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The Need Of Money
by
An hour later, there came a hard, imperative knock on the door. Uncle Billy raised his head and said gently:
“Come in.”
He rose to his feet uncertain, aghast, when he saw who his visitor was. It was Hurlbut.
The young man confronted him darkly, for a moment, in silence. He was dripping with rain; his hat, unremoved, shaded lank black locks over a white face; his nostrils were wide with wrath; the “dry cigar” wagged between gritting teeth.
“Will ye take a chair?” faltered Uncle Billy.
The room rang to the loud answer of the other: “I’d see you in Hell before I’d sit in a chair of yours!”
He raised an arm, straight as a rod, to point at the old man. “Rollinson,” he said, “I’ve come here to tell you what I think of you! I’ve never done that in my life before, because I never thought any man worth it. I do it because I need the luxury of it–because I’m sick of myself not to have had gumption enough to see what you were all the time and have you watched!”
Uncle Billy was stung to a moment’s life. “Look here,” he quavered, “you hadn’t ought to talk that way to me. There ain’t a cent of money passed my fingers–“
Hurlbut’s bitter laugh cut him short. “No? Don’t you suppose I know how it was done? Do you suppose there’s a man in the whole Assembly doesn’t know how you were sold? I had it by the long distance an hour ago, from your own home. Do you suppose we have no friends there, or that it was hard to find out about the whole dirty business? Your son’s not going to stand trial for bigamy; that was the price you charged for killing the bill. You and Pixley are the only men whom they could buy with all their millions! Oh, I know a dozen men who could be bought on other issues, but not on this! You and Pixley stand alone. Well, you’ve broken the caucus and you’ve betrayed the Democratic party. I’ve come to tell you that the party doesn’t want you any more. You are out of it, do you hear? We don’t want even to use you!”
The old man had sunk back into his chair, stricken white, his hands fluttering helplessly. “I didn’t go to hurt your feelings, Mr. Hurlbut,” he said. “I never knowed how it would be, but I don’t think you ought to say I done anything dishonest. I just felt kind of friendly to the railroads–“
The leader’s laugh cut him off again. “Friendly! Yes, that’s what you were! Well, you can go back to your friends; you’ll need them!–Mother in Heaven! How you fooled us! We thought you were the straightest man and the staunchest Democrat–“
“I b’en a Democrat all my life, Mr. Hurlbut. I voted fer–“
“Well, you’re a Democrat no longer. You’re done for, do you understand? And we’re done with you!”
“You mean,” the old man’s voice shook almost beyond control; “you mean you’re tryin’ to read me out of the party?”
“Trying to!” Hurlbut turned to the door. “You’re out! It’s done. You can thank God that your ‘friends’ did their work so well that we can’t prove what we know. On my soul, you dog, if we could I believe some of the boys would send you over the road.”
An hour after he had gone, Uncle Billy roused himself from his stupor, and the astonished landlady heard his shuffling step on the stair. She followed him softly and curiously to the front door, and watched him. He was bare-headed but had not far to go. The night-flare of the cheap, all-night saloon across the sodden street silhouetted the stooping figure for a moment and then the swinging doors shut the old man from her view. She returned to her parlour and sat waiting for his return until she fell asleep in her chair. She awoke at two o’clock, went to his room, and was aghast to find it still vacant.