The 13th District: A Story of a CandidateWhitlock, Brand
General
The 13th District: A Story of a Candidate
Whitlock, Brand
Didactic fiction; Elections -- Fiction; Political campaigns -- Fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
He wore his civilian clothes, somewhat old in style, with the
unaccustomed air that sits on the army officer when he is out of
uniform. Dade did not restrain the look of pleasure that comes to any
girl's eyes at the sight of a soldier, especially a soldier with whom
she may claim acquaintance, and as his friendly face broke into smiles,
she said:
"Why, Mistuh Beck, who would have thought of meeting yo' all heah! Ah
thought yo' weh aout fighting Indians somewheah."
"I'm stationed here now," the young lieutenant explained, and then:
"The world is very small!" he marveled, making that trite remark with
the self-evident pleasure that showed he considered it original. "May
I?" He laid a hand tentatively on the back of a chair at her table, and
bowed low in his pantomime of asking if he might sit with her.
"Ce'tainly," she said.
"And Mrs. Emerson is well?"
"She takes heh meals in heh room. We ah only waiting heah fo' heh to
recovah sufficiently to unde'take the journey aout to Illinois."
They were so much together after that that the ladies of the hotel,
who could not have known that the young people had become acquainted
long ago in St. Louis, reveled in a new subject for gossip and pitied
the poor woman lying ill in her room and neglected by a daughter who
spent her time flirting with an army officer. Dade, by some spiritual
divination, apprehended all they were saying, and took a delight of
her own in shocking them. So the flirtation raged furiously, and Dade,
by delicate pathological suggestions, developed her mother's present
indisposition into the disease that was her Washington doctor's
specialty.
Beck and Dade had gone to the Capitol one day, and, when Dade expressed
a wish to see how the laws were made, had gone into the gallery of the
House. Below them the members were lolling in their seats, their feet
on their desks, reading newspapers, yawning or chatting, while the
business of the nation, or of the party then in power in the nation,
was being listlessly transacted.
The Speaker, sitting in his solemn chair, looked small in the distance,
the clerks below him bowed over their work. Now and then the Speaker's
voice could be heard, now and then the sharp fall of the gavel startled
the common drone of voices. Some member far across the House, beyond
the littered sea of desks, was speaking. His voice came to them
scarcely at all. He held a bundle of notes in one trembling hand, with
the other he now and then pushed his spectacles up on his sweating nose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account