Roy Norton

Recovering his luggage at the junction with the main line, and traveling an additional forty miles after such a strenuous day, predisposed the indefatigable Mr. Gollop for a long night's rest. Finding himself again in a modern little city with a first class hotel, and a luxurious bed aided the ministrations of nature, so that it was after ten o'clock in the morning when he whistled his way to his bath and then carefully selected a clean outfit for the day's work. He hummed like a particularly lucky hummingbird while he shaved, and felt like hoppity-skipping down to the grill room, where his healthy appetite might have full play. He found himself a nicely cushioned alcove through whose window he could look out on the clear, brilliant morning with its dazzle of snow, and at the same time luxuriate in the steam heated atmosphere within. The world seemed turning very well and happily, as far as Mr. James Gollop could observe and feel, and he gave his order and was rendered grateful when an excellently trained waiter laid before him the morning papers. And then Mr. Gollop sat up and grinned with the culminating joy of the morning!

The paper he had first glanced at was rabidly Democratic and sported a huge headline completely across the front page which read:

"Gubernatorial Candidate Mobbed in Yimville."

Then followed a series of banks and subheads:

Special passages from the now famous speech were carefully selected, duly edited to make them sound the worst, and printed in black-faced pica. Other passages in the speech were in italics. The whole plant of the newspaper had been utilized to give adequate expression to this unparalleled forensic outburst. A much garbled report "in full" was given of the wording, and as lurid yellow as was ever mixed went to make up the account of the incidents in Yimville. According to the report the mob numbered thousands and strong men of both parties wept and gnashed their teeth in their frantic craving to wreak vengeance on the orator for the insults offered to their mothers, wives, daughters, and sweethearts. Indignant women, forgetting the softness of sex, had arisen in just wrath to execute this brazen-faced apostle of mammon. Half a column was devoted to the mystery of the Judge's disappearance from the scene and it was stated that he was believed to have terrorized a boy into driving him away into the mountains, in which case, it was feared, owing to the blizzard, that unless they found refuge in some isolated farm house they might have perished. Jimmy noticed that most of the concern expressed by the newspaper was for the welfare of the boy. He was chuckling gleefully to himself when interrupted by the return of the waiter.

"Pity they didn't get that buzzard and hang him, isn't it, sir?" he commented indignantly.

"It certainly is," agreed Jimmy.

"Not as I believe in votes for women myself," added the waiter, "but I don't believe in openly insultin' 'em in public. And think of the likes of him sayin' as all he wanted was to get elected and as if he didn't care how! Why he ought to be in that Tammany Hall gang back in New York! That's the only place in all this United States, I reckon, where folks stand for that sort of stuff. It's understood back there that all they want is a fat job and the people be damned, but people out here ain't educated up to looking at things that way. They ain't any people in the world that'd stand for what them people in New York does! I worked there one time for about three year and I know. I'll bet that galoot murdered that boy. Probably took him as far as he wanted to, then threw the poor little feller out of the sled into the snow to freeze. All that they'll ever find of that poor little kid'll be an icicle."

"I'll bet you're right!" agreed Jimmy, again, vociferously. "This paper says the Judge said some nasty things about Union Labor. I should think some of you chaps would start something on what Union Labor thinks of him and his kind."

"By jingoes! You're right about that!" the waiter declared, and then added, as if overcome by the brilliant opportunity for advertising himself, "I'm president of the local Waiters' Union, and I'll lay off this afternoon and look after that myself. We'll show them that thinks they can knock us a thing or two before we've done with 'em! Down on honest labor, is he? And he thinks he can get elected if all of us is agin' him!"

Jimmy read a column on the weather in which it was stated that the storm was the most unprecedented in twenty years and that on nearly all the branch lines, where wires were down and a snow blockade complete, conditions would have to remain as they were until traffic was restored on the main trunks; but that the railway company hoped to clear the branch lines within twenty-four hours, and that already telephone and telegraph linemen were out on snow shoes.

At four o'clock that afternoon Jimmy boarded the train bound for the last city he would visit in the state, and attracted by the cries of a newsboy, "All about Judge Granger! Latest news from Yimville," bought a paper and settled himself down to read.

The latest advices from the scene of his latest escapade told of the return of Tim. They were published in a Republican paper which began by stating that the reports of the Judge's speech were mangled distortions of what the speaker had, in his well known eloquent manner, expressed, or deliberate lies manufactured by his enemies; that there had been no riot at all, and that neither had there been a demonstration save a small uproar created by a branch of the Militant Suffragettes, headed by that modern prototype of Carrie Nation and her hatchet, the state leader of that body, whose previous records of disturbances were sufficient in themselves to convince all thoughtful-minded women, as well as men, that probably the speaker was justified in whatever he had said to this professional heckler. Furthermore, as evidence of the depths to which a totally unscrupulous and irresponsible press could descend in its efforts to ridicule a great leader, the whole story of flight was, from the beginning to end, a malicious controversion of fact. This was proven by the statement of the driver, Timothy Jones, who had that morning returned to Yimville. The driver was known as completely trustworthy and honest, and, furthermore, his statements were fully corroborated by his employer, Mr. Wade, general manager of the Emporium, one of the most prominent business men in that part of the state.

Judge Granger, after making a most eloquent, lucid, and brilliant speech which had been unduly prolonged by his patience in replying to questions addressed by the disturbing element, had found his time for boarding the regular train so curtailed that he had but a few minutes in which to reach the station. He had very courteously asked young Jones if he could drive him thither, there having been an unfortunate lack of foresight in providing an equipage for his return. Jones drove him to the station, where, to the Judge's distress, he learned that, owing to the storm, there would be no train through for an indefinite time. Having other highly important engagements, he found it necessary to drive to Mountain City, where he could be more certain of catching a train near midnight.

"All those who are familiar with the great punctiliousness and responsibility of Judge Woodworth-Granger will therefore not be surprised to learn that, despite all the fatigues of the day, and the hardships of such traveling, he courageously braved the blizzard, fearless in his sense of duty to be performed. That he made such a difficult night drive merely to keep his pledged word and engagements, when others might have quailed, or accepted the storm as sufficient excuse for remaining comfortably in shelter, is in itself a sufficient tribute to the sterling worth of this distinguished man's character. He must have inherited from those ancesters of his, who with bleeding feet trudged through the snows of Valley Forge, some of that patriotism and high fealty to duty which has ever been the stamp of the true American. This courageous self-sacrifice to public duty alone is sufficient evidence that he is the man to guide the destinies of one of the greatest states in the Union, and those who are to meet in convention for the choice of a leader will do well to reflect upon what must be considered as a sterling achievement bespeaking the character of this honored and distinguished jurist who has somewhat reluctantly yielded to the demands of his fellow citizens. Those who mendaciously accused him of office seeking, should hide their heads for shame. Failing to find a single flaw in the private, public, or professional life of this distinguished man, his political enemies now seek by ridicule and innuendo to attack him. To such depths as these has the Democratic party in this state fallen. Had there ever been the slightest doubt that the Hon. J. Woodworth-Granger will be the nominee for governor of this state, it is now dissipated by the scurrilous attack made upon him—an attack of desperation that must and shall inevitably bring its own reward. Verily a man is known by the enemies he makes!"

After reading this editorial Jimmy reverted to the news page where the faithful Tim's defense was given. It was eulogistic. It was colorful. It told of the vicissitudes of the trip, although it neglected to mention the episode of losing their way and what was said by the farmer's wife. Jimmy thought that either Tim or the reporter who wrote the alleged interview had shown tact in that suppression. But it was beautifully written! There was no doubt of that. Stinging sleets, biting winds, desperately fatigued horses, valiant and persistent battles with snow drifts, icy cold temperatures and everything pertaining to heroism in the Arctics were there.

"Tim and I have got Scott, Peary and Admunsen all looking like a lot of pikers!" thought Jimmy as he read. "If the fellow who wrote this can write stuff as warm, comforting and appetizing on chocolates as he can about coldness, courage and cramps on that trip to Mountain City, he'll make a world-beater in the advertising line! He's a whirlwind—no—a cyclone—when it comes to throwing the guff."

The interview told of the great man's magnanimity and generosity. Not even his solicitude for old Bill's comfort was overlooked. In fact the great man wouldn't trust the hostler, but fed Bill bran mash with a spoon. The suit of clothes he bought "Mister Timothy Jones" was lined with silk. The underwear might have been of red gold instead of red flannel. Thus did a brave man reward those who served him in time of stress. It even intimated that Timothy Jones might retire for life on his monetary rewards.

It was the next day at luncheon when the cheerful James was given reason to think less happily of his exploit, and to wonder what happened to a worm that turned once too often. The newspapers contained the statements that the wires were now open to Princetown and that in that flourishing city dwelt a man whose feelings were outraged, who was indignant, who asserted he had not been in Yimville on the day of the speech, in fact had never in his life made a speech in Yimville, and that if he had made a speech in Yimville he most certainly would not—never, never, never—have expressed the sentiments so brazenly attributed to him. He was an office seeker in the interests of public rather than personal welfare, and for no other reason. He had yielded to the overwhelming petitions of his friends, indeed, not without considerable pain. And then Jimmy read something that for the first time caused him to appreciate the possible grave consequences of his ebullient imposture:

Jimmy pondered over the last sentence a long time.

"I suppose he means 'The guilty shall be punished,'" he said, and then added, admiringly, "By gosh! If he were a Democrat he'd be president of the United States yet. He surely would! He can use more words to say less than any other man living, and, come to think of it, he has the greatest assets of stupidity, which are pompous silence, and a patronizing grin. The art of so obfuscating his expression with words that neither his friends nor his enemies can come to any positive conclusion as to what he means. But if I'm not mistaken, this same J. Woodworth-Granger, Judge by election, is after the scalp of one James Gollop, drummer for a living, and—humph!—wonder when the next train leaves that will take me out of this state's jurisdiction? It seems to me, Jim, that you should be on your way. Good Lord! Some men can never take a joke! The idea of raising such a fuss over a little thing like that!"

And, so potent was his increasing apprehension, Mr. James Gollop did not actually smile again until seven-thirty that evening, when he received a reply to a question addressed to the conductor of the eastbound train.

"Are we over the state line yet?" was the question asked.

"By about thirty miles, I should reckon," was the reply.

"Thank heaven for that!" said Mr. Gollop, resuming a placid mental attitude, and the celebrated Gollop grin. "It's a wise man who knows where he's not welcome. Both celebrity and notoriety are distinctions to be shunned. A mud-cat is the most secure of all fish because nobody wishes to either catch and eat, or play with and caress him. His sole virtue is his obscurity, the sharpness of his bones his only protection. I'd rather be a catfish than a salmon after all!"

And the conductor, passing on his way with his nickel-plated lantern deftly anchored by his arm and his nickel-plated punch industriously working in his hand, mumbled, "Happy man! He's got just what he wants. Wish I was general passenger agent of this line. I'm not a catfish because I want to be one. He seems to be—just that!"