King Cole Read Free Page A

them on their honor, and then when they start murdering people and sticking up banks and burning down buildings and raping women, he’ll be so terribly hurt, and then he’ll blame it all on the Rich.”
    Read laughed. There was always a good deal of shrewd sense in Gregg’s exaggerations. It was true that Asa Fielding, Old Eagle Beak, was a hopeless visionary; Gregg had put the matter in a nutshell.
    “You should have been a cartoonist,” said Read.
    “I should have, yes. But I turned out to be a plain comic. Writing editorials for the Major. Is that your idea of a life work?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “I often wonder if anybody under fifty ever reads any of them.”
    Read laughed. Gregg was always the same; a prize beefer. He was number one man with Major Bradley. He did nothing but write editorials, usually of a political nature, which were printed simultaneously in the Major’s seven papers; and yet he had the title of Editor in Chief of the Bradley sheets and drew down what was considered in Ohio a good-sized salary: $15,000 a year. He claimed to be a frustrated great writer, and when he got drunk, which was frequently, he would bore everybody with his literary erudition, and call himself the embryo Balzac of the Midwest. He was tall and slightly stooped, with a shrewd, rather handsome, dark face. He looked both young and dissipated. He had served overseas in the same company with the Governor. He was a bachelor with—according to Midland City standards—very doubtful morals.
    They smoked in silence for a while, then Gregg said:
    “So you think you can outnose Eagle Beak in the home stretch, eh? That’s nice. And speaking of politics, did you notice that little honey checking coats?” Read hesitated, put on his poker-face. Looking up, he saw Major Bradley stalking across the dining room convoyed by the bowing headwaiter.
    “His Nibs,” said Read, then added: “Yes, I did notice her. New, isn’t she?”
    “If that’s the best you can do, you’re getting old. She floored me. Where did they find her? She’s got what it takes. Oh, hello, Major. Pull up a chair.” Major Bradley smiled condescendingly and sat down. He was immensely conscious of his vast importance. From his carefully polished tan shoes to his carefully clipped white businessman’s mustache he was perfect. His florid fat face was smooth as a baby’s and his pale blue eyes were clear and shining.
    “I ordered,” said Gregg.
    “Good,” said the Major, stroking his mustache. “Well, how are you, Governor?”
    “Never better, thanks.”
    “We’re in a pretty fix, all of us, aren’t we? We’ve sat around and let that old windbag steal the show. But who could ever take him seriously…?” The Major’s face got very red; he detested Eagle Beak. ”… except of course the down-and-outers. He is promising them the moon. They believe every word he says. We’re starting after him tomorrow. Has Gregg told you? We’ll make him a laughingstock if it’s physically possible. I hope we’re not too late.” Read shrugged and began to eat his soup.
    “I wouldn’t worry,” he said.
    The Major glanced at Gregg.
    “No?”
    “Read has tricks up his sleeve,” said Gregg.
    “Yes? Well, it’s time to produce them. Pardon my saying so, Governor: but I don’t think you made a very strong impression when you stumped the State. You talk too much sense. In politics what you need is nonsense. Am I right?”
    “You’re always right, Major,” said Gregg.
    The Major smiled; he quite agreed with Gregg. “We wouldn’t be in the fix we’re in if you were more of a demagogue, Governor. We need a rabble-rouser. Or rather a rabble-unrouser. Eagle Beak has got them all up in the air. If the farmers bolt, we’re done for. Eagle Beak will get in and then the fun will begin. But I’ll save my breath.”
    Over the dessert the Major said:
    “I suppose you’ve heard the rumors about the general