Part 19 (2/2)
”Why certainly, daddy, anything in reason, and I know you would not ask anything out of it.”
”Sylvia, I want you to promise me never to call me daddy again, either in private, as here between ourselves, or before others.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with astonishment.
”Why,” she exclaimed, ”I've called you that ever since you found me a little, little girl alone in the mountains.”
”I know it, but it's time to stop. I'm no blood kin to you at all. And I'm not so ancient. The history of the West didn't begin with me.”
The wonder in her eyes deepened, and the ”King” felt apprehensive, though he stood to his guns. But when she laughed, a joyous, spontaneous laugh, he felt hurt.
”I'll make you the promise readily enough,” she said, ”but I can't keep it; I really can't. I'll try awful hard, but I'm so used to daddy that it will be sure to pop out just when I'm expecting it least.”
The ”King” looked at her moodily, not sure whether she was laughing at him or at her own perplexity.
”Then you just try,” he said, at last, yielding to a mood of compromise, and stalked abruptly out of the drawing-room.
Sylvia, watching him, saw how stiffly and squarely he held his shoulders, and what long and abrupt strides he took, and her mood of merriment was suddenly succeeded by one of sadness mingled just a little with apprehension. She spoke twice under her breath, and the two brief sentences varied by only a single word. The first was ”Dear old daddy!”
and the second was ”Poor old daddy!”
XI
THE HARRYING OF HERBERT
An unexpected addition and honor was now approaching, and it was Hobart who told them of it.
”Our little party is about to receive a touch of real distinction and dignity--something that it needs very much,” he said, laying the newspaper that he had been reading upon the dusty car seat and glancing at Harley. They had returned to their special train.
”What do you mean?” asked Harley, though his tone betrayed no great interest.
”I quote from the columns of our staid contemporary, the New York _Monitor_, Churchill's sheet, the representative of solid, quiet, and cultured worth,” said Hobart, pompously. ”'It has been felt for some time by thoughtful leaders of our party in the East that Jimmy Grayson and the ”s.h.i.+rt-sleeves” Western politicians who now surround him are showing too much familiarity with the people. A certain reserve, a certain dignity of manner which, while holding the crowd at a distance also inspires it with a proper respect, is desirable on the part of the official head of a great party, a presidential nominee. The personal democracy of Mr. Grayson is having a disconcerting effect upon important financial circles, and also is inspiring unfavorable comments in the English press, extracts from which we print upon another page.'”
”What on earth has the opinion of the English press to do with our presidential race?” asked Harley.
”You may search me,” replied Hobart. ”I merely quote from the columns of the _Monitor_. But in order to save time, I tell you that all this preamble leads to the departure for the West of the Honorable Herbert Henry Heathcote, who, after his graduation at Harvard, took a course at Oxford, lived much abroad, and who now, by grace of his father's worth and millions, is the national committeeman from his state. For some days Herbert has been speeding in our direction, and to-morrow he will join us at Red Cloud. It is more than intimated that he will take charge of the tour of Jimmy Grayson, and put it upon the proper plane of dignity and reserve.”
Harley said no more, but, borrowing the paper, read the account carefully, and then put it down with a sigh, foreseeing trouble. Herbert Heathcote's father had been a great man in his time, self-created, a famous merchant, an able party worker, in thorough touch with American life, and he had served for many years as the honored chairman of the national committee, although in a moment of weakness he had sent his son abroad to be educated. Now he was dead, but remembered well, and as a presidential campaign costs much money--legitimate money--and his son was a prodigal giver, the leaders could not refuse to the younger Heathcote the place of national committeeman from his state.
”What do you think of it?” asked Harley, at last.
”I refuse to think,” replied Hobart. ”I shall merely wait and see.”
But the Honorable William Plummer expressed his scorn in words befitting his open character.
The paper was pa.s.sed on until it reached Mrs. Grayson and Sylvia. Mrs.
Grayson, with her usual reserve, said nothing. Sylvia was openly indignant.
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