Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 4, 1912, Page 2

+—4 POWER By Henry Russell. Miller, Author of “The Man Higher Up” | Copyright, 191i, by the Bobbs-Merrill | Company PROLOGUE. ¥ i Reader, here isa live, gripping, absorbing romance of politics— not the politics of a decade ago, bat the politics of today. A young American of good fighting blood and hard, fixed ideals sets eut to smash the political ma- shine of his state without com- promise with evil. The greatmo- ment of his life comes when he must sacrifice his clean hands or vain the father of the girl he Boves. The creative genius and darge power of the author are even more notable than in “The Mian Higher Up," Mr. Miller's preceding novel. ora eh thas CHAPTER I. ey Mists of the Morning. IT was twilight still in the val- ley, but over the hills to the east the sky was whitening. A young man sitting by his ‘window turned to see the birth of an- ether day. Throughout the night he bad been staring at a vision. But weariness bad set no mark upon him. His vision he did not understand, save that for him it spelled opportunity—a ehance to put into a drifting, rather erdinary existence, purposeful action, to stretch his muscles, rack his brain and tear his soul in the struggle that fg the life of men. He caught up a rough towel and, stealing quietly out of the house, walk- ed rapidly down the street. When the straggling town lay behind him he broke into a slow trot. At a place where many feet had worn a path | across a clover meadow he turned from the road. The path ended at a | etump of bushes on the river bank. Hastily undressing, he plunged into | the green depths, from which June | had not quite taken the chill of spring. His lithe, strong body responded to the shock. The nerves, harried by the jong night watch, relaxed. He shout- ed Ivstily. For a few minutes he | swam vigorously. Then, reaching the | shore, he took the towel and rubbed himself into a glow. He tingled with | a sense of well being. When he was dressed again, refresh- e@ and eager for his day, he took the path back to the highway. The sun was climbing over the hills. He stop- ped and watched it while it swung eiear in the sky, gleaming a fiery red trough the mists of the valley. The @iory of the morning was complete. He was about to resume his tramp omeward when he beheld a strange procession advancing along the road, a young woman leading a limping horse. 4s she came nearer he chuckled aloud. ‘The handsome pigskin saddle, the ivory Bandled crop, the modish riding suit and boots were not the equipment with which young ladies of New Chelsea ‘were wont to ride. She heard him and looked up coldly. Whe chuckle died instantly. “Good morning,” he said. “What's She matter with your horse? Can I | kelp you?” | She stopped. “He has picked up a | atone,” she answered, “and I can’t get | & out. If you will be so good”— j He vaulted lightly over the fence Ghat bounded the meadow and removed | tthe offending stone. “Thank you,” the young woman said. “You're quite welcome,” he answer- @@& “I'm always glad to help beauty ’» distress. He is a beautiful animal, | fsn’t he?” he added hastily. “Are you chafling me?” she asked soldly. He repressed a smile. “By no means. Better not ride him for a little bit, un @i we see how he walks. You ride early.” he ventured. | “No earlier than you—swim,” she re- | plied briefly, glancing at his wet hair and towel. He at once became uncom- fortably conscious of his rather un- Rempt appearance. “Are you staying in New Chelsea?” “Yes.” “Shall you stay long?” “Are you in the habit of cross ex- amining strangers on the road?" she wquired frigidly. | Be reddened. “! beg your pardon,” Be-said aod slackened his pace to let ter draw abead. “I think I'll ride now,” she said. “if | you will help me up. Crusader has stopped limping.” He held out his hand, she placed a foot in it and was lifted to the sad- @je. She murmured ber thanks. But, ajtboughb sbe gathered in the reins, she @id not start away. For a moment she sat jooking at the bills, apparently ob- ivious of the young man’s presence. | Be wondered who she was and ven- tured again. “Why do you call him a Ste looked down at him. “Another 4 Yon are incorrigible.” =} beg your pardon.” be sald again wtimy and marched up the road. “I have named him that,” she called after him, “because he has plenty of fire and spirit. but at critical times seems to lack common sense.” She laughed, a free, musical laugh that somehow recalled the blood to his cheeks. He made no reply. She watched him as he swung along, frankly admiring the tall, cleanly built figure whose lines the loose coat he wore did not conceal. She remembered the end of the big game eight years be- fore, when a laughing, mud stained young athlete tore himself away from his idolatrous companions to lay his triumph at the feet of the day’s sweet- heart. She remembered also, with a smile, the stabbing childish jealousy with which a freckle faced, short skirted girl had witnessed his devotion. “And you're still here, buried alive in this out of the way corner of the world,” she said softly. “Ob, John Dunmeade! John Dunmeade!” Suddenly she touched her horse with the crop. He bounded forward and clattered along until the young man was overtaken. She pulled Crusader down to a walk, at which the young man looked up astonished. Curious as to her identity, but fearing another re- proof, he cautiously refrained from further speech. They went along in silence until they reached a point where the undulating road rose to command a view of the valley to the south and the town to the north. She reined in her horse. “What a pity one can’t find words for such a morning! And the wonder of it is that it has recurred, we don’t know how many millions of saa ag ways glorious.” “It makes one feel a bit—reverent”— “It makes one feel as helpless as”— She paused for lack of a comparison. “As helpless as some chick will soon feel, unless the farmer’s dog scares off that hawk,” he completed the sentence for her, pointing. Over a barnyard in the valley the big bird was soaring in narrowing, lowering circles. From beneath came faintly the cries of frightened fowls. Suddenly the hawk swooped low to the earth. Scarcely pausing, it soared aloft once more, leaving panic in the barnyard and one | chick the less. The young woman laughed: “There’s |an illustration of one fundamental law.” “The supremacy of the strong? That’s an old theory, I know. A very pretty one—from the point of view of the hawk. But how about the chick?” “Ob, if one is born a chick”— She concluded the sentence with a shrug Suddenly, With a Laugh, She Was Gone Amid a Clatter of Hoofs, of her shoulders. “Strength is its own law. Hasn't the world always been | conquered and ruled by its strong?” “I’m afraid that is true,” he said so- beriy. “Afraid! -1 should think you would be glad, since—I have it from the New Chelsea Giobe—you are a strong man.” He Jooked his astonishment. “You know who | am!” “Of course: Did you think, Mr. Dunmeade,” she laughed—“did you think your charms outweighed the ‘conventions? I am not a barbarian in | the habit of philosophizing with young men on tde road before 7 o in the morning.” “What did you read in the Globe?” “The vanity of men! I read, ‘Mr. Dunmeade will undoubtedly make a strong candidate. The entire county wants him. It will have him.’ It reads like a patent medicine advertisement, ‘doesn’t it? How does it feel to be wanted by an entire county, Mr. Dun- meade?” “It is,” he confessed, “rather pleas- ant—if true. Who are you?” And suddenly, with a laugh, she was gone, amid a clatter of hoofs. Alone he addressed the morning. “She said I am strong. I wonder, am I strong—strong enough?” And, search- ing his soul for the answer, he heard no negative. This chronicle, we neglected to state, begins at the beginning of the end of an epoch. The epoch has been vari- ously styled a golden age, a period of prosperity, an era of expansion. It was all of that—to a few. For others, though they did not see it, it was a recession, a truce in the struggle, old as life itself, between the many and the strong. William Murchell was a distinguish- ed member of a class whose climbing proclivities are not subdued by the in- cident of a lowly start. He was born in the obscure hill town of New Chel- )|sea soon after Andrew Jackson and his contemporaries promulgated and il- lustrated the immortal doctrine, “To the victor belong the spoils.” In the fashion made popular by Abraham Lin- coln and other great men he secured an education and on the day he attain- ed his majority was admitted to the practice of law in Benton county. About the same time he entered the broader profession of politics, being then a lukewarm Whig. His military services are perhaps best dismissed with the mention of a certain gold medal struck in his honor, by special act of congress, for gallant conduct on the field of battle. The in- vidious have made much of this deco- ration. However, it probably required a finer courage to resign from the colo- nelcy of his home guard regiment on the eve of Gettysburg—this indeed was the fact—to accept the less exposed of- fice of aid to the governor at the capi- tal than to face the hail of rebel! bul- lets. There are many ways of express- ing one’s patriotism. Later he served his country as prothonotary for Benton county. Afterward he passed through many gradations of political prefer- ment, as representative in the general assembly of his state, as state sena- tor, as state treasurer and finally as United States senator, which exalted office he held until—but we anticipate our history. He became in addition leader of his party organization, an euphemism employed by those who ob- jected to the term “boss.” William Murchell’s creed was that of a respectable but practical man. He was a teetotaler and a Presbjte- rian elder and believed in the doc- trine of foreordination and in a literal scriptural hell for those not numbered among the elect. He believed devout- ly in the avowed and tacit principles of his party, although he was not big- oted and would on occasion take a se- eret hand in the affairs of the opposi- tion. He had more than once read out of the party foolhardy young men who ventured to oppose his leadership. He lived during at least two months of every year in the town of his birth. either in the square, white frame house on Maple street or at the farm, three miles west, which he let “on shares.” New Chelsea was a quaint, of the Weehannock valley, quite con- tent with its population of 5.000 and | with the honor of being the county seat, which Murchell’s influence had prevented from being moved to Plum- ville, that thriving little factory city fifteen miles away. Down Main street one fine June aft- ernoon he was walking with that air of abstraction which sits so well on the great. “He has big possibilities." UOncon sciously the senator spoke aloud. His companion seemed to under- stand the reference. “He's all right,” he answered. State Senator Jim Sheehan was a big, fat gentleman with furtive, twinkling eyes, a modicum of coarse good looks and a rolling. cock , Sure gait bred of no misfortune. He | was a sop of power. Fifteen years be- | fore he had gone to Plumville to work |m the mills, an ancouth, unlettered \ Irishman, who could tell a good story, | hold unlimited quantities of liquor and | was not unwilling to work when mon- ey could not be had otherwise. But not tong for him had been the grime and roar and muscle racking of | the mills. Money could be had more easily. Plumville was booming. There were streets to be graded and paved, public buildings to be constructed. Jim went into politics and because he was tain rough talent for the game acquir- ed power. He opened a saloon and ac- quired more power. He became a con- tractor and secured many contracts. One day the city awoke to the fact that Jim Sheehan owned its govern- ment. The citizens cried out in pro- test—and, with the habit of American cities, little and big, submitted. He became, by virtue of his alliance witb Morchell, state senator from Benton county and leader—we cling to the ‘euphemism—of the county organiza- ) tion. “He’s all right,” chuckled. “Eh?’ said Murchell. right?” “Why, Johnny Dunmeade, of course! Didn’t tell you bow I happened to be goin’ to see him ’stead of the other way a he repeated and “Who's all ‘old fashioned town lying at the head | a good “vote getter” and had a cer- | PEERPREERERS ERS OTRO EHS S 2 4 GRAND RRSSEAEEE REST MILLINERY The latest and : best inLadids’,Mis- ses and Children’s Headgear, at rea sonable prices. A trimmer who knews her business. DRESS MAKING You will 2 c* ene oe “have a our expert designer make your || DRESS MATERIALS Silks, Voiles, Chiffons, Mar- quisettes, Etc. Laces, Bandings, Fancy Trimmings, | Beautiful Excius- | ive Designs. | ns Seetestestostontoeteeteeteateetectoctectonteny RAPIDS, Jo FURNISHING HOUSE MINNESOTA. ‘WONDERFUL BARGAINS | t¢PET TICOAT S.#.# #.%PET TICOATS.#.#% PET TICOATS.#.% | Fi Hats—Half Price For Ten Days Only You Can’t Afford to Miss These Lodiotlontoctosto costco eer! % Soooeteeteeteetoateeecseeseteeteetoedeetondeeteatontonteateatostontontontonfondoctoetoeteady LADIES’ TAILORING Suits, Skirts, and | Coats, well made, welllined and a per- fect fit guaranteed. FANCY WORK Pillows, Towels, Centerple Scarfs, D. Ss, Aprons, Pin Cush- ions, Caps, Bags, Fringe, Lace, Silk, clothes. Fit, Style Etc. Pretty and Workmanship || aanen favethy guaranteed. | fingers CORSETS AND BRASSIERRES A full line of Case Corsets always on hand. Once worn, always worn. Cor- ess made to si order. The best on the market. word for him to come to my office last Tuesday at 2 o'clock sharp. Guess he knew what for. He came, all right I thought it’d do him good to cool his heels awhile—keep him from gettin’ too chesty. Guess he waited about half an hour and then got up. ‘Pre- sent my compliments to Senator Shee- n,’ he says to the boy, ‘and tell him to go to the devil and learn how to, keep his appointments,’ and left. "Long | about 3 o’clock I strolled out and gets his message.” Sheehan paused long enough to slap his thigh resoundingly. | “He’s all right. Ain’t any one told me | to go to the devil for some time. He'll be worth 500 extra majority—to the whole ticket.” “If he'll take the nomination.” “Take it? Of course he'll take it Ain’t there $1,500 a year in it for him? And mebby when his term’s ended he might go to the legislature as repre- sentative.” “Or state senator?” Sheehan grinned. “Say, do I look like I was on my way to the bone- yard?” He became serious. “What's the matter with the people, anyhow? Rais- in’ Cain all over the state—just be- cause,” he added complainingly, “one trust company went up and the cashier shot itself. Ain't business good? Ain't the organization given them good | government?” he demanded. | “It has.” Senator Murchell spoke | with conviction. “What do they want, then?” “I don’t know. They don’t know. And as long as they don’t know,” Mur- chell said dryly, “you and I, Jim, needn’t be afraid.” They had reached and turned the | corner of the street that bounds the courthouse square on the north. They stopped at a frame, two room shack by the door of which hung a battered tin sign, “John Dunmeade. Attorney a Law.” Sheehan led the « inside. Through the door of the ‘r room came the muftied drone of voices. The | two men seated themselves in the | anteroom and waited. Ten minutes | passed. Then the door opened and | John Dunmeade emerged, ushering out | a big, bearded farmer. When the cli- | ent had left the young lawyer turned | to his callers and shook hands, warmly | with Murchell and hastily with Shee ! han. “Will you step inside, gentlemen?” They took seats around the old. time stained mahogany table. “Well?” Dunmeade’s look addressed the remark to Senator Murchell. The senator smiled slightly. “I’m here only as-an honorary vice presi- dent. Ask Sheehan. He likes to talk.” “Sure,” Sheehan grinned. “I ain't one of them that believes the feller that don’t talk is deep and wise. He gener’ly ain’t talkin’ because he can’t think of nothin to say.” He paused and continued, “Well, Mr. District At- torney”— “Isn’t that a little premature?” John interrupted. For answer the Honorable Jim drew forth from another pocket a folded newspaper, which he spread out on his knees. Solemnly he began to read: “We should not dignify the present rather unsettled political conditions with the name crisis. But it is \un- questionably a time when our party must inspect its path carefully. At such a time it behooves it to choose ca recess weather is predicted. Are weat, Underwear, Clothing, Etc., at A visit to the Pio- neer store will convince you of this. reasonable prices. JOHN BECKFELT THE PIONEER STORE § | gC you prepared? f to furnish you with the best Foot- We are prepared of New Chelsea. His name”—Sheehan’s voice rose to a triumphant climax—“his name has brought forth enthusiasm | wherever mentioned. The entire coun- | ty wants him. It will have him.” He Tooked up. that, eh?” “Which of you,” John asked, “in- spired that editorial?’ “I did,” answered Sheehan. “1 didn’t write it, though,” he confessed. “Don’t you think,” John demanded, a little sharply, “you might have asked my consent before using my name as a candidate? Do I understand you’ve come here to—to give me your consent to run?” “We came to say we’d support you.” “Then let me state the case to you as it is. The state is pretty much worked up over that trust company affair back east I’m not sure it oughtn’t to be worked up, either. The farmers in this county and a good many people in Plumville aren’t very friendly to you personally at best. In short,” he laughed. “you need some new timber to patch up the vid ship of state. And you think I'll do.” Sheehan turned to Senator Murchell. “What do you think of “Senator, let's me and you go right out and resign and let Johnny here run things. Don’t you want the job?” he demanded of John. Re: thinking it ‘tom-been i} n condition!” —“that there are no conditions. I'd want to ruy my campaign and the ef- fice according to my own notions. I'd run it straight.” “Sure!” agreed Sheehan. “I really mean it, you know,” John insisted. “I might even have to get after you, Sheehan.” This to Sheehan was humorous mat- ter. “That’s all right,” he agreed again, grinning, “if you can catch me. You think it over, Johnny, and let me know tomorrow.” He rose. “Well, I guess I must be goin’. Are you comin’ along, sena- tor?” “Not just now, Sheehan,” Senator Murchell answered. “Ill be sayin’ good day, then.” Sheehan shook hands with Senator Murchell and John and left. (Continued Next Week. The above is the first chapter of our new serial “His Rise to Power.” the remainiug install- ments. They are greay Do not miss’