ever flooded the fields of Andalusia. 
 
 They met Ellet half way to the Edwards farm, 
 and Haberly listened to the last report and gave 
 his final instructions. Then Esther was lifted to 
 her brother’s side, and with him returned home. 
 He was sanguine of success in the primaries now, 
 and after that depended on the strength he felt 
 sure of developing to silence any antagonism in 
 town. He was so full of the affair that he paid 
 slight attention to Esther. If her mood was 
 changed, he did not notice it. If she had sent her 
 thoughts roving in unknown fields, it was not evi- 
 dent to him. If simple contact with a man who 
 did wrong — if a certain sympathy with him — 
 shocked her less than formerly, her brother was 
 too busy now to see it. The primaries must be 
 carried. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE GANG DEFIED. 
 
 John Haberly drove on to town, and the first 
 man he met as he stepped from his buggy was 
 Sautern. 
 
 “Where you been.?” demanded the dictator. 
 
 “ Out at Grant’s.” 
 
 “That fool Ellet still think he is running for 
 sheriff.?” 
 
 “Yes, he seems to. How are things here.?” 
 
 This last in compliment to Sautern. Haberly 
 knew how things were quite as well as the other, 
 but he had often found it pay to feign ignorance 
 and flatter a fool. 
 
 “Just as they was. John, it aint no use for you 
 to try and nominate that man.” 
 
 “ Make a good candidate. Make a good sheriff, 
 too,” said Haberly, as he tied his horses in front 
 of the saloon, and lifted their collars to free the 
 sharp hairs of the manes. Then the two men walked 
 into the bar-room, and stood at the far corner, Sau- 
 tern talking earnestly, as a man sure of the right, yet 
 inclined to be charitable to one who could not 
 read as he could. 
 
 49 
 
50 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Good enough sheriff, mebby, but I tell you it 
 won’t do. Now, just look at it, John. Here he 
 is — a man that never goes into a saloon; a man 
 that turns up his nose at the boys. He fixes up 
 in a tailor-made suit of clothes, and drives a fancy 
 team into town of a Sunday, and sets up there in 
 church as proud as a jaybird. He’s a hymn-book 
 feller and — ” 
 
 “I go to church myself, you know,” Haberly 
 reminded him. 
 
 “Yes, but it don’t hurt you, John. You make 
 yourself solid with the boys, and you keep your- 
 self solid. They know it don’t mean no harm 
 with you; but Ellet’s too fancy. He’s a sort of 
 holy-water man — thinks he purifies whoever he 
 touches. Now, he won’t put up no money in 
 here. When the boys asks for a drink on his 
 account, must I say: ‘He ain’t buyin’ nothin’.?’ 
 Why, they’ll say: ‘Damn such a candidate!’ They 
 won’t whoop it up for him. They won’t vote for 
 him. Now, you go around this town to-night, 
 and you’ll find Jim Cowan solid with every 
 last man of them. He put up a fifty with 
 me yesterday, and he says: ‘ Saut,’ says he, 
 
 ‘ I don’t want no friend of mine to be out 
 nothing on my account. Take this and set 
 out something for the boys.’ He done the 
 ime thing at Ringer’s and the same thing 
 
THE GANG DEFIED. 
 
 51 
 
 at Steele’s; only he only give them twenty-five 
 apiece.” 
 
 “Put up a hundred before the primaries.^” 
 
 “ That’s what he done.” 
 
 “Where did he get it.^” 
 
 “That’s none of my business, and it’s none of 
 your business.” 
 
 “It is some of my business. He has owed me 
 house rent for the past seven years, and told me 
 just last Saturday he didn’t have a dollar.” 
 
 “You was tryin’ to squeeze him just before 
 convention, was you.?” 
 
 “I was trying to get my own.” 
 
 “Well, you’ll get your own, as you call it, when 
 he’s elected — just the same as I will get mine — 
 and not a minute before.” Sautern was dropping 
 his friendly tone. It had not seemed to win 
 Haberly. He was getting ugly. “You can’t do 
 any good with a man that cuts the saloons. If 
 you don’t know that you don’t know anything 
 about politics.” 
 
 “Ellet hasn’t cut the saloons,” protested 
 Haberly. 
 
 “Yes he has. He passed my place four times 
 Saturday, and never come in once. No more 
 does he go in any place. Ringer and Steele feels 
 just as I do. You go over there to the bar and 
 ask them fellows what they think of Ellet Grant 
 
52 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 for sheriff. Just try it. Let me tell you another 
 thing. Now, less than a month ago, old Wesley 
 Grant went into Sims’ hardware store to get a 
 plow point. They got to talking about Jim Cowan 
 running for sheriff, and he — old Wesley — ups and 
 says if Jim is nominated he will bolt the ticket, 
 just as he did when Beal was nominated two years 
 ago. That aint goin’ to do. The party don’t 
 warm much to a man that kicks it every time he 
 gets into a bad temper.” 
 
 “Sautern,” said Haberly suddenly, “suppose 
 Ellet Grant is nominated without sweetening you 
 up any; will you support him.^” 
 
 “No, I won’t. You put that down strong. 
 I won’t. No more will Ringer or Steele. He’s 
 awful proud of the church endorsement, and the 
 lodge endorsement, and the sewing society en- 
 dorsement. Let’s see them elect him.” 
 
 “ But you are doing just what you blame 
 Wesley for doing.” 
 
 “Well, that’s all right. I ain’t askin’ no offices. 
 I’m giving them out.’’ 
 
 “ You are 
 “Yes, I am.” 
 
 “ 2^ou are.^” 
 
 “ That’s what I said.” 
 
 John Haberly looked the rotund man over from 
 head to foot, then walked a few steps forward and 
 
THE GANG DEFIED. 
 
 53 
 
 back, his hands in his pockets, his hat pushed up. 
 He wanted to quench that egotism, but was too 
 smooth a politician to needlessly anger any man on 
 the eve of a convention. He thought he would 
 try the fellows at the bar. 
 
 “Come up and have something, Saut,” he 
 said. 
 
 The saloon-keeper stood beside him, and each 
 poured half a gill of liquor into a thick glass, 
 swallowed it, drank some water to quench its fire, 
 and then Haberly turned to the group of revelers. 
 They were standing close together, talking very 
 earnestly and rather noisily — about nothing. The 
 bar-keeper took the price of two drinks from 
 Haberly’s dollar, and gave him the change. 
 
 “ Charley, what do you think of Ellet Grant’s 
 chances for the nomination.^” he asked of the man 
 nearest him — Charley, the worker. 
 
 This person was carpenter by theory, and a 
 vote-procurer by practice. He had organized the 
 “Tanners” in 1872; the “Flambeau Club” in 
 1876, and the “Boys in Blue” in 1880. 
 
 “Nomination for what.^” asked Charley, 
 blankly. The rest were listening. 
 
 “ Sheriff,” said Haberly. 
 
 “What — him.? For sheriff.? That feller.? Well 
 I should say not.” And he resumed his story to 
 the boys. 
 
64 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “Why not?” asked Haberly, calmly lighting a 
 cigar. 
 
 “Why not? ’Cause there’s nothing in him. 
 What’s he ever done for the party?” 
 
 “ Voted for it, every time.” 
 
 “Voted!” with withering contempt. “Did he 
 ever put up a dollar? Did he ever go with the 
 boys? Naw — he’s too nice. He can’t get nothin’. 
 This aint Mississippi.” 
 
 Haberly blew a big cloud of smoke away up 
 toward the ceiling, watched it a moment, and then ' 
 said, without a change in his tone: 
 
 “Have something with me, Charley. Boys, ’ 
 have something.” 
 
 They all complied. Charley softened a little. 
 He favored Haberly with his full front; he had 
 been standing edgewise, and talking over his ) 
 shoulder. 
 
 “ Ellet’s a good man, John,” he conceded. But i 
 it was as if he had said: “Ellet is six feet tall;” ' 
 or “Ellet has fair health.” 
 
 Haberly nodded, removed his cigar, and blew 
 up another billow of smoke to the ceiling. 
 
 “Drives a . dam elegant team,” Charley 
 continued. He was becoming suave. He 
 was in a receptive mood. Perhaps Haberly 
 was commissioned to do something for the;„ 
 boys. J 
 
THE GANG DEFIED. 
 
 55 
 
 “Pretty good team,” assented the politician. 
 Then he gathered up his change, bowed to the 
 group with the grace that had made him suc- 
 cessful, and sauntered to the door. The proprietor 
 followed him. 
 
 “You see how it is, John,” said the latter, as if 
 a finality had been reached. “No booze, no 
 boost.” 
 
 “ Sautern, you don’t know how strong Ellet is. 
 The people think this is their year. Now, we 
 have been making some mistakes the past few 
 campaigns. Our clerk is an awful weak sister, 
 and our surveyor has cost the tax-payers a heap 
 of money on account of the errors in those ditch 
 cases. The Democrats have been naming good 
 men, and gaining a little every year since 1878. 
 I honestly believe if we make bad nominations this 
 year we will be beaten.” 
 
 “ Cowan aint a bad nomination. And, if he 
 was. I’m tired of this everlasting colic about the 
 people. Damn the people ! I am in favor of 
 nominating whoever the politicians want, and 
 cramming the ticket down the throats of the peo- , 
 pie. Who are they, any way.? A lot of old mud 
 sills who would like to drive all business except 
 the churches out of town. The politicians have 
 to put up for the party, run its machinery and 
 elect its men. If they didn’t, nobody would be 
 
66 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 elected. They ought to have something to say 
 about who should have the offices.” 
 
 “ Seems as if they do have something to say,” 
 said Haberly, calmly, jingling his loose change, 
 and looking down street. 
 
 “You bet they have — and they are going to 
 have more. The delegates will come up here un- 
 instructed Monday, and I am going into that 
 convention to down this saintly foolishness. 
 Sober or drunk, solvent or broke, capable or not, 
 I am for Cowan — and he’ll be nominated, too. 
 Mark what I tell you.” 
 
 “ I have a great mind to teach you a lesson, 
 Sautern. You are getting too big. What do you 
 think the voters are?” 
 
 “Yams!” shouted Sautern. “Yams — that’s 
 
 what. You go ahead and teach me a lesson. 
 Just go ahead and try it. I dare you, John. I 
 dare you.” 
 
 Haberly regarded the inflamed face and bloated 
 figure before him in perfect calmness for a moment. 
 Then he lifted his cigar to his lips, took a long 
 pull, and shrouded the big man in smoke. 
 
 “ I’ll just do it,” he said with energy, and walked 
 away before Sautern came out of eclipse. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 e^let’s first humiliation. 
 
 Haberly went down to Ringer’s, and found the 
 Cowan sentiment even stronger there. Then he 
 went to Steele’s. Cowan himself was there, 
 although it was the smallest politics factory in 
 town. The aspirant for sheriff’s honors was well 
 dressed, was smoking a good cigar, and was 
 entertaining a laughing group with a tremendously 
 funny account of how a lot of Johnny Rebs acted 
 when they saw the first Union army. The 
 exquisite humor of his narrative was seasoned — 
 not to say preserved — in alcohol; for wine, malt 
 and spirituous liquors in quantities less than a 
 quart, were being drunk on the premises, as the 
 license directed, and all at his expense. 
 
 “ Here’s John Haberly, gentlemen. Gentlemen, 
 John Haberly — Colonel Haberly — a hero and a 
 scholar. I believe he is also a good judge of 
 liquor. John, what’ll you take.^” 
 
 “Oh, a little rum and gum,” said John; by 
 which the bar -keeper understood Mr. Haberly’s 
 palate would be satisfied only with a delicate mix- 
 
58 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN 
 
 ture of spirits and sirup. “Here’s to everybody,” 
 be said, advancing his glass. 
 
 “ No, you don’t,” interposed one of the hench- 
 men. ‘“Here’s to Captain Jim Cowan for sheriff,’ 
 that’s what you want to drink here.” 
 
 A moment’s pause served to fix all eyes on the 
 manager. He looked around upon them quietly, 
 then lifted his glass, and said : 
 
 “Here’s to Captain Jim Cowan, the man who, j 
 in the hour of his nation’s peril, bared his arm and 
 presented his body, a living bulwark against the ' 
 advance of implacable foes. One, two, three, 
 drink! ” And before any one could protest he had ■ 
 not endorsed the Captain’s candidacy, twenty 
 chins were elevated, and twenty cups were 
 drained. 
 
 “Now one with me,” added Haberly; “and • 
 while Steele is filling your glasses, boys, I ' 
 will sing you one verse of this year’s cam- ^ 
 paign song — only one verse; your lives shall 
 be spared.” And without more ado he be- 
 gan: 
 
 “When the sneezers would seize on the knees of the Nation, 
 
 And tumble and humble the whole population, 
 
 When Democrats charge on our sure nomination — 
 
 Let heroes be found at the polls. 
 
 When rebels and copperheads, secesh and traitors 
 Are puffing themselves up with hot-air inflators, 
 
 We’ll make them believe they are quite small potatoes — 
 
 Lord! watch the Republicans roll.” ? 
 
ELLETS FIRST HUMILIATION. 59 
 
 Haberly had risen, advanced, swept the crowd 
 with his address, and on the last line expended a 
 force that would have honored heroic measures. 
 It won the crowd. They cheered again and again. 
 They laughed uproarously, and called for more. 
 The men at the pool tables joined the party, and 
 clustered about Haberly with effusive homage. 
 Captain Jim struggled against the waves that 
 were rising above him. He crowded forward, 
 and beat upon the bar in noisy applause. But he 
 met Steele’s discerning gaze, and read there the 
 fear that John Haberly had spread in more than 
 one campaign. He must dislodge this usurper. 
 
 “Boys,” he shouted, and the words rose above the 
 clamor, “ drink this toast with me. ‘ Here’s to’—” 
 
 “No, you don’t,” interrupted Haberly. “We 
 haven’t drank mine yet. I sang the song while 
 Steele was fixing the liquor. Boys, drink deep.” 
 
 He had won again, and he covered poor, crest- 
 fallen Cowan with confusion by exclaiming, as he 
 set down his glass : 
 
 “Pm for Ellet Grant for sheriff. Some of you 
 are for Jim Cowan. Both are good men. Let 
 the convention choose between them, and every 
 last man of us will stand by the nominee. In the 
 meantime, let me ask one cheer for Ellet Grant, 
 the honest farmer, and the young men’s candi- 
 date ! ” 
 
AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Hip, hip, hurrah ! ” they all roared together. 
 Cowan joined in the shout with the best possi- 
 ble grace, and puzzled his maudlin brain for a 
 way to capture the mastery. It was no use. Sau- 
 tern’s defiance and his own inclination had led 
 Haberly to a length he would not otherwise have 
 attempted. He was no trifler in politics, and now 
 that he was committed, Cowan saw a very wall 
 of adamant against which he must dash himself. 
 Besides, in this crowd was a number of men who 
 easily remembered that Haberly was a good em- 
 ployer in campaigns, and they had no special 
 bonds of union to hold them to the Captain. Their 
 principal doctrine was: “Small profits from one 
 
 candidate, and quick returns to another.” 
 
 “Boys,” pursued the manager, as the cheer sub- 
 sided, and before any one could deprive him of 
 the floor, “boys, did I ever forget my friends.'*” 
 “You never did,” shouted a dozen voices. 
 “Then let me say no man ever had better 
 friends than you have been to me — the whitest lot 
 of fellows that ever wore hair.” He bowed with 
 a wide,' comprehending gesture, lifted his hat to 
 them as gracefully as though they had been 
 ladies, and left the place. 
 
 “ I’ll just try the gang at Ringer’s again,” he 
 said. He went in, strolled through the room, and 
 heard the general talk. There was something of 
 
ELLETS FIRST HUMILIATION. 
 
 61 
 
 weather, something of current gossip, a little of 
 business, and a great deal of politics. 
 
 For in Indiana the male adult population is 
 reckoned in voters — not in men. Presidential 
 terms are olympiads, conventions are amphi- 
 theatres, candidates are gladiators, and tickets are 
 weapons. The perfection of rage is reserved for 
 those occasions when opposing parties meet. No 
 link is strong enough to bind together friends who 
 worship at opposing shrines. No crime is so dark 
 that party fealty may not atone, and no life so 
 white that party treachery cannot steep it in slime 
 beyond the cleansing power of life or death. 
 
 Haberly saw two or three of the molders of 
 opinion. They had pledged themselves to no 
 man, but were willing to do what was for the 
 best. They were strongly inclined, however, 
 to indorse Cowan and his candidacy. Haberly’s 
 keen eye saw that, under the cloak of impar- 
 tiality, they all had their instructions. He drew 
 one of the most faithful aside, and gave him 
 a modest bill. 
 
 “Buy something for the boys,” he said, “Dur- 
 ing the evening you will hear lots about Cowan 
 for sheriff. You get the fellows to figuring more 
 on clerk. See who says a good word for Ellet 
 Grant, and tell me to-morrow. You will lose 
 nothing.” 
 
62 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Then he bought a handful of cigars, divided 
 them with his confidant, and went out. Sautern 
 stood in his door as Haberly came up to untie his 
 team. He was milder than when they last met. 
 
 “ Still going to struggle, John? ” he asked. 
 
 “I’m after you, Saut. I am, for a fact.” But 
 the tone was less belligerent, was more hearty 
 and full of good fellowship. The boss concluded 
 a truce had follpwed close upon the heels of a war 
 declaration. 
 
 Haberly drove down street, past Sautern’s 
 house, where the ladies were enjoying the late 
 evening air. He managed to speak to his horses, 
 so the women would know it was he. He went 
 out of their sight in the direction of his home; 
 but when right at his stable door, he reached 
 for the whip, touched his trotters, and sped out 
 of town as if fate hung on his expedition. 
 
 Three miles from town a belated sewing 
 machine agent, returning from a long drive, met 
 him. His hat was turned down, his collar was 
 turned up, his ready whip was hovering over his 
 horses, and keeping them to diligent speed. At 
 midnight he reached Wesley Grant’s farm. The 
 watch dog declined to admit him to the yard, 
 but consented to announce his arrival. For five 
 minutes the violent barking of the dog was all 
 the response he had elicited. But he was per- 
 
ELLETS FIRST HUMILIATION. 
 
 63 
 
 sistent, and at length the front door opened, and 
 Ellet Grant appeared. 
 
 “Who’s there asked the young farmer from 
 the threshold. 
 
 “ Come here, Ellet,” said Haberly. 
 
 “Oh, is it you? What’s up? Wait a minute.” 
 He withdrew, and shortly came out more fully 
 clothed. 
 
 “Ellet,” said the manager, “we must put up 
 some money with the gang, or you are beaten.” 
 
 “Great guns ! John, I can’t do that. I don’t 
 like that crowd, and I will not humor them. I 
 do not believe they are the people.” 
 
 “Look here. I went into Sautern’s to-night, 
 and when I mentioned your name, they scored 
 you. Sautern himself vows he will oppose you 
 before the nomination, and knife you afterward. 
 Cowan and his gang had taken Steele’s, and at 
 Ringer’s it was the same. They have spread the 
 idea that you are too lofty. Cowan has laid down 
 $ioo. That does a great deal of good. If I am 
 authorized to do the same for you, I can help you. 
 If not, I tell you, honest, you are gone.” 
 
 Lllet struggled with the temptation. He did 
 lot want to be defeated. He was sure if they 
 lid not use corruption against him he was easily 
 :he party’s choice. But here they were depriving 
 him of his rights, and his very conscientiousness 
 
64 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 was the thing that most weakened him. His friends 
 and relatives in Franklin, in Monroe, in Liberty 
 and in Star, had pledged him their support. He 
 would go into town with a good majority of the 
 delegates. But Cowan men would be all over 
 the county to-morrow, working for hire, and 
 making their arguments in cash. Should he 
 allow the beggarly minority of votes that boaster 
 would win in the country to be added to the 
 purchased influence in town, and so defeat him- 
 self.^ Had he not a right to checkmate such 
 brazen infamy.^ If Cowan’s only hope were 
 based on this swill-fed floating vote, was it wrong 
 for him to smite that very vote with a blow just 
 hard enough to eliminate it.^ The evils offset, 
 would not matters be in natural state, and would 
 he not then win fairly.? 
 
 “ Think fast, Ellet,” said Haberly. “ I must 
 be in Fayette by 8 o’clock in the morning, and 
 the horses must have a little sleep.” 
 
 Ellet said never a word. He drew a wallet 
 from his pocket, counted out a hundred dollars, i 
 handed them to Haberly, turned around and ! 
 walked into the house — the most humiliated man 
 in Indiana. 
 
 The manager took the funds. “That’s right,” j 
 he said. “ Good-night, Ellet,” and he turned the j| 
 trotters toward home. Right at the edge of town 
 
ELLET’S FIRST HUMILIATION. 
 
 65 
 
 he stopped at Turner’s house and knocked at the 
 door. Turner lifted a window, and Haberly saw 
 a gleam of light along the barrel of a gun. Here 
 ivas a man who took no chances on visitors who 
 called at 3 o’clock in the morning. 
 
 “Hello, John,” he said quietly, putting the rifle 
 away. “What do you want.^” 
 
 Haberly stepped down on the sod, and the two 
 men put their faces together, one inside and just 
 from his couch, the other without and just from a 
 twenty mile drive. The latter laid a $10 
 bill on the window ledge, and the former 
 picked it up and folded it into his palm, not 
 having any pocket in which it could be hid- 
 den. 
 
 “ Sautern is going to have that up-town gang 
 chosen to-day as delegates to the county conven- 
 tion. He will have you read the names in a mass, 
 and whatever you read will go through like a 
 bullet in butter. Now, I want you to go to Saut 
 in the morning before 9 o’clock, and tell him I 
 want three of that same gang chosen. You tell 
 him it looks suspicious; you are afraid I have 
 fixed them. Then you get him to put Forden, 
 Himes, Bill Brown and Gurnsey on the list. He 
 will do it if he thinks I want the other fellows, 
 for he thinks Forden and Brown are all right, any 
 way. Then you go ahead just as he wants you 
 
66 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 to after that, and elect your list of delegates. 
 Do you understand } ” 
 
 “ I guess so,” said Turner. “You want Grant 
 men, don’t you ” 
 
 “ That’s it.” 
 
 “ I saw you talking to Gurnsey last night in at , 
 Ringer’s. He seemed to be for Ellet after you ; 
 went out, and that’s what made me think so.” " 
 “Well, good-night. Turner.” i 
 
 “ Good-night, John.” 
 
 And the window slid slowly down on one of ; 
 the faithful. ' 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 
 
 Affairs in town assumed a different aspect. 
 The gang at Steele’s was undoubtedly a Grant 
 gang. Ringer’s guests were cold to Cowan, and 
 even at Sautern’s the boss was kept very busy to 
 maintain the semblance of an unbroken line. Out- 
 side the saloons money did not do much good; but 
 talking did. Dodd, the candidate for clerk, was 
 an undoubted good man. He was better qualified 
 and better liked than any man who had asked for 
 that office. He lived in town. Now, should 
 they jeopardize his chances by supporting Cowan, 
 also from town? Would they not better favor 
 Ellet Grant, and so win enough strength in the 
 country to help them float in the rest of the ticket ? 
 The Democrats were going to name a strong man 
 for county attorney ; they were all decided on the 
 matter. His opponent must necessarily come 
 from town, as there were no lawyers in the coun- 
 try. Now, three candidates from town would be 
 too much for the country voter, proverbially 
 jealous on the question of geography in politics. 
 
 67 
 
68 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 How could Haberly have touched all these 
 springs ? How could he manage to dispense with 
 sleep for days and nights together? How could 
 he be in Monroe township at sundown Saturday; 
 at the county seat, twelve miles away, all the 
 evening; at Jotham New’s, fifteen miles distant, in 
 time for church Sunday morning; in Liberty at 
 dark, and then eat breakfast in Star, ten miles 
 south? How could the very words into which he 
 put his arguments reappear in every group of 
 freemen, and prevail from morning till night? 
 
 On Monday, the day fixed for the county con- 
 vention, Fairview was a very busy town. It was 
 full of candidates, and delegates, and workers, and 
 pullers, from dawn till long past midnight. They 
 all had money, and they all spent it. A dollar 
 was worth less that day than it ever would be 
 again till election. No one was financially embar- 
 rassed. Depleted exchequers had been filled as if 
 by fiat, and men who had owed meat bills for 
 months smoked more costly cigars than the 
 butcher could buy. 
 
 Yet merchants did not do much business. It 
 was .a man crowd — not a woman crowd; dry 
 goods languished. It was a drinking crowd — not 
 an eating crowd; groceries were a drug on the 
 market. It was a talking crowd — not a working 
 crowd ; very little hardware was sold. But it took 
 
THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 
 
 69 
 
 three men to serve the patrons at Sautern’s, and 
 three at Ringer’s, and three at Steele’s — and all 
 nine were wearier than the muses when Greece 
 was greatest. 
 
 The court-room had been crowded for an hour. 
 The chairman of the County Central Committee 
 called the convention to order, and officers were 
 elected. A few speeches had been made by the 
 orators of the party. It was observed that old 
 Wesley Grant was a delegate from Greene town- 
 ship. Sautern was not a delegate, but he sat 
 behind Mr. Turner, who was. He sat where he 
 could watch Charley, the worker, and F orden, and 
 Himes, and Bill Brown, and Gurnsey. He 
 chuckled when he thought how he had outwitted 
 John Haberly. 
 
 “He was going to teach me a lesson,” muttered 
 the saloon keeper. “He would just about have 
 done it, too, if Turner hadn’t come to me Satur- 
 day morning, and had me knock off them fellers 
 from the north end of towm. I thought sure they 
 was all right till Turner told me Haberly wanted 
 them. I wonder how much he paid them. Well, 
 he don’t use them in this convention — in some 
 other convention, mebby.” 
 
 Then he launched his first shaft. 
 
 “Mr. President,” said Mr. Turner, rising to 
 prove his loyalt}'^ to Sautern, “ I move that the 
 
70 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 delegates here assembled do now pledge themselves 
 to support without exception, and to the best of 
 their ability, every candidate who may be nomi- 
 nated here to-day.” 
 
 He sat down, and two or three men seconded 
 the motion in a perfunctory sort of way. There 
 are a good many men who, in a meeting, would 
 second a motion to decapitate each member of 
 the assembly, beginning at once. 
 
 Old Wesley Grant got the eye of the chair, and 
 rose to oppose the motion. 
 
 “ Who ever heard of delegates pledging them- 
 selves ? ” he asked, smiling, for he knew his point 
 was well taken. “ Candidates sometimes pledge 
 themselves. This convention will be the first ever 
 heard of where the delegates did such a thing.” 
 “We will start the fashion, then,” retorted 
 Turner. Any one. would have said he retorted 
 savagely. 
 
 The chairman proceeded to put the motion, 
 but old Wesley opposed it for another reason, 
 
 “ I am opposed, then, on general grounds, and 
 should like an opportunity to tell why.” 
 
 “ Mr, President,” shouted Mr. Turner, while a 
 hub-hub was rising all over the room, “ I object 
 No matter what may cause the gentleman’s oppo- 
 sition, No matter what are his reasons. It will 
 do no good to air our grievances here. Let the 
 
THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 71 
 
 majority rule, and let wisdom guide our councils.” 
 “ Mr. Grant has the floor,” said the chairman, 
 whose ideas of parliamentary rule were that this 
 motion was open to debate. 
 
 “ I oppose the motion, and want the delegates 
 here to know the reason why.” 
 
 “I object to knowing the reason why, Mr. 
 Chairman,” interposed Bill Brown, from another 
 part of the house. “ Let him agree to abide the 
 will of the convention, or withdraw now.” 
 
 The chair had a revelation from the direction of 
 Sam Sautern. 
 
 “ The chair sustains the objection. The motion 
 has carried, and Mr. Grant must either abide the 
 action of the party delegates, or withdraw and give 
 ! way to some other man who will.” 
 
 “ Then I withdraw now,” said the old man, 
 
 ; sturdily. “ I am not going to indorse in advance 
 all the foolishness you may be guilty of here 
 to-day.” 
 
 Greene township called Mr. Grant’s alternate 
 into the vacancy, and the business of the convention 
 proceeded. Wesley sat down outside the close 
 reserved for delegates. Sautern turned upon him 
 a look of triumph, which was met with the calm 
 gaze of a man who could wait. Lawyer Poole 
 got up and came over to the farmer. Himself a 
 candidate for re-election to the office of prosecutor, 
 
72 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 he believed all his hopes hinged on the nod and 
 beck of Sautern. He had received his commands? 
 and proceeded to obey them. 
 
 “You see we have got you down, Wesley,” he 
 said. “It won’t do for anyone to cut Sautern and 
 these fellows. He can beat Ellet for sheriff. 
 This little incident ought to prove that to you. 
 Do you want to see the boy beaten.^ ” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “ Then will you come down with a hundred, to 
 be used by his friends.^ ” 
 
 “ I will not.” 
 
 “ He will be beaten.” 
 
 “ Let him.” 
 
 Poole sat there a while longer, watching the 
 convention, but wondering how this castle was. to 
 be reduced. Presently he put his lips near the 
 old man’s face, and said : 
 
 “Wesley, I want to see Ellet nominated.” Spite 
 of his thralldom to the ring, this was very true, as 
 it increased his own chances, by reducing the num. 
 ber of candidates in town. “You ought to be 
 willing to do something for }’our son. Everybody 
 does it. Don’t see the boy slaughtered here 
 to-day. It will ruin him.” 
 
 “I will not give one dollar for corruption.” 
 “Will you lend Steele a hundred to-day.^ He 
 needs it, and he is good.” 
 
THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 
 
 73 
 
 “ Oh, no, Poole. That is the same thing. I 
 won’t do it.” 
 
 “Will you go on Ringer’s license bond.^ His 
 year is about up, and a little service like that will 
 not hurt you any, and it will make both you and 
 Ellet lots of friends.” 
 
 The old man waited a moment, and then said 
 “ No,” with great decision. Clearly, he had not 
 weakened. Poole returned to his seat on the 
 farther side of the house. Charley, the worker, 
 the organizer of campaign clubs, glided through 
 the crowd from his seat near Ellet Grant, and 
 put his frowsy head between Sautern and Turner. 
 After a moment he stood up straight, as one who 
 had saved his country. Then he moved over to 
 Wesley Grant. It seemed that a message had 
 come to father from son through a very devious 
 channel. The sturdy old farmer sat quite still 
 while Charley poured a flood of argument, stained 
 with unsavory odors, before him. But he de- 
 clined to soften, even to the persuasive eloquence 
 of the hustler. 
 
 Sims, the committee man, was on his feet. He 
 moved that they proceed with the nomina- 
 tions in the following order: Sheriff, clerk, 
 prosecutor, and recorder. Bill Brown seconded 
 the motion, but one of the Dodd delegates 
 opposed it. 
 
74 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ I am in favor of following the order observed 
 in the committee’s call for a convention — clerk, 
 sheriff, prosecutor and recorder.” And the ma- 
 jority seemed to be with him. Their success 
 meant the nomination of Dodd for clerk. He 
 being from town would lessen Cowan’s chances, 
 for some of the nominees must come from the 
 country. Sautern could not use Poole in this 
 matter, for Poole was in favor of the movement. 
 The chairman had risen, and was stating the 
 motion. Sautern caught Charley’s eye, and shook 
 his head vigorously. The organizer understood, 
 and was on his feet in a moment. 
 
 “Mr. Chairman, and gentlemen,” he said, with 
 great vigor, and with that assumption of virtue 
 surprised which always attracts attention. “ The 
 motion is to adopt the order suggested by our 
 honorable committeeman, and a good many gentle- 
 men seem inclined to oppose it, and to favor the 
 order adopted in the call. I am inclined to be 
 guided in this matter by the will and the judg- 
 ment of the honorable gentlemen who are charged 
 with the duty of managing the party’s affairs, 
 and if the honorable gentlemen representing the 
 political conduct of the campaign in this matter 
 think it is better for any reason to pursue a 
 certain order, I am the last man in the county to 
 oppose them. But we must not do things here as 
 
THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 
 
 75 
 
 they do in the South. What we want here is 
 harmony — harmony in the convention, harmony 
 on the street, and harmony at the polls. To 
 secure harmony we must be guided in a certain 
 degree by the wisdom of the honorable gentle- 
 men who give their time and attention to the 
 conduct of our political affairs. This is not 
 Mississippi, nor yet Florida, and we must in a 
 certain measure be guided by the counsels of the 
 jhonorable gentlemen — ” 
 
 And so on for the four or five minutes required 
 to notify the whippers-in from the various town- 
 ships that the motion must be carried. An un- 
 common rustling around had been indulged, but 
 the chairman presently received permission to 
 proceed. 
 
 Other delegates broke from restraint, and 
 opposed the motion. It was with difficulty the 
 debate could be stopped. The men did not take 
 kindly to gagging. Somehow, Sautern felt a 
 breeze of mutiny in the room. To his astonish- 
 ment, the motion was undoubtedly lost, in the 
 viva voce vote. 
 
 “I demand a rising vote,” shouted Charley, 
 who knew the advantage of that method. Many 
 a delegate was willing to sit still and shout “ No ” 
 when ordered to shout “Aye,” and yet object 
 seriously to standing up and letting Sautern’s eye 
 
AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 n 
 
 range over the room, marking culprits for future 
 punishment. The boss nodded his head in ap- 
 proval at the worker. 
 
 “ All in favor of the motion will rise to their 
 feet,” said the chairman, and every man the 
 machine could summon stood up in an instant, 
 visibly lifting up his neighbors. 
 
 “All opposed,” said the chairman, when the 
 affirmative vote was counted. The motion was 
 lost. 
 
 “I move,” said the Dodd delegate, before 
 Sautern’s men could rally, “ that we proceed to 
 the nomination in the order published in the 
 committee’s call — clerk, sheriff, prosecutor and 
 recorder.” 
 
 A score of seconds showed the tide was flow- 
 ing now, and in the least possible time a favorable 
 vote was recorded. Cowan was intensely angry, 
 but he still hoped he might throw his strength 
 to Baker, an out-of-town candidate for clerk, and 
 so defeat Dodd. Sautern’s emissaries were busy. 
 
 “We’ll help nominate Baker for clerk, if you 
 will help nominate Cowan for sheriff,” they said, 
 and in the confusion which preceded the taking 
 of a vote it seemed the trade was arranged. But 
 surely the convention was tired of dictation. It 
 was slipping out of the hands that had so often 
 guided it. While the delegates were willing to 
 
THE COUNTY CONVENTION. 
 
 77 
 
 be bound by the general action, they themselves 
 wanted to say what that action should be. They 
 did not approve the rude manner in which sturdy, 
 honest old Wesley Grant had been expelled. It 
 was enough for some of them to know that the 
 same influence that had ousted him now de- 
 manded Dodd’s extinction; and they were minded 
 to oppose it. 
 
 The feeling for Baker did not amount to a 
 preference, and so when the first ballot had been 
 counted it was found that Dodd had more votes than 
 any other one man, though not enough to nomi- 
 nate him. The third aspirant was dropped, and 
 a new ballot was prepared. Again the effort to 
 nominate Baker was made, but it failed, for the 
 result showed Dodd the choice of the convention 
 by a good majority. 
 
 The machine had sustained a defeat. Sautern 
 could not understand it. What was the matter 
 with those delegates.? Who was controlling 
 them.? Had John Haberly made good his threat 
 to teach him a lesson.? Was this the lesson he 
 intended teaching.? Why, the man was not even 
 in the room. 
 
 The struggle for sherifT followed, and was 
 spirited, indeed. When Ellet Grant was placed 
 in nomination there was no mistaking the enthusi- 
 asm. He was an undoubted favorite. Captain 
 
78 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 James Cowan, the Honorable James Cowan, Jim 
 Cowan, the people’s friend, and plain Mr. Cowan 
 were some of the designations applied to the second 
 nominee. Two others followed, but on the second 
 ballot one was dropped; while Grant led Cowan 
 by five votes. Where would the last man’s 
 strength go.? If to Cowan, then Grant would be 
 beaten. If to Grant, then Cowan was done for. 
 The machine revolved with amazing swiftness, 
 but encountered again that chilling resistance. 
 Even the delegates who owed allegiance to Ringer 
 and Steele declined to be directed. 
 
 And on the third ballot, Ellet had a clear 
 majority over all. The cheers that greeted him 
 were gall and wormwood to the fat man who sat 
 behind impassive Mr. Turner. He stole one 
 glance at old Wesley Grant, and saw a face calm 
 and unmoved in the general rejoicing. He fairly 
 raved to think how, as a matter of course, that 
 old man took triumph. He could stay to see no 
 more. It was positively maddening. Let them 
 run their convention. He would show them yet. 
 And he snatched his hat and bolted from the 
 court-house — blind, deaf and dumb with anger. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A POPULAR CANDIDATE. 
 
 Reaching his saloon, Sautern first refreshed his 
 spirits, and then poured out the vials of his wrath 
 ■ — at long range — on the victors. He would show 
 them. Let no man of the whole outfit come into 
 his place again, nor ever ask a favor. He half 
 believed even Turner, and Bill Brown, and 
 Gurnsey, and Forden, and Himes had been untrue 
 to him. 
 
 “I am for Frank Logan for sheriff from here 
 on,” he shouted. “ If you Democrats want an 
 office in Fairview, now is your time.” 
 
 But he had not yet reached the depths. When 
 the convention adjourned, he learned that Poole 
 had been defeated. He could have borne that, 
 for Poole secretly favored Ellet Grant’s nomination; 
 but he was defeated by a temperance lawyer from 
 Hamlet, the second town in the county — Ezra 
 Fuller, fresh from college, fresh from home, fresh 
 from all those influences which were Sautern ’s 
 special abhorrence. 
 
 “ I’ll beat the whole ticket,” he vowed, as he 
 paced the length of his rooms, and made all his 
 
 79 
 
80 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 patrons uncomfortable. “And I’ll do more. I 
 know every man who stood up there and was 
 counted agin Sims’ motion to change the order of 
 nominating. I’ll lay for every man of them. 
 They’ll hear from me, and hear often.” 
 
 Right in the midst of his passion the screen 
 door opened, and John Haberly led Ellet Grant 
 into the room. Haberly ’s whole bearing was that 
 of a man who had never heard news, either good = 
 or bad; a man who had never hated, and had ■ 
 never loved; a man who had no interest on earth 
 or elsewhere which could provoke either a smile ' 
 or a sigh. 
 
 Ellet was less composed. He had fought a ! 
 hard fight, and had won a good victory. Still, ■ 
 he was not unduly exultant. He was, indeed, ; 
 rather nervous. He wanted to appear strong, yet j 
 indulgent; to tower a little above, yet stoop to 
 some affiliation. And at the same time Ellet ; 
 Grant both felt and acted out of place in a saloon. 
 
 “Well, Sautern,” said Haberly, calmly, “we 
 came in to congratulate you.” 
 
 “You did.?” with intense downward inflection. 
 “Yes. Let us have a cigar.” 
 
 “Man there to wait on you.” Was he to be 
 softened by any twenty-five cent purchase.? | 
 
 “How do you like the ticket.?” Before any J 
 reply could come Haberly continued : “ This is 1 
 
A POPULAR CANDIDATE. 
 
 81 
 
 Ellet Grant, the nominee for sheriff. I don’t think 
 you two are acquainted, and you ought to be. Mr. 
 Grant is a devilish good man.” Then to Ellet: 
 
 “ Mr. Sautern is one of the wheel horses in the 
 county, and a gentleman we all have found to be 
 very agreeable.” 
 
 Sautern did not at all enjoy the situation.' He 
 shook hands, but he did not want to. He 
 acknowledged the introduction, but it would have 
 been so much more to his liking to kick this 
 precious pair clear through the transom, and across 
 the street. 
 
 But while he stood before them, letting Haberly 
 manage the conversation, Sautern concluded to 
 accept this overture in a friendly spirit, and make 
 it the first of many visits to his place. How 
 richer than feasts for hungry men would be the 
 treading on Ellet Grant now! How sweeter than 
 honey to the tongue would be each sigh he could 
 wring from old Wesley! How rarer than victory 
 might he not make this defeat ! So he unbent a 
 little, jested as a beaten man may, hoped Ellet 
 would treasure up no resentment, and, in the 
 rising tide of fellowship, led them to the bar. 
 
 “Jap, wait on the gentlemen,” he said to his ' 
 chief assistant; and Jap, with linen a little stained, 
 and face a little flushed by the work of the day, 
 posed as a model of respectful attention. 
 
82 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 He knew what this meant. He had tended bar 
 since he was fifteen, and knew more about whisky 
 than the men who made it, because he saw more 
 of its operation. Jap had a theory that men and 
 whisky were both good enough when in separate 
 packages. “ It’s when they mix that trouble 
 comes,” he would say. He divided all bar-invok- 
 ing politicians into three classes: “When they 
 first get here, they own Sautern; when half way 
 through the term, it’s a stand-off; when they go 
 out of office, Sautern owns them.” 
 
 Yet it was not for him to warn this man. It 
 was not for him to say that a street paved with 
 dynamite were safer than this broad road. So he 
 rested his hands on the bar, bent his keen eyes 
 and intelligent face toward them, caught Ellet’s 
 diffident, muttered, protesting, “Whisky, please;” 
 read John Haberly’s order for “the same” in a 
 familiar nod, and then served them with the grace 
 and deference of a courtier. 
 
 Down the bar was a crowd of drinkers. Most 
 of them were commodities yesterday; all were 
 gratuities now. For months their only value 
 would be that of possible future use. Yet they 
 must be preserved from any chance of defection. 
 They flocked around Ellet Grant, and showered 
 congratulations upon him. He was always their 
 choice, and if it hadn’t been for them, he might 
 
A POPULAR CANDIDATE. 
 
 83 
 
 have been beaten. He was the whitest man that 
 ever lived. That old Jim Cowan — who wanted 
 him.^ 
 
 Ellet treated the last man of them, and then, 
 growing in dignity as the liquor rose to his brain, 
 patronized Sautern a little ; praised John Haberly ; 
 assured them that he was all right — every day in 
 the week, and then — treated again, drinking with 
 them. 
 
 “Well, Saut, we must go,” said Haberly. 
 
 “We must go, gentlemen,” said Grant. “ I am 
 glad to meet my friends, and you are all my 
 friends, and I am a friend to all of you. I’m all 
 right every day in the week — every day in the 
 week. Good-bye, Mr. Sautern. I’m glad to have 
 met you. I’ll see you again.” 
 
 Haberly saw how it was going. 
 
 “We must call on Ringer and Steele, Ellet,” 
 he said. “ The boys there will want you to come. 
 Between you and me. Ringer and Steele helped 
 you to the nomination. They coppered every 
 move Sautern made. Let’s take a little walk 
 before we go in.” 
 
 It would not do for this man, whose tongue was 
 already loose, whose wit was already light with 
 intoxicants, to go straight to other potations. 
 So they went to the mill, and shrewd Haberly 
 bought some flour and horse feed. Then they 
 
84 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 came back up town, prolonging the triumphal 
 progress as far as possible, till Ringer’s place was 
 reached. 
 
 The candidate, was introduced to Ringer and 
 his bartenders, and to the men who lined the 
 drinking trough. 
 
 “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Grant,” said the 
 unpolished Mr. Ringer. 
 
 “So are we lucky men — to get so good a can*, 
 didate,” rejoined Pfaberly. ; 
 
 “That’s so; that’s so,” assented the proprietor.’ 
 “Best ticket ever was named in Fairview County.' 
 Nobody couldn’t beat it. You’ve got plain sailing,; 
 Mr, Grant.” 
 
 “With the continued favor of my friends, I 
 think I have,” said Ellet, whereat John Haberly’s; 
 eyes glistened. It was a graceful, a politic thing) 
 to say. ; 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” resumed Ellet, “what’ll you have.^; 
 Give me some of the same — I mean a little whisky. ' 
 Some men don’t know his friends when they see 
 him — I mean some people are down on me because 
 I am down on you — I mean some people are down 
 on me. But I’m all right ever}^ day in the week 
 — every day in the week.” This with great im- 
 pressiveness. He wished them to understand 
 lie was entirely friendly, no matter what other, 
 persons had said about him. , Jl 
 
A POPZTLAB CANDIDATE. 85 
 
 They all drank. They didn’t know what a fine 
 fellow Ellet Grant was. His good clothes, his 
 better bearing, his known wealth — all these made 
 him a friend to cultivate. Add, then, his newly 
 discovered convivial character, and he was a thing 
 to awake enthusiasm. “ The boys ” were for him. 
 
 Haberly managed to escape from Ringer’s with 
 only one drink, and then he proposed another 
 walk, this time to the foundry, at the farther end 
 of town. He went in and made a pretense of 
 transacting some business, leaving his protege at 
 the door. Ellet stood there, steadying himself 
 against the bench, and trying to read the scrawled 
 records on the wall. 
 
 “First snow, Nov. i, 1878. 
 
 “ First snow, Oct. 24, 1879. 
 
 “First snow, Oct. 2, 1880.” 
 
 Evidently the world was getting colder. 
 
 Presently Haberly led him away, and they 
 stopped at Steele’s. When they emerged Ellet 
 needed a bridle on his lips as he had never before 
 needed one. 
 
 But “the boys” were all solid. That was the 
 one desideratum. 
 
 At sundown he climbed into the buggy beside 
 his father, and drove home. At the very start he 
 noticed, thick as were his senses, that Wesley 
 Grant was silent. 
 
86 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “Meanest thing I ever saw, father,” he said; 
 “putting you out of the convention. But it didn’t 
 do ’em any good. W^e beat ’em. W^e beat the 
 whole outfit; and we can do it again, any day in 
 the week — ^any day in the week. They were 
 down on you because you beat Beal two years 
 ago. But they didn’t dare say a word against 
 you in my hearing. No, not a man of ’em didn t. 
 I’d have choked the first one that dared say a 
 word. I’d stand by my father every day in the 
 week.” 
 
 Why, what load is that on Wesley Grant’s old 
 heart.? What fury is it that looms before, and 
 throws a shadow over him.? What fate is this 
 that whets a knife in his hearing.? How keener 
 his agony as he reaches home ; how he shuns their 
 eyes that watch his coming from the porch; how 
 with unused cunning he turns his son into the barn' 
 
 “ Ellet, let’s wash before we go to the house,’: 
 he says. “Your face looks as if you had been 
 threshing, and mine feels as if I had been threshed.” 
 
 He pumps a great pail of water, and Ellet, saner 
 now for the long ride, plunges in his hands, and| 
 laves his face, his neck, his head, with the grateful 
 liquid; then puts his hand across the spout, and; 
 drinks a huge draught. He rises refreshed, and 
 dries his hands on the linen lap-robe. He notes 
 with pain his father has not washed. 
 
A POPULAR CANDIDATE. 
 
 87 
 
 “He didn’t need it,” muses the young man. 
 
 “Cattle all fed.^” asks the farmer of his man. 
 “Better keep the horses up to-night; it looks like 
 rain. Ellet, you run the buggy in the shed, and 
 help Jim off with the wagon box. He will want 
 to haul rails from the middle fence to-morrow, if 
 the weather lets him.” 
 
 And so, with commonplace commands and well- 
 used habit he smooths the way to the family. But 
 when his wife first meets him, her eyes are full — 
 are blazing — with one question. He cannot 
 answer it, yet in that inability her sinking heart 
 reads all the truth. 
 
 What is it to father and mother that Ellet will 
 be sheriff of Fairview County.? Ellet has come 
 home steeped in liquor. That would pall any 
 glory. 
 
 The girls do not read the truth so darkly. To 
 them, the victory is a victory. The misstep is 
 quite apart from that. The facts do not need to 
 dwell together. Esther is jubilant, and wants to 
 know all about it. Yet she cannot understand 
 when he tells her, and flies from details to general 
 result. Ellet says good words for Haberly, and 
 does not see that this is music to her ears. He 
 would have lost only for Haberly. That man is 
 a genius, a trump, a — a — a — words fail to dignify 
 him. Esther vows another feast to the deity of 
 
88 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 conventions, and Alice runs to the piano, and pours 
 her pleasure over the yielding keys. 
 
 Ellet is weary. He has been up till midnight 
 and later every day for weeks. He had ridden at 
 all hours, and slept in all places. He will go to 
 bed. So, after the lightest of suppers, he leaves 
 them, and is instantly lost in the utter exhaustion 
 that follows excess. 
 
, CHAPTER XL 
 
 A SUNDAY AT THE FARM. 
 
 Pretty Lake Church was the pride of the neigh- 
 borhood, At its sacred desk services had been 
 held every Sunday afternoon for many years. 
 The rich farms all around it produced the maxi- 
 mum of a wide range of crops; but the spirit of 
 peace, order and sobriety was the rarest yield. 
 This found its expression in a sort of fraternity 
 that bound all the farmers together in bonds that 
 only come with time and modest prosperity; in 
 the courtesy that each one extended to the others, 
 and in the gentle emulation which made comely 
 appearance and decorous behavior the eharacteris- 
 tics of Pretty Lake people. The preacher to 
 whom they listened once a week lived on the 
 shores of the lake, worked a little in his vineyard 
 every day, and preached the truth undefiled, 
 without either cursing Dives or canonizing Laza- 
 rus. A very modest theology was good enough 
 for simple men, and beyond the staunch old tenets 
 of entrance by faith and tenure by works, he sel- 
 dom led his people. 
 
90 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 His hands had once been supple and strong; 
 they were weak and trembling now. His hair 
 had once been as dark as night ; it was white now. 
 He had lifted the children of his flock to their 
 christenings years ago; had spread his palms in 
 blessing above them when they were married, and 
 now rested content in the fellowship of those who 
 had known him forty years, and loved him all the 
 time. 
 
 Ellet Grant with his sisters had attended morn- 
 ing service in town these later years, but had 
 never for one day deserted the homelier sanctuary 
 by the lake. They were under no compulsion 
 but that of love, and it was always strong enough 
 to place them side by side with those who had 
 known their lives, and to keep them there, 
 honored, and honoring all with whom they 
 mingled. 
 
 John Haberly drove out the Sunday afternoon 
 following the convention. He was clad in the 
 best of clothes, and was not unworthily proud of 
 his team and carriage. One of his sisters accom- 
 panied him, and they two went home with Wesley 
 Grant’s family for dinner. 
 
 Oh, the farm-house meal of Sunday afternoon! 
 What genius helps to make it.? What pleasures 
 for epicures are here! Who taught the aged 
 hands of mother and the gentle hands of daugh- 
 
A SUNDAY AT THE FABM . ' 
 
 91 
 
 ters to concoct its sweets? What fairy of the 
 hours tossed it to completion so quickly? What 
 gods of grace and beauty instructed its arrange- 
 ment, and made that table fit banquet place for 
 kings ? Poultry grown plethoric in the abundance 
 of waste, fried to a turn and crisping in crumbs; 
 potatoes as smooth and as savory as ices; bread 
 that rivals the pastry of towns; butter so sweet, 
 cream so rich, milk so refreshing that gardens of 
 Eden could not have excelled! Then the honey, 
 fragrant with all the blossoming sweets of forest 
 and field; the fruit that was gathered in season; 
 the pies and the cake — those classics of a cook’s 
 senior year! And the brimming abundance of it 
 all. Let no man think he has lived till he pass that 
 flood-mark of life — the farm-house Sunday dinner 
 
 When sated feasters had drawn back, Ellet 
 and John Haberly went with Wesley Grant to the 
 broad porch, while the women gave that rare 
 time just after dinner to social service. An hour 
 later, the whole great house tidy from garret to 
 cellar, they joined the men, talking and watching 
 the shadows drift eastward. 
 
 “ Did you ever take a Sunday evening walk in 
 the woods ? ” asked Ellet of his friend. Haberly 
 never had, and confessed a strong desire to do so. 
 
 “Will you go with us, father?” asked Esther, 
 pinning on her hat. 
 
92 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ No, mother and I will take our walk later.” 
 Down the broad lane, between the fields where 
 busy nature was building for future harvests; 
 through the woods where soil and stones had lain 
 unturned for ages, not troubled by the hungry 
 haste of man; past lady ferns, rank and beautiful; 
 by sweet briars that filled the aisles of the forest 
 with perfume; over a carpet of yielding moss and 
 violets, to the edge of the wintergreen patch. 
 Just over there, where the spongy ground forbade 
 their footsteps, acres of whortleberries hung ripe 
 in the hot air. Beyond them, hiding their rubies 
 in the tangled vines, were store of cranberries, 
 waiting the chill of winter, when they might 
 sharpen thankfulness. Above the group of young 
 people spread the branches of oak trees, lifting 
 good broad leaves as the royal winds approached 
 them, lowering in musical obeisance as the breeze 
 passed by. 
 
 Esther and John Haberly were a little way 
 from the others. 
 
 “Tell me about the convention,” she said. 
 “ Ellet thinks you managed everything.” 
 
 “ There isn’t much to tell. The chairman 
 hammered on the desk at lo o’clock, and read 
 the call of the County Central Committee — ” 
 “Oh, I don’t mean that. One can read all 
 that in the Republican. How did you get him 
 
A SUNDAY AT THE FAEM. 
 
 93 
 
 the nomination, when what you call the machine 
 was against you?” 
 
 “Well, the machine isn’t supposed to be either 
 for or against any one until after the convention. 
 Then it is for the nominee, and against every one 
 else.” 
 
 “ But Mr. Sautern said he would beat Ellet, 
 didn’t he ? ” 
 
 “ Not Mr. Sautern, Esther,” with emphasis on 
 the title. “Sautern — just plain, simple Sautern, 
 the saloon keeper — did swear that he would oppose 
 Ellet, and that no man could get the nomination 
 who did not first see him and fix things up.” 
 
 “ Then how did you succeed? ” 
 
 “I don’t think you want to know.” 
 
 “ But I do — very much. The man’s insolence 
 was so unbearable.” 
 
 “Well, to tell you the truth, I beat him with 
 his own weapons. I know more people, and have 
 more friends than he has. It took some money 
 and some night riding, but the very men he 
 depended on were the very ones I used.” 
 
 “It took some money — how?” 
 
 “Well, there are lots of fellows who care only 
 one thing for politics. If they can get enough to 
 drink and smoke out of it, they are satisfied. 
 They live in all communities, and they fairly flock 
 in towns. They belong to all parties, and are 
 
94 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 easiest controlled by the saloons. The candidate 
 who has them solid can be nominated and even 
 elected against any man.” 
 
 “ But you are not a saloon keeper, and Sautern, 
 as you call him, is. How did you manage to use 
 his own forces.^” 
 
 “By getting the gangs of other saloons to 
 oppose the gang in his saloon. Usually they all 
 go together, but this time I got them divided. 
 All the mischief that Sautern did was checkmated 
 by the cussedness of some other fellow; so the 
 whole fight was left, finally, for decent men to 
 settle. More decent men supported Ellet than 
 any other candidate, and so he was chosen.” 
 “Divide and conquer,” mused Esther. But she 
 was not thinking of that. She was trying to 
 reconcile herself to what seemed very wrong. A 
 moment later she said: “But it took money, and 
 a use of the saloons.” 
 
 “ Only to the extent I say. I let one saloon 
 counteract another saloon, and then the people 
 settled the matter as they wanted it. If I had not 
 done so, Sautern would have beaten a good man 
 simply because he was good.” 
 
 She pondered that awhile, and then she said: 
 “ I am glad you did it. I am very glad you did it.” 
 “So am I,” was the response, and in the three 
 words was bound up no little of self gratulation. 
 
A SUNDAY AT THE FABM. 
 
 95 
 
 She saw this, recognized his claim upon her, and 
 tried to thank him in words — but words were so 
 empty. He looked in her eyes, brigTit with her 
 praises, and found more payment than volumes 
 could have held. 
 
 They all strolled back to the house, the girls 
 with trailing grasses and scimeter blades of giant 
 ferns; with a wealth of wood flowers, and the 
 scent of unturned earth upon them. The sun was 
 low, and Wesley Grant and his wife were com- 
 pleting their weekly tour. The young people* 
 gained the house first, and filled the listening 
 rooms with .happy music. An hour passed, and 
 the cord that tethered Esther’s heart to Haberly 
 was strengthened. His chief distinction in the 
 county had been won by methods decidedly shady, 
 yet one forgot all the bad one heard of him when 
 he stood so easily before the world, and asked no 
 favors. His presence was marked by a certain 
 polish, his bearing was always calm and collected, 
 and his simplest actions were so plainly those of a 
 man who never struggled, yet always won. 
 
 He was a hero to her; and yet, in confessing 
 that, she hushed a conscience-uttered protest, and 
 hurried the rising tide of feeling that rolled about 
 his image in her memory. She must be kind to 
 him. Had he not helped her brother.^ 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE RALLY. 
 
 The weeks that followed were full enough of 
 work at the farm, and politics was allowed to 
 drift without special guidance until in August, 
 when Ellet took the side-bar buggy, and started 
 on his tour about the county. National, State and 
 local issues were to be decided. Meetings were 
 held almost nightly in some of the townships, and 
 at many of these Ellet was present. He was no 
 speaker, but his simple directness when called 
 upon to address the voters had a good effect. 
 
 “ They think you are a sort of ideal candidate,” 
 John Haberly had said. 
 
 “ I hope at the end of my service they will say 
 L have been an ideal sheriff,” responded the young 
 man, and Haberly, who was much in demand at 
 meetings, repeated the sentiment when he came 
 to extol his friend. It was a good thing to say. 
 
 The Republicans had a grand rally in Fair- 
 view at the end of August, and all the candidates 
 regarded it as sunshine in which they were wise 
 to make hay. Great, flaring posters stood dis- 
 
 96 
 
THE RALLY. 
 
 97 
 
 played at every point of vantage in the county. 
 The Republican had filled its columns for weeks 
 with laudatory lines for the principal speakers. A 
 great booth had been erected in the court-house 
 square, and a wide space in front was occupied 
 with rough seats, in the shade of those trees 
 which were the chief glory of the county town. 
 
 The candidate for governor was himself to 
 address the people, and in the earliest morning 
 hours the place took on the airs of preparation. 
 Flags were flying; bunting fluttered from the 
 awnings ; lithograph portraits of the leaders were 
 on view. The streets were clean. Boxes and 
 barrels were arranged in order; merchandise was 
 dusted and heaped ready to hand; men wore 
 better clothes than on common days. 
 
 At 9 o’clock the “ grand marshal ” rode down 
 the street, at the head of a number of aides ; each 
 wore a sash about his waist, and a cockade in his 
 hat. All were emulous of military grandeur, 
 though none appeared majestic. The delegation 
 from Fayette township was first to arrive, and 
 the commandant sent an order to halt it at the 
 edge of town until others should come. By lo 
 o’clock all were ready, and then the grand parade 
 began. 
 
 The cornet band marched bravely down the 
 street, blatant with martial airs. Behind it came 
 
98 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 the county magnates, with the “ Governor ” in a 
 carriage. For in Indiana a candidate for guber- 
 natorial honors is dignified with his coveted title 
 long before election. It would be treason, disloy- 
 alty, an expression of doubt, to do otherwise. 
 Distinguished guests from neighboring towns 
 occupied other carriages, and then came the 
 masterpiece of the day. A mammoth Ship of 
 State had been launched on the waves of partisan 
 enthusiasm, and rigged with partisan mottoes. It 
 was guided by a Jehu who would have disdained 
 recognition from his fellows of yesterday unless 
 they subscribed to his partisan views; and from 
 stem to stern the craft was guiltless of any work- 
 manship save that of partisans. 
 
 But it was not its hull or rigging, its spars or 
 its motive power which glorified the Ship of State. 
 The passengers who crowded its deck made its 
 chief adornment. Thirty-eight girls, each typi- 
 fying a State in the Union, and all crowned with 
 tinsel and gold, waved partisan fans, shaded them- 
 selves with partisan parasols, and all together 
 sang partisan songs. The Ship of State was 
 cheered to the echo. 
 
 Far down the street the long procession 
 unrolled from the rendezvous, and trailed past the 
 public reviewing stand, where the Governor, 
 whose carriage had been driven from the line. 
 
THE BALLY. 
 
 99 
 
 stood in the throng of notables, and gazed with 
 great admiration on the assembled proof of fealty. 
 Then the men who had counted fell to disputing 
 as to the number of vehicles, and the length of 
 time occupied by the procession in passing a given 
 point. 
 
 After dinner the crowds gathered again at the 
 court-house, the Ship of State was anchored in the 
 shade, and the Governor was introduced to a 
 host of admirers. He was a good speaker, loud 
 with the frailties of his enemies, and sounding 
 with the virtues of his friends. He was apt at 
 illustration, humorous, strong to denounce, power- 
 ful to plead. And when he had closed with a 
 peroration that attuned his hearers to serenity in 
 partisan faith, the crowds dispersed and flooded 
 the town with activity. 
 
 Sidewalks were thronged, stores were occupied, 
 salesmen were struggling to attend all comers. 
 Alleys, back streets and vacant lots were full of 
 teams; and everywhere ranged with tireless 
 energy the drink-enthused advocates of the latest 
 speaker. By sufferance the day was theirs, as a 
 week later it would be their mortal enemies’. 
 They shouted, talked in roars, sang bits of songs, 
 smote comrades with crushing friendship, handled 
 cigars in a clumsy fashion, and then — drank 
 again. 
 
100 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Decorated dwellings showed the politics of 
 households. About the residences most elabo- 
 rately, most gorgeously adorned, were all the 
 evidences of many guests. Parlors were thrown 
 open in unused splendor; lawns and porticoes were 
 gay with chairs that seldom saw the sun; 
 there was a strange air of activity about the 
 kitchen, and feasts were preparing to befit the day. 
 John Haberly found food for his cynicism in all 
 this. He wanted to see the folly from a spec- 
 tator’s standpoint. He took his team of trotters 
 and the carriage, took Lawyer Poole and the 
 Grant girls for a drive. He went slowly around 
 the town, remarking the transient grandeur, 
 commented on it in a way strange to the ladies, 
 but not in a manner to surprise Lawyer Poole. 
 They bowed to many and were gazed after by 
 all. This was John Haberly, the manager of the 
 campaign. Such a progress on such a day was 
 treading very close on the confines of greatness. 
 
 Evening, twilight, darkness, midnight, followed 
 each other, as the tides fell, and at daybreak 
 Fairview rose dizzy and disliking to work. The 
 town was gorged by the feast of yesterday. It 
 would take days in returning to regular life. 
 The litter would stain the greensward and bye- 
 places for weeks, and so the rally would pass into 
 history. 
 
THE RALLY. 
 
 101 
 
 Ellet Grant was around town all day, but did 
 not once touch liquor. He had spent money for 
 his bibulous supporters, but had managed so 
 gracefully to avoid drinking that no offense was 
 felt. He was proud of his strength, and prouder 
 of his tact. Surely he had nothing further to 
 fear from this bane of politics. He had proved 
 he could drink or let it alone, and the incident of 
 convention time might never be repeated. 
 
 Frank Logan was making the race for sheriff 
 an exceedingly interesting one. The Democrals 
 had pinned their faith to him as in all respects a 
 fitting opponent of Ellet Grant. He was particu- 
 larly strong in the out townships, and in none 
 more so than Franklin. The Republican nominee 
 took a run down there, and spent the night with 
 Dave Edwards and his boys. The four voters in 
 the family were solid for Ellet, and gave rather 
 bright reports of his standing in the township. 
 
 “But I learn Frank Logan has a strong pull 
 down here, and I am afraid he will change some 
 of your friends before election,” said Ellet. 
 
 “Now don’t balk before you come to the hill,” 
 said philosophical old David. “We will take care 
 of Franklin, and it won’t cost you no money, 
 neither. Everybody won’t vote for you, but you’ll 
 get a bigger majority than any man on the ticket. 
 Folks down here recollects that you always 
 
102 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 attended their spelling schools and things, even 
 before you was a candidate.” 
 
 Ellet complimented the supper. He sat with the 
 boys, and told them some stories he had lately 
 learned. They laughed immoderately, and waited 
 for more. He ranked above them; both he and 
 they saw that. He was stirred to talk well. 
 They respected him for his quick wit, his evident 
 equality with the “big bugs in town,” his kindly 
 manners, that could surely grow in no meaner 
 field than a man’s true heart. He drew them 
 after him to a talk with Uncle David, on affairs 
 by no means touching elections. He paid gentle 
 deference to the farmer’s wife, and retired at last 
 with the assurance that the whole family would 
 make his cause their own. 
 
 He visited a dozen places in the township the 
 next day, wearing an air of easy confidence, yet 
 binding the voters to him in an obligation which 
 was not less effective because unexpressed in 
 words. He prolonged the tour, and saw the 
 faithful over in Liberty, and Monroe, and Star. 
 He reached home Saturday night, and found an 
 encouraging message from Haberly. 
 
CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 SAUTERN DEFENDANT. 
 
 Court was in session, and Sautern was defendant 
 in a civil suit for damages. He had sold liquor to 
 Matt Tolliver, a confirmed drunkard, notwith- 
 standing the legal notification to desist. Matt was 
 an old soldier, a former comrade of Poole, the 
 prosecuting attorney, and was a pensioner of the 
 government. One day, directly after drawing his 
 quarterly allowance. Matt had “just dropped in at 
 Sautern’s ” to invite congratulations and to express 
 his boundless contempt for a charity so limited as 
 to allow him but $8 a month, when the govern- 
 ment could well afford to give him $20. He 
 found the proprietor so much of his own mind 
 that they pledged each other in a second bowl. 
 
 Charley, the worker, with a scent unerring, 
 found him there, after the fourth potion had made 
 him generous, and became at once his guardian. 
 
 “You better go home now. Matt,” Sautern had 
 said, “and put up your money.” 
 
 But Matt wanted the proprietor to keep the 
 roll; he wanted Charley to count it and turn it 
 
 103 
 
104 : 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 over to Jap Sweet, the bar-tender. He wanted to 
 do as he pleased with his own. It ivas his own, 
 and if he took it home his wife would confiscate 
 it. She always did. Women were forever inter- 
 fering. 
 
 Matt did not go home to dinner. He was not 
 present there at supper. At 9 o’clock Mrs. 
 Tolliver came for him. She was a tall, athletic 
 woman, who had outlived beauty and forgotten 
 grace. Adversity had made her suspicious, and 
 wrongs had taught her persistent self-reliance. 
 
 She walked straight through the screen doors, 
 and stood in the center of the room. Business 
 suspended for a time, while the men who played 
 pool and the others who lined the bar quit their 
 pastime, and stared at her with bright anticipa- 
 tions of a scene. Her husband was not in the 
 crowd. 
 
 “Where’s Matt?” she demanded. 
 
 Sautern waved his hands at the four walls, 
 silently parrying the question. 
 
 “Where’s Matt?” she asked again, a little 
 sharper than before, and addressing the proprietor 
 directly. 
 
 “ I don’t know, Mrs. Tolliver. You can see he 
 is not here.” 
 
 “ He has been here, and has been drinking — 
 hasn’t he, Jap?” 
 
SAUTERN DEFENDANT. 
 
 105 
 
 But Jap was deaf to her, and scrubbed the bar 
 in a discouraging manner. 
 
 “You have sold him liquor agin my order. 
 Now, I want to know where he is, and I’m goin’ 
 to know.” 
 
 She started through the crowd, but Sautern 
 stood between her and the back room. 
 
 “Now go away, Mrs. Tolliver, and don’t make 
 a fuss. I tell you Matt isn’t here. He was here 
 this forenoon, and took a drink with some man 
 I don’t know who; but Matt didn’t buy it; the 
 other man paid for it. Now, go on home, and 
 don’t make a fuss.” 
 
 “ Go home and leave him here to be robbed.^ 
 Let me alone! Let go of me! Let go of 
 me ! ” 
 
 She twisted out of his grasp, dodged past him, 
 and threw her bony figure against the door. It 
 opened, revealing four startled men around a 
 small table. Matt had a hand full of cards. The 
 others had hands full of ivory discs. She marched 
 straight to her husband, helped him to rise, and 
 then demanded: 
 
 “Where’s your money 
 
 “ I aint got no money, Susann. Lost it on four 
 deuces. Luck dead agin me. There’s no money ; 
 so go on home, Susann.” 
 
 His comrades in the game had vanished. 
 
106 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “Where’s his money, Sautern? You give me 
 back the $24 he drawed to-day, or I’ll haul you up. 
 You give — ” 
 
 “Now you get out — both of you,” cried the 
 proprietor. There are things no business man 
 can stand, and a threat is one of them. “ Get 
 out!” 
 
 With much commotion, many vociferous cries, 
 a deal of pushing and struggling, the two are 
 ejected. A crowd gathers about the door. The 
 boys hoot and follow the pair home. People hear 
 about it all over town, and continue dropping in 
 at the refectory to jest, and take one drink while 
 they talk. 
 
 Mrs. Tolliver saw Attorney Poole the next 
 day, and a suit for damages was begun. Before 
 convention Sautern would have felt safe enough; : 
 Poole was under obligations to him. But ' 
 since the prosecutor had been sacrificed there was 
 no telling what the attorney might do. Yet to 
 wait until after election, when that infamous tem- 
 perance crank, Ezra Fuller, was made prosecutor, 
 would be worse; for he would feel called upon to 
 institute criminal proceedings as well. To win 
 the case now seemed the one way out. 
 
 Sautern called in John Haberly. 
 
 “ Can’t you see the sheriff, and get the right 
 kind of men on the jury? ” 
 
SAUTERN DEFENDANT. 
 
 107 
 
 “ I’ll try, but a sheriff just going out of office 
 is a mighty unaccommodating beast, Saut,” said 
 the manager. But he did the best he could. 
 
 Charley, the worker, had been subpoenaed by 
 the prosecution — an unwilling witness. He was 
 busy day and night v/ith those whose testimony 
 was most damaging. It was to his interest and 
 to their interest to let the woman prove as little 
 as possible. Sautern was not to blame. He ad- 
 vised Matt to go home before he had spent a dol- 
 lar. If Tolliver insisted on sitting into a game of 
 poker, that was his own fault; and if he lost 
 his money, why — that was one of the things that 
 often happened. Sautern was unjustly accused. 
 It wasn’t right. 
 
 People talked about the affair all over the 
 county. The R&puhlican and the Democrat gave 
 it extended notice, and finally public opinion 
 seerhed to decide that if Sautern was guilty the 
 law was wrong. That relieved the defendant, 
 and made Mrs. Tolliver’s claim for $5,000 dam- 
 ages an unparalleled persecution. 
 
 But Poole was in earnest. He would not talk 
 about the case on the street. He seemed to know 
 when a man came to him from Sautern on the 
 subject, or from any one else in Sautern’s interest, 
 and he told all of them, and told them plainly, 
 that he was after a verdict, and that he would 
 
108 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 certainly get it. He could prove by a cloud of 
 witnesses that Tolliver had bought drink after 
 drink, and paid for them; that Sautern himself 
 had at length gone behind the bar and waited on 
 him; that the pensioner had taken the beggarly 
 remnant of his money, and followed a party into 
 the little back room, where they began playing, 
 only to cease when destitution and Susann ended 
 the game. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney knew all the wit- 
 nesses, knew the methods that would be employed 
 to keep them from testifying, and knew just how 
 to prevent that action. He could afford to decline 
 with emphasis all invitations to “ go and see 
 Sautern and fix the thing up.” People generally 
 were gratified, and began to look forward with 
 surprised interest to the vigorous prosecution of a 
 saloon-keeper. Public opinion, that mercury in 
 the thermometer of history, had shifted again, and 
 was now risen to the approval of rectitude. 
 
 Tolliver’s was the fourth case on the civil 
 docket. The third was closed early in the after- 
 noon, and the judge called the next in order; but 
 the attorne}'^ in a matter of smaller importance 
 asked that the case of Tolliver versus Sautern be 
 passed till the following day, while his more 
 trivial contest be settled in the short remnant of 
 the present session. He talked a moment with 
 
SAUTE RN DEFENDANT. 
 
 109 
 
 the interested attorneys, and they gracefully gave 
 way. They could do nothing of importance this 
 evening, any way. And so the announcement 
 went out that Susann Tolliver’s big case would 
 begin in the morning. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 Lawyer Poole sat alone in his office that night, 
 smoking a very disreputable pipe and gazing off 
 across the table, which was littered with books 
 and papers. He had about made up his mind to 
 cut loose from the old crowd, and prosecute vig- 
 orously every case on the docket. He was weary 
 unto death with the domination of that gang at 
 Sautern’s. He stood head and shoulders above 
 them in learning and wit; he knew that. And it 
 brought him no little shame to reflect in the same 
 moment that they had used him. He looked 
 back eight years, and remembered his advent in 
 Fairview. How he trembled then on the verge 
 of attempt. How nervously he counted all the 
 factors that could be employed, and how quickly 
 he saw the strength of the saloon interest. With 
 a natural bent for politics, he reflected to-night 
 that he had devoted his abilities to a very poor 
 cause, and sold his services for an exceedingly 
 small consideration. He had hobnobbed with the 
 worst of them right from the start. And here 
 
 xio 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 Ill 
 
 when it paid them to throw him over, how quickly 
 they had done it. 
 
 “Oh, well, I don’t blame them,” he said, as he 
 bestirred himself to fill his pipe again “I haven’t 
 earned decent treatment, and I haven’t received 
 it. That’s plain enough — and it’s fair enough, for 
 that matter. Serves them right, though, that in 
 trying to run that convention with a sort of moral 
 shot-gun, they should get the prohibitionist named 
 for prosecuting attorney. He’ll make things warm 
 next summer — if they don’t buy him. And they 
 didn’t get a single man they wanted, excepting 
 Dodd. Well, from here out — Come in, come in!” 
 
 This last was directed toward the door, where 
 some one was clumsily knocking. It was Petcher, 
 attorney for the defense in Sautern’s case. 
 
 “Come in,” said Poole, as the other hesitated 
 on the threshold. “ Don’t you know any better 
 than to knock at an office door Sit down. What 
 do you want.? 
 
 Petcher was accorded a kinder reception than 
 he had expected. It would by no means have 
 surprised him had Poole slammed the door in his 
 face. Yet, unstrained as was the greeting — for 
 the apparent rudeness was a part of their olden 
 familiarity — the visiting lawyer saw this was not 
 the Poole he had known for the past eight years. 
 He caught a defiant ring in that steady tone 
 
112 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 which boded no good to his mission. Still, at the 
 worst, it was only a question of amount. An 
 unpurchasable man was simply inconceivable. 
 
 “ Poole, what are you going to do in the Tol- 
 liver case.^ ” 
 
 “ Going to sock you for the maximum damages 
 — that’s what.” 
 
 Petcher searched his vest for a cigar, and asked 
 with unruffled air, “ Isn’t that pretty rough, con- 
 sidering everything.? ” 
 
 “Well, considering what.? You and I might 
 as well talk plain, Petcher. We know each other 
 and each other’s past. No use beating about the 
 bush. What do you want ? ” 
 
 “ Considering the services Sautern has rendered 
 you. He has been pretty good to you, Poole. 
 It isn’t hardly right for you to jump on him now 
 just because some gin-soaked old pensioner got 
 tight in his place. Let’s continue this case until 
 next term. Maybe you can see the thing as you 
 ought before that time.” 
 
 “ And have Ezra Fuller begin a State prosecu- 
 tion.? For God’s sake — are you less afraid of 
 that prohibitionist than you are of me.? Then we 
 don’t postpone. Petcher, I have made up my 
 mind to cut loose from the whole blasted gang. 
 There is room in this town for a decent lawyer — 
 besides yourself, of course; besides yourself. I 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 113 
 
 am going to enter in that class. If you came 
 here for a postponement, you are left. I try this 
 case like all the others — and I try them hard.” 
 
 If you don’t think people down on the street 
 can hear you plain enough, why don’t you call 
 them up } ” asked Petcher, irritated at the other’s 
 lack of discretion. “ Here, have a cigar.” 
 
 Poole did not touch the proffered roll. 
 
 “ When you go out of office, you will drop like 
 a collapsed balloon, Poole. Nothing kills a lawyer 
 off like serving a term as prosecutor. Now you 
 can starve along here without a salary, or you 
 can take regular pay from Sautern and Steele and 
 Ringer — just as you like. This prohibition fellow 
 is going to shake up the dry bones in Fairview, 
 and these men will have a lot of cases to defend. 
 You continue this one, and I am authorized to 
 offer you a thousand dollars a year to defend all 
 their cases, and you can take as much other busi 
 ness as you can get. What do you say? ” 
 
 With a perfect understanding of the lucrative 
 returns for legal services in Indiana county seats, 
 the writer is abundantly safe in saying that Mr. 
 Petcher was the bearer of a very flattering offer. 
 
 “Why do you want to continue this case if you 
 are afraid of my official successor? ” 
 
 “ Because you will defend the State cases so 
 much more ably than I can,” said wily Mr. 
 
m 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Petcher, with a graceful inclination of the head. ) 
 
 “ Petcher, you don’t touch me. You ought to) 
 know me better. You fellows have some scheme, j 
 What it is I don’t know, and I don’t need to know, i 
 But you can make no headway here. Go back ; 
 and tell Saut I am out for blood. I will make; 
 the ring think before this term of court is over 
 that kingdom has come, and they are not ready.” 
 But Mr. Petcher retained his seat undisturbed. 
 After a time he continued: 
 
 “ Now here. There’s no use acting this way.' 
 Pve seen prosecuting attorneys go out of office 
 before, and they generally act as if it was a 
 mortal offense to ask for their retirement. Don’t : 
 be unreasonable. You’ve had your share. Nonei 
 of us gets all he wants. You can do better by 
 acting sensibly than by this foolishness. Can’t 
 we arrange it for me to win this case of Sautern’s? ‘ 
 You know plenty of ways. You might — ”, 
 
 “I might throw it over. Yes, I know. But 1 ! 
 won’t do it. No use, Petcher; I mean it. You! 
 can’t buy me. I am going on the dead square! 
 from this out. I am tired of the whole thing.l 
 There is better work in me than cleaning up 
 Sautern’s waste.” i 
 
 “I read a pretty thing in that line the other i 
 day,” said Petcher, affably. “The Governor, 
 jneets one of his principal workers on the square, 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 115 
 
 and says to him, ‘Well, how’s politics?’ And 
 the worker says, ‘ I don’t know, haven’t been 
 down to the saloon this morning,’” and the 
 lawyer laughed very heartily. He would like to 
 penetrate this armor of Poole’s with some sort of 
 a weapon. 
 
 “ That’s just it,” said the prosecutor, “and I’m 
 ashamed of it. The idea of a free people sur- 
 rendering their own government into hands like 
 that. Why, we had better have a monarchy — 
 far and away. I won’t do it ! I won’t do it ! I 
 tell you there is villainy enough in the men who 
 sent you here to sell your wife or my mother into 
 slavery to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Oh, there is ! Look here. If we cannot buy 
 you, maybe we can pound a little reason into you. 
 You come down from that high horse, Poole, or 
 your own official record goes before the court. 
 You hear me. If it’s war you want you may get 
 a stomach full.” 
 
 Poole got up from the table, crossed his hands 
 behind him and walked the length of the room, as 
 if considering. Petcher let him go till the leaven 
 should work. Presently the prosecutor said: 
 
 “You simply don’t understand me. I can’t 
 blame you, for I have been wallowing in the same 
 trough with this sour-mash gang for eight years. 
 Of course, when I say I am through, they don’t 
 
AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 ii6 
 
 believe it; but it’s true. This town is dead as a 
 door nail, and has been for twenty years. Yet 
 there are six saloons in it. The men who own 
 them control practical politics in the county. 
 They name every officer, or buy him after better 
 men name him. They govern the town. They 
 fix the street grade. They locate bridges. They 
 vote special tax, and direct how to spend it. 
 They even dictate who shall be so fortunate as to 
 gain a home in the poor-house. They run not 
 only the whole municipal, but the social machinery, 
 from top to bottom. No one dares to stand 
 against them. When Elder Bishop preached the 
 truth about them he was run out of town, and we 
 all stood on the street corners and laughed. Not 
 a church, or a lodge, or a store, or even a private 
 family but it confesses some things must not be 
 done because the saloons oppose ; or will be done ' 
 because the saloons want them. Now, I know the 
 whole thing from bark to center, and I am out 
 against it. Don’t think I am fooling. From here 
 forward, I fight the saloon. About my official 
 record — it’s public. Hunt up what you like, and 
 use it as you want to. You will always find 
 me here — next to the bank, up stairs and i 
 first door to the right, as the advertisement 
 says. Now, don’t waste any more time with I 
 
 me. 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 117 
 
 It was hardly professional courtesy, and Mr. 
 Petcher rose in a great passion. 
 
 “I don’t have to sit in your office, Mr. Poole,” 
 he said, hotly. “ I have rooms of my own.” 
 
 “ Then go there,” rejoined the prosecutor, reck- 
 lessly. 
 
 And it was an actual fact that Poole had not 
 for one moment, in all his talk, reflected that his 
 oath of office, his bounden duty, required at his 
 hands just the work he had resolved to do. It 
 was like a newly-discovered virtue. Pique had 
 begun what honor would finish; but the homely 
 quality of fealty to a public' trust was buried far 
 • too deep in a mass of baser habit to easily dawn 
 on the conscience of a practical man. 
 
 Next day, to the surprise of every one, Petcher 
 asked for a continuance in Sautern’s case. Poole 
 opposed it, and he threw into his opposition such 
 vigor and earnestness that those on the inside con- 
 cluded something was wrong. The clerk nodded 
 to the sheriff, and the professional jurymen 
 moistened their lips in expectancy. 
 
 But the judge had had no revelation; and so, as 
 he believed Sautern was safer in Poole’s hands 
 than in those of that fiery young attorney who 
 would surely be elected; and as he knew who 
 was making judges in Fairview County, he ruled 
 against the motion. Then every method known 
 
118 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 to the practice was employed to secure a delay; 
 but Poole was better armed than Petcher, and 
 met every charge with a readiness that showed 
 the gang the metal and the stature of the man 
 they had lost. 
 
 At noon the work of securing a jury was begun, 
 and one after another the old, tried and true 
 patriots who had haunted every session of court 
 for a dozen years, were rejected by Poole. Some 
 question, gleaned from the abundance at hand, 
 would pierce their harness, and down they would . 
 go. Adjournment saw only four peers selected. i 
 This was very curious. When similar cases had 
 been brought previously the panel could be filled 
 in half an hour. The talk on the streets of Fair- j 
 view that night was that Poole was mad as hornets, 
 and would really try and win that case against 
 Sautern. 
 
 The sheriff couldn’t locate Charley, the worker. 
 His subpoena was returned “Not found.” A 
 ripple of glee told that the spirits of the defense 
 were rising. 
 
 Next morning the case was called, and a jury 
 was secured by noon. It seemed a particularly 
 sensible body of men. Most of them were farmers, 
 and all were reasonably free from the dominion of 
 Sautern and his gang. One by one the witnesses 
 were sworn, and one by one they showed in every 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 119 
 
 word and action that they were out of place in 
 the prosecution. But the event of the day came 
 just before adjournment, when Petcher’s first wit- 
 ness, Alva Martin, a cooper, said he walked with 
 Tolliver from the bank to Sautern’s on the occa- 
 sion of the pensioner’s drawing and losing his 
 allowance; that he bought and paid for the liquor 
 that Tolliver drank; that he went into the poker 
 game with him, and saw him give Mrs. Tolliver, 
 when she broke in the door, more than the $24 
 he had when he entered. 
 
 Petcher fairly beamed on the witness. He had 
 strong bits of the evidence repeated now and then, 
 and placed this substantial timber where it would 
 do the most good in the framework of his defense. 
 
 “ Take the witness,” he said at last, in that tone 
 which is the condensation of assurance. 
 
 “You know you are under oath, do you, Mar- 
 tin?” asked Poole, in a familiar, not a professional 
 manner. 
 
 “Ya-as, of course.” 
 
 Poole looked at him very straight for some 
 seconds. It was not a dark frown, or anything 
 frightful. It was simply the direct gaze of 
 one man who knows a lie, at another who 
 tells it. 
 
 “ Know the penalty for perjury, Martin?” This 
 rather kindly. 
 
120 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “I object!” shouted Petcher, and then he 
 bristled with indignation for some moments. But 
 Poole was not disturbed. He asked a number of 
 the most irrelevant questions, and so consumed 
 the session. 
 
 Right at the door he met Sautern face to face. 
 
 “ Saut, you heard Martin’s testimony, did you.^” 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Well, you produce Charley, the worker, here 
 in court by lo o’clock to-morrow morning, or I 
 will put you to the trouble of defending a charge , 
 of subornation of perjury.” 
 
 “ You don’t know what you are talking about,” 
 gasped Sautern, livid with anger and fright. He 
 was off his guard. Had it come to this.^ Was 
 it possible he could be talked to in such a manner, 
 and by an elected official.? The day of miracles 
 seemed come again. All Fairview joined in the . 
 stare of amazement. Poole’s defiance of the 
 powers that be was as public as the court-house , 
 steeple. No one could explain or minify that 
 command, accusation, threat. News of the event 
 traveled into the country with the home-going 
 teams, and next day a larger crowd than ever 
 gathered at the trial. , 
 
 Charley was there. He- gave his testimony 
 with a great appearance of sincerity. It was not 
 of a piece with the rest of the evidence. The gang 
 
POOLE WAKES TO MANHOOD. 
 
 121 
 
 had learned wisdom somewhere, and the worker 
 kept perilously close to the truth. 
 
 And then came the arguments. Some of the 
 older residents remembered the day when Poole 
 first came to town. They remembered his maiden 
 speech at the convention in that presidential cam- 
 paign, and they remembered how his warm words 
 and strong style waked the echoes in their dry old 
 hearts, and gained the youngster a place of honor 
 in the county and the party. 
 
 Now they recalled that effort, and heard it 
 eclipsed. They listened to a man who knew most 
 thoroughly all the infamy of the defense; listened 
 to him heap reproach upon it in terms of scalding 
 truth; listened to him as he turned from thunder- 
 ous denunciation to sarcasm as acute as it was 
 severe. They heard him charge home guilt in 
 the debauching of that helpless old veteran, and 
 crime in the attempt to escape from its conse- 
 quences. And they heard him close with the 
 bravest, noblest, strongest demand for justice that 
 ever the old walls of the room had echoed: 
 
 The jury was won, and the verdict was his first 
 height on the way to a new life. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPER.^ 
 
 It was the last Sunday but one before election. 
 Things had improved a little in the past few days. 
 Poole was announced as an independent candi- 
 date for prosecuting attorney, and this is how it 
 came about. His conduct during the last term of 
 court had proven him fearless, efficient and reli- 
 able. No one could understand it, but they could 
 all see it. The Democratic candidate was not an 
 especially strong nomination. Poole in his olden 
 state was satisfactory enough to the opposition 
 party, and Matthews was only named that the 
 ticket might be full. But wise ones everywhere 
 knew he would be traded in the interest of Frank 
 Logan when it came to the polls. 
 
 There was already a very strong belief that 
 Ezra Fuller had pledged himself to certain inter- 
 ests. A suspicion was awakened when Sautern 
 was found to prefer him to Poole as a prosecutor. 
 It was strengthened as the campaign progressed, 
 and he was found to modify his temperance senti- 
 ments in the public speeches. And finally it was 
 
 122 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPER? 
 
 123 
 
 confirmed when John Haberly assured the com- 
 mittee that Fuller’s contribution to the campaign 
 fund lay right between the offering of Sam 
 Sautern and that of Richard Ringer. 
 
 “ He’s a fish,” said the bolder ones, as they 
 discussed Ezra. “He thought he was honest 
 when he lived at Hamlet and made red-hot talks 
 agin the saloon; and he thinks he’s honest now 
 when he goes about putting salve into all the old 
 sores he ever made. He thinks he can ‘ control 
 the monster,’ and will prove that he is not afraid, 
 by lying down with it in perfect peace of 
 mind.” 
 
 Ezra Fuller’s conversion to “ liberal ” views was 
 a source of much trouble to the faithful in the out 
 townships, and they had taken occasion one night 
 in a meeting at Hamlet, to put the case squarely 
 before him and demand a pledge in keeping with 
 his utterances prior to the nomination — utterances 
 which won that nomination for him. And, in the 
 presence of messengers who could blast him in 
 every precinct of the county if he earned the 
 hatred of the gang, Ezra declared himself. The 
 gang was satisfied, but the honest old fellows — 
 the fools who thought men meant what they said — 
 were disappointed. Some of them were ready to 
 throw him over. And when, at the close of Fuller’s 
 speech, a man from Fairview rose and advocated 
 
124 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 the independent candidacy of Lawyer Poole, he 
 found a score of friends on the instant. 
 
 Major Poole had long enjoyed the friendship of 
 the Refuhlican. Editor Thompson was willing, on 
 very slight provocation, to lay down the journal- 
 istic dignity, and steep himself in such convivial 
 pleasures as were affected by the elect — county 
 officers, a few leading merchants, and a fast farmer 
 or two. The two men had long been boon compan- 
 ions in these occasional meetings which took place 
 in the large upper rooms of the “ Mammoth build- 
 ing,” and even the vices known there cemented 
 the regard they had for each other. The Refuh- 
 Ucan was for Poole in the county convention, and 
 when he was defeated, indulged a very question- 
 able editorial comment on the ability of the nominee. 
 
 But party is part}'^; and after some little reflec- 
 tion Mr. Thompson came out strong for Ezra 
 Fuller, reserving the right to say such little kind 
 things of the veteran as would do him good when 
 the staff of official income should be laid down. 
 No one objected to that; but when, as dog-days 
 ended, and fateful November came in hailing dis- 
 tance, it was noticed the vetern always fared better 
 than the recruit in the Republican' s surnming up 
 of merit; and it was decided to call a halt. But 
 Thompson was not an easy man to handle. He 
 held such positively ruinous doctrines on the subject 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPER? 
 
 125 
 
 of editorial rights, he had gone through such a 
 vitrifying process in his twenty years^ experience 
 on the tripod, that volunteers to teach him his 
 duty were not unduly plenteous. 
 
 On the second Saturday night in October, the 
 Prohibitionists, always noisy between elections, 
 were holding a mass meeting in the public square, 
 and a good many of the old guard had been drawn 
 to the spot, just to see how young Lawyer Fuller 
 would trim his sails in these conflicting breezes. 
 This used to be his crowd. Every one of these 
 weazened old fellows, proud of lips untouched by 
 alcohol, had hung on the young man’s periods in 
 more than one meeting, and had indorsed his 
 candidacy with a strength which no one pretended 
 to disregard. 
 
 They had been enthusiastically for him from 
 the start; but little by little things had been 
 occurring to make them question his sincerity, and 
 this meeting seemed to have been planned for the 
 single purpose of crowding him upon record. 
 
 Below the legislative nominees the Prohibition- 
 ists had no candidates to offer, but they were 
 intensely interested in the prosecuting attorney. 
 New laws would be made this winter, partly by 
 the counsel of whisky men, and with a view of 
 stemming the rising tide of prohibition ; and these 
 extremists were in a fever of impatience for a man 
 
126 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 who could and would enforce all such legislation 
 as came thus to them, fair spoil of war. A number 
 of their leaders addressed the meeting, and repeated 
 calls were made for Ezra Fuller. He was in the 
 crowd, but well to the rear, and declined to respond 
 for a time. When he could not well avoid it 
 any longer, the young man made his way 
 toward the stand, stopped in front of one of 
 the great flaming torchlights which gave illumi- 
 nation to the grounds, and began a non-committal 
 address. 
 
 It was just a collection of dull old saws, that 
 could offend no one, be he Christian, Jew or Turk. 
 But they did not suit the temper of the crowd. 
 These may have been “a cranky lot of old fossils,” 
 as fresher young men with faultier faces sometimes 
 called them; but they were in earnest — and they 
 could vote. 
 
 “ If elected will you prosecute the cases on the 
 docket against Sautern.?” some practical fellow 
 shouted. 
 
 Fuller tried to dodge by simulating deafness, 
 but it did no good. 
 
 “Will you.^” “Will you.^” came from every 
 part of the ground. He must answer. He dared 
 not answer “ Yes,” lest the whole force of the gang 
 descend like an avalanche upon him. He could 
 not stand there and say “ No,” so he weakly 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPER? 
 
 127 
 
 Stepped down, and said neither. But he might 
 better have defied than ignored them. 
 
 Some hot-head got the ear of the crowd, and 
 began a harangue, pleading for the nomination of 
 a Prohibition candidate for prosecuting attorney. 
 
 “We can do nothing without one,” he cried. 
 “ Our laws will be laughed at, our work will be 
 wasted. And right here, right now, is the place 
 and time to prove our strength in Fairview County. 
 I’d rather see every man on the Democratic ticket 
 elected to-morrow than vote for this man who was 
 with us for the nomination, and against us for the 
 election.” And the sentiment was cheered to the 
 echo. 
 
 Some one shouted “Major Poole ! ” The lawyer 
 had witnessed the shameful retreat of his late suc- 
 cessful rival, and was laughingly commenting on 
 it to Thompson when he heard his name called. 
 His eye met the bright, blazing look of inspiration 
 on the face of the editor. Both were veterans in 
 politics, but the chances presented right here 
 rather staggered them. 
 
 “ Think quick,” said Thompson. “ If they 
 mean it, go in.” Then he shouted aloud, “Major 
 Poole!” 
 
 They meant it. Not a man in that crowd had 
 forgotten the Tolliver trial. They had lain awake 
 nights, glorying in his courage and his skill. They 
 
128 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 had no chance to doubt his sincerity, and almost 
 wished his conversion had come earlier. But they 
 had been pinning their faith to Fuller then, and 
 never till this instant, when the cowardice of the 
 latter consumed in an instant all their fealty for 
 him, did the Prohibitionists turn to Poole. In that 
 revulsion all his ability, all his courage, his fight 
 against and victory over the gang, came back to 
 them like a blaze, illuminating the surer path. 
 Retributive justice to Fuller, no less than their 
 own plans, were furthered by the choice; and the 
 shouting continued: 
 
 “ Major Poole ! ” “ Major Poole ! ” 
 
 He had decided. The prosecuting attorney 
 paced slowly across the grass, and mounted the rude 
 platform that had served as pulpit for all manner 
 of political gospels that summer. He stepped to 
 the front. The crowd pressed closer and hushed 
 into attention. His right hand was thrust into his 
 coat, his left was behind him in that old-fashioned 
 attitude he fancied the great lawyers loved. His 
 face was lifted, his eyes were bright, and all about 
 the man was that unnamed air which presaged a 
 message. No one introduced him, and no one 
 needed to. 
 
 “Gentlemen,” he began; and then added, not 
 as an afterthought, but as purposely set apart, 
 “and ladies!” There was greeting in the first 
 
WHO EDITS TEE NEWSPAPER? 
 
 129 
 
 word; there was a caress in the last. “I am not 
 a Prohibitionist.” Some smart person started to 
 say, “We all know that,” but the orator cut in 
 with a strength which ingulfed and a dignity 
 which abashed the disturber — “but I keep my 
 word.” There was a perceptible sound of assent 
 that rose to a modest applause. “ I am as inde- 
 pendent a man as any of }^ou. I have discharged 
 the duties of prosecuting attorney of Fairview 
 County for four years, and my record is as open 
 as the day. It is not for me, but the people, to 
 approve or condemn it. My associates and friends 
 in this city have ever been the men who gave me 
 my office. But a short time ago a case arose in 
 which an old soldier, injured in the defense of 
 your home and mine, was robbed in the house of 
 one of the politics makers, the opinion makers, 
 the officer makers, of Fairview. The injured wife 
 came to me to prosecute her suit for damages. 
 When I was admitted to practice at the bar of 
 Indiana — a bar which holds names bright in the 
 diadem of justice — I swore to maintain such 
 actions as seemed to me legal and just, to employ 
 in that maintaining such means as are consistent 
 with truth, and to never reject, for any reason 
 personal to myself, the cause of the defenseless or 
 the oppressed. That was my promise, and that 
 was the pledge that was kept. Was it for me to 
 
130 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 betray Matt Tolliver’s case because a defendant 
 could punish me? By no means. I am not so 
 beholden to him or to you, or to any one on earth, 
 as to perjure myself for hire. And I say to you 
 now, that if I am in this office when your 
 laws are made, I shall prosecute them with all 
 the vigor and ability and persistence of which 
 I am master, till the voice of the people — in 
 Fairview County, at least — shall be the voice of 
 God.” 
 
 There was a very whirlwind of applause as the 
 lawyer’s right hand, withdrawn from his bosom, 
 visibly lifted them toward the Author of right. 
 An impetuous disciple of the new faith leaped to 
 the stand, and in a tumult of “Ayes!” pledged the 
 last Prohibition vote in Fairview County to Major 
 Poole for prosecutor. 
 
 Thompson took the arm of his friend, and they 
 walked away. 
 
 “ It’s your night, Poole. Things are coming your 
 way. I can’t go back on the ticket, but I’ll say 
 all any man on earth can say for you — and I hope 
 you’ll get the office again; I do, honest. It will 
 serve them right.” 
 
 “You go slow,” said the generous Major. 
 “Don’t hurt yourself with the gang. Your friend- 
 ship is very grateful, and I would be making a 
 very poor return if I let you break with those 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPER? 
 
 131 
 
 ellows, and lose by serving me. They can hurt 
 ou more than they can me.” 
 
 But when the Republican come out next week 
 here was a graphic account of the meeting, with 
 he incidents that made it memorable ; an editorial 
 egret that Ezra Fuller had not measured up to 
 he standard of his opportunities, and a more than 
 :ind word for Major Poole. There was much to 
 )e said for the man. He was true to his party, 
 ,nd had the courage to so declare himself in the 
 'ery face of the crowd. He was really entitled 
 0 the office, and it would not be strange if he 
 von it. 
 
 That was too much for an organ to say ; but it 
 vas nothing to a column contribution signed 
 l‘ Veritas,” which appeared on the very first page. 
 Vhoever the writer was, he knew the county, 
 ie dealt in facts as sharp as poniards, and as 
 nany-sided as crystals. He was unsparing of the 
 jang, and named men, recited events, recorded 
 lates, with a precision and persistence that added 
 veight to the undoubted truth of every line. 
 ‘Veritas” advocated the election of Major Poole 
 or the good of the old party, for the vindication 
 )f the new, for the benefit of the public generally. 
 
 It was a bombshell in the camp of the faithful. 
 The boys had not done carrying the last of the 
 idition to the post-office when groups could be 
 
132 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 seen all over town, listening to the strong word: 
 of the unknown writer. Who was “Veritas.?’ 
 No matter. He was dangerous or delightful- 
 depending on how you looked at the success o: 
 the ticket. 
 
 Just after noon John Haberly climbed the stain 
 to the Re-publican sanctum, accompanied by Sims 
 the county committeeman, and Sautern, the hea( 
 and front of the offending. Thompson receivec 
 them, gave them such chairs as his place afforded 
 and sat down to await the charge. No need t( 
 begin jesting, or attempt to deprecate the gath 
 ered wrath of that trio. The manager opened th( 
 fight. 
 
 “ Thompson, who’s ‘Veritas’ .?” 
 
 It was blunt, but no more blunt than the 
 answer. 
 
 “ I will not tell you.” 
 
 “What.?” in angry surprise, from Sims anc 
 Sautern. 
 
 “I will not tell you,” repeated the gaunt editor, 
 calmly turning his eyes on the vendor of intoxi- 
 cants. Evidently, Mr. Haberly must manage 
 this thing carefully. Temper would do it no 
 good. 
 
 “We think, Thompson, that was a very grave 
 mistake of yours, printing such an article right 
 here ten days before election. It will do the 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPERf 
 
 133 
 
 liicket no end of harm. You know we all expect 
 i|7ou to stand by the regular nominees from start 
 ■0 finish, and it is a real calamity to have such a 
 thing occur. You get the tax-list and the county 
 printing, and all the blanks, and whatever adver- 
 tisements the sheriff or other officers have to give 
 Dut, besides all those of the attorneys on our side, 
 and it is no more than fair for you to support our 
 iticket when we make it, even if all your friends 
 are not on it. We went to a heap of trouble, and 
 just as we have got Ezra Fuller fixed so he isn’t 
 dangerous, here you come along with your old 
 ‘Veritas,’ and spoil the whole arrangement.” 
 
 “ I am supporting your ticket,” said Thompson, 
 not overlooking the latter and more important 
 admission. “Veritas” might need it. “The 
 paper has a dozen paragraphs and items, urging 
 the voters to do their duty by depositing a clean 
 ballot from top to bottom ; telling them the strong 
 points in our men and our measures, and the weak 
 points in the enemy. Have you read them.? ” 
 “Yes, but then you spoil it all when you say 
 what you do about Poole, and this ‘ Veritas,’ who- 
 ever he is, makes an awful mess. That will cost 
 us scores of votes. It will beat Fuller, and most 
 likely carry down other candidates. You’ll see 
 next Monday the Democrats will pull down their 
 candidate for prosecutor, and trade high and low 
 
134 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 for clerk and sheriff. You can’t do that sort ol 
 thing here. The boys won’t stand it. It’s an 
 awful blunder. And we must know who wrote 
 that article. That’s the first thing.” 
 
 “And then what.^ ” asked Thompson, with prO' 
 yoking coolness. 
 
 “ Then you must get out extras from now till 
 election, ^and try to undo the damage.” 
 
 “ How.? ” 
 
 “Attack Poole. We can give you plenty ol 
 ammunition. He has done lots of crooked things. 
 Lay this week’s issue on one of the boys, and dis- 
 charge him till after election — or something. Anc 
 then whoop it up for the ticket till the polh 
 close.” 
 
 But all this was not enough for Sautern. He 
 was mad from center to circumference, and could 
 scarcely restrain his anger from breaking out ir 
 harsh, profane tirades against this fool editor, whc 
 had told the truth. 
 
 “ Naw, that ain’t half, John,” he said, impa- 
 tiently. “ This is the blaekest treachery ever I 
 seen. Take baek every word you said, and then 
 give up the name of the man who wrote this — ’ 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said the editor, “ we may as well 
 end this delightful conversation. You are nof 
 running this paper, and I am. Leastwise, I thinfc 
 I am. At any rate I pay the bills, do the worlj 
 
WHO EDITS THE NEWSPAPEBf 
 
 135 
 
 and attend to the business, and I am going to set 
 up my type to say just what things I please. I 
 don’t please to take back a word, because every 
 word was as true as gospel. And as for telling 
 who ‘ Veritas ’ is, I won’t do it.” 
 
 “Why, you must, Thompson,” said Sims. 
 “Isn’t this a public paper? ” 
 
 “It’s a public paper from a private office. It’s 
 public when it’s published. Up here I’m boss. 
 You have no more right to come in and dictate 
 how to run this place than I have to take charge 
 of Sautern’s saloon or your hardware store. 
 What you do there is your own business; its effect 
 on the public is public business. The former I 
 cannot interfere with; the latter any one may criti- 
 cise. So with the Republican. It’s yours only 
 when it’s delivered to the people. From that 
 time forward you may do as you like with the 
 copy you get. Before that you have no right to 
 interfere — and you won’t interfere much with me, 
 neither.” 
 
 “I demand the name of the writer of that 
 ‘Veritas ’ article,” shouted Sautern, rising angrily. 
 
 “Demand and be hanged. I won’t tell you. 
 It’s none of your business. If you are aggrieved, 
 go get your Ezra Fuller to sue me for libel. I 
 can then take all the responsibility on my own 
 shoulders, or make the author answer for his share 
 
136 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 of the crime, just as I like. But I don’t want any 
 of you people to overlook the fact that I am run- 
 ning this paper, and your only remedy — ^if you 
 don’t like it — is to pay up and quit. This thing 
 of making the whole town bound in the manage- 
 ment and free in the expense won’t work in the 
 Republican. 
 
 And that was as near satisfaction as they could 
 come. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ELECTION, 
 
 So here was the strange condition of the gang 
 pulling for prohibition Ezra Fuller against cor- 
 rupt old Poole, as they had come to call him. 
 Every hour the truth became plainer. The in- 
 cumbent was more dangerous to them than was 
 the novitiate. Anti-saloon men everywhere were 
 warned by that, and they trusted the older man. 
 Some of them swore they would trade Dodd votes 
 for him, even if it elected a Democratic clerk and 
 sheriff too. 
 
 Poor John Haberly’s hands were very full. It , 
 took a heap of money, he said, and an almighty 
 sight of night riding. True, Ellet Grant was tol- 
 erably safe, but then even Ellet could not afford 
 to refuse his assessments. He was a pretty strong 
 man, but in the tangle which had developed this 
 past week he was by no means strong enough to 
 chance the whirlpools of desperate political 
 straights. He gave up money easier now than 
 formerly. He was at first less cautious what was 
 done with it, was later less careful not to find out. 
 
 137 
 
138 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 and at last he was willing to see its vile commis- 
 sions, and to speed it heartily. 
 
 Election day was cold and rainy. “A Demo- 
 crat day,” said Haberly, gaily, as he drove into 
 town early Tuesday morning. 
 
 “ Where you been, John.^* ” asked Sims, the cen- 
 tral committeeman. 
 
 “ Looking at the calves on pasture,” said the 
 astute Haberly. “Did you ever notice that the 
 better they were fed the easier they could be kept 
 together.^ ” 
 
 He was about town from early ip the morning 
 till far past midnight, and made no sign that con- 
 fessed his forty-eight hours continuous riding, but 
 his jaded team stood in the stalls and sighed with 
 a thankfulness that was almost human. 
 
 Charley, the worker, was very busy. He dis- 
 played an air of importance — even arrogance — 
 that was not equalled by the greatest magnate in 
 Fairview County. He talked loud, shouting from 
 the middle of the street for the challengers to stop 
 a certain vote. He called men by their given 
 names, and ordered them to ‘“Come here,” with 
 an authority that really deceived him, though, 
 perhaps, not any one else. Still Haberly and the 
 rest of them flattered him enough to get a great 
 day’s work done by the only man at once shrewd 
 enough and base enough for its accomplishment. 
 
ELECTION. 
 
 139 
 
 He knew the voters who were weak, and took 
 -them up the alley, laboring with them, ranging 
 from Sautern’s back door to Ringer’s back door, 
 and from there to Steele’s; making occasional 
 dives into the Democrat politics factories, and 
 patronizing the bar there with the most charming 
 absence of partiality. He had plenty of money, 
 and hurrahed for the ticket with contagious con- 
 stancy, proving its merit by vicarious generosity. 
 
 The law said no saloon should be open on elec- 
 tion day, but of course no one did more than 
 pretend to obey that piece of legislative foolishness. 
 The front doors were securely locked, and the 
 windows most securely blinded; but back doors 
 and side doors were as hospitable as ever. The 
 law said no intoxicating liquor should be sold, 
 bartered or given away from the hour when the 
 polls were opened till the hour when the polls 
 were closed. But that was a dead letter — a very 
 dead letter — in Fairview. Should the deities who 
 made the day great have no libations poured upon 
 their altars? 
 
 Charley found his voters defiant, resolute 
 against the ticket, full of argument and brave 
 words for Poole and Frank Logan, the opposi- 
 tion State and the opposition national ticket. 
 He labored with them in soggy eloquence; 
 he talked very plainly, even offensively; but no 
 
140 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 anger was roused. He led them around to the 
 nearest groggery, and let them have whatever 
 they wanted — no matter how they meant to vote. 
 He was not a man to make enemies on account 
 of politics. Let a man vote his own senti- 
 ments here; that was Charley’s way. This 
 was not Florida, nor yet Mississippi, and men 
 might vote as they pleased in Fairview. 
 And have another drink; and another; and 
 another. 
 
 But that other ticket was a beastly thing. 
 Wasn’t a decent man on it from president down. 
 Look at their candidates in Fairview County; 
 Knights of the Golden Circle and secessionists — 
 every one of them. And then look at ours. 
 Every man on our ticket is a gentleman. Fellow 
 can vote that straight through, and be proud of it. 
 And they are generous men, too. They don’t 
 want a man to help them for nothing Look here. 
 Here’s a bill that goes with every ticket. Take 
 another drink. Now let’s go. 
 
 And from defiance and self-reliance, the voter 
 turns to tractibility, to concession, to compliance. 
 Charley walks with him to the very polls, sees 
 him deposit that very ballot and no other — then 
 drops him, turns from him, abandons him, despises 
 him with the loathing of a base man for one still 
 baser — and catches the manager’s eye, follows the 
 
ELECTION. 
 
 141 
 
 directing glance to some new victim, and continues 
 the work of freedom. 
 
 If the voter were turbulent, he was purchased; 
 if weak, he was driven; if honest, no one ap- 
 proached him. That were a blunder greater 
 than a crime-. But the workers were held 
 responsible for the yeomen assigned them, 
 and it was a flagrant dereliction to let one man 
 get away, 
 
 “Isn’t costing as much this year as usual, is it.?” 
 asked Sims of John Haberly, when the mid-after- 
 noon pause gave them a little rest before the final, 
 rushing close, 
 
 “No,” said the slightly disgusted manager. 
 “Voters are getting cheaper every year,” 
 
 Each man knew his duty when the thickening 
 crowds warned that the day was ending. A little 
 knot around the polling place watched each 
 approaching voter. The opposing parties were 
 similarly manned, were armed with like weapons, 
 and differed chiefly in the amount of ammunition to 
 be used. The advance, the grapple with each 
 floating prize was the same in every case. The 
 stream began clear enough in the morning, and 
 ran with varying translucency all day, only to 
 thicken into a torrent of muddy waters as evening 
 darkened toward night, until at the close every 
 nerve and fiber of those who ran elections were 
 
142 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 bent to leave the imprint of deepest impurity on 
 the page of liberty’s record. 
 
 All that is meant in the olden calling and 
 anointing of kings is implied in the franchise of 
 to-day. God chose the leaders, and set the seal 
 of approval upon them. This divine attribute of 
 election is wrested from deity, and lodged in the 
 hands of men. Should they not reverently approach 
 their duty, and exercise in purity the warrant of 
 Omnipotence.^ 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A patriot’s gospel. 
 
 Ellet Grant had been sheriff a year. A thous- 
 and things which had shocked him at first were 
 trivial to him now. He came to his office fresh 
 from the purity of a home which did not know 
 the deeps that lay beneath the fair fabric of their 
 commonwealth. He found with a surprise which 
 he soon learned to hide that what was shame to 
 honest men was matter of pride to those in 
 authority. He found the guns of accusation were 
 silenced between the violators of truth in his own 
 party and the like offenders in opposing forces. 
 He found they met on fraternal grounds, and 
 laughed at crimes that he had thought beyond the 
 daring of men to do even in secret. He even 
 found — they attended to that — his own tenure of 
 office stained all over with the mire of corruption. 
 Yet he did not revolt. He told these things at 
 home more by the topics he treated silently than 
 by the many things he talked about. 
 
 Old Wesley had been an Abolitionist at one 
 time, and was fired with the single passion for 
 
 
144 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 right and freedom. He based his prayers on that, 
 and fully believed whatever needed justice could 
 secure it through the straight highway of recti- 
 tude. He believed as fully now in prohibition; 
 and when he learned by shrewd questions — which 
 his own son had not the shrewdness to parry — 
 that the blackness of darkness enveloped the elec- 
 tion franchise, he gathered in silence the strength 
 and the material for future uses. He was filled 
 with a purpose that consumed his ordinary quiet. 
 A light they had never seen in the old man’s eyes 
 began to tell of a work for which his final strength 
 was fitting. - 
 
 And when the next campaign came on old Wes- 
 ley Grant became a power in the field. 
 
 Ellet lived at Fairview, in a cosy home in which 
 Esther presided with a grace and sweetness that 
 won both her and her brother prompt social 
 recognition. The girl found with that quick 
 intuition which is purely feminine, though not 
 monopolized by women, that her intimacy with 
 the Misses Haberly harmed her somewhat. But 
 they had been the first to greet her^ they had 
 troubled themselves in a thousand ways to smooth 
 her pathway in the town, and were bound, more- 
 over, by their brother’s services, to receive her 
 kindest treatment. In the church, and all the 
 little pleasant affairs that grew from that connec- 
 
A PATRIOTS GOSPEL. 
 
 145 
 
 tion ; in the street, and even in the ordinary meet- 
 ings of the place, she found no audience so small 
 or so large that it did not raise its eyebrows a 
 little when she knit her fellowship with these two 
 girls. At first Esther did not understand it. 
 They were better dressed than she, they kept an 
 establishment quite beyond her in elegance of 
 appointments, and they knew so many of the 
 little things with ’which it is a comfort to be 
 familiar. 
 
 Yet all this did not atone, and her keen sensi- 
 bilities were often wounded by the tacit refusal to 
 extend to them the same consideration accorded 
 to herself. A woman more selfish would have 
 taken the hint, and dropped them; but she could 
 not find that in her heart. It looked like the 
 ingratitude she had so often railed against in 
 country people transplanted to the light frivolities 
 of town. 
 
 She was a frequent and an informal caller at the 
 Haberly home, and both the young ladies, with 
 their polished brother, had the most cordial entree 
 to her house. And, after a time, the more 
 severely she felt the ostracism of her friends, the 
 more closely did she draw to them. She even 
 saw many things about them that could grate 
 upon fineness and propriety, yet glossed the little 
 delinquencies and took no alarm. That she walked 
 
146 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 a little closer to John Haberly in the moonlight 
 stroll, which often took the five from home, was 
 part of this retreat from a world that did not 
 understand him. It was a greater part — perhaps 
 the perfect work — of that accomplished man; but 
 of this she took no sensible account until, the cam- 
 paign being fairly opened, she found she must 
 choose between her father’s sturdy right and 
 this man’s suave diplomacy; for Wesley was in 
 the field with the vigor of an old campaigner, and 
 the triumphant tread of a victor. Her heart was 
 with her father, but not — so much was she changed 
 — with his work. And all of her — heart, soul and 
 sense of blessedness — was with this younger man. 
 
 There had been a great temperance meeting in 
 Fairview. It was an off year, and the lines of 
 party were not so rigidly drawn. Hundreds had 
 listened to the speeches, and gone away wondering 
 why the truth should not prevail. They were 
 wondering still more why Wesley Grant dared 
 stand up there before that audience, and thunder 
 his denunciation against the very ring which had 
 made his son a sheriff. They wondered most at 
 his familiarity with men and methods, with schemes 
 and trades and strange results. They were 
 amazed that he dared to state the whole truth in 
 such an entirely open manner, and did not hesitate 
 to prophesy that he would meet with trouble. 
 
A PATRIOTS GOSPEL. 
 
 147 
 
 The burden of his speech was current matter 
 for discussion before the day was over. Yet he 
 got into his buggy and drove home quite undis- 
 turbed by the angry comment of the gang. 
 
 And they were angry. Argument like that 
 from a man like that would lose them the legisla- 
 tive ticket, sure. It was what they might have 
 expected from him — the ungrateful old traitor — 
 they said. He must be stopped some way. 
 Haberly and Ellet were talking about it in the 
 club that night, before the regular habitues arrived. 
 “ The Club ” was the large room back of the 
 prosecuting attorney’s office; and it was frequented 
 every night by a number of well-dressed gentle- 
 men who were traveling very rapidly, and not in 
 the safest direction. 
 
 “You better go out and see the old man to- 
 morrow, Ellet. Get him to quit this infernal fool- 
 ishness. There is nothing in it for him; make him 
 see that. And there is everything in it to harm 
 us. We will have trouble enough electing our 
 men as it is. The votes he can control will just 
 simply ruin us.” 
 
 Ellet would not have believed, two years before, 
 that any man could safely designate as “ infernal 
 foolishness” anything that Wesley Grant did; but 
 to-night he passively indorsed that valuation placed 
 upon it. He doubted, though, his ability to change 
 
148 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 his father to any great extent. He stood in a 
 good deal of awe of that old Trojan. There was 
 much in the father there was not in the son, and 
 the latter knew it. However, he promised to 
 drive out early to-morrow and attend service at 
 the Pretty Lake church, eating dinner at the 
 homestead, and doing what missionary work he 
 could while there. 
 
 Then he impaled a very short fragment of cigar 
 on the point of his penknife, and pursued his 
 smoking. The other men came in shortly, and 
 attention was transferred from the political out- 
 look to the careful scrutiny of cards, in blocks of 
 five. The gang was gambling. 
 
 John Haberly had always been very successful 
 at these meetings. Some people said it made up 
 the half of his income. 
 
 Ellet Grant walked into the old church the next 
 day with the first headache he ever remembered j 
 carrying there. He shook hands cordially, yet j 
 modestly, with a number of men and women, and i 
 then handed Miss Haberly to a seat in the woman | 
 side of the room, deferring to the rural custom of 
 separating the sexes. For himself, he pushed 
 along to the open window, and filled the pauses 
 in the service by looking out at the placid lake, 
 and honestly wishing from the bottom of his 
 heart that he could go back to the time when his 
 
A PATRIOTS GOSPEL. 
 
 149 
 
 thoughts were light as the sunbeams that danced 
 in the air over there by the sands. Yonder were 
 the crumbling logs of the old pen where the sheep 
 were kept when they came for the annual wash- 
 ing, just before the time to shear. A little farther 
 was a spring, deep and clear and cold and grate- 
 ful. Farther still was the swimming hole, and 
 his heart gave a throb as he thought of the cool, 
 delicious sensation, that flight through the air, 
 that plunge, used to yield him. A little nearer 
 was the shallow bottom, where scores and scores 
 had walked down to holy baptism, their hearts as 
 pure as the glistening water that made a pathway 
 for the setting sun. 
 
 All that was joyful, and all that was tearful in 
 his boy life, had passed within hearing of this 
 cliff-bound lake. 
 
 Wesley Grant gave his son and the young lady 
 his customary cordial greeting, but Ellet could 
 see from the start his mission here was a failure. 
 The old man seemed a very Gibraltar of purpose. 
 At dinner the commonest things were talked of. 
 Mother missed Esther, arid did not understand 
 why she had not come home. Ellet’s explanation 
 that his sister had driven with Haberly to Fayette 
 for the day was not entirely satisfying. Alice 
 was lonesome, and promised herself a visit in 
 town. 
 
150 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 After dinner Ellet and his father sat on the 
 front porch and talked. The young man tried to 
 begin on a strain somewhat in harmony with what 
 he knew the boys were saying in town. He 
 stumbled a little at first, but as Wesley let him go . 
 without contradiction, or even interruption, he grew 
 surer of his ground, and talked very plainly. But 
 his castle of dictation crumbled into the olden con- : 
 dition of boyish respect when his father asked him : ' 
 “Who told you to say that.^” 
 
 “Well, no one in particular; but it is the way , 
 we all feel about it ; and — ” 
 
 “Unfortunately, I cannot help how you feel. If , 
 Icould, you might feel better.” Ellet’s conscience 
 caught that thrust. “You and I need no false 
 assumption between us. We know each other, 
 and I know a good many more things than you 
 think I do. They are getting you down, Ellet; 
 and I never thought you were weak enough to let 
 them. There is something so wrong in that sys- 
 tem in town that it must be revolutionized. It is 
 not simply a slimy monster; washing won’t help 
 it. It is a deadly monster; it must be killed. I 
 am going to live to see the day when not a drop 
 of grog is sold in Fairview.” 
 
 “You’ll never do it, father.” 
 
 “Should I not.^ Is it not right Isn’t it a thing 
 to be desired.^” 
 
A PATRIOTS GOSPEL. 
 
 151 
 
 “Yes, vastly. But you could never enforce that 
 sort of a law, even if you had it made| and you 
 can’t make it. You can’t carry elections. It takes 
 money and manipulation. You won’t use money, 
 and you can’t manipulate.” 
 
 “ Ellet, a man don’t have to buy what he already 
 owns. Our men will vote our way because they 
 really want to. You couldn’t hire or scare them 
 to do anything else. A very dangerous slave is 
 the freeman who sells his suffrage. But he is 
 safety beside the man who buys it. That is sim- 
 ply horrible. It rocks the very foundation stones 
 of freedom. You hav'e no right to buy one ballot. 
 It is v/orse than gun, or knife, or fagot. Scare 
 him, abuse him, wound him, and he will rise some 
 day to defy you — if he has a drop of the blood of 
 a freeman in his veins. But buy him, and you 
 debauch him forever. We must get back to first 
 principles, or we are a lost nation. . Rum rule 
 must go down, or we go down. Ellet, there will 
 be a law made someday that will say ‘Hands off!’ 
 to you people . It will make it a penitentiary 
 offense to buy a single ballot. Your Johns and 
 your Charleys and all the rest of the pestilen. 
 brood will have to keep their distance, and 
 will not be allowed to see whether the men 
 they have bought are delivering the goods or 
 not. They will have to stand aside, and sec 
 
152 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 voters vote a[s they will. That ends corrup- 
 tion.” 
 
 “ Oh, no it won’t. I’ve heard of that kind of a 
 law, and whenever they pass that sort of a thing 
 the fellows that now get in their work at the polls 
 will simply get the cattle drunk, and keep them 
 from voting at all. They will hire them to stay 
 away all day. It will be cheaper than it is now, 
 and just as effective.” 
 
 “ Then, Ellet, in the name of a race in danger, 
 can you see any other way out than the abolition 
 of the drink evil } If this is true, must we not go 
 to the bottom, and root out the tree in the branches 
 of which your Ringers, and your Steeles, and 
 your Sauterns flourish.^ Don’t you see what it is 
 doing.?” 
 
 “Oh, yes; but surely you know there is not 
 enough public sentiment now to endorse such a 
 radical course.” 
 
 “ That’s the language of a traitor, Ellet. Put it 
 back into the mouth of the man who taught it to 
 you. You know I am right, yet you oppose me. 
 You want what I want, yet you work against me. 
 You talk of a lack of public sentiment, yet you 
 help to weaken what public sentiment there is. 
 Either your words or your actions convict you of 
 insincerity. Put yourself on my side — on the side 
 you admit is right — and then the sentiment will 
 
A PATRIOTS GOSPEL. 
 
 153 
 
 be that much stronger. Why do men hold so 
 close to what they know is wrong.? Why do they 
 pretend to wish for better things when they 
 encourage worse things.? Do they think they 
 deceive anybody.? Actions speak louder than 
 words. What they work for, they want.” 
 
 “ Oh, they don’t try to deceive anybody. They 
 are as much opposed to drunkenness as you are; 
 but they are in favor of saloons, as things are now, 
 and until people get educated up to better things. 
 Saloons make business. Where there are none, 
 there is no trade. If no liquor were sold in Fair- 
 view I know lots of men who wouldn’t go there 
 twice a year. They would patronize some place 
 where they could get a drink when they wanted 
 it. But, any way, father; about this campaign 
 work of yours.” 
 
 “Now, never you mind about this campaign 
 work of mine. You go back to John Haberly, 
 and Bill Sims, and Sam Sautern, and all the rest, 
 and tell them I am out to stay. I am one of a 
 thousand men who are working day and night for 
 the legislature — and we are going to get it. Mark 
 my word, we will pass a law making it a felony 
 to buy, sell or give away one drop of liquor — as a 
 beverage.” 
 
 “ Oh, that kind of a law would be unconstitu- 
 tional. The whisky men would kill it in no time. 
 
154 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 They would have a test case moved to the top of 
 the Supreme Court docket — everything else there 
 might wait — and they would get a decision that 
 would put your cause back twenty years.” 
 
 “Then why don’t your fellows let me alone.? 
 They know that is the kind of a law I am after, 
 and they have known it from the start. If it is 
 what they want, too, why are they riding all night, 
 and spending money like the wind, and drugging 
 this whole State with alcohol — just to beat us.? 
 They don’t want it; but we will have it; and all 
 the scheming, and swilling and corruption of the 
 gang cannot stop it. God pity me that I am say- 
 ing this to my own son! God send I shall never 
 have worse to say to him!” 
 
 He had risen. At the start the old man’s frame | 
 was tense with energy. At the last his eyes were 
 swimming in tears, and he turned away to hide 
 the weakness. 
 
 This was not the kind of a Sunday afternoon 
 Ellet remembered at the farm. He tried to shake 
 off the feeling of strangeness and distance which 
 chilled and separated him from that perfect com- 
 fort of the past. He walked through the rooms, 
 noted the little changes, begged Alice to play, and 
 then left before she had finished. He looked at the 
 stock, and so came at last to the barn. The 
 floors were clean, the mows were full. The fra- 
 
A PATRIOT’S GOSPEL. 
 
 165 , 
 
 grance and quiet of harvests completed filled the 
 wide walls with restfulness. Here in the old tem- 
 ple of a boy’s abandon, he caught the scents that 
 are ever the same, and — man as he was — 
 bowed his head in silent, tearless, choking 
 anguish. 
 
 After that, resentment. He brought out his 
 horses, and began hitching them to the buggy. 
 He had driven up in front of the house before they 
 knew he intended leaving. Then Miss Haberly 
 bustled around with the turmoil of a small woman, 
 and made her adieux. Alice kissed her great, 
 strong brother good-bye, and searched in his face 
 for the demon that had driven the angels from the 
 homestead. 
 
 She found it. 
 
 “Ellet,” said Wesley, coming around the house 
 from the farther porch, “ going home 
 
 “Yes; it will be sundown by the time we are 
 there. Come in when you can. Good-bye.” 
 
 “ Good-bye. But, Ellet. Don’t lay up what I 
 say as said against you; it’s only against your 
 weak and suicidal doctrine. But don’t let any of 
 the fellows flatter themselves that this thing will 
 blow over by election time. I give you fair warn- 
 ing. It’s our legislature. We will have the 
 law, or there won’t be a per diem bill passed 
 in ten years.” 
 
156 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ All right, father,” replied the young man, and 
 he thought what a measureless gulf there was 
 between his broader plane and the narrow con- 
 fines of all one-ideaed men. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A NIGHT WITH THE BOYS. 
 
 Esther and Haberly had not yet reached home 
 when Ellet returned. He went to the restaurant 
 for supper, and then dropped into the saloon, to 
 see if any one was there. He found a few of the 
 boys, and they tempered all news exchanges with 
 drinks at the bar. He could not report his father 
 won over to the right, and found — as he had 
 anticipated — that he must range himself in antag- 
 onism to the patriarch. That night he heard 
 harder things said of old Wesley Grant than a 
 year ago he would have thought any man would 
 dare say of him in any presence — not counting 
 his own. The boys were very angry. They 
 were stout in the denial of strength to the hated 
 movement, but the very warmth of their assertion 
 belied its sincerity. Finally, they went up stairs, 
 where Brubaker and Tom Fisher and some others 
 were deeply hidden in cigar smoke and draw poker. 
 
 “ Set in, Ellet,” said Brubaker, cordially. “ May- 
 be you’ll change my luck.” And he carelessly 
 fingered a diminished stack of celluloid chips. 
 
 157 
 
158 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 The day had fitted Ellet for just such a diver- 
 sion. The disappointing visit to the homestead, 
 the spirit of unnatural antagonism awakened there, 
 the tacit acknowledgement of his own comradery 
 with baseness, and something of the loosening of 
 all bonds — filial, fraternal and patriotic — combined 
 to change him from what he had been to what he 
 dreaded being. Then, the liquor which other 
 men could absorb without affecting their usual 
 moods and actions, had the effect of numbing one 
 side of his nature while it roused another to dan- 
 gerous alertness. 
 
 He took a place at the table, and invested gen- 
 erously. For half an hour the smoky goddess 
 smiled upon him, and he drew rare pleasure from 
 the groans that marked his winning from these 
 men. He wanted to inflict suffering. There was 
 no mercy in his betting. He took Tom Fisher’s 
 last dollar, and brutally refused to loan him a 
 dime. He was cross and crabbed with the play- 
 ers, and threw down his winning cards with the 
 air of one who could crush them, and would do 
 it — glorying. 
 
 He plunged from one success to another as the 
 hours sped by, meeting the wilder play of Bru- 
 baker and Sautern till his hour of triumph had 
 passed. Then he began losing. Had he waited 
 for morning with half the patience they had 
 
A NIGHT WITH THE BOYS. 
 
 159 
 
 waited for luck, he might not have fallen. But 
 as the hour hand slowly fell from vertical to hori- 
 zontal, then dipped to pendant, Ellet Grant’s win- 
 nings and ten times their amount beside were 
 scattered in wild, reckless, unskilled struggles. 
 
 He left the room at daylight, badly compro- 
 mised, and scarcely able to conceive the disaster 
 that had settled upon him. He walked out into 
 the clear air, pushed back his hat to cool his fore- 
 head, and went away wondering how so stupen- 
 dous a fall had been possible. His heart ached 
 that the man he had been could do a thing so vile. 
 He kept his thoughts from those who had despoiled 
 him. Low as they were, was he any better.? 
 
 “ Sheriff Grant, good-morning.” 
 
 It was the hearty, deep-toned greeting of Elder 
 Kimball, the preacher, and it marked a severer 
 phase of his abasement. Would that man speak 
 to him if the work of the last night were in view .? 
 
 Ah, was it not in view? Did not all these peo- 
 ple — early movers in an honest day — did not they 
 know? Could not they see it on his face, in his 
 clothes, through his manner? Was he able to 
 disguise it? Had not that one and this one glanced 
 at him in the most chilling of manners? 
 
 “ Go home, Ellet,” he said to himself, bitterly. 
 Then he tried to save what little was left. They 
 should never do that with him again. Was not 
 
160 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 he strong enough? Had not he always been bet- 
 ter than they? He would not — he -would not play 
 one more time. 
 
 So he dragged a weary frame and a heavy 
 heart over his threshold. Esther was not in the 
 house. She had not been there all night. At 
 first he wondered where she was, then he wel- 
 comed the freedom her absence gave to him to go 
 to his room and sleep. He lay on the bed a long 
 time, picturing the scenes of that awful game, and 
 vowing eternal abstinence hereafter. Hands of 
 cards drifted past his wide, staring, smarting eyes, 
 like visions sent to haunt him. Again in fancy he 
 had them in his power, and recouped his losses, 
 only sinking to sleep at last from absolute exhaus- 
 tion. 
 
 Late in the afternoon he roused, a headache 
 remaining to link this wasted day with last night’s 
 excesses. As he dressed himself his load seemed 
 lighter than in the morning. He was more 
 indifferent or more hopeful — he hardly knew 
 which. But surely there was some way out. He 
 was awake now, and at himself; he knew there 
 was plain sailing ahead, after all. He had always 
 found some resource effective. He never had 
 been compelled to suffer. He would not now. He 
 had always been a leader among men, and he was 
 resolved to so continue. 
 
A NIGHT WITH THE BOYS. 
 
 161 
 
 Esther was busy in the sewing-room when he 
 went down stairs. 
 
 “Where were you last night was his 
 greeting. 
 
 “Well, where were you.?” was her response. 
 
 Ellet looked at his sister angrily. Some 
 unfamiliar demon in him stirred to strike her. He 
 checked the impulse, while a wave of hot blood 
 suffused his face and neck. It shamed him, and 
 he ate in silence the meal she had prepared, grop- 
 ing in a dull brain for some weapon with which to 
 conquer the ascendancy. Something like cool 
 defiance in the girl humbled him, and dulled the 
 edge of his resentment. Something like abandon 
 in her manner startled him. 
 
 But he was still more humbled, still more star- 
 tled, when he went down street and found the 
 story of his losses had already cheered the ears of 
 all the gossips in town. Half a dozen men who 
 never played dropped hints which showed the 
 facts were public property. Sautern stood, aproned 
 and smiling, in his door. He had been at business 
 all day. Brubaker was tilting back in a chair 
 before the drug store, in his habitual fashion. 
 They bowed and spoke, but he could not 
 meet their eyes; they knew too much. Yet 
 they did not know more than all these other 
 men. 
 
162 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Ellet went to the office, and found he had been 
 needed badly. He knew he was not strong 
 enough to be defiant. He must explain. God 
 pity the man who has to apologize! 
 
 He told them he had spent the day at his 
 father’s place, and had just arrived in town. 
 
 “But I saw you put up your horses at sundown 
 last night,” said an indignant tax-payer. “I know 
 where you were, and shall make it my business 
 that others know.” 
 
 He would not be silenced, and went away loud 
 in his wrathful threatenings. Ellet ’s only hope 
 was that he would meet some of the boys, who, 
 for the sake of the party, would induce him to 
 keep still. 
 
 A deputy had made some collections, and could 
 show no record of the fact. The litigant had been 
 notified to come in and settle. He came with his 
 receipt, and when he had fixed the error in the 
 sheriff’s office, made bold to tell Ellet he was done 
 voting for him. ! 
 
 “You’ve got a pack of worthless rascals about ; 
 you,” he said, angrily. “I thought you was a j 
 model man. Grant, when you went in; thought i 
 you was one of my kind, and lots of — ” 
 
 “Well, I am not one of your kind,” shouted the j 
 sheriff. “Thank God for that.” And the terri- 
 fied countryman went away with very slender 
 
A NIGHT WITH THE BOYS. 
 
 163 
 
 faith in anything that looked like a county officer. 
 ■‘Something spoils ’em,” he mused, as he drove 
 home through the dust. 
 
 But the complaint was deserved, and Ellet knew 
 ;t. He was angry with the deputy for the over- 
 sight, but felt instinctively he dared not now say 
 ;o him all that he wished. The deputy was too 
 ivell backed. 
 
 Taken altogether, the day was too much for 
 aim. He stopped in at Ringer’s after the office 
 was closed, and tried to console himself with a 
 lirink. Charley, the worker, was there with some 
 )f the boys. 
 
 “Thought you were going to build fence for 
 Sims to-day,” remarked Ellet. 
 
 “Naw,” said Charley; “didn’t feel like it this 
 uorning. Sims aint in no hurry, no way. I’ll 
 jegin to-morrow, if the boys don’t go fishing; and 
 Ellet, when I do build that fence he’ll have a 
 aummer. I can build more fence in a day, and 
 )uild it straighter, than ary other man in Fairview 
 I^ounty.” 
 
 “What are you going to take, Charley.!”’ asked 
 Ellet. In all the worker’s boasting there was an 
 indercurrent of pleading in a different tongue, 
 vhich ran this way : “Ask me to drink. Ask me 
 0 drink. Ask me to drink.” Ellet could no more 
 disregard it than he could the man’s presence. 
 
164 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 And when Charley drank, the boys drank. I 
 made quite a wreck of the bill the sheriff threv 
 down. Ringer saw that, and, remembering las 
 night, rather sympathized with Ellet. Ringei 
 knew all about the escapade in the gambling room 
 and was not a man to steel his heart against suffer 
 ing. He would be generous, and bestow a favoi 
 on a losing man. 
 
 “Have one with me,” he said. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BEYOND ALL PARDON. 
 
 As he neared his house, Ellet saw his mother’s 
 saddle horse at his gate. He did not want to 
 meet her, yet he must. Mrs. Grant met him at 
 the side door, and took his hand between her own 
 hard yet gentle palms. She was a very fountain 
 of kindness, and she loved so to comfort and caress 
 her children. She touched his face, and studied 
 him sharply, while her tongue was busy with 
 pleasant inquiries. 
 
 “You look so worried, dear. Father was too 
 hard with you yesterday, but he doesn’t mean to 
 be. He loves you, Ellet. And you have fever, 
 too; and your breath is bad.” This without a 
 thought of probing. “You must do something, 
 or you will both be sick. See Esther, too. She 
 isn’t well. You don’t take care of her. Why, 
 we thought what a great thing it was going to 
 be when you were sheriff iind lived in town, and 
 Esther kept house for you. Do you remember — ” 
 
 “Mother, for mercy’s sake, hush!” cried her 
 tortured son, almost beside himself. It was the 
 
 ISB 
 
166 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 last addition to the crushing burden whose harass 
 ing fragments had worn quite to the quick. 
 
 “Why, Ellet,” says the mother, not in a harshei 
 but in a gently protesting tone, “do I bother youl 
 Have I said something to wound you.^” Ther 
 the dignity of maternity tempered a little thf 
 boundless charity, and endless self-forgetfulness 
 “Maybe you need a word or two. Let mothei 
 show you where — ” 
 
 “ I will not stand it. I tell you to be still. ] 
 am not a child.” 
 
 “No, you are a man. If you were a child ] 
 could not blame you when your plain duty wat 
 neglected. You are a man and must face these 
 things. No one will be kinder than your mothei 
 in telling you the truth; but you must hear it 
 Where were you, and where was your sistei 
 last — ” 
 
 “ Mother, I swear to God if you don’t stop I 
 will put you out of my house. What possessei 
 you to go in this way.? What do you mean.?” 
 
 “I mean that it is high time you faced the truth. 
 Listen, Ellet. This can’t go on. Look where 
 you are standing. See where you came from. 
 See where you both are going. Remember, it is 
 not you alone who stands or falls, but your sister — ’ 
 
 He had been moving about the room swiftly, 
 burning with suppressed anger, pierced with the 
 
BEYOND ALL PARDON. 
 
 167 
 
 consciousness of a wrong so great he was only 
 dimly beginning to realize it. As she persisted 
 with a mother’s freedom, yet with a mother’s 
 tenderness, even to the last, it seemed a whip of 
 scorpions had stung his flesh in each word she 
 uttered. So exasperating was her perfect fear- 
 lessness, her disregard of his authority, that at the 
 final charge of trusts betrayed, he sprang forward 
 and grasped her shoulder roughly. 
 
 The good woman was not facing him at the 
 moment, for he had passed behind her in his caged 
 pacing about the floor. But the instant the hand 
 alighted his mother started and turned upon him 
 such a countenance as few sons — pray God — ever 
 see. She did not flinch or try to escape him. 
 She only met his eyes, and blazed the love that 
 spanned his thirty years, clear back of birth, 
 straight in the face so touched and marred by 
 passion. Esther ran weeping from the room, and 
 for a moment this tableau rested. 
 
 But some devil hot from hell whispered, “You 
 are a man. You must be respected.” And he 
 lifted his threatening finger before his mother’s face, 
 and said, stooping forward in rage and warning: 
 
 “ Now, stop ! ” He was livid with passion and 
 strong drink. 
 
 “ You struck me, Ellet,” she said, quite breath- 
 lessly. 
 
168 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 He made no response, and she turned from him 
 slowly, amazement melting again to mother love, 
 her startled eyes softening to the tenderness that 
 came so straight from the heart. She found her 
 wraps, tied the black bonnet on over the smooth 
 gray hairs, then went from the house alone and 
 silently. Without assistance she led her pony to 
 the block, without assistance she mounted him, 
 and without one sign of penitence from the man 
 who was carrying her flesh and blood — aye, and 
 her heavy heart — down to ruin with him, she rode 
 slowly away. 
 
 She rode slowly away, sitting upright and weep- 
 ing silently as the first miles were passed, then 
 sobbing and clinging to the saddle horns as the way 
 grew longer, then stopping and dismounting finally, 
 too weak to keep her seat. Heaven was kind to her, 
 and no one came that way. She sat by the road- 
 side, near her wondering beast, and poured out her 
 cruel load of sorrows. With them went the godlike 
 prayer that though this cup might not pass by, 
 some touch of grace might find a blessing in it. 
 
 She could not mount again, and walked home 
 wearily. 
 
 When Esther returned the room was empty. 
 Ellet had gone down town. He would teach her 
 a lesson, too. He had not meant to touch his 
 mother, but now that it was done, he would not 
 
BEYOND ALL PARDON. 
 
 169 
 
 be SO unmanly as to show a sign of relenting. He 
 tried to contend he was not to blame. Any man 
 would be justified in doing the same thing under 
 the same circumstances. 
 
 But it was not easy. Boy and man, he had never 
 lacked loving. Never once had a hand been raised 
 against him, however perverse, however heartless 
 his youthful wrongs might be. Never once had 
 he felt the weight of a finger in punishment, 
 nor ever seen the brow contract in threatenings. 
 Gentleness, kindness, patience had been the cords 
 that braided, bound, the family as one. Not a 
 reasonable wish had ever gone ungratified in all 
 these years. Not an hour of pain nor a day of 
 disappointment, but tenderness and sympathy had 
 lightened the burden and hastened relief. And 
 he had not been insensible to all this. 
 
 Ellet had dwelt in such good-fellowship with 
 father, mother and sisters. They were comrades 
 with him, strengthened by his power and charmed 
 by his grace. He had been a sort of centre about 
 which all willingly revolved, yet had been noble 
 enough to never for an instant arrogate dominance. 
 For all their goodness he knew he had given a 
 man’s most rich return — he had been worthy of it. 
 Never till now, when all the world seemed out of 
 joint, had one shadow come between him and his 
 kindred. 
 
170 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 And it was bitter. As the exhilarated brain 
 became a dull, aching brain, that instant in his 
 sitting room swelled to centuries of sin, which 
 nothing could atone. His own mother? Did 
 this hand touch mother? She who had — 
 
 Here, this was madding. He must tide it over 
 some way. More liquor would do it. No, liquor 
 had caused this very thing. What matter? He 
 must forget it now or go crazy. After awhile — 
 to-morrow — any time — he could get himself 
 together, and think this out. But now — 
 
 “Jap, give me a little rye.” 
 
 Jap complied, and then mentally weighed the 
 man before him. 
 
 “At first they own Sautern; in the middle it’s a 
 stand-off ; at the end, Sautern owns them. Ellet’s 
 about ready to deed himself over, and it’s a little 
 early, too.” 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AFTER THAT — THE DELUGE. 
 
 The campaign was drawing to a close. It had 
 been an unusually warm one, considering that no 
 national question was at issue. All over the State 
 the Prohibitionists had been very active, and as 
 the final day drew closer they became jubilant. 
 An “off year” furnished them the best chance to 
 capture the legislature ; and, the law once enacted, 
 they had abiding faith in its permanence and 
 enforcement. The men against them had watched 
 the contest with frown and thredt; with rising 
 rage as the spirits of the crusaders were lifted up, 
 until here in the last fortnight, when the reports 
 from other counties showed the probable triumph 
 of the- new creed, nothing short of curses and 
 violence could adequately express their disappro- 
 bation. 
 
 The Republican was in the fight with all the 
 editor’s energy and enthusiasm. Thompson had 
 had his way with Poole, and, his friend elected, had 
 clambered back into the party fold with becoming 
 meekness. He was still a stickler for what he 
 
 17X 
 
172 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 considered his position, and declined with thanks 
 all of Sims’ or Sautern’s editorial ravings. Then 
 he squared himself by belaboring an offender with 
 all their zest, and in language a great deal bet- 
 ter than they could have used. He was still good 
 friends with Poole; and, for that matter, Poole 
 seemed to fraternize rather amiably with all the 
 old crowd. He chaffed them about their defeat 
 two years ago, and they cursed him in round 
 terms — which meant no offense, and were easily 
 forgiven. He threatened them with a severer 
 calamity this fall, and they told him to make 
 hay while the sun shone; it would be his last 
 chance. 
 
 “You aint enforced no law,” said Sims, “and 
 when we down you this fall you will be as flat as 
 a pancake. We know you, Poole and we won’t 
 have you. And the Prohibs know you, and they 
 will be done with you, too. What you going at, 
 anyhow, when this term is over.^” 
 
 “ Going to begin on my next term,” replied the 
 prosecutor, stoutly. “ I have enforced no new law 
 because you fellows bought up the legislature, 
 and did not give us any to enforce. But I have 
 socked four convictions home under the old law, 
 and that is as much as you want. The Prohibs 
 know I am safe enough. Don’t you worry about 
 their throwing me over.” 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 173 
 
 “ Suppose we buy up the legislature this year, 
 too,” suggested Haberly. 
 
 “ Much obliged for the concession that it will be 
 ours to sell. But, John, I don’t think you can do 
 it. I figure that there will be a majority in the 
 house pledged to a prohibitory law. You 
 can’t beat that, any way you work. Then there 
 will be seven more — two from Allen County, and 
 one each from Vigo, Morgan, Fairview, Porter 
 and Posey — who will be elected by the Prohibs 
 against straight party candidates. That will make 
 a pretty steep job for your legislative commission 
 men and dealers in majorities. In this county the 
 Prohibs will elect all they are after — me and the 
 representative. No, mark my word, John, there 
 will be a good majority pledged for prohibition.” 
 
 “If it wasn’t for old Wesley Grant,” sighed 
 Sims, dejectedly. “ That man is the backbone of 
 the whole darned fight in this State. He goes every- 
 where. They call for him in every town from 
 South Bend to Mt. Vernon, and from Richmond 
 to Terre Haute. The old traitor seems to have 
 set the whole State ablaze with his foolishness. 
 And wherever he goes he makes heaps of votes 
 agin us.” 
 
 “Well, he won’t make no more,” said Sautern 
 confidently. Poole and all the rest looked up at 
 the oracle. “ He won’t make no more votes, nor 
 
174 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 no more speeches. I tell you that,” said the big 
 man, and he lifted his huge frame upright, and 
 sauntered with the air of an emperor at ease over 
 to his bar room. 
 
 “ What’s Sautern got.?” asked Sims. 
 
 “ Something on the sheriff, I am afraid,” replied 
 Haberly. “ I have tried my best to keep Ellet 
 out of that man’s way, but he just goes back there 
 in spite of me. He is making a wreck of himself. 
 In another year he will be fit for an asylum — and 
 a poor-house, too — if he keeps on.” 
 
 The manager read some undercurrent of ill 
 omen in Sautern ’s words, and, when the latter had 
 gone some minutes, rose and followed him across 
 the street. 
 
 “ I’ll bet a hundred dollars they don’t stop old 
 Wesley,” said Poole. 
 
 “ I’ll have to take you,” said Brubaker. 
 
 Over at the saloon Haberly found Sautern 
 enjoying a fresh cigar, and sitting in the cool 
 breeze at the back window. 
 
 “What is it about Wesley Grant.?” he asked 
 directly, though he let his eyes wander carelessly 
 out across the river, toward the pretty home of 
 the sheriff. 
 
 “Well, it’s enough,” vouchsafed the saloon 
 keeper. 
 
 “How are you going to try and stop him.?” 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 176 
 
 “Well, I’ll stop him.” 
 
 It took an hour of questioning to bring from 
 Sautern the story he wished to tell, and intended 
 telling, yet which he felt the greatest disinclination 
 to giving up as soon as he found some man who 
 wanted to hear it. 
 
 Ellet had been unfit for duty three several 
 times, a week at a time. Men said he was sick, 
 but all Fairvdew knew he was drunk. He had 
 been gambling beyond all rules of prudence, and 
 had lost more than ' he owned. Uncle Dave 
 Edwards, who was on the sheriff’s bond, had been 
 in town twice to see about it, and would come 
 again to-morrow, to ask release. Either Ellet 
 must fix things up — which he could not do — or 
 they would take the office from him. If they 
 went through his books to-day^they would find 
 him defaulter for thousands. 
 
 Haberlywas commissioned to see Wesley when 
 he arrived, and put the facts before him. 
 
 The train rolled up to the station with that bell- 
 ringing and whistle-blowing which Indiana laws 
 had conjured into one unceasing pandemonium. 
 The brakemen and conductor stepped down 
 before the cars stopped, with that jaunty air they 
 affect in the country, and the idle crowd gathered 
 a little closer to see who arrived and who 
 departed. 
 
176 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 First among the passengers to set foot on the 
 Fairview platform was Wesley Grant. His white 
 hairs were crowned with a broad slouch hat; his 
 gray clothes were the garments of a man of means 
 and importance; his grip was the ammunition 
 wagon of a tireless campaigner. He turned from 
 the car without hesitation, and started swiftly up 
 town. John Haberly overtook him. 
 
 “ Helloa, Wesley,” he said, cordially, “where 
 have you been.?” 
 
 Now, Wesley Grant had lived a life of stern 
 sincerity for so long that any simulation was dis- 
 tasteful to him. He thought he had reason 
 enough for distrusting John Haberly, and he did 
 distrust him. He did not want to fraternize with 
 him, and he did not want to pretend he did. This 
 campaign had taught him to meet, face to face, 
 apologists for the darkest of earth’s damnations, 
 yet to preserve before them the unruffled front of 
 one who can conserve his powers. So he turned, 
 met the frank'gaze of the dexterous manager, and 
 replied: 
 
 “ I have been at work preparing for a Prohibi- 
 tion legislature, John.” 
 
 “Are you going to elect it.?” 
 
 “We will.” This with a ringing certainty, and 
 a lighting smile that showed how sweet was the 
 anticipation of victory. 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 177 
 
 “Wesley, come up here into my office. I want 
 to talk with you about a matter of importance to 
 me, but of more importance to Ellet and yourself.” 
 Haberly had paused at the foot of his stairs, and 
 as Wesley halted near him the two men fronted 
 squarely. There was warning in the manager’s 
 eyes, but the glance was met and conquered by 
 the older man’s stern rectitude. 
 
 “John, I will not go up into your office. If you 
 or any of your crowd have something to say to 
 me, you must say it in public. I will have no 
 misunderstanding about my relations with the 
 gang.” 
 
 All the way up town men had passed them, had 
 pressed up to shake old Wesley’s hand or say a 
 word of greeting or encouragement. While these 
 two stood here quite a group surrounded them, 
 some to welcome a leader returned, others to 
 stand and observe them. 
 
 “It is too public a place,” said Haberly, with 
 something like distress in his voice. “What I 
 have to say will be better said in private.” He 
 waited. Old Wesley’s smile of strength and con- 
 fidence vanished. His reception at his own town, 
 after successes at many others, had gratified him. 
 The tone of John Haberly’s warning had banished 
 it all. Yet he was a Spartan. He knew his hands 
 were clean, and all the light of all the universe 
 
178 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 might be turned upon them. It could disclose no 
 shame. 
 
 “Speak out, John. If you are going to ask me 
 to name my price for silence, say so. If you are 
 going to threaten me, let that be public, too. I 
 cannot afford, and my party cannot afford, to have 
 anything done in the dark. Speak out.” 
 
 Haberly hesitated. 
 
 “Pick out any three good, trusty men,” he said 
 at last, just as the veteran showed by his attitude 
 that the conference was at an end; “pick them 
 out, and come up. I cannot tell you here.” 
 
 The old man grew paler. Evidently, affairs 
 were serious. But he was resolute, and through 
 the dread of something, not all unexpected, he 
 forced a smile to his lips and replied, shaking his j 
 head as one not easily deceived: 
 
 “You cannot compromise me, Haberly. I will 
 not go up in your office. I have no business there. 
 If you have anything to say to me, come to Poole’s 
 office. I will be there for an hour. But you better 
 bring a friend, for I will bring one. We want to 
 understand each other.” 
 
 Half an hour later the old man mounted the | 
 creaking steps, followed by two friends whom he i 
 could trust. He was gay with bits of cheer from i 
 the work in other fields, and filled to exuberance ' 
 with a nervous energy. But he felt as he lifted h 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 179 
 
 one foot above the other that he was climbing to 
 doom. It abated not a whit of the man’s courage 
 or unquailing front, but in his heart he found the 
 picture of a man condemned, mounting the rough 
 stairway to strangulation. He thought of the 
 bravado some of them had shown, and in the 
 darkness of this moment he could find no nobler 
 sense to buoy up his tortured spirit. The exer- 
 tion made his heart beat quicker, and a flitting 
 pain there came to warn him. He read in that 
 instant of sharp suffering what the end would be ; 
 and in that consummation, which was far lighter 
 than the way that lay between, he waked the forces 
 that he needed now. 
 
 “I’ll die game,” he muttered, and threw back 
 his shoulders as he struggled for air; he tossed 
 his hands far apart, as if the proof that shackles 
 were not on them was needed, and was grateful. 
 
 Poole placed chairs for his visitors. Haberly 
 was already there with Vernon, one of the bonds- 
 men, and with Petcher, Uncle Dave Edwards’ 
 attorney. 
 
 “Well, John,” said Wesley, “what do you want 
 to say.^” 
 
 “It aint an easy thing,” began the politician, but 
 he was interrupted. 
 
 “ I am not looking for easy things. Don’t spare 
 me, if you can bear it.” 
 
180 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 The younger man was stung to lay aside all 
 courtesy. Something in his conscience hardened 
 him toward that white-haired veteran. We are 
 told that nothing so adds to the anger one feels 
 toward a man as the recollection that one has 
 injured him. 
 
 “ Ellet is short in his accounts.” 
 
 “Well, which of you got the money 
 “And his bondsmen want to get out. Unless 
 the books are squared Ellet will be arrested.” 
 
 . “How much does he lack.?” 
 
 “It will take four thousand dollars to settle 
 everything without prosecution. Then he must 
 resign.” 
 
 “Is that all you want to say.?” 
 
 “Not quite. You can save the office to him, 
 after his shortage is fixed up, and do it easily.” 
 “How.?” 
 
 “Stay at home till after election.” 
 
 “Will that be enough.?” 
 
 “You might write a letter, declaring against 
 certain candidates that the Prohibs are running; 
 but go to no more meetings, make no more 
 speeches, and promise your vote for the straight 
 nominees. After that — ” 
 
 “The deluge!” exclaimed the farmer, con- 
 temptuously. “ Say, John, you fellows are after 
 the wrong man. You cannot dictate one thing to 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 181 
 
 me. I am too old. You are too corrupt. Poole, 
 write me a power of attorney. I have not half 
 that amount on hand, but I give you full authority 
 to collect, draw what I have on deposit, and mort- 
 gage or sell the Pretty Lake farm to raise all that 
 is needed. If it comes to that, John, I can settle 
 the shortages of your whole gang — shortages that 
 you always cover up if the rascal remains 
 useful.” 
 
 There was a tinge of boasting in the taunt. He 
 seemed to need some little brutality in this bitter 
 struggle. 
 
 “Now, Poole” — he had risen after signing the 
 paper — “stand between the boy and all danger. 
 Save me all you can, but — save him first, Poole.” 
 
 That was the certain strain of weakness. Voice 
 and manner published his feelings. He turned 
 quickly, and was half way to the door when 
 Haberly called out: 
 
 “ How about keeping him in office } How about 
 you helping us in the election.^” 
 
 “Keep him in office, or put him out, John. Do 
 just as you like. I am saying, and every dollar I 
 own is saying, that no child of mine shall be dis- 
 honored while I can prevent it. But you can get 
 nothing more from me. Only this” — and he turned 
 swiftly and with flashing eyes on the trio — “ I’ll 
 double my efforts to down the ring. If this is my 
 
182 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 last year on earth I shall die making odious the 
 engine that has crushed my boy.” 
 
 He went down stairs alone, but for an instant 
 after reaching the street he could not see the men 
 who spoke to him in passing. He was dizzy and 
 faint. He had consciousness enough to know 
 what was the matter, and how to escape. Turning 
 his blanched face to the wall, he rested his hand 
 against the building, and seemed to be studying, 
 reflecting, meditating some puzzling question. 
 But he knew he could not long remain so. Others 
 passed, and either spoke or hesitated curiously. 
 He thought again, “But Pll die game,” and with 
 that same sensation of climbing to a scaffold, he 
 roused himself, and faced the future. 
 
 Alice had driven to town to meet him, and he 
 walked up to Ellet’s house where he knew she 
 would wait for him. The girls saw him coming 
 and met him at the gate, urging him to go in 
 and rest. But he declined, though not roughly. 
 He must hurry home, for to-morrow the Repub- 
 licans held a big meeting in town, which he must 
 attend; and in the evening he must address his 
 friends at the court-house square. He kissed 
 Esther with a tenderness that surprised her, used 
 as she was to the expression of paternal affection. 
 As he lifted his face from hers, the old man’s 
 hand rested on her shoulder a moment, then 
 
AFTER THAT— THE DELUGE. 
 
 183 
 
 passed gently upward until it was laid lovingly 
 about her head. She raised her eyes again to his, 
 and then flushed hotly with what she read there. 
 
 That was all. He walked away, helped Alice 
 in the buggy, and drove home. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 IN CIDER-MAKING TIME. 
 
 Early next morning Ellet came to the farm. 
 He wore his best clothes, and had something of 
 his olden air of tidiness and good keeping. He 
 left the team at the hitching post, adjusted the 
 harness a little, passing around the horses, and so 
 came to the gate. Right there he was met by 
 his father. He had not been at the homestead 
 since that Sunday when he drove away with the 
 indignant sense of superiority. In what abase- 
 ment, with what shamed gratitude he now re- 
 turned. He lifted the latch and began to thank 
 the patriarch for the great service of yesterday. 
 
 “Ellet,” said the old man, interrupting his 
 somewhat stammering speech, “this farm isn’t 
 big enough for you and me too. You better stay 
 away till I get through with it. It rests with you 
 whether you take it then. But while I am here 
 you can’t come in.” 
 
 “Why, father,” he began. This blow was so 
 unexpected, yet so richly merited, that this young 
 man felt the acme of his troubles had indeed been 
 
 184 
 
IN CIDEB-MAKINQ TIME. 
 
 185 
 
 reached; that the keenest possible retribution had 
 now been visited upon him. Yet he could not 
 turn away so. He knew his degradation, but the 
 sense of a home, a haven, here was so strong 
 that it seemed his father could not mean so much 
 of sternness; and he said again — “Why, father!” 
 
 “Young man, you struck your mother. When 
 you can wipe that out, come home.” 
 
 And the culprit turned away without one word 
 of justification. He went to the team again, un- 
 tied the horses blindly, climbed in the buggy, and 
 drove away. 
 
 The distant forests have changed from deep 
 green to crimson and brown. The hedgeways 
 are swaying slightly, and dropping leaves with 
 every motion. The oak trees by the roadside 
 have painted their foliage a rich wine color, and 
 the hickory that stands on the line fence row 
 sends down shelled nuts as he passes. Hazel 
 bushes hold up great handfuls of brown treasures 
 in wide-open husks, and tempt him to desert the 
 shadow of life for a day in the sun. Squirrels are 
 bolder. Frosts have warned them of cheerless 
 days when the improvident must suffer, and they 
 scamper along the brown top rails of fences, with 
 pouches full of provisions. Weeds have granted 
 a truce, and ceased growing, and stand with 
 drooped head, as if regretting the work they gave 
 
186 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 the husbandman. Corn is maturing. Its tassels 
 have lost their lustre, and waft withered blossoms 
 to the soft, warm ground. The blades have 
 caught the blighting frost, and bend their broad, 
 velvety surfaces in sheer regret. The husk is 
 gray and dry. It breaks from the swelling ear, 
 and reveals sharp rows of grain, swiftly hardening 
 in the air and sun. Through the long aisles of 
 the field vagrant breezes stray, and the tall, slen- 
 der maize bows with a hum of homage, and a 
 rustle of respectful applause. 
 
 Grass on the roadside is dun in color. It has 
 finished its work in the passing year, and has 
 strengthened its hold in the earth, forgetful of 
 appearances above ground. 
 
 The very road is an autumn highway. The 
 track is level and hard and smooth; the dust is 
 heavy and does not rise. The air is as clear as 
 an ocean cavern, and sounds from the woods drift 
 across the brown fields, mellowed but audible; and 
 over all swings the glorious haze of Indian sum- 
 mer. Far away banks of blue smoke hide the 
 outlines of the hills, and earth is one mirage of 
 heaven. 
 
 When Ellet reached town that night, the bur- 
 den of his punishment heavy upon him, he was 
 conscious of but one thing — a strong revulsion 
 from the influences that had debased him. It did 
 
IN CIDER-MAKING TIME. 
 
 187 
 
 not amount to rage against any one, and was the 
 more likely to last that it was rather subdued in 
 color. But he had no desires, felt no tendencies 
 of taste or habit to turn in and follow any of the 
 paths that had led him from rectitude and manli- 
 ness. He went home and put up the team, then 
 sat on the porch and read till tea was ready. He 
 was not effusive in his kindness to Esther, and 
 was rather more alert than in the old days. No 
 reference to the recent past was made by either of 
 them, but she could see that between to-day and 
 yesterday a wall was builded that would not be 
 thrown down. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 Major Poole made an accurate forecast of the 
 result of the election. In the legislature there 
 was a majority of ten who had been elected on 
 the platform demanding a prohibitory law. 
 
 For the first time it seemed certain the measure 
 would pass. No one appeared to question that. 
 Papers and politicians all over the State conceded 
 victory to the ^ temperance men, and trimmers 
 were busy getting ready for a change of heart. 
 The new forces were held well in hand by Dean, 
 of Fairview. He was admittedly the ablest and 
 shrewdest man in the new army. His comrades 
 held aloof, and when the caucus nominees strug- 
 gled for a mastery, he named the speaker. When 
 the managers of the old party came to him. Dean 
 was firm. He could afford to be. 
 
 “You fellows choso Holiowell,” he said, “ and 
 we will help you elect him speaker. If you don’t, 
 we will vote for a straight Prohibitionist, and the 
 Democrats will elect the presiding officer. Hollo- 
 well is as good a Republican as there is in your 
 
 188 
 
THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 189 
 
 party, and he is satisfactory to us. We care 
 nothing for the office, but we want the law. If 
 you want to run the House, let us have our way 
 about this matter. If you don’t, you wont run it 
 — that’s all.” 
 
 There was no use arguing with him. He could 
 keep that little herd of new party men together, 
 and keep them voting as principle dictated, till the 
 Democrats filled every office in the legislature. 
 That was a consummation devoutly to be dreaded, 
 and they knew that if he remained firm they must 
 surrender something. 
 
 Dean must be fixed. 
 
 They went to him next day with a proposition. 
 He and one man from his little party should meet 
 four men from the old party, and they would map 
 out a programme. Quarreling would do no good, 
 and might do a deal of harm — to the old 
 party. 
 
 “Aside from prohibition, our aims are the 
 same,” said Tabor. “ You fellows naturally be- 
 long to our crowd, and we naturally believe in 
 your doctrine. But the time is not ripe for it yet. 
 Still, if you insist on it, and the people seem to 
 demand it, we will have to adjust matters. Now, 
 what we want is to know just what you want. I 
 guess things can be arranged so you can be grati- 
 fied, and we can control the House.” 
 
190 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 “ Give US the law, and you can have the offices,” 
 said Dean, sententiously. “ That’s Wesley Grant’s 
 doctrine.” 
 
 Dean and his confrere went to the place appoint- 
 ed. He was old enough to have known better; 
 and, indeed, he had a premonition that the stern 
 sense of the farmer chief would have opposed the 
 step. But he trusted his skill and his knowledge 
 of men to bring him out in no way loser. 
 
 It was in an upper room of a great hotel. 
 When Dean and his companion entered they 
 found a rather jolly party. A State officer and 
 a well-known lobbyist were present. They 
 had been courting the cup which cheers and oft 
 inebriates. With them was an ex-State official from 
 an adjoining commonwealth, and an ex-colonel of 
 national reputation. The latter, whom Dean took 
 to be visitors, were introduced with hearty, boist- 
 erous formality of State capital life, and then all 
 resumed their chairs. The Colonel was telling a 
 story, and the State officer urged him to go back 
 and begin again, for the benefit of Dean and his 
 friend. When it was done all hands laughed very 
 heartily, and the dignitary from a sister State was 
 reminded of an incident somewhat like it. While 
 he was talking a waiter came in with more bottles 
 and glasses, and the lobbyist began pouring out 
 wine. 
 
THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 191 
 
 “ Mr. Dean, do you drink he asked, ver}^ 
 respectfully. 
 
 “No, sir,” said the prohibition leader; but he 
 felt rather uncomfortable. 
 
 “ I hope you take no offense at our touching it 
 lightly.” 
 
 “ We can stand it if you can,” said the man who 
 had come here to dictate. Then the story was 
 resumed. The marks of conviviality were removed, 
 and for a time the most decorous air pervaded the 
 room. But not one of the gentlemen left, even 
 when the subject which brought Dean and his 
 friend was broached. It seemed a thing they 
 could all talk about. Dean had a very definite 
 idea of what he wanted, and could not be 
 induced to recede from the position originally 
 taken. 
 
 The large argument of what patriotism de- 
 manded was used. The ultimate effect this stand 
 would have on the party was shown him. The 
 lesser importance of immediate prohibition was 
 pointed out. But he stood firm. It was now or 
 never with him. 
 
 “ Take the offices and give us the law. If you 
 don’t fix that up we will beat every man your 
 caucus names to-morrow. We can do it. We 
 have been chosen and pledged to do it, and it is 
 right we should.” 
 
192 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 There was no answering that argument. So 
 they rested awhile, and talked of other affairs. 
 
 “ This isn’t a matter just affecting Indiana,” 
 said the visiting dignitary, returning later to. the 
 charge. “Its influence reaches to other States. 
 If }mu adopt this amendment it will split your old 
 party wide open. More than that, it will draw 
 after it a like action in other States. Your success 
 in Indiana means a like success In at least five other 
 States here in the middle West. And that means 
 the end of the Republican party; for, although 
 all Prohibitionists are Republicans, all Republicans 
 are not Prohibitionists. Thousands of them will 
 go over to the enemy. You can read a warning 
 in Glick, of Kansas. What happened then and 
 there will happen again and will happen every- 
 where — in every State that nurses this heresy — till 
 men will learn to take what they can get, and 
 wait for prohibition till the country is ready for 
 it. Surely you don’t want to see every northern 
 State lost to the Republicans.” 
 
 “ No, I don’t. But take your State, for instance. 
 It is not corrupt as is Indiana. Why, here the 
 saloon has come to be what the church once was 
 in politics. It is not only supreme authority — ^it 
 is all the authority there is. Things have come 
 to such a pass that every measure must be approved 
 by the rum power before it can be adopted by the 
 
THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 193 
 
 people. What that power wants the people have 
 to give; what it don’t want, no one is strong 
 enough to give — unless we are to-day. It convicts, 
 acquits, dignifies, abases, enforces, annuls, enacts 
 anew — and wields in all respects the imperial 
 power. No other State is as saturated with it as 
 is Indiana.” 
 
 “ There’s where you are wrong,” said the visitor. 
 “ You give yourself that bad name, and without 
 reason. Ohio, Illinois, any of them, are worse. 
 If Justice is asleep in Indiana, in the rest of them 
 she is dead. If Indiana is in slavery, they are in 
 chains. If Indiana is fevered in the fumes of cor- 
 ruption, they are festering and rotten with politi- 
 cal leprosy. I know, for I’ve been there. You 
 are wrong. You are wrong.” 
 
 Then the Colonel began the attack. He painted 
 with the eolors of patriotism — that meant party- 
 ism. He showed how first of all the men who had 
 fought and bled were for the old party, and 
 against any person or any movement that harmed 
 it. He pointed out how it had punished certain 
 men and delayed certain measures simply because 
 they were forced upon it before it was ready; and 
 how it had never failed to honor the men and 
 adopt the measures that wisely consulted party 
 interests. He deprecated treason everywhere; 
 and the effect of this prohibition movement, how- 
 
194 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 ever honestly endorsed, worked treason constantly. 
 
 After him came Tabor. 
 
 “Dean, you and I were both elected to this 
 legislature, and sworn to do our duty as we could 
 see it. I am in the same boat with you. I want 
 to do what is right by my constituents as much 
 as you do by yours. If a majority in Fairview 
 can direct and bind you, a majority in Vigo can 
 direct and bind me. We must together do the 
 best we can for the people of both counties.” 
 
 The State officer had engaged Dean’s friend in 
 conversation, and took him into an adjoining room 
 to prove by statistics that a certain popular epi- 
 gram was a popular error. 
 
 “Now, Dean,” continued Tabor, “your people 
 want a prohibitory law before anything else. My 
 people want it too, but they demand some other 
 things first. There are thirteen of you, all bound 
 to secure that one thing, whether anything else is 
 done here this winter. There are 137 of us, all 
 insisting on some other things with equal earnest- 
 ness.” 
 
 The Colonel and the visiting statesman went 
 over to the window to prosecute a warm argu- 
 ment as to the terms of a certain surrender. Dean 
 and Tabor talked on. In half an hour the State 
 officer and Dean’s friend came back from the 
 j::djoining room, and the latter was jubilant because 
 
THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 195 
 
 he had convinced his companion the epigram was 
 not an error. He was quite in good humor with 
 himself, and was inclined to be magnanimous. 
 
 The conversation became general. No one 
 asked what Dean and Tabor had concluded to do. 
 A wider range of topics engaged them all. A 
 waiter came up with more bottles and glasses, and 
 again the bibulous brethren drank. This time 
 they did not apologize for the offensive act. It 
 was so common here that it was not considered in 
 ill taste at any time. 
 
 Dean and his friend went back to their hotel. 
 
 “Well, how do we stand inquired the lobbyist. 
 
 “Dean’s all right,” responded Tabor. “He does 
 not come very high, either.” 
 
 “ His friend is rather an inexpensive luxury, too,” 
 said the State officer. 
 
 “ Legislators are getting cheaper every year,” 
 remarked the Colonel. 
 
 “To sum up, then,” said the lobbyist, lifting the 
 straightened fingers of his left hand and touching 
 them each in turn with the index finger of his 
 right, “there’s Fletcher will vote against the reso- 
 lution whenever we want him to, if his little boy 
 is made a page.” And he tallied one. “ Peyton 
 will do whatever we want, and has signed a receipt 
 for the purchase money.” And he tallied again. 
 “Winterman will move to strike out the enacting 
 
196 
 
 . AN INDIANA MAN 
 
 clause, but his friend, the warden, must be white- 
 washed.” Three fingers were now bent over, 
 and the fourth was carried down with a sort of 
 impetuous, triumphant charge, as the man con- 
 cluded — “and Dean is ours all winter.” 
 
 Hollowell headed the list of caucus' nominees, 
 and all over the State the news was heralded that 
 the Prohibitionists had dictated it. They com- 
 manded the situation. Already a committee was 
 busy drafting the bill for a prohibitory law, which 
 would now certainly be passed by the House. 
 The Senate would not dare defeat it, and the 
 Governor would sign it. A feeling of devout 
 thankfulness went up all over the State. The 
 faithful were never before so near success. Oppo- 
 sition to the movement was not loudly expressed. 
 
 If one might judge by what was read and heard, 
 one would surely conclude that the only active 
 sentiment abroad in Indiana was in favor of the 
 amendment. 
 
 This ominous silence preceded a storm. The 
 Dean bill had been presented to the House, and 
 referred to a committee. It was published all 
 over the State, but the papers that presented it 
 had nothing to say either in praise or censure. It 
 came up in committee, and was favorably reported 
 with scarcely the change of a line. Excepting 
 that Winterman had been grievously offended by - 
 
THEY MET IN AN UPPER ROOM. 
 
 197 
 
 Dean, there had been no sort of a hitch in its 
 progress. The gentleman from Porter seemed 
 unaccountably enraged by something in a speech 
 the chairman had delivered, and no apologies 
 would pacify him. 
 
 “I’ll make you sorry for that, Mr. Dean,” he 
 said, walking swiftly up and down the committee 
 room, and panting in rage. 
 
 The bill was placed on its passage with no more 
 opposition than would have been met by a motion 
 to order additional stationery. A day was set for 
 the debate to begin — and then came the clamor ! 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 TOO BASE FOR INSULT. 
 
 From corner to corner the whole commonwealth 
 blazed with the fury of denunciation. Language 
 was taxed. Vocabularies were exhausted. Vitup- 
 eration was unleashed. From every county-seat 
 came indignant demands to defeat that meas- 
 ure. 
 
 “ The people do not want it. Public opinion is 
 not ready for it. It will turn peaceful communi- 
 ties into hoards of wranglers. It cannot be 
 enforced, and a dead-letter law breeds contempt 
 for all law.” 
 
 That was one view. Here was another: 
 
 “We have no right to adopt it. We have no 
 right to confiscate the millions of invested capital. 
 We have no right to control private conduct.” 
 And here was yet another: 
 
 “Vote it down. Drive its defenders from 
 cover. Whip them out of their thin cloaking of 
 sanctity. Teach them that the people — their 
 masters — repudiate them. Chase the fanatics 
 from the halls of the House, and cram this insane 
 
 196 
 
TOO BASE EOB INSULT. 
 
 199 
 
 enactment down the throats of the men who 
 made it,” 
 
 Not only the State, but the nation, was wild 
 with the uproar. From every capital, from every 
 city came the same loud cannonade. Personal 
 abuse, ridicule, slander — anything that could sink 
 the bill and crush its friends, was quickly employed. 
 And there was no time for the reformers to rally. 
 So long delayed, so sudden and so fierce had been 
 the assault, that they stood stricken and helpless 
 in the face of an opposition that seemed universal. 
 
 Wesley Grant hurried to the capital. His 
 friends must gather nearer the battlefield and lend 
 encouragement to frightened legislators. The 
 sentiment which was disclaimed must assert itself, 
 or all would be lost. The old m.an had rested so 
 securely in the belief that the bill would become 
 a law that this furious assault startled him. He 
 summoned a score of men to meet him at the 
 State House, and then tried to see and talk with 
 those on whom he had depended. He knew by 
 Dean’s compact that all he asked at organization 
 had been pledged him. Tabor had committed a 
 certain majority to the passage of this measure. In 
 exchange every office had been surrendered, and 
 half the business of the session was already accom- 
 plished. Would they dare attempt such treachery 
 Was there no spark of honor about them.? 
 
200 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 He sat in the gallery and watched the proceed- 
 ings below him. He marked this one and that 
 one, who had been sent up here for just one duty 
 before all others. He saw young men who owed 
 him their election, and he wondered if they had 
 been corrupted. He sent twice for Dean, but that 
 gentleman was busy, and could not see him before 
 evening. 
 
 Disappointed and chagrined, he went out and 
 walked the busy streets. He was almost dis- 
 tracted, and this unusual movement and life 
 relieved him. He must brace himself for the 
 worst, whatever it might be, and resolve never to 
 be disheartened. He went to his room, and this 
 telegram was handed him: 
 
 Esther is gone. People here think she is with you. I have 
 notified detectives to be on the lookout for her. John Haberly is 
 in Fort Wayne, and will be in Indianapolis to-morrow night. 
 
 , Ellet Grant.- 
 
 Old Wesley knew what it all meant when he 
 had read the three first words, but the blow was 
 no less crushing. He did not rave or fall, or go 
 out for help. He did not second Ellet’s efforts to 
 find her. That seemed like publishing his shame. 
 He only laid his weary head down on the table, 
 and wept like a bereaved child. 
 
 How close to his heart this girl had lain ! How 
 he had fondled her — just yesterday, it seemed — 
 
TOO BASE FOR INSULT. 
 
 201 
 
 when as a baby she cooed to him and rolled her 
 shut hands in his face! How he had rocked her 
 to sleep night after night in those days, when his 
 hands were firm on the plow; and how she had 
 loved her strong father better than any one else ! 
 How he had watched her growing from slim 
 girlhood to woman’s sweet estate, mingling the 
 light of beauty with the shade of duty, till heaven 
 or earth seemed equally her home ; and how she 
 had gone from him at last — 
 
 Poor, tired, gray old man; how much his heart 
 had borne ! Yet it was in his nature that not even 
 this calamity could turn him from the master pur- 
 pose. No use going home; she was not there. 
 No use rushing abroad in search; she would not 
 be found that way. And, after all, this was only 
 one more nail to drive in the coffin of that power 
 which made evil all that was good. Surely God 
 would curse it that it might die. 
 
 He stood up at last, but his head would droop 
 forward. He started to walk about the room, 
 but the springing step with which he began would 
 falter and grow slow. 
 
 Dean did not come up as he had promised, and 
 Wesley went out to find him. The bill had been 
 hurried forward, and to-morrow they would vote. 
 He must know more about the present status. 
 From what he had learned in town, no changes 
 
202 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 were counted on yet. As he neared that final 
 moment the old man’s nerves were strung with a 
 closer tension. He was not composed, strong, 
 confident; he was uncertain, suspicious, just trem- 
 bling on the verge of anger, and just catching him- 
 self forming a curse for this one and that one who 
 had deceived him. 
 
 He could not find Dean. Gentlemen of whom 
 he inquired had seen the member from Fairview 
 “only a moment ago,” but none of them could see 
 him just now. 
 
 He went to the train, and met Otway from 
 Allen, and Singleton from Posey. They had 
 followed him through the campaign, fighting with 
 all manfulness for the legislature, and had rejoiced 
 with him when they saw victory perch on his 
 banner. They had asked no favors and made no 
 threats, but they had done all their work so well 
 that they looked for the law as they would look 
 for day after sunrise. But they were followers 
 still, not equals; and when they marked how 
 crushed this sturdy leader was, their spirits fell, 
 and the light of triumph faded into the cloud of 
 fear. They found a few of the members who had 
 sworn allegiance, but could learn nothing authorita- 
 tive from them. Some expressed the sentiment that 
 they were mistaken in thinking the State wanted 
 prohibition — either in this way, or at this time. 
 
TOO BASE FOR INSULT. 
 
 203 
 
 “If you had been here all winter,” they said to 
 Otway, “you would see things different. The 
 voice of the people ought to rule, and we think 
 the voice of the people is loud against any such 
 movement. Still, we don’t know of any change 
 in the situation. Dean and Peyton are managing 
 this thing.” 
 
 The delegation wandered around here where 
 they had expected to be received with honor, and 
 grew weary in the empty quest of busy statesmen. 
 
 Wesley told none of them his greater trouble. 
 He must bear that alone. It was lighter so. 
 
 Next day the galleries were crowded. Many 
 women had been admitted. The debate would be 
 very interesting. The floor was better occupied 
 than usual. Around the door was a larger crowd 
 of those who had a word to say with men within. 
 Somehow, the sense of great events pressed upon 
 actors and auditors alike. The chamber was 
 quieter. Was it stern resolve, or cowering 
 shame.? 
 
 The Dean bill had passed its third reading, and 
 was placed upon its passage. 
 
 “Mr. Speaker,” said Representative Winter- 
 man, with an angry glance at the Chairman of 
 Committee. He had shouted the same words 
 yesterday, but so wild was the confusion of busi- 
 ness that he hardly heard himself. Now they 
 
20i 
 
 ^JV INDIANA MAN. 
 
 rang across the silent spaces, and a thousand eyes 
 glanced from him to the chair. 
 
 “The gentleman from Porter,” said the presid- 
 ing officer. 
 
 “I move as an amendment that the enacting 
 clause of this bill be stricken out.” 
 
 The words fell like a knell on the ears of those 
 men who had earned success. There was a 
 startled exelamation, a shifting of position, a rustle 
 of amazement from the galleries. But no one on 
 the floor looked up there. All sat with that stolid 
 silence which meant the fulfillment of a programme 
 — which meant hire and service. 
 
 Were the friends of the bill waiting, as Warren’s 
 men waited that morning in June, till the whites 
 of the enemies’ eyes were seen.?* Were they wait- 
 ing, crouching, trembling for the spring which 
 should stifle corruption and vindicate a people’s 
 expressed demand.^ 
 
 There was little debate. The flow of eloquence 
 which was to have gratified a listening nation, 
 faltered in half a dozen spiritless speeches. The 
 champions were silent. Dean, Peyton, Fletcher 
 were delivering the goods they had sold. 
 
 The audacity of the assault on the very enact- 
 ing clause showed the strength of the opposition. 
 Wesley Grant buried his face in his hands and 
 groaned. He had hoped to sit here and see this 
 
TOO BASE FOB INSULT. 
 
 205 
 
 monster throttled, and he had raised, provisioned 
 and equipped the army that could and should have 
 done it. He summed up somewhat of the counts 
 he had against it, for the speeches were not worth 
 the hearing. 
 
 “ Then I had home; now I have none. Then I 
 had Ellct, and now he is lost. Then I had Esther, 
 and now she is gone. Then we were rich and 
 honored and respectable; ‘now I am the father of 
 a disgraced, defaulting sheriff, the father of a way- 
 ward and wandering daughter, and the husband 
 of a woman who has been struck by her own 
 child. May God arrest this day the flood which 
 is sweeping other homes into the gulf where mine 
 lies ruined ! ” 
 
 Why, how bound up in this day’s action his 
 whole life had become ! As one after another the 
 barks of his loves slipped from him, he had com- 
 forted himself in the hope of this event. And as 
 it had marked an era for him, so had it been 
 regarded by ten thousand other men — and by a 
 host of women, who are never counted. All that 
 the men had planned and hoped and worked and 
 voted for ; all that the women had wept and prayed 
 for, was to have received completion here and now. 
 Young men had pictured it as one of the heroic 
 things that might live in story. Old men had 
 based on a decisive vote here the certain prom- 
 
206 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 ise of an escape from thralldom.' To them this 
 picture of a House so passive, of a champion so 
 inert, of great truths so weakly spoken, of opposi- 
 tion so boldly arrayed — all this to them was indeed 
 a mystery, and could have but one solution. 
 
 Wesley could not wait till that dull speaker had 
 sated himself with killing time. He opened his 
 eyes and saw Dean sauntering carelessly in from 
 the cloak room. He must say one final word to 
 him, even though it be hopeless. He hurried 
 down the carpeted stairs, and sent for the gentle- 
 man from Fairview. 
 
 “How are you. Grant said Dean, rather too 
 nervously to be cordial. “ I can’t give you a 
 minute just now. Ready to vote, you know. Oh, 
 we’ll carry it by four or five. Glad you came to 
 see our triumph — ^your triumph, too, if it is any 
 man’s in Indiana.” 
 
 Somebody just inside the swinging baize doors 
 said “Dean,” in a questioning, warning tone, end- 
 ing with a rising inflection. He turned quickly, 
 bowed deeply to the countryman, and hurried to 
 his seat. 
 
 Wesley climbed the stairs again and hastened 
 to his place, for there was a commotion below. 
 
 “Vote! Vote!” members were shouting. 
 
 “Mr. Speaker! Mr. Speaker!” certain other 
 members were shouting. Pages were running 
 
TOO BASE FOR INSULT. 
 
 207 
 
 about like mad. There was an uncommon and 
 an energetic crowd in the lobby. Hollowell was 
 pounding the desk fiercely without in any way 
 silencing the uproar. 
 
 Presently the clerk was calling the roll, though 
 no one had heard a ruling. 
 
 Old Wesley Grant leaned forward, grasping 
 the rail before him, and trying to follow each 
 “Aye” and “No,” and catch the voter with his 
 eye to bless or curse him. Could they — could 
 they strike out the enacting clause ? At last they 
 had ended, and he stood waiting with strained 
 senses for the final announcement. He quivered 
 with rage at the stupendous insolence, and held 
 his breath in the silence that followed as the vote 
 was proclaimed. 
 
 “Ayes, 77; noes, 73. The motion prevails.” 
 
 There was an instant of confusion below him. 
 Members had left their seats and were hurrying 
 about. They seemed just set at liberty, and the 
 failure or success of legislation was of no account. 
 
 The hum and clatter which announced a ques- 
 tion settled was at its height when a tall, gray 
 man in the gallery towered up before them, close 
 to the rail, and dominating every chair in the House. 
 
 “ You are a set of cowards,” he shouted. “You 
 perjured, corrupt, ungrateful dogs! You rascals, 
 villains, traitors! You are a set of cowards!” 
 
208 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Of course he was silenced. An officer caught 
 him roughly by the shoulder, and forced him to 
 his seat. The noise below had abated. Mem- 
 bers stood looking up at that tense figure, stood 
 listening to the passionate reproach, the fierce 
 denunciation, and stilled their little clamor in the 
 outburst of a breaking heart. 
 
 Presently the most, shameless of them rallied. 
 They talked together in a group for a moment, 
 then fell apart and stood glaring about them. 
 
 “Mr. Speaker,” cried Tabor, of Vigo, “the 
 man should be punished. He has affronted the 
 whole State of Indiana. He has insulted this 
 House. I de — ” 
 
 “ No, I haven’t,” retorted Wesley Grant. “This 
 House is past insult.” And he went without a 
 struggle beside the officer to the very door of the 
 capitol. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE WRECK. 
 
 Otway and Singleton joined him immediately. 
 
 “What shall we do.^” they inquired; but he 
 turned from them and walked alone down the 
 busiest street. They followed him, afraid for his 
 reason. The strain had been too much. He had 
 too certainly counted on success. Failure meant 
 so much to him. He did not seem aware of their 
 presence, and so they let him wander on, only 
 keeping him well in sight, and guarding him from 
 all harm. 
 
 For hours the old man paced steadily forward, 
 keeping at first in busy streets, and looking straight 
 before him. Finally his footsteps turned toward 
 the quieter portion of the town. Twilight was 
 rapidly sinking into darkness. Far down the 
 street a man was coming toward them lighting 
 the lamps. Half a block away he thrust his torch 
 into a globe and waked the bright flame just as 
 two young women passed him and stopped at the 
 entrance of a house. One of them was very 
 handsomely dressed. The other followed her in. 
 
 209 
 
210 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 Wesley Grant had been watching the lamp- 
 lighter until this point, but he dropped him now, 
 and fixed his eyes on the cold front of that brown 
 stone building. At the end of the square he 
 crossed over, and came back on the other side, 
 his friends following him silently. He had passed 
 the house without a motion further than that still 
 gaze against the solid door. But right in the 
 shadow of the lamp he stopped. There was a 
 sound of quarreling within. Women’s voices 
 were lifted in. contention. Feet were beating a 
 tattoo on carpeted stairs. A chain was rattled.. 
 The door was opened, and the well-dressed girl’s 
 companion sprang from the threshold, and stood 
 without hat or cloak on the pavement. There 
 were voices within in angry tumult — women, all 
 talking together. The frightened girl turned 
 toward the three men, and then old Wesley held 
 out his hands to her, and said, “ Come on, Esther; 
 we’ll go home.” 
 
 It was void of passion or reproach, and was 
 pitched in the kindly key of father love. In the 
 tone and in the gesture there was the resurrection 
 of a thousand days when she had brought her 
 troubles to him, and lost them in the boundless 
 depths of his great heart. But now she recoiled 
 from him, shrieking in fear, and fled away in the 
 darkness and the cold. 
 
THE WRECK. 
 
 211 
 
 He turned and resumed his walk, not once 
 noticing the men who followed him, and came at 
 last to the hotel. He seemed to have recovered 
 at least a portion of his courage, for he went about 
 the work of quitting town with all the orderliness 
 of a practiced traveler, and took the train for 
 home. But he would not talk with them. He 
 was not interested in what they said. When they 
 mentioned the great disgrace of the day he only 
 turned from them, and seemed occupied with the 
 movements of truckmen and those who handled 
 baggage. When they parted from him he shook 
 their hands without meeting their eyes, made no 
 response to their kindly wishes, and left them 
 before they had done speaking. 
 
 From the window of the sheriff’s office Ellet 
 Grant saw his father come up town from the 
 train next morning, and sent a deputy to get the 
 team and drive him out to the farm. He followed 
 from a distance, and saw his father riding away, 
 then returned to his work, and did not wonder 
 that the broad slouch hat covered a face white 
 with the ashes of defeat and disgrace. 
 
 As he wrote there, a boy brought him a tele- 
 gram. He looked at the clock and put on his 
 coat. 
 
 “ I am going to Indianapolis,” he said to the 
 chief deputy, “ I may be back to-morrow.” 
 
212 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 A policeman had stopped the young woman as 
 she had fled from that chance meeting with her 
 father, and had taken her to the station till some- 
 thing could be learned about her, and till she could 
 be provided with wraps against the chill of wintry 
 weather. There they knew she was the person 
 they had been directed to find, and they telegraphed 
 to Ellet, while giving her all the care and comfort 
 the shabby place afforded. They thought she 
 was willing to wait until her brother came, but 
 shortly after dark next evening she slipped from 
 the room in which they had been lodging her, and 
 was gone again. 
 
 As he stepped from the train in the great depot 
 an hour after, Ellet saw her face in the window of ; 
 a car just leaving the station. He had barely 
 time to clamber up the steps as the crowded cara- 
 van swept through the doorway, and out into the 
 silent, snow-heaped city. 
 
 This was Ellet ’s hardest journey, and he thought | 
 how bitter the cross must be to her who sat there 4 
 
 c, 
 
 just before him, uncomforted, and crushing the ^ 
 thorns of woman’s crucifixion deep in her tortured 
 soul. He longed to go to her and take all the ' 
 burden of. her own wrong. He longed to tell her 
 how deeper than ever she could go he had trodden 
 the way of error, and he resolved he would find 
 some way to knit again the cord that once had v 
 
THE WRECK. 
 
 213 
 
 bound them, and rest her secure in the conscious- 
 ness of a brother’s love. 
 
 He had let an hour pass, and was turning from 
 the flying silhouettes outside to the drowsing pas- 
 sengers within, half rising to go to her now, when 
 a jolt and bounding motion of the car threw him 
 from his seat, and called attention to the scream- 
 ing whistle of the engine. Then came the roar 
 which told of the covered bridge, and then the 
 louder sound of rending timbers as they fell away 
 and pitched the train with its trusting load into 
 the rocky gorge beneath. 
 
 Some were sleeping, and roused from dreams 
 to be choked with smoke and scalded with steam 
 and frozen with icy water. Some were awake, 
 and these were even less fortunate, for they had 
 seen the danger sooner, and were struggling to 
 escape. Ellet was dimly conscious of this as he 
 gathered himself together at the side of the car, 
 and looked for that bolt upright figure which he 
 had been watching all the long ride from the city. 
 There was fire between them, and he could hear 
 her familiar voice, troubled with the labor of 
 escaping from burdens which pinned her down 
 and hurt her cruelly. He was half way to her, 
 creeping over the writhing mass that struggled 
 in the dark and shrieked its terror, when he found 
 that only one hand was doing duty. The other 
 
214 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 was crushed, and he could feel the warm blood 
 that filled his sleeve, while the rest of his body. was 
 drenched with the cold water that poured in from 
 the windows, now deep in the river. 
 
 Esther’s complaints grew louder as he neared 
 her. She was losing that rare self control which 
 had always armed her. Her presence of mind 
 was going, and she had left intelligent effort to 
 struggle wildly for release. Just as the clamor 
 around her had drowned the last of reason, Esther 
 heard her brother call her, and was silent in an 
 instant. He struggled on, close to the wall, past 
 those who were escaping or praying for even 
 death’s deliverance, nearer to the flame in which 
 he feared her voice was hushed forever, till he 
 reached the place where she had been before the 
 accident. 
 
 Groping there thus, in the chaos that was now 
 lighted by the burning car, he found her, and 
 pressed his face close down to hers, and in the 
 wreck that ended life for some, these lives were 
 reconciled. 
 
 She showed him where the timber, which had 
 pierced the car, was pressed against her, crushing 
 her shoulders and denying release, and he forced 
 his body closer, wedging in between it and the 
 wall, and crowding it away till she could escape. 
 Then the sickening consciousness came that he 
 
THE WRECK. 
 
 215 
 
 himself was not able to escape. With her release 
 the timber pressed heavier upon him, and he could 
 only wait until the fire, that ate so rapidly, should 
 weaken his prison, and give him freedom. But 
 long before that came he had sunk helpless and 
 senseless upon the disordered chairs, and it was 
 Esther’s strong arms that found him and lifted him 
 to safety. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 QUITE THROUGH THE VALLEY. 
 
 One of the deputies mounted a horse and rode 
 to the Pretty Lake farm bearing the news of the 
 wreck, and carrying also this message: 
 
 We were in the train that went down with the bridge. Ellet 
 saved my life and is with me now. He is badly hurt. 
 
 Esther. 
 
 By 10 o’clock Wesley was in town. Papers 
 were brimming with accounts of the catastrophe. 
 His son’s name was among the fatally injured, and 
 his daughter was mentioned as one whose miracu- 
 lous escape was notable, even in an event so thick 
 with marvels. He went to the telegraph office 
 and sent this message to the sheriff: 
 
 You have atoned that blow, Ellet. Come home. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Then he paced the narrow platform, or tried to 
 wait in Major Poole’s office till the train could 
 bring these two who seemed coming back to him 
 from the uttermost parts of the earth. What did 
 it all matter, any way.? They were his, and he 
 was theirs. Life was so short. He could not 
 afford to cherish even'the memories of the months 
 
 216 
 
QUITE THROUGH THE VALLEY. 217 
 
 that had passed. The harvest of his manhood 
 was wasted in woe, but he seemed anxious to for- 
 get all but the years when Fate was kinder to 
 him. He looked at his watch, and said to the 
 lawyer that it wanted but half an hour of train 
 time. . Then he went out again, and started to the 
 depot; but when nearly there he stumbled, stag- 
 gered weakly for a moment, then, clutching his 
 breast with both hands, fell senseless upon the 
 pavement. 
 
 It was noticed he lay directly in front of Sau- 
 tern’s place of business. 
 
 Friends gathered in a moment and lifted him, 
 trying to call back the tides of life that had already 
 ebbed far beyond the power of man to summon 
 them again. He made no sign, said no word, and 
 passed in an instant from the hymn of chastened 
 forgiveness to the everlasting chorus of the saints. 
 
 The other day I passed through Fairview. I 
 was looking through the window at the pleasant 
 streets and white houses of the town when Uncle 
 Dave Edwards came in and took a seat near me. 
 He remembered me after a time, and as the train 
 rolled away, he told me about those I had known 
 in the town. 
 
 “Yes, Poole got too big for Fairview, and went 
 up to Richmond two or three years ago. I aint 
 
218 
 
 AN INDIANA MAN. 
 
 heard from him, but I guess he is gittin’ along. 
 He’s a mighty smart man sence he let whisky 
 alone. Folks did say him and Alice was going to 
 git married, but I don’t know. He’s a heap older 
 than what she is. No, Ellet wouldn’t have a sec- 
 ond term of sheriff. They wanted him to, but he 
 wouldn’t. I used to be on his bond, and I got 
 afraid of him onct, but he straightened everything 
 up like a man. Esther? Oh, she lives on the 
 farm and keeps house for Ellet. They aint got as 
 much land as they used to have, but they are 
 gittin’ along. That four year in town was a hard 
 thing for them, one way and another. John 
 Haberly’s out for Secretary of State this year, and 
 I wouldn’t wonder if he got the nomination. He’s 
 follered up saloons and politics too, and made ’em 
 pay. That’s a purty hard thing to do. Either 
 you’ve got to break yourself, or break a lot of 
 other people. Oh, yes, they’re all gittin’ along; 
 but it aint the same as what it was. You can’t 
 never make anything in this world like it was. 
 Old Mrs. Grant? Wesley’s wife? Why, she’s 
 dead. She died right after Wesley did. That 
 seemed to be the hardest part of Ellet ’s trouble; 
 though why, I never knowed. Well, I must get 
 out here. I want to look at some timber. Good- 
 bye.” 
 
 THE END.