Senator North
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Gertrude Atherton >> Senator North
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"I suppose a man really feels as great a fool as he looks when he is
proposing to a woman he is not sure of. I wonder why they ever do.
After I gave up coquetting, came to the conclusion that it wasn't
honest, they proposed just the same."
"Some women unconsciously establish a habit of being proposed to. I've
had very few proposals, and I know several really beautiful women who
have had practically none. As I said, it's a habit, and you can't
account for it."
"I went yesterday to Virginia to call on a relative who has just lost
her last adopted parent," said Betty, abruptly, "and she looked so
forlorn that I asked her to visit us for a while. I hope you'll like
her."
"Ah? She must be some relation of mine, too. You and I are third
cousins."
"Don't ask me to straighten it out. The ramifications of Southern
kinships are beyond me. She is a beauty--very dark and tragic."
"That is kind of you--to run the risk of Senator Burleigh going off at
a tangent," said Miss Carter, sharply. "By the way, you cannot deny
that you have given him encouragement; you have neither eyes nor ears
for any one else when he is round."
"He is usually the most interesting person 'round;' and I have a
concentrative mind. But I never intend to marry, and Senator Burleigh
has never even looked as if he wanted to propose. By the way, Molly
has actually asked him to come to the Adirondacks for a few days.
Can't you and your father come for a month or two? Jack has promised
to stay with us the whole summer, and we'll be quite a family party."
"Yes, I will," said Miss Carter, promptly. "I haven't been in the
Adirondacks for six years and I should love it."
"Harriet Walker--that's our new cousin--will be with us too, most
likely. She looks delicate, and I shall try to persuade her that she
needs the pines."
"Ah! Look out for the Senator--in the dark pine forests on the
mountain."
"I don't know why you should be so concerned for me. I usually have
kept an admirer as long as I wanted him."
"Oh, no offence, dear. The dark and tragic lady merely filled my eye
at the moment. By the way, Mrs. North thinks of going to the Lake
Hotel this summer. Isn't that close by your place?"
"It is just across the lake. There is your old General. He does look
like an ogre, and he's got a patch of green mould on his nose. You
ought to take better care of him."
"He looks so much better than he did in life that I have no fault to
find. The doctor has told Mrs. North that the pine forests may do her
all the good in the world, prolong her life, and Mr. North has written
to see if he can get an entire wing for her. I hope he can go too, but
he always seems to have so much to do at home in summer. I do like
him. He's the only man I know who, I feel positive, never could make a
fool of himself."
"I am half starved. Come home and have your breakfast with me."
"I should like to. Senator North--"
"There is Mr. Burleigh on horseback--with Mr. Montgomery. He _will_
look well in bronze--but they only put Generals on horseback, don't
they? There--he sees me. I am going to ask them to come in to
breakfast."
"I believe you like him better than you think, my dear. Your eyes
shine like two suns, and I never saw you look so happy."
"The morning is so beautiful and I am so glad that I am alive. I know
exactly how much I like Mr. Burleigh."
XIV
"Do all Southerners make such delicious coffee?" asked Senator
Burleigh, as the four sat about the attractive table in the breakfast-
room.
"The Southerners are the only cooks in the United States," announced
Miss Carter. "The real difference between the South and the North is
that one enjoys itself getting dyspepsia and the other does not."
"There are just six kinds of hot bread on this table," said Burleigh,
meditatively.
"And no pie and no doughnuts. Mr. Montgomery, you are really a
Southerner--ar'n't you glad to get back to darky cooks?"
"I was until we began on this tariff bill, and now there is not an
object you can mention, edible or otherwise, that I don't loathe."
"The details of such a bill must be maddening," said Betty,
sympathetically, "but, after all, it is an honour to be on the Ways
and Means Committee. There is compensation in everything."
"I don't know. When a man lobbyist tries to find out your weak spot
and play on it, you can kick him out of the house, but when they set a
woman at you, all you can do is to bow and say: 'My dear madam, it is
with the greatest regret I am obliged to inform you that I have sat up
every night until three o'clock studying this subject, and that I have
made up my mind.' Whereupon she talks straight ahead and hints at
trouble with certain constituents next year who want free coal and an
exorbitant duty on Zante currants, raisins, wine, and wool. The whole
army of lobbyists have camped on my doorstep ever since we began to
draw up this bill. How they find time to camp on any one's else would
make an interesting study in ubiquity."
"I am afraid some of your ideals have been shattered, and I am afraid
you are shattering some of Miss Madison's," said Burleigh, smiling
into Betty's disgusted face.
"I hate the dirty work of politics," said Montgomery, gloomily. "Of
course it doesn't demoralize you so long as you keep your own hands
clean, but it is sickening to suspect that you are sitting cheek by
jowl in the Committee Room with a man whose pocket is stuffed with
some Trust Company's shares."
"I used to hate it, but I don't see any remedy until we have an
educated generation of high-class politicians, and I think that
millennium is not far off. As matters stand, there is bound to be a
certain percentage of scoundrels and of men too weak to resist a bribe
in a great and shifting body like the House. Any scoundrel feels that
he can slink among the rest unseen. The old members who have been
returned term after term since they began to grow stubby beards on
their cast-iron chins are an argument against rotation; they have had
a chance to acquire the confidence of the public, they are experienced
legislators, and they are incorruptible."
Betty drew a long sigh of relief. "You have cleared up the atmosphere
a little," she said. "I thought I was going to learn that the House,
at least, was one hideous mass of corruption, praying for burial."
"That is what they think of us outside," said Montgomery. "We might as
well all be gangrene, for we get the credit of it."
"I don't like your similes," said Miss Carter; "I haven't finished my
breakfast. Mr. Burleigh, you've put on your senatorial manner and I
like you better without it. I thought you were going to say, 'Don't
interrupt, please,' or 'Would you kindly be quiet until I finish?' at
least twice."
"I beg pardon humbly. I am flattered to know that you have thought it
worth while to listen to any remarks I may have been forced to make in
the Senate."
"I have been twice to the gallery with Betty, and both times you were
talking like a steam-engine and warning people off the track."
It was so apt a description of Burleigh's style when on his feet that
even he laughed.
"I don't like to be interrupted or contradicted," he said, "I frankly
admit it."
"Better not marry an American girl."
"Some Englishwomen have wills of their own," remarked Mr. Montgomery.
"Some men are tyrants in public life and slaves at home--to a
beautiful woman," remarked Senator Burleigh.
"Some men are so clever," said Miss Carter. "Give me another waffle,
please."
XV
Betty went to the Senate Gallery that afternoon for the first time in
several days. It was hard work to keep up with the calling frenzy of
Washington and cultivate one's intellect at the same time. There was
no one in the private gallery but an old man with a hayseed beard and
horny hands. He sat on the first chair in the front row, but rose
politely to let Betty pass; and she took off her veil and jacket and
gloves and settled herself for a comfortable afternoon. She felt
almost as much at home in this family section of the Senate Gallery as
in her own room with a copy of the Congressional Record in her hand.
Sometimes save for herself it would be empty, when every other
gallery, but the Diplomats', of that fine amphitheatre would be nearly
full. It was crowded, however, when it was unofficially known that a
favourite Senator would speak, or an important bill on the calendar
provoke a debate. Leontine no longer accompanied her mistress; she had
threatened to leave unless exempted from political duty.
To-day a distinguished Senator on the other side of the Chamber was
attacking with caustic emphasis a Republican measure. He was the only
man in the Senate with a real Uncle Sam beard. Senator Shattuc's waved
like a golden fan from his powerful jaw; but the Democratic appendage
opposite was long and narrow, and whisked over the Senator's shoulder
like the tail of a comet, when he became heated in controversy. It was
flying about at a great rate to-day, and Betty was watching it with
much interest, when a proud voice remarked in her ear,--
"That's my Senator, marm. He's powerful eloquent, ain't he?"
Betty nodded. "He's quite a leader."
"I allow he is. He's been leadin' in our State fur twenty years. I
allus wanted to hear him speak in Congress, and when I called on him
last Monday--when I come to Washington--he told me to come up here to-
day and hear him, and he would set me in the Senators' Gallery. And he
did."
His voice became a distant humming in Betty's ears. Senator North had
entered and taken his seat. He apparently settled himself to listen to
the speech, and he looked as calm and unhurried as usual.
"That's North," whispered the old man. "There wuz a lady in here a
spell since who pinted a lot of 'em out to me. He looks a little too
hard and stern to suit me. I like the kind that slaps you on the back
and says 'Howdy.' Now Senator North, he never would: I know plenty
that knows him. He's aristocratic; and I don't like his politics,
neither. I allus suspicion that politicians ain't all right when
they're aristocratic."
"He does not happen to be a politician."
"Hey?"
"Don't you want to listen to your Senator? He is very eloquent."
"He's been speakin' fur an hour steady," said the visitor to
Washington, philosophically. "I kinder thought I'd like to talk to you
a spell. Hev you seen the new library?" "Oh, yes; I live here."
"Do ye? Well, you're lucky. For this city's so grand it's jest a
pleasure to walk around. And that Library's the most beautiful
buildin' I ever saw in all my seventy-two years. I've been twice a day
to look at it, and it makes me feel proud to be an Amurrican. If
Paradise is any more beautiful than that there buildin', I do want to
go there."
Betty smiled with the swift sympathy she always felt for genuine
simplicity, and the old man's pride in his country's latest
achievement was certainly touching. She refrained from telling him
that she thought the red and yellow ceilings hideous, and delighted
him with the assurance that it was the finest modern building in the
world.
"What's happened to ye?" he asked sharply, a moment later. "You've
straightened up and thrown back your head as if ye owned the hull
Senate."
Senator North had wheeled about slowly and glanced up at the private
gallery. Then he had risen abruptly and gone into the cloak-room.
"Perhaps I do," said Betty.
She spoke thickly. It seemed incredible that he was coming up to the
gallery at last. She had another humble moment and felt it to be a
great honour. But she smiled so brilliantly at the old man that he
grinned with delight.
"I presume you're the darter of one of these here Senators," he said;
"one of the rich ones. You look as if ye hed it all your own way in
life, and seein' as you're young and pretty, meanin' no offence, I'm
glad you hev. Is your pa one of the leadin' six?"
"My father is dead." She heard the door open and turned her head
quickly. It was Senator Shattuc who had entered. He walked rapidly
down the aisle, took a seat in the second row of chairs, and gave her
a hearty grip of the hand.
"How are you?" he asked. "I was glad to see you were up here. You
always look so pleased with the world that it does me good to get a
glimpse of you."
Betty liked Senator Shattuc, and held him in high esteem, but at that
moment she would willingly have set fire to his political beard. She
was used to self-control, however, and she chatted pleasantly with him
for ten minutes, while her heart seemed to descend to a lower rib, and
her brain reiterated that eternal question of woman which must
reverberate in the very ears of Time himself.
He came at last, and Senator Shattuc amiably got up and let him pass
in, then took the chair behind the old man and asked him a few good-
natured questions before turning to Betty again.
"I started to come some time ago," said Senator North, "but I was
detained in one of the corridors. It is hard to escape being
buttonholed. This time it was by a young woman from my State who wants
a position in the Pension Office. If it had been a man I should have
ordered him about his business, but of course one of your charming sex
in distress is another matter. However, I got rid of her, and here I
am."
"I knew you were coming. I should have waited for you." Now that he
was there she subdued her exuberance of spirit; but she permitted her
voice to soften and her eyes to express something more than
hospitality. He was looking directly into them, and his hard powerful
face was bright with pleasure.
"It suddenly occurred to me that you might be up here," he said; "and
I lost no time finding out." He lowered his voice. "Did you go? Has it
turned out all right?"
"Yes, I went! I'll tell you all about it on Sunday. I never had such a
painful experience."
"Well, I'm glad you had it. You would have felt a great deal worse if
you had shirked it. However--Yes?"
Senator Shattuc was asking him if he thought the Democratic Senator
was in his usual form.
"No," he said, "I don't. What is he wasting his wind for, anyway?
We'll pass the bill, and he's all right with his constituents. They
know there's no more rabid watch-dog of the Treasury in America."
"I suspect it does him good to bark at us," said Senator Shattuc.
The old man looked uneasy. "Ain't that a great speech?" he asked.
The two Senators laughed. "Well, it's better than some," said Shattuc.
"And few can make a better when he's got a subject worthy of him," he
added kindly.
"That's perlite, seein' as you're a Republican. I allow as I'll go.
Good-day, marm. I'll never forgit as how you told me you'd bin all
over Yurrup and that there ain't no modern buildin' so fine as our new
Library. Good-day to ye, sirs."
Senator Shattuc shook him warmly by the hand. Senator North nodded,
and Betty gave him a smile which she meant to be cordial but was a
trifle absent. She wished that Senator Shattuc would follow him, but
he sat down again at once. He, too, felt at home in that gallery, and
it had never occurred to him that one Senator might be more welcome
there than another. Senator North's face hardened, and Betty, fearing
that he would go, said hurriedly,--
"Ar'n't you ever going to speak again? I have heard you only once."
"I rarely make set speeches, although I not infrequently engage in
debate--when some measure comes up that needs airing."
"You ought to speak oftener, North," said Senator Shattuc. "You always
wake us up."
"You have no business to go to sleep. If I talked when I had nothing
to say, you'd soon cease to be waked up. Our friend over there has put
three of our esteemed colleagues to sleep. He'll clear the galleries
in a moment and interfere with Norris's record.--I suppose you have
never seen that memorable sight," he said to Betty: "an entire gallery
audience get up and walk out when a certain Senator takes the floor?"
"How very rude!"
"The great American public loves a show, and when the show is not to
its taste it has no hesitation in making its displeasure known."
"Why do you despise the great American public? You never raise your
voice so that any one in the second row up here can hear you."
"I have no love for the gallery. Nor do I talk to constituents. When
it is necessary to talk to my colleagues, I do so, and it matters
little to me whether the reporters and the public hear me or not. When
my constituents are particularly anxious to know what stand I have
taken on a certain question, I have the speech printed and send it to
them; but as a rule they take my course for granted and let me alone."
"But tell me, Mr. North," said Betty, squaring about and putting her
questions so pointedly that he, perforce, must answer them, "would you
really not like to make a speech down there that would thrill the
nation, as the speeches of Clay and Webster used to? And you could
make a speech like that. _Why_ don't you?"
"My dear Miss Madison, if I attempted to thrill the American people by
lofty emotions and an impassioned appeal to their higher selves, I
should only bring down a storm of ridicule from seven-eighths of the
American press. I could survive that, for I should not read it, but my
effort would be thrown away. The people to whom it was directed would
feel ashamed of what thrill was left in it after it had reached them
through the only possible medium. This is the age--in this country--of
hard practical sense without any frills, or thrills. It is true that
there is a certain amount of sham oratory surviving in the Senate, but
the very fact that it is sham protects it from the press. The real
thing would irritate and alarm the spirits of mediocrity and
sensationalism which dominate the press to-day. A sensational speech,
one in which a man makes a fool of himself, it delights in, and it
encourages him by half a column of head-lines. A speech by a great
man, granted that we had one, carried away by lofty patriotism
and striving to raise his country, if only for a moment, to his own
pure altitude, would make the press feel uneasy and resentful, and it
would neutralize every word he uttered by the surest of all acids,
ridicule. An American statesman of to-day must be content to legislate
quietly, to use his intellect and his patriotism in the Committee
Room, and to keep a sharp eye on the bills brought forward by other
Committees. As for speeches, those look best in the Record which make
no appeal to the gallery. There, you cannot say I have not made you a
speech!" "Well, make me another, and tell me why you even consider the
power of the press. I mean, how you bring yourself even to think
about it. You have defied public opinion more than once. You have
stood up and told your own State that it was wrong and that you would
not legislate as it demanded. I am sure you would defy the whole
country, if you felt like it."
"Ah, that is another matter. The hard-headed American respects honest
convictions, especially when they are maintained in defiance of self-
interest. I never shall lose my State by an unwavering policy, however
much I may irritate it for the moment. I could a heterogeneous Western
State, of course, but not a New England one. We are a conservative,
strong-willed race, and we despise the waverer. We are hard because it
always has been a hard struggle for survival with us. Therefore we
know what we want, and we have no desire to change when we get it.
There goes the bell for Executive Session. You and I must go our
different ways."
XVI
"Do you dislike her?" asked Betty anxiously of her mother on the night
of Harriet's arrival. "I do not, and yet I feel that I never can love
her--could not even if it were not for _that_."
"It is that. You never will love her. I cannot say that she has made
any impression on me whatever, so far. She seems positively congealed.
I suppose she is frightened and worn out, poor thing! She may improve
when she is rested and happier."
And the next day, as Betty drove her about the city and showed her the
classic public buildings, the parks, white and glittering under a
light fall of snow, the wide avenues in which no one seemed to hurry,
and the stately private dwellings, Harriet's eyes were wide open with
pleasure, and she sat up straight and alert.
"And I am really to live in this wonderful city?" she exclaimed. "How
long will it be before I shall have seen all the beautiful things
inside those buildings? Do you mean that I can go through all of them?
Why, I never even dreamed that I'd really see the world one day. All I
prayed for was books, more books. And now I'm living in a house with a
right smart library, and you will let me read them all. I don't know
which makes me feel most happy."
"I will ask my cousin, Mr. Emory, to take you to all the galleries,
and you must go to the White House and shake hands with the
President."
"Oh, I should like to!" she exclaimed. "I should like to! I should
indeed feel proud." She flushed suddenly and turned away her head.
Betty called her attention hastily to a shop window: they had turned
into F Street. She was determined that the obnoxious subject should
never be mentioned between them if she could help it.
"I'll take you to New York and show you the shops there," she
continued. "New York was invented that woman might appreciate her
superiority over man."
"I'd love a yellow satin dress trimmed with red and blue beads," said
Harriet, thoughtfully.
Betty shuddered. For the moment F Street seemed flaunting with old
Aunty Dinah's bandannas. She replied hurriedly,--
"You will have all sorts of new ideas by the time you go out of
mourning. I suppose you will wear black for a year."
"That makes me think. While I'm in black I can't see your fine
friends. I'd like to study. Could I afford a teacher?"
"You can have a dozen. I've told you that I intend to turn over to you
the money father left me. Mr. Emory will attend to it. You will have
about five hundred dollars a month to do what you like with."
The girl gasped, then shook her head. "I can't realize that sum," she
said. "But I know it's riches, and I wish--I wish _he_ were alive."
"If he were you would not have it, for I should not know of you. You
will enjoy having a French teacher and a Professor of Belles Lettres.
Have you any talent for music?"
"I can play the banjo--"
"I mean for the piano."
"I never saw one till yesterday, so I can't say. But I reckon I could
play anything."
Her Southern brogue was hardly more marked than Jack Emory's, but she
mispronounced many of her words and dropped the final letters of
others: she said "hyah" for "here" and "do'" for "door," and once she
had said "done died." Betty determined to give special instructions to
the Professor.
Senator Burleigh and Emory dined at the house that evening, and
although Harriet was shy, and blushed when either of the men spoke to
her the deep and tragic novelty of their respectful admiration finally
set her somewhat at her ease, and she talked under her breath to Emory
of the pleasurable impression Washington had made on her rural mind.
After dinner she went with him to the library, where he showed her his
favourite books, and advised her to read them.
"Will you have a cigarette?" he asked. "Betty accuses me of being old-
fashioned, but I am modern enough to think that a woman and a
cigarette make a charming combination: she looks so companionable."
"I've smoked a pipe," said Harriet, doubtfully; "but I've never tried
a cigarette. I reckon I could, though."
He handed her a cigarette, and she smoked with the natural grace which
pervaded all her movements. She sank back in the deep chair she had
chosen, and puffed out the smoke indolently.
"I am so happy," she said. "I reckoned down there that the world was
beautiful somewhere, but I never expected to see it. And it is, it is.
Poor old uncle used to say that nothing amounted to much when you got
it, but he didn't know, he didn't know. This room is so big, and the
light is so soft, and this chair is so lazy, and the fire is so
warm--" She looked at Emory with the first impulse of coquetry she had
ever experienced; and her eyes were magnificent.
"Are you, too, happy?" she asked softly.
He stood up suddenly and gave a little nervous laugh, darting an
embarrasing glance over his shoulder.
"I feel uncommonly better than usual," he admitted.
XVII
Betty awoke the next morning with the impression that she was
somewhere on the border of a negro camp-meeting. She had passed more
than one when driving in the country, and been impressed with the
religious frenzy for which the human voice seemed the best possible
medium. As she achieved full consciousness, she understood that it was
not a chorus of voices that filled her ear, but one,--rich, sonorous,
impassioned. It was singing one of the popular Methodist hymns with a
fervour which not even its typical African drawl and wail could
temper. It was some moments before Betty realized that the singer was
Harriet Walker, and then she sprang out of bed and flung on her
wrapper.
"Great heaven!" she thought. "How shall we ever be able to keep her
secret? A bandanna gown and a voice like a cornfield darky's! I
suppose all the servants are listening in the hall."
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