Yet my father lived and died in the firm belief that the United States of America was a democracy!
Resolved not to be caught a second time in such a humiliating position by a Democrat,I asked my father that night what the Tariff was.But I was too young to understand it,he said.I was to take his word for it that the country would go to the dogs if the Democrats got in and the Tariff were taken away.Here,in a nutshell,though neither he nor I realized it,was the political instruction of the marching hordes.Theirs not to reason why.I was too young,they too ignorant.Such is the method of Authority!
The steel-mills of Mr.Durrett and Mr.Hambleton,he continued,would be forced to shut down,and thousands of workmen would starve.This was just a sample of what would happen.Prosperity would cease,he declared.
That word,Prosperity,made a deep impression on me,and I recall the certain reverential emphasis he laid on it.And while my solicitude for the workmen was not so great as his and Mr.Durrett's,I was concerned as to what would happen to us if those twin gods,the Tariff and Prosperity,should take their departure from the land.Knowing my love for the good things of the table,my father intimated,with a rare humour I failed to appreciate,that we should have to live henceforth in spartan simplicity.
After that,like the intelligent workman,I was firmer than ever for the Tariff.
Such was the idealistic plane on which--and from a good man--I received my first political instruction!And for a long time I connected the dominance of the Republican Party with the continuation of manna and quails,in other words,with nothing that had to do with the spiritual welfare of any citizen,but with clothing and food and material comforts.
My education was progressing....
Though my father revered Plato and Aristotle,he did not,apparently,take very seriously the contention that that government alone is good "which seeks to attain the permanent interests of the governed by evolving the character of its citizens."To put the matter brutally,politics,despite the lofty sentiments on the transparencies in torchlight processions,had only to do with the belly,not the soul.
Politics and government,one perceives,had nothing to do with religion,nor education with any of these.A secularized and disjointed world!
Our leading citizens,learned in the classics though some of them might be,paid no heed to the dictum of the Greek idealist,who was more practical than they would have supposed."The man who does not carry his city within his heart is a spiritual starveling."One evening,a year or two after that tariff campaign,I was pretending to study my lessons under the student lamp in the sitting-room while my mother sewed and my father wrote at his desk,when there was a ring at the door-bell.I welcomed any interruption,even though the visitor proved to be only the druggist's boy;and there was always the possibility of a telegram announcing,for instance,the death of a relative.Such had once been the case when my Uncle Avery Paret had died in New York,and I was taken out of school for a blissful four days for the funeral.
I went tiptoeing into the hall and peeped over the banisters while Ella opened the door.I heard a voice which I recognized as that of Perry Blackwood's father asking for Mr.Paret;and then to my astonishment,Isaw filing after him into the parlour some ten or twelve persons.With the exception of Mr.Ogilvy,who belonged to one of our old families,and Mr.Watling,a lawyer who had married the youngest of Gene Hollister's aunts,the visitors entered stealthily,after the manner of burglars;some of these were heavy-jowled,and all had an air of mystery that raised my curiosity and excitement to the highest pitch.I caught hold of Ella as she came up the stairs,but she tore herself free,and announced to my father that Mr.Josiah Blackwood and other gentlemen had asked to see him.My father seemed puzzled as he went downstairs....Along interval elapsed,during which I did not make even a pretence of looking at my arithmetic.At times the low hum of voices rose to what was almost an uproar,and on occasions I distinguished a marked Irish brogue.
"I wonder what they want?"said my mother,nervously.
At last we heard the front door shut behind them,and my father came upstairs,his usually serene face wearing a disturbed expression.
"Who in the world was it,Mr.Paret?"asked my mother.
My father sat down in the arm-chair.He was clearly making an effort for self-control.
"Blackwood and Ogilvy and Watling and some city politicians,"he exclaimed.
"Politicians!"she repeated."What did they want?That is,if it's anything you can tell me,"she added apologetically.
"They wished me to be the Republican candidate for the mayor of this city."This tremendous news took me off my feet.My father mayor!
"Of course you didn't consider it,Mr.Paret,"my mother was saying.
"Consider it!"he echoed reprovingly."I can't imagine what Ogilvy and Watling and Josiah Blackwood were thinking of!They are out of their heads.I as much as told them so."This was more than I could bear,for I had already pictured myself telling the news to envious schoolmates.
"Oh,father,why didn't you take it?"I cried.
By this time,when he turned to me,he had regained his usual expression.
"You don't know what you're talking about,Hugh,"he said."Accept a political office!That sort of thing is left to politicians."The tone in which he spoke warned me that a continuation of the conversation would be unwise,and my mother also understood that the discussion was closed.He went back to his desk,and began writing again as though nothing had happened.
As for me,I was left in a palpitating state of excitement which my father's self-control or sang-froid only served to irritate and enhance,and my head was fairly spinning as,covertly,I watched his pen steadily covering the paper.
