And through it all, the consultation of the leaders, the falling hopes of
the poll scouts, the gradual depression that crept over the spirits of
the major and Cap and the rest of his near supports, David was a solid
tower of strength.
Then during the day the tension became tight and tighter, for how the
fight was going exactly no one could tell and it seemed well-nigh
impossible to stop the vote steal that was going on all over the city,
protected by the organized government. Defeat seemed inevitable.
So at six o'clock the disgusted Cap picked up his hat and started home
and to the astonishment of the whole headquarters David Kildare calmly
rose and followed him without a word to the others, who failed to realize
that he had deserted until he was entirely gone. Billy Bob looked dashed
with amazement, Hobson sat down limply in the deserted chair, Tom
whistled--but the major looked at them with a quizzical smile which was
for a second reflected in Andrew Sevier's face.
Phoebe sat in Milly's little nursery in the failing winter light which
was augmented by the glow from the fire of coals.
Little Billy Bob stood at her side within the circle of her arm, his head
against her shoulder and his eyes wide with a delicious horror as he
gazed upon a calico book whose pages were brilliant with the tragedy
of the three bears, which she was reading very slowly and with many
explanatory annotations. Crimie balanced himself against her knee and
beat with a spoon against the back of the book and whooped up the
situation in every bubbly way possible to his lack of classified
vocabulary. Milly and Mammy Betty were absorbed in the domestic regions
so Phoebe had them all to herself--all four, for the twins lay cuddled
asleep in their crib near by.
And though Phoebe had herself well in hand, her mind would wander
occasionally from the history of the bruins to which Mistake patiently
recalled her by a clamor for, "More, Phoebe, more."
In a hurried response to one of his goads she failed to hear a step in
the hall for which she had been telling herself that she had not been
listening for two hours or more, and David Kildare stood in the doorway,
the firelight full on his face.
It was not a triumphant David with his judiciary honors full upon him and
gubernational, senatorial, ambassadorial and presidential astral shapes
manifesting themselves in dim perspective; it was just old whimsical
David, tender of smile and loving though bantering of eye, albeit a
somewhat pale and exhausted edition.