one of the greatest men I’ve
ever had the privilege to know. I served under him in the War. Why,
if it weren’t for him—”
“If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have had
the most crooked administration this country’s ever seen.”
“Grant has done more good for this country
than a man like you will ever know.”
Blackwood raised a brow. “A man like me, Mr.
McLeod?”
“It’s misguided editors like you who are
responsible for his leaving office.”
Blackwood lowered his eyes deceptively. “I’d
like to think I played some small part in it.”
Appalled, and highly embarrassed, Winston
cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Archer, I didn’t know you were
busy.”
He made a move to back out, but Blackwood
waved him into the office. “That’s quite all right. We have no
secrets, do we, McLeod? It might be an education for Sheriff
Masterson to see how bad men function in the big city under the
guise of respectable businessmen.”
“How dare you?” McLeod growled. “These people
you’re smearing are friends of ours. People of influence. They can
help not only your paper, but your career as well. Why, with their
backing—with our backing—you could be senator!”
“And end up in your back pockets? Your
concern for your friends wouldn’t by chance stem from the rumors
regarding your own railroads? That you bribed three separate
members of your friend Grant’s Cabinet? That you talked them into
selling you public lands for pennies on the—”
Sander leaned across the desk. “I don’t have
to listen to these lies!”
“Archer, maybe—”
Without bothering to listen to Winston’s
warning, Blackwood met McLeod’s angry gaze head-on. “Have you ever,
Mr. McLeod, been so poor you don’t know where your next meal is?
Have you ever thought what it’s like for a child of seven working
in a factory? Seven days a week, never feeling the sun on his face,
never seeing the stars at night. Never playing, never dreaming.
Just trudging home from work so beaten down, he can barely keep his
eyes open long enough to fall onto his filthy pallet on the
floor?”
“Yes,” Sander hissed, as if hating the
memory.
“Then you tell me . How does he
survive, McLeod? Where in the name of God does he find hope?”
It seemed, as he spoke, that no one breathed.
His presence and the rhythm of his words were so powerful, so
hypnotic, they lost all sense of what he was saying, so caught up
were they in his presentation. Bat looked around him at the
captivated faces and paused at Saranda’s. He’d never seen such an
arrested look on her face in all the years he’d known her.
“The Globe-Journal , Mr. McLeod,”
Blackwood continued, “is a well-fueled torch that’s going to shine
a beacon of hope into all the dark and stinking corners of this
miserable city. I made this paper what it is today. Me, with more
hard work than you and your friends will do in a lifetime. So you
mark me well, McLeod. I’m going to blaze a trail, goddammit, and
I’m not looking back. I’m going to hack away at this forest of
greed and corruption with a ruddy sword if I have to. Because your
friends, with their double-talk and dirty dealings, are wrong. And
sooner or later, if I have anything to say about it, they’re going
to be brought to their knees.”
“We’ll just see about that,” shouted McLeod
before he stormed out of the room, fairly knocking them aside as he
shoved his bulk out through the door.
Blackwood turned to them as the fury in his
eyes receded. In an ironic tone, he said, “Welcome to the Globe-Journal , Sheriff Masterson.”
Then his eyes raked over Saranda in a
sweepingly intimate look before lifting to Winston’s face.
“Thanks,” said Bat warily. “I reckon I’ve
learned a thing or two.”
Winston, clearly embarrassed and at a loss,
glanced from Bat and Saranda then back to Blackwood with a pleading
look, the light streaming in through the wooden shades glinting off
his spectacles. All too aware
ever had the privilege to know. I served under him in the War. Why,
if it weren’t for him—”
“If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have had
the most crooked administration this country’s ever seen.”
“Grant has done more good for this country
than a man like you will ever know.”
Blackwood raised a brow. “A man like me, Mr.
McLeod?”
“It’s misguided editors like you who are
responsible for his leaving office.”
Blackwood lowered his eyes deceptively. “I’d
like to think I played some small part in it.”
Appalled, and highly embarrassed, Winston
cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Archer, I didn’t know you were
busy.”
He made a move to back out, but Blackwood
waved him into the office. “That’s quite all right. We have no
secrets, do we, McLeod? It might be an education for Sheriff
Masterson to see how bad men function in the big city under the
guise of respectable businessmen.”
“How dare you?” McLeod growled. “These people
you’re smearing are friends of ours. People of influence. They can
help not only your paper, but your career as well. Why, with their
backing—with our backing—you could be senator!”
“And end up in your back pockets? Your
concern for your friends wouldn’t by chance stem from the rumors
regarding your own railroads? That you bribed three separate
members of your friend Grant’s Cabinet? That you talked them into
selling you public lands for pennies on the—”
Sander leaned across the desk. “I don’t have
to listen to these lies!”
“Archer, maybe—”
Without bothering to listen to Winston’s
warning, Blackwood met McLeod’s angry gaze head-on. “Have you ever,
Mr. McLeod, been so poor you don’t know where your next meal is?
Have you ever thought what it’s like for a child of seven working
in a factory? Seven days a week, never feeling the sun on his face,
never seeing the stars at night. Never playing, never dreaming.
Just trudging home from work so beaten down, he can barely keep his
eyes open long enough to fall onto his filthy pallet on the
floor?”
“Yes,” Sander hissed, as if hating the
memory.
“Then you tell me . How does he
survive, McLeod? Where in the name of God does he find hope?”
It seemed, as he spoke, that no one breathed.
His presence and the rhythm of his words were so powerful, so
hypnotic, they lost all sense of what he was saying, so caught up
were they in his presentation. Bat looked around him at the
captivated faces and paused at Saranda’s. He’d never seen such an
arrested look on her face in all the years he’d known her.
“The Globe-Journal , Mr. McLeod,”
Blackwood continued, “is a well-fueled torch that’s going to shine
a beacon of hope into all the dark and stinking corners of this
miserable city. I made this paper what it is today. Me, with more
hard work than you and your friends will do in a lifetime. So you
mark me well, McLeod. I’m going to blaze a trail, goddammit, and
I’m not looking back. I’m going to hack away at this forest of
greed and corruption with a ruddy sword if I have to. Because your
friends, with their double-talk and dirty dealings, are wrong. And
sooner or later, if I have anything to say about it, they’re going
to be brought to their knees.”
“We’ll just see about that,” shouted McLeod
before he stormed out of the room, fairly knocking them aside as he
shoved his bulk out through the door.
Blackwood turned to them as the fury in his
eyes receded. In an ironic tone, he said, “Welcome to the Globe-Journal , Sheriff Masterson.”
Then his eyes raked over Saranda in a
sweepingly intimate look before lifting to Winston’s face.
“Thanks,” said Bat warily. “I reckon I’ve
learned a thing or two.”
Winston, clearly embarrassed and at a loss,
glanced from Bat and Saranda then back to Blackwood with a pleading
look, the light streaming in through the wooden shades glinting off
his spectacles. All too aware
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