Chapter 20 - Page 2

tariff and a liberal measure of reciprocity with neighboring states, and he dreaded the time when the candidate should declare himself upon the subject; he did not see how he could do it without losing many votes, because there was a serious difference of view inside his own party. And Harley's dread grew out of his intense desire to see Mr. Grayson elected. His hero was not perfect--no man was; there were some important truths which he did not yet know, but he was honest, able, and true, and he came nearer to being the ideal candidate than any other man whom he had ever seen. Above all, he represented the principles which Harley, from the bottom of his soul, wished to triumph.

The fight had been begun against great odds, against powerful interests consolidated in a battle-line that at first seemed impervious, but by tremendous efforts they had made progress; the vast energy and the winning personality of Mr. Grayson were a strong weapon, and Harley was gradually sensible that the people were rallying around him in increasing numbers, and by people he did not merely mean the masses of the lowest, those who never raise themselves; Harley was never such a demagogue as to think that a man was bad because he had achieved something in the world and had prospered; he had too honest and clear a mind to put a premium upon incapacity and idleness.

Lately he had begun to have hope--a feeling that Mr. Grayson might be elected despite the "King" Plummer defection was growing upon him, if they could only abide by the issues already formed. But at the best it would be a fight to the finish, with the chances in favor of the other man. Yet his heart was infused with hope until this hateful tariff question began to raise its head. Harley knew that a declaration upon it would split the party, or at least would cut from it a fragment big enough to cause defeat. He devoutly hoped that they would steer clear of this dangerous rock, but he was not so sure of Jimmy Grayson, who, after all, was his own pilot. And his amiability did not alter the fact that he had a strong hand.

Harley at first heard the mutterings of the thunder only from afar; it was being debated in the East among the great manufacturing cities, but as yet the West was untouched by the storm. Mr. Heathcote, the Eastern committeeman, called his attention to it after they had passed the mountain-range that divides western Washington from eastern Washington.

Harley was looking out of the window at the rippling brown plain, which he was told was one of the best wheat countries in the world. "At first," said his informant, a pioneer, "we thought it was a desert, and we thought so, too, for a long time afterwards; it looked like loose sand, and the wind actually blew the soil about as if it were dust. Now, and without irrigation, it produces its thirty bushels of wheat per acre season after season."

Harley was thinking of