Half a Rogue Part 20

John Street possessed but three or four houses. The paving would be a ten-thousand-dollar job. As a witty political speaker once said, they paved Herculaneum in the concrete and in the abstract.

"It will go through Monday night, smooth as b.u.t.ter."

"Canva.s.sed the boys?"

"More than three-fourths vote. Sure."

"I'm depending upon you."

"Will you turn down Donnelly at the convention?"

"I tell you he's got to run again. I'll bring him to order, after a little heart-to-heart talk. He's the only man in sight."

"Why not play the same game as Henderson?"

"I've thought it all out. There's no one but Donnelly. Pick up anything you can about Warrington."

"All right. By the way, the boys want to know if you think we can pull off those ten-round bouts this winter."

"I'm going down to the capital to see."

Martin telephoned for his team, and twenty minutes later he was driving countryward. McQuade dictated a few letters, one of which he directed to be sent by messenger. Then he left the office and called upon the editor of the Times. This conference lasted an hour. McQuade was chief owner of the Times.

Warrington was greatly surprised when, at three-thirty, a message was brought to him requesting him briefly and politely to do Mr. McQuade the honor to call on him between four and five that afternoon. He had met McQuade at the Chamber of Commerce dinner. The introduction had been most formal. What the deuce did McQuade wish to see him about?

Should he go? A natural aversion to the man said no; but policy urged him as well as curiosity. He went to the telephone and called up McQuade's office. Mr. McQuade was not in, but would return at four.

Ah! It was the typewriter who spoke. Would she kindly notify Mr.

McQuade on his return that Mr. Warrington would be at his office at four-thirty? She would. Thanks.

Warrington smoked uneasily. He had no desire to meet McQuade. Their ways were widely separated and reached nothing in common. But he readily recognized the fact that McQuade was not a man such as one might heedlessly antagonize. What could the politician want of the literary man? McQuade dabbled in racing horses; perhaps he had a horse to sell. In that event, they would meet on common ground. But his belief in this possibility was only half-hearted. He filled his pockets with cigars, whistled for the dog, and departed. Both of the Bennington houses were closed; the two families were up north in the woods.

Promptly at four-thirty Warrington and his dog entered the elevator of the McQuade Building and were dislodged on the third floor. They went along the dim corridor, scrutinizing doors, each hunting for one of his kind. Jove couldn't read, but he could smell. Finally Warrington came to a stand. Upon the gla.s.s panel of the door he read:

Daniel McQuade & Co.

General Contractors

He did not knock. He opened the door and walked in. It is a sign of weakness for a man to knock on the door of a business office, unless it is marked private, Nevertheless, the dingy gla.s.s had known the knock of many knuckles. A girl was hammering on the typewriting machine. She ceased only when she completed the page. She looked up.

Her expression, on seeing who the visitor was, changed instantly. It was not often that a man like this one entered the office of Daniel McQuade and Company, General Contractors.

"I have an appointment with Mr. McQuade," said Warrington pleasantly; "would you mind announcing me?"

"Just a moment," answered the girl, rising and entering the private office. She returned at once. "Mr. McQuade will see you."

Warrington walked quietly into the lion's den.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Warrington," said McQuade, pointing toward a chair. He did not offer his hand; something told him not to make that mistake.

From under the desk McQuade's dog emerged, stiff and bristling. On his side, Jove stood squarely on his legs, head on, as they say, his lips writhing and quivering with rage. Warrington touched the chair that had been offered him. Jove begged. But the master was obdurate. Jove jumped up, but turned quickly. The white dog stopped. He recognized that he was at a complete disadvantage.

McQuade watched these proceedings with an amused twinkle. It was a clever manoeuver. So far as he was concerned, a good dog fight would not have been to his distaste.

"It doesn't hurt the brutes to light once in a while. But, of course,"

he added, "your dog is old."

"Nothing is old till it is useless."

"An epigram from one of your plays?"

"No; but it sounds good enough to use. Jove has strong teeth, however, and he comes from a fighting family. But for my part, I had much rather see two men pummel each other."

"So would I, for that matter." McQuade pushed the match-box toward Warrington, but Warrington drew out his own and struck a light.

McQuade shrugged.

"Mr. McQuade, I am interested to learn what is back of your note.

Horses?"

"No; not horses."

McQuade viewed the young man through half-closed eyes. The contractor was a big hulk of a man, physically as strong as a bull, with reddish hair, small twinkling eyes, a puffy nose mottled with veins, thin lips shaded by a bristling red mustache, and a heavy jaw. The red fell of hair on his hands reminded Warrington of a sow's back. Everything about McQuade suggested strength and tensity of purpose. He had begun work on a ca.n.a.l-boat. He had carried shovel and pick. From boss on a railway section job he had become a brakeman. He took a turn at lumbering, bought a tract of chestnuts and made a good penny in railroad ties. He saved every dollar above his expenses. He bought a small interest in a contracting firm, and presently he became its head. There was ebb and tide to his fortunes but he hung on. A lighting contract made him a rich man. Then he drifted into politics; and now, at the age of fifty, he was a power in the state. The one phase of sentiment in the man was the longing to possess all those obstacles that had beset his path in the days of his struggles. He bought the ca.n.a.l-boat and converted it into a house-boat; he broke the man who had refused him a job at the start; he bought the block, the sidewalk of which he had swept; every man who stood in his way he removed this way or that. He was dishonest, but his dishonesty was of a Napoleonic order. He was uneducated, but he possessed that exact knowledge of mankind that makes leaders; and his shrewdness was the result of caution and suspicion. But like all men of his breed, he hated with peculiar venom the well-born; he loved to grapple with them, to wrest their idleness from them, to compel them to work for a living, to humiliate them. The fiber in McQuade was coa.r.s.e; he possessed neither generosity nor magnanimity; the very men who feared him held him in secret contempt.

"No, Mr. Warrington, I haven't any horses for sale to-day," he began.

"Not very long ago you met Senator Henderson at your club. He offered you the nomination for mayor this fall, and you accepted it."

Warrington could not repress a start of surprise. He had not quite expected this. He was annoyed.

"That is true. What mystifies me," he supplemented, "is how this knowledge came to your ears."

"I generally hear what's going on. My object in asking you to call is to talk over the matter on a friendly basis."

"I can not see what good that will do. Politically we have nothing in common."

"Politically or socially. But the point is this. What have you done that you should merit this honor? I'll talk frankly. What have you done toward the building up of your city? What have you done toward its progress in manufacturing and building? You have done nothing but buy a house on the fas.h.i.+onable street and pay the taxes."

"You might add that I once peddled vegetables," said Warrington.

It was McQuade's turn to be surprised. From what he had observed of fas.h.i.+onable people, especially the new-rich, they endeavored to submerge altogether the evidences of past manual and menial labor.

"Then you are not ashamed of the fact that you sold vegetables?"

"In truth, I'm rather proud of it. It was the first step in the fight.

And I tell you honestly, Mr. McQuade, that I have fought every inch of the way. And I shall continue to fight, when there's anything worth fighting for. I'm not a manufacturer or a builder, but I am none the less eligible for public office. What little money I have was made honestly, every penny of it. It was not built on political robbery and the failures of others. But let us come to the point. You have something to say."

"Yes. I have. And it is this: I don't propose to have you meddle with the politics of this city. I hope we can come to a peaceful understanding. I don't want to war against you."

"Mr. McQuade, you talk like a man out of his senses. Who's going to prevent me from accepting the nomination?"

"I am," answered McQuade, bringing a fist down on his desk.