Part 4 (1/2)
In Mississippi, things looked bad. Arkansas and Louisiana were uncertain. But the pro-Cannon vote in Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Minnesota left no doubt about the outcome in those states. North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas--all Cannon by vast majorities.
And so the returns came in, following the sun across the continent. By the time California had reported three-fourths of its votes, it was all over but the jubilation. Nothing but an honest-to-G.o.d, genuine, Joshua-stopping-the-sun type of miracle could have saved the opposition.
And such was not forthcoming.
At Cannon's campaign headquarters, a television screen was blaring to unhearing ears, merely adding to the din that was going on in the meeting hall. The party workhorses and the volunteers who had drummed for Cannon since the convention were repeating the scene that had taken place after Cannon's nomination in the summer, with an even greater note of triumph.
In Cannon's suite, six floors above, there was less noise, but only because there were fewer people.
”Hey!” Cannon yelled good-naturedly. ”Lay off! Any more slaps on my back, and I'm going to be the first President since Franklin Roosevelt to go to my Inauguration in a wheelchair! Lay off, will you?”
”A drink, a drink, we got to have a drink,” chanted Representative Edwin Matson, his bulldog face spread wide in a happy grin while he did things with bottles, ice, and gla.s.ses. ”A drink, a drink--”
Governor Harold Spanding's lantern-jawed face looked as idiotically happy as Matson's, but he was quieter about it. Verbally, that is. It was he who had been pounding Cannon on the back, and now he was pounding Matthew Fisher almost as hard.
Matt Fisher finally managed to grab his hand, and he started pumping it.
”What about you, Harry? I'm only a poor, simple Vice President. You got re-elected governor!”
Dr. Frank Cannon, looking like an older, balder edition of his brother, was smiling, too, but there was a troubled look in his eyes even as he congratulated the senator. Congressman Matson, pa.s.sing out the drinks, handed the first one to the senator.
”Have a drink, Mr. President! You're going to have to make a speech pretty soon; you'll need a bracer!” He handed the second one to the physician. ”Here you go, Doc! Congratulations! It isn't everyone who's got a President in the family!” Then his perceptive brain noticed something in the doctor's expression. ”Hey,” he said, more softly, ”what's the trouble? You look as though you expected sickness in the family.”
The doctor grinned quickly. ”Not unless it's my own. I'm used to worrying about a patient's health, not a Presidential election. I'm afraid my stomach's a little queasy. Wait just a second; I've got some pills in my little black bag. Got pills in there for all ailments. Find out if anyone else needs resuscitation, will you?” Drink in hand, he went toward the closet, where his little black bag was stashed.
”Excitement,” said Senator Cannon. ”Frank isn't used to politics.”
Matson chuckled. ”Do him good to see how the other half lives.” He walked off, bearing drinks for the others. Governor Spanding grabbed one and came over to the senator. ”Jim! Ready to tear up your capitulation speech now?”
Cannon glanced at his watch. ”Almost. The polls closed in Nome just ten minutes ago. We'll wait for the President's acknowledgment of defeat before we go downstairs.” He glanced at his brother, who was was.h.i.+ng something down with water.
Behind him, he heard Matson's voice saying: ”I'm sure glad Horvin isn't here! I can hear him now: 'Image! Image! That's what won the election!
Image!'” Matson guffawed. ”Jim Cannon was winning elections by landslides before he ever heard of Horvin! Jim Cannon projects his own image.”
”Sure he does,” Matt Fisher said, ”but what about me?”
”You? Hah! You're tops, Matt. Once a man gets to know you, he can see that, if he's got any brains.”
Fisher chuckled gently. ”Ed, you've got what it takes to be a politician, all right.”
”So do you, Mr. Vice President! So do you! Hey!” He turned quickly. ”We got to have a toast! Doc, you're his brother. I think the honor should be yours.”
Dr. Frank Cannon, looking much more chipper since swallowing the pills, beamed and nodded at his brother. ”It will be a pleasure. Gentlemen, come to attention, if you will.” They did, grinning at first, then forcing solemnity into their expressions.
”Gentlemen,” said. Dr. Cannon gravely, ”I give you my brother, Senator James Harrington Cannon, the next President of the United States!”
”To the President!” said Governor Spanding.
”To the President!” chorused the others.