Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his friends enthusiastic, all his "fences" in good condition, and his nomination evidently certain. It followed that he was in high good-humor.

He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature met.

"But Tom--I mean Mr. Bannister--is going to beat you, and get the nomination," she archly remarked.

"If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!" As he spoke he glared at her as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub.

"To him and me?" she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone. "If he---"

"Phyllis!" he interrupted, savagely, "no joking on that subject. I won't---"

"No; I'm serious," she sweetly said. "If he can't beat you, I don't want him."

"Zounds! Is that a bargain?" He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent down so that his eyes were on a level with hers.

"Yes," she replied; "and I'll hold you to it."

"You promise me?" he insisted.

"A man must go ahead of my papa," she said, putting her arms about the old gentleman's neck, "or I'll stay by papa."

He kissed her with atrocious violence. Even the knee-sag of his trousers suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling.

"Well, it's good-bye, Tom," he said, pushing her away from him, and letting go a profound ba.s.s laugh. "I'll settle him to-morrow."

"You'll see," she rejoined. "He may not be so easy to settle."

He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted.

That evening old Barnaby brought his banjo around to the veranda. Colonel Sommerton was down in town mixing with the "boys," and doing up his final political ch.o.r.es so that there might be no slip on the morrow. It was near eleven o'clock when he came up the hill and stopped at the gate to hear the song that Barnaby was singing. He supposed that the old negro was all alone. Certainly the captivating voice, with its unkempt melody, and its throbbing, skipping, harum-scarum banjo accompaniment, was all that broke the silence of the place.

His song was:

"DE Sa.s.sAFRAS BLOOM

"Dey's sugah in de win' when de sa.s.safras bloom, When de little co'n fluttah in de row, When de robin in de tree, like er young gal in de loom, Sing sweet, sing sof', sing low.

"Oh, de sa.s.safras blossom hab de keen smell o' de root, An' it hab rich er tender yaller green!

De co'n hit kinder twinkle when hit firs' begin ter shoot, While de b.u.m'le-bee hit b.u.m'le in between.

"Oh, de sa.s.safras ta.s.sel, an' de young shoot o' de co'n, An' de young gal er-singing in de loom, Dey's somefin' 'licious in 'em f'om de day 'at dey is bo'n, An' dis darky's sort o' took er likin' to 'm.

"Hit's kind o' sort o' glor'us when yo' feels so quare an' cur'us, An' yo' don' know what it is yo' wants ter do; But I takes de chances on it 'at hit jes can't be injur'us When de whole endurin' natur tells yo' to!

"Den wake up, n.i.g.g.ah, see de sa.s.safras in bloom!

Lis'n how de sleepy wedder blow!

An' de robin in de haw--bush an' de young gal in de loom Is er-singin' so sof' an' low."

"Thank you, Barn; here's your dollar," said the voice of Tom Bannister when the song was ended. "You may go now."

And while Colonel Sommerton stood amazed, the young man came clown the veranda steps with Phyllis on his arm. They stopped when they reached the ground.

"Good--night, dear. I'll win you to-morrow or my name is not Tom Bannister.

I'll win you, and Sommerton Place too." And when they parted he came right down the walk between the trees, to run almost against Colonel Sommerton.

"Why, good-evening, Colonel," he said, with a cordial, liberal spirit in his voice. "I have been waiting in hopes of seeing you."

"You'll get enough of me to-morrow to last you a lifetime, sah," promptly responded the old man, marching straight on into the house. Nothing could express more concentrated and yet comprehensive contempt than Colonel Sommerton's manner.

"The impudent young scamp," he growled. "I'll show him!"

Phyllis sprang from ambush behind a vine, and covered her father's face with warm kisses, then broke away before he could say a word, and ran up to her room.

In the distant kitchen Barnaby was singing:

"Kick so high I broke my neck, An' fling my right foot off'm my leg Went to work mos' awful quick, An' mended 'em wid er wooden peg."

Next morning at nine o'clock sharp the convention was called to order, General John Duff Tolliver in the chair. Speeches were expected, and it had been arranged that Tom Bannister should first appear, Colonel Sommerton would follow, and then the ballot would be taken.

This order of business showed the fine tactics of the Colonel, who well understood how much advantage lay in the vivid impression of a closing speech.

As the two candidates made their way from opposite directions through the throng to the platform, which was under a tree in a beautiful suburban grove, both were greeted with effusive warmth by admiring const.i.tuents.

Many women were present, and Tom Bannister felt the blood surge mightily through his veins at sight of Phyllis standing tall and beautiful before him with her hand extended.

"If you lose, die game, Tom," she murmured, as he pressed her fingers and pa.s.sed on.

The young man's appearance on the stand called forth a tremendous roar of applause. Certainly he was popular. Colonel Sommerton felt a queer shock of surprise thrill along his nerves. Could it be possible that he would lose?

No; the thought was intolerable. He sat a trifle straighter on his bench, and began gathering the points of his well-conned speech. He saw old Barnaby moving around the rim of the crowd, apparently looking for a seat.

Meantime, Tom was proceeding in a clear, soft, far-reaching voice. The Colonel started and looked askance. What did it mean? At first his brain was confused, but presently he understood. Word for word, sentence for sentence, paragraph for paragraph, Tom was delivering the Colonel's own sonorous speech! Of course the application was reversed here and there, so that the wit, the humor, and the personal thrusts all went home. It was a wonderful piece of _ad captandum_ oratory. The crowd went wild from start to finish.

Colonel Mobley Sommerton sat dazed and stupefied, mopping his forehead and trying to collect his faculties. He felt beaten, annihilated, while Tom soared superbly on the wings of Sommertonian oratory so mysteriously at his command.

From a most eligible point of view Phyllis was gazing at Tom and receiving the full brilliant current of his speech, and she appeared to catch a fine stimulus from the flow of its opening sentences. As it proceeded her face alternately flushed and paled, and her heart pounded heavily. All around rose the tumult of unbridled applause. Men flung up their hats and yelled themselves hoa.r.s.e. A speech of that sort from a young fellow like Tom Bannister was something to create irrepressible enthusiasm. It ended in such a din that when General John Duff Tolliver arose to introduce Colonel Sommerton he had to wait some time to be heard.

The situation was one that absolutely appalled, though it did not quite paralyze, the older candidate, who, even after he had gained his feet and stalked to the front of the rude rostrum, was as empty of thought as he was full of despair. This sudden and unexpected appropriation of his great speech had sapped and stupefied his intellect. He slowly swept the crowd with his dazed eyes, and by some accident the only countenance clearly visible to him was that of old Barnaby, who now sat far back on a stump, looking for all the world like a mightily mystified baboon. The negro winked and grimaced, and scratched his flat nose in sheer vacant stupidity.

Colonel Sommerton saw this, and it added an enfeebling increment to his mental torpor.

"Fellow-citizens," he presently roared, in his melodious ba.s.s voice, "I am proud of this honor." He was not sure of another word as he stood, with bagging trousers and sweat-beaded face, but he made a superhuman effort to call up his comatose wits. "I should be ungrateful were I not proud of this great demonstration." Just then his gaze fell upon the face of his daughter. Their eyes met with a mutual flash of restrospection. They were remembering the bargain. The Colonel was not aware of it, but the deliberateness and vocal volume of his opening phrases made them very impressive. "I a.s.sure you," he went on, fumbling for something to say, "that my heart is br.i.m.m.i.n.g with grat.i.tude so that my lips find it hard to utter the words that crowd into my mind." At this point some kindly friend in the audience gingerly set going a ripple of applause, which, though evidently forced, was like wine to the old man's intellect; it flung a glow through his imagination.

"The speech you have heard the youthful lamb of law declaim is a very good one, a very eloquent one indeed. If it were his own, I should not hesitate to say right here that I ought to stand aside and let him be nominated; but, fellow-citizens, that speech belongs to another and far more distinguished and eligible man than Tom Bannister." Here he paused again, and stood silent for a moment. Then, lifting his voice to a clarion pitch, he added:

"Fellow-citizens, I wrote that speech, intending to deliver it here to-day.

I was called to Canton on business early in the week, and during my absence Tom Bannister went to my house and got my ma.n.u.script and learned it by heart. To prove to you what I say is true, I will now read."

At this point the Colonel, after deliberately wiping his gla.s.ses, drew from his capacious coat-pocket the ma.n.u.script of his address, and proceeded to read it word for word, just as Bannister had declaimed it. The audience listened in silence, quite unable to comprehend the situation. There was no applause. Evidently sentiment was dormant, or it was still with Tom.

Colonel Sommerton, feeling the desperation of the moment, reached forth at random, and seeing Barnaby's old black face, it amused him, and he chanced to grab a thought as if out of the expression he saw there.

"Fellow-citizens," he added, "there is one thing I desired to say upon this important occasion. Whatever you do, be sure not to nominate to-day a man who would, if elected, ally himself with the n.i.g.g.e.rs. I don't pretend to hint that my young opponent, Tom Bannister, would favor n.i.g.g.e.r rule, but I do say--do you hear me, fellow-citizens?--I do say that every n.i.g.g.e.r in this county is a Bannister man! How do I know?? I will tell you. Last Sat.u.r.day night the n.i.g.g.e.rs had a meeting in an old stable on my premises.