People used to wonder in the winters of 187-and 187-, where the “Specials” got that remarkable information with which they every morning surprised the country, revealing the most secret intentions of the President and his cabinet, the private thoughts of political leaders, the hidden meaning of every movement. This information was furnished by Col. Sellers.
When he was asked, afterwards, about the stolen copy of the Alabama Treaty which got into the “New York Tribune,” he only looked mysterious, and said that neither he nor Senator Dilworthy knew anything about it. But those whom he was in the habit of meeting occasionally felt almost certain that he did know.
It must not be supposed that the Colonel in his general patriotic labors neglected his own affairs. The Columbus River Navigation Scheme absorbed only a part of his time, so he was enabled to throw quite a strong reserve force of energy into the Tennessee Land plan, a vast enterprise commensurate with his abilities, and in the prosecution of which he was greatly aided by Mr. Henry Brierly, who was buzzing about the capitol and the hotels day and night, and making capital for it in some mysterious way.
“We must create a public opinion,” said Senator Dilworthy. “My only interest in it is a public one, and if the country wants the institution, Congress will have to yield.”
It may have been after a conversation between the Colonel and Senator Dilworthy that the following special despatch was sent to a New York newspaper:
“We understand that a philanthropic plan is on foot in relation to the colored race that will, if successful, revolutionize the whole character of southern industry. An experimental institution is in contemplation in Tennessee which will do for that state what the Industrial School at Zurich did for Switzerland. We learn that approaches have been made to the heirs of the late Hon. Silas Hawkins of Missouri, in reference to a lease of a portion of their valuable property in East Tennessee. Senator Dilworthy, it is understood, is inflexibly opposed to any arrangement that will not give the government absolute control. Private interests must give way to the public good. It is to be hoped that Col. Sellers, who represents the heirs, will be led to see the matter in this light.”
When Washington Hawkins read this despatch, he went to the Colonel in some anxiety. He was for a lease, he didn’t want to surrender anything. What did he think the government would offer? Two millions?
“May be three, may be four,” said the Colonel, “it’s worth more than the bank of England.”
“If they will not lease,” said Washington, “let ‘em make it two millions for an undivided half. I’m not going to throw it away, not the whole of it.”
Harry told the Colonel that they must drive the thing through, he couldn’t be dallying round Washington when Spring opened. Phil wanted him, Phil had a great thing on hand up in Pennsylvania.
“What is that?” inquired the Colonel, always ready to interest himself in anything large.
“A mountain of coal; that’s all. He’s going to run a tunnel into it in the Spring.”
“Does he want any capital?”, asked the Colonel, in the tone of a man who is given to calculating carefully before he makes an investment.
“No. Old man Bolton’s behind him. He has capital, but I judged that he wanted my experience in starting.”
“If he wants me, tell him I’ll come, after Congress adjourns. I should like to give him a little lift. He lacks enterprise — now, about that Columbus River. He doesn’t see his chances. But he’s a good fellow, and you can tell him that Sellers won’t go back on him.”
“By the way,” asked Harry, “who is that rather handsome party that’s hanging ‘round Laura? I see him with her everywhere, at the Capitol, in the horse cars, and he comes to Dilworthy’s. If he weren’t lame, I should think he was going to run off with her.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Laura knows her business. He has a cotton claim. Used to be at Hawkeye during the war.
“Selby’s his name, was a Colonel. Got a wife and family. Very respectable people, the Selby’s.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Harry, “if it’s business. But if a woman looked at me as I’ve seen her at Selby, I should understand it. And it’s talked about, I can tell you.”
Jealousy had no doubt sharpened this young gentleman’s observation. Laura could not have treated him with more lofty condescension if she had been the Queen of Sheba, on a royal visit to the great republic. And he resented it, and was “huffy” when he was with her, and ran her errands, and brought her gossip, and bragged of his intimacy with the lovely creature among the fellows at Newspaper Row.
Laura’s life was rushing on now in the full stream of intrigue and fashionable dissipation. She was conspicuous at the balls of the fastest set, and was suspected of being present at those doubtful suppers that began late and ended early. If Senator Dilworthy remonstrated about appearances, she had a way of silencing him. Perhaps she had some hold on him, perhaps she was necessary to his plan for ameliorating the condition of the colored race.
She saw Col. Selby, when the public knew and when it did not know. She would see him, whatever excuses he made, and however he avoided her. She was urged on by a fever of love and hatred and jealousy, which alternately possessed her. Sometimes she petted him, and coaxed him and tried all her fascinations. And again she threatened him and reproached him. What was he doing? Why had he taken no steps to free himself? Why didn’t he send his wife home? She should have money soon. They could go to Europe — anywhere. What did she care for talk?
And he promised, and lied, and invented fresh excuses for delay, like a cowardly gambler and roue as he was, fearing to break with her, and half the time unwilling to give her up.
“That woman doesn’t know what fear is,” he said to himself, “and she watches me like a hawk.”
He told his wife that this woman was a lobbyist, whom he had to tolerate and use in getting through his claims, and that he should pay her and have done with her, when he succeeded.
CHAPTER XLI.
Henry Brierly was at the Dilworthy’s constantly and on such terms of intimacy that he came and went without question. The Senator was not an inhospitable man, he liked to have guests in his house, and Harry’s gay humor and rattling way entertained him; for even the most devout men and busy statesmen must have hours of relaxation.
Harry himself believed that he was of great service in the University business, and that the success of the scheme depended upon him to a great degree. He spent many hours in talking it over with the Senator after dinner. He went so far as to consider whether it would be worth his while to take the professorship of civil engineering in the new institution.
But it was not the Senator’s society nor his dinners — at which this scapegrace remarked that there was too much grace and too little wine — which attracted him to the house. The fact was the poor fellow hung around there day after day for the chance of seeing Laura for five minutes at a time. For her presence at dinner he would endure the long bore of the Senator’s talk afterwards, while Laura was off at some assembly, or excused herself on the plea of fatigue. Now and then he accompanied her to some reception, and rarely, on off nights, he was blessed with her company in the parlor, when he sang, and was chatty and