Delphi Complete Works of Booth Tarkington (Illustrated), page 89
He resolutely turned his eyes to the open window and saw that they had entered the cemetery, were near the green knoll where Eskew was to lie beside a brother who had died long ago. He let the minister help Ariel out, going quickly forward himself with Buckalew; and then — after the little while that the restoration of dust to dust mercifully needs — he returned to the carriage only to get his hat.
Ariel and Ladew and the Squire were already seated and waiting. “Aren’t you going to ride home with us?” she asked, surprised.
“No,” he explained, not looking at her. “I have to talk with Norbert Flitcroft. I’m going back with him. Good-bye.”
His excuse was the mere truth, his conversation with Norbert, in the carriage which they managed to secure to themselves, continuing earnestly until Joe spoke to the driver and alighted at a corner, near Mr. Farbach’s Italian possessions. “Don’t forget,” he said, as he closed the carriage door, “I’ve got to have both ends of the string in my hands.”
“Forget!” Norbert looked at the cupola of the Pike Mansion, rising above the maples down the street. “It isn’t likely I’ll forget!”
When Joe entered the “Louis Quinze room” which some decorator, drunk with power, had mingled into the brewer’s villa, he found the owner and Mr. Sheehan, with five other men, engaged in a meritorious attempt to tone down the apartment with smoke. Two of the five others were prosperous owners of saloons; two were known to the public (whose notion of what it meant when it used the term was something of the vaguest) as politicians; the fifth was Mr. Farbach’s closest friend, one who (Joe had heard) was to be the next chairman of the city committee of the party. They were seated about a table, enveloped in blue clouds, and hushed to a grave and pertinent silence which clarified immediately the circumstance that whatever debate had preceded his arrival, it was now settled.
Their greeting of him, however, though exceedingly quiet, indicated a certain expectancy, as he accepted the chair which had been left for him at the head of the table. He looked thinner and paler than usual, which is saying a great deal; but presently, finding that the fateful hush which his entrance had broken was immediately resumed, a twinkle came into his eye, one of his eyebrows went up and a corner of his mouth went down.
“Well, gentlemen?” he said.
The smokers continued to smoke and to do nothing else; the exception being Mr. Sheehan, who, though he spoke not, exhibited tokens of agitation and excitement which he curbed with difficulty; shifting about in his chair, gnawing his cigar, crossing and uncrossing his knees, rubbing and slapping his hands together, clearing his throat with violence, his eyes fixed all the while, as were those of his companions, upon Mr. Farbach; so that Joe was given to perceive that it had been agreed that the brewer should be the spokesman. Mr. Farbach was deliberate, that was all, which added to the effect of what he finally did say.
“Choe,” he remarked, placidly, “you are der next Mayor off Canaan.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the young man, sharply.
“Bickoss us here,” he answered, interlocking the tips of his fingers over his waistcoat, that being as near folding his hands as lay within his power,— “bickoss us here shall try to fix it so, und so hef ditcided.”
Joe took a deep breath. “Why do you want me?”
“Dot,” replied the brewer, “iss someding I shall tell you.” He paused to contemplate his cigar. “We want you bickoss you are der best man fer dot positsion.”
“Louie, you mustn’t make a mistake at the beginning,” Joe said, hurriedly. “I may not be the kind of man you’re looking for. If I went in—” He hesitated, stammering. “It seems an ungrateful thing to say, but — but there wouldn’t be any slackness — I couldn’t be bound to anybody—”
“Holt up your hosses!” Mr. Farbach, once in his life, was so ready to reply that he was able to interrupt. “Who hef you heert speak off bounding? Hef I speakt off favors? Dit I say der shoult be slackness in der city gofer’ment? Litsen to me, Choe.” He renewed his contemplation of his cigar, then proceeded: “I hef been t’inkin’ it ofer, now a couple years. I hef mate up my mind. If some peobles are gombelt to keep der laws and oders are not, dot’s a great atwantitch to der oders. Dot iss what iss ruining der gountry und der peobles iss commencement to take notice. Efer’veres in oder towns der iss housecleaning; dey are reforming und indieding, und pooty soon dot mofement comes here — shoo-er! If we intent to holt der parsly in power, we shoult be a leetle ahead off dot mofement so, when it shoult be here, we hef a goot ‘minadstration to fall beck on. Now, dere iss anoder brewery opened und trying to gombete mit me here in Canaan. If dot brewery owns der Mayor, all der tsaloons buying my bier must shut up at ‘leven o’glock und Sundays, but der oders keep open. If I own der Mayor, I make der same against dot oder brewery. Now I am pooty sick off dot ways off bitsness und fighting all times. Also,” Mr. Farbach added, with magnificent calmness, “my trade iss larchly owitside off Canaan, und it iss bedder dot here der laws shoult be enforced der same fer all. Litsen, Choe; all us here beliefs der same way. You are square. Der whole tsaloon element knows dot, und knows dot all voult be treated der same. Mit you it voult be fairness fer each one. Foolish peobles hef sait you are a law-tricker, but we know dot you hef only mate der laws brotect as well as bunish. Und at such times as dey het been broken, you hef made dem as mertsiful as you coult. You are no tricker. We are willing to help you make it a glean town. Odervise der fightin’ voult go on until der mofement strikes here und all der granks vake up und we git a fool reformer fer Mayor und der town goes to der dogs. If I try to put in a man dot I own, der oder brewery iss goin’ to fight like hell, but if I work fer you it will not fight so hart.”
“But the other people,” Joe objected, “those outside of what is called the saloon element — do you understand how many of them will be against me?”
“It iss der tsaloon element,” Mr. Farbach returned, peacefully, “dot does der fightin’.”
“And you have considered my standing with that part of Canaan which considers itself the most respectable section?” He rose to his feet, standing straight and quiet, facing the table, upon which, it chanced, there lay a copy of the Tocsin.
“Und yet,” observed Mr. Farbach, with mildness, “we got some pooty risbecdable men right here.”
“Except me,” broke in Mr. Sheehan, grimly, “you have.”
“Have you thought of this?” Joe leaned forward and touched the paper upon the table.
“We hef,” replied Mr. Farbach. “All of us. You shall beat it.”
There was a strong chorus of confirmation from the others, and Joe’s eyes flashed.
“Have you considered,” he continued, rapidly, while a warm color began to conquer his pallor,— “have you considered the powerful influence which will be against me, and more against me now, I should tell you, than ever before? That influence, I mean, which is striving so hard to discredit me that lynch-law has been hinted for poor Fear if I should clear him! Have you thought of that? Have you thought—”
“Have we thought o’ Martin Pike?” exclaimed Mr. Sheehan, springing to his feet, face aflame and beard bristling. “Ay, we’ve thought o’ Martin Pike, and our thinkin’ of him is where he begins to git what’s comin’ to him! What d’ye stand there pickin’ straws fer? What’s the matter with ye?” he demanded, angrily, his violence tenfold increased by the long repression he had put upon himself during the brewer’s deliberate utterances. “If Louie Farbach and his crowd says they’re fer ye, I guess ye’ve got a chanst, haven’t ye?”
“Wait,” said Joe. “I think you underestimate Pike’s influence—”
“Underestimate the devil!” shouted Mr. Sheehan, uncontrollably excited. “You talk about influence! He’s been the worst influence this town’s ever had — and his tracks covered up in the dark wherever he set his ugly foot down. These men know it, and you know some, but not the worst of it, because none of ye live as deep down in it as I do! Ye want to make a clean town of it, ye want to make a little heaven of the Beach—”
“And in the eyes of Judge Pike,” Joe cut him off, “and of all who take their opinions from him, I REPRESENT Beaver Beach!”
Mike Sheehan gave a wild shout. “Whooroo! It’s come! I knowed it would! The day I couldn’t hold my tongue, though I passed my word I would when the coward showed the deed he didn’t dare to git recorded! Waugh!” He shouted again, with bitter laughter. “Ye do! In the eyes o’ them as follow Martin Pike ye stand fer the Beach and all its wickedness, do ye? Whooroo! It’s come! Ye’re an offence in the eyes o’ Martin Pike and all his kind because ye stand fer the Beach, are ye?”
“You know it!” Joe answered, sharply. “If they could wipe the Beach off the map and me with it—”
“Martin Pike would?” shouted Mr. Sheehan, while the others, open-mouthed, stared at him. “Martin Pike would?”
“I don’t need to tell you that,” said Joe.
Mr. Sheehan’s big fist rose high over the table and descended crashing upon it. “It’s a damn lie!” he roared. “Martin Pike owns Beaver Beach!”
XXIII. JOE WALKS ACROSS THE COURT-HOUSE YARD
FROM WITHIN THE glossy old walnut bar that ran from wall to wall, the eyes of the lawyers and reporters wandered often to Ariel as she sat in the packed court-room watching Louden’s fight for the life and liberty of Happy Fear. She had always three escorts, and though she did not miss a session, and the same three never failed to attend her, no whisper of scandal arose. But not upon them did the glances of the members of the bar and the journalists with tender frequency linger; nor were the younger members of these two professions all who gazed that way. Joe had fought out the selection of the jury with the prosecutor at great length and with infinite pains; it was not a young jury, and IT stared at her. The “Court” wore a gray beard with which a flock of sparrows might have villaged a grove, and yet, in spite of the vital necessity for watchfulness over this fighting case, IT once needed to be stirred from a trancelike gaze in Miss Tabor’s direction and aroused to the realization that It was there to Sit and not to dream.
The August air was warm outside the windows, inviting to the open country, to swimmin’-hole, to orchard reveries, or shaded pool wherein to drop a meditative line; you would have thought no one could willingly coop himself in this hot room for three hours, twice a day, while lawyers wrangled, often unintelligibly, over the life of a dingy little creature like Happy Fear, yet the struggle to swelter there was almost like a riot, and the bailiffs were busy men.
It was a fighting case throughout, fought to a finish on each tiny point as it came up, dragging, in the mere matter of time, interminably, yet the people of Canaan (not only those who succeeded in penetrating to the court-room, but the others who hung about the corridors, or outside the building, and the great mass of stay-at-homes who read the story in the Tocsin) found each moment of it enthralling enough. The State’s attorney, fearful of losing so notorious a case, and not underestimating his opponent, had modestly summoned others to his aid; and the attorney for the defence, single-handed, faced “an array of legal talent such as seldom indeed had hollered at this bar”; faced it good-naturedly, an eyebrow crooked up and his head on one side, most of the time, yet faced it indomitably. He had a certain careless and disarming smile when he lost a point, which carried off the defeat as of only humorous account and not at all part of the serious business in hand; and in his treatment of witnesses, he was plausible, kindly, knowing that in this case he had no intending perjurer to entrap; brought into play the rare and delicate art of which he was a master, employing in his questions subtle suggestions and shadings of tone and manner, and avoiding words of debatable and dangerous meanings; — a fine craft, often attempted by blunderers to their own undoing, but which, practised by Joseph Louden, made inarticulate witnesses articulate to the precise effects which he desired. This he accomplished as much by the help of the continuous fire of objections from the other side as in spite of them. He was infinitely careful, asking never an ill-advised question for the other side to use to his hurt, and, though exhibiting only a pleasant easiness of manner, was electrically alert.
A hundred things had shown Ariel that the feeling of the place, influenced by “public sentiment” without, was subtly and profoundly hostile to Joe and his client; she read this in the spectators, in the jury, even in the Judge; but it seemed to her that day by day the inimical spirit gradually failed, inside the railing, and also in those spectators who, like herself, were enabled by special favor to be present throughout the trial, and that now and then a kindlier sentiment began to be manifested. She was unaware how strongly she contributed to effect this herself, not only through the glow of visible sympathy which radiated from her, but by a particular action. Claudine was called by the State, and told as much of her story as the law permitted her to tell, interlarding her replies with fervent protestations (too quick to be prevented) that she “never meant to bring no trouble to Mr. Fear” and that she “did hate to have gen’lemen starting things on her account.” When the defence took this perturbed witness, her interpolations became less frequent, and she described straightforwardly how she had found the pistol on the floor near the prostrate figure of Cory, and hidden it in her own dress. The attorneys for the State listened with a somewhat cynical amusement to this portion of her testimony, believing it of no account, uncorroborated, and that if necessary the State could impeach the witness on the ground that it had been indispensable to produce her. She came down weeping from the stand; and, the next witness not being immediately called, the eyes of the jurymen naturally followed her as she passed to her seat, and they saw Ariel Tabor bow gravely to her across the railing. Now, a thousand things not set forth by legislatures, law-men and judges affect a jury, and the slight salutation caused the members of this one to glance at one another; for it seemed to imply that the exquisite lady in white not only knew Claudine, but knew that she had spoken the truth. It was after this, that a feeling favorable to the defence now and then noticeably manifested itself in the courtroom. Still, when the evidence for the State was all in, the life of Happy Fear seemed to rest in a balance precarious indeed, and the little man, swallowing pitifully, looked at his attorney with the eyes of a sick dog.
Then Joe gave the prosecutors an illuminating and stunning surprise, and, having offered in evidence the revolver found upon Claudine, produced as his first witness a pawnbroker of Denver, who identified the weapon as one he had sold to Cory, whom he had known very well. The second witness, also a stranger, had been even more intimately acquainted with the dead man, and there began to be an uneasy comprehension of what Joe had accomplished during that prolonged absence of his which had so nearly cost the life of the little mongrel, who was at present (most blissful Respectability!) a lively convalescent in Ariel’s back yard. The second witness also identified the revolver, testifying that he had borrowed it from Cory in St. Louis to settle a question of marksmanship, and that on his returning it to the owner, the latter, then working his way eastward, had confided to him his intention of stopping in Canaan for the purpose of exercising its melancholy functions upon a man who had once “done him good” in that city.
By the time the witness had reached this point, the Prosecutor and his assistants were on their feet, excitedly shouting objections, which were promptly overruled. Taken unawares, they fought for time; thunder was loosed, forensic bellowings; everybody lost his temper — except Joe; and the examination of the witness proceeded. Cory, with that singular inspiration to confide in some one, which is the characteristic and the undoing of his kind, had outlined his plan of operations to the witness with perfect clarity. He would first attempt, so he had declared, to incite an attack upon himself by playing upon the jealousy of his victim, having already made a tentative effort in that direction. Failing in this, he would fall back upon one of a dozen schemes (for he was ready in such matters, he bragged), the most likely of which would be to play the peacemaker; he would talk of his good intentions toward his enemy, speaking publicly of him in friendly and gentle ways; then, getting at him secretly, destroy him in such a fashion as to leave open for himself the kind gate of self-defence. In brief, here was the whole tally of what had actually occurred, with the exception of the last account in the sequence which had proved that demise for which Cory had not arranged and it fell from the lips of a witness whom the prosecution had no means of impeaching. When he left the stand, unshaken and undiscredited, after a frantic cross-examination, Joe, turning to resume his seat, let his hand fall lightly for a second upon his client’s shoulder.
That was the occasion of a demonstration which indicated a sentiment favorable to the defence (on the part of at least three of the spectators); and it was in the nature of such a hammering of canes upon the bare wooden floor as effectually stopped all other proceedings instantly. The indignant Judge fixed the Colonel, Peter Bradbury, and Squire Buckalew with his glittering eye, yet the hammering continued unabated; and the offenders surely would have been conducted forth in ignominy, had not gallantry prevailed, even in that formal place. The Judge, reluctantly realizing that some latitude must be allowed to these aged enthusiasts, since they somehow seemed to belong to Miss Tabor, made his remarks general, with the time-worn threat to clear the room, whereupon the loyal survivors of Eskew relapsed into unabashed silence.
It was now, as Joe had said, a clear-enough case. Only the case itself, however, was clear, for, as he and his friends feared, the verdict might possibly be neither in accordance with the law, the facts, nor the convictions of the jury. Eugene’s defection had not altered the tone of the Tocsin.
All day long a crowd of men and boys hung about the corridors of the Court-house, about the Square and the neighboring streets, and from these rose sombre murmurs, more and more ominous. The public sentiment of a community like Canaan can make itself felt inside a court-room; and it was strongly exerted against Happy Fear. The Tocsin had always been a powerful agent; Judge Pike had increased its strength with a staff which was thoroughly efficient, alert, and always able to strike centre with the paper’s readers; and in town and country it had absorbed the circulation of the other local journals, which resisted feebly at times, but in the matter of the Cory murder had not dared to do anything except follow the Tocsin’s lead. The Tocsin, having lit the fire, fed it — fed it saltpetre and sulphur — for now Martin Pike was fighting hard.
