3 Beginnings

Arthur now began to prepare for the speech making which he must do, writing diligently and praying for native wit. He was devoutly thankful for those four years spent in the west among rough men who had treated him, first, as the owner who needed discipline, and then as one of themselves.

Now that the time was near he felt an exhilaration, and when the evening for his first great test came he was fully prepared to meet it. His tremor disappeared and he believed he was going to meet his public, like a man unafraid.

It was a fine, crisp evening, with cold air that filled the lungs like a tonic, and that made chest and heart alike expand. Cathcart breathed deep draughts of it and threw back his head in the manner of a conqueror. He had decided to make a modest entry at Liberty Hall, where the speech was to be made, and Radigan agreed with him.

“A little style don’t hurt,” the leader had said. “It’s a mistake to think the people are down on a man because he wears good clothes or even rides in a carriage. If he’s got style, they think they have a share of it, but I guess it’s best to begin in a small way.”

Hence he was to meet Radigan at the Palace Restaurant, and they were to walk over to the hall. He knew now a quiet side entrance, and he slipped through it into the little office where Radigan, resplendent with red tie and silk hat was awaiting him.

“On time, Mr. Cathcart,” he exclaimed. “It’s a good sign. Your courage is right up to the mark. It’s goin’ to be a big meetin’, the biggest ever held in this district. The boys are whoopin’ her up. We’ll just go out an’ see how things are movin’.”

The two passed unobserved into the street, and the sound of boisterous music came to Cathcart’s ears.

“That’s our marching club,” said Radigan, with satisfaction. “We’ve brought ’em all out and they have just got to march hard an’ shout hard on a cold winter night like this to keep warm. It ain’t often that we have a torchlight procession in winter. Come down a little farther, an’ we can see ’em goin’ by.”

Despite the cold, which after all was invigorating, there were many people in the streets, drawn by the bands, the shouts, and flaring of the torchlights, and the enthusiasm, though worked up in the beginning, seemed to Arthur to have become spontaneous now. Despite himself, the music, crude though it might be, got into his blood, and a certain thrill of pride came because he was the center of things tonight, and it was for him that all this was being done. It was a feeling altogether different from that brought by books or pictures or travel. It was the sense of action, and in this hour, at least, he found it a strong wine.

“We’ll just drift along,” said Radigan. “There’s a reception committee down there at the hall, but it won’t hurt you to make ’em wait a little.”

Liberty Hall, which was used at times for entertainments of a semi-theatrical nature, had a small side door, and, after a deliberate walk through the streets, Cathcart and Radigan entered there. The policeman on guard saluted them respectfully, evidently well acquainted with Radigan, and knowing who Cathcart was, because he was with Radigan.

They passed into a small room and met the reception committee, seven gentlemen clad in black, with roses in their button holes, rubicund faces, and hair, in most cases, plastered down on their foreheads.

The room was close, and, as all the members of the reception committee had been smoking big cigars cocked up at an angle, it was hot and exceedingly stuffy. Cathcart and the committee-men talked at intervals, but Radigan breathed the smoke and the dust, as if it were a compound that his lungs loved, and talked incessantly, smoothly, and with unction.

“That’s the Marching Club,” said Radigan. “They’re comin’ in now, one band in the lead, an’ one at the wind-up of the procession. Just hear ’em cheer, will you?”

Radigan had warrant for his enthusiasm, as the cheering became so loud that it drowned the strongest efforts of the two bands. The leader was in his element now and was thoroughly happy.

“I’ll have to call the meetin’ to order,” he said, “but I’ll ask you. Mr. Cathcart, an’ the committee to stay here for the present, I’ll send for you an’ bring you on the stage just when the crowd is worked up for the sight of you.”

Radigan possessed a marked aptitude and efficiency within his own sphere, however narrow the diameter of the latter might be, and when he appeared on the stage at the theatrical moment, the crowded hall gave back thunderous cheers. The air here, also, was close and heavy, and the smoke from hundreds of cigars gathered into a cloud that extended from floor to roof. Through the film shone faces of all the white races, and it was the truthful boast of Radigan that he could speak to every one of them in his native tongue, and, moreover, that he knew for what each heart throbbed most.

The leader made a little speech after he called the meeting to order, a speech not devoid of hard common sense and adorned with familiar sayings and slang of the East Side. Then a lieutenant, at his signal, brought Cathcart and the committee upon the stage. Radigan briefly introduced him as the nominee of the Democratic party in the district. “Mr. Cathcart, all wool, an’ a yard wide,” was his expression.

Arthur was received with a hearty cheer, one due rather to the championship of Radigan than to his own personality, and, for a moment, he stood in silence before his audience. His first feeling was of repulsion. He was by nature fastidious, and he had been reared in a manner to make him more so. He was now face to face with “the people” and they were in very truth and reality “the people,” in the most extreme sense. It would be a difficult thing to reach all these alien hearts and minds.

The tremors which he had dreaded came, but he quickly stilled them and plunged into his speech. He did not strive for oratory, adopting the conversational tone, but he spoke distinctly enough to be heard by all in the house. He had made his speech as simple as possible, and he talked of the needs of the district—he was aware that anything higher would pass over their heads—and he promised that if he were sent to Albany, he would do his best, his very best to secure for them everything to which they were entitled. He did not flatter them; he did not call them the best people in the world. Nor did he say that it would be the proudest moment of his life, if he were chosen to represent them in the General Assembly, wherein he, perhaps, was wise, as he did not arouse an undue pride in his audience.

He had been speaking about a half hour when he happened to glance at one of the boxes on his right. The curtains of the box were partly down, but Cathcart’s gray eyes met the gaze of a pair of blue ones and he saw the face of Miss Howe, flushed slightly, but attentive, and, he proudly believed, approving. Beside her was Mrs. Throckmorton, large, expansive, radiant, and, as usual, dressed just a little too brightly for her age. Behind them were Hargrove and Tommy Reed, a rich young man who imagined himself to be a writer. The banker seemed to be sneering, or at least Cathcart’s fancy painted him so, and his heart swelled with a great anger. After the anger came defiance, and he resolved to do better than ever.

He did not look at the box again for a long time, but his anger passed wholly. He was glad that they had come. He would show them what he could do, and his will to go on in the course that he had chosen became unalterable. When, at last, he looked again, the face of Lucy still expressed approval and there came to him the comforting thought that she, at least, might understand his desire to return to the state at least a little of the great amount that he had received from it.

Cathcart finished his speech, feeling that he had done well within the limits needed for his district, and he was sure of it when Radigan patted him on the shoulder and repeated the words of the reporter, “You’ll do, Mr. Cathcart, you’ll do!” Nor was Arthur as much offended by the patronage as he would have been a month or two before.

Now he wished to go to the box and greet Miss Howe and incidentally the others, but his constituents were crowding upon the stage, demanding to be shaken by the hand. It was a necessity that could not be ignored and he exchanged familiar words with them as the process went on. His Western training was again invaluable, enabling him to meet them on their own ground and to share their democratic feeling.

A man tapped him on the arm, and he turned to see the young reporter, Collins, who was putting his notes in his pocket.

“I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Cathcart.” said Collins, “that you’ve struck twelve. I’ve listened to a thousand speeches and I can judge. I couldn’t do it myself, but I know when it is done.”

“Thank you. Mr. Collins,” said Arthur gratefully.

The crowd thinned at last, and he turned to the side entrance. Those for whom he was waiting were standing there, Hargrove in front. Nor did Arthur like the face of the young Titan of Finance. It seemed to him, again, that he saw a distinct sneer upon it.

“We’ve come to see how you do this sort of thing, Mr. Cathcart,” said Hargrove, “and you’ve really surprised us. I shouldn’t want to do it myself, and I suppose I couldn’t, if I would, but that I imagine doesn’t concern you.”

“Tastes differ, of course,” said Arthur coolly.

“And mine agrees with yours in this instance,” exclaimed Lucy Howe, her face eager and flushed. “I think our prominent people don’t take enough part in public life, and you deserve all the credit that should belong to a pioneer, Mr. Cathcart.”

Mr. Hargrove frowned as if he had made a mistake.

“You really did quite well,” said Mrs. Throckmorton. “It’s the first political speech I ever heard in my life, and perhaps I am not a judge, but it seems to me that you got along smoothly. I did not think that it was in any Cathcart. I suppose I should feel proud of you.”

“What a wonderful collection of types,” broke in Tommy Reed, “Really, Cathcart, I intend to accompany you on some of your electioneering tours. One can make the most interesting studies.”

“You will not make use of any of my constituents for literary purposes, at least not through me,” laughed Cathcart. Although he was wholly in earnest when he spoke, he did not intend that any such dilettante as Tommy Reed should imagine that he could go slumming with him in his district.

Lucy again spoke quietly and earnestly. She said that she had listened to him with interest, she liked the way that he had talked, and she liked the way in which the mixed crowd received him. It was a new phase of life to her, but she knew that it was worth learning.

Arthur was gratified for her words and manner and he told her so. He felt that Hargrove’s attempt to lower him in her esteem had failed. His impression that Hargrove had arranged the visit for the purpose of seeing his feebleness exposed was deepened.

They were standing at the corner of the stage, behind one of the scenes used on the semi-theatrical occasions to which Liberty Hall was often devoted, and Radigan, who felt that he had a certain proprietary interest in the central figure of the group, approached them. He was still in extreme good humor, rubicund, smiling broadly, and swaggering just a little as he walked. Cathcart introduced him with quiet dignity, not apologizing by any suggestion of manner for anything about the leader. But Tommy Reed and Hargrove spoke to him as if they regarded him as a specimen, a type, to be studied, and also to be patronized, wherein they made a mistake, for Radigan was shrewder and quicker of perception, in some ways, than either of them. He spoke indirectly of the difficulty of getting men of education and large interests to be candidates for public office, and presently it was the visitors who in a measure, were being lectured and patronized, and not Radigan, a fact that pleased Cathcart, who was bound now to look upon the leader as a partner.

“I think you will get a good sendoff in the papers, in the morning,” said Radigan, as they left, “and it will do you an’ me and the district good.”

Miss Howe, under the chaperonage of Mrs. Throckmorton, was to return to her father’s house, and Arthur accompanied the little party. Mr. Howe had not yet gone to bed and met them at the door, his cool blue eyes surveying, in turn, each member of the group.

“It’s safe to say that you made a success, Mr. Cathcart,” he said to Arthur. “Your face shows it, and I imagine, too, that you had good help from that man Radigan. I’ve been reading about him in the papers. He must be a shrewd fellow.”

Hargrove left them here for his own house and Tommy Reed and Cathcart drove back in the carriage with Mrs. Throckmorton. As they passed up Fifth Avenue, they dropped Tommy in the Thirties, but when he helped Mrs. Throckmorton out of the carriage at her home on Madison Avenue, she lingered a moment at the door.

“Arthur,” she said, “I was not particularly anxious to go to that hall tonight. I was afraid that you might not come out right, but now I am glad that I went. It may be just as well that the last Cathcart should try to have some part in the affairs of his own country.”

“It does me good to hear you say so,” replied Arthur gratefully.

It was late, but when he turned up Fifth Avenue again the street was so bright, so gay with lights and people, that his own spirits, already vigorous, rose in the general animation. He walked all the way home, enjoying the tingling cold, and taking deep breaths of the crisp air. He thought that his uncle might yet be awake and that he might ask him some questions about the evening, but his rooms were dark and Arthur went to bed, falling asleep at once.

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