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
Then the small man in the modish blue clothes appeared from behind him,
and the candidate sighed as if in relief. They all helped him into the
carriage, and he smiled his gratitude. The colonel climbed into the
front seat facing his chief. Then another traveling companion of the
candidate, a man who was slated for a cabinet position, followed him.
Garwood seemed about to withdraw and had raised his hand to lift his
hat, when Rankin said:
"Get right in, Mr. Garwood, there's plenty of room!"
Garwood felt called upon to demur, knowing that no place had been
reserved for him, but Rankin began to shove from behind, and Garwood
found himself sitting in the same carriage with the presidential
candidate. The chairman, who had expected to ride with the great guest
himself, scanned the line of carriages drawn up for the others in the
party, and then slamming the door shut on them, said to the driver:
"All right, Billy."
The drums rolled again, and the band began to play. The captains of the
marching clubs shouted their military orders, and the carriage moved.
The crowd cheered, and the candidate turning, became suddenly grave.
His pale face flushed slightly as with an easy, distinguished air he
lifted his high hat.
Garwood saw that Rankin had secured a seat in one of the carriages
farther back in the line, and that half a dozen newspaper men, whom the
local chairman had failed to take into account, were standing, with
bored, insouciant expressions, waiting to be assigned to vehicles,
realizing that the affair depended, for all beyond a mere local
success, upon their presence. At the last minute they were crowded into
a hack in which some of the local leaders of the party had hoped to
display their importance before their neighbors. The slight seemed a
little thing at the time, but it eventually created a factional fight
in that county. The local chairman himself was compelled to mount
beside the driver of one of the vehicles.
Amid a crash of brass, the throb of drums, and a great roar from human
throats the procession wound up the crowded street. All the way the
sidewalks were lined with people, and all the way the candidate lifted
his high hat with that distinguished gesture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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