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165 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. War and Peace had swapped corners that morning in the village of Fort Canibas. War was muttering at the end where two meeting-houses placidly faced each other across the street. Peace brooded over the ancient blockhouse, relic of the Bloodless War, and upon the structure that Thelismer Thornton had converted from officers' barracks to his own uses as a dwelling.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819911302
Langue	English

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CHAPTER I
THE BAITING OF THE ANCIENT LION
War and Peace had swapped corners that morning inthe village of Fort Canibas. War was muttering at the end where twomeeting-houses placidly faced each other across the street. Peacebrooded over the ancient blockhouse, relic of the "Bloodless War,"and upon the structure that Thelismer Thornton had converted fromofficers' barracks to his own uses as a dwelling.
At dawn a telegraph messenger jangled the bell inthe dim hall of "The Barracks." It was an urgent cry from thechairman of the Republican State Committee. It announced hiscoming, and warned the autocrat of the North Country of the plot.The chairman knew. The plotters had been betrayed to him, and fromhis distance he enjoyed a perspective which is helpful in makingpolitical estimates. But Thelismer Thornton only chuckled over LukePresson's fears. He went back to bed for another nap.
When he came down and ate breakfast alone in the bigmess-room, which he had not allowed the carpenters to narrow by aninch, he was still amused by the chairman's panic. As a politicianolder than any of them, a man who had served his district fiftyyears in the legislature, he refused to believe – intrenched therein his fortress in the north – that there was danger abroad in theState. "Reformers, eh?" He sneered the word aloud in the big roomof echoes. "Well, I can show them one up here. There's IvusNiles!"
And at that moment Ivus Niles was marching into thevillage from the Jo Quacca hills, torch for the tinder that hadbeen prepared. It is said that a cow kicked over a lantern thatstarted the conflagration of its generation. In times whenpolitical tinder is dry there have been great men who haveunderestimated reform torches.
It was a bland June morning. The Hon. ThelismerThornton was bland, too, in agreement with the weather. A goodpolitician always agrees with what cannot be helped.
He stood in the door of "The Barracks" and gazed outupon the rolling St. John hills – a lofty, ponderous hulk of a man,thatched with white hair, his big, round face cherubic still inspite of its wrinkles. He lighted a cigar, and gazed up into thecloudless sky with the mental endorsement that it was good caucusweather. Then he trudged out across the grass-plot and climbed intohis favorite seat. It was an arm-chair set high in the tangle ofthe roots of an overturned spruce-tree. The politicians of thecounty called that seat "The Throne," and for a quarter of acentury the Hon. Thelismer Thornton had been nicknamed "The Duke ofFort Canibas." Add that the nicknames were not ill bestowed. Suchwas the Hon. Thelismer Thornton.
He had brought newspapers in his pockets. He set hiseyeglasses on his bulging nose, and began to read.
In the highway below him teams went jogging into thevillage. There were fuzzy Canadian horses pulling buckboardssagging under the weight of all the men who could cling on. Therewere top carriages and even a hayrack well loaded with men.
Occasionally the old man lifted his gaze from hisreading and eyed the dusty wayfarers benignantly. He liked to knowthat the boys were turning out to the caucus. His perch was a loftyone. He could see that the one long street of Fort Canibas was wellgridironed with teams – horses munching at hitching-posts, wagonsthrusting their tails into the roadway.
It was quiet at Thornton's end of the village. Therewas merely twitter of birds in the silver poplar that shaded hisseat, busy chatter of swallows, who were plastering up their mudnests under the eaves of the old blockhouse across the road fromhim. It was so quiet that he could hear a tumult at the other endof the village; it was a tumult for calm Fort Canibas. Araucous voice bellowed oratory of some sort, and yells and laughterand cheers punctuated the speech. Thornton knew the voice, even atthat distance, for the voice of "War Eagle" Niles. He grinned,reading his paper. The sound of that voice salted the article thathe was skimming: " – and the fight is beginning early this year.The reform leaders say they find the sentiment of the people to bewith them, and so the reformers propose to do their effective workat the caucuses instead of waiting to lock horns with a legislatureand lobby controlled by the old politicians of the State. There isa contest on even in that impregnable fortress of the old regime,the 'Duchy of Canibas.' It is said that the whole strength of theState reform movement is quietly behind the attempt to destroyThelismer Thornton's control in the north country. His is one ofthe earliest caucuses, and the moral effect of the defeat of thatancient autocrat will be incalculable."
Still more broadly did Thornton smile. "War Eagle"Niles, down there, was a reformer. For forty years he had beenbellowing against despots and existing order, and, for the Duke ofFort Canibas, he typified "Reform!" Visionary, windy, snarling,impracticable attempts to smash the machine!
Therefore, in his serene confidence – the confidenceof an old man who has founded and knows the solidity of thefoundations – Thelismer Thornton smoked peacefully at one end ofthe village of Fort Canibas, and allowed rebellion to roar at itspleasure in the other end.
Then he saw them coming, heard the growing murmur ofmany voices, the cackle of occasional laughter, and took especialnote of "War Eagle" Ivus Niles, who led the parade. A fuzzy andancient silk hat topped his head, a rusty frock-coat flapped abouthis legs, and he tugged along at the end of a cord a dirty bucksheep. A big crowd followed; but when they shuffled into the yardof "The Barracks" most of the men were grinning, as though they hadcome merely to look on at a show. The old man in his aureole ofroots gazed at them with composure, and noted no hostility.
Niles and his buck sheep stood forth alone. Theothers were grouped in a half circle. Even upon the "War Eagle,"Thornton gazed tolerantly. There was the glint of fun in his eyeswhen Niles formally removed his silk hat, balanced it, crown up, inthe hook of his elbow, and prepared to deliver his message. "Thedynasty of the house of Thornton must end to-day!" boomed Niles, inhis best orotund.
Thornton found eyes in the crowd that blinkedappreciation. Quizzical wrinkles deepened in his broad face. Heplucked a cigar from his waistcoat-pocket and held it down towardMr. Niles. "No, sir!" roared that irreconcilable. "I ain't holdingout my porringer to Power – never again!" "Power," repulsed,lighted the cigar from the one he was smoking, and snapped the buttat the sheep. "I'm a lover of good oratory, Ivus," he said,placidly, "and I know you've come here loaded. Fire!" He claspedhis upcocked knee with his big hands, fingers interlaced, andleaned back.
The crowd exchanged elbow-thrusts and winks. But theripple of laughter behind did not take the edge off Mr. Niles'searnestness. "Honorable Thornton, I do not mind your sneers andslurs. When I see my duty I go for it. I'm here before you to-dayas Protest walking erect, man-fashion, on two legs, and with avisible emblem that talks plainer than words can talk. The peopleneed visible emblems to remind them. Like I'm leading this sheep,so you have been leading the voters of this legislative district.The ring has been in here" – Mr. Niles savagely pinched thecartilage of his nose – "and you have held the end of the cord.That's the way you've been led, you people!" The orator whirled andincluded his concourse of listeners as objects of arraignment."Here's the picture of you as voters right before your eyes. Do youpropose to be sheep any longer?" He put his hat on his head, andshook a hairy fist at the Duke of Fort Canibas. "This ain't adynasty, and you can't make it into one. I call on you to take noteof the signs and act accordingly; for the people are awake andarming for the fray. And when the people are once awake they can'tany more be bamboozled by a political despot than the war eagle,screaming across the blue dome of the everlasting heavens, willturn tail when he hears the twittering of a pewee!" Mr. Nilesclosed, as he always closed a speech, with the metaphor that hadgiven him his sobriquet. "That is real oratory, Ivus," stated Mr.Thornton, serenely; "I know it is, because a man who is listeningto real oratory never understands what the orator is drivingat."
The Hon. Thelismer Thornton usually spoke with aslow, dry, half-quizzical drawl. That drawl was effective now. Hecame down from his chair, carefully stepping on the roots, andloomed above Mr. Niles, amiable, tolerant, serene. His wrinkledcrash suit, in whose ample folds his mighty frame bulked,contrasted oddly with the dusty, rusty black in which Mr. Nilesdefied the heat of the summer day. "Now I am down where I can talkbusiness, Ivus. What's the matter with you?" "Look into the depthsof your own soul, if you've got the moral eyesight to look throughmud," declaimed Mr. Niles, refusing to descend from polemics toplain business, "and you'll see what is the matter. You have madeyourself the voice by which this district has spoken in the hallsof state for fifty years, and that voice is not the voice of thepeople!" He stood on tiptoe and roared the charge. "It is certainlynot your voice that I take down to the State House with me," brokein their representative. "Freight charges on it would more than eatup my mileage allowance. Now let's call off this bass-drum solobusiness. Pull down your kite. To business!" He snapped his fingersunder Mr. Niles's nose.
One of those in the throng who had not smiledstepped forth and spoke before the disconcerted "War Eagle" hadrecovered his voice. "Since I am no orator, perhaps I can talkbusiness to you, Representative Thornton." He was a grave,repressed, earnest man, whose sunburned face, bowed shoulders,work-stained hands, and general air proclaimed the farmer. "We'vecome here on a matter of business, sir." "Led by a buck sheep and ahuman windmill, eh?" "Mr. Niles's notions of tactics are his own.I'm sorry to see him hand