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
Dade had raised her arms to her head, with a graceful preliminary
flourish to loosen her sleeves at the elbows, and was withdrawing the
pins that fastened her hat. Emily noticed that the pins were all headed
with army buttons, with the "C" on their bright little shields that
told of the despoilment of some cavalryman's forage cap. She connected
these with the buckle Dade wore on her belt, the plain buckle of the
West Point cadet's belt, though over the washed gold of this one was a
monogram of the initials of Dade's name, "D.E.," in silver.
"Ahthu' says----" Dade began, stabbing the pins back into the hat,
and flinging it beside her on the couch, "Oh, Em, he's the deahest
man--pe'fectly scrumptious! Ah must tell yo' abaout him."
And she began a celebration of the young soldier, setting him in what
was to her the picturesque atmosphere of a western army post, and
drawing once more, in all its details, the picture she had imagined of
him, booted and spurred and gauntleted, riding forth with his dusty
troopers clattering behind to do the ungentle deeds that somehow have
always filled the mind of the gentler sex with a sentimental pleasure.
"And oh," she said, "Ah must tell yo' abaout his being o'dehed to
proceed along the South Fo'k of the--something-oah-othah--Ah must write
to-day and get the name of that rivah--all hidden by cottonwoods along
its banks, just lak in the books, yo' know--and destroy all Piegan
Indians. He was a shavetail then, and didn't know a Piegan Indian from
a Sioux, and he nea'ly brought on a wah. If it hadn't been fo' his old
first se'geant--Oh, his men all love him, Ah know--eve'ybody does!"
And so she flowed on, while Emily sat and listened with the mellowed
smile of an indulgence almost motherly.
"And we ah going to live in Washington at first, he's
General--What's-his-name's aide now, yo' know. That's why he's allowed
to weah aiguillettes; Ah must show them to yo' in his photograph. But
when he's changed, we'll probably have to go to some weste'n post.
Think of mah living aout theah--an ahmy woman! Ah'll have an Indian
to cook fo' us, and yo' and Je--Mistuh Gahwood must come aout and
visit us. He can get himself appointed on a committee to inspect ahmy
posts, yo' know, yo' all can save lots of money that way. Ah've grown
economical since Ah'm going to mah'y an ahmy officeh. They get awfully
small salaries; it's a shame. But Mistuh Gahwood can have himself put
on the committee----"
"I'm afraid Washington has corrupted you, Dade," said Emily.
"Corrupted me?" the girl repeated. "Co'se it has, it corrupts
eve'ybody. That's what eve'ybody does down theah. It's all pull--that's
the way Ahthu' got his detail as aide."
Emily's face had lost its smile, and had sobered.
"Yes," she breathed with a sigh. "Did you see Jerome there?"
Dade looked at Emily questioningly an instant, and then she hastened to
say:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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