He reached out and laid his hand paternally on Mr. Munn’s shoulder. Then, as though embarrassed at betraying his own feelings, he removed it.

  Chapter five

  ALL the elements that were to combine in a more violent chemistry had been present, it later seemed upon looking back, that Christmas at the Senator’s house. None was lacking, but their combination at that time appeared so natural, so calm, so innocent, so stable, that only the slow attrition of time might be believed to threaten it. If Mr. Munn, remembering the occasion of his speech at the first rally and looking about the pleasant, firelit room, had been struck for a moment with the force of accident and change and the thought of the solitariness of the snowy night outside, it had been only for a moment. Later, he was to curse his blindness, his stupidity, and his vanity. The signs of the future had been there in all his experiences of that time, but he had lacked the key, the clue to the code, and had seen only the ignorant surface. Or those events of the future had appeared at that time like icebergs which are seen riding on the blue and placid horizon, patches of white cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, which, with seven eighths of their enormous, steel-hard, ram-like bulk submerged, may be moving unpredictably toward a fatal conjunction. And more than once or twice, in a moment of self-accusation or in the grip of an impersonal fatalism, such as the loser feels when the cards of the last hand begin to fall under the glaring, green- shaded light, he was to demand of himself: If I couldn’t know myself, how could I know any of the rest of them? Or anything? Certainly he had not known himself, he would decide; if indeed the self of that time could claim any continuator in the self that was to look backward and speculate, and torture the question. Then, thinking that the self he remembered, and perhaps remembered but imperfectly, and the later self were nothing more than superimposed exposures on the same film of a camera, he felt that all of his actions had been as unaimed and meaningless as the blows of a blind man who strikes out at the undefined sounds which penetrate his private darkness.

  Certainly, he was to decide, he had not known Senator Tolliver. He had not sensed for a moment the desperation that lurked beneath his urbanity, his gestures of consideration and kindness, the assured and commanding glance of his gray eyes. And, not knowing, he had been the dupe in the game which the Senator was playing with the cunning of his long experience of men and their weaknesses and with the desperation of his own immediate need. When the game had been begun, Mr. Munn could never guess. Perhaps the Senator had started in the fullest sincerity; or had started one game only to find himself involved in another, not the will then but the hand, not the hand but the instrument. That did not matter, Mr. Munn was to tell himself bitterly — the question of intention — for the Senator was one of those men whose day-to-day behavior, whose most casual gesture or familiar word, was like the campaign of a good general in that it made him able to strike in this direction or that, at need. But, in any case, he himself had been the Senator’s dupe, his lackey-boy. He had been taken in. When the Senator said jump, he had jumped. And he had not been alone.

  In early spring the Alta Company, Dismukes and Brothers Tobacco Company, two smaller companies, the Morton and the Regal, and a group of independent buyers made offers within one week. The offers exhibited some variations, a fraction of a cent more for prime leaf in one than in another, a fraction less for seconds, but the more closely the offers were investigated, especially in the light of the poundages on which they were based, the more superficial the variations appeared. ‘I feel inclined to believe,’ Mr. Sills said when he presented the offers to the board, ‘that these offers represent an agreement among the concerns and individuals in question. I believe they got together on it and figured it out so the prices would work out about the same. Of course, that by itself doesn’t mean the offers oughtn’t to be accepted. That just occurred to me.’

  ‘It occurred to me a long time before you even started reading any offers,’ Mr. Christian muttered, as though to himself. He was lounging back in his chair, his booted legs stuck straight out under the table and his black felt on the green baize before him. Red-clay mud clung to his boots, for he had just ridden in from his place; and the hat made a dark ring of spreading moisture on the faded color of the baize. It was still raining, the water sluicing oilily down the gray panes of the windows that overlooked the alley back of the bank building.

  ‘Ten dollars a hundred,’ Mr. Peacham remarked meditatively. ‘I’ve sure God seen the time I wished I could get that for my leaf. Last year, now.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Mr. Christian said, ‘but this ain’t last year.’

  ‘Before the discussion starts ——’ Mr. Sills began.

  ‘What!’ Mr. Christian exclaimed with a ponderous sarcasm, ‘you mean there’s gonna be some discussion of that figure?’

  ‘Before the discussion starts, I might remind the gentlemen here that what would have been an advantageous price to a private grower in the past is not necessarily an advantageous price under the present circumstances. We’ve got a considerable investment in warehousing right now. There’s the interest on that investment to be considered. And the interest on sums outstanding as advances to growers whose condition made financial assistance imperative. And the costs of handling the tobacco. In calculating what would be a fair return to the individual grower we must take into consideration the Association demand to defray these necessary expenses. I can give you the precise amount’ — he began to shuffle through the stacks of papers before him, his colorless eyes peering through his spectacles — ‘that should be called for per thousand pounds. And as you gentlemen know, you have to add to that amount the percentage on the gross price for the Association sinking fund.’ He continued to shuffle the papers, very deliberately and with his lips moving as though he were reading to himself, and his eyes blinking slowly behind his spectacles.

  ‘We’ve got those figures down to rock bottom,’ Mr. Peacham said. ‘I know that all right. But I wish we could shave off a little more, some way. The antis are always saying the whole principle just isn’t economic. Now take that editorial last week in the Messenger. They say we run the price of tobacco up by tacking on a lot of items and the farmer never sees that money. And that we hurt business and hurt the community.’

  ‘All those arguments have been satisfactorily answered, I believe.’ It was Senator Tolliver talking. He was holding an unlit cigar in his hand, rolling it delicately between his fingers. ‘In the papers and on the platforms. We know it is an economically justifiable method. And all reasonable men whose interest hasn’t blinded them ——’

  ‘Such a calf ain’t been dropped yet,’ Mr. Christian said.

  ‘— they all see that. Even the companies themselves will probably come to accept the situation with good grace. They will save a good deal of money by being able to deal directly with a responsible organization such as the Association. It will no longer be necessary for them to run from one individual grower to another. In the end they will save more than the Association expense and per cent. They will come to see the advantages, I am sure.’ He kept rolling the cigar, slowly and delicately, between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. Now and then as he spoke — and he spoke with a slight air of constraint, of abstraction — he would glance at the pile of documents in front of Mr. Sills. Mr. Sills had, apparently, found his paper now, for he coughed sharply and catarrhally.

  ‘And I am sure,’ the Senator continued, ‘they will bow to the inevitable and accept the position of the Association. I interpret these offers as a token of a new, a more reasonable attitude toward our organization.’

  ‘I’ve located the figures on Association costs,’ Mr. Sills said, and coughed again, dryly, matter-of-factly, this time. ‘Based on the thousand pounds. Of course, next year, if we increase the poundage in the Association warehouses, we automatically reduce the costs per thousand pounds. But they are not exorbitant now. I just thought I’d go over these figures another time before we discussed the new offers.’ Mr. Sills coughed once more, now apologetically.

  In his dry, monotonous voice, Mr. Sills was reading his list of figures.

  Even after the offers had been read, and the chairman had asked for an expression of sentiment, Mr. Munn did not sense a fundamental difference between this meeting and meetings of the past; or even when the Senator, after Mr. Christian had slammed the table and said ‘Hell, no,’ and the others had indecisively dropped into silence, began to speak in a calm, restrained voice, the very falling cadences of which carried an impression of tolerance and finality. He had, he said, foreseen this moment, and had tried to prepare his mind for it, the moment when they would discover a division of policy in the board. But that would not impair their harmony of purpose, he was sure. He said that the time had come to sell, that now was the time to forget the past and to think of the future. They had won a victory. No one could deny that. And next year a greater victory. And to reach an agreement with the companies would do much to relieve the tension which had resulted in those irresponsible acts of violence in Hunter County which had so embarrassed the Association. He felt it his duty, as a citizen and as a member of the Association board, to vote for an immediate acceptance of the several offers.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ Mr. Peacham said, breaking in almost before Senator Tolliver had ceased, ‘and that’s the fact that we’ve got to sell soon, anyway. If we are left with any substantial amount of this season’s crop in the warehouses, we’re ruined, and no doubt about that. We know we’re close to the edge now. We can’t borrow much more for carrying. We’ve got to get money for our people. That means selling. I’ve been thinking about this ——’

  ‘Wait!’ Mr. Christian pushed his chair back a little with a rasping sound. ‘I’ll sink five thousand personally in a holding fund. Till we get every God-damned penny on our published price schedule. I can raise that much, and I’ll turn that in on a note of hand to the treasurer, and not a note for ninety days, either, but till the tobacco’s sold. I reckon there’s others can do the same thing, all right. Here in this room, and other members of the Association. And on these pissy-ant offers’ — he lowered his head a little, his neck reddening and thickened with the motion, and swung his glance around the table — ‘I’ll vote no.’

  Then the clamor of voices broke out suddenly, and the voice of Mr. Morse, the chairman, saying, ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!’

  In the end it was voted to reject the offers. Mr. Munn voted for acceptance, with the Senator, Mr. Peacham, Mr. Burden, and Mr. Dicey Short. The chairman broke the tie, going to rejection. In the gray light from the rain-sluicing windows, the Senator’s face appeared gray, too, and when Mr. Morse cast his deciding vote, the face seemed suddenly loose, as though the inner structure had failed that kept the lips so firmly together and maintained the fine arch of the cheek. He stopped rolling the long, pale cigar between his fingers and laid it on the green baize before him. His motion was very deliberate. The covering leaf of the cigar was frayed and cracked now. It wouldn’t be any good.

  Just as the meeting was breaking up, when some of the men were already moving toward the door, Mr. Christian said: ‘Hey! wait a minute. I just want to say, any time you start raising subscription money to tide the Association over, that five thousand is still good. At least,’ he added, grinning heavily, and pointing toward the floor, ‘if those bastards downstairs there in the bank will give me another mortgage on my place.’

  No one made any answer to Mr. Christian’s words.

  Standing near the door, Mr. Munn watched the Senator detach himself from the group of men who remained and start to leave. The Senator looked more like himself now, but still grayish and strained, as though from loss of sleep. As he turned to go, Mr. Christian barred his way. With the back of his hand, Mr. Christian tapped him solidly on the chest, and said, ‘Well, Ed, no hard feelings, huh?’

  ‘No, Bill,’ the Senator answered.

  Mr. Christian took a sharp look at his face. ‘Fine,’ he said, and stepped aside.

  The Senator walked slowly to the door. He hesitated a moment beside Mr. Munn, and then reached out to touch him on the shoulder. ‘Well, boy,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we did the best we could.’ Without waiting for a reply, he passed quickly out of the door and down the dark stairs.

  At the next meeting Senator Tolliver did not appear. The last members to enter the long, dingy room looked inquiringly at the Senator’s accustomed chair, empty now, and then at the faces of the men already assembled. ‘I reckon he’s late this morning,’ Mr. Dicey Short remarked.

  Mr. Sills had been staring at a long beam of sunlight that fell athwart the floor beside the table. The motes that flickered brightly in it had held all his attention, apparently; but at Mr. Dicey Short’s remark he turned slowly to the group, readjusted his spectacles, through which his colorless eyes peered distantly, and said: ‘No, not late. Not coming is my guess.’

  ‘Not coming?’ Captain Todd demanded with a sudden and unaccustomed sharpness.

  ‘Not now, and not later,’ Mr. Sills replied, and fumbled in his coat pocket to produce a long envelope, ‘if this is what I think it is.’ He turned it carefully in his hands, while every man there leaned forward a little, except Captain Todd, and fixed his eyes upon the object. ‘I got it this morning,’ Mr. Sills said. ‘Not in the mail. A nigger man was standing down here at the door of the bank, and he gave it to me when I came in. The envelope says it’s to be opened at the meeting this morning.’ The small sound of the tearing of the paper began, and was finished; then Mr. Sills coughed once, lightly and inwardly, while he glanced at the enclosed sheet.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s it.’ And he began to read in his flat, toneless voice, stopping once or twice to clear his throat and to press his spectacles more precisely into place on the bridge of his thin, putty-colored nose:

  Members of the Board of Directors, The Association of Growers of Dark Fired Tobacco — and he coughed.

  Gentlemen: The conviction has been forcibly borne in upon me that my views concerning the policy of the Association are not in harmony with those of the majority of the members of the Board of Directors, even though it is my firm belief that the policy I have supported is the one of reason and peace and would be endorsed by an overwhelming majority of the actual members of the Association itself. Therefore, under these circumstances, I feel that it is my sad duty to resign from the Board of Directors of the Association of Growers of Dark Fired Tobacco, although it is with the deepest regret that I sever my connection with the esteemed gentlemen with whom it has been my privilege and honor to serve.

  Very respectfully,

  EDMUND TOLLIVER

  Mr. Sills finished the reading, folded the sheet with a precise motion of his fingers, laid it on the table before him, and, as though to abjure responsibility, turned his head to resume his inspection of the drifting motes in the ray of sunlight. There was absolute silence in the room for some fifteen seconds. Then Mr. Christian, half-rising from his chair, leaned forward across the table and thrust out his hand toward Mr. Sills and commanded, ‘Lemme see that letter.’

  Mr. Sills swung his expressionless face toward Mr. Christian, then handed him the letter. Mr. Christian spread out the sheet, crackling the paper. He stared at it, and his lips moved slowly as though he could read only with difficulty. The others watched him intently. Then he flung it on the table and remarked, with an abstracted and deliberate air, ‘Well, I’ll be God-damned.’

  The voices at the table rose clamorously.

  ‘What I can’t see is’ — and Mr. Christian swung about on his heel and glared at them all — ‘is why he got out. Unless it’s a rule or ruin proposition with him. But you can’t tell me’ — and he shook his great red fist indiscriminately at the table — ‘he just got his little feelings hurt. Not in harmony, my Blessed Redeemer! Don’t try to tell me they used to wash behind his ears and blow his little nose for him and give him his sugar-tit every morning up there in the Senate. Harmony, my God! And he never resigned from the Senate, nor anything else before — not him!’

  Captain Todd approached Mr. Christian, saying, ‘Now, man, be fair to the Senator. You can’t be sure ——’

  ‘Sure? Sure! My God!’

  ‘A man’s got to go his own gait, Bill. You know that. Let Tolliver. His lights ain’t your lights, nor my lights, but let him act according to his lights.’

  Mr. Christian was standing before him, his head still thrust out, the blood still beating in his neck, and his stare fixed on the Captain’s face. Slowly he nodded his head, saying: ‘All right, all right. His own gait.’ He walked back to his chair and sat down. While the others talked, he read the letter again, that same laborious intentness again on his face.

  ‘But it’s bad, and no doubt about it,’ the Captain was declaring, ‘coming at this time. The loss of his prestige will hurt. No doubt about it. And to select a new man to finish out his term. It’s a bad time. But it’s up to us.’

  Mr. Christian raised his eyes from the paper, and said somewhat restrainedly: ‘Listen to this, what he says: “. . . even though it is my firm belief that the policy I have supported is the one of reason and peace and would be endorsed by an overwhelming majority of the actual members of the Association itself.” ’ He let his glance move down the table, face by face, and come to rest at last upon Captain Todd. ‘Do you believe he’s right?’ he demanded.

  ‘If I did, I’d have supported him,’ the Captain replied quietly.

  ‘Do you think he thinks that is right?’