Sons of Fortune Read online

  “A master stroke,” repeated Jimmy. “It brings a new meaning to the sympathy vote. Perhaps we should ask the question, do you want a cripple for president?”

  “One of the greatest Presidents in the history of this country was a cripple,” Fletcher reminded his campaign manager.

  “Then there’s only one thing for it,” said Jimmy, “you’ll have to spend the next twenty-four hours in a wheelchair.”

  Although everyone knew the result wouldn’t be announced until nine o’clock, the assembly hall was packed long before the principal made his entrance.

  Fletcher sat in the back row, with his head bowed, while Jimmy stared directly in front of him. “I should have got up earlier every morning,” said Fletcher.

  “I should have broken your leg,” Jimmy responded.

  The principal, accompanied by the chaplain, marched down the aisle as if to show God was somehow involved in who became president of student government at Hotchkiss. The principal walked to the front of the stage and cleared his throat.

  “The result of the election for student government president,” said Mr. Fleming, “is Fletcher Davenport 207 votes, Steve Rodgers 173 votes. I therefore declare Fletcher Davenport to be the new president.”

  Fletcher immediately walked across and shook hands with Steve, who smiled warmly, looking almost relieved. Fletcher turned around to see Harry Gates standing by the door. The senator bowed respectfully to the new president.

  “You never forget your first election victory,” was all he said.

  They both ignored Jimmy, who was leaping up and down, unable to contain himself.

  “I believe you know my vice-president, sir,” Fletcher replied.

  “Will anyone bother to stand against you?” asked Diane Coulter.

  “No one I can’t beat.”

  “What about Nat Cartwright?”

  “Not while it’s known that he’s the principal’s favorite, and if elected will simply carry out his wishes; at least that’s what my supporters are telling everyone.”

  “And don’t let’s forget the way he treated my sister.”

  “I thought it was you who dumped him? I didn’t even realize he knew your sister.”

  “He didn’t, but that didn’t stop him trying to make a move on her when he came around to the house to see me.”

  “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Yes, my brother Dan. He caught him in the kitchen with his hand up her skirt. My sister complained bitterly she just couldn’t stop him.”

  “Did she?” He paused. “Do you think your brother would be willing to back me for president?”

  “Yes, but there’s not much he can do while he’s at Princeton.”

  “Oh yes there is,” said Elliot. “To start with…”

  “Who’s my main rival?” asked Nat.

  “Ralph Elliot, who else?” said Tom. “He’s been working on his campaign since the beginning of last term.”

  “But that’s against the rules.”

  “I don’t think Elliot has ever cared much about rules, and as he knows you’re far more popular than he is, we can look forward to a dirty campaign.”

  “But I’m not going down that road…”

  “So we’ll have to take the Kennedy route.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “You should open your campaign by challenging Elliot to a debate.”

  “He’ll never accept.”

  “Then you win either way. If he does accept, you’ll wipe the floor with him. If he doesn’t, we can play the ‘he flunked it’ card.”

  “So how would you set up such a challenge?”

  “Send him a letter, a copy of which I’ll post on the bulletin board.”

  “But you’re not allowed to post notices without the principal’s permission.”

  “By the time they take it down, most people will have read it, and those that haven’t will want to know what it said.”

  “And by then I’ll have been disqualified.”

  “Not while the principal thinks Elliot might win.”

  It was six thirty on the first day of term when Nat and Tom stood alone in the parking lot. The first vehicle to come through the gates was the principal’s.

  “Good morning, Cartwright,” he barked, as he climbed out of his car, “from your excess of enthusiasm at this early hour, am I to assume that you’re running for president?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent, and who is your main rival?”

  “Ralph Elliot.”

  The principal frowned. “Then it will be a fiercely fought competition, because Elliot won’t roll over easily.”

  “True,” admitted Tom as the principal disappeared toward his study, leaving the two of them to greet the second car. The occupant turned out to be a terrified new boy, who ran away when Nat approached him, and worse, the third car was full of Elliot supporters, who quickly fanned across the parking lot, obviously having already been through a dress rehearsal.

  “Damn,” said Tom, “our first team meeting isn’t scheduled until the ten o’clock break. Elliot obviously briefed his team during the vacation.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Nat, “just grab our people as they get out of their cars, and put them to work immediately.”

  By the time the last car had disgorged its occupants, Nat had answered nearly a hundred questions and shaken hands with over three hundred boys, but only one fact became clear. Elliot was happy to promise them anything in exchange for their vote.

  “Shouldn’t we be letting everyone know what a sleazebag Elliot really is?”

  “What do you have in mind?” Nat asked.

  “How he cajoles new boys into parting with their allowances?”

  “There’s never been any proof.”

  “Just endless complaints.”

  “If there’s that many, they’ll know where to put their cross, won’t they,” said Nat. “In any case, that’s not the sort of campaign I want to run,” he added. “I’d prefer to assume the voters can make up their own minds which one of us can be trusted.”

  “That’s an original idea,” said Tom.

  “Well, at least the principal is making it clear that he doesn’t want Elliot to be president,” said Nat.

  “I don’t think we should tell anyone that,” said Tom. “It may well swing a few more votes to Elliot.”

  “Damn, how did he manage to pull that off?” growled Nat.

  “Bribery and corruption would be my bet,” said Jimmy. “Elliot has always been a useful player, but never good enough to make the school team.”

  “Do you think they’ll risk putting him in the game?”

  “Why not? St. George’s often fields a weak side, so they could leave him out there for a few minutes once they’re confident it won’t affect the result. Then Elliot will spend the rest of the game running up and down the sidelines, waving at the voters, while all we can do is stare down at him from the bleachers.”

  “Then let’s make sure all our workers are in position outside the stadium a few minutes before the game ends, and don’t let anyone see our new hand-held placards until Saturday afternoon. That way Elliot won’t have time to come up with his own.”

  “You’re learning fast,” said Tom.

  “When Elliot’s your opponent, you’re not left with a lot of choice.”

  When Nat arrived at the game, his placards were to be seen everywhere, and all that the Elliot supporters could do was cry foul play. Nat and Tom couldn’t hide their smiles as they took their places in the bleachers. The smiles broadened when St. George’s scored early in the first quarter. Nat didn’t want Taft to lose, but no coach was going to risk putting Elliot on the field while St. George’s remained in the lead. And that didn’t change until the final quarter.

  Nat shook hands with everyone as they left the stadium, but he knew that Taft’s last-minute victory over St. George’s hadn’t helped his cause, even if Elliot had only been able to run up and down the s