Insurgents, two hundred and ninety-five--those are the chaps that've gone clean crazy with Scarborough.Doubtful, three hundred and eighty-six-some of 'em can be bought; most of 'em are waiting to see which way the cat jumps, so as to jump with her.""Then we've got five hundred and twelve, and it takes five hundred and ninety-seven to elect," said Merriweather, the instant the last word was out of Larkin's mouth.Merriweather was a mite of a man, could hardly have weighed more than a hundred pounds, had a bulging forehead, was bald and gray at the temples, eyes brown as walnut juice and quick and keen as a rat-terrier's.His expression was the gambler's--calm, watchful, indifferent, pallid, as from years of nights under the gas-light in close, hot rooms, with the cards sliding from the faro box hour after hour.
"Eighty-five short--that's right," assented Larkin.Then, with a look at Culver: "And some of 'em'll come mighty high.""Where are you going to do business with them?" inquired Merriweather."Here?""Right here in this room, where I've done it many's the time before," replied Larkin."To-morrow night Conkey Sedgwick and my boy Tom'll begin steerin' 'em in one at a time about eight o'clock.""Then I'll turn the money over to you at seven to-morrow night," said Culver."I've got it in a safe place.""Not one of the banks, I hope," said Merriweather.
"We noted your suggestions on that point, and on all the others," Culver answered with gracious condescension."That's why I brought cash in small denominations and didn't go near anybody with it."Larkin rose."I've got to get to work.See you here to-morrow night at seven, Mr.Culver--seven sharp.I guess it'll be Judge Graney on the third ballot.On the first ballot the organization'll vote solid for Graney, and my fellows'll vote for John Frankfort.On the second ballot half my Frankfort crowd'll switch over to Graney.On the third I'll put the rest of 'em over, and that'll be enough to elect--probably the Scarborough crowd'll see it's no use and let us make it unanimous.The losers are always hot for harmony.""That sounds well," said Merriweather--his was a voice that left his hearers doubtful whether he meant what his words said or the reverse.
Culver looked with secret admiration from one man to the other, and continued to think of them and to admire, after they had gone.He felt important, sitting in and by proxy directing the councils of these powerful men, these holders and manipulators of the secret strings whereto were attached puppet peoples and puppet politicians.Seven years behind the scenes with Dumont's most private affairs had given him a thoroughgoing contempt for the mass of mankind.Did he not sit beside the master, at the innermost wheels, deep at the very heart of the intricate mechanism? Did not that position make him a sort of master, at any rate far superior to the princeliest puppet?
At five the next afternoon--the afternoon of the day before the convention--he was at the Eyrie, and sent a servant to say to Mrs.Dumont that he would like to see her.She came down to him in the library.
"I'm only troubling you for a moment," he said.
"I'll relieve you of my package."
"Very well," said Pauline."I haven't thought of it since day before yesterday.I'll bring it down to you."She left him in the library and went up the stairs--she had been reading everything that was published about the coming convention, and the evident surprise of all the politicians at the strength Scarborough was mustering for ex-Governor Bowen had put her in high good humor.She cautioned herself that he could not carry the convention; but his showing was a moral victory--and what a superb personal triumph! With everything against him--money and the machine and the skilful confusing of the issues by his crafty opponents--he had rallied about him almost all that was really intelligent in his party; and he had demonstrated that he had on his side a mass of the voters large out of all proportion to the number of delegates he had wrested away from the machine--nearly three hundred, when everybody had supposed the machine would retain all but a handful.
Money! Her lips curled scornfully--out here, in her own home, among these simple people, the brutal power of money was master just as in New York, among a people crazed by the passion for luxury and display.
She was kneeling before the safe, was working the combination, paper in hand.The knob clicked as the rings fell into place;she turned the bolt and swung the door open.She reached into the safe.Suddenly she drew her hand back and sat up on the floor, looking at the package."Why, it's for use in the convention!" she exclaimed.
She did not move for several minutes; when she did, it was to examine the time lock, to reset it, to close the door and bolt it and throw the lock off the combination.Then she rose and slowly descended to the library.As she reappeared, empty-handed, Culver started violently and scrutinized her face.Its expression put him in a panic."Mrs.Dumont!" he exclaimed wildly.
"Has it been stolen?"
She shook her head."No," she said."It's there."Trembling from weakness in the reaction, he leaned against the table, wiping his sweating brow with sweating hands.
"But," she went on, "it must stay there."He looked open-mouthed at her.
