The Mayor of Warwick

by Herbert M. Hopkins

Meanwhile the speech continued, but now the listeners began to appreciate a curious change in the temper of the speaker and of his tormentors. At first he had stood before them like one hypnotised, unable to save himself by shortening the oration he had prepared. By little and little, however, the innate power of the man asserted itself, malign and hateful as ever, but no less surely effective. His eyes began to glisten, his voice gained in volume and steadiness. He gradually made himself heard more continuously, until the hissing and catcalls became less frequent, and finally ceased. After a struggle of fifteen minutes, he finished strong. Like some ill-favoured terrier, he had persisted in spite of odds, and had worried his great antagonist into wondering submission.

When his figure disappeared from view, to be replaced by that of the President, his supporters exchanged sidelong glances and meaning smiles. They had chosen their champion well, a nasty fighter, to crack the whip over the class from which he had risen.

It was now that the President increased to passionate devotion the popularity his attitude thus far had won him. As he heard Emmet's name combined with his own in the cheering, his face lightened up with his extraordinary and spontaneous smile. He turned, and pulled Emmet to his feet beside him; then he sat down and looked on with keen enjoyment while the mayor bowed his thanks. It was some time before the demonstration ceased and the people, satisfied and vindicated, settled down to listen.

But the President evidently had a score of his own to settle, and a snub to administer. He turned to the senior Senator who sat at the far left of the stage and thanked him for his welcome to the State; then he turned to Mayor Emmet and thanked him for his welcome to the city. There was not one word of reply to the ill-starred Cobbens, not one syllable in appreciation of the efforts of the committee. He had taken his manuscript from his pocket and laid it on the table before the full meaning of this omission dawned upon the audience, and then they broke loose with an animus which made their previous demonstrations seem comparatively mild. The President gathered his manuscript together, raised his hand for silence, and began to read.

His speech was simple in content and devoid of imaginative passages; his delivery was conspicuously defective; his voice, uneven in quality, now low, now breaking into a shrill note, seemed to come forth only at the bidding of a tremendous will. Every word appeared to necessitate an effort and to be ground out between clenched teeth. Yet his listeners hung on every word with breathless attention. His smile broke forth, and they found it irresistible; he grew serious, and they reflected his mood; he made a patriotic appeal, and the response was instant. Without any of the arts of the orator, he swayed them as he would. It was the triumph of personality over art. The ugly memories of the recent scene faded away; local struggles were forgotten; Emmet and Cobbens receded equally into the background, and only the country's glory and interests filled the minds of the listeners.

During all this time the bishop's daughter sat as one rapt in a reverie that had little connection with the emotions that swayed the crowded house before her. Emmet made no further attempt to look at her, and to do so would have necessitated a conspicuous movement and turning; but the young mathematician gazed in her direction from time to time, wondering at the nature of her thoughts, and hoping that their eyes might meet. As often before, he noted that her expression in repose suggested a profound sadness, as if her beauty had brought its heritage of unrest. There is a type of beauty that suggests a setting of fashion and clothes and jewelry; but Felicity's loveliness was of the twilight kind, far removed from realism, setting the imagination free with fancies of the mountains and the woods. To the man who loved her and had seen her in just such a setting, the appeal was all the more powerful. Even now the shadows of the trees seemed to lurk in her eyes, in her hair, and in the exquisite curve of her lips. It was difficult for him to realise that she was a fashionable woman, loving the opportunities of her social life, for he saw her otherwise. Hers was a face toward which men gravitated, not drawn by her beauty alone, nor by the brilliancy of her mind, but by a sense of mystery beyond the outward seeming.

The atmosphere which the President's speech had created outlasted the effort itself, and remained warmly in the minds of the hearers. All too soon they were reaching for their hats and coats and beginning to realise that the great occasion was over. Soon the stage was bare, and the receding tide in the pit had left large patches of empty seats.

The experience had wrought a wonderful transformation in Leigh. Emmet's initial triumph and his claims were now forgotten. Had the mayor been allowed to speak, he would doubtless have scored a hit, but Cobbens had succeeded in reducing him to a mere pawn. The people had thrust him forward on the board; Cobbens had neatly lifted him off and usurped his square. The mayor's position had been far from heroic, battered between contending forces and finally rescued by the President's strong arm. Doubtless Cobbens had killed himself politically, but he had won a certain kind of victory. Emmet was already beaten when he failed to grasp the opportunity the President's visit presented and allowed the committee to thrust him aside. No amount of subsequent championing could restore him to a position of dignity. His enemies had decided that he must not be allowed to introduce the President, for they knew he would do it well. They had brought the fury of the people down upon their heads, but they had exhibited their chosen representative before them in a mute and inglorious rôle. They had even succeeded in making him an object of pity. The damage he had received in the imagination of his supporters was incalculable, and while they burned with indignation, they instinctively paid a treacherous tribute to Cobbens's amazing cleverness and audacity.

Though no such tribute was paid the lawyer by Leigh, it was still true that the turn of affairs forced Emmet from his consideration until, instead of a star of the first magnitude, he became a mere point of light, and finally disappeared. During the President's speech, he felt that he had been holding secret communion with Felicity, and the accumulated excitement of the evening worked in his thoughts an unexpected license and daring. It was possible to allow Emmet's claims when he was receiving the homage of the people alone, and she had not yet appeared; but her presence had revived the old passionate torment in his heart. Love returned triumphant, making light of all other claims and considerations.

Upon some natures oratory, the successful swaying of the crowd, has the same effect, irrespective of the tone and content of the speech, that is produced by the harmony of a great orchestra, an effect of exaltation and lawlessness. In the young mathematician this responsiveness was a marked trait, at variance with another more coldly intellectual quality. He began to feel that he ranged at will, freed from artificial and unreal restraints. He, too, would do some great thing. On that full wave of excitement he was carried beyond the dikes which in cooler moments he had erected against himself.