The Ramrodders: A Novel

by Holman Day

"Oh, he's a politician, and one must allow a politician to weigh out his stock of goods on his own scales, and hope that he will give good measure. I'll be grateful in this instance, Mr. Thornton. They've picked out an able young speaker!"

In spite of his resentful opinion of Linton, an opinion into which he would not admit to himself that jealousy entered, Harlan, as he listened, had to acknowledge the ability of the young lawyer.

First he caught the attention of his auditors, then he skilfully suggested that he was preparing a surprise. With appealing frankness that won the interest and sympathy of the Spinney adherents, he agreed with them that the times demanded changes and reforms. He urged that these should be undertaken within the party, and then, earnestly but delicately, he hinted that the reformers had not picked the right leader. As delicately he suggested, next, that an extreme partisan, bound far in advance of nomination by factional pledges and trades that he must carry out, was not the right man to extricate the party, either. Lastly, he came to the crux of his speech, plunging into the theme with passionate eloquence that brought moisture to the eyes of Harlan. That young man was not thinking of the orator, then. His thoughts were on the old man at whose side he sat—the old man who listened in dignified patience.

Now the delegates sniffed the truth. A word had put them on the trail. They were not sure. But they suspected. And mere suspicion sent them upon their settees, cheering wildly. Distrust of Spinney, sullen disloyalty to the machine-created Everett, furnished a soil in which hope for another solution of the tangle sprang with miraculous growth.

Linton waited until the roar of voices died away. They again listened breathlessly, wondering whether their own hopes had beguiled them.

"From the storied past, gentlemen of the convention, we draw precept and example, lesson and moral, hope and inspiration. As nature has stored in the bowels of the earth the oil that serves the lighthouse beacons of to-day, so life has stored in various reservoirs human experience that can light the path through troublous times in these latter days. Written on the scroll of history, limned on the page of law, we find the words of the fathers, sane and helpful thought and good counsel. In days of doubt and worry and despair we may meet the fathers on the written page. But, oh, how grand a blessing for the human race could we sit at their feet beholding them in the flesh and receive their teachings! If only they, the fathers, might take us by the hand and lead us through the devious tangles of public policy! To-day we meet here in perplexed division as to the standard-bearer for our next campaign. If up from that past of sage counsel and unfaltering faith there might come one who could stand forth and expound the lessons that we need, we might take heart and travel boldly on. But, gentlemen, I bring you a message of greater hope—more profound a blessing. Up from that past comes the standard-bearer himself! His wise kindliness meets every test of honest gentleman; scholarship crowns his brow, Law holds her torch aloft that his feet may tread the safe way; war from him has taken tribute, but to him has given a hero's deathless laurels. Once in her history this State welcomed him to her councils as her gracious overlord, and now—"

There was no doubt in their minds now. A window-shaking demonstration bore down his voice.

Linton seized upon the beginning of silence.

"Now once again his State, groping for a hand to lead her forth to stability and progress, sees his hand and seeks to grasp it, supplicating him: 'O father, guide me! O wise man, teach me! O hero, save me!' And I name to you, gentlemen, for the candidate of the Republican party—"

He leaped upon a settee and voiced the name of General Varden Waymouth with all the strength of his trumpet voice. But no one heard what he said. They all knew what he was to say. They did not need the spoken name.