They were to elect a new one in Iowa, and there were rumors afloat that
Richard Markham would be the man chosen by his party. There had been
similar rumors once before, but Mrs. Markham had regarded them as
mythical, never dreaming that such an honor could be in store for her
boy. Now, however, matters began to look a little serious. Crowds of men
came frequently to the farmhouse and were closeted with Richard. Tim
Jones rode up and down the country, electioneering for "Dick." Hal
Clifford, in Camden, contributed his influence, though he belonged to
the other party. Others, too, of Harry's way of thinking, cast aside
political differences and "went in," as they said, for the best man--one
whom they knew to be honest and upright, like Judge Markham. Each in
their own way--James and John, and Andy and Melinda--worked for Richard,
who was frequently absent from home for several days, sometimes taking
the stump himself, but oftener remaining quiet while others presented
his cause. Search as they might, his opponents could find nothing
against him, except that sad affair with his wife, who, one paper said,
"had been put out of the way when she became troublesome," hinting at
every possible atrocity on the husband's part, and dilating most
pathetically upon the injured, innocent, and beautiful young wife. Then
with a face as pale as ashes, Richard made his "great speech" in Camden
court-house, asking that the whole matter be dropped at once, and saying
that he would far rather live a life of obloquy than have the name, more
dear to him than the names of our loved dead, bandied about from lip to
lip and made the subject for newspaper paragraphs. They knew Richard in
Camden, and they knew Ethelyn, too, liking both so well, that the result
of that speech was to increase Richard's popularity tenfold, and to
carry in his favor the entire town.
The day of election was a most exciting one, especially in Olney, where
Richard had lived from boyhood. It was something for a little town like
this to furnish the governor, the Olneyites thought, and though, for
party's sake, there were some opponents, the majority went for Richard,
and Tim Jones showed his zeal by drinking with so many that at night he
stopped at the farmhouse, insisting that he had reached home, and should
stay there, "for all of Melind," and hurrahing so loud for
"Richud--Mark-um--Square," that he woke up the little blue-eyed boy
which for six weeks had been the pride and pet and darling of the
household.
Andy's tactics were different. He had voted in the morning, and prayed
the rest of the day, that if it were right, "old Dick might lick the
whole of 'em," adding the petition that "he need not be stuck up if he
was governor," and that Ethie might come back to share his greatness.
Others than Andy were thinking of Ethelyn that day, for not the faintest
echo of a huzza reached Richard's ears that did not bring with it
regretful thoughts of her. And when at last success was certain, and,
flushed with triumph, he stood receiving the congratulations of his
friends, and the Olney bell was ringing in honor of the new governor,
and bonfires were lighted in the streets, the same little boys who had
screamed themselves hoarse for the other candidates, stealing barrels
and dry-goods boxes to feed the flames with quite as much alacrity as
their opponents, there was not a throb of his heart which did not go out
after the lost one, with a yearning desire to bring her back, and, by
giving her the highest position in the State, atone in part for all
which had been wrong. But Ethie was very, very far away--further than he
dreamed--and strain ear and eye as she might, she could not see the
lurid blaze which lit up the prairie till the tall grass grew red in
the ruddy glow, or hear the deafening shouts which rent the sky for the
new Governor Markham, elected by an overwhelming majority. Oh, how
lonely Richard felt even in the first moments of his success! And how he
longed to get away from all the noise and din which greeted him at every
step, and be alone again, as since Ethie went away he had chosen to be
so much of his time. Melinda guessed at his feelings in part, and when
he came home at last, looking so pale and tired, she pitied him, and
showed her pity by letting him alone; and when supper was ready, sending
his tea to his room, whither he had gone as soon as his mother had
unwound her arms from his neck, and told him how glad she was.