The Preposterous Motive

by Susan Glaspell

The Governor was sitting alone in his private office with an openletter in his hand. He was devoutly and gloomily wishing that someother man was just then in his shoes. The Governor had not devoted alarge portion of his life to nursing a desire of that nature, for hewas a man in whose soul the flame of self-satisfaction glowedcheeringly; but just now there were reasons, and he deemed themample, for deploring that he had been made chief executive of hisnative State.Had he chosen to take you into his confidence--a thing the Governorwould assuredly choose not to do--he would have told you there weregreater things in the world than the governorship of that State. Hemight have suggested a seat in the Senate of the United States asone of those things. It was of the United States Senate hisExcellency was thinking as he sat there alone moodily deploring thegubernatorial shoes.The senior Senator was going to die. He differed therein from hisfellows in that he was going to die soon, almost immediately. He hadreached the tottering years even at the time of his reelection, andit had never been supposed that his life would outstretch his term.He had been sent back, not for another six years of service, but tohold out the leader of the Boxers, as they called themselves--theyounger and unorthodox element of the party in the State, an elementgrowing to dangerous proportions. It was only by returning the agedSenator, whom they held it would be brutal to turn down after a lifeof service to the party, that the "machine" won the memorable fightof the previous winter.From the viewpoint of the machine, the Governor was the seniorSenator's logical successor. Had it not been for the heavy inroadsof the Boxers, his Excellency would even then have been sitting inthe Senate Chamber at Washington. It had not been considered safe tonominate the Governor. Had his supporters conceded that the time wasat hand for a change, there would have been a general clamour forthe leader of the Boxers--Huntington, undeniably the popular man ofthe State. And so they concocted a beautiful sentiment about"rounding out the veteran's career," and letting him "die with hisboots on"; and through the omnipotence of sentiment, they won.Down in his heart the venerable Senator was not seeking to die withhis boots on. He would have preferred sitting in a large chairbefore the fire and reading quietly of what other men were doing inthe Senate of the United States. But they told him he must sacrificethat wish, for if he retired he would be succeeded by a dangerousman. And the old man, believing them, had gone dutifully back intothe arena.Now it seemed that a power outside man's control was declaringagainst the well-laid plans of the machine. As the machine sawthings, the time was not ripe for the senior Senator to die. He hadjust entered upon his new term, and the Governor himself had butlately stepped into a second term. They had assumed that the Senatorwould live on for at least two years, but now they heard that he waslikely to die almost at once. His Excellency could not very wellname himself for the vacancy, and it seemed dangerous just then torisk a call of the Assembly. They dared not let the Governor appointa weaker man, even if he would consent to do so, for they would needthe best they had to put up against the leader of the Boxers. Withthe Governor, they believed they could win, but the question ofappointing him had suddenly become a knotty one.The Governor himself was bowed with chagrin. He saw now that he haderred in taking a second term, and he was not the man to enjoyreviewing his mistakes. As he sat there reading and rereading theletter which told him that the work of the senior Senator was almostdone, he said to himself that it was easy enough to wrestle withmen, but a harder thing to try one's mettle with fate. He spent agloomy and unprofitable day.Late in the afternoon a telegram reached the executive office.Styles was coming to town that night, and wanted to see the Governorat the hotel. Things always cleared when Styles came to town; andso, though still unable to foresee the outcome, he brightened atonce.Styles was a railroad man, and rich. People to whom certain thingswere a sealed book said that it was nice of Mr. Styles to take aninterest in politics when he had so many other things on his mind,and that he must be a very public-spirited man. That he took aninterest in politics, no one familiar with the affairs of the Statewould deny. The orthodox papers painted him as a public benefactor,but the Boxers arrayed him with hoofs and horns.The Governor and Mr. Styles were warm friends. It was said thattheir friendship dated from mere boyhood, and that the way the twomen had held together through all the vicissitudes of life wastouching and beautiful--at least, so some people observed. Therewere others whose eyebrows went up when the Governor and Mr. Styleswere mentioned in their Damon and Pythias capacity.That night, in the public benefactor's room at the hotel, theGovernor and his old friend had a long talk. When twelve o'clockcame they were still talking; more than that, the Governor wasexcitedly pacing the floor."I tell you, Styles," he expostulated, "I don't like it! It doesn'tput me in a good light. It's too apparent, and I'll suffer for it,sure as fate. Mark my words, we'll all suffer for it!"Mr. Styles was sitting in an easy attitude before the table. Thepublic benefactor never paced the floor; it did not seem necessary.He smoked in silence for a minute; then raised himself a little inhis chair."Well, have you anything better to offer?""No, I haven't," replied the Governor, tartly; "but it seems to meyou ought to have."Styles sank back in his chair and for several minutes more devotedhimself to the art of smoking. There were times when thisphilanthropic dabbler in politics was irritating."I think," he began presently, "that you exaggerate the unpleasantfeatures of the situation. It will cause talk, of course; but isn'tit worth it? You say it's unheard of; maybe, but so is thesituation, and wasn't there something in the copy-books aboutmeeting new situations with new methods? If you have anything betterto offer, produce it; if not, we've got to go ahead with this. Andreally, I don't see that it's so bad. You have to go South to lookafter your cotton plantation; you find now that it's going to takemore time than you feel you should take from the State; you can'tafford to give it up; consequently, you withdraw in favor of theLieutenant-Governor. We all protest, but you say Berriman is a goodman, and the State won't suffer, and you simply can't afford to goon. Well, we can keep the Senator's condition pretty quiet here; andafter all, he's sturdy, and may live on to the close of the year.After due deliberation Berriman appoints you. A little talk?--Yes.But it's worth a little talk. It seems to me the thing works outvery smoothly."When Tom Styles leaned back in his chair and declared a thing workedout very smoothly, that thing was quite likely to go. In three daysthe Governor went South. When he returned, the newspaper men werestartled by the announcement that business considerations which hecould not afford to overlook demanded his withdrawal from office.Previous to this time the Lieutenant-Governor and Mr. Styleshad met and the result of their meeting was not made a matterof public record.As the Governor had anticipated, many things were said. Inquirieswere made into the venerable Senator's condition--which, theorthodox papers declared, was but another example of the indecencyof the Boxer journals. The Governor went to his cotton plantation.The Lieutenant-Governor went into office, and was pronounced aworthy successor to a good executive. The venerable Senatorcontinued to live. As Mr. Styles had predicted, the gossip soonquieted into a friendly hope that the Governor would realise largesums with his cotton.It was late in the fall when the senior Senator finally succumbed.The day the papers printed the story of his death, they printedspeculative editorials on his probable successor. When the bereavedfamily commented with bitterness on this ill-concealed haste, theywere told that it was politics--enterprise--life.The old man's remains lay in state in the rotunda of the StateCapitol, and the building was draped in mourning. Many came andlooked upon the quiet face; but far more numerous than those whogathered at his bier to weep were those who assembled in secludedcorners to speculate on the wearing of his toga. It waspolitics--enterprise--life.Mr. Styles told the Lieutenant-Governor to be deliberate. There wasno need of an immediate appointment, he said. And so for a timethings went on about the State-house much as usual, save that theabsorbing topic was the senatorial situation, and that every one waswatching the new chief executive. The retired Governor now spentpart of his time in the South, and part at home. The cottonplantation was not demanding all his attention, after all.It could not be claimed that John Berriman had ever done any greatthing. He was not on record as having ever risen grandly to anoccasion; but there may have been something in the fact that anoccasion admitting of a grand rising had never presented itself.Before he became Lieutenant-Governor, he had served inoffensively inthe State Senate for two terms. No one had ever worked very hard forSenator Berriman's vote. He had been put in by the machine, and ithad always been assumed that he was machine property.Berriman himself had never given the matter of his place in thehuman drama much thought. He had an idea that it was proper for himto vote with his friends, and he always did it. Had he been called atool, he would have been much ruffled; he merely trusted to theinfallibility of the party.The Boxers did not approach him now concerning the appointment ofHuntington. That, of course, was a fixed matter, and they were notyoung and foolish enough to attempt to change it.One day the Governor received a telegram from Styles suggesting thathe "adjust that matter" immediately. He thought of announcing theappointment that very night, but the newspaper men had all left thebuilding, and as he had promised that they should know of it as soonas it was made, he concluded to wait until the next morning.Governor Berriman had a brother in town that week, attending ameeting of the State Agricultural Society. Hiram Berriman had alarge farm in the southern part of the State. He knew but little ofpolitical methods, and had primitive ideas about honesty. There hadalways been a strong tie between the brothers, despite the fact thatHiram was fifteen years the Governor's senior. They talked of manythings that night, and the hour was growing late. They were about toretire when the Governor remarked, a little sleepily:"Well, to-morrow morning I announce the senatorial appointment.""You do, eh?" returned the farmer."Yes, there's no need of waiting any longer, and it's getting on tothe time the State wants two senators in Washington.""Well, I suppose, John," Hiram said, turning a serious face to hisbrother, "that you've thought the matter all over, and are sure youare right?"The Governor threw back his head with a scoffing laugh."I guess it didn't require much thought on my part," he answeredcarelessly."I don't see how you figure that out," contended Hiram warmly."You're Governor of the State, and your own boss, ain't you?"It was the first time in all his life that anyone had squarelyconfronted John Berriman with the question whether or not he was hisown boss, and for some reason it went deep into his soul, andrankled there."Now see here, Hiram," he said at length, "there's no use of yourputting on airs and pretending you don't understand this thing. Youknow well enough it was all fixed before I went in." The other manlooked at him in bewilderment, and the Governor continued brusquely:"The party knew the Senator was going to die, and so the Governorpulled out and I went in just so the thing could be done decentlywhen the time came."The old farmer was scratching his head."That's it, eh? They got wind the Senator was goin' to die, and sothe Governor told that lie about having to go South just so he couldstep into the dead man's shoes, eh?""That's the situation--if you want to put it that way.""And now you're going to appoint the Governor?""Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to.""Why not?""Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of politicalobligation? It's expected of me.""Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?""Why, I don't know that I exactly made any promises, but thatdoesn't make a particle of difference. The understanding was thatthe Governor was to pull out and I was to go in and appoint him.It's a matter of honour;" and Governor Berriman drew himself up withpride.The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire."I suppose, then," he said finally, "that you all think the Governoris the best man we have for the United States Senate. I take it thatin appointing him, John, you feel sure he will guard the interestsof the people before everything else, and that the people--I meanthe working people of this State--will always be safe in his hands;do you?""Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!" exclaimed the Governor irritably. "I don'tthink that at all!"Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red."You don't?" he cried. "You mean to sit there, John Berriman, andtell me that you don't think the man you're going to put in theUnited States Senate will be an honest man? What do you mean bysaying you're going to put a dishonest man in there to make laws forthe people, to watch over them and protect them? If you don't thinkhe's a good man, if you don't think he's the best man the Statehas"--the old farmer was pounding the table heavily with his hugefist--"if you don't think that, in God's name, _why do you appointhim_?""I wish I could make you understand, Hiram," said the Governor in aninjured voice, "that it's not for me to say.""Why ain't it for you to say? Why ain't it, I want to know? Who'srunning you, your own conscience or some gang of men that's tryingto steal from the State? Good God, I wish I had never lived to seethe day a brother of mine put a thief in the United States Senate tobamboozle the honest, hard-working people of this State!""Hold on, please--that's a little too strong!" flamed the Governor."It ain't too strong. If a Senator ain't an honest man, he's athief; and if he ain't lookin' after the welfare of the people, he'sbamboozlin' them, and that's all there is about it. I don't knowmuch about politics, but I ain't lived my life without learning alittle about right and wrong, and it's a sorry day we've come to,John Berriman, if right and wrong don't enter into the makin' of aSenator!"The Governor could think of no fitting response, so he held hispeace. This seemed to quiet the irate farmer, and he surveyed hisbrother intently, and not unkindly."You're in a position now, John," he said, and there was a kind ofhomely eloquence in his serious voice, "to be a friend to thepeople. It ain't many of us ever get the chance of doin' a greatthing. We work along, and we do the best we can with what comes ourway, but most of us don't get the chance to do a thing that's goin'to help thousands of people, and that the whole country's goin' tosay was a move for the right. You want to think of that, and whenyou're thinkin' so much about honour, you don't want to clean forgetabout honesty. Don't you stick to any foolish notions about bein'faithful to the party; it ain't the party that needs helpin'. Nomatter how you got where you are, you're Governor of the State rightnow, John, and your first duty is to the people of this State, notto Tom Styles or anybody else. Just you remember that when you'renamin' your Senator in the morning."It was long before the Governor retired. He sat there by thefireplace until after the fire had died down, and he was tooabsorbed to grow cold. He thought of many things. Like the man whohad preceded him in office, he wished that some one else was justthen encumbered with the gubernatorial shoes.The next morning there was a heavy feeling in his head which hethought a walk in the bracing air might dispel, so he started onfoot for the Statehouse. A light snow was on the ground, and therewas something reassuring in the crispness of the morning. It wouldmake a slave feel like a free man to drink in such air, he wasthinking. Snatches of his brother's outburst of the night beforekept breaking into his consciousness but curiously enough they didnot greatly disturb him. He concluded that it was wonderful what awalk in the bracing air could do. From the foot of the hill helooked up at the State-house, for the first time in his experienceseeing and thinking about it--not simply taking it for granted.There seemed a nobility about it--in the building itself, and backof that in what it stood for.As he walked through the corridor to his office he was greeted withcheerful, respectful salutations. His mood let him give thegreetings a value they did not have and from that rose a sense ofhaving the trust and goodwill of his fellows.But upon reaching his desk he found another telegram from Styles. Itwas imperatively worded and as he read it the briskness andsatisfaction went from his bearing. He walked to the window andstood there looking down at the city, and, as it had been in lookingahead at the State-house, he now looked out over the city reallyseeing and understanding it, not merely taking it for granted. Hefound himself wondering if many of the people in that city--in thatState--looked to their Governor with the old-fashioned trust hisbrother had shown. His eyes dimmed; he was thinking of thesatisfaction it would afford his children, if--long after he hadgone--they could tell how a great chance had once come into theirfather's life, and how he had proved himself a man."Will you sign these now, Governor?" asked a voice behind him.It was his secretary, a man who knew the affairs of the State well,and whom every one seemed to respect."Mr. Haines," he said abruptly, "who do you think is the best man wehave for the United States Senate?"The secretary stepped back, dumfounded; amazed that the questionshould be put to him, startled at that strange way of putting it.Then he told himself he must be discreet. Like many of the people atthe State-house, in his heart Haines was a Boxer."Why, I presume," he ventured, "that the Governor is looked upon asthe logical candidate, isn't he?""I'm not talking about logical candidates. I want to know who youthink is the man who would most conscientiously and creditablyrepresent this State in the Senate of the United States."It was so simply spoken that the secretary found himself answeringit as simply. "If you put it that way, Governor, Mr. Huntington isthe man, of course.""You think most of the people feel that way?""I know they do.""You believe if it were a matter of popular vote, Huntington wouldbe the new Senator?""There can be no doubt of that, Governor. I think they all have toadmit that. Huntington is the man the people want.""That's all, Mr. Haines. I merely wondered what you thought aboutit."Soon after that Governor Berriman rang for a messenger boy and senta telegram. Then he settled quietly down to routine work. It wasabout eleven when one of the newspaper men came in."Good-morning, Governor," he said briskly "how's everything to-day?""All right, Mr. Markham. I have nothing to tell you to-day, exceptthat I've made the senatorial appointment.""Oh," laughed the reporter excitedly, "that's all, is it?""Yes," replied the Governor, smiling too; "that's all!"The reporter looked at the clock. "I'll just catch the noonedition," he said, "if I telephone right away."He was moving to the other room when the Governor called to him."See here, it seems to me you're a strange newspaper man!""How so?""Why, I tell you I've made a senatorial appointment--a matter ofsome slight importance--and you rush off never asking whom I'veappointed."The reporter gave a forced laugh. He wished the Governor would notdetain him with a joke now when every second counted."That's right," he said, with strained pleasantness. "Well, who'sthe man?"The Governor raised his head. "Huntington," he said quietly, andresumed his work."What?" gasped the reporter. "What?"Then he stopped in embarrassment, as if ashamed of being so easilytaken in. "Guess you're trying to jolly me a little, aren't you,Governor?""Jolly you, Mr. Markham? I'm not given to 'jollying' newspaperreporters. Here's a copy of the telegram I sent this morning, if youare still sceptical. Really, I don't see why you think it soimpossible. Don't you consider Mr. Huntington a fit man for theplace?"But for the minute the reporter seemed unable to speak. "May I ask,"he fumbled at last, "why you did it?""I had but one motive, Mr. Markham. I thought the matter over and itseemed to me the people should have the man they wanted. I am withthem in believing Huntington the best man for the place." He said itsimply, and went quietly back to his work.For many a long day politicians and papers continued the search for"the motive." Styles and his crowd saw it as a simple matter ofselling out; they knew, of course, that it could be nothing else.After their first rage had subsided, and they saw there was nothingthey could do, they wondered, sneeringly, why he did not "fix up abetter story." That was a little too simple-minded. Did hethink people were fools? And even the men who profited by thesituation puzzled their brains for weeks trying to understand it.There was something behind it, of course.

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