University of Virginia Library

III.

IT was long before the Governor retired. He sat there by the fireplace until the embers had shriveled to a lifeless heap, and he was too deeply absorbed to grow cold. He thought of many things. Like the man who had preceded him in office, he wished that some one else was just then encumbered with the Gubernatorial shoes.

Next morning there was a heavy feeling in his head, which he thought a walk in the bracing air might dispel, so he started on foot for the State House. A light snow was on the ground, and the atmosphere had a crispness that was reassuring and stimulating. It would make a slave feel like a free man to drink in such air as that. The Iowa air was glorious — Iowa was a glorious State! From the foot of the hill the State House loomed up magnificently before him, its golden dome glistening through the snow. Somebody had asked, once, how they kept that dome so bright. The Governor laughed as gleefully as a boy. Such a question — when the dome was real gold! Everything in Iowa was real gold.

As he walked through the corridor to his office, the officials and clerks greeted him with cheerful, respectful salutations. It made a man feel like living to be spoken to like that. The Governor believed they did respect him, or they wouldn't get so much of it into their voices. Why, of course — why shouldn't they respect him?

When John Berriman reached his desk, he found another telegram from Styles. It was imperatively worded, and as he read it he put his hand to his throat — something seemed tightening there. The briskness and the satisfaction were gone from his bearing in an instant. He walked to the window, and stood there looking down at the city. It was a fine city — he loved that city! There were many fine cities in Iowa, there were great interests to preserve, there were thousands upon thousands of good, honest people to befriend. He wondered if many of those people looked to their Governor with the old-fashioned trust that his brother had shown. His eyes grew a little dim; he was thinking of the satisfaction it would afford his children, if — long after he was gone — they could tell how a great chance had once come into their father's life, and how he had proved himself a man.

"Will you sign these now, Governor?" said a voice behind him.

It was his pardon clerk, a man who knew the affairs of the State well, and whom every one seemed to respect.

"Mr. Haines," he said abruptly, "who do you think is the best man Iowa has for the United States Senate?"

The pardon clerk stepped back in amazement. Then he told himself he must be discreet. Like many of the people about the State House, in his heart Haines was a Boxer.

"Why, I presume," he said, "that the Governor is looked upon as the logical candidate, isn't he?"

"I'm not talking about logical candidates. I want to know who you think is the man who would most conscientiously and creditably represent Iowa in the United States Senate."

"If you put the matter in that way, Governor, Mr. Huntington is the man, of course."

"You think most of the people believe that?"

"I know they do."

"You think, then, if it was a matter of popular vote, that Huntington would be the new Senator from Iowa?"

"I guess they all have to admit that, Governor. The State's strong for Huntington."

"That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought about it."

Soon after that Governor Berriman rang for a messenger boy, and sent a telegram. Then he settled quietly down to routine work. It was about eleven when one of the newspaper men came in.

"Good morning, Governor," he said briskly; "how's everything to-day?"

"Very nicely, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, except that I've made the Senatorial appointment."

"Oh," laughed the reporter excitedly, "that's all, is it?"

"Yes," said the Governor, smiling too; "that's all!"

The reporter looked at the clock and gathered himself hastily together.

"I'll just catch the noon edition," he said, "if I telephone right away."

He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him.

"See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!"

"How so?"

"Why, I tell you I've made a Senatorial appointment — a matter of at least some slight importance — and you rush off and never ask whom I've appointed."

The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would not detain him with a joke now when every second counted.

"That's right," he said, with strained pleasantness. "Well, who's the man?"

The Governor raised his head.

"Huntington," he said quietly, and resumed his work.

"What?" shouted the astonished reporter. "What?" Then he stopped in embarrassment, as if ashamed of being so easily taken in. "Guess you're trying to jolly me a little, aren't you, Governor?"

"Jolly you, Mr. Markham? I'm not given to jollying newspaper reporters. Here's a copy of the telegram I sent this morning, if you are still skeptical. Really, I don't see why you think it so impossible. Don't you consider Mr. Huntington a fit man for the place?"

"May I ask," said the reporter weakly, "why you did it?"

Governor Berriman rose with dignity, and his small figure looked almost large.

"I had but one motive, Mr. Markham. You may say in your paper that I thought the matter over, and of all the men in Iowa whom I know, Mr. Huntington seemed best fitted for the place."

Tom Styles reached the State House just as the corners were growing indistinct in the long corridors that afternoon. Mr. Styles was not blowing rings that day, and he was not standing on ceremony. With a face upon which it was not pleasant to look, he rushed past the private secretary and into the Governor's office.

John Berriman was seated alone at his desk. Mr. Styles came close, and leaned down until he almost touched the Governor's face.

"And so vou sold out, did you, you little sneak?" he hissed. "Tell me, how much —"

The Governor slid his hand underneath the desk.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, as the white-haired darky appeared in the door, "please show the gentleman from the room!"