“Where in G_____n is everybody?” came an angry voice from behind them. Arthur and Clancy turned and inwardly cringed. General Daniel Sickles stumped into the room, a hellion upon crutches, one leg lost at Gettysburg for the Union, and good sense lost long before then.
“I am afraid we are the only ones who remain, General,” said Arthur.
Clancy cleared his throat. “It is hopeless, sir.”
Sickles snorted and stumped over to Chandler’s desk.
“Where is Chandler?” he demanded.
“Retired for the evening,” said poor Clancy.
“Hah!” Sickles began rummaging about the telegrams upon Chandler’s desk, and began sorting several of the telegrams into a small pile before him.
“Might we help you, General?” Arthur asked benignly.
“I do not need your help, Arthur. You need mine,” Sickles muttered, seizing one telegram and another. He held up a fistful of paper. “There is uncertainty as to Louisiana, South Carolina, and Florida!”
“And?” Arthur asked.
“That,” spat Sickles, “is the bare minimum needed for a majority of the Electoral College.”
“I do not question your mathematics,” Clancy said, the exhaustion evident in his voice. “If we have those three states, Hayes shall have one hundred and eighty-five electoral votes and Tilden shall have one hundred and eighty-four. But we do not have those states.”
“What if the matter is in doubt?” Sickles lifted an eyebrow.
“Is there doubt?” asked Arthur.
“Clancy, send telegrams to our men in Louisiana, Florida, South Carolina, and Oregon to say as follows: ‘With your state sure for Hayes, he is elected. Hold your state.’ Are you not writing this down?”
Clancy slumped his shoulders, and obediently scribbled out the messages.
“If you advise it,” Sickles said to Arthur, “I have no doubt that Clancy will feel authorized to send off these telegrams with Chandler’s signature. I will then see to it that The New-York Times is advised of the telegrams.”
“The Times?” asked Clancy.
“Yes — John Reid of The New-York Times!” Sickles shouted. “He spent part of the war in a Confederate prison. If there is any man out there who will not countenance a Democratic victory, he is the very man.”
“Then what?”
“That is a question for tomorrow! If we can make it known that these states are uncertain, then the election is uncertain, and Hayes might still prevail! All that is needed is your authorization to send these telegrams! Do you so advise it, Arthur, or shall I wake Chandler?”
Arthur thought of Chandler in his doorway with the whiskey bottle.
“Very well, then,” he shrugged.
The Gilded Cage 