For a moment more Mr. Flood stared through his bulging eyes at the boy who had just spoken to him, with an air of comical and stupid surprise. Then amiably, but with a puzzled undertone, he said gruffly:
“Hello. Oh, hello, son! How are you?”
And after looking at the boy a moment longer, he turned his attention to the other men again.
It was at just that season of the year when two events which are dear to the speculations of the American had absorbed the public interest. These events were baseball and politics, and at that moment both were thrillingly imminent. The annual baseball contests for “the championship of the world” were to begin within another day or two, and the national campaign for the election of the American president, which would be held in another month, was moving daily to its furious apogee of speeches, accusations, dire predictions, and impassioned promises. Both events gave the average American a thrill of pleasurable anticipation: his approach to both was essentially the same. It was the desire of a man to see a good show, to “take sides” vigorously in an exciting contest — to be amused, involved as an interested spectator is involved, but not to be too deeply troubled or concerned by the result.
It was just natural, therefore, that at the moment when the boy entered the smoking compartment of the train, the conversation of the men assembled there should be chiefly concerned with these twin sports. As he came in, there was a hum of voices, a sound of argument, and then he could see the hearty red-faced man — the politician — shaking his head dubiously and heard him say, with a protesting laugh:
“Ah-h, I don’t know about that. From what I hear it’s just the other way. I was talking to a man from Tennessee the other day, and from what he says, Cox is gaining everywhere. He said that a month ago he wouldn’t have given two cents for his chances, but now he thinks he’s going to carry the State.”
“It’s going to be close,” another conceded. “He may win yet — but it looks to me as if he’s got a hard uphill fight on his hands. Tennessee always polls a big Republican vote — in some of those mountain districts they vote two to one Republican — and this year it looks as if they’re all set for a change. . . . What do you think about it, Emmet?” he said, appealing to the small, swarthy and important-looking little man, who sat there, swinging his short little legs and chewing on a fat cigar with an air of wise reflection.
“Well,” that person answered slowly after a thoughtful moment, taking his cigar in his pudgy fingers and looking at it studiously — “it may be-it may be-that the country’s ready for a change — now don’t misunderstand me,” he went on hastily, as if eager to set their perturbed minds at rest —“I’m not saying that I want to see Harding elected — that I’m going to cast my vote for him — as you know, I’m a party man and have voted the Democratic ticket ever since I came of age — but,” again he paused, frowned importantly at his cigar, and spoke with careful deliberation —“it may just be that we are due for a change this year — that the country is ready for it — that we need it. . . . Now, I supported Wilson twice, in 1912, when he got elected to his first term of office, and again in 1916 —”
“The time he kept us out of war,” some one said ironically.
“And,” the little man said deliberately —“if he was running again — if he was well enough to run — if he wanted a third term —(although I’m against the third term in principle),” he amended hastily again —“why, I believe I’d go ahead and vote for him. That’s how much I think of him. But,” again he paused, and meditated his chewed cigar profoundly —“it may be we’re due now for a change. Wilson was a great president — in my opinion, the greatest man we’ve had since Lincoln — I don’t believe any other man could have done the job he did as well as he — BUT,” the word came out impressively, “the job is done! The war is over —”
“Yes, thank God!” some one murmured softly but fervently.
“The people want to forget about the war — they want to forget all their sacrifices and suffering —” said this little man who had sacrificed and suffered nothing —“they are looking forward to better times. . . . And in my opinion,” he spoke again with his air of slow deliberation, important carefulness —“in my opinion, better times are before us. I think that after this election we are going to witness one of the greatest periods of national development and expansion that the world has ever known. . . . Why, we haven’t begun yet! We haven’t even started!” he cried suddenly, with a note of passionate conviction in his voice —“Do you realize that this country is only a little more than a hundred years old? Why, we haven’t even begun to show what we can do yet! We’ve spent all that time in getting started — in building cities — settling the country — building railroads and factories — developing the means of production — making the tools with which to work. . . . The resources of this country are scarcely tapped as yet. And in my opinion we are on the eve of the greatest period of prosperity and growth the world has ever known. . . . Look at Altamont, for example,” he went on cogently. “Ten years ago, in 1910, the census gave us a population of 18,000. . . . Now, we have thirty, according to government figures, and that doesn’t begin to take the whole thing in: it doesn’t take in Biltburn, Lunn’s Cove, Beaver Hills, Sunset Parkway — a dozen other places I can mention, all really part of the town but not included in the census figures. . . . If all the suburbs were included we’d have a population of at least 40,000 inhabitants —”
“I’d call it nearer fifty,” said another patriot.
“And within another ten years we’ll go to seventy-five, perhaps a hundred. . . . Why, that town hasn’t begun to grow yet!” he said, bending his short body forward in his enthusiasm and tapping his fat knee —“It has been less than eight years since we established the Citizen’s Bank and Trust Company with a capital of $25,000 and capital stock at $100 a share. . . . Now,” he paused a moment, and looked around him, his swarthy face packed with strong conviction — “NOW, we have a capital of $2,000,000 — deposits totalling more than $18,000,000 — and as for the stock —” for a moment the little man’s swarthy face was touched with a faint complacent smile, he said smugly, “I don’t know exactly how much stock you gentlemen may hold among you, but if any of you wants to sell what he has, I will pay you $1000 a share — here and now,” he slapped a fat small hand down upon a fat small knee —“here and now! for every share you own.”
And he looked at them steadily for a moment with an air of challenge.
“Not for mine!” the florid heavy man cried heartily. “No, sir! I’ve only got ten shares, Emmet, but you can’t buy it from me at any price! I won’t sell!”
And the swarthy little man, pleased by the answer, smiled complacently about him before he spoke again.
“Yes, sir!” he said. “That’s the way it is. And the thing that’s begun to happen at home already is going to happen everywhere — all over the country. From now on you’re going to see a period of rising prices and high wages — increased production, a boom in real estate, stocks, investments, business of all kinds — rising values everywhere such as you never saw before and never hoped to see.”
“And where is it going to stop?”
“Stop!” the swarthy little man spoke almost curtly, and then barked, “It’s not going to stop! Not during OUR lifetime, anyway! I tell you, man, we’re just beginning! How can there be any talk of stopping when we haven’t STARTED yet? . . . There’s been nothing like it before,” he cried with passionate earnestness — “nothing to match it in the history of the world. We’ve had wars, booms, good times, hard times, slumps, periods of prosperity — but, I tell you, gentlemen!” and here he smote himself sharply on the knee and his voice rose with the strength of an unshakable conviction —“this thing is different! We have reached a stage in our development that no other country in the world has ever known —