CHAPTER XXII
THE NEW PRESIDENT
Thatnight Miss Landon lay in her narrow bed, made short-stops of her elbows, and listened to the lash and roar of the rolling sea. At times the ship sank so deep into the main that one would fancy the keel scraping the bottom of the Atlantic. Nowhere in this world does one feel one’s insignificance and utter helplessness more than at mid-ocean in such a sea. Miss Landon found herself thinking how helpless she would be in the world if that kind, indulgent father were to pass away. Half her fortune was invested in a railway along with the fortunes of friends and neighbors, who knew nothing about the business. Naturally enough her mind went back to her own experience on a mountain railroad, and to the handsome conductor. She went to sleep thinking of McGuire, dreamed of McGuire, and woke up with McGuire fresh in her mind, and marvelled at it.
For three days and nights the sea rushed past the rolling ship, and Landon lay in a semi-sane condition.
Finally, at dawn one day, the ship slowed down and picked up a pilot out of a small boat that was floundering in the ocean and apparently enjoying it.
“I want to see one of your passengers, a Mr. Landon, before I go upon the bridge, captain,” said the man.
“Mr. Landon is not fit to be seen,” said the captain. “He had an accident Monday afternoon off the banks.”
“But Imustsee him, captain.”
“Well, you persistent old salt, if youmust, then take my advice and see his daughter, she’s a whole lot better-looking.”
“I have a very important message for your father, Miss Landon,” said the pilot, making a sailor’s bow.
“Thank you, I’ll take it.”
“But—I have sworn to give it into no hands but his, and I—”
“Can’t trust me?”
“Oh, yes, miss—but—”
Now the poor man had become so confused that he had allowed the handsome, irresistible young woman to take the letter. She tore it open, glanced at the signature, and said, “Oh, this is all right, it’s from papa’s former business partner. He wants papa to do nothing until he sees him. Well, I’m sure he won’t do much, poor dear.”
“Then you’ll be responsible, miss?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll be responsible.”
The pilot bowed again and ran up the ladder.
When the big ship crawled up through the fog, slowed again and picked up the Government trunk-riflers, a man threw up a lump of coal with a letter and a five-dollar note held to it by a rubber band.
“Keep the dough and give that letter to Landon,” the man called up to the deck-steward who had caught the coal.
When Miss Landon had opened this letter, which was from her father’s solicitor, whom she disliked, she laughed. “‘Do nothing until you see me.’ I never saw such a lot of do-nothing people.”
Now another tug came nosing up to theliner, as a herring noses about a floating biscuit, and up came another lump of coal with a note and a dollar. The note was addressed to Mr. Landon, and stated that the “Daily Broker” would like to speak to him. Miss Landon crumpled the paper in her hand, leaned over the railing and looked down upon the paper man who had his chin pointed at the funnels of the big boat.
A man with a happy, round red face leaned over the side and said, “You can’t see Mr. Landon.”
“Why?”
“He’s hurted.”
“Bad?”
“Purty bad.”
When the “Daily Broker’s” extra edition came out with the elaborate account of the distressing accident to Mr. Landon, there was excitement in Wall Street. Naturally the Van Swells, while deeply deploring the accident to the estimable old Yankee, were elated at the prospect of his being unable to vote at the election which would take place in three days.
The “Daily Broker” told how the old man had gone, against the captain’s protest, upon the hurricane deck when the ship was rolling, had slipped and fallen down the narrow ladder, broken his left arm and three ribs. These wounds, the paper said, were not necessarily fatal, but it was thought by the ship’s doctor—who being slightly deaf talked very low, as deaf people do—that the venerable New Englander had sustained serious internal injuries.
Nearly every one had left the steamer when Miss Landon came down the gangway, followed by four stewards carrying her father, who, being rich, was attended by the ship’s surgeon. Miss Landon was bewildered by the crowd of brokers, reporters, and friends assembled at the steamer. She had never dreamed that the Landons were of such importance. Her aunt took little note of anything, being obliged to pinch herself to see whether she still lived. The ship’s surgeon, appreciating the importance of his patient, refused to allow even the most intimate friends of the injured man to speak to him. He went with them to their hotel and remained until another physician could becalled. The new doctor was worse, if anything, than the ship’s doctor. This was a severe blow to the solicitor, who knew better than to try to get to his clientviathe daughter.
On the following day Miss Landon persuaded the doctor to allow her father’s old business partner and neighbor from Gloucester to see the sick man. Landon’s mind was still wavy, but in the course of a half hour’s talk the visitor made it pretty clear to the injured man that if the Van Swells got control of the road, in which they were deeply interested, they would be likely to be squeezed out; if not, the road, under such incompetent management, would be sure to lose money.
“It’s Kate’s money,” said the sufferer. “She railroads all the time, let her use her judgment,” and it was so agreed.
The day before the date on which the election was to take place they moved on to Boston. When they were established in a comfortable hotel, their Gloucester friend asked to be allowed to introduce the gentleman who was being brought forward, without any effort upon his part, as the choice for President of theanti-Van Swell faction, to which the Landons rightfully belonged.
Now when the army of reporters saw the stranger going up in tow of the Gloucester man, they knew that the pink-tea people were beaten, for Landon’s vote was sure to elect—it was the balance of power.
“This is Mr. McGuire, Miss Landon,” said the Gloucester man.
McGuire, who was utterly indifferent to most people and most things in this world, was visibly affected. Miss Landon, who had fainted but once, clutched at the back of her chair. McGuire, finding his voice and feet, stepped forward, saying, in far-away, tremulous tones, like a man talking in his sleep, “I think I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Landon.”
The Gloucester man managed to rally from his surprise and introduced “Auntie,” who until now had not seen the distinguished railroader.
“Is it possible?” Miss Landon heard herself say right to the man’s face.
At this moment a street piano under their windows broke loose with the then raging popular air:—
“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,An’ guv th’ mon a sate; ,Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”
“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,An’ guv th’ mon a sate; ,Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”
“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,An’ guv th’ mon a sate; ,Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”
“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,
An’ guv th’ mon a sate; ,
Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,
Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”
“Yes,” said McGuire, taking her hand again, “it is possible.”
Two hours later the Gloucester man was handing a carefully prepared “interview” to the reporters.
Mr. Thomas McGuire, the brilliant young manager, who was a personal friend of Mr. Landon’s, would be the next President of the Inter-Mountain Air Line. This arrangement, while tacitly understood beforehand, had been definitely agreed to at a conference between Mr. Landon and his friend and former partner, who would represent the injured man at the meeting to-morrow.