 | The Second Generation |  |
IV.
SENATOR CADOGAN paced to and fro in his private parlour, and smoked small brown weak cigars. These little whisps seemed utterly inadequate to console such a ponderous satrap.
It was the evening of the 1st of July, 1898, and the senator was immensely excited, as could be seen from the superlatively calm way in which he called out to his private secretary, who was in an adjoining room. The voice was serene, gentle, affectionate, low. 'Baker, I wish you'd go over again to the War Department and see if they've heard anything about Casper.'
A very bright-eyed hatchet-faced young man appeared in a doorway, pen still in hand. He was hiding a nettle-like irritation behind all the finished audacity of a smirk, sharp, lying, trustworthy young politician. 'I've just got back from there, sir,' he suggested.
The Skowmulligan war-horse lifted his eyes and looked for a short second into the eyes of his private secretary. It was not a glare or an eagle glance; it was something beyond the practice of an actor; it was simply meaning. The clever private secretary grabbed his hat and was at once enthusiastically away. 'All right, sir,' he cried, 'I'll find out.'
The War Department was ablaze with light, and messengers were running. With the assurance of a retainer of an old house, Baker made his way through much small-calibre vociferation. There was rumour of a big victory; there was rumour of a big defeat. In the corridors various watch-dogs arose from their armchairs and asked him of his business in tones of uncertainty, which in no wise compared with their previous habitual deference to the private secretary of the war-horse of Skowmulligan.
Ultimately Baker arrived in a room where some kind of a head-clerk sat feverishly writing at a roller-topped desk. Baker asked a question, and the head-clerk mumbled profanely without lifting his head. Apparently he said, 'How in the blankety-blank blazes do I know?'
The private secretary let his jaw fall. Surely some new spirit had come suddenly upon the heart of Washington, a spirit which Baker understood to be almost defiantly indifferent to the wishes of Senator Cadogan, a spirit which was not even courteously oily.
Eventually Baker retreated in disorder from the presence of this head-clerk, having learned that the latter did not give a — if Casper Cadogan was sailing through Hades on an ice-yacht.
Baker assailed other and more formidable officials. In fact, he struck as high as he dared. They, one and all, flung him short hard words, even as men pelt an annoying cur with pebbles. He emerged from the brilliant light, from the groups of men with anxious puzzled faces, and as he walked back to the hotel, he did not know if his name was Baker or Cholmondeley.
However, as he walked up the stairs to the senator's rooms, he continued to concentrate his intellect upon a manner of speaking.
The war-horse was still pacing his parlour and smoking. He paused at Baker's entrance. 'Well?'
'Mr. Cadogan,' said the private secretary coolly, 'they told me at the department that they did not give a gawd dam whether your son was alive or dead.'
The senator looked at Baker and smiled gently. 'What's that, my boy?' he asked in a soft and considerate voice.
'They said—' gulped Baker with a certain tenacity. 'They said that they didn't give a gawd dam whether your son was alive or dead.'
There was a silence for the space of three seconds. Baker stood like an image; he had no machinery for balancing the issues of this kind of a situation, and he seemed to feel that if he stood as still as a stone frog he would escape the ravages of a terrible senatorial wrath which was about to break forth in a hurricane speech which would snap off trees and sweep away barns.
'Well,' drawled the senator lazily, 'who did you see, Baker?'
The private secretary resumed a certain usual manner of breathing. He told the names of the men whom he had seen.
'Ye-e-es,' remarked the senator. He took another little
When the senator had gone, the private secretary ran to the window and leaned far out. Pennsylvania Avenue was gleaming silver blue in the light of many arc-lamps; the cable trains groaned along to the clangour of gongs; from the window the walks presented a hardly diversified aspect of shirt-waists and straw hats; sometimes a newsboy screeched.
Baker watched the tall heavy figure of the senator moving out to intercept a cable train. 'Great Scot!' cried the private secretary to himself, 'there'll be three distinct kinds of grand, plain, practical fireworks. The old man is going for 'em. I wouldn't be in Lascum's boots. Ye gods, what a row there'll be!'
In due time the senator was closeted with some kind of deputy third-assistant battery-horse in the offices of the War Department. The official obviously had been told off to make a supreme effort to pacify Cadogan, and he certainly was acting according to his instructions. He was almost in tears; he spread out his hands in supplication, and his voice whined and wheedled. 'Why, really, you know, senator, we can only beg you to look at the circumstances. Two scant divisions at the top of that hill; over a thousand men killed and wounded; the lines so thin that any strong attack would smash our army to flinders. The Spaniards have probably received reinforcements under Pando; Shafter seems to be too ill to be actively in command of our troops; Lawton can't get up with his division before to-morrow. We are actually expecting—no, I won't say expecting—but we would not be surprised—nobody in the department would be surprised if, before daybreak, we were compelled to give to the country the news of a disaster, which would be the worst blow the national pride has ever suffered. Don't you see? Can't you see our position, senator?'
The senator, with a pale but composed face, contemplated the official with eyes that gleamed in a way not usual with the big self-controlled politician.
'I'll tell you frankly, sir,' continued the other. 'I'll tell you frankly that at this moment we don't know whether we are a-foot or a-horseback. Everything is in the air. We don't know
The senator coughed. 'I suppose my boy is with the two divisions at the top of that hill? He's with Reilly.'
'Yes; Reilly's brigade is up there.'
'And when do you suppose the War Department can tell me if he is all right? I want to know.'
'My dear senator—frankly, I don't know. Again I beg you to think of our position—the army in a muddle; its General thinking that he must fall back; and yet not sure that he can fall back without losing the army. Why, we're worrying about the lives of sixteen thousand men and the self-respect of the nation, senator.'
'I see,' observed the senator, nodding his head slowly. 'And naturally the welfare of one man's son doesn't—how do they say it?—doesn't cut any ice.'
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