Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, March 12, 1913, Page 3

As fine a line of Millinery as You will find the prices right > can be found in the city. ss i Mrs. KATHERINE C. LENT ea HIS RISE POWER By Henry Russell Miller, Author of “The Man Higher Up” Copyright, 1911, by the Bobbs-Merril Company f PROLOGUE. rz ' Reader, here isa live, gripping, absorbing romance of politics— mot the politics of a decade ago, but the politics of today. A young American of good fighting Blood and hard, fixed ideals sets eut to smash the political ma- ehine of his state without com- promise with evil. The greatmo- ment of his life comes when he must sacrifice his clean hands or guin the father of the girl he doves. The creative genius and darge power of the author are even more notable than in “The Man Higher Up,” Mr. Miller's preceding novel. An afternoon train, rolling down out ef the hills into the flat lands, bore William Murchell to the city that had witnessed the last step in his over- throw. A cab took him, by appointment, to the home of Philip Wilder, where he Jay overnight. Philip Wilder was not @ monarch. to be sure, but he was a prince of the blood, and he ruled over a province of street railways. Many things did this princely gentleman de- sire, and for them he was willing to pay—the least price that must be paid. He, like Miss Roberta and Watkins. ‘Was astounded when he beheld, not a shuffling. harmless shadow, but a map who showed the marks of age’s bat- tering, yet was clear minded, hale and hearty, who had not forgotten how to drive a close bargain, who knew ex- actly what he wanted and who got it. S80 pleased was he by his discovery that the next morning, breaking a sol- emn promise to Murchell, he reported it to Sackett. “‘Richard,’” he declar ed, “ ‘is himself again.’ But by that time Murchell was well on his way back to the capital. A rumor that the once great poli- fician was on the train quickly spread among the passengers, and many of them found occasion to stroll] past his @eat. But there was no visible ripple of emotion to betray to their curious eyes the swelling sense of triumph within him. When. his energy sapped up by the sickness, the seriousness of which he did not yet realize, he had confronted Sackett and declared his purpose to guit, he had spoken in all truth; but. the operation over and strength creep- img back into the body whose tissues austere living had never devitalized, the hunger, the need for action reas- serted itself. Hence he planned, not consciously to reseek his old power and responsi- bility. but from his castle in the forest to make sudden, unexpected forays to harass those who had deprived him of bis glory. Then came the opportunity to wreak the sweetest of all revenges, fto save those who had thrown him pver, to torture his enemy with the gense of inferiority and obligation, perhaps—the warrior soul leaped—to make of revenge also a lever to open the gates in the road back to su- premacy. ,Under the stimulus of sharp, suc- fessful action he felt almost the strength of his prime. Whirring whee) struck from rail an iron song of friumph in which his soul joined—the mad, exultant shout of the viking re- turning victorious. But he found a Sherrod who had had time to think, to measure the situation, ‘who had recovered his nerve. And of Bherrod this may be written: he was @ great fighter, cunning and da ce gonscienceless, proud. disloval—yes— but even his treacheries ‘were ac- complished with a certain reckless grace and decision that gave them the seeming of the born master’s in- stinctive strategy. And he bad what Murchell bad not. a personal magnet- ism that often won faith even where interest failed: though he lacked what made Murchell great, inflexibility and self control Coward he was not. Al- most any man, beaten by the same knowledge of crime and imminent dis- covery. with so much to lose, would have suffered a lapse from courage. But the bour of cringing and weak- ness wus past. Murchel! found him in the same hotel room. through the open windows of which a biting wind had swept the last trace of the fetid fumes of tobacco and whisky. Murchell carefully closed and locked the door and, without speaking. sat down across the table from him. Sherrod’s eyes, cool, not defiant, but aggressive, menacing al- most, locked with Murchell’s steady ones. “Well?” The voice was cool. “1 went to Wilder.” said Murchell, almost in a whisper. “He is selling your securities today at the market. He will lend you the balance. To- morrow a man will come with the casb.” “And in return?” prince. “He wants some charters in Adelphia and some traction legislation. He will explain in detail when you see him. | have promised him what he wants. You will see that he gets it.” “Yes. The balance—you say it is a loan. How am I to repay?” “That is for you to say.” Murchell paused, then added, “I understand banks are still paying for the privilege of state deposit “How much do Paine and Watkins know?” “As much as I guessed.” “I can keep their mouths shut.” Again silence, broken first by Sher- rod. His lips twisted in a faint sneer. “Are you waiting for my gratitude? I have none. I’m sick still, but I’m not afraid, as 1 was yesterday, and I understand the situation. You haven’t done this for me.” “Is there any reason why I should do it for you?” Sherrod began to feel that he could no longer endure the other’s contemptu- Sherrod knew the his will, his own was wavering. The coolness vanished. He almost hissed out his words. “You came here expecting to gloat over me, didn’t you? You think be cause you’ve caught me with the goods op you’re a superior being. You needn’t. Everything I am, Bill Mur- chell, you are. I s’pose when you were sick you had the parson around to pray over you, didn’t you? When you were praying did you tell the parson how you got to be so rich?” “At least.” Murchell said quietly, “1 didn’t steal it from the treasury of the state.” Under the taunt Sherrod seemed to lose all hold on himself. He sprang to his feet His face was convulsed. His voice and the pointing hand shook in a very hysteria of hate. | “You dare call me a thief! You! How about the market tips you got for your votes in the senate, the bribes you authorized to be given, the black- mail you levied for your influence in the legislature? Maybe you called them legal fees? You a lawyer, when there isn't a business man in the coun- try would trust you witb a case!” | Into Murchell’s eyes had come a steely gleam that in a saner moment | would have restored Sherrod to self control, but now was unheeded. But his voice continued cold, cuttingly con- temptudus. “Thought you’d come into this affair and use the knowledge as a club to bully me out of politics with, didn’t you? Well, swing your club. I’m not afraid. I know why you did it, not for me, but for yourself. You're trying to sneak back into the game after you’ve been thrown out, and you know ‘that this thing if it came out would | kill your chances as well as mine. It would help nobody but that fool Dun- meade, and by helping me you’ve made | yourself an accessory. So then—crack ‘your whip if you dare!” Murchell got slowly to his feet He spoke still in the cold, even voice that cut. | “Just why I have done this isn’t im- |portant at present. J had a good many |Teasons, some, probably, that you are not qualified to understand. And I’m not trying to sneak back into the game. T’ve never been out of it. As to ous, relentless gaze—that, in spite of | | 1 | | | that’s all. } infinite multiplicity; eiub that remains to be seen. Youn have to chance it, Sherrod.” Sherrod laughed, a harsh. sneering eachinnation that must have carried Into the adjoining room. “I'll chance It! You're not the kind of man in whose hands such knowledge is dan- gerous. And I know all about your game. Do you think I've been fooled by your pretense? | know all about Wash Jenkins’ gumshoe campaign for delegates. I can be nominated gover- nor even from behind the bars of the penitentiary!" Murchell was fully master of himeeif oncé more. “That,” he remarked. “would be a fitting residence for you. | an the meantime, we’ll put it out of | Your power to seek the nomination | from that quarter.” He left the room abruptly, returning immediately with Watkins. He care fully closed the door behind them. Then he faced the two men. “Watkins, it’s fortunate that you're cashier in the treasurer's office.” Watkins agreed. “Because from this minute I am state treasurer. Sherrod will be al- lowed to sign vouchers that I approve You will report to me once a week in person. And not a voucher must be cashed until O. K’d by me. You understand?” Watkins looked at Sherrod, then back to Murchell. He nodded. “Sherrod will do nothing to disturb this arrangement. If he tries—let me know. Good day!” He went out of the room, quietly closing the door. CHAPTER XVI. A Deserted Jordan. HE consternation in the royal palace was great when the news came that the belea- guered stronghold had fallen. The Michigan had won into the Steel City. Two men were scrambling over each other, turning the state upside down, because each lusted for power and hated the other. Victory by either, if one might judge by the past, meant corruption, thievery, oppression, in- justice, and it would be won for him by characteristic means. The people knew it. Between the two camps wandered a lonely -voice, preaching honesty. de- cency, liberty, equity. He was worthy to preach. He was the sort of man to whom other men gladly entrust their jmost important private affairs. He |was fitted by capacity, by study, by ideals, for the pure function of gov- ernment. He had put aside prefer- ment, money, love—the trio of rewards for any one of which men daily sell their souls—that he might be the fitter for his task. And as he went about that spring preaching his crusade scanty audiences listened carelessly or with suspicion— bred of many deceptions and syste- matic miseducation; let us be just— indifferently responsive. ye Jobn was in the Steel City one night speaking at a public meeting. He was often laughed at for proffering old fashioned oratory in the day of the ubiquitious newspaper. But it was the only way in which he could reach the people, since the columns of the sub- sidized press were not open to him or his crusade. He went away from the hall heavily downcast. The audience had been small, anything but enthusi- astic, and he had spoken poorly. There is no discouragement like unto that of the man who believes he has a message to give and knows that he has deliv- ered it inadequately. His way to the hotel took him along the city’s principal street. He walked slowly, scrutinizing the passersby with that interest in city throngs which the country bred man never quite loses. He came to a corner where another crowded thoroughfare crossed. He stopped and leaned against the wall of the bank that stood there. The theaters were just letting out, and around him swirled a stream of humanity, the sound of many voices and twice as many feet rising in a peculiar, onmusical roar. John won- dered as the endless stream of hu- manity swept by him if it were true. as Haig had said to him once that 999 men in 1,000 in the cities were dependent on the thousandth, and that six men had it in their power to “turn on a panic,” to “put on the screws.” What, if the screws were put on. would these men do—fight or submit? But it was not that which made the load of despondency hang heavier. Once, seeing a thousand men gathered in the square at home, he had thought of the power there, “the power and the glory.” Now he saw the people. not in their immensity, but in their so many men with so many interests, each living in his own restricted sphere. Was Haig then right? How could a dreamer or a thousand dreamers by word of mouth teach these men to think what their lives taught them not to feei— that a social problem was their prob- lem, that political putrefaction was their peril, that the masses’ interest was their interest? He walked on, tortured by doubts. yet clinging, as the shipwrecked mari- ner clings to his raft, to his dwindling faith in the people. As be was passing through the lob- by of his hotel the clerk motioned him to the desk. “Say, there’s been a big tough guy in three times tonight ask- ing for you. Says it’s important, and he'll be back again. Name is Maley. I guess,” he laughed, knowing his guest, “it’s some political bum want- ing to make a touch.” Butch Maley of New Chelsea, former “heeler,” doubtless! John, curious. found a seat in the lobby and waited. He laughed inwardly, not pleasantly, at the recollections called forth by the name, which he had almost forgotten. Butch Maley was the first to be con- ~ stood trembling in the dock and mareh- ed away. mouthing imprecations and large threats. to the penitentiary. That he was prosperous, the yellow diamond lin his necktie loudly proclaimed He rolled toward John. grinning affably. “Howdy. Johnny?” He did not of- fer to shake hands, for which John was thankful, “How are you, Maley?” “Me?” Maley drew up a chair and deposited his huge bulk in it. “Oh, I’m livin’ on No. 1 Easy street. These here is good times fer fellers like me.” With an apparently unconscious ges-~ ture he lovingly stroked his paunch. “So I should say. Same old profes- sion?” t “] got a half intrust in a booze joint. That's my business. As fer profesh’, Ym still a statesman. Only yuh’d have a fine time gittin' the goods on me now. I learnt,” be grinned. “a lot from yuh. Say, I’m wantin’ sump’n.” “What can I do for you?" “"Tain’t fer me.” He assumed an air of extreme caution. “S'posin’ they wuz a feller wot never done yuh no dirt and at the same time, not bein’ in yer game, yuk got him foul. An’ then s’posin’ he beat it, not wantin’ to serve time, an’ then, bein’ up against it in a pertickler way, he wanted to see yub. Would yuh see him?” “Slayton or Sheehan?” “Sheehan.” : “I guess I'd see him. Where is he?” Maley winked solemnly. “1 don’t know nuthin’ till I know yuh won't have him pinched. That’s the point— will yuh have him pinched?” John thought a moment before re- plying. “Well, I guess 1 wouldn't so long as he stays out of my jurisdic- tion. { couldn't make him more barm- less now by having him arrested.” “Then go in the little room back o° the bar, an’ I'll have him with yuh in no time. He’s waitin’ not fur away.” In a few minutes Maley returned. leading the fugitive. There was an embarrassing moment as John rose to greet the man whom he had broken. He hesitated. hardly knowing how to address him. Sheehan's hand started forward in an uncertain gesture. then dropped back to his side. On a kind- ly impulse John held out his. The other caught it almost eagerly in a soft, damp clasp. “TI hope you are well. Sheehan.” “I look it, don’t I?” The fugitive gave a half hearted laugh. John was obliged to confess to him- self that he did not look it. His cheeks, once so rubicund, were sallow and pimply. Flabby pouches had gath- ered under his eyes, which were fur- tively restless, as though continually on the watch for some pursuer. He was fatter than ever. But whereas his stomach had formerly been of the graceful rotundity of semi-active pros- perity, it had now become a paunch, like unto Maley’s own. “Sit down,” said Maley hospitably. “an’ have a drink on me.” John sat down, but declined the drink. Sheehan and Maley ordered whisky. The drink seemed to restore to Sheehan a part of his nerve. With- out further preliminaries he blurted out, “I want to go back.” John waved his hand and remarked. “The railroads are still running.” a pleasantry that seemed lost on Shee- han, “It’s that cursed sentence that’s troubling me.” “That's nuthin’,” Maley interposed cheerfully. There Was an Embarrassing Moment. the workhouse. I got a year in the pen.” His tone might have led one to believe him boasting of a distinction. “I should think,” said John gravely, “you would find it almost a relief to have it served and over.” “So I would,” answered Sheehan, with an emphatic sincerity that was not to be doubted. “But I've got a family.” “A little late to think of them, isn't it? The sentence would have to be served.” “It wouldn’t !f you said the word.” John shook his head. “Besides, I'll not be district attorney much longer, and my successor mightn’t be com- plaisant.” Sheehan leaned over the table and clutched John by the arm, his face twitching nervously. “I guess you “It’s only four months in ‘are in trouble. Money affairs are all balled up. And the wife’s got to go under an . 1 don't whether she'll pull throngh or not. | smght to be there to take care of them.” A @oubtfu!l blessing to them. John thought, studying the disstpation mar- red countenance. Still he was not there to pass on Sheehan's value to his family. And be remembered having heard that in former days Sheehan had been very proud and fond of his wife and children and—eccentric vir- tue among bis kind—faithful to them. “| didn’t think you'd let me off. You Seformers”—here was bitterness—“are always bent on sending somebody to jail. But will you do this—give me two or three months until the wife gets out of the hospital and I've got things straightened out some? Then T’ll take my medicine.” John thought rapidly. In the begin- ning of bis crusade he would have en- forced the law rigorously and merci- lessly, believing that in punishment lay bealing virtue for the state. Now he had learned its futility, and the broken man in front of him had al- ready been punished enough. Surely be could show so much leniency and barm no one. “I'll do that much for you gladly,” he said. “And if you need any legal belp in straightening out your affairs Ill be glad to help you.” Sheehan suddenly sat bolt upright, the red rushing to his sallow face. “It's that sanctimonious Blake,” he said angrily. “He’s gettin’ after me because they think I’m afraid to come back. Dirty crook! The bank’s tryin’ to collect some old notes of mine that wasn’t supposed to be paid.” “Not to be paid? Why?” “Political notes. Look here!” Shee- han’s face lighted up in a slow, cun- ning smile that boded no good for ‘Warren Blake. “Do you want to make a big play?” John, too, sat up, suddenly alert “Just what do you mean?” “Have you been percolatin’ around in politics for six years an’ not known about the Farmers’? There’s always a few easy banks for the politicians. They get state deposits. See? An’ then dish them out to the politicians on notes. Sometimes the notes are paid, apn’ sometimes they’re just carried along. My notes wasn't to be paid because | helped get the Farmers’ its deposits. It used to be one of the easy banks. Ap’ 1 guess it is still. Else why is a bank that’s friendly to Mur- chell carryin’ deposits under Sherrod? I guess they must be gettin’ pretty shaky, because I ain’t the only one they’re after. I’ve been skirmishin’ around here, seein’ some men I used to know, an’ they tell me Blake’s pusb- in’ a good many old notes hard.” “But Hampden and Blake, with their stock, wouldn’t let”— “Stock! I bet they haven’t ten shares apiece. If you want to find that stock know’ it, by going after it on mere suspicion. enough? You go after ‘em an’ show ‘em up. I bet you'll find ‘em rotten Those easy banks always do bust up sooner or later. I s’pose I've got to pay. I've got property an’, if they sue, I can't make any defense. But,” he concluded vengefully, “somebody else bas got to pay too.” “Sheehan,” John said coldly, rising, “you're letting your desire to get even get away with your common sense. I’lb not destroy confidence in a bank, ruin As for yourself,” he added, more kind- ly, “if you report at my office next Sat- urday morning with new bail I'll go’ before the court and ask that execution of your sentence be postponed until your affairs are easier.” With that he left. Only a few days remained before the primaries. During the two terms of office John had acquitted himself with skill and fidelity. Fear of him had doubtless restrained the machine from many characteristic depredations, but victory was well nigh hopeless. He had become a candidate again only that the fight might go on, in the faint hope that something might occur to turn the tide in his favor. In the absence of the un- foreseen he would carry the townships by a slight majority, but New Chelsea and Plumville would go strongly against him. The little city had grown remarkably in population and impor- tance. John was.an old story in which it had lost interest. It got the impress- ion that in turning deaf ears to his plea it was righteously squelching a shal- low, impudent, self seeking upstart. Even among the farmers John met with the unresponsiveness of discour- agement. They would vote for him, most.of them, but it would be perfunc- torily, hopelessly. They were disap- pointed. The reform that had begun so auspiciously six years before was ending in dismal! failure, with no other fruit than to evolve a new and stronger machine. Well it was for John’s melting trust in himself and his fellows that he could meet an occasional Cranshawe or Sykes or Criswell. Their faith sur- vived. He met the trio, the night be- fore the primaries, at Cranshawe's home on the pike. They did not pre- tend a vain optimism; they knew that they faced defeat. “At any rate.” remarked Criswell, at the close of the discussion, “ye’ve had six years of good fightin’.” “1 guess,” said Cranshawe kindly, “ye think it hasn’t paid) In one way mebby it hasn’t. An’ then again in another it has. It’s like what 1 once told ye. Ye’ve showed us the way. If we hain’t follered, it's our own lookout. Ye'’ve done your part.” “Ye have,” agreed Sykes solemnly. And when he left all three made a point of shaking hands with him. (Continued next week.) Easter Easter GIFTS STEENSTRUP BROS. JEWELERS said, that counts. By Telephone You Get Quick Results Telephoning saves delay and attains practically a face-to-face interview. In nearly every case the telephone will serve you as satisfactorily as a personal visit. So often it isn’t what is said, but how it is The long distance telephone obtains for you a personal talk with the party you want, and * Se