Chapter 23

POLITICS.

Peter sat up later than was prudent that night, studying his blank wall. Yet when he rose to go to bed, he gave his head a puzzled shake. When he had gone through his papers, and drunk his coffee the next morning, he went back to wall-gazing again. He was working over two conundrums not very easy to answer, which were somewhat to this effect:

Does the best man always make the best official?

Is the honest judgment of a fellow verging on twenty-four better than the experienced opinion of many far older men?

Peter began to think life had not such clear and direct “right” and “wrong” roads as he had thought. He had said to himself long ago that it was easy to take the right one, but he had not then discovered that it is often difficult to know which is the right, in order to follow it. He had started in to punish Bohlmann, and had compromised. He had disapproved of Dennis breaking the law, and had compromised his disapproval. He had said he should not go into saloons, and had ended by going. Now he was confronted with the problem whether the interests of his ward would be better served by the nomination of a man of good record, whom Peter personally liked, or by that of a colorless man, who would be ruled by the city’s leaders. In the one case Peter feared no support for his measures from his own party. In the other case he saw aid that was tantamount to success. Finally he shook himself.

“I believe Dennis is right,” he said aloud. “There are more ‘real’ things than ‘convictions’ in New York politics, and a ‘real’ thing is much harder to decide about in voting than a ‘conviction.’”

He went to his bedroom, packed his bag, and took his way to the station. There he found a dense crowd of delegates and “well-wishers,” both surrounding and filling the special train which was to carry New York’s contribution to the collected party wisdom, about to concentrate at Saratoga.

Peter felt like a stranger in the crowd, but on mingling in it he quickly found himself a marked man. He was seized upon by one of the diners of the evening before, and soon found himself forming part of a group, which constantly changed its components, but continued to talk convention affairs steadily. Nor did the starting of the train, with cheers, brass bands, flags, and other enthusing elements, make more than a temporary break. From the time the special started, till it rolled into Saratoga, six hours later, there was one long series of political debates and confabs. Peter listened much, and learned much, for the talk was very straight and plain. He had chats with Costell and Green. His two fellow-delegates from “de sixt” sought him and discussed intentions. He liked Schlurger, a simple, guileless German, who wanted only to do what his constituents wished him to do, both in convention and Assembly. Of Kennedy he was not so sure. Kennedy had sneered a little at Peter’s talk about the “best man,” and about “helping the ward,” and had only found that Peter’s ideas had value after he had been visited by various of the saloon-keepers, seen the vast torchlight meeting, and heard the cheers at Peter’s arguments. Still, Peter was by no means sure that Kennedy was not a square man, and concluded he was right in not condemning him, when, passing through one of the cars, he overheard the following:

“What kind of man is that Stirling, who’s raised such —— in the sixth?”

“I don’t know him, but Kennedy told me, before he’d swung round, that he was a darned good sort of a cuss.”

This was flattery, Peter understood, however questionable the form might seem, and he was pleased. Very few of us do not enjoy a real compliment. What makes a compliment uncomfortable is either a suspicion that the maker doesn’t mean it, or a knowledge that it is not merited.

Peter went at once to his room on reaching the hotel in Saratoga, intending to make up the sleep of which his long “think” the night before had robbed him. But scarcely had the colored gentleman bowed himself out, after the usual “can I git de gentleman a pitcher of ice water” (which translated means: “has de gentleman any superfluous change?”) when a knock came at the door. Peter opened it, to find a man outside.

“Is this Mr. Stirling’s room?” inquired the individual.

“Yes.”

“Can I see him?”

“Come in.” Peter moved his bag off one of his chairs, and his hat and overcoat off the other.

“Mr. Stirling,” said the stranger as he sat down, “I am Senator Maguire, and am, as perhaps you know, one of Porter’s managers.”

“Yes.”

“We understand that you are friendly to us. Now, I needn’t say that New York is otherwise a unit in opposing us.”

“No,” said Peter. “My fellow-delegates from the sixth, Schlurger and Kennedy, stand as I do!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“The change must have been very sudden. They were elected as Catlin men, we were told.”

“Yes. But there’s quite a different feeling in the ward now, and they have yielded to it.”

“That’s good news.”

“We all three come here prepared to do what seems best.”

The Senator’s expression lost some of the satisfaction Peter’s news had put into it. He gave a quick look at Peter’s face, as if to try and find from it what lay behind the words. He hesitated, as if divided in mind over two courses of action. Finally he said:

“I needn’t tell you that this opposition of practically the whole of the New York City delegation, is the most serious set-back to Porter’s chance. Now, we have talked it over, and it seemed to us that it would be a great card for him if he could be nominated by a city delegate. Will you do it?”

“I don’t know him well enough, do I? Doesn’t the nominating delegate have to make a speech in his favor?”

“Yes. But I can give you the material to-night. Or if you prefer, we’ll give it to you all written for delivery?”

“I don’t make other men’s speeches, Mr. Maguire.”

“Suit yourself about that. It shall be just as you please.”

“The difficulty is that I have not decided myself, yet, how I shall vote, and of course such an act is binding.”

Mr. Maguire’s countenance changed again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped you were for Porter. He’s far away the best man.”

“So I think.”

The Senator leaned back in his chair, and tucked his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat. He thought he had fathomed Peter, and felt that the rest was plain sailing. “This is not a chap to be tolled. I’ll give him the gaff at once,” was his mental conclusion. Then he asked aloud:

“What do you want?”

It was a question susceptible of many different constructions, but as Mr. Maguire asked it, it seemed to him to have but one, and that not very honest. Peter hesitated. The temptation was strong to lead the Senator on, but he did not like to do it. It seemed to savor of traps, and Peter had never liked traps. Still—he did want to know if the managers on Porter’s side would stoop to buy his support by some bargain. As Peter hesitated, weighing the pros and cons, Maguire spoke again.

“What does the other side offer you?”

Peter spoke quickly. “They haven’t offered me anything, but advice. That is, Costell said he’d try and help me on some legislation I want—”

“Special?” interrupted Maguire.

“No, General. I’ve talked about it with Porter as well”

“Oh! Indeed?”

“I’m really anxious to get that. Otherwise I want nothing.”

“Whew,” said the Senator to himself. “That was a narrow squeak. If he hadn’t spoken so quickly, I should have shown my hand before the call. I wonder if he got any inkling?” He never dreamed that Peter had spoken quickly to save that very disclosure.

“I needn’t say, Mr. Stirling, that if you can see your way to nominate Porter, we shall not forget it. Nor will he. He isn’t the kind of man who forgets his friends. Many a man in to-morrow’s convention would give anything for the privilege we offer you.”

“Well,” said Peter, “I realize the honor offered me, but I don’t see my way to take it. It will please me better to see him nominated by some one who has really stood close to him, than to gain his favor by doing it myself.”

“Think twice, Mr. Stirling.”

“If you would rather, I will not give you my answer till to-morrow morning?”

“I would,” said Maguire rising, “Try and make it favorable. It’s a great chance to do good for yourself and for your side. Good-night.”

Peter closed his door, and looked about for a bit of blank wall. But on second thought he sat down on his window-sill, and, filling his pipe, tried to draw conclusions as well as smoke from it.

“I wonder,” he pondered to himself, “how much of that was Maguire, and how much Porter? Ought I, for the sake of doing my best for my ward, to have let him go on? Has an agent any right to refuse what will help is client, even if it comes by setting pitfalls?”

Rap, rap, rap.

“Come in,” called Peter, forgetting he had turned down his light.

The door opened and Mr. Costell came in. “Having a quiet smoke?” he asked.

“Yes. I haven’t a cigar to offer you. Can you join me in a pipe?”

“I haven’t come to that yet. Suppose you try one of my cigars.” Costell sat down on the window-ledge by Peter.

“Thank you,” said Peter. “I like a cigar, but it must be a good one, and that kind I can’t afford.” He lit the cigar, and leaned back to luxuriate in it.

“You’ll like that, I’m sure. Pretty sight, isn’t it?” Costell pointed to the broad veranda, three stories below them, gay with brilliant dresses.

“Yes. It’s my first visit here, so it’s new to me.”

“It won’t be your last. You’ll be attending other conventions than this.”

“I hope so.”

“One of my scouts tells me you’ve had a call from Maguire?”

“Yes.” Peter hesitated a moment. “He wants me to nominate Porter,” he continued, as soon as he had decided that plain speaking was fair to Maguire.

“We shall be very sorry to see you do it.”

“I don’t think I shall. They only want me because it would give the impression that Porter has a city backing, and to try to give that amounts to a deception.”

“Can they get Schlurger or Kennedy?”

“Schlurger is safe. I don’t know about Kennedy.”

“Can you find out for us?”

“Yes. When would you like to know?”

“Can you see him now? I’ll wait here.”

Peter rose, looking at his cigar with a suggestion of regret. But he rubbed out the light, and left the room. At the office, he learned the number of Kennedy’s room, and went to it. On knocking, the door was opened only a narrow crack.

“Oh! it’s you,” said Kennedy. “Come in.”

Peter entered, and found Maguire seated in an easy attitude on a lounge. He noticed that his thumbs were once more tucked into his waistcoat.

“Mr. Kennedy,” said Peter without seating himself, “there is an attempt being made to get a city delegate to nominate Porter. It seems to me that is his particular friends’ business.”

Maguire spoke so quickly that Kennedy had no chance to reply: “Kennedy’s promised to nominate him, Mr. Stirling, if you won’t.”

“Do you feel that you are bound to do it?” asked Peter.

Kennedy moved uneasily in his chair. “Yes, I suppose I have promised.”

“Will you release Mr. Kennedy from his promise if he asks it?” Peter queried to Maguire.

“Why, Mr. Stirling, I don’t think either he or you ought to ask it.”

“That was not my question.”

It was the Senator’s turn to squirm. He did not want to say no, for fear of angering Peter, yet he did not like to surrender the advantage. Finally he said: “Yes, I’ll release him, but Mr. Kennedy isn’t the kind of a man that cries off from a promise. That’s women’s work.”

“No,” said Kennedy stiffening suddenly in backbone, as he saw the outlet opened by Maguire, between antagonizing Peter, and retracting his consent. “I don’t play baby. Not me.”

Peter stood thinking for a longer time than the others found comfortable. Maguire whistled to prove that he was quite at ease, but he would not have whistled if he had been.

“I think, Mr. Kennedy, that I’ll save you from the difficulty by nominating Mr. Porter myself,” said Peter finally.

“Good!” said Maguire; and Kennedy, reaching down into his hip pocket, produced a version of the holy text not yet included in any bibliography. Evidently the atmosphere was easier. “About your speech, Mr. Stirling?” continued the Senator.

“I shall say what I think right.”

Something in Peter’s voice made Maguire say: “It will be of the usual kind, of course?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter, “I shall tell the facts.”

“What sort of facts?”

“I shall tell how it is that a delegate of the sixth ward nominates Porter.”

“And that is?”

“I don’t see,” said Peter, “why I need say it. You know it as well as I do.”

“I know of many reasons why you should do it.”

“No,” said Peter. “There’s only one, and that has been created in the last ten minutes. Mr. Maguire, if you insist on the sixth ward nominating Mr. Porter, the sixth ward is going to tell why it does so. I’m sorry, for I like Porter, but the sixth ward shan’t lend itself to a fraud, if I can help it.”

Kennedy had been combining things spiritual and aqueous at his wash-stand. But his interest in the blending seemed suddenly to cease. Maguire, too, took his thumbs from their havens of rest, and looked dissatisfied.

“Look here, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “it’s much simpler to leave it to Kennedy. You think you’re doing what’s right, but you’ll only do harm to us, and to yourself. If you nominate Porter, the city gang won’t forgive you, and unless you can say what we want said, we shall be down on you. So you’ll break with both sides.”

“I think that is so. That is why I want some real friend of Porter’s to do it.”

Maguire laughed rather a forced laugh. “I suppose we’ve got to satisfy you. We’ll have Porter nominated by one of our own crowd.”

“I think that’s best. Good-evening.” Peter went to the door.

“Mr. Stirling,” called Kennedy. “Won’t you stay and take some whisky and water with us?”

“Thank you,” said Peter. “Mr. Costell’s in my room and he must be tired of waiting.” He closed the door, and walked away.

The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment.

“The —— cuss is playing a double game,” Maguire gasped.

“I don’t know what it means!” said Kennedy.

“Mean?” cried Maguire. “It can mean only one thing. He’s acting under Costell’s orders.”

“But why should he give it away to us?”

“How the —— should I know? Look here, Kennedy, you must do it, after all.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tut, tut, man, you must.”

“But my ward?”

“Come. We’ll make it quarantine, as you want. That’s six years, and you can —— your ward.”

“I’ll do it.”

“That’s the talk.”

They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an hour. Then Maguire said good-night.

“You shall have the speech the first thing in the morning,” he said at parting. Then as he walked down the long corridor, he muttered, “Now then, Stirling, look out for the hind heel of the mule.”

Peter found Costell still waiting for him.

“It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was there.”

“Indeed!” said Costell, making room for Peter on the window-ledge.

Peter re-lit his cigar, “Maguire promises me that Porter shall be nominated by one of his friends.”

“He had been trying Kennedy?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Costell smiled. “I had no business to ask you that?”

“No,” Peter said frankly.

Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence.

Then Costell began talking about Saratoga. He told Peter where the “Congress” spring was, and what was worth seeing. Finally he rose to go. He held out his hand, and said:

“Mr. Stirling, you’ve been as true as steel with us, and with the other men. I don’t want you to suppose we are not conscious of it. I think you’ve done us a great service to-night, although it might have been very profitable to you if you had done otherwise. I don’t think that you’ll lose by it in the long run, but I’m going to thank you now, for myself. Good-night.”

Peter had a good night. Perhaps it was only because he was sleepy, but a pleasant speech is not a bad night-cap. At least it is better than a mental question-mark as to whether one has done wrong. Peter did not know how it was coming out, but he thought he had done right, and need not spend time on a blank wall that evening.