“And do you think that I – ” He gathered her into his strong arms. “Let them talk!” he breathed passionately against her cheek. “We’ll win the town in spite of it!”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE CANDIDATE AND THE TIGER

The town’s talk continued, as Katherine knew it would. But though she resented it in Bruce’s behalf, it was of small importance in her relationship with him compared with the difference in their opinions. She was in constant fear, every time he called, lest that difference should come up. But it did not on the next day, nor on the next. He was too full of love on the one hand, too full of his political fight on the other. The more she saw of him the more she loved him, so thoroughly fine, so deeply tender, was he – and the more did she dread that avoidless day when their ideas must come into collision, so masterful was he, so certain that he was right.

On the fourth evening after their stormy ride she thought the collision was at hand.

“There is something serious I want to speak to you about,” he began, as they sat in the old-fashioned parlour. “You know what the storm has done to the city water. It has washed all the summer’s accumulation of filth down into the streams that feed the reservoir, and since the filtering plant is out of commission the water has been simply abominable. The people are complaining louder than ever. Blake and the rest of his crew are telling the public that this water is a sample of what everything will be like if I’m elected. It’s hurting me, and hurting me a lot. I don’t blame the people so much for being influenced by what Blake says, for, of course, they don’t know what’s going on beneath the surface. But I’ve got to make some kind of a reply, and a mighty strong one, too. Now here’s where I want you to help me.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

“If I could only tell the truth – what a regular knock-out of a reply that would be!” he exclaimed. “Some time ago you told me to wait – you expected to have the proof a little later. Do you have any idea how soon you will have your evidence?”

Again she felt the impulse to tell him all she knew and all her plans. But a medley of motives worked together to restrain her. There was the momentum of her old decision to keep silent. There was the knowledge that, though he loved her as a woman, he still held her in low esteem as a lawyer. There was the instinct that what she knew, if saved, might in some way serve her when they two fought their battle. And there was the thrilling dream of waiting till she had all her evidence gathered and then bringing it triumphantly to him – and thus enable him through her to conquer.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you the proof for a while yet,” she replied.

She saw that he was impatient at the delay, that he believed she would discover nothing. She expected the outbreak that very instant. She expected him to demand that she turn the case over to the Indianapolis lawyer he had spoken to her about, who would be able to make some progress; to demand that she give up law altogether, and demand that as his intended wife she give up all thought of an independent professional career. She nerved herself for the shock of battle.

But it did not come.

“All right,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer, then.”

He got up and paced the floor.

“But I can’t let Blake and his bunch go on saying those things without any kind of an answer from me. I’ve got to talk back, or get out of the fight!”

He continued pacing to and fro, irked by his predicament, frowning with thought. Presently he paused before her.

“Here is what I’m going to say,” he announced decisively. “Since I cannot tell the whole truth, I’m going to tell a small part of the truth. I’m going to say that the condition of the water is due to intentional mismanagement on the part of the present administration – which everybody knows is dominated by Blake. Blake’s party, in order to prevent my election on a municipal ownership platform, in order to make sure of remaining in power, is purposely trying to make municipal ownership fail. And I’m going to say this as often, and as hard, as I can!”

In the days that followed he certainly did say it hard, both in the Express and in his speeches. The charge had not been made publicly before, and, stated with Bruce’s tremendous emphasis, it now created a sensation. Everybody talked about it; it gave a yet further excitement to a most exciting campaign. There was vigorous denial from Blake, his fellow candidates, and from the Clarion, which was supporting the Blake ticket. Again and again the Clarion denounced Bruce’s charge as merely the words of a demagogue, a yellow journalist – merely the irresponsible and baseless calumny so common in campaigns. Nevertheless, it had the effect that Bruce intended. His stock took a new jump, and sentiment in his favour continued to grow at a rate that made him exult and that filled the enemy with concern.

This inquietude penetrated the side office of the Tippecanoe House and sorely troubled the heart of Blind Charlie Peck. So, early one afternoon, he appeared in the office of the editor of the Express. His reception was rather more pleasant than on the occasion of his first visit, now over a month before; for, although Katherine had repeated her warning, Bruce had given it little credit. He did not have much confidence in her woman’s judgment. Besides, he was reassured by the fact that Blind Charlie had, in every apparent particular, adhered to his bargain to keep hands off.

“Just wait a second,” Bruce said to his caller; and turning back to his desk he hastily scribbled a headline over an item about a case of fever down in River Court. This he sent down to the composing-room, and swung around to the old politician. “Well, now, what’s up?”

“I just dropped around,” said Blind Charlie, with his good-natured smile, “to congratulate you on the campaign you’re making. You’re certainly putting up a fine article of fight!”

“It does look as if we had a pretty fair chance of winning,” returned Bruce, confidently.

“Great! Great!” said Blind Charlie heartily. “I certainly made no mistake when I picked you out as the one man that could win for us.”

“Thanks. I’ve done my best. And I’m going to keep it up.”

“That’s right. I told you I looked on it as my last campaign. I’m pretty old, and my heart’s not worth a darn. When I go, whether it’s up or down, I’ll travel a lot easier for having first soaked Blake good and proper.”

Bruce did not answer. He expected Blind Charlie to leave; in fact, he wanted him to go, for it lacked but a quarter of an hour of press time. But instead of departing, Blind Charlie settled back in his chair, crossed his legs and leisurely began to cut off a comfortable mouthful from his plug of tobacco.

“Yes, sir, it’s a great fight,” he continued. “It doesn’t seem that it could be improved on. But a little idea has come to me that may possibly help. It may not be any good at all, but I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to drop in and suggest it to you.”

“I’ll be glad to hear it,” returned Bruce. “But couldn’t we talk it over, say in half an hour? It’s close to press time, and I’ve got some proofs to look through – in fact the proof of an article on that water-works charge of mine.”

“Oh, I’ll only take a minute or two,” said Blind Charlie. “And you may want to make use of my idea in this afternoon’s paper.”

“Well, go ahead. Only remember that at this hour the press is my boss.”

“Of course, of course,” said Blind Charlie amiably. “Well, here’s to business: Now I guess I’ve been through about as many elections as you are years old. It isn’t what the people think in the middle of the campaign that wins. It’s what they think on election day. I’ve seen many a horse that looked like he had the race on ice at the three quarters licked to a frazzle in the home stretch. Same with candidates. Just now you look like a winner. What we want is to make sure that you’ll still be out in front when you go under the wire.”

“Yes, yes,” said Bruce impatiently. “What’s your plan?”

“You’ve got the people with you now,” the old man continued, “and we want to make sure you don’t lose ’em. This water-works charge of yours has been a mighty good move. But I’ve had my ear to the ground. I’ve had it to the ground for nigh on fifty years, and if there’s any kind of a political noise, you can bet I hear it. Now I’ve detected some sounds which tell me that your water-works talk is beginning to react against you.”

“You don’t say! I haven’t noticed it.”

“Of course not; if you had, there’d be no use for me to come here and tell you,” returned Blind Charlie blandly. “That’s where the value of my political ear comes in. Now in my time I’ve seen many a sensation react and swamp the man that started it. That’s what we’ve got to look out for and guard against.”

“U’m! And what do you think we ought to do?”

Bruce was being taken in a little easier than Blind Charlie had anticipated.

“If I were you,” the old man continued persuasively, “I’d pitch the tune of the whole business in a little lower key. Let up on the big noise you’re making – cut out some of the violent statements. I think you understand. Take my word for it, quieter tactics will be a lot more effective at this stage of the game. You’ve got the people – you don’t want to scare them away.”

Bruce stared thoughtfully, and without suspicion, at the loose-skinned, smiling, old face.

“U’m!” he said. “U’m!”

Blind Charlie waited patiently for two or three minutes.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

“You may be right,” Bruce slowly admitted.

“There’s no doubt of it,” the old politician pleasantly assured him.

“And of course I’m much obliged. But I’m afraid I disagree with you.”

“Eh?” said Blind Charlie, with the least trace of alarm.

Bruce’s face tightened, and the flat of his hand came down upon his desk.

“When you start a fight, the way to win is to keep on fighting. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Blind Charlie started forward in his chair.

“See here,” he began, authoritatively. But in an instant his voice softened. “You’ll be making a big mistake if you do that. Better trust to my older head in this. I want to win as much as you do, you know.”

“I admit you may be right,” said Bruce doggedly. “But I’m going to fight right straight ahead.”

“Come, now, listen to reason.”

“I’ve heard your reasons. And I’m going right on with the fight.”

Blind Charlie’s face grew grim, but his voice was still gentle and insinuating.

“Oh, you are, are you? And give no attention to my advice?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I see it.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I don’t see it.”

“I know; but I guess I’m running this campaign,” retorted Bruce a little hotly.

“And I guess the party chairman has some say-so, too.”

“I told you, when I accepted, that I would take the nomination without strings, or I wouldn’t take it at all. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to let you ruin the party.”

Bruce looked at him keenly, for the first time suspicious. Katherine’s warning echoed vaguely in his head.

“See here, Charlie Peck, what the devil are you up to?”

“Better do as I say,” advised Peck.

“I won’t!”

“You won’t, eh?” Blind Charlie’s face had grown hard and dark with threats. “If you don’t,” he said, “I’m afraid the boys won’t see your name on the ticket on election day.”

Bruce sprang up.

“Damn you! What do you mean by that?”

“I reckon you’re not such an infant that you need that explained.”

“You’re right; I’m not!” cried Bruce. “And so you threaten to send word around to the boys to knife me on election day?”

“As I said, I guess I don’t need to explain.”

“No, you don’t, for I now see why you came here,” cried Bruce, his wrath rising as he realized that he had been hoodwinked by Blind Charlie from the very first. “So there’s a frame-up between you and Blake, and you’re trying to sell me out and sell out the party! You first tried to wheedle me into laying down – and when I wouldn’t be fooled, you turned to threats!”

“The question isn’t what I came for,” snapped Blind Charlie. “The question is, what are you going to do? Either you do as I say, or not one of the boys will vote for you. Now I want your answer.”

“You want my answer, do you? Why – why – ” Bruce glared down at the old man in a fury. “Well, by God, you’ll get my answer, and quick!”

He dropped down before his typewriter, ran in a sheet of paper, and for a minute the keys clicked like mad. Then he jerked out the sheet of paper, scribbled a cabalistic instruction across its top, sprang to his office door and let out a great roar of “Copy!”

He quickly faced about upon Blind Charlie.

“Here’s my answer. Listen:

“‘This afternoon Charlie Peck called at the office of the Express and ordered its editor, who is candidate for mayor, to cease from his present aggressive campaign tactics. He threatened, in case the candidate refused, to order the “boys” to knife him at the polls.

“‘The candidate refused.

“‘Voters of Westville, do your votes belong to you, or do they belong to Charlie Peck?’

“That’s my answer, Peck. It all goes in big, black type in a box in the centre of the first page of this afternoon’s paper. We’ll see whether the party will stand for your methods.” At this instant the grimy young servitor of the press appeared. “Here, boy. Rush that right down.”

“Hold on!” cried Peck in consternation. “You’re not going to print that thing?”

“Unless the end of the world happens along just about now, that’ll be on the street in half an hour.” Bruce stepped to the door and opened it wide. “And, now, clear out! You and your votes can go plum to hell!”

“Damn you! But that piece will do you no good. I’ll deny it!”

“Deny it – for God’s sake do! Then everybody will know I’m telling the truth. And let me warn you, Charlie Peck – I’m going to find out what your game is! I’m going to show you up! I’m going to wipe you clear off the political map!”

Blind Charlie swore at him again as he passed out of the door.

“We’re not through with each other yet – remember that!”

“You bet we’re not!” Bruce shouted after him. “And when we are, there’ll not be enough of you left to know what’s happened!”

CHAPTER XIX
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK

Two hours later Bruce was striding angrily up and down the West parlour, telling Katherine all about it.

She refrained from saying, “I told you so,” by either word or look. She was too wise for such a petty triumph. Besides, there was something in that afternoon’s Express, which Bruce had handed her that interested her far more than his wrathful recital of Blind Charlie’s treachery; and although she was apparently giving Bruce her entire attention, and was in fact mechanically taking in his words, her mind was excitedly playing around this second piece of news.

For Doctor Sherman, so said the Express, had that day suddenly left Westville. He had been failing in health for many weeks and was on the verge of a complete breakdown, the Express sympathetically explained, and at last had yielded to the importunities of his worried congregation that he take a long vacation. He had gone to the pine woods of the North, and to insure the unbroken rest he so imperatively required, to prevent the possibility of appealing letters of inconsiderate parishioners or other cares from following him into his isolation, he had, at his doctor’s command, left no address behind.

Katherine instantly knew that this vacation was a flight. The situation in Westville had grown daily more intense, and Doctor Sherman had seemed to her to be under an ever-increasing strain. Blake, she was certain, had ordered the young clergyman to leave, fearing, if he remained, that his nerve might break and he might confess his true relation to her father’s case. She realized that now, when Doctor Sherman was apparently weakening, was the psychological time to besiege him with accusation and appeal; and while Bruce was rehearsing his scene with Blind Charlie she was rapidly considering means for seeking out Doctor Sherman and coming face to face with him.

Her mind was brought back from its swift search by Bruce swinging a chair up before her and sitting down.

“But, Katherine – I’ll show Peck!” he cried, fiercely, exultantly. “He doesn’t know what a fight he’s got ahead of him. This frees me entirely from him and his machine, and I’m going to beat him so bad that I’ll drive him clear out of politics.”

She nodded. That was exactly what she was secretly striving to help him do.

He became more composed, and for a hesitant, silent moment he peered thoughtfully into her eyes.

“But, Katherine – this affair with Peck this afternoon shows me I am up against a mighty stiff proposition,” he said, speaking with the slowness of one who is shaping his statements with extreme care. “I have got to fight a lot harder than I thought I would have to three hours ago, when I thought I had Peck with me. To beat him, and beat Blake, I have got to have every possible weapon. Consequently, circumstances force me to speak of a matter that I wish I did not have to talk about.” He reached forward and took her hand. “But, remember, dear,” he besought her tenderly, “that I don’t want to hurt you. Remember that.”

She felt a sudden tightening about the heart.

“Yes – what is it?” she asked quietly.

“Remember, dear, that I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated. “It’s about your father’s case. You see how certain victory would be if we only had the evidence to prove what we know?”

“I see.”

“I don’t mean to say one single unkind word about your not having made – having made – more encouraging progress.” He pressed her hand; his tone was gentle and persuasive. “I’ll confess I have secretly felt some impatience, but I have not pressed the matter because – well, you see that in this critical situation, with election so near, I’m forced to speak about it now.”

“What would you like?” she said with an effort.

“You see we cannot afford any more delays, any more risks. We have got to have the quickest possible action. We have got to use every measure that may get results. Now, dear, you would not object, would you, if at this critical juncture, when every hour is so valuable, we were to put the whole matter in the hands of my Indianapolis lawyer friend I spoke to you about?”

The gaze she held upon his continued steady, but she was pulsing wildly within and she had to swallow several times before she could speak.

“You – you think he can do better than I can?”

“I do not want to say a single word that will reflect on you, dear. But we must admit the facts. You have had the case for over four months, and we have no real evidence as yet.”

“And you think he can get it?”

“He’s very shrewd, very experienced. He’ll follow up every clue with detectives. If any man can succeed in the short time that remains, he can.”

“Then you – you think I can’t succeed?”

“Come, dear, let’s be reasonable!”

“But I think I can.”

“But, Katherine!” he expostulated.

She felt what was coming.

“I’m sure I can – if you will only trust me a little longer!” she said desperately.

He dropped her hand.

“You mean that, though I ask you to give it up, you want to continue the case?”

She grew dizzy, his figure swam before her.

“I – I think I do.”

“Why – why – ” He broke off. “I can’t tell you how surprised I am!” he exclaimed. “I have said nothing of late because I was certain that, if I gave nature a little time in which to work, there would be no need to argue the matter with you. I was certain that, now that love had entered your life, your deeper woman’s instincts would assert themselves and you would naturally desire to withdraw from the case. In fact, I was certain that your wish to practise law, your ambition for a career outside the home, would sink into insignificance – and that you would have no desire other than to become a true woman of the home, where I want my wife to be, where she belongs. Oh, come now, Katherine,” he added with a rush of his dominating confidence, taking her hand again, “you know that’s just what you’re going to do!”

She sat throbbing, choking. She realized that the long-feared battle was now inevitably at hand. For the moment she did not know whether she was going to yield or fight. Her love of him, her desire to please him, her fear of what might be the consequence if she crossed him, all impelled her toward surrender; her deep-seated, long-clung-to principles impelled her to make a stand for the life of her dreams. She was a tumult of counter instincts and emotions. But excited as she was, she found herself looking on at herself in a curious detachment, palpitantly wondering which was going to win – the primitive woman in her, the product of thousands of generations of training to fit man’s desire, or this other woman she contained, shaped by but a few brief years, who had come ardently to believe that she had the right to be what she wanted to be, no matter what the man required.

“Oh, come now, dear,” Bruce assured her confidently, yet half chidingly, “you know you are going to give it all up and be just my wife!”

She gazed at his rugged, resolute face, smiling at her now with that peculiar forgiving tenderness that an older person bestows upon a child that is about to yield its childish whim.

“There now, it’s all settled,” he said, smoothing her hand. “And we’ll say no more about it.”

And then words forced their way up out of her turbulent indecision.

“I’m afraid it isn’t settled.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“No?”

“No. I want to be your wife, Arnold. But – but I can’t give up the other.”

“What! You’re in earnest?” he cried.

“I am – with all my heart!”

He sank back and stared at her. If further answer were needed, her pale, set face gave it to him. His quick anger began to rise, but he forced it down.

“That puts an entirely new face on the matter,” he said, trying to speak calmly. “The question, instead of merely concerning the next few weeks, concerns our whole lives.”

She tried to summon all her strength, all her faculties, for the shock of battle.

“Just so,” she answered

“Then we must go over the matter very fully,” he said. His command over himself grew more easy. He believed that what he had to do was to be patient, and talk her out of her absurdity. “You must understand, of course,” he went on, smiling at her tenderly, “that I want to support my wife, and that I am able to support my wife. I want to protect her – shield her – have her lean upon me. I want her to be the goddess of my home. The goddess of my home, Katherine! That’s what I want. You understand, dear, don’t you?”

She saw that he confidently expected her to yield to his ideal and accept it, and she now knew that she could never yield. She paused a space before she spoke, in a sort of terror of what might be the consequence of the next few moments.

“I understand you,” she said, duplicating his tone of reason. “But what shall I do in the home? I dislike housework.”

“There’s no need of your doing it,” he promptly returned. “I can afford servants.”

“Then what shall I do in the home?” she repeated.

“Take things easy. Enjoy yourself.”

“But I don’t want to enjoy myself. I want to do things. I want to work.”

“Come, come, be reasonable,” he said, with his tolerant smile. “You know that’s quite out of the question.”

“Since you are going to pay servants,” she persisted, “why should I idle about the house? Why should not I, an able-bodied person, be out helping in the world’s work somehow – and also helping you to earn a living?”

“Help me earn a living!” He flushed, but his resentment subsided. “When I asked you to marry me I implied in that question that I was able and willing to support you. Really, Katherine, it’s quite absurd for you to talk about it. There is no financial necessity whatever for you to work.”

“You mean, then, that I should not work because, in you, I have enough to live upon?”

“Of course!”

“Do you know any man, any real man I mean,” she returned quickly, “who stops work in the vigour of his prime merely because he has enough money to live upon? Would you give up your work to-morrow if some one were willing to support you?”

“Now, don’t be ridiculous, Katherine! That’s quite a different question. I’m a man, you know.”

“And work is a necessity for you?”

“Why, of course.”

“And you would not be happy without it?” she eagerly pursued.

“Certainly not.”

“And you are right there! But what you don’t seem to understand is, that I have the same need, the same love, for work that you have. If you could only recognize, Arnold, that I have the same feelings in this matter that you have, then you would understand me. I demand for myself the right that all men possess as a matter of course – the right to work!”

“If you must work,” he cried, a little exasperated, “why, of course, you can help in the housework.”

“But I also demand the right to choose my work. Why should I do work which I do not like, for which I have no aptitude, and which I should do poorly, and give up work which interests me, for which I have been trained, and for which I believe I have an aptitude?”

“But don’t you realize, in doing it, if you are successful, you are taking the bread out of a man’s mouth?” he retorted.

“Then every man who has a living income, and yet works, is also taking the bread out of a man’s mouth. But does a real man stop work because of that? Besides, if you use that argument, then in doing my own housework I’d be taking the bread out of a woman’s mouth.”

“Why – why – ” he stammered. His face began to redden. “We shouldn’t belittle our love with this kind of talk. It’s all so material, so sordid.”

“It’s not sordid to me!” she cried, stretching out a hand to him. “Don’t be angry, Arnold. Try to understand me – please do, please do. Work is a necessity of life to you. It is also a necessity of life to me. I’m fighting with you for the right to work. I’m fighting with you for my life!”

“Then you place work, your career, above our happiness together?” he demanded angrily.

“Not at all,” she went on rapidly, pleadingly. “But I see no reason why there should not be both. Our happiness should be all the greater because of my work. I’ve studied myself, Arnold, and I know what I need. To be thoroughly happy, I need work; useful work, work that interests me. I tell you we’ll be happier, and our happiness will last longer, if only you let me work. I know! I know!”

“Dream stuff! You’re following a mere will-o’-the-wisp!”

“That’s what women have been following in the past,” she returned breathlessly. “Look among your married friends. How many ideally happy couples can you count? Very, very few. And why are there so few? One reason is, because the man finds, after the novelty is worn off, that his wife is uninteresting, has nothing to talk about; and so his love cools to a good-natured, passive tolerance of her. Most married men, when alone with their wives, sit in stupid silence. But see how the husband livens up if a man joins them! This man has been out in the interesting world. The wife has been cooped up at home. The man has something to talk about. The wife has not. Well, I am going to be out in the interesting world, doing something. I am going to have something to talk to my husband about. I am going to be interesting to him, as interesting to him as any man. And I am going to try to hold his love, Arnold, the love of his heart, the love of his head, to the very end!”

He was exasperated by her persistence, but he still held himself in check.

“That sounds very plausible to you. But there is one thing in your argument you forget.”

“And that?”

“We are grown-up people, you and I. I guess we can talk straight out.”

“Yes. Go on!”

He gazed at her very steadily for a moment.

“There are such things as children, you know.”

She returned his steady look.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Every normal woman wants children. And I should want them too.”

“There – that settles it,” he said with triumph. “You can’t combine children and a profession.”

“But I can!” she cried. “And I should give the children the very best possible care, too! Of course there are successive periods in which the mother would have to give her whole attention to the children. But if she lives till she is sixty-five the sum total of her forty or forty-five married years that she has to give up wholly to her children amounts to but a few years. There remains all the balance of her life that she could give to other work. Do you realize how tremendously the world is changing, and how women’s work is changing with it?”

“Oh, let’s don’t mix in statistics, and history, and economics with our love!”

“But we’ve got to if our love is to last!” she cried. “We’re living in a time when things are changing. We’ve got to consider the changes. And the greatest changes are, and are going to be, in woman’s work. Up in our attic are my great-grandmother’s wool carders, her spinning wheel, her loom, all sorts of things; she spun, wove, made all the clothing, did everything. These things are now done by professional experts; that sort of work has been taken away from woman. Now all that’s left for the woman to do in the home is to cook, clean, and care for children. Life is still changing. We are still developing. Some time these things too will be done, and better done, by professional experts – though just how, or just when, I can’t even guess. Once there was a strong sentiment against the child being taken from the mother and being sent to school. Now most intelligent parents are glad to put their children in charge of trained kindergartners at four or five. And in the future some new institution, some new variety of trained specialist, may develop that will take charge of the child for a part of the day at an even earlier age. That’s the way the world is moving!”