Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1922)

'Go on with your speech and let's hear some of those questions you want me to answer" Dan said to the Honorable Cyrus victory. The inroads upon Fendle's rye were frequent and heavy, and the owner thereof made no protest, as de Mott came day after day with encouraging reports of the success of their scheme. DAN'S idea of getting himself elected was to go around and ask people to vote for him. He did this persistently and extensively, with the aid of Bill Ferguson's flivver, spreading the word that it was to be distinctly understood when he said he was an independent candidate that he was an independent. He had no more idea that he had been nominated over a glass of Fendle rye than a chicken has that it came out of an egg. Blissfully ignorant, he kept up his canvass until one day Ferguson reminded him that the taximeter registered next thing to a hundred dollars, and it couldn't run past the century mark without gasoline money. That stopped Dan for a little while and he began doing some figuring. A lot of other expenses were piling up, and it appeared that the independents were a lot handier with their voices than with their Watermans. It was the moment for which Oglesby and his henchman had been waiting, and they had their own means of finding out that it was time to make an official call on their candidate. The visit surprised Dan a little, but not enough to put him to sleep, and he knew that the conversation was only beginning when Fendle remarked: "We want you to win, because we know you'll be friendly — at all times — to the Fendle interests." "Guess you thought we was pluggin' f'r old Blagdon, didn't you?" de Mott asked. "Well, we ain't. And just to prove it, Mr. Fendle here is ready to contribute ten thousand dollars to your campaign fund." "That's a nice piece of cheese; now let's take a look at the trap," Dan remarked. "I personally don't ask for any proof of your friendship," Fendle said. "I feel I know you so well. I am sure we look at things in exactly the same way. But our directors in the East would like a little memorandum," and Oglesby produced a typewritten slip stating that in recognition of the contribution to the campaign fund, the signer agreed to favor any legislation requested by a certain railway. There was a dotted line for Dan's signature. "I'm asking the voters to make me a Congressman, not an errand boy," Dan said, handing back the paper. "Don't be a fool. You're broke — you can't be elected without money," de Mott snapped. " I'd rather be an 'also ran ' than a rubber stamp," Dan retorted. "But look here, young fellow, we got you this nomination, because you're so friendly with Mr. Fendle's sister." Dan turned quickly upon Fendle. "Is that true? Does Miss Fendle know about — all this?" "Sure," drawled de Mott. "We tell her everything. We even got her to argue with you when you didn't want to run, didn't we? Her interests are just the same as Mr. Fendle's." Oglesby nodded corroboration, but the result was not what he had hoped. Dan crossed the room in a few long strides, flung the door open, and waved his guests out. He closed the door behind them and locked it. Then he sank into his chair, slumping into a heap, discouraged, disappointed, sick of the whole campaign. He thought he could see the whole scheme, everything dovetailed so perfectly. Being no politician, he did not first question the truth' of everything that was said to him. It seemed quite reasonable. He knew that wealthy men used their women for just such purposes, and he had been fool enough to think that the wealthy Katherine Fendle had been interested in Dan Bentley. Well, that was that. He was broke, he could not go on with his campaign, and even if he could he didn't believe he wanted to, if politics was such a dirty mess as this. LATER in the day Cale Higginson found him, and saw something was radically wrong. He inquired as to the cause of the gloom, but Dan did not feel like explaining. "Well, whatever's the matter, don't you think a little fishin' trip would do you a heap o' good?" Cale asked. "A fishin' trip!" Dan hadn't fished for — how long was it? — it seemed years. And as his campaign was closed automatically for want of sustenance, why not? Half a dozen letters to take care of routine affairs, and he would be free to do as he pleased. He didn't believe there was a chance in a million of being elected. Ordinarily when Dan and Cale used to go fishing they would just stroll down the stream that ran through Wingficld, and fish most anywhere. But this time, Dan wanted to get away. So he went down to the boathouse, where he kept a trusty old one-lunged tubercular tug, and the noise of the cough {Continued on page 113) 35