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
Everywhere in Washington, where all depend in some way upon the
Government, in the cloak rooms of the two houses of Congress, in
the rotundas and lobbies of hotels, in the clubs and bar-rooms, in
drawing rooms and parlors, and in the secret chambers of the White
House itself, men talked of nothing but these national conventions. In
Congress business was dragging. The usual daily sessions were held, and
perfervid speeches were delivered, but there was no legislation, which
was perhaps just as well. Both parties feared just then the possible
effect legislation might have on the voters, and each sought to put the
other in an unpopular attitude before the people. In a word, as the
correspondents wrote in the lengthened specials they wired to their
newspapers each night, the politicians at Washington were playing
politics.
To Garwood, however, this life was full and satisfying. To saunter
over to the House at noon, to saunter back, to lean at the corner of
the little bar in the Arlington, one foot cocked over the other, his
broad hat on the back of his head, and the Havana cigar between his
teeth tilted at an angle parallel with the line of his hat brim, thus
preserving to the eye the symmetry of the whole striking picture he
knew he made--this was existence for him.
"You'll be on yoah state delegation to the national convention, I take
it, suh?" Colonel Bird would say to him.
"Well," Garwood would reply, "I don't know yet whether I'll go on at
large or not. It'll all depend on the situation when we get down to
Springfield. Unless the boys feel that I could do more good somewhere
else, I'll go on. Anyway, I'll go from the district."
"Well, you'll be theah, I'm suah, suh. Boy--make us anothah of those
mint juleps. And, boy!--if you will allow me, suh----" the colonel
bowed in his courtly old-school way to Garwood--"don't mash the mint
this time, just pinch the sprigs, oah twis' them, so as to avoid the
bittah flavah you othahwise impaht to yoah concoction. I find it ve'y
difficult, Colonel," the old gentleman continued, turning to Garwood,
"to get a julep made prope'ly out of Kentucky."
It pleased Garwood to be addressed as colonel, as it pleases any man,
and he was conscious of a momentary regret that he had not induced
Colonel Warfield to ask the governor of Illinois to appoint him as an
aide-de-camp on his staff, so that the title might be his. He resolved
to have that done if--but his mind darkened at the prospect of all he
must suffer and endure before his political fortunes could again be
considered secure. Another campaign with all its uncertainty lay before
him, and there was no Rankin any more to lean on. He preferred to close
his eyes to the future, and to live to the full the happy moments that
flew by so swiftly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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