It is the cook and the housekeeper in contention.

"I tell ye's I'm goin' to fasten it on the door! Such doings as this I never heard of. Oh, Davy, my darlint! Oh! Davy, my darlint!"

The crowd is withdrawing to the opposite curb, But the crush is tremendous. There are ten thousand people in the street. Only those near by know what is happening.

The cook escapes from the housekeeper. She climbs the steps of the portico. She flaunts the white c.r.a.pe. "Begone, ye blasphemous wretches!" she cries.

"What the devil is that?" asks the first citizen.

The cook is fastening the white gauze and the white satin ribbon on the bell k.n.o.b.

"Do ye see that, ye graveyard robbers? Will ye blow yer bra.s.s bands and yer tin pipes now, ye murtherin' wretches?"

The host has seen the signal of death, as it flaunts under the flickering light of the gas lamp. There is an insensible yet rapid departure. There were ten thousand hearers. There are, perhaps, ten hundred whose eyes are as yet fixed upward on the orator.

"Our republic will forever remain splendid among nations," comes the rich voice from the balcony. One may see a form swaying, an arm reaching forth in the dim light.

The ten hundred are diminishing. It is like the banners of the auroral light. The ten hundred were there a moment ago. Now it is but a memory. No one is there. The street is so empty that a belated delivery wagon may rattle along, stopping at wrong houses to fix the number.

The orator speaks on. He weeps and he thunders.

Hasten out on that balcony, Richard Tarbelle, and stop this scandal!

Lead that demented orator in! Pluck him by the sleeve! Pluck harder!

"The voice of the people, my fellow-citizens," cries the people's idol, "is the voice--is the voice of G.o.d."

"G.o.d, and Holy Mary, and the sweet angels!" comes a low, keening cry from the kitchen.

CHAPTER XI

LYNCH-LAW FOR CORKEY

It is a month after the election. Lockwin has been out of bed for a week.

"You astound me!" cries Dr. Tarpion.

The doctor is just back from his mine in Mexico. The doctor has climbed the volcano of Popocatapetl. His six-story hotel in Chicago is leased on a bond for five years. He has a nugget of gold from his mine. His health is capital. He is at the mental and physical antipodes of his friend. Talk of Mexican summer resorts and Chicago real estate is to the doctor's taste. He is not prepared for Lockwin's recital.

"Your Davy, my poor fellow, had no const.i.tution. Mind you, I do not say he would have died had I remained at my office. I do not say that.

Of course, it was highly important that his stomach should be preserved. You fell in the hands of a Dr. Flod--let me see our list.

Why, by heavens! his name is not down at all!"

Dr. Floddin's name is not in the medical peerage. Dr. Floddin, therefore, does not exist.

"Well, David, let us speak of it no more. You were entrapped. How about this Congress? I tell you that you must go. You must do exactly as our leader directs."

Lockwin is elected, and he is not. He received the most votes, but great frauds were openly perpetrated. Without the false votes Corkey would have been elected. There is to be a contest in the lower House.

The majority of the party in the House is only three, with two republicans on sick beds in close districts.

Interest in the Chicago affair is overshadowing. The President's private secretary has commissioned the Chicago political boss to fix it up.

Corkey is an unknown factor. The boss a.s.sures the administration that the district would be lost if Corkey should win.

What does Corkey want?

"I was elected," says Corkey.

"You don't carry the papers," answers the boss.

"I just made you fellers screw your nut for 2,000 crooked votes," says Corkey.

"None of your sailors had the right to vote," says the boss. "Now, here, Corkey, you are going to lose that certificate. It doesn't belong to you, and we've got the House. Here's a telegram from a high source: 'Lockwin must get the election at all hazards. See Corkey.'

I'll tell you what you do. You and Lockwin go on and see the President."

"That will never do," says Corkey. "But I'll tell you what I will do."

"Go on."

"Do you know I've a notion that Lockwin ain't goin' to serve. If he resigns, I want it. If he catches on, all right. I want him or you to get me collector of the port. You hear me? Collector of the port.

His n.o.bs, this collector we have now--he must get out, I don't care how. But he must sherry. I can't fool with these sailors. If they see me trading with Lockwin they will swear I sell out. See? Well, I want to see Lockwin, just the same. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do: You Send Lockwin to Washington to explain the situation. Get in writing what is to be done. Don't let there be any foolin' on that point. Tell Lockwin to return by the way of Canada, and get to Owen Sound. I know a way home that will leave us alone for two days or more. In that time I can tell what I'll do."

"All right; Lockwin shall go."

"I'll give it out that I've gone to Duluth for the newspaper. But I've no use for newspapers no more. It's collector or Congress, sure.

Don't attempt no smart plays. Tell that to the jam-jorum at Washington. If they want me to take down my contest and cover up the hole you ballot-box-stuffers is in here at home, let 'em fix _me_."

"All right."

"It's all right if Lockwin meets me at Owen Sound. I've got the _papes_ to send a lot of you duffers to the pen if you don't come to time."

Corkey therefore sails for Duluth. It increases his standing with the sailors to make these trips late in the year.

Lockwin is to go to Washington. It is evident, say his friends, that he is greatly exhausted with the efforts of the campaign. Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin is not the ambitious man that he has seemed to be. Dr. Tarpion has hinted that it was only through strong personal influence that Lockwin has been held faithful to the heavy party duty that now lies upon him.

Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin did not want the office if it did not belong to him.

But Lockwin has had brain fever for nearly a month. What could you expect of a man who made so many speeches at so many wigwams?

"Besides," says the political boss, "he had sickness in his family."

"Some one died, didn't they?" asks a rounder where these reports are bandied.

"Yes, a little boy. Good-looking little fellow, too. I saw him with Lockwin."

"When I was a young man," said the boss, "old Sol Wynkoop got in the heat of the canva.s.s, just like Lockwin. Old Sol was just about as good a speaker. He would talk right on, making 'em howl every so often.

Well, his wife and his daughter they both died and was buried, and Old Sol he didn't miss his three dates a day. He didn't come home at all.