The Americans by John Jakes Page A

Chapel. Roll calls. Lesson recitation-I doubt 111 ever get my degree. I wanted to go into the theater like your stepsister Eleanor. Mother wouldn't hear of it. But it's the theater's loss-was To cheer his friend, he jumped up, threw his head back and yodeled. Then he executed one of the quick, deft minstrel show dance steps he admired. With his beer mug raised and his other fist cocked on his hip, Willie grinned at Carter: "It's the theater's loss. I'm pretty good, don't you think?" "Wonderful." "Don't strain yourself with enthusiasm." Willie faced the wall, as if an audience sat there. He bowed from the waist several times. "I love applause-was "It isn't the applause you like, Willie, it's being around actresses." "Well, that too," Willie admitted, smiling again. He flopped back into the chair. "You know, maybe we're both simpletons for wasting our time here. I know Harvard's the finest school in America. "But I've already dropped more courses than I'll finish this year, and there isn't a blasted thing in the curriculum I give two hoots about." He hunched forward. "The only thing that interests me is a problem Gene's going to inherit next year." Eugene Lent was the son of one of George Hearst's business associates. He was the friend with whom Willie had traveled in Europe when both were younger. "What problem?" 'The poor chump has agreed to be business manager of the Lampoon. Thankless job! Humor doesn't sell very well at this pious institution. And the business manager has to make up any operating losses out of his own pocket." Carter whistled. "I didn't know that. It's true. I'd like to help Gene. I don't mean with loans. I mean by thinking up schemes to get people to read the magazine. Stunts, contests, maybe a parade-I'd enjoy that." "Because you'd be controlling things." "Things and people." Willie grinned. "Without letting 'em know I was doing it. That's part of the game, too." He ambled to the armoire. Helped himself to beer. Champagne Charlie again raised his deadly-looking head and scrutinized his owner for a few seconds before returning to sleep. Willie knocked foam from his mustache after he drank. "That's the real charm in life, Carter. Holding the reins. That and a good joke. Pa isn't much for joking, but he surely likes the other. I expect that's why he's so eager to go to the Senate." Carter had heard a good deal about George Hearst's political ambitions. A loyal Democrat, Hearst had bought the foundering San Francisco Examiner, the unofficial newspaper of the local party organization. He'd pumped money into it in the hope of furthering his political career. But the effort hadn't been enough to earn him the 1882 Democratic endorsement as the candidate for governor. He'd lost the primary by a narrow margin. Undiscouraged, he was searching for a stepping-stone to Washington. All at once, Willie fixed his friend with one of his disconcerting stares: "Pa's going to make it some day. Then he'll handle the reins smartly. That's what politics is all about. Maybe you should try it. You could start by passing out handbills, or running errands for a boss. You might enjoy it, and that silver tongue of yours would take you a long way, I think." Carter momentarily forgot Professor Eisler. "In which party?" he asked. "Why, the Democracy, I suppose." "The Kents are Republicans." Willie waved his mug. "A sinner can always reform. I tell you, for a fellow who likes to be in charge, politics is a natural." "Then why don't you try it?" "With this voice?" Willie let out a loud yodel. "I'd be laughed off the platform. Even my looks are against me." He swigged beer, then finished with what sounded like perfect confidence, "I'll find some other way. But I'll pull the reins, too, you can count on that." The more Carter thought about Willie's suggestion, the more it intrigued him. Politicians wielded immense influence. Disbursed huge sums of patronage money and col- lected rewards in turn. Sometimes those rewards took the form of bank