"But often enough to set people talking."
"Let 'em talk!"
"But you must remember----"
"Let's stop their tongues," he interrupted.
"How?"
"By announcing our engagement." He gripped her hands. "For we are engaged, aren't we?"
"I--I don't know," she breathed.
"Don't know?" He stared at her. "Why, you're white as a sheet! You're not in earnest?"
"Yes."
"What does this mean?"
"I--I had started to tell you. You must remember that I am an unpopular person, and that in my father I am representing an unpopular man. And you must remember that you are candidate for mayor."
He had begun to get her drift.
"Well?"
"Well, I am afraid our being together will lessen your chances. And I don't want to do anything in the world that will injure you."
"Then you think----"
"I think--I think"--she spoke with difficulty--"we should stop seeing each other."
"For my sake?"
"Yes."
He bent nearer and looked her piercingly in the eyes.
"But for your own sake?" he demanded.
She did not speak.
"But for your own sake?" he persisted.
"For my sake--for my sake----" Half-choked, she broke off.
"Honest now? Honest?"
She did not realize till that moment all it would mean to her to see him no more.
"For my own sake----" Suddenly her hands tightened about his and she pressed them to her face. "For my sake--never! never!"
"And do you think that I----" He gathered her into his strong arms.
"Let them talk!" he breathed passionately against her cheek. "We'll win the town in spite of it!"
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CANDIDATE AND THE TIGER
The town's talk continued, as Katherine knew it would. But though she resented it in Bruce's behalf, it was of small importance in her relationship with him compared with the difference in their opinions.
She was in constant fear, every time he called, lest that difference should come up. But it did not on the next day, nor on the next. He was too full of love on the one hand, too full of his political fight on the other. The more she saw of him the more she loved him, so thoroughly fine, so deeply tender, was he--and the more did she dread that avoidless day when their ideas must come into collision, so masterful was he, so certain that he was right.
On the fourth evening after their stormy ride she thought the collision was at hand.
"There is something serious I want to speak to you about," he began, as they sat in the old-fashioned parlour. "You know what the storm has done to the city water. It has washed all the summer's accumulation of filth down into the streams that feed the reservoir, and since the filtering plant is out of commission the water has been simply abominable. The people are complaining louder than ever. Blake and the rest of his crew are telling the public that this water is a sample of what everything will be like if I'm elected. It's hurting me, and hurting me a lot. I don't blame the people so much for being influenced by what Blake says, for, of course, they don't know what's going on beneath the surface. But I've got to make some kind of a reply, and a mighty strong one, too. Now here's where I want you to help me."
"What can I do?" she asked.
"If I could only tell the truth--what a regular knock-out of a reply that would be!" he exclaimed. "Some time ago you told me to wait--you expected to have the proof a little later. Do you have any idea how soon you will have your evidence?"
Again she felt the impulse to tell him all she knew and all her plans.
But a medley of motives worked together to restrain her. There was the momentum of her old decision to keep silent. There was the knowledge that, though he loved her as a woman, he still held her in low esteem as a lawyer. There was the instinct that what she knew, if saved, might in some way serve her when they two fought their battle. And there was the thrilling dream of waiting till she had all her evidence gathered and then bringing it triumphantly to him--and thus enable him through her to conquer.
"I'm afraid I can't give you the proof for a while yet," she replied.
She saw that he was impatient at the delay, that he believed she would discover nothing. She expected the outbreak that very instant. She expected him to demand that she turn the case over to the Indianapolis lawyer he had spoken to her about, who _would_ be able to make some progress; to demand that she give up law altogether, and demand that as his intended wife she give up all thought of an independent professional career. She nerved herself for the shock of battle.
But it did not come.
"All right," he said. "I suppose I'll have to wait a little longer, then."
He got up and paced the floor.
"But I can't let Blake and his bunch go on saying those things without any kind of an answer from me. I've got to talk back, or get out of the fight!"
He continued pacing to and fro, irked by his predicament, frowning with thought. Presently he paused before her.
"Here is what I'm going to say," he announced decisively. "Since I cannot tell the whole truth, I'm going to tell a small part of the truth. I'm going to say that the condition of the water is due to intentional mismanagement on the part of the present administration--which everybody knows is dominated by Blake. Blake's party, in order to prevent my election on a municipal ownership platform, in order to make sure of remaining in power, is purposely trying to make municipal ownership fail. And I'm going to say this as often, and as hard, as I can!"
In the days that followed he certainly did say it hard, both in the _Express_ and in his speeches. The charge had not been made publicly before, and, stated with Bruce's tremendous emphasis, it now created a sensation. Everybody talked about it; it gave a yet further excitement to a most exciting campaign. There was vigorous denial from Blake, his fellow candidates, and from the _Clarion_, which was supporting the Blake ticket. Again and again the _Clarion_ denounced Bruce's charge as merely the words of a demagogue, a yellow journalist--merely the irresponsible and baseless calumny so common in campaigns.
Nevertheless, it had the effect that Bruce intended. His stock took a new jump, and sentiment in his favour continued to grow at a rate that made him exult and that filled the enemy with concern.
This inquietude penetrated the side office of the Tippecanoe House and sorely troubled the heart of Blind Charlie Peck. So, early one afternoon, he appeared in the office of the editor of the _Express_.
His reception was rather more pleasant than on the occasion of his first visit, now over a month before; for, although Katherine had repeated her warning, Bruce had given it little credit. He did not have much confidence in her woman's judgment. Besides, he was reassured by the fact that Blind Charlie had, in every apparent particular, adhered to his bargain to keep hands off.