The Candidate: A Political RomanceAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
General
The Candidate: A Political Romance
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Political campaigns -- Fiction; Political fiction
Thus it was settled simply and easily by the two who were most
concerned, and Harley throughout the little interview was struck by the
difference between this man and many other famous men with whom in the
course of business he had held journalistic dealings. Here was a lack of
conventionality, and an even stronger note of simplicity and freshness.
The candidate, with his new honors, still held himself as one of the
people, it never occurred to him that he might assume a pose and the
public would accept it; he was democracy personified, and he was such
because he was unconscious of it. His perfect freedom of manner, which
Harley had not liked at first, now became more attractive.
"We leave at eleven o'clock for my home," said Mr. Grayson, "and arrive
there to-morrow morning. I have some preparations to make, but I shall
begin the campaign a day or two later."
"I intend to go with you to your town," said Harley. "You know the
compact; I cannot let you out of my sight."
Mrs. Grayson, a grave, quiet woman, spoke for the first time.
"You shall come along, not merely as a sentinel, but as one of our
little party, if you will, on one condition," she said.
"What is that?"
"On condition that you come to our house and take dinner with us
to-morrow."
Harley gave her a grateful look. He felt that the candidate's wife
approved of him, and he liked the approval of those who evidently knew
how to think. And it would be far pleasanter to travel with Jimmy
Grayson as a friend than as one suspected.
"I am honored, Mrs. Grayson," he said, "and I shall be happy to come."
Then he left them, and when he passed into the hall he saw that the
burden of greatness was being thrust already upon the Grayson family, as
callers of various types and with various requests were seeking their
rooms. But he hurried back to his own hotel, and as it was some distance
away he took the street-car. There he was confronted by long rows of
newspapers which hid the faces of men, and whenever a front page was
turned towards him the open countenance of Mr. Grayson looked out at him
with smiling eyes. Everybody was reading the account of the convention,
and now and then they discussed it; they spoke of the candidate
familiarly; he was "Jimmy" Grayson to them--rarely did they call him
Mr. Grayson; but there was no disrespect or disesteem in their use of
the diminutive "Jimmy." They merely regarded him as one of themselves,
and their position in the matter differed in no wise from that of Mr.
Grayson; it was a matter of course with both. To Harley, fresh from
other lands, it seemed in the first breath singular, and yet in the
second he liked it; the easy give-and-take promoted the smoothness of
life, and men might assume false values, but they were not able to keep
them. His thoughts returned for a moment to the least little _attache_
whose manner was more important than that of a Presidential nominee.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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