10 Grey’s Ambition

The first two or three weeks of the session were of a routine nature, productive only of bills, hackneyed in their nature or of a merely local interest, but at the end of that time the torch that startled a conflagration was lighted.

The national census had been taken, and under the reapportionment Kentucky with her high birth rate became entitled to an increase of one representative in the Lower House of Congress. It was the duty of the Legislature to make the reapportionment, that is to create the new Congressional districts and, in this business, I soon saw the sinister hand of Harrison.

He had been making great progress in the House by the double weapons of charm and fear. He attracted some by his knowledge and wit and others were frightened by his sarcasm and willingness to say cutting things. I saw that he was becoming a power, although I did not fathom even yet the depth of his designs. He was showing the deepest interest in public life, and his attention was assiduous. The new game with its vast complexity and variety, its heights and depths pleased him.

An apportionment bill gives an opportunity for much subtle chicanery, but my friend Peden, brought in the first one which was strictly fair. It was evident, however, from the beginning that Peden’s just and impartial bill would meet powerful opposition, and that a certain faction within the majority party was bent on getting every advantage it could, whether the means be fair or unfair. Harrison, in a biting speech, characterized the bill as quixotism, and I learned that a new one, making an obviously one-sided and unjust apportionment, would be presented by a machine member, named Connor, from Louisville. But I guessed that its father was Harrison, and that he had written it. I now began to suspect also that he meant to make himself the Democratic leader of the State; that is, the Kingmaker.

The fight over the measure thickened fast, and soon the lines were sharply drawn, Harrison, the indications holding good, was the life and soul of the opposition. His own bill was not yet presented as the fate of the Peden measure was to be decided by Democratic caucus, after which the party would be bound by the decision of the majority, whatever that might be.

It seemed that Harrison would certainly be triumphant, and his opponents could do nothing at present but fight for delay. It was probably because the case looked so desperate that I became the leader of the supporters, nobody else wanting the place. People generally spoke of me as its champion, and as it became a habit with others I began to regard myself in that light also.

Thus affairs dragged for about two weeks, and one afternoon I went for one of my favorite walks on the hills. It was still the dead of winter and the river yet lay under its glittering sheet of ice, but the crisp atmosphere was full of vitality and life. I met Judge Wharton and we walked on together, talking at first about topics which form the general food of conversation. After a while he came to our fight in the House.

“I’ve followed your course there, Mr. Clarke,” he said.

“What do you think of it?” I asked anxiously—I wanted very much to have his good opinion.

“It is what I expected you would do,” he said. “Do you know, Mr. Clarke, that you have the qualities of a fighter?”

“No,” I replied in some surprise, “I did not know it.”

“Doubtless you did not. But most people with slow tempers are tenacious. You won’t repeat what I say, but I think you ought to continue the battle, though that is superfluous advice to you. It is an opening for you. You are on the right side, and if you fail, you fail in a good cause with all the odds against you, but if you succeed, you will have achieved a wonderful triumph.”

What he said sank deeply in my mind and confirmed me in my course. When I left him I felt encouraged and uplifted, because it was a great gratification to me to have his approval.

We parted at the outskirts of the city, and I strolled on by the Capitol and then walked toward the railroad station. As I approached the latter in the growing twilight, I saw a figure in front of me walking briskly. The familiar look of the upright carriage and the shoulders well thrown back, told me that it was Harrison. I should not have paid any further attention to him, but just then a Louisville train pulled in and a man who alighted from it shook hands with him warmly.

The rays from the station arc light fell directly upon the face of the man and with a start I recognized Grey. I should have turned away at once, but he saw me and called out in a bluff manner that he meant to be friendly:

“How are you, Clarke? I say won’t you shake hands with a fellow since you’ve got to be a great man?”

I gave my hand reluctantly, and not liking at all the contact of his I dropped it as soon as possible. It seemed to me that it would have been more befitting in him after what had passed and the talk, to have ignored me, but apparently he had forgotten it. He was now all for comradeship and joviality.

“You should be glad to see me, Clarke, old fellow,” he said, “because I’m going to stay in this tight little town of yours for a while. I hear that a man can have a good time here when the Legislature is in session.”

“It depends upon what one calls a good time,” I replied.

“We know what a good time is, don’t we?” he exclaimed thrusting an elbow into my side with hideous familiarity.

I drew off from him with as much dignity as I could muster and replied far from warmly:

“No, I do not.”

But he refused to be repulsed, hooked me on one arm, Harrison on the other and insisted on walking thus to the hotel. Fortunately Frankfort is not a crowded place, and it was dark. I was spared spectators, save a newsboy or two, and at the steps of the hotel I was able to detach myself. I returned to the lobby after dinner and found Harrison smoking in a corner alone. I drew up a chair and sat down near him.

“Why have you brought him here?” I asked.

He took his cigar from his mouth, held it lightly between his fingers and regarded me with innocent wonder.

“I! I brought him here?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I said impatiently. “You know that you did. We’ve been frank with each other so far. Why cease now?”

“That’s true,” he replied meditatively. “There is no reason why we should cease. You are right. I did bring him here. Grey, not having anything else to do, has allowed himself to be attacked by the political mania. He has got the foolish idea which some people have that money can do anything. He is perhaps the richest man in the State and he is wild enough to believe that if he poured out some scores of thousands, he might get the next nomination for the Governorship or something equally as good. So I’ve told him to come down to Frankfort and get acquainted.”

I looked directly into his eyes and I said:

“That isn’t all.”

I saw a faint flush creep into his cheeks, but in a moment it was gone “like snow on the desert’s dusty face.”

“No, it isn’t all,” he replied calmly. “I might have known that you would guess it. I brought him because he is going to bring Mrs. Grey. I want to see her here. What have you to say about it?”

I felt a flush in my own cheeks and I saw him smile.

“I see,” he said, “I’m serving you as well as myself. Now, Clarke, be frank and admit to me that either you or I ought to have her. Such a man as that is not worthy of the ownership of Alicia Grey.”

He jerked his finger toward the ceiling—Grey was somewhere in a room above. But I felt the flush on my cheeks deepen. I did not like his way of speaking of Alicia.

“I don’t want to discuss her with anybody,” I said.

He laughed again.

“You needn’t,” he replied, “I know just how you stand without your saying a word. But you are more of a Puritan than I am.”

His smile was hateful to me, but I knew that he understood me. Ah, if the whole truth be told, I should rather have seen her the wife of Harrison than of Grey. He at least was a man and he valued her at her full worth. However, I rose and with a nod I left him.

“Think it over,” he called after me.

Harrison had not exaggerated Grey’s folly. The man was a genuine candidate for the Governorship, that is for the Democratic nomination, which was equivalent to an election. He engaged a large suite of apartments in the best hotel and began to entertain lavishly. Harrison, I could see, was egging him on, and, in a measure, holding a restraining hand over him, but he was regarded, nevertheless, as what politicians call an “easy thing.” While Harrison might modify his political propaganda, he did not seek to interfere with his personal conduct or expenditures. Wine was flowing incessantly in Grey’s rooms and he was, at all times the jolly good fellow. His immediate followers were making him believe that his success as a candidate was assured. The infatuated man saw nobody but them, he heard no voices but theirs, and perhaps he was not the one most to blame because he dwelled in his foolish heaven.

“Harrison,” I said one day, “why are you tricking Grey in this manner?”

“Tricking him?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Well why do you allow him to trick himself? It is absurd to believe that the State of Kentucky would take such a man as Governor. Why do you let him think such a thing and be bled by all these leeches?”

“There are many reasons,” he replied meditatively, “In the first place Grey is a very stubborn person. I think you are wrong in assuming that I could turn him from his course, and in the second place I want him here in Frankfort. Mrs. Grey is coming to-morrow.”

She arrived the next day, but I did not see her, until I went down to dinner at the hotel. You must understand that Frankfort is a small place and that it is not possible to avoid anybody there long. Knowing this, I made no attempt at evasion. I was in my customary seat at a small table by one of the windows, and I was alone there—Jimmy Warfield sometimes sat opposite me, but he was very irregular.

I had been looking out of the window at the bands of sunshine across the snowy street, and when I turned my eyes back again I saw Alicia and her husband entering the dining room. It was the latest version of Beauty, and the Beast. The noble spiritual quality that I admired so much in Alicia, seemed to me more clearly defined than ever. Pale and sad she was, but her head was erect and she had that pride for which I know no other name than the pride of purity. But the sadness in the beautiful eyes was unmistakable. Quietly dressed and quiet in manner, she was a wonderful contrast to her flamboyant husband, who radiated noisy color. I noticed with a sort of secret pleasure that she did not come in by the side of him, but walked a little ahead, as if she did not belong to him in the intimate manner of husband and wife.

She did not see me—my table stood in a little alcove, partly hidden by curtains—and I watched her for a little while. She still preserved at the table her attitude of aloofness and the couple were silent. I could see that Grey felt some fear of her—his stiff manner, his few words and his occasional wary glances at her indicated it. The Grey of this moment was a very different Grey from the Grey of his political headquarters, and I was glad to know it.

Presently they became three at the table and the third person was Harrison. He took his seat as if he belonged there, and his manner was quite intimate. Grey seemed to feel relief at his coming, but Alicia’s face expressed nothing. I watched them yet a little while longer and I saw more clearly than ever before Harrison’s influence over Grey; it might extend further than politics, and my seeing it was the reason why I rose and went over to their table.

Knowing the Greys so well it was the proper thing for me to speak to them at once, but I probably should not have done so had it not been for Harrison’s pervading presence and the feelings that it aroused in me.

I think I detected a slight look of annoyance on Harrison’s face, when he saw me, and that gave me pleasure. Grey frowned—apparently he wished to be my friend, only when his wife was absent—but Alicia gave me a smile of welcome—there was nothing in ordinary social intercourse forbidding it, and I told her in a formal, common-place manner that I was glad to see her in Frankfort. They asked me to sit at their table, and I accepted, the waiter making the change for me.

I confess that while I spoke in a common-place manner my feelings were far from being so. We four, whose lives were connected in such a singular way and which were destined to be interwoven yet more closely were sitting around a common table and saying idle words as if we were mere chance acquaintances who had met and would pass. Harrison did most of the talking, retailing social gossip that he had brought down from Louisville and I seemed to detect a slight strain under his apparently easy and indifferent manner. I said little, but contented myself with occasional glances at Alicia. I wondered what she thought of Harrison, whether she regarded him as a platonic friend who wished in an unobtrusive way to give her his intellectual and moral sympathy, but she neither did nor said anything that would indicate her thoughts.

After dinner, Grey said they expected to see a good deal of me now, as we were staying at the same hotel and ought to meet many times in Frankfort. I replied with a polite nothing and then we entered the large parlor.

I wanted to have a few words alone with Alicia, I had nothing particular to say, but I wished to say it apart from those two men. It was hard to get the chance. Harrison watched me like a hawk, and Alicia herself made no opportunities. But a Member came presently to the door and asked to see Harrison just a moment on political business. He could not well refuse, and Grey, with his sense of importance taking it for granted that he also was concerned, stepped into the hall with him.

“I am sorry you have come here,” I said to Alicia.

“But I had to come. It was my place.”

She turned upon me a look so sad, so appealing, which said so plainly: “Do not scold me, do not add to my burdens,” that I had no heart to say more. But even then she was thinking more of me than of herself.

“Do they—any of them suspect that you were— were—” she began to ask.

I knew well what she meant and saved her the pain of saving “in prison here.”

“I do not think so,” I replied, “unless possibly Mr. Harrison—I did a foolish thing once, of which I shall tell you later.”

Harrison and Grey came back at that moment, and Grey frowned when he saw me talking to Alicia, although, for all he knew, we might have been discussing the weather. It was curious that he should regard me again with suspicion, while placing the most implicit confidence in Harrison, who was not to be trusted at all.

“Come, Alicia,” he said roughly, “I think we’d better go up to our own rooms. You’ll excuse us, Mr. Clarke.”

Few things have ever hurt me more. I saw Alicia’s face whiten, and she flinched a little as if she had been struck, but she was his, she belonged to him body, if not soul, and without a word she followed him, just as I suppose in the ancient times, a beautiful Greek captive had to follow her brutal Roman lord and master. I should have been glad of the right to strike him down, but the right was all on his side, and I could do nothing but stay in the parlor and drum angrily on the window sill with my fingers.

Harrison came up to me, and his look showed amusement and also a certain sympathy.

“I understand your feelings, Mr. Clarke,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I? I share them. I asked you once before why you didn’t use your knowledge. It would be to your benefit not to mine—well why don’t you? And rescue her?”

“I don’t know that she wants to be rescued in such a way,” I replied, and then I added desperately; “I can’t be a spy, even on Grey.”

“You are an obstinate man,” he said, “and you don’t deserve ever to win her.”

Then he went away, whistling some popular air that made only a painful buzzing in my head.

I had spoken the truth when I told Alicia I was sorry she had come. At first I did not know whether I was glad or sorry, but now I knew that I was sorry, and it was for her sake. Before her obviously lay an ordeal to which no woman should ever be subjected. She did not love her husband, but her respect must suffer when his was disregarded. She saw him wheedled, cajoled, preyed upon and made ridiculous in the eyes of intelligent people. She knew nothing of the intricacies of politics, of the little rings and cabals, of the wheels within wheels, but she had a clear mind and she could see that her husband must have little chance for the governorship. Above all she knew that even if he had such a chance he was unfit for it, and would disgrace it, himself and her. Grey insisted that Alicia should come into his headquarters at times and make herself agreeable to his henchmen. I heard from Harrison a history of one of these occasions. It is a singular thing, or perhaps it is not a singular thing, as we were similarly situated, that a sort of friendship existed between Harrison and myself at this period.

“Clarke,” he said, “we were all in there having a good time. You know what sort of a place Grey’s is— the six rooms were thrown together, and everybody was doing just as he d—d pleased. I put in that adjective because nothing else will describe it. Some were drinking, some were playing cards, and some were telling stories that no lady could afford to let her husband hear. Need I say that all the bars were down. The front door opened and in came Mrs. Grey all alone.

“She was not dressed elaborately, some simple gray stuff and no jewels, but I never saw a woman carry herself more proudly. You know what a way she has of raising that head of hers with the wonderful glossy crown on it, every thread spun separately in some celestial workshop, and the look of absolute innocence and purity that she always sends straight at you. Well, some of those hardened scamps were disposed to go on with their noise, until they saw her face, but then they wilted.”

Harrison paused and smiled, although I saw that he was moved in another way.

“I’ve heard of the work of missionaries, I’ve heard of sudden conversions,” he continued, “but I don’t believe any other was so sudden as that. The cards were hidden away and the bottles and glasses were shuffled as far out of sight as possible. Then if it had not been for Mrs. Grey herself the silence would have been absolutely painful, because those men, not being used to purity and goodness don’t know how to behave when they are in its presence, even when they want to do the right thing. But Mrs. Grey seemed not to see their constraint, she was all grace and gentle dignity, none of your affected piety, nor frivolity nor overfriendliness either, but it seemed as if an angel had come into those rooms, no not an angel either, because she is flesh and blood with passions under that still white face of hers, but a lovely unspoiled child, hardly knowing what unclean thoughts are, despite that licentious scoundrel to whom she is tied.”

He stopped and never before had I seen Harrison show such strong emotion. His face flushed suddenly and a spark leaped from his eye.

“By God, Clarke,” he burst out. “You or I, one will have to rescue Alicia Grey from that man!”

“How?”

“I know how, if she would, but I can’t rescue her merely to give her to you. I’d rather see her suffer in’ purgatory for a while yet than to lose my own chance.”

Again I was attracted toward this man and felt for him a throb of friendship. He at least would be a champion of Alicia. But I did not know anything fit to say at that moment and I was silent until his passion passed and he resumed his narrative.

“She didn’t stay very long,” he said, “but she did all that a good wife should to further her husband’s political ambition. She spoke courteously to all those heelers and strikers and dead beats. She said she was glad they were friends of her husband, and both were very grateful to them for their support. If she saw about them the signs of dissipation and roystering she took no notice, but treated them as if they were just as good as she was.”

I could see the scene, Alicia’s white face and uplifted head among all that battered crew.

“Well, what then?” I asked.

“Nothing. She did not stay long, but when she left it was at least a half hour until they recovered. But they recovered. Don’t you forget that, Clarke. In such crowds good emotions are but fleeting and when the cause is gone they are gone with it. In a half hour the drinking and the gambling and the story telling were in flood the same as ever.”

The story stirred me as the scene itself had stirred Harrison. Perhaps Alicia, in her purity, was not conscious of her full degradation. I felt fresh anger against Grey, because he dragged her among such people, but I was roused from such thoughts by the peculiar gaze that Harrison bent upon me.

“I’ve learnt one thing, Clarke,” he said, “which it may interest you and perhaps please you to know. Mr. Grey occupies one room and Mrs. Grey occupies another. In some senses Mr. Grey is, I am sure, a stranger now.”

I felt my face burning. I hated to hear him speak in such, a way of the woman whom I loved, and yet I was glad to know it. But I could not say anything.

“My motive was good, only,” he said.

“I believe you there,” I replied.

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