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Updated: September 19, 2025
In this interest it has been agreed to seat four Harpwood delegates and eight Lockwin delegates in each of the contests. Although the Harpwood delegates howl with indignation, it is only a howl. None of them go out. They will all vote. But their votes will not affect the nomination. If otherwise, the convention can be again purged and the correct result established.
He is the husband of a lady to whom there will some day come an added fortune which will make her the richest woman in the West. He is the reliance of the party. He is the one orator who remains unanswered in joint debate. Quackery as it is, no opponent dares to cross the path of David Lockwin.
"You have a better heart than most men, Mr. Corkey." "I'd give seven hundred cases in bar gelt if he was in Congress to-day, Mrs. Lockwin." "I know you would, you poor man. God bless you for it!" Corkey is feeling in all his pockets. "Take this handkerchief, Mr. Corkey, if it will help you. God bless you always! God bless you always! Come and see me often.
"If this cup may be kept from my lips," he prays, "I will be a better man." The sun is high before the child is swathed with hot flaxseed. The man sprays the stramonium. The child has periods of extreme difficulty. He is nauseated in every fiber. "God forgive me!" prays Lockwin. "Mamma, will I have to play with the swear boys?" "No, my darling."
He straightens his legs, sinks his chin and pushes his hands far in his pockets. "Before I begin," says Corkey, "let me tell ye, that if you're sick I'd keep off the decks. You have a gold watch. Some one might nail ye." "Is that so?" asks Lockwin, his thoughts far away. "He beats me!" comments the contestant. "Well, pard, if you're not sick, I'd like to say a good many things.
Then if they can't git anywhere, they come back." Corkey is pleased with his own remark. "Sometimes," he adds, "they don't come back. They are bluffed back by the wind." Lockwin sits in the same uncommunicative attitude. "Pardner, you didn't come out into Georgian Bay for nothing. I know that. So I will tell you what I am going to do with the collectorship.
Lockwin is a double-decker," the grocer declares to his head clerk. "She rides mighty high out of the water." The grocer used to haul lumber from Muskegon. His metaphors smell of the deep. For ten years young men of all temperaments had besieged this lady. The fame of her money had entranced them. Suitors who were afraid of her distinguished person still paid court, smitten by the love of money.
"Oh, Corkey ain't no good at all," say the bad men from Bitter Creek. It heats their blood. They shake hands with Lockwin and deploy on the threatened precincts. When the sailors unload at the next precinct of the Fourth ward the emissaries who have arrived with notice of Corkey's surrender these great hearts lead the fight.
David Lockwin begins at one end of State street and drinks, or pretends to drink, at every bar between Lake and Fortieth streets. This libation poured on the altar of liberty, he is popularly declared to be in the race. The newspapers announce that he is the people's idol, and the boss of the machine sends word to the newspapers that it is all well enough, but it must be kept up.
Is it not worse than sorrow to discover in this abode the same influences of estrangement? What is David Lockwin in the old home? A dead man, to be forgotten as soon as possible! No! no! Better to enter the door where the white arm reached out for the message of blackness.
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