Colonel Varney,as he accompanied me to the train,did not conceal his jubilation.
"Perhaps I ought not to say it,Mr.Paret,but it couldn't have been done neater.That's the art in these little affairs,to get 'em runnin'fast,to get momentum on 'em before the other party wakes up,and then he can't stop 'em."As he shook hands in farewell he added,with more gravity:
"We'll see each other often,sir,I guess.My very best regards to Mr.
Watling."
Needless to say,I had not confided to him the part I had played in originating House Bill No.709,now a law of the state.But as the train rolled on through the sunny winter landscape a sense of well-being,of importance and power began to steal through me.I was victoriously bearing home my first scalp,--one which was by no means to be despised....It was not until we reached Rossiter,about five o'clock,that I was able to get the evening newspapers.Such was the perfection of the organization of which I might now call myself an integral part that the "best"publications contained only the barest mention,--and that in the legislative news,--of the signing of the bill.I read with complacency and even with amusement the flaring headlines I had anticipated in Mr.Lawler's 'Pilot.'
"The Governor Signs It!"
"Special legislation,forced through by the Railroad Lobby,which will drive honest corporations from this state.""Ribblevale Steel Company the Victim."It was common talk in the capital,the article went on to say,that Theodore Watling himself had drawn up the measure....Perusing the editorial page my eye fell on the name,Krebs.One member of the legislature above all deserved the gratitude of the people of the state,--the member from Elkington."An unknown man,elected in spite of the opposition of the machine,he had dared to raise his voice against this iniquity,"etc.,etc.
We had won.That was the essential thing.And my legal experience had taught me that victory counts;defeat is soon forgotten.Even the discontented,half-baked and heterogeneous element from which the Pilot got its circulation had short memories.
XI.
The next morning,which was Sunday,I went to Mr.Watling's house in,Fillmore Street--a new residence at that time,being admired as the dernier cri in architecture.It had a mediaeval look,queer dormers in a steep roof of red tiles,leaded windows buried deep in walls of rough stone.Emerging from the recessed vestibule on a level with the street were the Watling twins,aglow with health,dressed in identical costumes of blue.They had made their bow to society that winter.
"Why,here's Hugh!"said Frances."Doesn't he look pleased with himself?""He's come to take us to church,"said Janet.
"Oh,he's much too important,"said Frances."He's made a killing of some sort,--haven't you,Hugh?"...
I rang the bell and stood watching them as they departed,reflecting that I was thirty-two years of age and unmarried.Mr.Watling,surrounded with newspapers and seated before his library fire,glanced up at me with a welcoming smile:how had I borne the legislative baptism of fire?
Such,I knew,was its implication.
"Everything went through according to schedule,eh?Well,I congratulate you,Hugh,"he said.
"Oh,I didn't have much to do with it,"I answered,smiling back at him.
"I kept out of sight."
"That's an art in itself."
"I had an opportunity,at close range,to study the methods of our lawmakers.""They're not particularly edifying,"Mr.Watling replied."But they seem,unfortunately,to be necessary."Such had been my own thought.
"Who is this man Krebs?"he inquired suddenly."And why didn't Varney get hold of him and make him listen to reason?""I'm afraid it wouldn't have been any use,"I replied."He was in my class at Harvard.I knew him--slightly.He worked his way through,and had a pretty hard time of it.I imagine it affected his ideas.""What is he,a Socialist?""Something of the sort."In Theodore Watling's vigorous,sanity-exhaling presence Krebs's act appeared fantastic,ridiculous."He has queer notions about a new kind of democracy which he says is coming.I think he is the kind of man who would be willing to die for it.""What,in these days!"Mr.Watling looked at me incredulously."If that's so,we must keep an eye on him,a sincere fanatic is a good deal more dangerous than a reformer who wants something.There are such men,"he added,"but they are rare.How was the Governor,Trulease?"he asked suddenly."Tractable?""Behaved like a lamb,although he insisted upon going through with his little humbug,"I said.
Mr.Watling laughed."They always do,"he observed,"and waste a lot of valuable time.You'll find some light cigars in the corner,Hugh."I sat down beside him and we spent the morning going over the details of the Ribblevale suit,Mr.Watling delegating to me certain matters connected with it of a kind with which I had not hitherto been entrusted;and he spoke again,before I left,of his intention of taking me into the firm as soon as the affair could be arranged.Walking homeward,with my mind intent upon things to come,I met my mother at the corner of Lyme Street coming from church.Her face lighted up at sight of me.
"Have you been working to-day,Hugh?"she asked.
I explained that I had spent the morning with Mr.Watling.
"I'll tell you a secret,mother.I'm going to be taken into the firm.""Oh,my dear,I'm so glad!"she exclaimed."I often think,if only your father were alive,how happy he would be,and how proud of you.I wish he could know.Perhaps he does know."Theodore Watling had once said to me that the man who can best keep his own counsel is the best counsel for other men to keep.I did not go about boasting of the part I had played in originating the now famous Bill No.709,the passage of which had brought about the capitulation of the Ribblevale Steel Company to our clients.But Ralph Hambleton knew of it,of course.
