Part 17 (1/2)

Her smile of shy joy as she held out her hand to him warmed his somber eyes for the moment.

”They are all asleep,” she whispered as if even from the street there was danger of awakening the tired hunting party. ”The major is keeping it quiet for them.”

”And you ought to be asleep, too,” he answered as they started off at a brisk pace down the avenue.

”_You_ weren't,” she laughed up at him, and then dropped her eyes shyly.

”I always go to church,” she added demurely.

”And I suppose I counted on your habit,” he said, utterly unable to control the tenderness in voice or glance.

”I wanted you to go with me to-day--I hoped you would though you never have,” she answered him with a divine seriousness in her lifted eyes.

”They are all coming to dinner and then you'll go to the office, so I hoped about this morning.” She was utterly lovely in her gentleness and a strange peace fell into the troubled heart of the man at her side.

And it followed him into the dim church and made the hour he sat at her side one of holy healing. Once as they knelt together during the service she slipped her gloved hand into his for an instant and from its warmth there flowed a strength of which he stood in dire need and from which he drew courage to go on for the few days remaining before his exile. Just to protect her, he prayed, and leave her unhurt, and he failed to see that the humility and blindness of a great love were leading him into the perpetration of a great cruelty, to the undoing of them both.

Then in the long days that followed so hunted was he by his love of her that that one hour of peace in the Sunday morning was all he dared give himself with her. And in her gentle trustfulness it was not hard to make his excuses, for the Monday morning brought the strenuosity in the career of David Kildare to a state of absolute acuteness.

To the candidate the three days were as ten years crowded into as many hours. Down at his headquarters in the _Gray Picket_ rooms he stood firm and met wave after wave of fluctuating excitement that surged around him with his head up, a ring in his laugh and an almost superhuman tact.

As late as Wednesday noon there appeared before him three excited Anti-Saloon League matrons with plans to put committees of ladies at all the polls to hand out lemonade and entreaties--perhaps threats--to the voters as they exercised their civic function. They had planned banners with ”Shall The Saloon Have My Boy?” in large letters thereon inscribed and they were morally certain that without the carrying out of their plan the day would be lost. It took David Kildare one hour and a quarter to persuade them that it would be better to have a temperance rally at the theater on Wednesday night at which each of the three should make most convincing speeches to the a.s.sembled women of the city, thereby furnis.h.i.+ng arguments to their sisters with which to start the men to the polls next day.

He promised to come and make a short opening speech and they left him with their plans changed but their enthusiasm augmented. David sank into a chair and mopped his s.h.i.+ning brow. The major had been witness to the encounter from the editorial desk and Cap Cantrell was bent double with laughter behind a pile of papers he was searching for data for Andrew.

”I'm all in, Major,” said David faintly. ”Just pick up the pieces in a basket.”

”David, sir,” said the major, ”your conduct of that onslaught was masterly! If the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world why not the hand that flips the batter-cake rock the ballot-box--cradle out of date?

That's a little mixed but pertinent. I'm for letting them have the try. They're only crying because they think we don't want 'em to have it--maybe they'll go back to the cradle and rock all the better for being free citizens!”

”And not a cussed one of those three old lady cats has ever shown a kitten!” exploded Cap from behind his pile of papers.

”Anyway, the worst is over now--must be!” answered David as he began to read over some bulletins and telegrams. But he had troubles yet to come.

In the next two hours he had a conference with the head of the chamber of commerce which heated his blood to the boiling-point and brought forth an ultimatum, delivered in no uncertain terms but with such perfect courtesy and clean-sightedness that the gentleman departed in haste to look into certain matters which he now suspected to have been cooked to lead him astray.

This event had been followed by the advent of five of the old fellows who had obtained furloughs and ridden in from the Soldiers' Home for the express purpose of a.s.suring him of their support, as the vindicator of their honor, wringing his hand and cheering on the fight. They retired with Cap into the back room and emerged shortly, beaming and refreshed.

They had no votes to cast in the city, but what matter?

On their heels, Mike O'Rourke rushed in with two budgets of false registrations which he had been able to ferret out by the aid of the drivers of his grocery wagons. He embraced David, exchanged shots with the major, and departed in high spirits. Then quiet came to the _Gray Picket_ for a time and Kildare plunged into his papers with desperation.

”David,” called the major after a very few minutes of peace, ”here's a call for you on the desk. You'll recognize the number--remember, a firm hand, sir--a firm hand!” with which he collected his hat, coat, and the captain and took his departure, leaving David for the moment alone in the editorial rooms.

He sat for a few moments before the receiver and twisted the call slip around one of his fingers. In a moment the affairs of state and the destiny of the city slipped from his shoulders and his mind took up the details of another problem.

The contest for the judges.h.i.+p was not the only one David Kildare had taken upon himself--the second was being waged in the secret chambers of two hearts, one proud, exacting and unconvinced, the other determined and at last thoroughly aroused. Phoebe had brought the crisis on herself and she was beginning to realize that the duel would be to the death or complete surrender.

And in the preliminaries, which had been begun on the Sat.u.r.day night hunt and carried on for the last three days, David Kildare had failed to make a single false move. His natural and inevitable absorption in his race for the judges.h.i.+p had served to keep him from forcing a single issue; and Phoebe had had time to do a little lonely, unpursued thinking.

He had been entirely too clever to arouse her pride against him by a suspicion of neglect in his att.i.tude. His usual attentions were all offered and a new one or two contrived. He sent Eph to report to her with his electric every afternoon--she understood that he was unable by the exigencies of the case to come himself to take her to keep her appointments as was his custom. Her flowers were just as thoughtfully selected and sent with the gayest little notes, as like as possible to the ones that had been coming to her for years. He ordered in an unusually large basket of eggs from the farm and managed to find a complicated arrangement of rope and pulleys, the manipulation of which for an hour or more daily was warranted to add to or detract from the stature of man or woman, according to the desire of the dissatisfied individual. His note with the instrument was a scintillating skit and was answered in kind. But through it all Phoebe was undoubtedly lonely. This call, the second since Sat.u.r.day and the second in the history of their joint existences, betrayed her to the now wily David more than she realized--perhaps!

He took down the receiver and got the connection.