“True, but irrelevant. I am a citizen now of this state under the Reconstruction Acts, and I’m going to represent the old commonwealth in the next Senate while you sink once more into the obscurity your feeble intelligence has prepared for you. Is this all you have to say?”
“No, sir, it’s not!” whispered the Judge hoarsely with triumphant malice. “I have a letter in my pocket from the warden of the prison in England where you served your time, enclosing your photograph.”
With a sudden cry of anguish Larkin leaped the distance separating them, gripped Butler by the throat, hurled him back in his seat, and held him strangling, spluttering, squirming in mortal terror. In a moment he released him, sank to a chair and buried his face in his hands.
“So! I am your master after all,” the Judge sneered, recovering from his terror.
Larkin lifted his lion-like head a moment and looked at his opponent.
“Yes, I give up. I’ll withdraw from the race if you’ll keep my secret.”
“I’ll make no conditions with you sir; I mean to brand you a felon throughout the length and breadth of this land!”
“Not if you’ve an ounce of manhood in you,” said the Carpetbagger with quiet dignity. “You can’t do it when I tell you the truth. Fifteen years ago I was an honoured minister of the gospel in Australia. An enemy of mine in England published against me an infamous slander. I returned to ask reparation. He not only refused to give it but insulted me by a dastardly blow in a public assembly. In a moment of insane rage I returned his blow with one which resulted in his death. Four months later I found myself, a man of culture, refinement and the highest order of social talents, a convict in prison garb serving a sentence for manslaughter. I emerged more dead than alive—it was late in life, but I lifted up my head, sought a new world and began all over again. Once more I’ve shown my power as a leader of men. It was born in me—a God-given birthright. My hair is white now with the frost of the grave; I’m alone and friendless. Put yourself in my place. It’s my last chance. You are twenty years younger. I ask your pity, your sympathy, your friendship. Come, Judge, you too are a soldier of fortune in conquered territory and have your own secrets. Fight me fair.”
“I’ll fight you with every weapon in my power, fair or foul. You’re in my way; get out of it,” sneered the Judge.
“You contemptible cur!” cried Larkin. “I could strangle you!”