Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Political fiction; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
But would his father need a defender? No shadow of doubt as to this was
admissible in the face of the accumulating evidence, he told himself.
From the opening day of the campaign the machine and the corporations
had been working hand in hand; Gryson and his fellow-crooks were the
sufficient proof; and besides.... Blount reached under the mattress and
drew out the wrapped package, untying the string with fingers that
trembled. A cursory examination of the affidavits sufficed. In Gryson's
sworn statement, and in two others, the "Big Boss" was inculpated
definitely and by name.
Blount glanced at the little clock on the dressing-case. The early
Sunday morning silence still prevailed in the great hotel, and his
resolve was quickly taken. Dressing hurriedly, he went up to his own
room, and after a shave, a bath, and a freshening change which included
the removal of the disfiguring bandage, he put on a close-fitting silk
travelling-cap under the soft hat and went down to the lobby.
There were but few guests stirring at that hour, and Blount had the
writing-room to himself when he bought a copy of _The Plainsman_ and
turned anxiously to the editorial page. After the first thrilling of
relief born of the newsboy's cry, an unnerving fear had crept in to
whisper that possibly the facts might not bear out the thankful
assumption. A rapid reading of Blenkinsop's editorial confirmed the
fear, and the reader's lips grew dry and his breath came quickly when he
realized that the submerging wave of thankfulness had risen only to be
driven back. Blenkinsop had no facts, no evidence; he was merely hitting
out blindly with a general accusation of fraud which he made no effort
to substantiate or prove!
Evan Blount saw the thorny path stretching away before him again, and he
rose up to walk in it like a man. As once before, he went down to the
railroad restaurant for his breakfast, seeking solitude, and the meal
had been half-absently eaten before he had readjusted himself,
sorrowfully but firmly, to the unchanged situation. His duty was as
clearly defined now as it had been the day previous, or at any time in
the past. There was nothing changed, nothing different, save that a new
complication had arisen in the crucial shortness of the interval for
action. Knowing human nature a little, he knew how difficult it is to
arouse an effective public sentiment on the eve of an election, no
matter how important the issues involved. In a hard school of experience
the voter has learned to discount the final-moment cry of fraud. Would
an exposure, however convincing, appearing only in the Monday and
Tuesday morning newspapers have the desired effect?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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