The Plum Tree | Page 4

it said of those markings in human faces,
"How ugly!" But it seems to me that, to any one with eyes and

imagination, line and wrinkle and hollow always have the somber
grandeur of tragedy. I remember my mother when her face was smooth
and had the shallow beauty that the shallow dote on. But her face
whereon was written the story of fearlessness, sacrifice, and love,--that
is the face beautiful of my mother for me.
In the midst of those times of trial, when she had ceased to smile,--for
she had none of that hypocritical cheerfulness which depresses and is a
mere vanity to make silly onlookers cry "Brave!" when there is no true
bravery,--just when we were at our lowest ebb, came an offer from Bill
Dominick to put me into politics.
I had been interested in politics ever since I was seven years old. I
recall distinctly the beginning:--
On a November afternoon,--it must have been November, though I
remember that it was summer-warm, with all the windows open and
many men in the streets in shirt-sleeves,--at any rate, I was on my way
home from school. As I neared the court-house I saw a crowd in the
yard and was reminded that it was election day, and that my father was
running for reëlection to the state senate; so, I bolted for his law office
in the second story of the Masonic Temple, across the street from the
court-house.
He was at the window and was looking at the polling place so intently
that he took no notice of me as I stood beside him. I know now why he
was absorbed and why his face was stern and sad. I can shut my eyes
and see that court-house yard, the long line of men going up to vote,
single file, each man calling out his name as he handed in his ballot,
and Tom Weedon--who shot an escaping prisoner when he was deputy
sheriff--repeating the name in a loud voice. Each oncoming voter in
that curiously regular and compact file was holding out his right arm
stiff so that the hand was about a foot clear of the thigh; and in every
one of those thus conspicuous hands was a conspicuous bit of white
paper--a ballot. As each man reached the polling window and gave in
his name, he swung that hand round with a stiff-armed, circular motion
that kept it clear of the body and in full view until the bit of paper
disappeared in the slit in the ballot box.

I wished to ask my father what this strange spectacle meant; but, as I
glanced up at him to begin my question, I knew I must not, for I felt
that I was seeing something which shocked him so profoundly that he
would take me away if I reminded him of my presence. I know now
that I was witnessing the crude beginnings of the money-machine in
politics,--the beginnings of the downfall of parties,--the beginnings of
the overthrow of the people as the political power. Those stiff-armed
men were the "floating voters" of that ward of Pulaski. They had been
bought up by a rich candidate of the opposition party, which was less
scrupulous than our party, then in the flush of devotion to "principles"
and led by such old-fashioned men as my father with old-fashioned
notions of honor and honesty. Those "floaters" had to keep the ballot in
full view from the time they got it of the agent of their purchaser until
they had deposited it beyond the possibility of substitution--he must see
them "deliver the goods."
My father was defeated. He saw that, in politics, the day of the public
servant of public interests was over, and that the night of the private
servant of private interests had begun. He resigned the leadership into
the dexterous hands of a politician. Soon afterward he died, muttering:
"Prosperity has ruined my country!"
From that election day my interest in politics grew, and but for my
mother's bitter prejudice I should have been an active politician,
perhaps before I was out of college.
Pulaski, indeed all that section of my state, was strongly of my party.
Therefore Dominick, its local boss, was absolute. At the last county
election, four years before the time of which I am writing, there had
been a spasmodic attempt to oust him. He had grown so insolent, and
had put his prices for political and political-commercial "favors" to our
leading citizens so high, that the "best element" in our party reluctantly
broke from its allegiance. To save himself he had been forced to order
flagrant cheating on the tally sheets; his ally and fellow conspirator,
M'Coskrey, the opposition boss, was caught and was indicted by the
grand jury. The Reformers