King Cole (20 page)

“Doc, can you get me a nice redheaded nurse?”

“I’ll do my best. All right. Let’s go.”

“Goodbye, Read.”

“Goodbye, Gregg. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I get through with my speech.”

When Gregg had been taken out, Read sat down heavily in the chair by his desk; then he said, mostly to himself:

“And twenty minutes ago we almost had a row!”

“You never know; you never know,” said Charley, hastily blowing his nose.

Read was distinctly uncomfortable as he
stood in the hospital corridor outside Gregg’s room and talked with the doctor. The place was so inhumanly, so grimly impersonal, so abnormally clean; and there was a sickly-sweet smell of disinfectant which made Read’s nostrils quiver. He hated hospitals because they aroused old memories of pain and despair.

“… as far as that goes,” the doctor was saying, ‘‘the operation was successful enough. But Mr. Upham lost quite a lot of blood previous to and during the operation and, to be quite frank, Mr. Upham isn’t in very good condition generally. I can see that he takes no care of himself. Consequently, Governor, I don’t like to hold out false hopes. The thing that worries me is his heart. It’s enlarged and none too strong. He told me himself he’d been refused insurance…”

Read smiled grimly.

‘‘He never told me.”

“Mr. Upham, I would say, is a rather secretive man, also a very nervy one. He’s got the right spirit: very optimistic, and that always helps. My private opinion is, he has an outside chance. Nothing more, Governor.”

“I see.”

“I’m terribly sorry this happened. We all know how worried you are, anyway. It’s a good thing that gun was almost a toy. A high-powered gun would have killed Mr. Upham instantly, and the bullet might have passed through both of you. After all, there’s something to be thankful for. I don’t know what the
Independent’s
thinking about, rating poor Boyce that way. If a man ever deserved shooting, that little fool of a hunky did.”

“Boyce lost his head,” said Read, wincing slightly. A picture of the helpless little man being shot like a horse with a broken leg leaped up before his eyes. ”Who wouldn’t, under the circumstances?”

“Well, it’s done now. We can’t mend it. The
Independent
is just trying to stir up a row. They’re trying to elect Fielding. They don’t mind calling me a murderer, till after election. Then if I’m elected they’ll be fairly friendly again. It’s politics. Irresponsible politics.” Read shrugged.

A nurse came into the corridor from Gregg’s room.

“You may come in now, Governor Cole.”

“Don’t stay more than a moment, Governor,” said the doctor. “He’s very weak.”

Read stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He saw a huge bouquet of roses on the stand by the bed. Gregg was lying flat with the covers up to his armpits and his hands crossed on his stomach. Read was appalled by his appearance. His face was almost as pale as his hospital shirt; his eyes were sunken. He was sweating from weakness.

“Just wanted to say hello,” said Read, looking down at Gregg.

“Hello, pal,” said Gregg in a hoarse, faraway, other-world voice.

“Better?”

“I’ll make out, I guess. I don’t feel so bad for a guy that’s been shot point-blank. How’re the returns?”

“Nothing much yet. A few precincts from Cleveland, all Fielding. But we expected that.”

“I hope to God you win, Read. This State needs you if you are a goddamned stuffed shirt. When I get well I’ll hold you down. I’ll show you the light. Don’t forget I’m going to work for you.”

The nurse stepped in quickly. She looked so wonderfully healthy and efficient in comparison with the spent man on the bed that Read stared a little, then his heart sank. A certainty began to grow on him: Gregg was done for.

“If you please, Governor,” said the nurse, softly.

“I’ll run along, Gregg. I’ll try to get back before morning. Maybe I won’t make it.”

“I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be out of here in a week.” Then Gregg turned and winked characteristically. “I want to get my strength back quick so I can teach this baby here some new tricks.”

The nurse smiled calmly and bent down to smooth out Gregg’s pillow.

“Goodbye, Gregg. This is a good thing for you in a way. You’ll get a rest for once.”

“I need it. Goodbye, Read. Have Charley phone in the returns. My pal here will relay them, won’t you, sugar?”

“I surely will, Mr. Upham.”

Read hesitated, there was so much he wanted to say; but, turning, he went out quickly. Sullavan was waiting in the car. He had already started his traditional post-election bender and talked a little thickly. Read was irritated but tried to control himself.

“Headquarters, Barney,” he said, sinking back beside Sullavan.

“Wanna come up to Headquarters with me for a minute or two?” demanded Sullavan, leaning forward and trying to stare intently at Read. “See the boys. Give ’em a little pat on the head. They sure been faithful workers, them boys.”

“I can’t, Ed. Haven’t time. Express my regrets.”

“They’d sure like to see you, Read.”

There was a short silence. Read sat staring out at the traffic.

“Oh, well,” said big Ed, “if that’s the way you feel… How’s Gregg? Getting better? I said as soon as I heard about it, it ain’t in the cards. Gregg’s too good a guy to get knocked off like that. It just ain’t in the cards.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

Sullavan was outraged and began to splutter, then he sighed.

“I’m drunk. That’s what’s the matter with me.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m sorry, Governor. I’m really and truly sorry. I know how you feel about Gregg. He’s your best friend, and a man’s best friend is… How is Gregg, anyway? You didn’t tell me.”

“He has a chance.”

“Sure, sure; I knew it. Didn’t I tell you? Sure, I’ll bet he’s got a big chance. He’ll come through all right. Don’t you worry, Read. You listen to Ed. He’s never steered you wrong, has he?”

“Why didn’t you wait till after the election to get drunk? You’ll be a pretty sight at Headquarters.”

“I’m all right, ain’t I? I’m talking all right. I can walk straight. Don’t you worry about me. I’ve never steered you wrong, have I?”

Read said nothing. Sullavan fumbled with a cigar, trying unsuccessfully to light it; finally he dropped a lighted match on the floor of the car and bending forward to pick it up, he fell, hitting his head on the back of the front seat.

“Holy mackerel!” he cried, straightening up. “I
am
drunk. I’m plastered, swacked, tight and lickered. See me fall like that? Christ! I
am
drunk.”

When Barney stopped in front of Headquarters, Sullavan got out slowly, stepping very carefully.

“I’m sorry, Governor,” he said, standing by the door of the car and peering in foggily. “It was that liquor Johnny Keogh brought. Strong as lye; or maybe I’m getting old. Can’t take it. I never let you down, before, now did I, Governor? You ain’t sore, are you?”

“You’re old enough to look after yourself better, Ed. Go in your office and sober up. Don’t go around and let everybody see you making a fool of yourself.”

“I never thought I’d live to see…” Sullavan began; but Read closed the door.

When Barney drove off, Sullavan was standing at the curb with his hat off and a hurt look in his face.

“Poor old Ed,” said Read to himself. “I should have kept my temper.”

The rotunda was huge, shadowy and impressive when Read crossed it on the way to his office. Everybody, except those on official business, had been excluded from it till after election and it was deserted except for the National Guardsmen, acting as sentries, whose steps echoed hollowly under the great domed ceiling.

Captain Boyce and Colonel Putnam were sitting in the outer office, talking earnestly. Harold was at his desk, reading a newspaper. They all got up when Read appeared. Boyce was frowning and his face was red. Read noticed that he looked a little haggard and that his eyes were bloodshot.

“How can they print such things, Governor?” Boyce burst out, slapping a copy of the
Independent. 
”I did my duty, that’s all. How can they say things like this about me? Leader of the local Black Shirts and all that rot. I’m a good American citizen. I’ve always been on the square. I fought all through the war, and what did I get for it? I lost the best job I ever had. And here they print stuff like this… I…”

“That’s the
Independent,
Captain,” said Read. “Have you read what they say about me? You don’t expect an opposition newspaper to worry very much about the truth during an election, do you? Read the 
Examiner,
Captain; and cool off a little. You’ll get used to public life after a while. Pretty soon they can call you a son-of-a-bitch and you’ll never turn a hair.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell him, Governor,” said the Colonel.

“I know,” said Boyce, “but this is too much. If it wasn’t for you, Governor, I’d go wring Bob Todd’s neck.”

“You’d just get yourself in trouble. Grin and bear it. Nobody with any sense is blaming you.”

“You’re always so calm, Governor,” said Boyce. “It quiets a man just to be around you.”

Read said nothing. He was anything but calm. During his twenties, he had been nervous and excitable. Even now his feelings were easily aroused. But he had acquired a façade.

“May I see you, Governor?” asked the Colonel.

“Come right in. Anything new, Harold?”

“Few precincts from Toledo, Governor. Few local precincts. It’s close in Toledo. You’re leading in Midland City. None of it amounts to much, though. Too scanty. Excuse me: Miss Wilson wants to see you.”

The Colonel followed Read into the Governor’s office. There was only one light burning and the huge old room was dim and shadowy. Read took off his coat and hat, then he walked to one of the big west windows. The downtown district of Midland City was spread out before him. He saw the streets filled with people, the mounted policemen riding slowly and warily, disentangling the traffic jams; he heard the indistinct roar of the election night crowd. Horns, rattles and sirens were going and there were sudden bursts of shouting and laughter.

It was a cold, damp night. From time to time sparse snowflakes fell down through the bare branches of the trees in the State House yard. All along High Street lights were reflected on the wet black asphalt.

‘‘Well, Colonel?” Read turned and sat down at his desk.

“Sorry, Governor; but the boys had to break up that mass meeting in Youngstown. I just got the wire.”

“Any damage?” Read asked, wearily.

“Nothing to speak of. Governor, excuse me, but you certainly tied my hands. I’m doing the best I can, but we should have had martial law. Lucky for us all the police departments are cooperating. Things are pretty well in hand. But you never know.”

‘‘I don’t like martial law. It’s an admission of weakness. There’s no war; there’s no revolution; no real public emergency. Recourse to force outside the ordinary laws is a bad habit.”

The Colonel sighed.

“I agree with you. I don’t like it either. But I’ll have to disagree with you in regard to a public emergency. I’ve lived in this State all my life and I’ve never seen an election like this before. Why, it’s like Mexico.”

“We’ll pull through. If I’m defeated, I don’t want any unnecessary crowing. Eagle Beak would certainly stuff martial law down my throat. Do the best you can, Colonel. Any local trouble?”

“Yes. In the Steelton District. A small riot on Kosciusko Street. Four men stopped it. No damage to speak of.”

The Colonel took off his cap and wearily ran his hand across his face. There wasn’t a sound in the room. Read lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair; he felt listless and sad. Well, it would soon be over; then things would go back to normal. What a strain!

“Well,” said the Colonel, putting on a briskness he didn’t feel, “I’ll be getting up to the Armory; I can handle things better from there. I’ll leave Captain Boyce in charge. Captain Enright has gone to bed with the flu. It’s this weather. Abominable weather. I’ve got a touch myself. Goodbye, Governor. Best of luck. I’ll keep you informed.”

When the Colonel had gone, Read sat smoking for a moment, then he got up and went to the window again. The same crowd milling; the same mounted policemen straightening out the traffic; the same clamor. The snow was falling faster now past the black tree limbs. Read saw the captured German field gun silhouetted against the brilliant lights of High Street.

His Honor, James Read Cole, Governor of the Sovereign State of Ohio
. . .

Read smiled slightly. Sometimes he felt that the game wasn’t worth the candle. “It is a strange desire, to seek power and to lose power over a man’s self. The rising unto place is laborious; and by pains men come to greater pains; and it is sometimes base; and by indignities men come to dignities. The standing is slippery and the regress is either downfall or at least eclipse, which is a melancholy thing.” Gregg had marked that passage for him in one of Lord Verulam’s
Essays
and he had memorized it. How true and penetrating it was! Only a man who had been through the mill could have written it. Eclipse? Was it possible? Very possible; in fact, probable. Eagle Beak was strong and unscrupulous. He had put up a real battle.

Read knew that if he lost this election he was through politically in Ohio. He would join the ranks of those melancholy has-beens: the ex-governors, the ex-senators, without influence, barely tolerated because of former glories. He had seen them sitting around the lobbies of the hotels where the politicians gathered. They’d rush up to him, talking loudly and confidently to hide their certain knowledge that he was not interested in them and was impatient to be off. Read winced slightly, thinking about it; wishing he had not been so offhand with some of them. They had been so pathetic, especially the older ones: white-haired, dignified men who had been elbowed out of the arena; all they had left was a memory of eminence and scrapbooks full of stale newspaper clippings.

There was a knock, then Miss Wilson came in.