Half a Rogue by Harold MacGrath (golden son ebook .txt) 📖

see if you had changed any. If you had become a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; no help from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'll be of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it."

"What?" asked Warrington skeptically.

Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I was in Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. The table next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow named Bolles."

"Bolles?"

"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles the dagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questions about you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women."

Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed an alert angle.

"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece of mine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your name at the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do you some way or other."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined that he won't let you."

Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Go on," he said.

"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing. McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get real facts."

This time Warrington's laughter was genuine.

"He's welcome to all he can find."

"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out. They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss."

Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of the ordinary. And he had defied him.

"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of honor, I'll do something for you."

"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously.

"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed."

"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm glad you aren't afraid of him."

"I can't thank you enough."

"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; so lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear. You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work." Bill rose.

"Help yourself to these cigars," said Warrington gratefully, passing the box.

Bill took three.

"Good night, Richard."

"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night."

"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. He layed his course for his familiar haunts.

Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received disturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So the first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be tallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been no women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them hunt; much good it would do them.

He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never meet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive to conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The post-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in New York would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. It was a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked to confess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into the sewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled at him.

"Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you."

"What is it, Richard?"

"I'm going to run for mayor."

The old lady dropped her work and held up her hands in horror.

"You are fooling, Richard!"

"I am very serious, Aunty."

"But politicians are such scamps, Richard."

"Somebody's got to reform them."

"But they'll reform you into one of their kind. You don't mean it!"

"Yes, I do. I've promised, and I can't back down now."

"No good will come of it," said the old lady prophetically, reaching down for her work. "But if you are determined, I suppose it's no use for me to talk. What will the Benningtons say?"

"They rather approve of the idea. I'm going up there early to-morrow. I'll be up before you're down. Good night." He lightly kissed the wrinkled face.

"Have a good time, Richard; and God bless my boy."

He paused on the threshold and came back. Why, he did not know. But having come back, he kissed her once again, his hands on her cheeks. There were tears in her eyes.

"You're so kind and good to an old woman, Richard."

"Pshaw! there's nobody your equal in all the world. Good night;" and he stepped out into the hall.

The next morning he left town for the Benningtons' bungalow in the Adirondacks. He carried his fishing-rods, for Patty had told him that their lake was alive with black bass. Warrington was an ardent angler. Rain might deluge him, the sun scorch, but he would sit in a boat all day for a possible strike. He arrived at two in the afternoon, and found John, Kate and Patty at the village station. A buckboard took them into the heart of the forest, and the penetrating, resinous perfumes tingled Warrington's nostrils. He had been in the woods in years gone by; not a tree or a shrub that he did not know. It was nearly a two hours' drive to the lake, which was circled by lordly mountains.

"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Patty, with a kind of proprietary pride.

"It is as fine as anything in the Alps," Warrington admitted. "Shall we go a-fishing in the morning?"

"If you can get up early enough."

"Trust me!" enthusiastically.

"I netted one this morning that weighed three pounds."

"Fish grow more rapidly out of water than in," railingly.

"John, didn't that bass weigh three pounds?" Patty appealed.

"It weighed three and a half."

"I apologize," said Warrington humbly.

"How's the politician?" whispered Kate, eagerly.

"About to find himself in the heart of a great scandal. The enemy has located us, and this afternoon the Times is to come out with a broadside. I haven't the least idea what it will say, nor care."

"That's the proper way to talk," replied Kate approvingly. "We climbed that bald mountain yesterday. Patty took some beautiful photographs."

"The tip of your nose is beginning to peel," said Warrington irrelevantly.

"It's horrid of you to mention it. I'm not used to the sun, but I love it. Patty is teaching me how to bait a hook."

"I'd like to see a photograph of that," Warrington cried. "Say, John, is there any way of getting to-night's newspapers up here?"

"Nothing till to-morrow morning. The boat leaves the mail at night. But what's this talk about politics?" John demanded.

Warrington looked at Patty and Kate in honest amazement.

"Do you two mean to tell me," he asked, "that you have really kept the news from John?"

"You told us not to tell," said Kate reproachfully.

"Well, I see that I shall never get any nearer the truth about women. I thought sure they'd tell you, Jack, that I'm going to run for mayor this fall."

"No!"

"Truth. And it's going to be the fight of my life. I accepted in the spirit of fun, but I am dead in earnest now. Whichever way it goes, it will be a good fight. And you may lay to that, my lad, as our friend Long John Silver used to say."

He said nothing, however, of his interview with McQuade. That was one of the things he thought best to keep to himself.

"I'll harangue the boys in the shops," volunteered John, "though there's a spirit of unrest I don't like. I've no doubt that before long I shall have a fight on my hands. But I shall know exactly what to do," grimly. "But hang business! These two weeks are going to be totally outside the circle of business. I hope you'll win, Dick. We'll burn all the stray barrels for you on election night."

"There'll be plenty of them burning. But I shall be nervous till I see the Times."

"You'll have it in the morning."

Warrington sighed. Half an hour later the bungalow came into view.

The elder Bennington knew the value of hygienic living. He kept his children out of doors, summer and winter. He taught them how to ride, to hunt, to fish; he was their partner in all out-of-door games; he made sport interesting and imparted to them his own zest and vitality. So they grew up strong and healthy. He left their mental instruction to the mother, knowing full well that she would do as much on her side as he had done on his. Only one law did he lay down: the children should go to public schools till the time for higher education arrived. Then they might choose whatever seat of learning they desired. He had the sound belief that children sent to private schools rarely become useful citizens.


The rosal glow of dawn tipped the mountains, and a russet haze lay on the still bosom of the lake. Warrington made a successful cast not far from the lily-pods. Zing! went the reel. But by the pressure of his thumb he brought the runaway to a