"Every night at midnight Paul called her on the 'phone""Every night at midnight Paul called her on the 'phone"
Every night at midnight Paul called her on the 'phone, and this was the one vital hour of her day. He kept her as closely in touch with his campaigning as she had been in New York. In return he demanded news of her doings, her successes, and her friends. He announced that he was to go on a trip through the state, lasting a week,and she lamented to herself that their visits would cease, but he called her just the same from the different towns.
One afternoon she sauntered down the hall to her room, after a series of alleged pleasures, including luncheon and two teas. She was tired and she vowed to herself that this was her last day of killing time. To-morrow she would force herself to work. She opened the door and was halfway across the room before she saw him smiling at her from the hearthrug. Her hand went to her heart swiftly as he came toward her, both hands out.
"Barbara!"
"Paul! But how—when——"
"I ran away! We were in a town where we were to have a meeting. Iwas to be the main speaker. I don't know what happened to me: I just found myself on a train coming here, and here I am."
He held her two hands and looked at her intently.
"But how long have you been here? Why didn't you let me know?"
"I wanted to surprise you. I've been pacing this room for one hour in punishment."
"Oh, I'm sorry.... You're very thin and overworked, Governor."
"I know it. The strain is over soon now, thank Heaven. But you—it's you I want to hear about; it's you I want to see, and listen to."
He helped her with her coat, placed her chair, and when she was seated, he stood looking at her.
"You think I've changed?" she smiled at him.
"I never can remember how you look. It tantalizes me."
"Oh, didn't I leave you any pictures?"
"Pictures! I don't want any Miss Barbara Garratry advertisements. I know how she looks. It'syouI can't remember. You've had a big success here. Does it make you happy?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?"
"No fight—too easy. That's one of my troubles: there seems to be so little for me to fight for in my work. Lord! that sounds self-satisfied. I don't mean it that way. I mean that developing as an artist is a peaceful process, rather. The days when I hadto fight for my chance, fight for my part, fight the stage manager to let me do it my way, fight the audience to make it like me—oh, those were the days that counted! Daddy and I used to talk things over nights. He was cautious. He'd say: 'Well, ye' lose yer job if you do that,' but when I had done it, he used to laugh and say: 'Bob, son av battle, shure enough'."
Paul laughed.
"The dulness of being successful! There's something in it, Bob."
"Of course there is. Report on your week, sir."
"Well, the boys say it went all right, but I didn't seem to have my heart in it. I've been so restless, so sort of bored with people and things. I can't get down to work. I even find myselfthinking of what I am going to say to you over the telephone, right in the middle of a speech, with a big audience out there in front of me."
Barbara laughed.
"I suppose I'm tired. I don't know what else can be the matter with me."
She laughed again.
"What is it that amuses you?"
"Can't I laugh when I'm happy?"
"Are you happy?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I just found out something."
"What?"
"Secret."
"Tell me?"
"Maybe—some day."
He stared at her again.
"I know," she nodded, "I am a different girl from the one you married. I'm sorry, but it can't be helped."
"If you're happy, you aren't thinking of—you're not wanting to die?"
"Not until you're governor, anyway."
"You always say that, Barbara. It terrifies me. You mean that if I win, you still may——"
She rose and faced him.
"Not to-night. I'll tell you my plans the night you are elected. Come along now, and eat of the sacred codfish."
"You are a little glad to see me?" he asked her.
"Oh, yes. Boston is boring me to death," she evaded him.
"Damn Boston!" was his succinct reply.
As Trent's campaign neared its close, Barbara could tell by the weariness in his voice, over the 'phone, just how near he was to the end of his endurance. It fretted her constantly that she had to stay on in Boston, when she might look after him, make it easier for him if only she could be with him. Twice he came to Boston on flying visits, and the last time she almost decided to throw up her engagement and go back with him.
He assured her that her absence was providential, that he could never see her, even if she were in the same hotel, that it was less tantalizing to have her away, than near and far. He neverfailed to say good-night by long distance. Sometimes the tired little boy note crept into it to disturb her slumbers.
The week of the election arrived with excitement high. No gubernatorial campaign in years had been fought with such tenacity and fierceness. The entire state was lined up in rabid factions. Trent occasionally sent Barbara a package of newspapers from the smaller towns in the state and she read in one of Paul as "the embodiment of youth and courage, the two qualities most needed in the new governor. Full of enthusiasm for reforms that mean greater efficiency in our state government, yet tempered by a calm judgment and the experience which came to him in his brilliantcareer in the law." Next she read: "Paul Trent is the tool and mouthpiece of rampant reform. Once in the governor's chair, he will prove a dangerous factor to be dealt with by the people when it is too late."
They accused him of every crime in the decalogue, this side of murder—and every virtue. They mentioned his mysterious marriage with a well-known actress as proof of his loose moral standards—as proof of his fine democratic ideas! The whole thing, viewed as a spectacle, made one of the absurd exhibits of our political system.
When Barbara was not raging, perforce, she laughed.
For the first three days of the week before election the New York call came once at one, twice later thanthat. Three or four meetings a night listened to Trent, and during the day he addressed crowds in the nearby towns. The day before election, at noon, Barbara entered her manager's office with an air of bravado.
"Oh, good-morning. This is an honour," he smiled.
"Wait a minute before you waste that smile! An understudy has got to go on for me to-night and to-morrow night."
"What? Are you sick?"
"No. I'm going to New York on an afternoon train. I'll come back on the midnight train to-morrow."
"You will and you won't. That's a pretty high tone for you to take with me. What about the receipts—what about me—what am I to tell thepublic? That you don't like Boston, and you went to New York to buy a hat? Nice position you put me in, with the S. R. O. sign out every night. You think all you've got to do is to come in here, smiling sweetly, and say: 'I'm going to New York this afternoon.'"
"I told you you'd regret that smile! Look here, Wolfson, you can like it or not, just as you please. I'm going to New York to help get my husband elected governor. If you've got the sense God is supposed to have given your race, you'll play it up big in the papers and make capital out of it. There aren't so many actresses married to governors, you know. You've got something exclusive!"
"But he ain't governor!"
"No, but he will be by to-morrow night. By the time you get it into the dear public's head, he will be, and I'll be back here. Get my point?"
"Yes, but you're crazy!"
"Granted—it's grand to be crazy! Give little Marcy a chance at my part; she deserves it. I'm off now. By-by."
"I could break my contract with you for this!"
She turned and came back.
"Suits me perfectly. Let's settle it now. I don't want to come back to-morrow night, just for the trip," she said coolly.
The poor little man was on the prongs of a toasting fork, and he knew it. He paced the floor and sputtered and raged. Bob looked at her watch.
"I don't intend to miss my train. Do I come back or not?"
"Oh, damn it, yes. Now get out."
"You're a most obliging little man, Wolfson, but your temper is unspeakably bad."
She smiled sweetly at him, and tripped out.
All the way on the train she devised new ways of appearing to Trent. He had no least suspicion of her plans, and she intended to make the most of the dramatic possibilities of the situation. Her train did not get her into New York until after six. She knew Paul was to address half a dozen meetings, ending with the biggest of all at Cooper Union. She was not sure that she could find him even if she tried, but she intended to be atCooper Union to lose herself in the crowd, and listen to him, watch him fire the last gun of his fight—their fight. Then—well, that would have to take care of itself.
She drove to the hotel and met the cordial, unsurprised greeting of the clerk. Nothing "in heaven or earth beneath" can surprise a New York hotel clerk. She asked about Paul, when he came in, when he dined.
"Lord, Mrs. Trent, I don't know when the man eats or sleeps. I don't think he does much of either."
"How can I find out where he is to speak to-night? He does not know I'm here and I want to surprise him."
"We've got some hand bills here."
"Thanks! I'll be here until to-morrow night."
She went to her own sitting-room which Trent was supposed to use during her absence. She ventured into his rooms, which looked unused and cheerless. She had a bath, dressed with unusual care, dined alone in her room studying Paul's itinerary between bites. Eight meetings announced him as headliner, with Cooper Union as the climax. She shook her head over it; he would be dead of weariness.
At eight o'clock she called a taxi and started to the first meeting. She could not get within a block of the place. She tried the next and the next with the same results, so she ordered the driver to Cooper Union, hoping to beat the crowd there, as Paul was not announced until late.
She paid her man and joined the mass of people wedged into a solid block of resistance before the building.
"Is the hall full?" she asked the policeman.
"Full? Sure, it's been full since six o'clock, Ma'am."
"What's the attraction?"
"Paul Trent, the nixt governor, is speakin' here to-night."
"He must be popular."
"Sure he's popular. He's got the right dope, that feller. He's the people's ch'ice, all roight, all roight."
"I couldn't possibly get in there, could I?"
"The governor's wife couldn't git in. If ye had a platform ticket ye might get in there."
"How do I get to the platform door?"
"I'll get ye through. Have yer ticket ready."
He pushed and beat a way for her to the stage door, which was guarded by a fellow officer.
"Tickut, lady?" he demanded.
"I want to see Mr. John Kent."
"He's Trent's manager. He's with him at the other meetings."
"Who has this meeting in charge?"
"If ye haven't got yer tickut, it's no use," he said, inspecting her suspiciously.
"The idea of one Irishman sayin' no use to another," she laughed.
"Are ye Irish?"
"Phwat's the matter with yer eyes, man?"
He grinned.
"Give me your pencil."
He obeyed. She wrote on her card and handed it to him. "You get that to the chairman of the meeting."
He read it deliberately.
"Fer the love av the green!" said he. "'Tis yersilf. I seen ye at the Comedy Theatre onct. Well, well!"
The chairman himself hurried to the door to meet her in reply to the summons.
"Miss Garratry— I should say, Mrs. Trent, this is a pleasure."
"I'd no idea I had to have a passport to hear my own husband speak."
He led her in.
"Let me sit back where no one will see me, please. Mr. Trent has no idea I am in town. I'd rather he didn't see me until after his speech."
The chairman nodded, but he was much too astute a stage manager to let this opportunity pass. They stood at the back of the stage until the speaker finished, and then with an air he led Barbara down the very middle of the stage to a seat in the front row.
"So sorry," he said, "the back seats are all full."
Then he took the stage and introduced the next speaker, smiling at Barbara in such a way that every eye in the great mob was fixed upon her. The speaker began the regulation political speech, and Bob gave herself up to an excited study of the house, black with people to the very dome. She was too well versed in audiences not to feel its quality.
In the meantime Paul was makingslow progress from one meeting to the next. In the cab between stops he tried the mechanical transposition of himself into the mountains, according to Bob's suggestion. He must find some way to rest his tired brain. He pretended that he was sitting in the theatre in Boston watching Bob's play; he repeated the midnight walk they once took up the avenue. He wished he might ask her advice about the speech at Cooper Union. It would count a good deal, and her experienced knowledge of the psychology of audiences had helped him out many times before. She would know just the most effective thought to leave in the minds of the men who were to answer him at the polls to-morrow.
For the first time he felt the need ofher, not as brain or partner, but just as woman and wife. He wanted to put his tired head down on her shoulder and feel her cheek on his hair, her tenderness about him. He roused himself with a start.
"What meeting is this, John?"
"Eighth. Twenty-fifth ward."
"Cooper Union after this!"
"Yes. It's eleven now; we ought to make it by eleven-thirty."
"Bother. We won't get through before one," said Paul, thinking of the long distance call to Boston.
Back at Cooper Union the speaker sawed the air, and yelled himself hoarse, in the approved political speaking style of the old school. The crowd was bored with him. They kept up their enthusiasm by yelling,just to keep awake. When the orator sat down, some man in the audience leapt to his feet.
"Mr. Chairman," he shouted, "let Bob speak. She can tell the truth about Paul Trent—she's married to him."
In a flash the house had grasped the idea.
"We want the Governor's lady! We want the Governor's lady!" they chanted. The place was a roar of sound. Bob's heart clamped tight with terror. She turned a white face to the chairman, who stood with raised hand, trying to quiet them. It was like pushing back the waves of the sea, the sound surged higher and more tempestuous. Into Bob's atrophied mind pierced the thought thatthis was her chance to help Paul, that she could play her own popularity to forward his cause, if she had the nerve.
She had never made a speech in her life. She was trained in an art which makes no extemporaneous demand on the artist. Everything is set, prepared for, rehearsed. This all made the background of her mind, as she rose and nodded to the astonished chairman. Then as she walked to the speaker's desk and faced them, her fear fell away. There were the same old adoring faces she was used to. They were just human beings, not a jury to try her. She waived the chairman aside, when he tried in vain to introduce her. The crowd indulged in what might be termed "a mob fit."
They yelled, deepening waves of sound; they stood up and waved handbills, with a crackling like flames; they stomped with their boots and whistled on their fingers. Bob watched and listened a moment, then her clear laugh rang out above the roar. She held up her hand and absolute quiet fell on them, as if a lid had been shut down on a bubbling pot.
"Boys and girls, do be still!" called Bob. "I can't talk to a Roman mob like you, unless you're quiet. I'm scared to death as it is. I never made a speech before, and maybe I'm not going to make one now!
"I've been to political meetings before. I'm Irish, so that goes without saying. My father used to say that if I'd been a man I'd have been apoliceman. Ye know they call me Bob, son av Battle."
"I bet you would, too. I'd vote for ye! Maybe you suffragettes will make it yet," the crowd interrupted her.
"Are you making this speech or am I?" she called to them.
"Shut up! Let her alone! Tell us what kind of a guy Trent is!" they called.
"What I started to say, when I was so rudely interrupted, was this: I'm more interested in this political meeting than any I ever went to, because I'm more interested in the candidate for governor, and I want every man in this audience to vote for Paul Trent to-morrow on my say so."
They expressed themselves on that point in the usual vocal way. Bobreached for the chairman's gavel, with a "Give me that thing!" which made them all laugh. She beat the desk until there was silence.
"I think a man who is courteous, high minded, unselfish, and dependable in his relations with women is the kind of man to be dependable in his political relations. When Paul Trent says a thing is so, you can bank on its being so. If you send him to Albany to run this state, he'll run it. The politicians can't boss him, you can't boss him, and I can't boss him—(laughter)—but he'll do his conscientious best to run it right. You send him up there and see!"
She smiled and nodded at them as she turned to take her seat; the crowd's sudden shout of welcome made herturn quickly. Paul was coming toward her. The look in his eyes held her so that she forgot the crowd, which was going into convulsions out in front.
"My dear!" Paul said to her softly, taking her hand. She smiled up at him, turned back to the crowd in front, and with her hand still in his silenced them with a gesture. They scented a situation.
"Friends," Paul began.
"Save yer breath, Guv'nor, the Missus said it all," yelled a voice from the crowd. Everybody laughed.
"Friends," Paul repeated, smiling, "I shall not try to improve on the Missus. If when you go to the polls to-morrow you think it is for the good of the State of New York that I should try to direct its government for twoyears, vote for me, and I'll thank the Missus. Mind you, I don't promise any miracles, but as far as any honest man can see what's right, I'll do it. Good-night to you."
"Bob and Paul stood bowing and smiling""Bob and Paul stood bowing and smiling"
Cooper Union has seen some exhibitions of excitement, but this was a prize example. Bob and Paul stood for ten minutes, hand in hand, bowing and smiling, before the crowd began to break up. Then the mob on the platform surrounded them, and it was half an hour before they made their escape. At the door Paul said to her:
"I've got to meet my committee for half an hour, dearest. Will you go to the hotel and wait for me? I'll come as soon as I can."
She nodded, and he put her into a cab at the door. The hour she waitedfor him seemed ten minutes, for she went over every step of their time together from the first day. He burst open the door at last, and came toward her, his face alight, his arms out, his whole need of her in his eyes. She put her two hands on his breast and held him away from her.
"Paul, not one word to-night. No extra strain, no excitement. I want you to go to bed, now, at once. I shall be here until after the returns to-morrow night. Then we'll talk. Please, dear," she added softly, at the protest in his eyes. He bent and kissed her fingers.
"I don't know how you're here, but it's wonderful," he said, and left her.
The next day she scarcely saw him.She spent the time at the telephone or buying extras. All day long she busied herself with this, that, and the other thing, to keep her nerves in order. At seven Paul telephoned that he could not come to dine with her, but that he hoped to be back by ten. She forced herself to go to a nearby theatre to put in the early evening, but the only part of the entertainment that interested her was the election returns announced between the acts.
Back at the hotel at ten, but no Paul. She packed her bag, and sent out for two tickets on the midnight train to Boston. At half-past ten he came, worn to a shred.
"Well?" she cried, as he stood on the threshold.
"We've won, Barbara. It seems to be a landslide."
He came and stood before her.
"Are you glad?"
"Glad? Governor, aren't you?"
"I suppose so. It seems unimportant somehow. I want something else so much more."
"What?"
"You—your love. I want to put my arms around you, I want to put my head down on your hair, and know that you're safe in my heart."
"Lock me away there, Governor, that's my home," she whispered, and was in his arms.
"Barbara, beloved, you don't want to go away from earth now?" he asked her, after long but pregnant silences.She lifted her head and kissed him gently.
"Dear heart," said she with a sigh, "I want to live to be a hundred and ten."