Blaise was at his desk in Washington when Caroline made an unannounced entrance, the first, in fact, since each had seen fit to confide to the other more truth than was necessary for everyday life in the American republic.
“Look,” said Caroline, who seldom said anything so obvious.
Blaise spread out the New York Journal American on his desk, and read the headline. „W. R. Hearst Proves the Rule of Oil Trust in Politics.” He read the story quickly. Someone, probably Brisbane, had put together a highly damning account of Standard Oil’s promiscuous dealing with the politicians of both parties. With some subtlety, the story never got far from Roosevelt and the Republican Party, but, thus far, no line of Roosevelt was quoted. That was, the story concluded, to come.
“I suspect that this will not be a happy morning at the White House.” Caroline sat down; she stared off into space, no doubt at headlines as yet unset in type.
“Well, he’s done one thing I didn’t think he could. He’s proved that Standard Oil gave a lot of money to Roosevelt’s campaign, and Roosevelt, so far, hasn’t really gone after any of the oil trusts. Well, that’s cause and effect, isn’t it?”
“But,” said Caroline, “Archbold also contributed to Judge Parker and the Democrats. So the two cancel out.”
“I wonder.” Blaise turned to Caroline. “Do you-and Mr. Trimble-agree to breaking the Penrose story?”
Caroline nodded. “Mr. Trimble’s running it tomorrow, front page.”
“That puts us one ahead of the Post.” Blaise was pleased. “Hearst wants to do the best of Sibley’s letters. But we can have the rest of him, the part that doesn’t concern the President.”
Joseph C. Sibley was a Republican congressman from Pennsylvania, who had never tried to disguise his loyalty to the Rockefeller oil interest. Sibley wrote Archbold: “For the first time in my life I told the President some plain if unpalatable truths as to the situation politically, and that no man should win or deserve to win who depended upon the rabble rather than upon the conservative men of affairs…” This could have been, thought Blaise, the beginning of Roosevelt’s abrupt shift to the rich-and to Standard Oil-in order to raise money for the 1904 campaign.
“Have you ever thought of going home?” Caroline was sudden.
“Home? To Connecticut Avenue?”
“To France.”
Blaise laughed. “That’s where Hearst told me to go-instead of hell, I suppose, when I was making heavy weather about some of his crazier tactics. No. I like it here, more than ever. Besides, do you know anything about French politics? Look what they did to your friend Captain Dreyfus.”
Caroline seemed uncharacteristically disconsolate. “In France, I-you-we wouldn’t be publishers. We wouldn’t have to know such people, or care.”
Blaise shook his head. “Sell me your share, and go back. I’m in my element now.”
Caroline smiled without pleasure. “That famous shoe keeps shifting, first to one, then to the other foot. Oh, I stay. I’m in too deep. I have my-expiations.”
“You and that mother of yours!” Blaise disliked the subject intensely. “You don’t need expiation. What you need is an exorcist.”
“I want to publish my grandfather’s journal, about her.”
“Go ahead. It’s none of my business,” said Blaise; and meant it. Then Mr. Trimble joined them, a note in hand, a gleam in his eye. “From the White House. From the President.”
“Never explain,” sighed Caroline, “never complain.”
“He’s done both.” Trimble gave them the short message, for publication. The President had no specific recollection of the conversation as reported by Mr. Sibley. “The President would like to see you tomorrow at noon.” This was addressed to Blaise. Then Trimble was gone, and Blaise said to Caroline, “We have drawn blood.”
“Whose, I wonder?” asked Caroline.
The President was receiving a delegation from the new state of Oklahoma when Blaise was announced. “Bully!” the President shouted, and Blaise’s entrance was a signal for the Oklahomans to withdraw. Blaise did get a good look at the state’s first governor, who was also treasurer of the Democratic Party. This gentleman, C. N. Haskell, had that day been named by Hearst as yet another employee of Standard Oil, guilty of serving not the people but the Rockefellers. Bryan, once again the party’s peerless leader, was said to have ordered Haskell to resign as treasurer. As the Oklahomans withdrew, each with a firm handshake from the President, there was no sign that anything was awry other than, as the door shut on the officialdom of the latest state, a sudden explosion: “Taft-the procrastinator-really let us down out there. We could have had all seven of Oklahoma’s electoral votes. But then they came up with this constitution which was mad-pure socialism, and Taft said, wait and write a new one, as if anyone gives a damn about a state constitution, so while he’s dithering, Bryan comes in, praises the constitution, and now they’ve elected nothing but Democrats, including that crook Haskell. They have also, in their infinite Western wisdom, sent us a blind boy for one senator, and an Indian-an Indian!-for another.”
“I know, sir,” said Blaise, “your views on the virtues of the dead Indian, but I didn’t know you took so powerful a line against blind men.”
“I do against this one.” The Roosevelt teeth clicked twice. “A populist demagogue… You’ve read about Haskell?”
“I’ve read everything.”
“What does Hearst want to do? Wreck our political system?”
“If you put it like that, sir, yes, he does.”
Roosevelt did not acknowledge so truthful if radical a response. “What letters of mine has he got?” This was sudden. The President, whose back was to Blaise, turned round. The bright red and yellow leaves of autumn as seen through the window back of him made him look as if he were incongruously trapped in a stained-glass window.
“In themselves, as far as I know, nothing much. But if interpreted …”
“Oh, he’ll interpret! Here.” Roosevelt gave Blaise a typed statement. “Can you run this tomorrow? I’m afraid it’s not exclusive. I’m releasing it to the whole country. But you’ll have it before McLean at the Post.”
Blaise read the short statement and marvelled at the easy even flow of political hypocrisy at its fullest tide. “Mr. Hearst has published much interesting and important correspondence of the Standard Oil people, especially that of Mr. Archbold with various public men. I have in times past criticized Mr. Hearst but in this matter he has rendered a public service of high importance and I hope he will publish all the letters dealing with the matter which he has in his possession. If Mr. Hearst or anybody else has any letters from me dealing with Standard Oil affairs I shall be delighted to have it published.”
Thus, Roosevelt made the best of a bad business by praising the enemy and trying to regain for himself the high ground in what looked more and more like a swamp filled with quicksand. What, Blaise wondered, for the first time, were the President’s relations with Standard Oil? Obviously, there was something that he did not want known; and it probably had to do with the gathering of money for the 1904 election. Although the President had struck a jaunty pose, he looked unnaturally ill at ease.
“I shall publish your statement tomorrow.”
“Good. I gather you’re in communication with Hearst?” Blaise nodded. “When next you talk to him, say that I’d like a word with him here, in the White House, soon. Tell him there are other… forces at work, that he should know about.” The President’s smile was as bright and artificial as his pince-nez; he showed Blaise to the door.