Caleb Conover, Railroader

by Albert Payson Terhune

From the seats of the usurpers there went up a merry howl of derision as Standish’s two little blocks of delegates from Matawan and Wills marched in and took their places well down in front, where they formed a pitifully small oasis among the Conover delegates from Bowden, Carney, Haldane, Jericho, Sparta and Pompton counties.

There was no cheering by the Standish delegates on the floor of the convention. Nine out of ten knew that it was practically a hopeless fight into which they were about to plunge, and they knew, too, that not one of them would have been given his rightful place as a delegate, had it not been that even Conover feared to outrage sentiment in those ever-turbulent rural counties, as he had done in the larger and more “loyal” sections of the State.

Karl Ansel, with an inscrutable grin on his long, leathery face, might have sat for a picture of a typical poker player, as he slipped into his place at the head of the Wills County delegation. If the shadow of defeat was in his heart, it did not rest upon his lignum vitæ features. What mattered it that his every opponent was smugly aware that the League’s cards were deuces? It was Karl’s business to wear the look of a man secure behind a pat flush. And he wore it. But at heart he was sore distressed for the hopes of the brave lad he had learned to like so well. And, as he watched the swelling ranks of Conover delegates, his sorrow hardened into white-hot wrath.

Standish was nowhere in sight. Following the ordinary laws of campaign etiquette, he did not show himself before the delegates in advance of the nomination; but, like Conover, sat in temporary headquarters behind the stage. About him were a little knot of Civic Leaguers, some of them men who had run the risk of personal violence in the campaign in their fight to obtain a square deal for the young reformer against the Juggernaut onrush of the Machine. One and all they were Job’s comforters, for they knew it would take a miracle now to snatch the nomination from the Railroader’s grip.

Promptly at twelve o’clock Shevlin, in his newly acquired capacity of State Chairman, called the convention to order. He had judiciously distributed bunches of his best trained shouters where they would do the most good. This claque, glad to earn their money, kept an eye on their sub-captains and cheered at the slightest provocation. They cheered Shevlin as he brought the gavel down sharply on the oak table in front of him, and went through the customary rigmarole of announcing the purposes of the convention. They cheered when he named the secretaries and assistant secretaries who would act until the permanent organization had been effected. And between times they cheered just for the joy of cheering.

Through the din the little square of Standish delegates from Wills and Matawan sat grim and silent, while the contesting delegates in the gallery above muttered to one another under their breath their yearnings for the opportunity to take personal payment on the bodies of those who had ousted them from their lawful places.

Both sides knew that the first and last test of strength would come upon the selection of the Committee on Credentials, since it was to this committee that the contests of the six larger counties for the right to sit in the convention would go for settlement. By an oversight common to more than one State, there was no clause in the party laws setting forth the procedure to be followed in the selection of the committee of a State convention. At preceding conventions the chairman had invariably (and justly) ruled that only delegates whose seats were not contested should be entitled to a hand in the selection of the Committee on Credentials, for custom holds that to permit delegates whose seats are contested to have a hand in the selection of the committee, would be like allowing men on trial to sit as jurors.

On the observance of this unwritten rule hinged Clive Standish’s last and greatest hope. If this precedent were to be followed now, it would, of course, as he had pointed out to the doubting Ansel, result in the selection of a committee by the Standish delegates from Wills and Matawan counties, since in those counties alone there were no contests. This must mean a fair struggle. On it Clive staked his all. Staked it, forgetting the endless resource and foresight of his foe. For Caleb Conover had no quixotic notion of giving his rival any advantage whatever. On the preceding night he had written out his decree. This command Shevlin now hastily read over before acting on it:

“Announce that the chairman rules there shall be three members of the Committee on Credentials from each county, regardless of that county’s voting strength, and that the delegates holding the credentials from each county shall be allowed to choose those committeemen.”

To the layman such an order may mean little. To the convention it meant everything. Six counties were, officially, for Conover. Two for Standish. Thus eighteen of Caleb’s adherents could, and would, vote to ratify the seating of the Railroader’s delegates. The opponents of this weird measure could muster a numerical force of but six.