The New Mayor's Policy
The story of the kidnaping spread through the city like wildfire, and surmounted in interest even the result of the election. As usual in such cases, the facts were exaggerated and speculation ran rife as to the principals in the plot. Some people (the more sensible) thought the Burke forces had planned and executed the whole coup, but others believed that it originated with Sam Watt's party and that Armstrong, getting wind of the carrying away of Gertrude Van Deusen, speedily turned the tables on Allingham by hiring another cab and seizing upon him as he was leaving his house alone, to walk down town to the public debate. It leaked out, too, that there were two men with the cab which carried John Allingham, lest,—the people said,—he should try to break the plate glass front and jump from his moving prison. But that the plot was a well-matured one was proven by the fact that outside locks had been placed on the doors to both cabs, so that they could not be forced open from the inside.
No definite clue, however, could be obtained to the perpetrators of the kidnaping scheme, although both sufferers from it had put private detectives at work upon the affair. But, like many startling public events, the midnight ride of the two candidates was a "nine days' wonder" and then the public interest centered around the newly elected mayor.
Gertrude had need not only of public sympathy, but of all the courage and clear-sightedness which she had inherited. This she realized more fully than ever, when the excitement of campaigning was over. If she had chosen to spend her time and strength and money on automobiles or fine clothes, people would have passed upon her choice as the natural thing, and envied her way of living; but now that she had elected to work hard and to give herself freely to fighting for principle and establishing good government in her city, her friends of different tastes whispered among themselves, "How strange!" "How unwomanly!" "How unnatural for a woman!"
"The only motives many people can understand," said Gertrude one day to her cousin, "are the ones by which they themselves are actuated. And not always then. My rich friends may not be able to understand, but the plain people will; the ones who are capable of conviction and of sacrifices for conviction will."
"All the same, Gertie," retorted her cousin, "this world is not made up of Savonarolas nor other burn-at-the-stake folks. You are in a bad scrape and I wish you had had sense enough to say no when those women dragged you forth," which only went to prove the axiom that one's relatives are privileged of speech.
But the new mayor paid no attention to her cousin and went on calmly planning for the future of Roma, visiting its various institutions and getting as thorough an insight into its public administration as possible before taking her place in the mayor's chair. She visited the schools, the hospitals, the police stations, the jail. She was overwhelmed with the magnitude of what she had undertaken, but already dreamed of a new and beautiful development of the city. She consulted with the leading business men,—judges, lawyers, and the clergy. She began to evolve ideas of her own and thanked Heaven every night that she had been endowed with courage and will-power sufficient to keep her from turning back from her municipal plough in a panic,—courage enough to keep her head high and her aim straight in the path that lay in front of her. She began to draw near the people, to feel a personal interest in them, to realize the great brotherhood of humanity, and to wonder how best she might hope to apply the highest social ideals to the everyday life of her city. Did any man ever take possession of the mayoral chair with purer hopes or more worthy ambitions?
In the meantime every mail brought her letters more or less congratulatory in tone. Some predicted a glorious career ahead for her; some half concealed their disbelief in her ability to fulfill the duties she was to assume; some openly warned her of the perils of weakness and demagogue government, or advised her against the institution of radical reforms.
Socially, she was more in demand than before. Dinners and receptions demanded her presence as chief guest, while her newly acquired gift of speech-making was called into requisition on all sorts of occasions. But the finest social affair of all was the dinner given in her honor by the "Progressive Workers," on the night before her inauguration. To this were invited all the notable men and women of Roma, the mayors of the neighboring cities and the governor of the State, who really attended, supported by a galaxy of uniformed officers which lent brilliancy by their glittering stars and bars, if not by their wit and intellect.
Gertrude, arrayed in her finest Paris gown,—a white embroidered crepon with garniture of exquisite lace,—received the guests at six o'clock, in line with the governor and the mayors of six other cities, together with Mrs. Bateman as president of the "P. W.'s", and Judge Bateman of the City Reform Club. John Allingham had been invited, too, to stand in line, as the head of the Municipal League, but until the last moment no answer was received from him.
Gertrude had not seen him since election day. He had been ill after the election was all over, and unable to go out for a fortnight; and although he had been strongly tempted to write a note of congratulation to the new mayor, he was kept back by pride—which in this case, it must be admitted, was another name for obstinacy. For this reason, he did not decide whether or no to attend the new mayor's reception until Bailey Armstrong descended upon him in the League rooms, two days before the date.
"Why don't you answer your bid for the reception to Miss Van Deusen, Jack?" he asked bluntly, as he seated himself in the chair nearest the chairman's private desk. "Can't you lay aside your prejudice long enough for that?"
"Well, what do you think?" replied Jack. "The League refused to endorse her, you know."
"Under you, yes," retorted Bailey with the frankness of an old friend. "But isn't it about time the League came around and did the square thing? You're putting the League in a bad light, Jack; really you are. I thought you had more sense. And, I tell you, Miss Van Deusen is going to give this town a waking up, such as will make you want to enlist under her banner—quick. Come, be decent, now."
"If you think it will be best for the League," began Allingham.
"Yes. It'll be better for the League—and best for you," said Bailey. "Hurry up now and write your acceptance, and then come."
It was late when he arrived, and the rooms were closely crowded with guests, so that he was hurried past the receiving party and left in his place in the line. He had just a formal greeting for Gertrude and at the dinner was seated where he could only note her beauty and brilliancy from afar. But the effect was John Allingham's first eye-opener in the development of the modern woman. Brought up as he had been, by a narrow jealous mother, kept close at his books, living at home, even during his college days, he had never before come under the direct influence of the women who are becoming an educative, progressive power in the world of today; and he began to wonder for the first time in his life, if a woman might not be a strong force in public reforms and still retain her refinement of spirit and her home-loving, home-keeping qualities.
He recalled how lovely Gertrude Van Deusen used to look as a girl of eighteen, when he had seen her at public gatherings with her distinguished father. But here tonight, she was even more beautiful; her expression was sweeter and more confident; the fine lines of her figure suggested power, and also repose. She had the same rich color, the same lovely curves, the same joyous health; but she had, too, a wiser and a far finer face.
"And yet," he told himself, "all my study and travel and observation tells me a woman's natural position in society is in a safely guarded home; and the evil consequences of meddling with this position must show themselves, sooner or later. Humanity is of one general quality everywhere,—and that not so high as she apparently believes. Changes in social ideals are more or less dangerous and indicate decadence, often, rather than advance. Yet the atmosphere tonight is charged with joyous triumph. Let us see what she is going to say."
For amidst deafening applause, the new mayor had begun to speak to the assemblage around her.
"I am not going to announce any definite line of policy," she was saying, "because, as yet, I have none. I shall take up the work as it comes to me and shall not forget that I am after all only the city's chiefest servant. But, there are many thoughts which I would share with you. There are many things I would have you be thinking over, that we may see alike, perhaps, in the future when our work develops,—for it is yours as much as mine, this work of making a better city. Instead of accepting a written code of first principles in municipal ethics (and why not municipal ethics as well as moral and medical ethics?) let us learn to trace and connect, explain and apply, so as to make our accepted truths into a working principle. Every trade, every profession, has a basis of ethical knowledge; all conduct, public or private, has its ethics. Get the people to study the science of conduct, the development of the ideal into everyday life, and our public morality will rise and spread every year. We have separated too much those two closely allied things, religion and ethics. Let's try to bring them together right here in Roma. We can't reform the city in a year,—but we can begin. No religion is alive until—unless it works. We want no 'varnish religion,' as somebody called it; we want no ethics that won't strike in and uplift humanity as high as is humanly possible. God is still busy in Roma. It is our business, as private citizens, as well as public officials, to take right hold and help. Let us all set ourselves to studying the ethics of city government. What have been our especial hindrances, and why? What can be done to improve matters, and how? What are our first and most crying needs, and who are our best men and women to help them? We are set here together to help on the good work. I'd rather see the people of Roma loving each other in dollars and cents' and reaching out to help, realizing the immeasurable happiness of living by giving themselves in service, than anything else in the world. We can all demonstrate the highest social relation, our highest duty to God, by doing things. Will you help?"
There were tears in the eyes of the other women present when she sat down,—and a corresponding feeling in the hearts of many men, for she had stirred to the depths many a heart that only needed the path of duty pointed out, to desire to walk therein.
As for John Allingham, he sat spellbound. A woman,—a young woman to talk like this? to dream of applying the doctrines of ethics to city politics? And in the City Hall of Roma? And yet,—why not?
When the exercises were over and the goodnights were being said, he went over to where she stood, shaking hands again with the departing guests and joyously receiving pledge after pledge of help from those whose assistance she most eagerly desired. He had to wait for some moments before his chance came. But finally he held out his hand and said with more cordiality than he had thought possible:
"I want to congratulate Roma upon its woman-mayor. I want to thank you for what you said tonight; and please count on me, from now on, to help in every possible way."
He was still young enough to thrill at the tone of her voice and the light in her eyes as she thanked him, and said, "I shall remember."