the vision spendid(美景)-第32部分
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the street； who remained there until morning reveling with him。 Attached
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to this were the affidavits of two detectives； a police officer； and the
druggist who had furnished the liquor。
The story exploded like a bomb shell in the camp of the progressives。
Rawson tried at once without success to get Jeff on the telephone。 He was
not at the office； nor had he reached his rooms at all after leaving the
_World_ building on the previous night。 None of his friends had seen or
heard of him。
The afternoon papers had a sensation of their own。 Jefferson Farnum
had left Verden secretly without leaving an address。 Evidently he had been
given a hint of the exposure that was to be made of his life and had
decamped rather than face the charges。
Rumor had a hundred tales to tell。 The waverers at the State House
chose to believe that Jeff had sold them out and fled with his price。 It was
impossible to deny the stories of his immorality； since it happened that
Sam Miller； the only man who knew the whole story； was far up in the
mountains arranging for a shipment of Rocky Mountain sheep to the state
museum。 Farnum's friends could only affirm their faith in him or surrender。
Some gave way； some stood firm。 The lobbyists and the opposition went
about with confident； 〃I…told…you…so〃 smiles writ large on their faces。
Within a few days it became apparent that the reform bill would be
defeated in the senate。 Its fate had been so long tied up with the people's
belief in Jeff that with his collapse the general opinion condemned it to
defeat。 Its friends hung back； unwilling to risk a vote as yet。
The situation called for a leader and developed one。 James Farnum
stepped into the breach and took command。 In a ringing speech he called
for a new alignment。 He would yield to none in the devotion he had given
to House Bill Number 33。 But it needed no prophet to see that now this
amendment was doomed。 Better half a loaf than no bread。 He was a
practical man and wanted to see practical results。 Rather than see the will
of the people frustrated he felt that House Bill I7 should be passed。 While
not an ideal bill it was far better than none。 The principle of direct
legislation at least would be established。
H。 B。 No。 I7 was brought hurriedly out of committee。 It had been
introduced as a substitute measure to defeat the real reform。 According to
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its provision legislation could be initiated by the people； but to make it
valid as a law the legislature had to approve any bill so passed。 The people
could advise。 They could not compel。
The speech of the speaker of the House precipitated a bitter fight。 The
more eager friends of H。 B。 No。 33 accused him of treachery； but many felt
that it was the best possible practical politics under the circumstances。 For
weeks the issue hung in doubt； but gradually James gathered adherents
among both progressives and conservatives。 It became almost a foregone
conclusion that H。 B。 No。 I7 would pass。
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CHAPTER 15
〃Old Capting Pink of the Peppermint； Though kindly at heart and good；
Had a blunt； bluff way of a…gittin' 'is say That we all of us understood。
When he brained a man with a pingle spike Or plastered a seaman flat；
We should 'a' been blowed but we all of us knowed That he didn't mean
nothin' by that。
I was wonderful fond of old Capting Pink； And Pink he was fond o' me；
As he frequently said when he battered me head Or sousled me into the
sea。〃 Wallace Irwin。
BULLY GREEN PRESERVES DISCIPLINE AND THE REBEL
LEARNS TO SAY 〃SIR〃
PART 1
On the night of the twenty…second of December Jeff left the _World_
building and moved down Powers Avenue to the all night restaurant he
usually frequented。 The man who was both cook and waiter remembered
afterwards that Farnum called for coffee； sausage； and a waffle。
Before the editor left the waffle house it was the morning of the
twenty…third。 He had never felt less sleepy。 Nor did a book and a pipe
before his gas log seem quite what he wanted。 The vagabond streak in him
was awake； the same potent wanderlust that as a boy had driven him to the
solitude of the forests and the hills。 This morning it sent him questing
down Powers Avenue to that lower town where the derelicts of the city
floated without a rudder。
A cold damp mist had crept up from the water front and enwrapped the
city so that its lights showed like blurred moons。 Some instinct took him
toward the wharves。 He could hear the distant cough of a tug as it fussed
across the bay； and as he drew near the big Transcontinental wharves of
Joe Powers the black hulk of a Japanese liner rose black out of the gray
fog shadow。 But the freighters； the coasters； tramps that went hither and
thither over the earth wherever fat cargoes lured themthey were either
swallowed in the mist or shadowed to a ghost…like wraith of themselves so
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tenuous that all detail was lost in the haze。
Jeff leaned on a pile and let his imagination people the harbor with the
wandering children of the earth who had been drawn from all its seafaring
corners to this Mecca of trade。 He knew that here were swarthy little
Japanese with teas and silks； dusky Kanakas with copra； and Alaskan
liners carrying gold and returning miners。 There would be brigs from
Buenos Ayres and schooners that had nosed into Robert Louis Stevenson's
magic South Sea islands。 Puffy London steamers； Nome and Skagway
liners condemned long since on the Atlantic Coast； queer rigged hybrids
from Rio and other South American ports； were gorging themselves with
lumber or wheat or provisions according to their needs。 Here truly lay
before him the romance of the nations。
The sound of a stealthy footfall warned him of impending danger。 He
whirled； and faced three men who were advancing on him。 A vague
suspicion that had oppressed him more than once in the past week leaped
to definite conviction in his brain。 He was the victim of a plot to waylay
perhaps to murder him。 One of these men was a huge Swede； another a
swarthy Italian with rings in his ears。 He had seen them before； lurking in
the shadows of an alley outside the _World_ building。 Last night he had
come out from the office with Jenkins； which no doubt had saved him for
the time。 This morning he had played into the hands of these men； had
obligingly wandered down to the waterfront where they could so easily
conceal murder in a tide running out fast。
Strangely enough he felt no fear； rather a fierce exultant drumming of
the blood that braced him for the struggle。 His eyes swept the wharf for a
weapon and found none。
〃What do you want？〃 he demanded sharply。
The man in command ignored his question。 〃Stand by and down him。〃
The Italian crouched and leaped。 Jeff's fist caught him fairly between
the eyes。 He went down like a log； rolled over once and lay still。 The
others closed instantly with Farnum and the three swayed in a fierce silent
struggle。
Both of his attackers were more powerful than Jeff； but he was far
more active。 The darkness； too； aided him and hampered them。 The Swede
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he could have managed； for the fellow was awkward as a bear。 But the
leader stuck to him like a burr。 They went down together over a cleat in
the flooring； rolling over and over each other as they fought。
Somehow Jeff emerged out of the tangle。 He dragged himself to his
knees and hammered with his fist at an upturned face beside him。 Battered；
bleeding； and winded； he got to his feet and shook off the hands that
reached for him。 Dodging past； he lurched along the wharf like a drunken
man。 The Italian had gathered himself to his knees。 When Jeff came
opposite him he dived like a football tackle and threw his arms around the
moving legs。 The newspaper man crashed heavily down to
unconsciousness。
When Farnum opened his eyes upon a world strangely hazy he found
himself lying in a row boat； his head bolstered by a man's knees。
〃Drink this； mate；〃 ordered a voice that seemed very far away。
The neck of a bottle was thrust between his lips and tilted so that he
could not escape drinking。
〃That dope'll hold him for a while； Say； Johnny Dago； put your back
into them oar
