Part 21 (1/2)

Jimmy Grayson's room was on the second floor, and Harley walked slowly up the steps, but at the head of the stairway he was met by Mr.

Heathcote himself.

”Good-afternoon,” said Harley, cheerfully. ”I hope that you had a pleasant talk with Mr. Grayson. I'm going in to see him now myself; a presidential nominee can't get much rest.”

Mr. Heathcote drew himself up importantly.

”I beg your pardon,” he said, ”but you cannot--ah--see Mr. Grayson.

There has been a feeling with us in the East--we are in a position there to judge, being in thorough touch with the great world--that it was not advisable for Mr. Grayson to speak to or to come in direct contact with the press. This familiar talk with the newspapers rather impairs the confidence of our great magnates and prejudices us in the eyes of Europe. It is better--ah--that his remarks should be transmitted through a third person, who can give to the press what is fitting and reserve the remainder.”

Harley gazed at Heathcote in amazement, but there was nothing in his manner to indicate that he was not in earnest.

”And you are the third person, I suppose?” said Harley.

”I have so const.i.tuted myself,” replied Mr. Heathcote, and his tone was aggravatingly quiet and a.s.sured. ”As one conversant with great affairs, I am the most fit.”

”Has Mr. Grayson agreed to this?” asked Harley.

”My dear man, I cannot permit you to cross-examine me. But, really, I wish to be on good terms with the press, which is quite a useful inst.i.tution within its limits. Now, you seem to be rather more sedate than the others, and I wish you would have the goodness to explain to them how I have taken affairs in hand.”

Harley flushed at his patronizing tone, and for a moment he was tempted to thrust him out of his way and proceed with his errand to Jimmy Grayson's room, but he reflected that it was better to let the committeeman make the rope for his own hanging, and he turned away with a quiet, ”Very well, I shall forego the interview.”

But as he went back down the stairs he could not help asking himself the question, ”Does Jimmy Grayson know? Could he have consented to such an arrangement?” and at once came the answer--”Impossible.”

He returned to the porch, where all the chairs were filled, although the talk was slow. He noticed, with pleasure, that Churchill was absent. The descending sun had just touched the crests of the distant mountains, and they swam in a tremulous golden glow. The sunset radiance over nature in her mighty aspects affected all on the porch, used as they were to it, and that was why they were silent. But they turned inquiring eyes upon Harley when he joined them.

”What has become of Heathcote?” asked Barton.

”He is engaged upon an important task just now,” replied Harley.

”And what is that?”

”He is editing Jimmy Grayson's speech.”

Twenty chairs came down with a crash, and twenty pairs of eyes stared in indignant astonishment.

”King” Plummer's effort to hold himself in his chair seemed to be a strain.

”He may not be doing that particular thing at this particular moment,”

continued Harley, ”but he told me very distinctly that he was here for that purpose, and he has also just told me that I could not see Jimmy Grayson, that he intended henceforth to act as an intermediary between the candidate and the press.”

”And you stood it?” exclaimed Hobart.

”For the present, yes,” replied Harley, evenly; ”and I did so because I thought I saw a better way out of the trouble than an immediate quarrel with Heathcote--a better way, above all, for Jimmy Grayson and the party.”

The Western men said nothing, though they looked their deep disgust, and presently they quitted the porch, leaving it, rocking-chairs and all, to the correspondents.

”Boys,” said Harley, earnestly, ”I've a request to make of you. Let me take the lead in this affair; I've a plan that I think will work.”

”Well, you are in a measure the chief of our corps,” said Warrener, one of the Chicago men. ”I don't know why you are, but all of us have got to looking on you in that way.”

”I, for one, promise to be good and obey,” said Hobart, ”but I won't deny that it will be a hard job. Perhaps I could stand the man, if it were not for his accent--it sounds to me as if his voice were coming out of the top of his head, instead of his chest, where a good, honest voice ought to have its home.”