“I know, I know. But you are a fighter, and with your energy you might turn the current. Besides, something big may happen before election.”
That same thought had been pulsing excitedly in Bruce’s brain these last few minutes. If Katherine could only get her evidence!
Bruce moved to the window and looked out so that that keen one eye of Blind Charlie might not perceive the exultation he could no longer keep out of his face. Bruce did not see the tarnished dome of the Court House—nor the grove of broad elms, shrivelled and dusty—nor the enclosing quadrangle of somnolent, drooping farm horses. He was seeing this town shaken as by an explosion. He was seeing cataclysmic battle, with Blind Charlie become a nonentity, Blake completely annihilated, and himself victorious at the front. And, dream of his dreams! he was seeing himself free to reshape Westville upon his own ideals.
“Well, what do you say?” asked Blind Charlie.
Controlling himself, Bruce turned about.
“I accept, upon the conditions you have named. But at the first sign of an attempt to limit those conditions, I throw the whole business overboard.”
“There will be no such attempt, so we can consider the matter settled.” Blind Charlie held out his hand, which Bruce, with some hesitation, accepted. “I congratulate you, I congratulate myself, I congratulate the party. With you as leader, I think we’ve all got a fighting chance to win.”
They discussed details of Bruce’s candidacy, they discussed the convention; and a little later Blind Charlie departed. Bruce, fists deep in trousers pockets, paced up and down his little office, or sat far down in his chair gazing at nothing, in excited, searching thought. Billy Harper and other members of the staff, who came in to him with questions, were answered absently with monosyllables. At length, when the Court House clock droned the hour of five through the hot, burnt-out air, Bruce washed his hands and brawny fore-arms at the old iron sink in the rear of the reporter’s room, put on his coat, and strode up Main Street. But instead of following his habit and turning off into Station Avenue, where was situated the house in which he and Old Hosie ate and slept and had their quarrels, he continued his way and turned into an avenue beyond—on his face the flush of defiant firmness of the bold man who finds himself doing the exact thing he had sworn that he would never do.
He swung open the gate of the West yard, and with firm step went up to the house and rang the bell. When the screen swung open Katherine herself was in the doorway—looking rather excited, trimly dressed, on her head a little hat wound with a veil.
“May I come in?” he asked shortly.