This man was no amateur in understanding how to sway an audience. To be sure, he had transgressed parliamentary usage, but in those words he had driven home facts that all knew to be truths--truths which others had been afraid to voice, but which, once put into words in public, tied the hideous stamp of ring favoritism upon Governor Harwood, made him a candidate who could not be trusted.
The colonel understood, and he also saw plainly that the most of the audience had accepted the apology, and held no prejudice against the speaker.
“Now that I understand what the rules governing nominations are I will not break them again,” declared Farr.
But like a shrewd and not over-scrupulous lawyer he had jabbed into the proceedings a stinging truth which, though excluded by the rules, nevertheless served vitally the big purpose of his efforts; the colonel understood that, too, and turned back to his chair fairly livid with rage.
“There is a man in this state who knows true law,” continued the speaker, “and that you may be assured that he will sign a bill which is passed for the good of the people, let me tell you a little about his character.”
Colonel Dodd cursed without trying to moderate his tones very much.
“There's no telling what tack that renegade will take next. This infernal convention is getting to be a nightmare. Those fools out there are listening as if they expected that cheap demagogue to bring 'em a new Messiah,” he told the committeemen near him.
“There's a funny noise going on out there among 'em,” ventured “Whispering Saunders.” “Round-up fellows say they hear something like it when a herd is getting ready to stampede. It's the same thing in a political convention sometimes. The reason for it is: the crowd is ripe and the head steer gives the right bellow--and off they go!”
Colonel Dodd grabbed his nephew by the elbow and rushed him off the stage and into an anteroom.
“Is that matter on the hair-trigger, Richard?” he demanded.
“It's ready to be snapped any minute.”
The colonel whipped out his check-book and began to write. “It's as old Saunders said,” he muttered as he wrote. “And we've got to rope, throw, and tie that one steer.”
The check was for five thousand dollars!
Young Dodd seized it, and when his uncle hurried back upon the stage the nephew, through the door which was left open, beckoned to Mullaney. The detective came, hurrying past Colonel Dodd, who stared until the door had closed behind young Dodd and the officer.
“But he's my own nephew!” he assured himself, as if he were replying to an accusation laid against Richard Dodd. He shook his head and sat down in his chair. “I wonder how long it has been since old Bob Mullaney put a price of that size on his secrets! I'm afraid Richard hasn't the Dodd ability to drive a sharp trade.”
But Richard was showing considerable ability in that line behind the door of the anteroom.
He jammed two hundred and fifty dollars in crumpled bills into the detective's hands, cleaning out his pockets for the purpose. He had slipped the check into his deepest pocket the moment his uncle had handed it to him.
“It was hard work to screw him up, Mullaney. You have seen how I worked him. This is all he gave me--two hundred and fifty. Take it and spring your trap.”
“You don't look honest,” grumbled the detective. “If I'm any kind of a guesser you're holding out on me.”
“That's your price. You agreed. There isn't any time to argue this. Give me back the money.” He grabbed the bills from Mullaney's clutch. It was magnificent bluff. “I'll hand it to my uncle. He isn't very keen on the thing, anyway.”
“I'll take it--give it back. I'll apologize,” pleaded Mullaney.
“Will you swear to keep all this under your hat--the whole thing? Uncle says if you dare to speak to him about it--hint to him or anybody that he paid money for anything on Farr--he'll deny the story and have your license taken away.”
“I promise--swear it,” Mullaney agreed.
Dodd returned the money, and the detective started out on the trot.
“You come, too, and I'll tell you on the way. Time is short. You'd better help me,” he advised Dodd. They hurried away together, rushed out into the alley and around to the front of the hall, the detective pouring certain information into Dodd's ear as they made their way to the big door and into the main corridor.
Then they bored through the crowds.
The detective led the way and showed his badge to compel the people to give them a lane.
They entered the rear of the auditorium.
“You take the left side and I'll take the right,” commanded Mullaney. “We need to paralyze him first. That's all there's time for just now--I've had short notice. But get that name to every man of your crowd you can, and when the howl is started tell 'em all to join in.”
Dodd had had scant time to digest the knowledge which the detective had imparted on the run. But his eyes gleamed wickedly as he began to whisper to men among the delegates. And as he moved about he noticed that the girl in the gallery had marked his activity, even to the extent of turning her gaze from Walker Farr, whose voice was ringing through the spacious hall.
XXIX
THE BOMB
Walker Farr, towering over their heads, talked to the men in whose midst he stood.
Mere eloquence no longer avails in these days of cynical disbelief in the motives of political orators. But this young man who stood there was sincerity incarnate. The wonderful and mystic magnetic quality which wins men and inspires confidence radiated from him. And every now and then, as he glanced up at one face in the gallery his voice took on new tones of appeal and pathos. He was one crying from the depths to those in authority! By the marvel of his language he made the men who sat there as delegates understand that theirs was the power to make or mar--to save or sacrifice their state in the crisis which was upon them. He made them feel their responsibility after he made them understand their power.
And he also made their duty plain.
The crux of the situation rested on such a man as they should place in the highest office in the state.
In other times, under other conditions, some pliant and amiable figurehead might serve them well.
He told them, with outstretched finger and vibrant voice, what must be the masterful qualifications of the man who should assume the cross of public service and carry it up the steeps where he would be lashed at every step of his weary way by the thongs in the hands of privileged capital.
Colonel Symonds Dodd had come back to the platform, cursing himself for a fool. The moment the check had left his hands he was angry because he had allowed circumstances to stampede him.
He wondered what was getting into him and into politics.
Was he afraid of mere talk from a demagogue!
But after he had sat there for a few moments and listened, and had watched the faces of the delegates, he decided that if five thousand dollars would stop the mouth of that man he had spent money wisely. It was borne in upon him that he had spent greater sums many times for lesser service.
He saw Richard Dodd and Mullaney circulating among the delegates. He restrained with difficulty an impulse to rise and shout to them to hurry. He felt that danger to his program and his political structure was imminent. Because once again were true eloquence and masterly appeal winning men.
All the listeners in the vast hall were as still as death. All eyes were on this speaker who seemed to be clothing with effective speech all the hidden convictions of the delegates themselves who had nursed protest without being able to put it into force.
Colonel Dodd had seen conventions in similar mood in the old days before the saddle of party had been as securely cinched as it had been in late years.
The chairman of the state committee uttered the colonel's rising fears. The chairman had lost his sneer and his bumptious confidence. His face was red, he was sweating, he was staring out over the convention and snapping his fingers impatiently.
“Good gad!” he informed those in hearing on the platform, “what kind of a turn is this thing taking? We have let this convention get away from us. That chap has got the whole crowd marching to the mourners' bench. He can wind up by nominating a yellow dog and they'll rise and howl him into office by acclamation!”
Farr paused for a moment to give effect to his next words.
“Such in character, in honest impulse, in honor, in ability, in devotion, and in God-given nobility must be the man who will lead you. Has God given such a man to this state? He has!”
“Yes and the devil has given us Nelson Sinkler to speak for that man!”
The voice was shrill and agitated and it came from a section of the hall where the rabid adherents of the machine were massed; it was an amazing and shocking interruption.
“I said Nelson Sinkler--that's you!” screamed the voice.
And on that, from here and there in the hall, like snipers posted in ambush, men shouted the name “Nelson Sinkler”--the words popping like rifles.
There was uproar. Part of it was protest, part hysterical demonstration of excitement in an assemblage which did not in the least understand.