Ten North Frederick (60 page)

“Roast lamb,” said Peg. “With mint sauce.”

Mike nodded. “I wish you were friends with Edith.”

“Well, I'm not, so you can rule out that consideration.”

“How's Michelle's cold?”

“She was over this afternoon. It's gone,” said Peg. “She and Howard are thinking of getting a Plymouth.”

“It's a good little car, a Plymouth. ‘Don't buy a big car,' I told Howard. Ed likes a Plymouth better than a Chevy. What worries me is if they give him the works too soon. He's going to get it, that's as sure as the Lord's above, but we want it to look good. We don't want him or anybody else to think we took his money and gave him a seat in the bleachers. That's a lot of
money
, Peg. A
lot
of money. He'll get something out of it. They can dream up some kind of a commission to be chairman of, if necessary—”

“That's if we don't lose the election,” said Peg.

“I must ask you not to voice that thought,” said Mike. “Or we could put him farther down the ticket, but he wouldn't go for that, and he shouldn't. Not with that money to his credit. I wanted to have a talk with him myself, but they decided against it. They decided they were going to make it look like, uh, spontaneous combustion. One of them said spontaneous protest. When Murdock let go his blast a while ago, that was to see how Joe'd take it. Well, he took it like Joe Chapin. He wanted to convert Murdock, and thought he could. Just like today, he wanted to go away with me tomorrow and talk to them, but I got out of that fast.”

“Well, what's next?”

“Oh, I don't know. Probably have him to a meeting and ask him if he'll withdraw gracefully and take something else. If he squawks, then he'll get nothing, nothing. That'll make it easier for all concerned. If he listens to reason, they may be able to satisfy his ego. We'll see.”

Two weeks passed, then Mike was instructed to bring Joe to a meeting. It was being held in a building on North Broad Street, Philadelphia, in an office that had no name but only a room number on the door. A girl sat reading a magazine at a desk in the outer office, and she nodded in greeting to Mike and Joe, who proceeded to a larger room which was furnished like a board-meeting room. There were eight men present, one of them the former senator whom Joe had interviewed in Washington. There were numerous paper items and ash trays and water carafes on the table, and it was apparent from the ash trays that the meeting had been in progress for a considerable time. The men remained seated.

“Gentlemen, this is my friend Joe Chapin. Joe, I think you know almost everybody here.”

“I think so,” said Joe.

The well-tailored man who seemed to be chairman spoke up before there could be any further delays for the exchange of courtesies. “Mr. Chapin, if you'll have a seat?” He indicated a chair facing his own and halfway around the table.

“Thank you.”

“Mike, if you'd like to sit next to Mr. Chapin,” said the chairman. “I think we're ready to begin. Mr. Chapin, the party is genuinely and deeply appreciative of your assistance in all matters, and by no means the least of them, of course, your very generous monetary assistance, which I can assure you was needed and timely, and we wish there were many, many more Republicans like you. I will say to you here, and not for repetition—nothing said here is to be repeated, please—that in this room we are all realists. We don't kid ourselves, we don't kid each other. We try to be polite, but sometimes we even fall short of that. But as I say, we are realists, all of us, and the plain, stark, unvarnished truth is that I don't exaggerate when I tell you that the party is in for the toughest battle in its history, not even excepting the days of Woodrow Wilson, which I'm sure you remember. Wilson was elected President of the United States, but his party didn't carry Pennsylvania. We haven't had a Democrat for governor since I believe
1890
. Pattison. And even he was an accident, due to splitting of the ticket by a group that called themselves the Prohibition party. If we had had those Prohibition party votes, which rightfully belonged to us, we'd have beaten Mr. Pattison, but he won because something like
16
,
000
voters defected. And defected is the word.

“Now then, you may wonder why I dwell on something that happened nearly fifty years ago. I do so, because—again, I remind you, we are realists here—I do so because this is going to be a close election, closer than you'll get any of us to admit in public. I have here the latest figures on Relief. Or, as the British more honestly call it, the Dole. They are startling, but you are probably familiar with them yourself. What they represent to us, and to the party, is potential Pattisons.
We could lose this election
, Mr. Chapin. The people have their beer again, but the President is also giving them cash. Some people will tell you that we are being taxed out of existence, but though I happen personally not to believe that, I do subscribe to the theory that our
party
is being taxed out of existence by the very money we pay in taxes. It isn't a pretty thought, but I believe it's a true one.

“Now then, I mean it literally when I tell you that we cannot afford to lose a single vote. Votes that we used to be able to count on are now being taken away from us by the President and his dole. We can't hope to compete with the Federal government in handing out money, notwithstanding a few contributions like yours. All we can hope for, Mr. Chapin, is to hold on to every vote we've ever had in the past, and possibly, just possibly, attract a few voters who can look past the cash the President offers, and see which direction he is taking us. In order to attract any voters and to hold on to those we've had, we must put up the strongest ticket the party can supply.

“Mr. Chapin, the party needs you and men of your caliber. But this year we can't afford to gamble on a man who is not a proven vote-getter. I'm afraid it's as coldly simple as that, and knowing you to be a man of principle as well as a loyal Republican, I, speaking for myself and for the other men at this table, am going to ask you to withdraw as a potential candidate for lieutenant governor.

“I am not going to ask you to give us your answer here and now. You can let us know through our friend Mike Slattery in, say, a week from now. We meet here nearly every day, and Mike can let us know when you've made your decision. In the meantime perhaps you might like to say a few words to this meeting. The floor is yours.”

Joe got up from his chair, which, since the chairman had remained seated, led the other men to believe he was about to make a speech. They frowned slightly, but they looked at him and settled back in their chairs. Then he looked at each man individually, slowly making the circle of the table and at last coming to Mike. He then faced the chairman and said: “Gentlemen, I withdraw.”

He then quickly walked out of the room, leaving them with their astonishment.

He went to a cheap hotel and registered as Joseph B. Champion, City. “Do you have any luggage, Mr. Champion?”

“No, I'll pay in advance. Three days.”

“Be twelve dollars in advance. The boy'll show you your room. Boy, front.”

He followed the bellboy into the elevator, which the boy operated, and down the hall to an inside room. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Not quite,” said Joe. “I want you to get me two bottles of Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch.”

“I can't leave the building till my relief gets here, but I can get you a bottle of other Scotch, eight dollars a bottle.”

“All right, bring that.”

“It's good Scotch, but it just ain't Johnny Walker Black. I keep a bottle for late at night and people come in and want Scotch, I always have a bottle or two.”

“Well, if you have two, bring both. Here's twenty dollars.”

“Meaning I keep the change?”

“If you have two bottles of good Scotch, yes.”

“I'll be right back.”

He was back in five minutes with two bottles, one different from the other, but both Scotch. “I brought you some ice, in case you wanted ice.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Not a thing, thank you.”

For two days Joe stayed drunk in the dismal room. On the third day the telephone rang and he answered it. “I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you for your room, Mr. Champion. Your three days are up today.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

He had the boy bring him shaving supplies. He took a bath, dressed and went to the Union League and had some eggs and coffee and a few drinks, and then he took the
4
:
35
for Gibbsville.

 • • • 

The
4
:
35
was a train that got the well-to-do home in time for dinner and the less well-off home late for supper. The Gibbsville station was only three blocks from
10
North Frederick Street, and Joe Chapin always walked.

Edith was reading the
Standard
when he appeared in the den. She looked up at him, then looked back at her newspaper.

“I've been quietly getting drunk,” he said.

“Do you want me to hold dinner, or do you want to talk now?”

“Are you hungry? If not, let's wait.”

“I'm not very hungry,” she said. She rang for Mary and told her there would be an hour's delay. During this time Joe made himself a Scotch-and-soda, then sat in his favorite leather chair.

“Mike Slattery's been trying to get you. He called a couple of times today. Yesterday. The day before.”

“A touching concern. What did you tell him?”

“Well, I only spoke to him once, the day before yesterday. I told him you were expected home that evening. After that I had Mary or Marian take the calls. He left word to have you call him when you got home.”

“I went to a hotel and got drunk.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes. Oh, did I have a woman with me? No. I never thought of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Or you would have,” said Edith.

“No, I don't think so, Edith,” said Joe. “The way I was feeling, I wanted to be alone, not even with myself. That's why I got drunk. The tender ministrations of a whore were the last thing I wanted.”

“No, the tender ministrations of your wife. You apparently never thought we might be worried about you here. I did telephone the Bellevue, but of course you weren't registered. I thought of calling the police, to check the hospitals in case your leg was hurt again, but then I decided you'd be identified if you got in an accident.”

“It was very inconsiderate of me.”

“Very,” said Edith.

“It was wanting to be alone. I remember one time you were cross with me, oh, long ago. We'd been to the Vineyard, and we were going to spend the night at the Bellevue. I think I had an appointment to meet somebody, and whoever it was broke it, and I wanted to go home. But you had some shopping to do, so you stayed in Philadelphia and I came home. Do you remember that?”

“I remember it very well.”

“Well, you wanted to be by yourself that time, and this time I wanted to be by myself.”

“Yes, but you knew where I was. For three days I haven't known where you were or who you were with. I still don't know, but I suppose you're going to tell me.”

“Yes.”

“If you want to,” she added.

“There's nothing to hide, Edith. Nothing to be ashamed of except my lack of consideration for you, and my own real, deep, congenital stupidity. It's a hell of a come-down at my age to suddenly realize that all your life, at least all your mature life, you've been hoping for something that you had no more right to hope for than . . . Like picking an apple off a bowl of fruit. Or a paper off a newsstand. Drop a few pennies on the pile of newspapers, and walk away with the paper you want. That's really how simple I thought it would be, if I ever thought at all. At fifty-two I still went on thinking that because I wanted something, I could get it. I deceived myself so completely that I even deceived you. My ambition, I can't even put it into words, it's so absurd. Only three days ago I was still thinking that . . . Oh, what a fool! It's cost me a hundred thousand dollars, but that isn't punishment enough for being so stupid. It's no punishment at all, really, because I won't miss it. Dave Harrison has the word for people like me. A chump. Well, all this isn't telling you anything. I'll tell you exactly what happened. Mike Slattery and I, as you know, took the eight-thirty-five, and after we got to Philadelphia we went to an office building on North Broad Street. . . .”

He told Edith every detail that he could recall. At the end she said: “Is that all you said?”

“That was all. I think they expected me to make a stirring appeal to their I don't-know-what. I'm sure they expected me to make a little speech. But long before that I was ready to go. I knew it was all over. What else was there to say? Eight important men, nine with Mike Slattery, were watching me to see how I was going to react to being told that I was a useless chump. Well, what
is
there to say? I couldn't graciously tell them, ‘Gentlemen, I know I'm a chump.' They knew that better than I did. They'd known it for a long time. What do you do after you've been given the coup de grâce? I've never seen it, but I suppose you shudder a little and die.”

She looked at him before speaking. “You haven't lost.”

“I haven't lost? Edith, what do you mean I haven't lost? I've wasted dear knows how many years, how many miles of travel, a hundred thousand dollars—and my conceit.”

“Those things, yes. But you still haven't lost an election.”

“Small comfort, that. I never lost the Harvard game, either. But I never played. Never made the team. Never sat on the bench.”

“They'll offer you something, if only because you gave them all that money. Aren't you going to accept?”