Suddenly there loomed into sight on the political horizon, and came bearing down on Lyons under full sail, Elton's bill for the consolidation of the gas companies. The Benham Sentinel had not been one of the promoters of Lyons's senatorial canvass, but it had not espoused the cause of any of his competitors, and latterly had referred in acquiescent terms to his election as a foregone conclusion. He had not happened to run across Elton during these intervening weeks, and preferred not to encounter him. He cherished an ostrich-like hope that Elton was in no haste regarding the bill, and that consequently it might not pass the legislature until after his election as Senator. If he were to come in contact with Elton, the meeting might jog the busy magnate's memory. It was a barren hope. Immediately after the Sentinel announced that Governor Lyons was practically sure to be the next United States Senator, the gas bill was reported favorably by the committee which had it in charge, and was advanced rapidly in the House. Debate on its provisions developed that it was not to have entirely plain sailing, though the majority recorded in its favor on the first and second readings was large. It was not at first regarded as a party measure. Its supporters included most of the Republicans and more than half of the Democrats. Yet the opposition to it proceeded from the wing of the Democracy with which Stringer was affiliated. Elton's interest in the bill was well understood, and the work of pledging members in advance, irrespective of party, had been so thoroughly done, that but for the exigencies of the senatorial contest it would probably have slipped through without notice as a harmless measure. As it was, the opposition to it in the lower branch was brief and seemed unimportant. The bill passed the House of Representatives by a nearly two-thirds vote and went promptly to the Senate calendar. Then suddenly it became obvious to Lyons not merely that Elton was bent on securing its passage while the present Governor was in office, but that his rival, Stringer, had conceived the cruel scheme of putting him in the position, by a hue and cry against monopoly and corporate interests, where his election to the senatorship would be imperilled if he did not veto the measure. By a caustic speech in the Senate Stringer drew public attention to the skilfully concealed iniquities of the proposed franchise, and public attention thus aroused began to bristle. Newspapers here and there throughout the state put forth edicts that this Legislature had been chosen to protect popular principles, and that here was an opportunity for the Democratic party to fulfil its pledges and serve the people. Stringer and his associates were uttering in the Senate burning words against the audacious menace of what they termed the franchise octopus. Did the people realize that this bill to combine gas companies, which looked so innocent on its face, was a gigantic scheme to wheedle them out of a valuable franchise for nothing? Did they understand that they were deliberately putting their necks in the grip of a monster whose tentacles would squeeze and suck their life-blood for its own enrichment? Stringer hammered away with fierce and reiterated invective. He had no hope of defeating the bill, but he confidently believed that he was putting his adversary, the Governor, in a hole. It had been noised about the lobbies by the friends of the measure earlier in the session that the Governor was all right and could be counted on. Stringer reasoned that Lyons was committed to the bill; that, if he signed it, his opponents might prevent his election as Senator on the plea that he had catered to corporate interests; that if he vetoed it, he would lose the support of powerful friends who might seek to revenge themselves by uniting on his opponent. Stringer recognized that he was playing a desperate game, but it was his only chance. One thing was evident already: As a result of the exposure in the Senate, considerable public hostility to the bill was manifesting itself. Petitions for its defeat were in circulation, and several Senators who had been supposed to be friendly to its passage veered round in deference to the views of their constituents. Its defeat had almost become a party measure. A majority of the Democrats in the Senate were claimed to be against it. Nevertheless there was no delay on the part of those in charge in pushing it to final action. They had counted noses, and their margin of support had been so liberal they could afford to lose a few deserters. After a fierce debate the bill was passed to be engrossed by a majority of eleven. The Democrats in the Senate were just evenly divided on the ballot.
What would the Governor do? This was the question on everyone's lips. Would he sign or veto the bill? Public opinion as represented by the newspapers was prompt to point out his duty. The verdict of a leading party organ was that, in view of all the circumstances, Governor Lyons could scarcely do otherwise than refuse to give his official sanction to a measure which threatened to increase the burdens of the plain people. The words "in view of all the circumstances" appeared to be an euphemism for "in view of his ambition to become United States Senator." Several journals declared unequivocally that it would become the duty of the party to withdraw its support from Governor Lyons in case he allowed this undemocratic measure to become law. On the other hand, certain party organs questioned the justice of the outcry against the bill, arguing that the merits of the case had been carefully examined in the Legislature and that there was no occasion for the Governor to disturb the result of its action. On the day after the bill was sent to the chief magistrate, an editorial appeared in the Benham Sentinel presenting an exhaustive analysis of its provisions, and pointing out that, though the petitioners might under certain contingencies reap a reasonable profit, the public could not fail in that event to secure a lower price for gas and more effective service. This article was quoted extensively throughout the State, and was ridiculed or extolled according to the sympathies of the critics. Lyons received a marked copy of the Sentinel on the morning when it appeared. He recognized the argument as that which he had accepted at the time he promised to sign the bill if he were elected Governor. In the course of the same day a letter sent by messenger was handed to him in the executive chamber. It contained simply two lines in pencil in Elton's handwriting—"It continues to be of vital importance to my affairs that the pending bill should receive your signature." That was obviously a polite reminder of their agreement; an intimation that the circumstances had not altered, and that it was incumbent on him to perform his part of their compact. Obviously, too, Horace Elton took for granted that a reminder was enough, and that he would keep his word. He had promised to sign the bill. He had given his word of honor to do so, and Elton was relying on his good faith.
The situation had become suddenly oppressive and disheartening. Just when his prospects seemed assured this unfortunate obstacle had appeared in his path, and threatened to confound his political career. He must sign the bill. And if he signed it, in all probability he would lose the senatorship. His enemies would claim that the party could not afford to stultify itself by the choice of a candidate who favored monopolies. He had given his promise, the word of a man of honor, and a business man. What escape was there from the predicament? If he vetoed the bill, would he not be a liar and a poltroon? If he signed it, the senatorship would slip through his fingers. The thought occurred to him to send for Elton and throw himself on his mercy, but he shrank from such an interview. Elton was a business man, and a promise was a promise. He had enjoyed the consideration for his promise; his notes were secure and the hypothecated bonds had been redeemed. He was on his feet and Governor, thanks to Elton's interposition, and now he was called on to do his part—to pay the fiddler. He must sign the bill.
Lyons had five days in which to consider the matter. At the end of that time if he neither signed nor vetoed the bill, it would become law without his signature. He was at bay, and the time for deliberation was short. An incubus of disappointment weighed upon his soul and clouded his brow. His round, smooth face looked grieved. It seemed cruel to him that such an untoward piece of fortune should confront him just at the moment when this great reward for his political services was within his grasp and his opportunities for eminent public usefulness assured. He brooded over his quandary in silence for twenty-four hours. On the second day he concluded to speak of the matter to Selma. He knew that she kept a general run of public affairs. Not infrequently she had asked him questions concerning measures before the Legislature, and he was pleasantly aware that she was ambitious to be regarded as a politician. But up to this time there had been no room for question as to what his action as Governor should be in respect to any measure. It had happened, despite his attitude of mental comradeship with his wife, that he had hitherto concealed from her his most secret transactions. He had left her in the dark in regard to his true dealings with Williams & Van Horne; he had told her nothing as to his straitened circumstances, the compact by which he had been made Governor, and his relief at the hands of Elton from threatened financial ruin. Reluctance, born of the theory in his soul that these were accidents in his life, not typical happenings, had sealed his lips. He was going to confide in her now not because he expected that Selma's view of this emergency would differ from his own, but in order that she might learn before he acted that he was under an imperative obligation to sign the bill. While he was sitting at home in the evening with the topic trembling on his tongue, Selma made his confession easy by saying, "I have taken for granted that you will veto the gas bill."
Selma had indeed so assumed. In the early stages of the bill she had been ignorant of its existence. During the last fortnight, since the controversy had reached an acute phase and public sentiment had been aroused against its passage, she had been hoping that it would pass so that Lyons might have the glory of returning it to the Legislature without his signature. She had reasoned that he would be certain to veto the measure, for the bill was clearly in the interest of monopoly, and though her nerves were all on edge with excitement over the impending election of a Senator, she had not interfered because she took for granted that it was unnecessary. Even when Lyons, after reading the article in the Sentinel, had dropped the remark that the measure was really harmless and the outcry against it unwarranted, she had supposed that he was merely seeking to be magnanimous. She had forgotten this speech until it was recalled by Lyons's obvious state of worry during the last few days. She had noticed this at first without special concern, believing it due to the malicious insinuations of Stringer. Now that the bill was before him for signature there could be no question as to his action. Nevertheless her heart had suddenly been assailed by a horrible doubt, and straightway her sense of duty as a wife and of duty to herself had sought assurance in a crucial inquiry.
"I was going to speak to you about that this evening. I wish to tell you the reasons which oblige me to sign the bill," he answered. Lyons's manner was subdued and limp. Even his phraseology had been stripped of its stateliness.
"Sign the bill?" gasped Selma. "If you sign it, you will lose the senatorship." She spoke like a prophetess, and her steely eyes snapped.
"That is liable to be the consequence I know. I will explain to you, Selma. You will see that I am bound in honor and cannot help myself."
"In honor? You are bound in honor to your party—bound in honor to me to veto it."
"Wait a minute, Selma. You must hear my reasons. Before I was nominated for Governor I gave Horace Elton my word, man to man, that I would sign this gas bill. It is his bill. I promised, if I were elected Governor, not to veto it. At the time, I—I was financially embarrassed. I did not tell you because I was unwilling to distress you, but—er—my affairs in New York were in disorder, and I had notes here coming due. Nothing was said about money matters between Elton and me until he had agreed to support me as Governor. Then he offered to help me, and I accepted his aid. Don't you see that I cannot help myself? That I must sign the bill?"