FullReads

“I think him a pretty fair man myself,” said the other with a jocose understatement; “I come from his town.”

What was there in such a simple statement to bring a distinctly anxious look into the young girl’s soft eyes? There it was; one could not mistake it.

“Well!” said the old man: there was a flattering deference in his voice. “Well, well. And–and maybe you’ve seen him lately?” The quavering tones sharpened with a keener feeling; it was almost as if the man were inquiring for some one on whom he had a great stake of affection. “How did he look? Was he better, stronger?”

“Oh, he looked elegant,” said the Ohio man, easily, but with a disconcerted side glance at the girl whose eyes were imploring him.

“I’ve been a Blaine man ever since he was run the time Bob Ingersoll nominated him,” said the old man, who sighed as if relieved. “I was at that convention and heard the speech–“

“Ah, that was a speech to hear,” said a man behind, and two or three men edged their heads nearer.

The old Republican straightened his bent shoulders, his winter-stung features softened and warmed at the manifestation of interest, his voice sank to the confidential undertone of the narrator.

“You’re right, sir, right; it was a magnificent speech. I can see him jest as he stood there, a stoutish, good-looking man, smooth-faced, his eye straight ahead, and an alternate that sat next me–I was an alternate; I’ve been an alternate four times; I could have been a delegate, but I says, ‘No, abler men than me are wanting it; I’m willing to fight in the ranks.’ But I wished I had a vote, a free vote that day, I tell you. The alternate near me, he says, ‘You’ll hear something fine now; I’ve heard him speak.'”

“You did, too, I guess.”

“We could hear from the first minute. That kinder fixed our attention. He had a mellow, rich kind of voice that melted into our ears. We found ourselves listening and liking him from the first sentence. At first he was as quiet as a summer breeze, but presently he began to warm up, and the words flowed out like a stream of jewels. It was electrifying: it was thrilling, sir; it took us off our feet before we knew it, and when he came to the climax, those of us that weren’t yelling in the aisles were jumping up and down on our chairs! I know I found myself prancing up and down on my own hat on a chair, swinging somebody else’s hat and screaming at the top of my voice, with the tears running down my cheeks. God! sir, there were men there on their feet cheering their throats out that had to vote against Blaine afterward–had to, because they were there instructed–no more free will than a checked trunk!” The light died out of his face. “Yes, sir, a great speech; never so great a speech, whoever made it; but it did no good, he wasn’t nominated, and when we did nominate him we were cheated out of our victory. Well, we’ll do better this day.”

“We will that,” said the other man, heartily; “McKinley–“

“You’ll excuse me”–the old man struck in with a deprecating air, yet under the apology something fiercely eager and anxious that glued the hearer’s eyes to his quivering old face–“You’ll excuse me. I–I am a considerable of an invalid and I don’t keep the run of things as I used to. You see, I live with my daughter, and you know how women folks are, fretting lest things should make you sick, and my girl she worries so, me reading the papers. Fact is I got a shock once, an awful shock”–he shivered involuntarily and his dim eyes clouded–“and it worried her seeing me read. Hadn’t ought to; it don’t worry Jenny here, who often gets me a paper, quiet like; but you know how it is with women–it’s easier giving them their head a little–and so I don’t see many papers, and I kinder dropped off. It seems queer, but I don’t exactly sense it about this McKinley. Is he running against Blaine or jest for vice?”