The strong homely face grew rapidly thinner. The deep-set gray eyes sank still deeper beneath the overhanging brows. As for the frock suit, it soon became a wretched exhibit from a rag bag. The “respectable” people--that is, those owning the stocks and bonds of Judge Powers’s protégé companies--laughed at the fantastic figure, roving about in the mud-stained buggy. But--“the common people heard him gladly.”
After six weeks of campaigning with farmers and villagers, Helm felt strong enough to attack the fortress--Harrison. There are those in Harrison who can still tell in minutest detail of the coming of Helm--driving slowly, toward mid-day, down the main street--the direct way to Mrs. Beaver’s boarding-house. The top hat was furry and dusty. The black frock suit was streaked and stained, was wrinkled and mussed. The big shoulders drooped wearily. But the powerful head was calmly erect, and there was might in the great, toil-scarred hands that held the reins on the high bony knees.
Not in the worst days of the whiskers had George Helm been so ludicrous to look at. But no one laughed. The crowds along the sidewalks gazed in silence and awe. A _man_ had come to town.
That afternoon he spoke in Court House square--that afternoon, and again after supper, and twice every day for a week. Never had there been such crowds at political meetings--and, toward the last, never such enthusiasm. The suddenness, the strangeness of the attack paralyzed the opposition. It accepted Judge Powers’s dignified suggestion--“the fellow is beneath contempt, is unworthy of notice.”
At the end of the week, off went George to the sparser regions again, repeating the queer triumph of his first tour. And every one was asking every one else, What are the people going to do? Reichman, the Republican boss, put this question to Democratic boss Branagan when they met a few evenings before the election on the neutral ground of Tom Duffy’s saloon and oyster parlor.
“What do you think the people are going to do?” asked Reichman.
“Dun’ no,” said Branagan. “But I know what _I’m_ goin’ to do.”
This, with a wicked grin and a wink. Said Reichman, “Me, too, Pat.”
And they did it. Not a difficult thing to do at any election, for the people know little about election machinery, and do not watch--indeed, what would the poor blind, ignorant creatures find out if they did watch? Yes, Reichman and his Democratic partner did it. The easiest thing in the world, when the machinery of both parties is in the same hands.