Presently she set out with her husband to survey the sights of the city. Naturally their first visit was to the Capitol, in the presence of which Selma clutched his arm in the pride of her patriotism and of her pleasure that he was to be one of the makers of history within its splendid precincts. The sight of the stately houses of Congress, superbly dominated by their imposing dome, made them both walk proudly, lost, save for occasional vivid phrases of admiration, in the contemplation of their own possible future. What greater earthly prize for man than political distinction among a people capable of monuments like this? What grander arena for a woman eager to demonstrate truth and promote righteousness? There was, of course, too much to see for any one visit. They went up to the gallery of the House of Representatives and looked down on the theatre of Lyons's impending activities. He was to take his seat on the day after the morrow as one of the minority party, but a strong, vigorous minority. Selma pictured him standing in the aisle and uttering ringing words of denunciation against corporate monopolies and the money power.

"I shall come up here and listen to you often. I shall be able to tell if you speak loud enough—so that the public can hear you," she said, glancing at the line of galleries which she saw in her mind's eye crowded with spectators. "You must make a long speech very soon."

"That is very unlikely indeed. They tell me a new member rarely gets a chance to be heard," answered Lyons.

"But they will hear you. You have something to say."

Lyons squeezed her hand. Her words nourished the same hope in his own breast. "I shall take advantage of every opportunity to obtain recognition, and to give utterance to my opinions."

"Oh yes, I shall expect you to speak. I am counting on that."

On their way down they scanned with interest the statues and portraits of distinguished statesmen and heroes, and the representations of famous episodes in American history with which the walls of the landings and the rotunda are lined.

"Some day you will be here," said Selma. "I wonder who will paint you or make your bust. I have often thought," she added, wistfully, "that, if I had given my mind to it, I could have modelled well in clay. Some day I'll try. It would be interesting, wouldn't it, to have you here in marble with the inscription underneath, 'Bust of the Honorable James O. Lyons, sculptured by his wife?'"

Lyons laughed, but he was pleased. "You are making rapid strides, my dear. I am sure of one thing—if my bust or portrait ever is here, I shall owe my success largely to your devotion and good sense. I felt certain of it before, but our honeymoon has proved to me that we were meant for one another."

"Yes, I think we were. And I like to hear you say I have good sense. That is what I pride myself on as a wife."

On their return to the hotel Selma was annoyed to find that no one but a member of her husband's Congressional delegation had called. She had hoped to find that their presence in Washington was known and appreciated. It seemed to her, moreover, that they were not treated at the hotel with the deference she had supposed would be accorded to them. To be sure, equality was of the essence of American doctrine; nevertheless she had anticipated that the official representatives of the people would be made much of, and distinguished from the rest of the world, if not by direct attention, by being pointed out and looked at admiringly. Still, as Lyons showed no signs of disappointment, she forbore to express her own perplexity, which was temporarily relieved by an invitation from him to drive. The atmosphere was mild enough for an open carriage, and Selma's appetite for processional effect derived some crumbs of comfort from the process of showing herself in a barouche by the side of her husband. They proceeded in an opposite direction from the Capitol, and after surveying the outside of the White House, drove along the avenues and circles occupied by private residences. Selma noticed that these houses, though attractive, were less magnificent and conspicuous than many of those in New York—more like her own in Benham; and she pictured as their occupants the families of the public men of the country—a society of their wives and daughters living worthily, energetically, and with becoming stateliness, yet at the same time rebuking by their example frivolity and rampant luxury. She observed with satisfaction the passage of a number of private carriages, and that their occupants were stylishly clad. She reflected that, as, the wife of a Congressman, her place was among them, and she was glad that they recognized the claims of social development so far as to dress well and live in comfort. Before starting she had herself fastened a bunch of red roses at her waist as a contribution to her picturesqueness as a public woman.

While she was thus absorbed in speculation, not altogether free from worrying suspicions, in spite of her mental vision as to the occupants of these private residences, she uttered an ejaculation of surprise as a jaunty victoria passed by them, and she turned her head in an eager attempt to ascertain if her surprise and annoyance were well-founded. The other vehicle was moving rapidly, but a similar curiosity impelled one of its occupants to look hack also, and the eyes of the two women met.

"It's she; I thought it was."

"Who, my dear?" said Lyons.

"Flossy Williams—Mrs. Gregory Williams. I wonder," she added, in a severe tone, "what she is doing here, and how she happens to be associating with these people. That was a private carriage."

"Williams has a number of friends in Washington, I imagine. I thought it likely that he would be here. That was another proof of your good sense, Selma—deciding to let bygones be bygones and to ignore your disagreement with his wife."

"Yes, I know. I shall treat her civilly. But my heart will be broken, James, if I find that Washington is like New York."

"In what respect?"

"If I find that the people in these houses lead exclusive, un-American, godless lives. It would tempt me almost to despair of our country," she exclaimed, with tragic emphasis.

"I don't understand about social matters, Selma. I must leave those to you. But," he added, showing that he shrewdly realized the cause of her anguish better than she did herself, "as soon as we get better acquainted, I'm sure you will find that we shall get ahead, and that you will be able to hold your own with anybody, however exclusive."

Selma colored at the unflattering simplicity of his deduction. "I don't desire to hold my own with people of that sort. I despise them."

"I know. Hold your own, I mean, among people of the right sort by force of sound ideas and principles. The men and women of to-day," he continued, with melodious asseveration, "are the grand-children of those who built the splendid halls we visited this morning as a monument to our nation's love of truth and righteousness. A few frivolous, worldly minded spirits are not the people of the United States to whom we look for our encouragement and support."

"Assuredly," answered Selma, with eagerness. "It is difficult, though, not to get discouraged at times by the behavior of those who ought to aid instead of hinder our progress as a nation."

For a moment she was silent in wrapt meditation, then she asked:

"Didn't you expect that more notice would be taken of our arrival?"

"In what way?"

"In some way befitting a member of Congress."

Lyons laughed. "My dear Selma, I am one new Congressman among several hundred. What did you expect? That the President and his wife would come and take us to drive?"

"Of course not." She paused a moment, then she said: "I suppose that, as you are not on the side of the administration, we cannot expect much notice to be taken of us until you speak in the House. I will try not to be too ambitious for you, James; but it would be easier to be patient," she concluded, with her far-away look, "if I were not beginning to fear that this city also may be contaminated just as New York is."



CHAPTER VI.

The incidents of the next two days previous to her attendance at the evening reception at the White House restored Selma's equanimity. She had the satisfaction of being present at the opening ceremonies of the House of Representatives, and of beholding her husband take the oath of office. She was proud of Lyons as she looked down on him from the gallery standing in the aisle by his allotted seat. He was holding an improvised reception, for a number of his colleagues showed themselves desirous to make his acquaintance. She noticed that he appeared already on familiar terms with some of his fellow-members; that he drew men or was drawn aside for whispered confidences; that he joked knowingly with others; and that always as he chatted his large, round, smooth face, relieved by its chin beard, wore an aspect of bland dignity and shrewd reserve wisdom. It pleased her to be assisting at the dedication of a fresh page of national history—a page yet unwritten, but on which she hoped that her own name would be inscribed sooner or later by those who should seek to trace the complete causes of her husband's usefulness and genius.

Another source of satisfaction was the visit paid them the day before at the hotel by one of the United States Senators from their own State—Mr. Calkins. The two political parties in their own State were so evenly divided that one of the Senators in office happened to be a Republican and his colleague a Democrat. Mr. Calkins belonged to her husband's party, yet he suggested that they might enjoy a private audience with the President, with whom, notwithstanding political differences of opinion, Mr. Calkins was on friendly terms. This was the sort of thing which Selma aspired to, and the experience did much to lighten her heart. She enjoyed the distinction of seeing guarded doors open at their approach, and of finding herself shaking hands with the chief magistrate of the nation at a special interview. The President was very affable, and was manifestly aware of Lyons's triumph at the expense of his own party, and of his consequent political importance. He treated the matter banteringly, and Selma was pleased at her ability to enter into the spirit of his persiflage and to reciprocate. In her opinion solemnity would have been more consistent with his position as the official representative of the people of the United States, and his jocose manifestations at a time when serious conversation seemed to be in order was a disappointment, and tended to confirm her previous distrust of him as the leader of the opposite party. She had hoped he would broach some vital topics of political interest, and that she would have the opportunity to give expression to her own views in regard to public questions. Nevertheless, as the President saw fit to be humorous, she was glad that she understood how to meet and answer his bantering sallies. She felt sure that Lyons, were he ever to occupy this dignified office, would refrain from ill-timed levity, but she bore in mind also the policy of conciliation which she had learned from her husband, and concealed her true impressions. She noticed that both Lyons and Mr. Calkins forebore to show dissatisfaction, and she reflected that, though the President's tone was light, there was nothing else in his appearance or bearing to convict him of sympathy with lack of enthusiasm and with cynicism. It would have destroyed all the enjoyment of her interview had she been forced to conclude that a man who did not take himself and his duties seriously could be elected President of the United States. She was not willing to believe this; but her suspicions were so far aroused that she congratulated herself that her political opponents were responsible for his election. Nevertheless she was delighted by the distinction of the private audience, and by the episode at its close, which gave her opportunity to show her individuality. Said the President gallantly as she was taking leave:

"Will you permit me to congratulate Congressman Lyons on his good fortune in the affairs of the heart as well as in politics?"

"If you say things like that, Mr. President," interjected Lyons, "you will turn her head; she will become a Republican, and then where should I be?"

While she perceived that the President was still inclined to levity, the compliment pleased Selma. Yet, though she appreciated that her husband was merely humoring him by his reply, she did not like the suggestion that any flattery could affect her principles. She shook her head coquettishly and said:

"James, I'm sure the President thinks too well of American women to believe that any admiration, however gratifying, would make me lukewarm in devotion to my party."

This speech appeared to her apposite and called for, and she departed in high spirits, which were illuminated by the thought that the administration was not wholly to be trusted.

On the following evening Selma went to the reception at the White House. The process of arrival was trying to her patience, for they were obliged to await their turn in the long file of carriages. She could not but approve of the democratic character of the entertainment, which anyone who desired to behold and shake hands with the Chief Magistrate was free to attend. Still, it again crossed her mind that, as an official's wife, she ought to have been given precedence. Their turn to alight came at last, and they took their places in the procession of visitors on its way through the East room to the spot where the President and his wife, assisted by some of the ladies of the Cabinet, were submitting to the ordeal of receiving the nation. There was a veritable crush, in which there was every variety of evening toilette, a display essentially in keeping with the doctrines which Selma felt that she stood for. She took occasion to rejoice in Lyons's ear at the realization of her anticipations in this respect. At the same time she was agreeably stimulated by the belief that her wedding dress was sumptuous and stylish, and her appearance striking. Her hair had been dressed as elaborately as possible; she wore all her jewelry; and she carried a bouquet of costly roses. Her wish was to regard the function as the height of social demonstration, and she had spared no pains to make herself effective. She had esteemed it her duty to do so both as a Congressman's wife and as a champion of moral and democratic ideas.

The crowd was oppressive, and three times the train of her dress was stepped on to her discomfiture. Amid the sea of faces she recognized a few of the people she had seen at the hotel. It struck her that no one of the women was dressed so elegantly as herself, an observation which cheered her and yet was not without its thorn. But the music, the lights, and the variegated movement of the scene kept her senses absorbed and interfered with introspection, until at last they were close to the receiving party. Selma fixed her eyes on the President, expecting recognition. Like her husband, the President possessed a gift of faces and the faculty of rallying all his energies to the important task of remembering who people were. An usher asked and announced the names, but the Chief Magistrate's perceptions were kept hard at work. His "How do you do, Congressman Lyons? I am very glad to see you here, Mrs. Lyons," were uttered with a smiling spontaneity, which to his own soul meant a momentary agreeable relaxation of the nerves of memory, resembling the easy flourish with which a gymnast engaged in lifting heavy weights encounters a wooden dumb-bell. But though his eyes and voice were flattering, Selma had barely completed the little bob of a courtesy which accompanied her act of shaking hands when she discovered that the machinery of the national custom was not to halt on their account, and that she must proceed without being able to renew the half flirtatious interview of the previous day. She proceeded to courtesy to the President's wife and to the row of wives of members of the Cabinet who were assisting. Before she could adequately observe them, she found herself beyond and a part once more of a heterogeneous crush, the current of which she aimlessly followed on her husband's arm. She was suspicious of the device of courtesying. Why had not the President's wife and the Cabinet ladies shaken hands with her and given her an opportunity to make their acquaintance? Could it be that the administration was aping foreign manners and adopting effete and aristocratic usages?

"What do we do now?" she asked of Lyons as they drifted along.

"I'd like to find Horace Elton and introduce him to you. I caught a glimpse of him further on just before we reached the President. Horace knows all the ropes and can tell us who everybody is."

Selma had heard her husband refer to Horace Elton on several occasions in terms of respectful and somewhat mysterious consideration. She had gathered in a general way that he was a far reaching and formidable power in matters political and financial, besides being the president and active organizer of the energetic corporation known as the Consumers' Gas Light Company of their own state. As they proceeded she kept her eyes on the alert for a man described by Lyons as short, heavily built, and neat looking, with small side whiskers and a close-mouthed expression. When they were not far from the door of exit from the East room, some one on the edge of the procession accosted her husband, who drew her after him in that direction. Selma found herself in a sort of eddy occupied by half a dozen people engaged in observing the passing show, and in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Williams. It was Mr. Williams who had diverted them. He now renewed his acquaintance with her, exclaiming—"My wife insisted that she had met you driving with some one she believed to be your husband. I had heard that Congressman Lyons was on his bridal tour, and now everything is clear. Flossy, you were right as usual, and it seems that our hearty congratulations are in order to two old friends."

Williams spoke with his customary contagious confidence. Selma noted that he was stouter and that his hair was becomingly streaked with gray. Had not her attention been on the lookout for his wife she might have noticed that his eye wore a restless, strained expression despite his august banker's manner and showy gallantry. She did observe that the moment he had made way for Flossy he turned to Lyons and began to talk to him in a subdued tone under the guise of watching the procession.

The two women confronted each other with spontaneous forgetfulness of the past. There was a shade of haughtiness in Selma's greeting. She was prepared to respect her husband's policy and to ignore the circumstances under which they had parted, but she wished Flossy to understand that this was an act of condescension on her part as a Congressman's wife, whose important social status was beyond question. She was so thoroughly imbued with this sense of her indisputable superiority that she readily mistook Flossy's affability for fawning; whereas that young woman's ingenuous friendliness was the result of a warning sentence from Gregory when Selma and her husband were seen approaching—"Keep a check on your tongue, Floss. This statesman with a beard like a goat is likely to have a political future."

"I felt sure it was you the other day," Flossy said with smiling sprightliness, "but I had not heard of your marriage to Mr. Lyons."

"We were married at Benham six weeks ago. We are to live in Benham. We have bought the house there which belonged to Mr. Parsons. We have just returned from visiting the superb scenery of the Yosemite and the Rocky Mountains, and it made me prouder than ever of my country. If Congressman Lyons had not been obliged to be present at the opening of Congress, we should have spent our honeymoon in Europe."

"Gregory and I passed last summer abroad yachting. We crossed on a steamer and had our yacht meet us there. Isn't it a jam to-night?"

"There seem to be a great many people. I suppose you came on from New York on purpose for this reception?"

"Mercy, no. We are staying with friends, and we hadn't intended to come to-night. But we had been dining out and were dressed, so we thought we'd drop in and show our patriotism. It's destruction to clothes, and I'm glad I haven't worn my best."

Selma perceived Flossy's eye making a note of her own elaborate costume, and the disagreeable suspicion that she was overdressed reasserted itself. She had already observed that Mrs. Williams's toilette, though stylish, was comparatively simple. How could one be overdressed on such an occasion? What more suitable time for an American woman to wear her choicest apparel than when paying her respects to the President of the United States? She noticed that Flossy seemed unduly at her ease as though the importance of the ceremony was lost on her, and that they group of people with whom Flossy had been talking and who stood a little apart were obviously indulging in quiet mirth at the expense of some of those in the procession.

"Are the friends with whom you are staying connected with the Government?" Selma asked airily.

"Official people? Goodness, no. But I can point out to you who everybody is, for we have been in Washington frequently during the last three sessions. Gregory has to run over here on business every now and then, and I almost always come with him. To-night is the opportunity to see the queer people in all their glory—the woolly curiosities, as Gregory calls them. And a sprinkling of the real celebrities too," she added.

Selma's inquiry had been put with a view to satisfy herself that Flossy's friends were mere civilians. But she was glad of an opportunity to be enlightened as to the names of her fellow-officials, though she resented Flossy's flippant tone regarding the character of the entertainment. While she listened to the breezy, running commentary by which Flossy proceeded to identify for her benefit the conspicuous figures in the procession she nursed her offended sensibilities.

"I should suppose," she said, taking advantage of a pause, "that on such an occasion as this everybody worth knowing would be present."

Flossy gave Selma one of her quick glances. She had not forgotten the past, nor her discovery of the late Mrs. Littleton's real grievance against her and the world. Nor did she consider that her husband's caveat debarred her from the amusement of worrying the wife of the Hon. James O. Lyons, provided it could be done by means of the truth ingenuously uttered. She said with a confidential smile—

"The important and the interesting political people have other opportunities to meet one another—at dinner parties and less promiscuous entertainments than this, and the Washington people have other opportunities to meet them. Of course the President is a dear, and everyone makes a point of attending a public reception once in a while, but this sort of thing isn't exactly an edifying society event. For instance, notice the woman in the pomegranate velvet with two diamond sprays in her hair. That's the wife of Senator Colman—his child wife, so they call her. She came to Washington six years ago as the wife of a member of the House from one of the wild and woolly States, and was notorious then in the hotel corridors on account of her ringletty raven hair and the profusion of rings she wore. She used to make eyes at the hotel guests and romp with her husband's friends in the hotel parlors, which was the theatre of her social activities. Her husband died, and a year ago she married old Senator Colman, old enough to be her grandfather, and one of the very rich and influential men in the Senate. Now she has developed social ambition and is anxious to entertain. They have hired a large house for the winter and are building a larger one. As Mrs. Polsen—that was her first husband's name—she was invited nowhere except to wholesale official functions like this. The wife of a United States Senator with plenty of money can generally attract a following; she is somebody. And it happens that people are amused by Mrs. Cohnan's eccentricities. She still overdresses, and makes eyes, and she nudges those who sit next her at table, but she is good-natured, says whatever comes into her head, and has a strong sense of humor. So she is getting on."

"Getting on among society people?" said Selma drily.

Flossy's eyes twinkled. "Society people is the generic name used for them in the newspapers. I mean that she is making friends among the women who live in the quarter where I passed you the other day."

Selma frowned. "It is not necessary, I imagine, to make friends of that class in order to have influence in Washington,—the best kind of influence. I can readily believe that people of that sort would interest most of our public women very little."

"Very likely. I don't think you quite understand me, Mrs. Lyons, or we are talking at cross purposes. What I was trying to make clear is that political and social prominence in Washington are by no means synonimous. Of course everyone connected with the government who desires to frequent Washington society and is socially available is received with open arms; but, if people are not socially available, it by no means follows that they are able to command social recognition merely because they hold political office,—except perhaps in the case of wives of the Cabinet, of the Justices of the Supreme Court, or of rich and influential Senators, where a woman is absolutely bent on success and takes pains. I refer particularly to the wives, because a single man, if he is reasonably presentable and ambitious, can go about more or less, even if he is a little rough, for men are apt to be scarce. But the line is drawn on the women unless they are—er—really important and have to be tolerated for official reasons. Now every woman who is not persona grata, as the diplomats say, anywhere else, is apt to attend the President's reception in all her finery, and that's why I suggested that this sort of thing isn't exactly an edifying social event. It's amusing to come here now and then, just as it's amusing to go to a menagerie. You see what I mean, don't you?" Flossy asked, plying her feathery fan with blithe nonchalance and looking into her companion's face with an innocent air.

"I understand perfectly. And who are these people who draw the line?"

"It sometimes happens," continued Flossy abstractedly, without appearing to hear this inquiry, "that they improve after they've been in Washington a few years. Take Mrs. Baker, the Secretary of the Interior's wife, receiving to-night. When her husband came to Washington three years ago she had the social adaptability of a solemn horse. But she persevered and learned, and now as a Cabinet lady she unbends, and is no longer afraid of compromising her dignity by wearing becoming clothes and smiling occasionally. But you were asking who the people are who draw the line. The nice people here just as everywhere else; the people who have been well educated and have fine sensibilities, and who believe in modesty, and unselfishness and thorough ways of doing things. You must know the sort of people I mean. Some of them make too much of mere manners, but as a class they are able to draw the line because they draw it in favor of distinction of character as opposed to—what shall I call it?—haphazard custom-made ethics and social deportment."

Flossy spoke with the artless prattle of one seeking to make herself agreeable to a new-comer by explaining the existing order of things, but she had chosen her words as she proceeded with special reference to her listener's case. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she was trifling with the feelings of the wife of Hon. James O. Lyons, but to Selma's sensitive ear there was no doubt that the impertinent and unpatriotic tirade had been deliberately aimed at her. The closing words had a disagreeably familiar sound. Save that they fell from seemingly friendly lips they recalled the ban which Flossy had hurled at her at the close of their last meeting—the ban which had decided her to declare unwavering hostility against social exclusiveness. Its veiled reiteration now made her nerves tingle, but the personal affront stirred her less than the conclusion, which the whole of Flossy's commentary suggested, that Washington—Washington the hearth-stone of American ideals, was contaminated also. Flossy had given her to understand that the houses which she had assumed to be occupied by members of the Government were chiefly the residences of people resembling in character those whom she had disapproved of in New York. Flossy had intimated that unless a woman were hand in glove with these people and ready to lower herself to their standards, she must be the wife of a rich Senator to be tolerated. Flossy had virtually told her that a Congressman's wife was nobody. Could this be true? The bitterest part of all was that it was evident Flossy spoke with the assurance of one uttering familiar truths. Selma felt affronted and bitterly disappointed, but she chose to meet Mrs. Williams's innocent affability with composure; to let her see that she disagreed with her, but not to reveal her personal irritation. She must consider Lyons, whose swift political promotion was necessary for her plans. It was important that he should become rich, and if his relations with the firm of Williams & Van Horne tended to that end, no personal grievance of her own should disturb them. Even Flossy had conceded that the wives of the highest officials could not be ignored.

"I fear that we look at these matters from too different a standpoint to discuss them further," she responded, with an effort at smiling ease. "Evidently you do not appreciate that to the majority of the strong women of the country whose husbands have been sent to Washington as members of the Government social interests seem trivial compared with the great public questions they are required to consider. These women doubtless feel little inclination for fashionable and—or—frivolous festivities, and find an occasion like this better suited to their conception of social dignity."

A reply by Flossy to this speech was prevented by the interruption of Lyons, who brought up Mr. Horace Elton for introduction to his wife. Selma knew him at once from his likeness to the description which her husband had given. He was portly and thick-set, with a large neck, a strong, unemotional, high-colored face, and closely-shaven, small side whiskers. He made her a low bow and, after a few moments of conversation, in the course of which he let fall a complimentary allusion to her husband's oratorical abilities and gave her to understand that he considered Lyons's marriage as a wise and enviable proceeding, he invited her to promenade the room on his arm. Mr. Elton had a low but clear and dispassionate voice, and a concise utterance. His remarks gave the impression that he could impart more on any subject if he chose, and that what he said proceeded from a reserve fund of special, secret knowledge, a little of which he was willing to confide to his listener. He enlightened Selma in a few words as to a variety of the people present, accompanying his identification with a phrase or two of comprehensive personal detail, which had the savor of being unknown to the world at large.

"The lady we just passed, Mrs. Lyons, is the wife of the junior Senator from Nevada. Her husband fell in love with her on the stage of a mining town theatrical troupe. That tall man, with the profuse wavy hair and prominent nose, is Congressman Ross of Colorado, the owner of one of the largest cattle ranches in the Far West. It is said that he has never smoked, never tasted a glass of liquor, and never gambled in his life."

In the course of these remarks Mr. Elton simply stated his interesting facts without comment. He avoided censorious or satirical allusions to the people to whom he called Selma's attention. On the contrary, his observations suggested sympathetically that he desired to point out to her the interesting personalities of the capital, and that he regarded the entertainment as an occasion to behold the strong men and women of the country in their lustre and dignity. As they passed the lady in pomegranate velvet, Selma said, in her turn, "That is Mrs. Colman, I believe. Senator Colman's child wife." She added what was in her thoughts, "I understand that the society people here have taken her up."

"Yes. She has become a conspicuous figure in Washington. I remember her, Mrs. Lyons, when she was Addie Farr—before she married Congressman Polsen of Kentucky. She was a dashing looking girl in those days, with her black eyes and black ringlets. I remember she had a coltish way of tossing her head. The story is that when she accepted Polsen another Kentuckian—a young planter—who was in love with her, drank laudanum. Now, as you say, she is being taken up socially, and her husband, the Senator, is very proud of her success. After all, if a woman is ambitious and has tact, what can she ask better than to be the wife of a United States Senator?" He paused a moment, then, with a gallant sidelong glance at his companion, resumed in a concise whisper, which had the effect of a disclosure, "Prophecies, especially political prophecies, are dangerous affairs, but it seems to me not improbable that before many years have passed the wife of Senator Lyons will be equally prominent—be as conspicuous socially as the wife of Senator Colman."

Selma blushed, but not wholly with pleasure. Socially conspicuous before many years? The splendid prophecy, which went beyond the limit of Horace Elton's usual caution—for he combined the faculty of habitual discretion with his chatty proclivities—was dimmed for Selma by the rasping intimation that she was not conspicuous yet. Worse still, his statement shattered the hope, which Flossy's fluent assertions had already disturbed, that she was to find in Washington a company of congenial spirits who would appreciate her at her full value forthwith, and would join with her and under her leadership in resisting the encroachments of women of the stamp of Mrs. Williams.

"I am very ambitious for my husband, Mr. Elton, and of course I have hoped—do hope that some day he will be a Senator. What you said just now as to the power of his voice to arouse the moral enthusiasm of the people seemed to be impressively true. I should be glad to be a Senator's wife, for—for I wish to help him. I wish to demonstrate the truth of the principles to which both our lives are dedicated. But I hoped that I might help him now—that my mission might be clear at once. It seems according to you that a Congressman's wife is not of much importance; that her hands are tied."

"Practically so, unless—unless she has unusual social facility, and the right sort of acquaintances. Beauty, wealth and ambition are valuable aids, but I always am sorry for women who come here without friends, and—er—the right sort of introduction. At any rate, to answer your question frankly, a Congressman's wife has her spurs to win just as he has. If you were to set up house-keeping, here, Mrs. Lyons, I've no doubt that a woman of your attractions and capabilities would soon make a niche for herself. You have had social experience, which Addie Farr, for instance, was without."

"I lived in New York for some years with my husband, Mr. Littleton, so I have a number of Eastern acquaintances."

"I remember you were talking with Mrs. Gregory Williams when I was introduced to you. The people with whom she is staying are among the most fashionable in Washington. What I said had reference to the wife of the every-day Congressman who comes to Washington expecting recognition. Not to Mrs. James O. Lyons."

Selma bit her lip. She recognized the death-knell of her cherished expectations. She was not prepared to acknowledge formally her discomfiture and her disappointment. But she believed that Mr. Elton, though a plain man, had comprehensive experience and that he spoke with shrewd knowledge of the situation. She felt sure that he was not trying to deceive or humiliate her. It was clear that Washington was contaminated also.

"I dare say I should get on here well enough after a time, though I should find difficulty in considering that it was right to give so much time to merely social matters. But Mr. Lyons and I have already decided that I can be more use to him at present in Benham. There I feel at home. I am known, and have my friends, and there I have important work—literary lectures and the establishment of a large public hospital under way. If the time comes, as you kindly predict, that my husband is chosen a United States Senator, I shall be glad to return here and accept the responsibilities of our position. But I warn you, Mr. Elton,—I warn the people of Washington," she added with a wave of her fan, while her eyes sparkled with a stern light "that when I am one of their leaders, I shall do away with some of the—er—false customs of the present administration. I shall insist on preserving our American social traditions inviolate."

Here was the grain of consolation in the case, which she clutched at and held up before her mind's eye as a new stimulus to her patriotism and her conscience. Both Mr. Elton and Flossy had indicated that there was a point at which exclusiveness was compelled to stop in its haughty disregard of democratic ideals. There were certain women whom the people who worshipped lack of enthusiasm and made an idol of cynicism were obliged to heed and recognize. They might be able to ignore the intelligence and social originality of a Congressman's wife, but they dared not turn a cold shoulder on the wife of a United States Senator. And if a woman—if she were to occupy this proud position, what a satisfaction it would be to assert the power which belonged to it; assert it in behalf of the cause for which she had suffered so much! Her disappointment tasted bitterly in her mouth, and she was conscious of stern revolt; but the new hope had already taken possession of her fancy, and she hastened to prove it by the ethical standard without which all hopes were valueless to her. Even now had anyone told her that the ruling passion of her life was to be wooed and made much of by the very people she professed to despise, she would have spurned the accuser as a malicious slanderer. Nor indeed would it have been wholly true. Mrs. Williams had practically told her this at their last meeting in New York, and its utterance had convinced her on the contrary of repugnance to them, and of her desire to be the leader of a social protest against them. Now here, in Washington of all places, she was confronted by the bitter suggestion that she was without allies, and that her enemies were the keepers of the door which led to leadership and power. Despondency stared her in the face, but a splendid possibility—aye probability was left. She would not forsake her principles. She would not lower her flag. She would return to Benham. Washington refused her homage now, but it should listen to her and bow before her some day as the wife of one of the real leaders of the State, whom Society did not dare to ignore.



CHAPTER VII.

At the close of the fortnight of her stay in Washington subsequent to the reception at the White House, Selma found herself in the same frame of mind as when she parted from Mr. Elton. During this fortnight her time was spent either in sight seeing or at the hotel. The exercises at the Capitol were purely formal, preliminary to a speedy adjournment of Congress. Consequently her husband had no opportunity to distinguish himself by addressing the house. Of Flossy she saw nothing, though the two men had several meetings. Apparently both Lyons and Williams were content with a surface reconciliation between their wives which did not bar family intercourse. At least her husband made no suggestion that she should call on Mrs. Williams, and Flossy's cards did not appear. Beyond making the acquaintance of a few more wives and daughters in the hotel, who seemed as solitary as herself, Selma received no overtures from her own sex. She knew no one, and no one sought her out or paid her attention. She still saw fit to believe that if she were to establish herself in Washington and devote her energies to rallying these wives and daughters about her, she might be able to prove that Flossy and Mr. Elton were mistaken. But she realized that the task would be less simple than she had anticipated. Besides she yearned to return to Benham, and take up again the thread of active life there. Benham would vindicate her, and some day Benham would send her back to Washington to claim recognition and her rightful place.

Lyons himself was in a cheerful mood and found congenial occupation in visiting with his wife the many historical objects of interest, and in chatting in various hotel corridors with the public men of the country, his associates in Congress. His solicitude in regard to the account which Williams was carrying for him had been relieved temporarily by an upward turn in the stock market, and the impending prompt adjournment of Congress had saved him from the necessity of taking action in regard to the railroad bill which Williams had solicited him to support. Moreover Selma had repeated to him Horace Elton's prophecy that it was not unlikely that some day he would become Senator. To be sure he recognized that a remark like this uttered to a pretty woman by an astute man of affairs such as Elton was not to be taken too seriously. There was no vacancy in the office of Senator from his state, and none was likely to occur. At the present time, if one should occur, his party in the state legislature was in a minority. Hence prophecy was obviously a random proceeding. Nevertheless he was greatly pleased, for, after all, Elton would scarcely have made the speech had he not been genuinely well disposed. A senatorship was one of the great prizes of political life, and one of the noblest positions in the world. It would afford him a golden opportunity to leave the impress of his convictions on national legislation, and defend the liberties of the people by force of the oratorical gifts which he possessed. Elton had referred to these gifts in complimentary terms. Was it not reasonable to infer that Elton would be inclined to promote his political fortunes? Such an ally would be invaluable, for Elton was a growing power in the industrial development of the section of the country where they both lived. He had continued to find him friendly in spite of his own antagonism on the public platform to corporate power. A favorite and conscientious hope in his political outlook was that he might be able to make capital as well as labor believe him to be a friend without alienating either; that he might obtain support at the polls from both factions, and thus be left free after election to work out for their mutual advantage appropriate legislation. He had avowed himself unmistakably the champion of popular principles in order to win the confidence of the common people, but his policy of reasonable conciliation led him to cast sheep's eyes at vested interests when he could do so without exposing himself to the charge of inconsistency. Many of his friends were wealthy men, and his private ambition was to amass a handsome fortune. That had been the cause of his speculative ventures in local enterprises which promised large returns, and in the stock market. Horace Elton was a friend of but three years' standing; one of the men who had consulted him occasionally in regard to legal matters since he had become a corporation attorney. He admired Elton's strong, far-reaching grasp of business affairs, his capacity to formulate and incubate on plans of magnitude without betraying a sign of his intentions, and his power to act with lightning despatch and overwhelming vigor when the moment for the consummation of his purposes arrived. He also found agreeable Elton's genial, easy-going ways outside of business hours, which frequently took the form of social entertainment at which expense seemed to be no consideration and gastronomic novelties were apt to be presented. Lyons attended one of these private banquets while in Washington—a dinner party served to a carefully chosen company of public men, to which newspaper scribes were unable to penetrate. This same genial, easy-going tendency of Elton's to make himself acceptable to those with whom he came in contact took the form of a gift to Mrs. Lyons of a handsome cameo pin which he presented to her a day or two after their dialogue at the President's reception, and for which, as he confidentially informed Selma, he had been seeking a suitable wearer ever since he had picked it up in an out-of-the-way store in Brussels the previous summer.

On the day of their departure Selma, as she took a last look from the car window at the Capitol and the Washington Monument, said to her husband: "This is a beautiful city—worthy in many respects of the genius of the American people—but I never wish to return to Washington until you are United States Senator."

"Would you not be satisfied with Justice of the Supreme Court?" asked Lyons, gayly.

"I should prefer Senator. If you were Senator, you could probably be appointed to the Supreme Court in case you preferred that place. I am relying on you, James, to bring me back here some day."

She whispered this in his ear, as they sat with heads close together looking back at the swiftly receding city. Selma's hands were clasped in her lap, and she seemed to her lover to have a dreamy air—an air suggesting poetry and high ethical resolve such as he liked to associate with her and their scheme of wedded life. It pleased him that his wife should feel so confident that the future had in store for him this great prize, and he allowed himself to yield to the pathos of the moment and whisper in reply:

"I will say this, Selma. My business affairs look more favorable, and, if nothing unforeseen happens, I do not see why we shouldn't get on reasonably fast. Nowadays, in order to be a United States Senator comfortably, it is desirable in the first place to have abundant means."

"Yes."

"We must be patient and God-fearing, and with your help, dear, and your sympathy, we may live to see what you desire come to pass. Of course, my ambition is to be Senator, and—and to take you back to Washington as a Senator's wife."

Selma had not chosen to confide to Lyons in set terms her social grievance against the capital of her country. But she was glad to perceive from his last words that he understood she was not satisfied with the treatment accorded her, and that he also was looking forward to giving her a position which would enable her to rebuke the ungodly and presumptuous.

"Thank you, James," she answered. "When that time comes we shall be able to teach them a number of things. For the present though, I feel that I can be of best service to you and to the truths which we are living for by interesting myself in whatever concerns Benham. We believe in Benham, and Benham seems inclined to believe in us and our ideas."

The ensuing year passed uneventfully. Lyons was able to be at home from the first of April to the reassembling of Congress in the following December. He was glad to give himself up to the enjoyment of his handsome establishment. He resumed the tenor of his professional practice, feeling that as a sober-minded, married citizen he had become of more importance to the community, and he was eager to bear witness to his sense of responsibility. He took a more active part in soliciting contributions for evangelizing benighted countries, and he consented on several occasions to deliver an address on "Success in Life" to struggling young men of Benham and the surrounding towns. His easy flow of words, his dignity and his sober but friendly mien made him a favorite with audiences, and constantly broadened his circle of acquaintance.

Selma, on her side, took up the organization of the Free Hospital provided by Mr. Parsons. Her husband left the decision of all but legal and financial questions to her and Miss Luella Bailey, who, at Selma's request, was made the third member of the board of trustees. She decided to call in a committee of prominent physicians to formulate a programme of procedure in matters purely medical; but she reserved a right of rejection of their conclusions, and she insisted on the recognition of certain cardinal principles, as she called them. She specified that no one school of medicine should dictate the policy of the hospital as regards the treatment of patients. To the young physician whom she selected to assist her in forming this administrative board she stated, with stern emotion: "I do not intend that it shall be possible in this hospital for men and women to be sacrificed simply because doctors are unwilling to avail themselves of the latest resources of brilliant individual discernment. I know what it means to see a beloved one die, who might have been saved had the physician in charge been willing to try new expedients. The doors of this hospital must be ever open to rising unconventional talent. There shall be no creeds nor caste of medicine here."

She also specified that the matron in charge of the hospital should be Mrs. Earle, whose lack of trained experience was more than counterbalanced by her maternal, humanitarian spirit, as Selma expressed it. She felt confident that Mrs. Earle would choose as her assistants competent and skilful persons, and at the same time that her broad point of view and sympathetic instincts would not allow her to turn a deaf ear to aspiring but technically ignorant ability. This selection of Mrs. Earle was a keen pleasure to Selma. It seemed to her an ideal selection. Mrs. Earle was no longer young, and was beginning to find the constant labor of lecture and newspaper work exhausting. This dignified and important post would provide her with a permanent income, and would afford her an attractive field for her progressive capabilities.

Selma's choice of young Dr. Ashmun as the head of the medical board was due to a statement which came to her ears, that he was reviled by some of the physicians of Benham because he had patented certain discoveries of his own instead of giving his fellow-practitioners the benefit of his knowledge. Selma was prompt to detect in this hostility an envious disposition on the part of the regular physicians to appropriate the fruits of individual cleverness and to repress youthful revolt against conventional methods. Dr. Ashmun regarded his selection as the professional chief of this new institution as a most auspicious occurrence from the standpoint of his personal fortunes. He was ambitious, ardent, and keen to attract attention, with an abundant fund of energy and a nervous, driving manner. He was, besides, good looking and fluent, and he quickly perceived the drift of Selma's intentions in regard to the hospital, and accommodated himself to them with enthusiasm. They afforded him the very opportunity which he most desired—the chance to assert himself against his critics, and to obtain public notice. The watchword of liberty and distrust of professional canons suited his purposes and his mood, and he threw himself eagerly into the work of carrying out Selma's projects.

As a result of the selection of Dr. Ashmun and of the other members of the administrative board, who were chosen with a view to their availability as sympathetic colleagues, letters of protest from several physicians appeared in the newspapers complaining that the new hospital was being conducted on unscientific and shallow principles, disapproved of by the leading men of the profession. Selma was indignant yet thrilled. She promptly took steps to refute the charge, and explained that the hostility of these correspondents proceeded from envy and hide-bound reluctance to adopt new and revolutionizing expedients. Through the aid of Mrs. Earle and Miss Luella Bailey a double-leaded column in the Benham Sentinel set forth the merits of the new departure in medicine, which was cleverly described as the revolt of the talented young men of the profession from the tyranny of their conservative elders. Benham became divided in opinion as to the merits of this controversy, and Selma received a number of anonymous letters through the post approving her stand in behalf of advanced, independent thought. Among the physicians who were opposed to her administration of the hospital she recognized with satisfaction the name of a Dr. Paget, who, as she happened to know, was Mrs. Hallett Taylor's medical adviser.

Another matter in which Selma became interested was the case of Mrs. Hamilton. She was a woman who had been born in the neighborhood of Benham, but had lived for twenty years in England, and had been tried in England by due process of law for the murder of her husband and sentenced to imprisonment for life. Some of the people of the state who had followed the testimony as reported in the American newspapers had decided that she ought not to have been convicted. Accordingly a petition setting forth the opinion of her former neighbors that she was innocent of the charge, and should as an American citizen be released from custody, was circulated for signature. A public meeting was held and largely attended, at which it was resolved to send a monster petition to the British authorities with a request for Mrs. Hamilton's pardon, and also to ask the government at Washington to intercede on behalf of the unfortunate sufferer. The statement of the case appealed vividly to Selma, and at the public meeting, which was attended chiefly by women, she spoke, and offered the services of her husband to lay the matter before the President. It was further resolved to obtain the names of influential persons all over the country in order that the petition might show that the sentiment that injustice had been done was national as well as local.

Selma espoused the case with ardor, and busied herself in obtaining signatures. She called on Miss Flagg and induced her to sign by the assurance that the verdict was entirely contrary to the evidence. She then had recourse to her former sister-in-law, conceiving that the signature of the President of Wetmore College would impress the English. She and Pauline had already exchanged visits, and Pauline had shown no umbrage at her marriage. The possibility of being rebuffed on this occasion did not occur to Selma. She took for granted that Pauline would be only too glad to give her support to so deserving a petition, and she considered that she was paying her a compliment in soliciting her name for insertion among the prominent signers. Pauline listened to her attentively, then replied:

"I am sorry for the woman, if she is innocent: and if she has been falsely accused, of course she ought to be released. But what makes you think she is innocent, Selma?"

"The testimony did not justify her conviction. Every one is of that opinion."

"Have you read the testimony yourself, Selma?"

"No, Pauline."

"Or your husband?"

"My husband is satisfied from what others have told him, just as I am, that this poor American woman is languishing in prison as the result of a cruel miscarriage of justice, and that she never committed the crime of which she has been found guilty. My husband has had considerable legal experience."

Pauline's questions were nettling, and Selma intended by her response to suggest the presumptuousness of her sister-in-law's doubts in the face of competent authority.

"I realize that your husband ought to understand about such matters, but may one suppose that the English authorities would deliberately allow an innocent woman to remain in prison? They must know that the friends of Mrs. Hamilton believe her innocent. Why should we on this side of the water meddle simply because she was born an American?"

"Why?" Selma drew herself up proudly. "In the first place I believe—we believe—that the English are capable of keeping her in prison on a technicality merely because she is there already. They are worshippers of legal form and red tape, my husband says. And as to meddling, why is it not our duty as an earnest and Christian people to remonstrate against the continued incarceration of a woman born under our flag and accustomed to American ideas of justice? Meddling? In my opinion, we should be cowards and derelict in our duty if we did not protest."

Pauline shook her head. "I cannot see it so. It seems to me an interference which may make us seem ridiculous in the eyes of the English, as well as offensive to them. I am sorry, Selma, not to be able to do as you wish."

Selma rose with burning cheeks, but a stately air. "If that is your decision, I must do without your name. Already we have many signatures, and shall obtain hundreds more without difficulty. We look at things differently, Pauline. Our point of view has never been the same. Ridiculous? I should be proud of the ridicule of people too selfish or too unenlightened to heed the outcry of aspiring humanity. If we had to depend on your little set to strike the note of progress, I fear we should sit with folded hands most of the time."

"I do not know what you mean by my little set," said Pauline with a smile. "I am too busy with my college duties to belong to any set. I see my friends occasionally just as you see yours; and as to progress—well, I fear that you are right in your statement that we shall never look at things alike. To me progress presupposes in the individual or the community attaining it a prelude of slow struggle, disheartening doubts, and modest reverence for previous results—for the accumulated wisdom of the past."

"I mean by your set the people who think as you do. I understand your point of view. I should have liked," she added, "to ask you to share with me the responsibility of directing the policy of the Benham Free Hospital, had I not known that you would listen to the voice of conservative authority in preference to that of fearless innovation."

"I certainly should have hesitated long before I overruled the experience of those who have devoted their lives to conscientious effort to discover truth."

"That illustrates admirably the difference between us, Pauline. No one is more eager to aid the discovery of truth than I, but I believe that truth often is concealed from those who go on, day after day, following hum-drum routine, however conscientious. I recognized that Dr. Ashmun was a live man and had fresh ideas, so I chose him as our chief of staff, notwithstanding the doctors were unfriendly to him. As a result, my hospital has individuality, and is already a success. That's the sort of thing I mean. Good-by," she said, putting out her hand. "I don't expect to convert you, Pauline, to look at things my way, but you must realize by this time that it is the Benham way."

"Yet the leading physicians of Benham disapprove of your plans for the management of the hospital," said Pauline firmly.

"But the people of Benham approve of them. I prefer their sanction to that of a coterie of cautious, unenthusiastic autocrats."

Selma, true to her intentions, did not return to Washington with her husband when Congress reassembled in December. While she was absorbed with her philanthropic plans in Benham, Lyons was performing his public duties; seeking to do the country good service, and at the right moment to attract attention to himself. The opportunity to make a speech along the line of his public professions in behalf of labor against corporate monopoly did not offer itself until late in the session. He improved the few minutes allowed him to such advantage that he was listened to with close attention, and was at once recognized as one of the persuasive and eloquent speakers of the minority. Before Congress adjourned he obtained another chance to take part in debate, by which he produced an equally favorable impression. The newspapers of the country referred approvingly to his cogent gift of statement and dignified style of delivery. Both the bills against which he spoke were passed by the Republican majority, but echoes of his words came back from some of their constituents, and Lyons was referred to as certain to be one of the strong men of the House if he returned to Congress. He went home at the close of the session in a contented frame of mind so far as his political prospects were concerned, but he was not free to enjoy the congratulations accorded him for the reason that his business ventures were beginning to give him serious solicitude. The trend of the stock market was again downward. In expectation of a rise from the previous depression, he had added to the line of shares which Williams & Van Horne were carrying for him. A slight rise had come, sufficient to afford him a chance to escape from the toils of Wall street without loss. But he needed a profit to rehabilitate his ventures in other directions—his investments in the enterprises of his own state, which had now for some months appeared quiescent, if not languishing, from a speculative point of view. Everything pointed, it was said, to a further advance as soon as Congress adjourned. So he had waited, and now, although the session was over, the stock market and financial undertakings of every sort appeared suddenly to be tottering. He had not been at home a month before prices of all securities began to shrink inordinately and the business horizon to grow murky with the clouds of impending disaster. To add to his worry, Lyons was conscious that he had pursued a fast and loose mental coarse in regard to the railroad bill in which his broker, Williams, was interested. He had given Williams to understand that he would try to see his way to support it; yet in view of his late prominence in Washington, as a foe of legislation in behalf of moneyed interests, he was more than ever averse to casting a vote in its favor. The bill had not been reached before adjournment, a result to which he had secretly contributed, but it was certain to be called up shortly after Congress reassembled. It disturbed him to feel that his affairs in New York were in such shape that Williams could embarrass him financially if he chose. It disturbed him still more that he appeared to himself to be guilty of bad faith. His conscience was troubled, and his favorite palliative of conciliation did not seem applicable to the case.



CHAPTER VIII.

Until this time the course of financial events in Benham since its evolution from a sleepy country town began had been steadily prosperous. There had been temporary recessions in prices, transient haltings in the tendency of new local undertakings to double and quadruple in value. A few rash individuals, indeed, had been forced to suspend payments and compound with their creditors. But there had been no real set back to commercial enthusiasm and speculative gusto. Those who desired to borrow money for progressive enterprises had found the banks accommodating and unsuspicious, and to Benham initiative it yet appeared that the development of the resources of the neighborhood by the unwearying, masterful energy of the citizens was still in its infancy.

But now, after a few months of inactivity, which holders of speculative securities had spoken of as another healthy breathing spell, the tendency of prices had changed. Had not merely halted, but showed a radical tendency to shrink; even to tumble feverishly. Buyers were scarce, and the once accommodating banks displayed a heartless disposition to scrutinize collateral and to ask embarrassing questions in regard to commercial paper. Rates of interest on loans were ruthlessly advanced, and additional security demanded. A pall of dejection hung over Benham. Evil days had come; days the fruit of a long period of inflation. A dozen leading firms failed and carried down with them diverse small people. Amid the general distrust and anxiety all eyes were fixed on Wall street, the so-called money centre of the country, the Gehenna where this cyclone had first manifested itself. The newspapers, voicing Benham public opinion, cast vituperation at the bankers and brokers of Wall street, whose unholy jugglings with fortune had brought this commercial blight on the community. Wall street had locked up money; consequently funds were tight in Benham, and the plans of its honest burghers to promote enterprise and develop the lawful industries of the country were interrupted. So spoke public opinion, and, at the same time, hundreds of private letters were being despatched through the Benham Post Office in response to requests for more margins on stocks held for the honest burghers by the fraternity of Wall street gamblers. There was private wailing and gnashing of teeth also, for in the panic a few of these bankers and brokers had been submerged, and the collateral of Benham's leading citizens had been swept away.

The panic itself was brief as panics always are, but it left behind it everywhere a paralyzed community. So far as Benham was concerned, only a few actually failed, but, in a host of instances, possessors of property who had thought themselves wealthy a year before found that they were face to face with the knotty problem of nursing their dwarfed resources so as to avoid eventual insolvency. Everything had shrunk fifty—often one hundred—per cent., for the basis of Benham's semi-fabulous development had been borrowed money. Many of Benham's leading citizens were down to hard pan, so to speak. Their inchoate enterprises were being carried by the banks on the smallest margins consistent with the solvency of those institutions, and clear-headed men knew that months of recuperation must elapse before speculative properties would show life again. Benham was consequently gloomy for once in despite of its native buoyancy. It would have arisen from the ashes of a fire as strenuous as a young lion. But, with everybody's stocks and merchandise pledged to the money lenders, enterprise was gripped by the throat. In the pride of its prosperity Benham had dreamed that it was a law unto itself, and that even Wall street could not affect its rosy commercial destinies. It appeared to pious owners of securities almost as though God had deserted his chosen city of a chosen country.

Lyons was among those upon whom the harrow of this fall in prices and subsequent hand-to-mouth struggle with the banks pressed with unpleasant rigor. In business phraseology he was too much extended. Consequently, as the margins of value of the securities on which he had borrowed dropped away, he was kept on tenter-hooks as to the future. In case the process of shrinkage went much further, he would be required to supply more collateral; and, if the rate of money did not fall, the banks would refuse to renew his notes as they became due, unless he could furnish clear evidence of his solvency. He was owing over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on paper secured only by the stock and bonds of brand-new enterprises, which had no market negotiability. From the money which he had borrowed he had sent, from time to time, to Williams and Van Horne an aggregate of forty thousand dollars to protect some two thousand shares of railroad stocks. Williams had especially commended the shares of the coal-carrying roads to his attention, and the drop in prices had been uniformly severe in these properties. Instead of being the possessor of a stable quarter of a million, which he considered to be the value of his property at the time of his election to Congress, Lyons suddenly realized that he was on the brink of a serious financial collapse through which he might lose everything before he could discharge his liabilities. It seemed cruel to him, for he believed that all his ventures were sound, and that if he were not forced to sacrifice his possessions, their future value would attest his sagacity. But at present the securities of speculative enterprises were practically worthless as procurers of ready money. The extreme circumstances had come upon him with startling rapidity, so that he found himself in the unpleasant predicament of having used for temporary relief some of the bonds belonging to the Parsons estate which he held as executor. He had forwarded these to Williams merely as a matter of convenience before he had become anxious, expecting to be able to replace them with funds coming to him within thirty days from a piece of real estate for which he had received an offer. He had held off in the hope of obtaining a higher price. The following week, when signs of danger were multiplying, he had found the would-be purchaser unwilling to buy at any price. Realizing the compromising position in which he had placed himself by his action, he had cast about feverishly for the means to redeem the hypothecated securities, but all his resources were taxed of a sudden by the advent of the panic. It occurred to him to ask Selma to allow substitution of the twenty thousand dollars, which had been apportioned, to her as her legacy, for the bonds, but at first he had shrunk from the mortification of disclosing his condition to her, and now that the situation had developed, he feared that he might be obliged to borrow this money from her for the protection of his other interests. It gave him sore concern that he, a champion of moral ideas, a leading church member, and a Representative of the Federal Government should be put in such an equivocal position. Here again there was no opportunity for conciliation, and dignified urbanity was of no avail. If the condition of drooping prices and general distrust, a sort of commercial dry-rot, which had succeeded the panic, continued much longer he would be driven to the wall unless relief were forthcoming. Nor was it much consolation that many others were on the verge of failure. Financial insolvency for him would mean the probable loss of his seat in Congress, and the serious interruption of his political career. From what source could he hope for relief? The preparations for the autumn campaign were already being considered, and there was likelihood of another close contest between the two political parties. But for the worry occasioned by his plight, he would have resumed the contest with hopeful ardor, appreciating that the pecuniary distress of the community would be likely to work to his advantage. His own nomination was assured; his re-election appeared probable. But after it what could he expect but the deluge?

One source of the effectiveness of Horace Elton was that he was wont to exercise foresight, and make his plans in advance while other men were slumbering. He had been prepared for the panic because he had been expecting it for more than a year, and the ship of his financial fortunes was close reefed to meet the fury of the overdue gale. Also he was quick to recognize that the wide-spread depreciation of values would inevitably be followed by a period of business inactivity which would throw out of employment a large number of wage earners whose ballots as a consequence would be cast against the political party in power. As far back as the time when he made the acquaintance of Selma at Washington and selected her as the wearer of his cameo pin, he had been incubating on a scheme for the consolidation of the gas companies in the cities and towns of the state into one large corporation. For this corporation he required a liberal charter, which the next legislature would be invited to grant. He expected to be able to procure this franchise from the legislature, but he judged that the majority in favor of the bill would not be large enough to pass it over the Governor's veto. Accordingly it was of the first importance that the Governor should be friendly to the measure.

This was the year of the Presidential election. Both political parties were seeking to nominate their strongest candidates for the various federal and state offices. A promoter of large business schemes was at a disadvantage in a campaign where party feelings ran high and national issues were involved, and Elton knew it. He commonly chose an off year in politics for the consummation of his business deals. But he had chosen to push his bill this year for the reason that he wished to be in a position to buy out the sub-companies cheaply. The community was pressed for ready money, and many men who would be slow in prosperous times to extract gas shares from their tin boxes and stockings would be glad to avail themselves of a reasonable cash offer. Elton was a Republican on national issues. His experience had been that the Republican Party was fundamentally friendly to corporations, in spite of occasional pious ejaculations in party platforms to the contrary. He had a Republican candidate for Governor in mind who would be faithful to his interests; but this candidate was put aside in the convention in deference to the sentiment that only a man of first-rate mental and moral calibre could command the allegiance of independent voters, whose co-operation seemed essential to party success. The Republican state convention was held three weeks prior to the date fixed for that of their opponents. Within twenty-four hours subsequent to the nomination of Hon. John Patterson as the Republican candidate for Governor, while the party organs were congratulating the public on his selection, and the leaders of the party were endeavoring to suppress the murmurs of the disappointed lower order of politicians who, in metaphorical phrase, felt that they were sewed up in a sack for another two years by the choice of this strong citizen, one of the most widely circulated democratic newspapers announced in large type on its front page that Hon. James O. Lyons was the only Democrat who could defeat him in the gubernatorial contest. Behind the ledger sheet of this newspaper—which was no other than the Benham Sentinel—lurked the keen intelligence of Horace Elton. He knew that the candidate of his own party would never consent to indicate in advance what his action on the gas bill would be, and that he would only prejudice his chances of obtaining favorable action when the time arrived by any attempt to forestall a decision. This did not suit Horace Elton. He was accustomed to be able to obtain an inkling before election that legislation in which he was interested would not encounter a veto. His measures were never dishonest. That is, he never sought to foist bogus or fraudulent undertakings upon the community. He was seeking, to be sure, eventual emolument for himself, but he believed that the franchise which he was anxious to obtain would result in more progressive and more effectual public service. He had never before felt obliged to refrain from asking direct or indirect assurance that his plans would be respected by the Governor. Yet he had foreseen the possibility of just such an occurrence. The one chance in a hundred had happened and he was ready for it. He intended to contribute to the Republican national campaign fund, but he did not feel that the interests of his State would suffer if he used all the influences at his command to secure a Governor who would be friendly to his scheme, and Congressman Lyons appeared to him the most available man for his purpose.

It had already occurred to Lyons that his nomination as Governor was a possibility, for the leaders of the party were ostensibly looking about for a desirable Democrat with whom to confront Patterson, and had shown an intention to turn a cold shoulder on the ambition of several aspirants for this honor who might have been encouraged in an ordinary year as probable victors. He knew that his name was under consideration, and he had made up his mind that he would accept the nomination if it were offered to him. He would regret the interruption of his Congressional career, but he felt that his election as Governor in a presidential year after a close contest would make him the leader of the party in the State, and, in case the candidate of his party were chosen President, would entitle him to important recognition from the new administration. Moreover, if he became Governor, his financial status would be strengthened. The banks would be more likely to accommodate one in such a powerful position, and he might be able to keep his head above water until better times brought about a return of public confidence and a recovery in prices. Yet he felt by no means sure that even as Governor he could escape betraying his financial embarrassment, and his mind was so oppressed by the predicament in which he found himself that he made no effort on his own part to cause the party leaders to fix their choice on him. Nor did he mention the possibility of his selection to Selma. Mortification and self-reproach had made him for the moment inert as to his political future, and reluctant to confide his troubles to her.

The clarion declaration of the Benham Sentinel in favor of Lyons evoked sympathetic echoes over the State, which promptly convinced the political chieftains that he was the strongest candidate to pit against Patterson. The enthusiasm caused by the suggestion of his name spread rapidly, and at the end of a week his nomination at the convention was regarded as certain.

The championship of the Sentinel was a complete surprise to Selma. She had assumed that her husband would return to Washington, and that political promotion for the present was out of the question. When she saw her husband's features looking out at her from a large cut on the front page of the morning newspaper, and read the conspicuous heading which accompanied it—"The Sentinel nominates as Governor the Hon. James O. Lyons of Benham, the most eloquent orator and most public-spirited citizen of the State"—her heart gave a bound, and she eagerly asked herself, "Why not?" That was just what they needed, what she needed to secure her hold on the social evolution of Benham. As the wife of the Governor of the State she would be able to ignore the people who held aloof from her, and introduce the reforms in social behavior on which her heart was set.

"James, have you seen this?" she asked, eagerly.

Lyons was watching her from across the breakfast table. He had seen it, and had laid the newspaper within her reach.

"Yes, dear. It is very complimentary, isn't it?"

"But what does it mean? Are you to be Governor? Did you know of it, James?"

"I knew that my name, with others, had been mentioned by those who were looking for a candidate whom we can elect. But this nomination of the Sentinel comes from a clear sky. Would you like to have me Governor, Selma?"

"Yes, indeed. If the chance is offered you, James, you will surely accept it. It would please me immensely to see you Governor. We should not be separated then part of the year, and—and I should be able here in Benham to help you as your wife ought to help you. I know," she added, "that you have been looking forward to the next session of Congress, in the hope of distinguishing yourself, but isn't this a finer opportunity? Doesn't it open the door to splendid possibilities?"

Lyons nodded. His wife's eager presentation of the case confirmed his own conclusions. "It is an important decision to make," he said, with gravity. "If I am not elected, I shall have lost my place in the Congressional line, and may find difficulty in recovering it later. But if the party needs me, if the State needs me, I must not think of that. I cannot help being gratified, encouraged by the suggestion that my fellow-citizens of my political faith are turning to me as their standard-bearer at this time when great public issues are involved. If I can serve God and my country in this way, and at the same time please you, my wife, what can I ask better?"

He spoke with genuine feeling and reverence, for it was in keeping with his religious tendencies to recognize in advance the solemn responsibilities of high office, and to picture himself as the agent of the heavenly powers. This attitude of mind always found Selma sympathetic and harmonious. Her eyes kindled with enthusiasm, and she replied:

"You view the matter as I would have you view it, James. If this trust is committed to us by Providence, it is our duty to accept it as lovers of our country and promoters of true progress."

"It would seem so. And in some ways," he said, as though he felt the impulse to be reasonably frank toward Providence in his acceptance of the trust, "my election as Governor would be advantageous to my political and business interests. I have not sought the office," he added with dignified unction, "but my knowledge of local conditions leads me to believe that this action of the Sentinel signifies that certain powerful influences are working in my favor. I shall be able to tell you more accurately in regard to this before long."

Lyons happened to know that the Benham Sentinel had enlarged its plant two years previous, and that Horace Elton was still the holder of its notes for borrowed money. The transaction had passed through his bank, and in the course of his mental search for reasons to account for the sudden flat-footed stand of the newspaper, the thought came into his mind and dwelt there that Elton was at the bottom of it. If so, what was Elton's reason? Why should Elton, a Republican, desire his nomination? Surely not to compass his defeat.

In this connection Elton's friendship and the prophecy made to Selma as to his political future occurred to him and forbade an invidious supposition. "Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and thou shalt be what thou art promised!" Lyons left Selma with the conviction that he would find Elton to be mainly responsible for what had taken place. Shortly after reaching his office he received a note from him asking for an appointment. Punctually at twelve o'clock Elton arrived and was shown into Lyons's private room. Lyons gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, for he believed that the results of the interview were likely to have a serious bearing on his career as a statesman.

Both men were of heavy physique, but as they sat facing each other an observer would have remarked that Elton's visage possessed a clean-cut compactness of expression despite its rotund contour. His closely trimmed whiskers, his small, clear, penetrating eyes, and the effect of neatness conveyed by his personal appearance were so many external indications of his mental lucidity and precision.

In contrast Lyons's moon-shaped face, emphasized by its smooth-shaven mobile mouth, below which his almost white chin beard hung pendent, expressed a curious interplay of emotional sanctity, urbane shrewdness, and solemn self-importance.

"Governor Lyons, at your service," said Elton, regarding him steadily.

"Do you think so?"

"I know so, if you desire it."

"The nomination, you mean?"

"The election by a comfortable majority."

Lyons breathed hard with satisfaction. "If the people of the State choose to confide their interests to my custody, I shall not refuse to serve them."

"So I supposed. You may be wondering, Lyons, why I, a Republican, should be talking like this. I will tell you. Observation has led me to believe that the people of this State will elect a Democratic Governor this year. The hard times will hurt the administration. Consequently, as your friend and my own friend, I have taken the liberty to indicate to the managers of your party their strongest man. I am responsible for what you saw on the front page of the Sentinel this morning. There need not be much difficulty," he added, significantly, "in securing emphatic endorsement throughout the State of the Sentinel's preference."

Lyons looked grave. "You must be aware that our views on public questions—especially those which concern the relations of capital and labor—are not the same."

"Certainly. I tell you frankly that while, from a humanitarian point of view, I respect your desire to relieve the inequalities of modern civilization, as a business man and a man of some property I do not regard the remedies presented by your party platform as just or adequate. I recognize that your opinions are hostile to corporate interests, but I have gathered also that you are disposed to be reasonable and conciliatory; that you are not inclined to regard all men and all measures as dangerous, merely because they have means or are introduced in the name of capital."

"It has always seemed to me that a conciliatory spirit secures the most definite results for the public," assented Lyons.

"Precisely. See here, Lyons," Elton said, leaning forward across the table at which they were sitting, "I wish to be entirely frank with you. You know me well enough to understand that I have not offered you my support in any philanthropic spirit. I could not have deceived you as to this had I tried. I am a practical man, and have an axe to grind. I am urging your election as Governor because I believe you to possess intelligent capacity to discriminate between what is harmful to the community and what is due to healthy, individual enterprise—the energy which is the sap of American citizenship. We capitalists have no fear of an honest man, provided he has the desire and the ability to protect legitimate business acumen against the slander of mere demagogues. I have a bill here," he added, drawing a printed document from his pocket, "which I am desirous to see passed by the next legislature. It embodies a charter authorizing the acquisition and merger in one corporation of all the gas companies of this State, and an extension of corporate powers so as to cover all forms of municipal lighting. Were your hands not tied by your prospective election, I should be glad to offer you an opportunity to become one of the incorporators, for I believe that the undertaking will be lucrative. That, of course, is out of the question. Now then, this is a perfectly honest bill. On its face, to be sure, it secures a valuable franchise for the petitioners, and consequently may encounter some opposition. But, on the other hand, no one who considers the matter candidly and closely can fail to recognize that the great public will secure cheaper gas and more efficient service as the result of the consolidation. And there is where I felt that I could count on your intelligence. You would not allow the plea that capitalists were interested in obtaining a profitable franchise to obscure the more vital consideration that the community will be the true gainers."

Lyons bowed graciously, and stroked his beard. "What is it you wish me to do?" he asked.

"To read the bill in the first place; to convince yourself that what I have told you is true; to satisfy yourself that the measure is essentially harmless. The bill is not long. Read it now and let me hear your objections. I have some papers here to look over which will occupy me a quarter of an hour, if you can spare me the time."

Lyons acquiesced, and proceeded to peruse slowly the document. When he had finished it he folded it solemnly and returned it to Elton. "It is a bill framed in the interest of capital, but I cannot say that the public will be prejudiced by it. On the contrary, I should judge that the price of gas in our cities and towns would be lowered as a consequence of the reduction in running expenses caused by the projected consolidation. What is it that you wish me to do?"

"Agree to sign the bill as it now stands if it passes the legislature."

Lyons rested his head on his hand and his mouth moved tremulously. "If I am elected governor," he said, "I wish to serve the people honestly and fearlessly."

"I am sure of it. I ask you to point out to me in what manner this bill trenches upon the rights of the people. You yourself have noted the crucial consequence: It will lower the price of gas. If at the same time I am benefited financially, why should I not reap the reasonable reward of my foresight?"

"I will sign the bill, Elton, if it comes to me for signature. I may be criticised at first, but the improved public service and reduction of the gas bills will be my justification, and show that I have not been unmindful of the interests of the great public whose burdens my party is seeking to lighten."

"I shall count on you, then," said Elton, after a pause. "The failure of the bill at the last stage when I was expecting its passage might affect my affairs seriously."

"If the legislature does its part, I will do mine," responded Lyons, augustly. "I will sign the bill if it comes to me in the present form."

"I thank you, Governor."

Lyons looked confused but happy at the appellation.

"By the way," said Elton, after he had returned the papers to his pocket, "these are trying times for men with financial obligations. It is my custom to be frank and not to mince matters where important interests are concerned. A candidate for office in this campaign will need the use of all his faculties if he is to be successful. I should be very sorry for the sake of my bill to allow your mind to be distracted by solicitude in regard to your private affairs. Some of the best and most prudent of our business men are pressed to-day for ready money. I am in a position to give you temporary assistance if you require it. In justice to my interests you must not let delicacy stand in the way of your accepting my offer."

Lyons's bosom swelled with the tide of returning happiness. He had scarcely been able to believe his ears. Yet here was a definite, spontaneous proposition to remove the incubus which weighed upon his soul. Here was an opportunity to redeem the bonds of the Parsons estate and to repair his damaged self-respect. It seemed to him as though the clouds of adversity which had encompassed him had suddenly been swept away, and that Providence was smiling down at him as her approved and favorite son. His emotion choked his speech. His lip trembled and his eyes looked as though they would fill with tears. After a brief pause he articulated that he was somewhat pressed for ready money. Some explanation of his affairs followed, the upshot of which was that Elton agreed to indorse Lyons's promissory notes held by the banks to the amount of $60,000, and to accept as collateral for a personal loan of $40,000 certain securities of new local enterprises which had no present marketable value. By this arrangement his property was amply protected from sacrifice; he would be able to adjust his speculative account in New York; and he could await with a tranquil soul the return of commercial confidence. Lyons's heart was overflowing with satisfaction. He pressed Elton's hand and endeavored to express his gratitude with appropriate grandiloquence. But Elton disclaimed the obligation, asserting that he had acted merely from self-interest to make the election of his candidate more certain.

The loan of $40,000 was completed within forty-eight hours, and before the end of another week Lyons had rescued the bonds of the Parsons estate from pawn, and disposed of his line of stocks carried by Williams & Van Horne. They were sold at a considerable loss, but he made up his mind to free his soul for the time being from the toils and torment of speculation and to nurse his dwarfed resources behind the bulwark of Elton's relief fund until the financial situation cleared. He felt as though he had grown ten years younger, and without confiding to Selma the details of these transactions he informed her ecstatically that, owing to certain important developments, due partly to the friendliness of Horace Elton, the outlook for their future advancement had never been so bright. When a month later he was nominated as Governor he threw himself into the contest with the convincing ardor of sincere, untrammelled faith in the reforms he was advocating. His speeches reflected complete concentration of his powers on the issues of the campaign and evoked enthusiasm throughout the State by their eloquent arraignment of corporate rapacity at the expense of the sovereign people. In several of his most telling addresses he accused the national administration of pandering to the un-American gamblers who bought and sold stocks in Wall street.



CHAPTER IX.

Lyons was chosen Governor by a large majority, as Elton had predicted. The Republican Party was worsted at the polls and driven out of power both at Washington and in the State. Lyons ran ahead of his ticket, receiving more votes than the presidential electors. The campaign was full of incidents grateful to Selma's self esteem. Chief among these was the conspicuous allusions accorded her by the newspapers. The campaign itself was a fervid repetition of the stirring scenes of two years previous. Once more torch-light processions in vociferous serried columns attested the intensity of party spirit. Selma felt herself an adept through her former experience, and she lost no opportunity to show herself in public and bear witness to her devotion to her husband's cause. It pleased her to think that the people recognized her when she appeared on the balcony or reviewing stand, and that her presence evoked an increase of enthusiasm.

But the newspaper publicity was even more satisfying, for it centred attention unequivocally on her. Columns of descriptive matter relative to her husband's personality began to appear as soon as it became obvious that he was to be Governor. These articles aimed to be exhaustive in their character, covering the entire scope of his past life, disclosing pitiless details in regard to his habits, tastes, and private concerns. Nothing which could be discovered or ferreted out was omitted; and most of these biographies were illuminated by a variety of more or less hideous cuts showing, for example, his excellency as he looked as a school boy, his excellency as a fledgling attorney, the humble home where his excellency was born, and his excellency's present stately but hospitable residence on Benham's River Drive. Almost every newspaper in the State took its turn at contributing something which it conceived to be edifying to this reportorial budget. And after the Governor, came the turn of the Governor's lady, as she was called.

Selma liked best the articles devoted exclusively to herself; where she appeared as the special feature of the newspaper issue, not merely as an adjunct to her husband. But she liked them all, and she was most benignant in her reception of the several newspaper scribes, principally of her own sex, who sought an interview for the sake of copy. She withheld nothing in regard to her person, talents, household, or tastes which would in her opinion be effective in print. She had a photograph of herself taken in simple, domestic matronly garb to supplement those which she already possessed, one of which revealed the magnificence of the attire she wore at the President's Reception; another portrayed Littleton's earnest bride, and still a fourth disclosed her as the wistful, aspiring school-mistress on the threshold of womanhood. These, and the facts appropriate to them, she meted out to her biographers from time to time, lubricating her amiable confidences with the assertion that both she and her husband felt that the people were entitled to be made familiar with the lives of their public representatives. As the result of her gracious behavior, her willingness to supply interesting details concerning herself, and her flattering tendency to become intimate on the spot with the reporters who visited her, the newspaper articles in most cases were in keeping with Selma's prepossessions. Those which pleased her most emphasized in the first place her intellectual gifts and literary talents, intimating delicately that she had refused brilliant offers for usefulness with her pen and on the lecture platform in order to become the wife of Congressman Lyons, to whom her counsel and high ideals of public service were a constant stimulus. Emphasized in the second place her husband's and her own pious tastes, and strong religious convictions, to which their constant church attendance and the simple sanctity of their American home bore testimony. Emphasized in the third place—reproducing ordinarily a sketch and cut of her drawing-room—her great social gifts and graces, which had made her a leader of society in the best sense of the word both in Benham and in New York. A few of the articles stated in judicious terms that she had been twice a widow. Only one of them set this forth in conspicuous and opprobrious terms: "Her Third Husband! Our Chief Magistrate's Wife's Many Marriages!" Such was the unsympathetic, alliterative heading of the malicious statement which appeared in an opposition organ. It did no more than recall the fact that she had obtained a divorce from her first husband, who had in his despair taken to drink, and intimate that her second husband had not been altogether happy. Selma wept when she read the article. She felt that it was cruel and uncalled for; that it told only half the truth and traduced her before the American people. She chose to conceive that it had been inspired by Pauline and Mrs. Hallett Taylor, neither of whom had sent her a word of congratulation on her promotion to be the Governor's wife. Who but Pauline knew that her marriage with Littleton had not been completely harmonious? Who but Mrs. Taylor or one of her set would have the malice to insinuate that she had been merciless to Babcock? This was one libel in a long series of complimentary productions. The representation of the family group was made complete by occasional references to the Governor elect's mother—"Mother Lyons, the venerable parent of our chief magistrate." Altogether Selma felt that the picture presented to the public was a truthful and inspiring record of pious and enterprising American life, which showed to the community that its choice of a Governor had been wise and was merited.