In the Arena: Stories of Political LifeTarkington, Booth
General
In the Arena: Stories of Political Life
Tarkington, Booth
Political fiction, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Do you know,” he began, with a sharp, grinding of his teeth, “that
dishonourable scoundrel has had me _watched_, ever since there
was talk of me for the fusion candidate? He's had me followed,
_shadowed_, till he knows more about me than I do myself.”
I saw right there that I'd never really measured Gorgett for as tall
as he really was. “Have a cigar?” I asked Knowles, and lit one
myself. But he shook his head and went on:
“You remember my taking you to call on General Buskirk's daughter?”
“Quite well,” said I, puffing pretty hard.
“An angel! A white angel! And this beast, this _boodler_ has the
mud in his hands to desecrate her white garments!”
“Oh,” says I.
The angel's knight began to pace the room as he talked, clinching and
unclinching his hands, while the perspiration got his hair all
scraggly on his forehead. You see Farwell was doing some suffering and
he wasn't used to it.
“When she came home from abroad, a year ago,” he said, “it seemed to
me that a light came into my life. I've got to tell you the whole
thing,” he groaned, “but it's hard! Well, my wife is taken up with our
little boy and housekeeping,--I don't complain of her, mind that--but
she really hasn't entered into my ambitions, my inner life. She
doesn't often read my editorials, and when she does, she hasn't been
serious in her consideration of them and of my purposes. Sometimes she
differed openly from me and sometimes greeted my work for truth and
light with indifference! I had learned to bear this, and more; to save
myself pain I had come to shrink from exposing my real self to
her. Then, when this young girl came, for the first time in my life I
found real sympathy and knew what I thought I never should know; a
heart attuned to my own, a mind that sought my own ideals, a soul of
the same aspirations--and a perfect faith in what I was and in what it
was my right to attain. She met me with open hands, and lifted me to
my best self. What, unhappily, I did not find at home, I found in
her--encouragement. I went to her in every mood, always to be greeted
by the most exquisite perception, always the same delicate
receptiveness. She gave me a sister's love!”
I nodded; I knew he thought so.
“Well, when I went into this campaign, what more natural than that I
should seek her ready sympathy at every turn, than that I should
consult with her at each crisis, and, when I became the fusion
candidate, that I should go to her with the news that I had taken my
first great step toward my goal and had achieved thus far in my
struggle for the cause of our hearts--reform?”
“You went up to Buskirk's after the convention?” I asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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