Most of his illusion was gone. As he had said so glibly to his father, there were good men and corrupt in the important situations in the world; to the good he would lend his strength, to the corrupt he would exhibit his embattled antipathy. He would be not one impotent person seeking to dominate, but the agent of uplift. He would be what he perceived life had meant him to be: an instrument. He could not be a leader, but he could create a leader.
Such was his intention; he had seen a new way to reform the world, and if his inspiration was clouded occasionally with doubt, he disavowed the doubts as a Christian disavows temptation. This was to be his magnificent gesture; he closed his eyes to the inferences made by his past.
He never thought of himself as pathetic or quixotic; his ability to measure up to external requirements was infinite; his disappointment lay always (he thought) in his spirit and his intelligence. He went to Washington: the world was pivoting there.
His first few weeks were dull. He installed himself in a pleasant house and hired two servants. The use to which he was putting his funds compensated for their origin. It was men like Shayne who would suffer from his mission. And such a man came into view before very long.
Hugo interested himself in politics and the appearance of politics. He read the Congressional Record, he talked with everyone he met, he went daily to the Capitol and listened to the amazing pattern of harangue from the lips of innumerable statesmen. In looking for a cause his eye fell naturally on the problem of disarmament. Hugo saw at once that it was a great cause and that it was bogged in the greed of individuals. It is not difficult to become politically partisan in the Capitol of any nation. It was patent to Hugo that disarmament meant a removal of the chance for war; Hugo hated war. He moved hither and thither, making friends, learning, entertaining, never exposing his plan—which his new friends thought to be lobbying for some impending legislation.
He picked out an individual readily enough. Some of the men he had come to know were in the Senate, others in the House of Representatives, others were diplomats, newspaper reporters, attachés. Each alliance had been cemented with care and purpose. His knowledge of an enemy came by whisperings, by hints, by plain statements.
Congressman Hatten, who argued so eloquently for laying down arms and picking up the cause of humanity, was a guest of Hugo’s.
“Danner,” he said, after a third highball, “you’re a sensible chap. But you don’t quite get us. I’m fighting for disarmament—”
“And making a grand fight—”
The Congressman waved his hand. “Sure. That’s what I mean. You really want this thing for itself. But, between you and me, I don’t give a rap about ships and guns. My district is a farm district. We aren’t interested in paying millions in taxes to the bosses and owners in a coal and iron community. So I’m against it. Dead against it—with my constituency behind me. Nobody really wants to spend the money except the shipbuilders and steel men. Maybe they don’t, theoretically. But the money in it is too big. That’s why I fight.”
“And your speeches?”
“Pap, Danner, pure pap. Even the yokels in my home towns realize that.”
“It doesn’t seem like pap to me.”
“That’s politics. In a way it isn’t. Two boys I was fond of are lying over there in France. I don’t want to make any more shells. But I have to think of something else first. If I came from some other district, the case would be reversed. I’d like to change the tariff. But the industrials oppose me in that. So we compromise. Or we don’t. I think I could put across a decent arms-limitation bill right now, for example, if I could get Willard Melcher out of town for a month.”
“Melcher?”
“You know him, of course—at least, who he is. He spends the steel money here in Washington—to keep the building program going on. Simple thing to do. The Navy helps him. Tell the public about the Japanese menace, the English menace, all the other menaces, and the public coughs up for bigger guns and better ships. Run ’em till they rust and nobody ever really knows what good they could do.”
“And Melcher does that?”
The Congressman chuckled. “His payroll would make your eyes bulge. But you can’t touch him.”
Hugo nodded thoughtfully. “Don’t you think anyone around here works purely for an idea?”
“How’s that? Oh—I understand. Sure. The cranks!” And his laughter ended the discussion.
Hugo began. He walked up the brick steps of Melcher’s residence and pulled the glittering brass knob. A servant came to the door.
“Mr. Danner to see Mr. Melcher. Just a moment.”
A wait in the hall. The servant returned. “Sorry, but he’s not in.”
Hugo’s mouth was firm. “Please tell him that I saw him come in.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but he is going right out.”
“Tell him—that he will see me.”
The servant raised his voice. “Harry!” A heavy person with a flattened nose and cauliflower ears stepped into the hall. “This gentleman wishes to see Mr. Melcher, and Mr. Melcher is not in—to him. Take care of him, Harry.” The servant withdrew.
“Run along, fellow.”
Hugo smiled. “Mr. Melcher keeps a bouncer?”
An evil light flickered in
