SPOILS! SPOILS!
Christmas came, the day passing quiet and gloomy at the Alden home. The injured man grew worse and was delirious—living over the awful scenes of the fire many times during the day, and starting from his slumbers, crying out:
"Yes, they are saved, they are saved!" then he would moan, "Oh, how the fire burns my flesh! Take that big timber off my back! Must I perish? See, the iron door opens, the people are free—and I have saved them!"
For six days he was delirious, but just one week after the disaster he opened his eyes, looked about him, and in a weak voice said:
"Give me water."
His sister, standing near, raised a glass to his lips while he drank with a relish that he had not displayed since the disaster, his eye flashing with a little of its natural fire; and his sister felt there was really a change for the better. Full of hope, she could scarcely realize that the good symptoms were real.
"Where—where is Belle?" he asked.
"Watching over you constantly. She has gone home for a little rest, but will return in about two hours. Be quiet and go to sleep now; you are better, but must not exhaust yourself."
"Then she will certainly return?"
"Yes, but you must not talk more."
The patient closing his eyes, his sister seated herself at his bedside. Two hours later the young wife returned, and perceiving the happy look upon Fannie's face, said:
"What is it? Tell me quick: is he better?"
"Yes, he opened his eyes, asked for a glass of water, and then inquired for you; when told you would return in two hours, a look of joy crossed his face and he again closed his eyes. He has slept quietly ever since, and his fever has perceptibly gone down."
"Oh, that he may only live!" said Belle, while her eyes filled with tears of joy.
Both ladies entering the sick-room, a glance toward the bed assured them the patient was awake and awaiting their return. Belle, stooping over, kissed him, which greeting he returned with—
"You are so good, I am trying to get well for your sake," he whispered.
When Doctor Briar made his afternoon call he was greatly encouraged.
"He is better," he said, "and if kept quiet there is now strong hope of his recovery. Good nursing will do more for him than anything else."
From that day Alden gained slowly, and all Cleverdale was made happy by the good news that their hero was likely to recover. All? No; there was one exception.
Senator Hamblin, at his office, engaged in writing letters, looked troubled and dejected. He had just returned from the State Capitol, where he had attended the opening session of the Legislature. Before him lay many letters, some with seals unbroken. One in the well-known handwriting of Walter Mannis greatly interested him.
"He is anxious as ever to marry my daughter," he exclaimed. "He believes we will have a peaceful solution of the problem, but in that we have both reckoned wrong. When I left home a few days since, there was not the least possible hope of Alden's ever getting up again. It is a blind game, trying to discount fate. It seemed as if he would relieve us by going off in a regular and legitimate way, but he disappoints us and will remain. Why have I allowed Belle to attend him during his illness? She has not only compromised herself, but by this act I have sanctioned her course."
He lighted a cigar, and soon great clouds of smoke rose and circled over his head, while his pen lay idle beside him.
"Well," he whispered, "if he recovers it will be a bad go. If he could only look into the future, he would have no wish to live—but perhaps he may have a relapse."
Seeming to catch a gleam of hope, he resumed his cigar again, and continued to fill the room with clouds of smoke for at least ten minutes. Then suddenly rising, he said:
"There is no help for it: I must see that our programme is carried out. Sargent is ready to do his work, and I cannot let sentimentality make me lose sight of my own danger. Alden will no doubt recover, and there never will occur so good an opportunity as the present to make the necessary preparations to get rid of him. The hero-worship business is short, and by the time the good people of Cleverdale get through admiring the noble act of Cashier Alden, we will be ready with the trap."
Observing Sargent was alone, he said:
"I wish to speak with you for a few moments."
The teller entering the president's private office, the latter said:
"Have you thought over the matter we discussed the night before the fire?"
"Yes, sir, it has been on my mind a great deal."
"It is evident we must carry out our original intention, for I think Alden will recover."
"It looks that way now."
"Have you any plans to suggest?"
"Yes, I can alter his books—put worthless bonds among the securities, making it appear Alden has abstracted the currency they represent, and carry the transaction along on his books until discovered."
"How will you manage to clear yourself of any complicity?"
"That is easily accomplished. The figures can be altered to correspond with dates in September or August, when Alden was alone in the bank, and make it appear that the worthless bonds were placed among the collaterals at the time, and only discovered by the forced absence of the cashier."
"That is very good, Sargent. Public opinion and sympathy are so strong for Alden it will not do for him to remain here. When confronted with the accusation he must be induced to run away rather than face exposure. When he is accused of defalcation I can express sympathy for him—offer to make good the missing funds—even give him money with which to abscond."
"But, suppose he writes back to his friends—what then?"
"In that case we must plan to intercept his letters."
"That will be easily done, my brother being clerk in the post-office."
"Sargent, you are quick-witted. That will be the very thing; it is a most important point, and has bothered me considerably. We will do nothing until after I return home next week. By that time we shall know more about his chance of recovery."
A customer entering the bank, the conversation ceased.
The following Monday was cold and wintry, and before Senator Hamblin left Cleverdale for Albany he called at the bank and said to Sargent: "He is much better this morning, and we will plant our seed on Saturday."
During the week he was engrossed in his legislative duties. Being a recognized leader in his party, his late victory over both the opposition and stump candidate raised him higher than ever in the estimation of his fellow senators, and in the scramble for spoils of office his power was great. While there were scores of applicants for every office in the gift of the Senate or Legislature, those inducing Senator Hamblin, to espouse their cause were usually successful. The Senator was besieged by many callers, while every mail brought him letters asking help to obtain some position. Every senator and member possessed scores of friends seeking appointments. Mothers, sisters, wives and even children appealed personally to Senator Hamblin for aid, until he was nearly driven to distraction. It was impossible for him to move without encountering some one with a petition, for even when seated in the Senate Chamber, cards and letters were thrust into his hands by the pages, requesting interviews in the cloak-room. Every man who had peddled a vote on election day, asked another to support his candidate, or hurrahed at a political meeting, expected to share in the spoils. Every member unable to obtain positions for all his friends was declared ungrateful, and curses loud and deep were heaped upon his head.
Reader, did you ever visit your State Capitol at the organization of the Legislature, and see the scramble for spoils? A great army of hungry office-seekers, like sharks after a ship, appear even before the opening. Candidates for leading positions, such as speaker and clerks of the House, clerk of the Senate, postmasters, door-keepers and sergeant-at-arms, commence operations before the houses organize. Senators and Assemblymen are besieged and promises obtained from them to support some favorite candidate. Those seeking these places make pledges to support their helpers for subordinate positions, promising to help members voting for them to chairmanships of leading committees. It is a persistent scramble, and honor must take a back seat until the spoils are disposed of. After the leading offices are filled, the fight for subordinate places follows. Railroad trains from the North, South, East and West are laden with applicants accompanied by their backers. Chairmen of county committees, members of the State Committee, Assembly district, and town bosses, are all on hand to offer their assistance in arranging the "slates."
Senator Hamblin was in a dilemma. There were two applicants from Cleverdale for the same position; one backed by Paddy Sullivan, the other by Cyrus Hart Miller. Miller was his first and best man, but Senator Hamblin could not afford to ignore Paddy Sullivan. He expostulated and plead with them, but each was persistent and obstinate. Both were on the ground, and as the war for spoils raged, each felt sure of winning. A rupture with one or other of the favorites seemed imminent, when the affair was amicably arranged, at a cost to the Senator of several hundred dollars, paid to appease his powerful lieutenant, Paddy Sullivan.
The scramble for spoils continued several days, and when the Speaker of the House and the President of the Senate announced their appointments, the usual Swearing Bee began. Disappointed men vowed they would never again support the party, and that night, as the "Swearing Train" left the Capitol city, a long streak of sulphur must have arisen above the car roofs, and all supplied by the profanity of those who, if they had spent as much time in trying to obtain legitimate business employment as they had done in crawling at the heels of appointing powers, would have been richer, better, more useful and independent citizens.