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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Come and see what he has done!" he called suddenly, and Yasmini ran to his side. In a corner of the vault one of the great facing stones had been removed, disclosing a deep fissure in the rock. One of Dick Blaine's crow-bars that he had left in the tunnel lay beside it. "He must have found that by tapping," said Tom Tripe. "Yes, but look why he wanted it!" Yasmini answered.
He knew pretty well where to find Tom Tripe during any of the hours of duty, so he cornered him without delay and, glaring at him with eyes like an animal's at bay, ordered him to search the Blaine's house at the first opportunity. "Search for what?" demanded Tripe. "For anything! For everything! Search the cellar; search the garden; search the roof! Are You a fool? Are you fit for my employment?
Blaine's interest in Utah was almost wholly one of responsible statesmanship, warmed by a personal kindliness for our people, still it remains a fact that he expected the support of the Utah Republican delegation in the convention of 1892, and that it had been promised him by national Republicans who were now laboring at Washington in our behalf.
Mr. Blaine's friends and supporters at the South were the very people who stood most in need of that security and protection which can come only through a thorough and impartial enforcement of laws for the protection of citizens in the exercise and enjoyment of their civil and political rights, as well as the enforcement of laws for the protection of life, liberty and property.
A canvass showed that Mr. Platt, Mr. Crowley, and myself had about an equal number of votes. Of course, Mr. Blaine's object was, knowing that Senator Conkling would be hostile to the administration, to prevent his having a colleague who would join with him, and thus place the State of New York against the policies of the incoming president. After the canvass had been going on for some time, Mr.
The two hundred, always so subdued, so easily bossed, so obedient and submissive, had risen and gone. Marrin looked apoplectic. He rushed over to where the forty-four men were sitting like frightened animals. He spoke to the one nearest him. "Who was that girl? I've seen her somewhere!" "She?" the man stammered. "That's Joe Blaine's girl." "Joe Blaine!" cried Marrin.
What form this national development would take was, however, still uncertain, and some great event was obviously required to fix its character. Blaine's Pan-Americanism had proved insufficient and, though the baiting of Great Britain was welcome to a vociferous minority, the forces making for peace were stronger than those in favor of war.
Guy Morrow, after a sleepless night, presented himself at Henry Blaine's office the next morning. The great detective, observing his young subordinate with shrewd, kindly eyes, noted in one swift glance his changed demeanor: his pallor, and the new lines graven about the firm mouth, which added strength and maturity to his face.
His campaign manager, Stephen B. Elkins, had been charged with a discreditable connection with the star-route scandals; men of the Platt type were urging that it was now Blaine's "turn"; and Powell Clayton, an Arkansas carpet-bagger of ill-repute, was the Blaine candidate for the position of temporary chairman of the convention.
Nothing more happened until Buck brought his nimble Nieuport to a smooth standstill a few yards distant from a big biplane that Bangs at once recognized as Blaine's. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, dismounting and hurrying across the intervening space. "Isn't this luck why why what's the matter, Lafe? Sick?" But Blaine was only sick at heart.
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