“Why, no,” replied Phoebe, accepting the rocker and throwing open her wet jacket; “there's no news in particular. But I wanted to ask if you had seen the Breeze?”
“Um—hum,” was the listless answer. “I presume likely you mean the news about the appropriation, and the editorial dig at yours truly? Yes, I've seen it. They don't bother me much. I've got more important things on my mind just now.”
Congressman Atkins's pledge in his farewell speech, concerning the mighty effort he was to make toward securing the appropriation for Bayport harbor, was in process of fulfillment—so he had written to the local paper. But, alas! the mighty effort was likely to prove unavailing. In spite of the Honorable Heman's battle for his constituents' rights it seemed certain that the bill would not provide the thirty thousand dollars for Bayport; at least, not this year's bill. Other and more powerful interests would win out and, instead, another section of the coast be improved at the public expense. The congressman was deeply sorry, almost broken-hearted. He had battled hard for his beloved town, he had worked night and day. But, to be perfectly frank, there was little or no hope.
Few of us blamed Heman Atkins. The majority considered his letter “noble” and “so feeling.” But some one must be blamed for a community disappointment like this, and the scapegoat was on the premises. How about that “committee of one” self-appointed at town meeting? How about the blatant person who had declared HE could have gotten the appropriation? What had the “committee” done? Nothing! nothing at all! He had not even written to the Capital—so far as anyone could find out—much less gone there.
So, at Simmons's and the sewing circle, and after meeting on Sunday, Cy Whittaker was again discussed and derided. And this week's Breeze, out that morning, contained a sarcastic editorial which mentioned no names, but hinted at “a certain now notorious person” who had boasted loudly, but who had again “been weighed in the balance of public opinion and found wanting.”
Miss Dawes did not seem pleased with the captain's nonchalant attitude toward the Breeze and its editorial. She tapped the braided mat with her foot.
“Captain Cyrus,” she said, “if you intended doing nothing toward securing that appropriation why did you accept the responsibility for it at the meeting?”
Captain Cy looked up. Her tone reminded him of their first meeting, when she had reproved him for going to sleep and leaving Bos'n to the mercy of the Cahoon cow.
“Well,” he said, “afore this Thomas business happened, to knock all my plans on their beam ends, I'd done consider'ble thinkin' about that appropriation. It seemed to me that there must be some reason for Heman's comin' about so sudden. He was sartin sure of the thirty thousand for a spell; then, all to once, he begun to take in sail and go on t'other tack. I don't know much about politics, but I know HE knows all the politics there is. And it seemed to me that if a live man, one with eyes in his head, went to Washington and looked around he might find the reason. And, if he did find it, maybe Heman could be coaxed into changin' his mind again. Anyhow, I was willin' to take the risk of tryin'; and, besides, Tad and Abe Leonard had me on the griddle at that meetin', and I spoke up sharp—too sharp, maybe.”
“But you still believe that you MIGHT help if you went to Washington?”