XXIV.

It was impossible, of course, that my friends should have failed to

perceive the state of disorganization I was in, and some of them at least

must have guessed its cause. Dickinson, on his return from Maine, at once

begged me to go away. I rather congratulated myself that Tom had chosen

these months for a long-delayed vacation in Canada. His passion for

fishing still persisted.

In spite of the fact I have noted, that I had lost a certain zest for

results, to keep busy seemed to be the only way to relieve my mind of an

otherwise intolerable pressure: and I worked sometimes far into the

evening. In the background of my thoughts lay the necessity of coming to

a decision on the question of the senatorship; several times Dickinson

and Gorse had spoken of it, and I was beginning to get letters from

influential men in other parts of the state. They seemed to take it for

granted that there was no question of my refusing. The time came when I

had grown able to consider the matter with a degree of calmness. What

struck me first, when I began to debate upon it, was that the senatorship

offered a new and possibly higher field for my energies, while at the

same time the office would be a logical continuation of a signal legal

career. I was now unable to deny that I no longer felt any exhilaration

at the prospect of future legal conquests similar to those of the past;

but once in the Senate, I might regain something of that intense

conviction of fighting for a just and sound cause with which Theodore

Wading had once animated me: fighting there, in the Capitol at

Washington, would be different; no stigma of personal gain attached to

it; it offered a nearer approach to the ideal I had once more begun to

seek, held out hopes of a renewal of my unity of mind. Mr. Watling had

declared that there was something to fight for; I had even glimpsed that

something, but I had to confess that for some years I had not been

consciously fighting for it. I needed something to fight for.

There was the necessity, however, of renewing my calculations. If

Hambleton Durrett should recover, even during the ensuing year, and if

Nancy relented it would not be possible for us to be divorced and married

for some time. I still clung tenaciously to the belief that there were no

relationships wholly unaffected by worldly triumphs, and as Senator I

should have strengthened my position. It did not strike me--even after

all my experience--that such a course as I now contemplated had a

parallel in the one that I had pursued in regard to her when I was young.

It seemed fitting that Theodore Watling should be the first to know of my

decision. I went to Washington to meet him. It pained me to see him

looking more worn, but he was still as cheerful, as mentally vigorous as

ever, and I perceived that he did not wish to dwell upon his illness. I

did venture to expostulate with him on the risk he must be running in

serving out his term. We were sitting in the dining room of his house.

"We've only one life to live, Hugh," he answered, smiling at me, "and we

might as well get all out of it we can. A few years more or less doesn't

make much difference--and I ought to be satisfied. I'd resign now, to

please my wife, to please my friends, but we can't trust this governor to

appoint a safe man. How little we suspected when we elected him that he'd

become infected. You never can tell, in these days, can you?"

It was the note of devotion to his cause that I had come to hear: I felt

it renewing me, as I had hoped. The threat of disease, the louder

clamourings of the leaders of the mob had not sufficed to dismay

him--though he admitted more concern over these. My sympathy and

affection were mingled with the admiration he never failed to inspire.

"But you, Hugh," he said concernedly, "you're not looking very well, my

son. You must manage to take a good rest before coming here--before the

campaign you'll have to go through. We can't afford to have anything

happen to you--you're too young."

I wondered whether he had heard anything.... He spoke to me again about

the work to be done, the work he looked to me to carry on.

"We'll have to watch for our opportunity," he said, "and when it comes we

can handle this new movement not by crushing it, but by guiding it. I've

come to the conclusion that there is a true instinct in it, that there

are certain things we have done which have been mistakes, and which we

can't do any more. But as for this theory that all wisdom resides in the

people, it's buncombe. What we have to do is to work out a practical

programme."

His confidence in me had not diminished. It helped to restore confidence

in myself.

The weather was cool and bracing for September, and as we drove in a

motor through the beautiful avenues of the city he pointed out a house

for me on one of the circles, one of those distinguished residences,

instances of a nascent good taste, that are helping to redeem the

polyglot aspect of our national capital. Mr. Watling spoke--rather

tactfully, I thought--of Maude and the children, and ventured the surmise

that they would be returning in a few months. I interpreted this, indeed,

as in rather the nature of a kindly hint that such a procedure would be

wise in view of the larger life now dawning for me, but I made no

comment.... He even sympathized with Nancy Durrett.

"She did the right thing, Hugh," he said, with the admirable casual

manner he possessed of treating subjects which he knew to be delicate.

"Nancy's a fine woman. Poor devil!" This in reference to Ham....

Mr. Watling reassured me on the subject of his own trouble, maintaining

that he had many years left if he took care. He drove me to the station.

I travelled homeward somewhat lifted out of myself by this visit to him;

with some feeling of spaciousness derived from Washington itself, with

its dignified Presidential Mansion among the trees, its granite shaft

drawing the eye upward, with its winged Capitol serene upon the hill.

Should we deliver these heirlooms to the mob? Surely Democracy meant more

than that!

All this time I had been receiving, at intervals, letters from Maude and

the children. Maude's were the letters of a friend, and I found it easy

to convince myself that their tone was genuine, that the separation had

brought contentment to her; and those independent and self-sufficient

elements in her character I admired now rather than deplored. At Etretat,

which she found much to her taste, she was living quietly, but making

friends with some American and English, and one French family of the same

name, Buffon, as the great naturalist. The father was a retired silk

manufacturer; they now resided in Paris, and had been very kind in

helping her to get an apartment in that city for the winter. She had

chosen one on the Avenue Kleber, not far from the Arc. It is interesting,

after her arraignment of me, that she should have taken such pains to

record their daily life for my benefit in her clear, conscientious

handwriting. I beheld Biddy, her dresses tucked above slim little knees,

playing in the sand on the beach, her hair flying in the wind and lighted

by the sun which gave sparkle to the sea. I saw Maude herself in her

beach chair, a book lying in her lap, its pages whipped by the breeze.

And there was Moreton, who must be proving something of a handful, since

he had fought with the French boys on the beach and thrown a "rock"

through the windows of the Buffon family. I remember one of his

letters--made perfect after much correcting and scratching,--in which he

denounced both France and the French, and appealed to me to come over at

once to take him home. Maude had enclosed it without comment. This letter

had not been written under duress, as most of his were.

Matthew's letters--he wrote faithfully once a week--I kept in a little

pile by themselves and sometimes reread them. I wondered whether it were

because of the fact that I was his father--though a most inadequate

one--that I thought them somewhat unusual. He had learned French--Maude

wrote--with remarkable ease. I was particularly struck in these letters

with the boy's power of observation, with his facile use of language,

with the vivid simplicity of his descriptions of the life around him, of

his experiences at school. The letters were thoughtful--not dashed off in

a hurry; they gave evidence in every line of the delicacy of feeling that

was, I think, his most appealing quality, and I put them down with the

impression strong on me that he, too, longed to return home, but would

not say so. There was a certain pathos in this youthful restraint that

never failed to touch me, even in those times when I had been most

obsessed with love and passion.... The curious effect of these letters

was that of knowing more than they expressed. He missed me, he wished to

know when I was coming over. And I was sometimes at a loss whether to be

grateful to Maude or troubled because she had as yet given him no hint of

our separation. What effect would it have on him when it should be

revealed to him?.... It was through Matthew I began to apprehend certain

elements in Maude I had both failed to note and appreciate; her little

mannerisms that jarred, her habits of thought that exasperated, were

forgotten, and I was forced to confess that there was something fine in

the achievement of this attitude of hers that was without ill will or

resentment, that tacitly acknowledged my continued rights and interest in

the children. It puzzled and troubled me.

The Citizens Union began its campaign early that autumn, long before the

Hons. Jonathan Parks and Timothy MacGuire--Republican and Democratic

candidates for Mayor--thought of going on the stump. For several weeks

the meetings were held in the small halls and club rooms of various

societies and orders in obscure portions of the city.

The forces of "privilege and corruption" were not much alarmed. Perry

Blackwood accused the newspapers of having agreed to a "conspiracy of

silence"; but, as Judah B. Tallant remarked, it was the business of the

press to give the public what it wanted, and the public as yet hadn't

shown much interest in the struggle being waged in its behalf. When the

meetings began to fill up it would be time to report them in the columns

of the Era. Meanwhile, however, the city had been quietly visited by an

enterprising representative of a New York periodical of the new type that

developed with the opening years of the century--one making a specialty

of passionate "muck-raking." And since the people of America love nothing

better than being startled, Yardley's Weekly had acquired a circulation

truly fabulous. The emissary of the paper had attended several of the

Citizens meetings; interviewed, it seemed, many persons: the result was a

revelation to make the blood of politicians, capitalists and corporation

lawyers run cold. I remember very well the day it appeared on our news

stands, and the heated denunciations it evoked at the Boyne Club. Ralph

Hambleton was the only one who took it calmly, who seemed to derive a

certain enjoyment from the affair. Had he been a less privileged person,

they would have put him in chancery. Leonard Dickinson asserted that

Yardley's should be sued for libel.

"There's just one objection to that," said Ralph.

"What?" asked the banker.

"It isn't libel."

"I defy them to prove it," Dickinson snapped. "It's a d--d outrage! There

isn't a city or village in the country that hasn't exactly the same

conditions. There isn't any other way to run a city--"

"That's what Mr. Krebs says," Ralph replied, "that the people ought to

put Judd Jason officially in charge. He tells 'em that Jason is probably

a more efficient man than Democracy will be able to evolve in a coon's

age, that we ought to take him over, instead of letting the capitalists

have him."

"Did Krebs say that?" Dickinson demanded.

"You can't have read the article very thoroughly, Leonard," Ralph

commented. "I'm afraid you only picked out the part of it that

compliments you. This fellow seems to have been struck by Krebs, says

he's a coming man, that he's making original contributions to the

people's cause. Quite a tribute. You ought to read it."

Dickinson, who had finished his lunch, got up and left the table after

lighting his cigar. Ralph's look followed him amusedly.

"I'm afraid it's time to cash in and be good," he observed.

"We'll get that fellow Krebs yet," said Grierson, wrathfully. Miller

Gorse alone made no remarks, but in spite of his silence he emanated an

animosity against reform and reformers that seemed to charge the very

atmosphere, and would have repressed any man but Ralph....

I sat in my room at the Club that night and reread the article, and if

its author could have looked into my soul and observed the emotions he

had set up, he would, no doubt, have experienced a grim satisfaction. For

I, too, had come in for a share of the comment. Portions of the matter

referring to me stuck in my brain like tar, such as the reference to my

father, to the honoured traditions of the Parets and the Brecks which I

had deliberately repudiated. I had less excuse than many others. The part

I had played in various reprehensible transactions such as the Riverside

Franchise and the dummy telephone company affair was dwelt upon, and I

was dismissed with the laconic comment that I was a graduate of

Harvard....

My associates and myself were referred to collectively as a "gang," with

the name of our city prefixed; we were linked up with and compared to the

gangs of other cities--the terminology used to describe us being that of

the police reporter. We "operated," like burglars; we "looted": only, it

was intimated in one place, "second-story men" were angels compared to

us, who had never seen the inside of a penitentiary. Here we were, all

arraigned before the bar of public opinion, the relentless Dickinson, the

surfeited Scherer, the rapacious Grierson, the salacious Tallant. I have

forgotten what Miller Gorse was called; nothing so classic as a Minotaur;

Judd Jason was a hairy spider who spread his net and lurked in darkness

for his victims. Every adjective was called upon to do its duty.... Even

Theodore Watling did not escape, but it was intimated that he would be

dealt with in another connection in a future number.

The article had a crude and terrifying power, and the pain it aroused,

following almost immediately upon the suffering caused by my separation

from Nancy, was cumulative in character and effect, seeming actively to

reenforce the unwelcome conviction I had been striving to suppress, that

the world, which had long seemed so acquiescent in conforming itself to

my desires, was turning against me.

Though my hunger for Nancy was still gnawing, I had begun to fear that I

should never get her now; and the fact that she would not even write to

me seemed to confirm this.

Then there was Matthew--I could not bear to think that he would ever read

that article.

In vain I tried that night to belittle to myself its contentions and

probable results, to summon up the heart to fight; in vain I sought to

reconstruct the point of view, to gain something of that renewed hope and

power, of devotion to a cause I had carried away from Washington after my

talk with Theodore Watling. He, though stricken, had not wavered in his

faith. Why should I?

Whether or not as the result of the article in Yardley's, which had been

read more or less widely in the city, the campaign of the Citizens Union

gained ground, and people began to fill the little halls to hear Krebs,

who was a candidate for district attorney. Evidently he was entertaining

and rousing them, for his reputation spread, and some of the larger halls

were hired. Dickinson and Gorse became alarmed, and one morning the

banker turned up at the Club while I was eating my breakfast.

"Look here, Hugh," he said, "we may as well face the fact that we've got

a fight ahead of us,--we'll have to start some sort of a back-fire right

away."

"You think Greenhalge has a chance of being elected?" I asked.

"I'm not afraid of Greenhalge, but of this fellow Krebs. We can't afford

to have him district attorney, to let a demagogue like him get a start.

The men the Republicans and Democrats have nominated are worse than

useless. Parks is no good, and neither is MacGuire. If only we could have

foreseen this thing we might have had better candidates put up--but

there's no use crying over spilt milk. You'll have to go on the stump,

Hugh--that's all there is to it. You can answer him, and the newspapers

will print your speeches in full. Besides it will help you when it comes

to the senatorship."

The mood of extreme dejection that had followed the appearance of the

article in Yardley's did not last. I had acquired aggressiveness: an

aggressiveness, however, differing in quality from the feeling I once

would have had,--for this arose from resentment, not from belief. It was

impossible to live in the atmosphere created by the men with whom I

associated--especially at such a time--without imbibing something of the

emotions animating them,--even though I had been free from these emotions

myself. I, too, had begun to be filled with a desire for revenge; and

when this desire was upon me I did not have in my mind a pack of

reformers, or even the writer of the article in Yardley's. I thought of

Hermann Krebs. He was my persecutor; it seemed to me that he always had

been....

"Well, I'll make speeches if you like," I said to Dickinson.

"I'm glad," he replied. "We're all agreed, Gorse and the rest of us, that

you ought to. We've got to get some ginger into this fight, and a good

deal more money, I'm afraid. Jason sends word we'll need more. By the

way, Hugh, I wish you'd drop around and talk to Jason and get his idea of

how the land lies."

I went, this time in the company of Judah B. Tallant. Naturally we didn't

expect to see Mr. Jason perturbed, nor was he. He seemed to be in an odd,

rather exultant mood--if he can be imagined as exultant. We were not long

in finding out what pleased him--nothing less than the fact that Mr.

Krebs had proposed him for mayor!

"D--d if I wouldn't make a good one, too," he said. "D--d if I wouldn't

show 'em what a real mayor is!"

"I guess there's no danger of your ever being mayor, Judd," Tallant

observed, with a somewhat uneasy jocularity.

"I guess there isn't, Judah," replied the boss, quickly, but with a

peculiar violet flash in his eyes. "They won't ever make you mayor,

either, if I can help it. And I've a notion I can. I'd rather see Krebs

mayor."

"You don't think he meant to propose you seriously," Tallant exclaimed.

"I'm not a d--d fool," said the boss. "But I'll say this, that he half

meant it. Krebs has a head-piece on him, and I tell you if any of this

reform dope is worth anything his is. There's some sense in what he's

talking, and if all the voters was like him you might get a man like me

for mayor. But they're not, and I guess they never will be."

"Sure," said Mr. Jason. "The people are dotty--there ain't one in ten

thousand understands what he's driving at when he gets off things like

that. They take it on the level."

Tallant reflected.

"By gum, I believe you're right," he said. "You think they will blow up?"

he added.

"Krebs is the whole show, I tell you. They wouldn't be anywhere without

him. The yaps that listen to him don't understand him, but somehow he

gets under their skins. Have you seen him lately?"

"Never saw him," replied Tallant.

"Well, if you had, you'd know he was a sick man."

"Sick!" I exclaimed. "How do you know?"

"It's my business to know things," said Judd Jason, and added to Tallant,

"that your reporters don't find out."

"What's the matter with him?" Tallant demanded. A slight exultation in

his tone did not escape me.

"You've got me there," said Jason, "but I have it pretty straight. Any

one of your reporters will tell you that he looks sick."....

The Era took Mr. Jason's advice and began to publish those portions of

Krebs's speeches that were seemingly detrimental to his own cause. Other

conservative newspapers followed suit....

Both Tallant and I were surprised to hear these sentiments out of the

mouth of Mr. Jason.

"You don't think that crowd's going to win, do you?" asked the owner of

the Era, a trifle uneasily.

"Win!" exclaimed the boss contemptuously. "They'll blow up, and you'll

never hear of 'em. I'm not saying we won't need a little--powder," he

added--which was one of the matters we had come to talk about. He gave us

likewise a very accurate idea of the state of the campaign, mentioning

certain things that ought to be done. "You ought to print some of Krebs's

speeches, Judah, like what he said about me. They're talking it all

around that you're afraid to."

"Print things like his proposal to make you mayor!"

The information that I was to enter the lists against Krebs was received

with satisfaction and approval by those of our friends who were called in

to assist at a council of war in the directors' room of the Corn National

Bank. I was flattered by the confidence these men seemed to have in my

ability. All were in a state of anger against the reformers; none of them

seriously alarmed as to the actual outcome of the campaign,--especially

when I had given them the opinion of Mr. Jason. What disturbed them was

the possible effect upon the future of the spread of heretical,

socialistic doctrines, and it was decided to organize a publicity bureau,

independently of the two dominant political parties, to be in charge of a

certain New York journalist who made a business of such affairs, who was

to be paid a sum commensurate with the emergency. He was to have carte

blanche, even in the editorial columns of our newspapers. He was also to

flood the city with "literature." We had fought many wars before this,

and we planned our campaign precisely as though we were dealing with one

of those rebellions in the realm of finance of which I have given an

instance. But now the war chest of our opponents was negligible; and we

were comforted by the thought that, however disagreeable the affair might

be while it lasted, in the long run capital was invincible.

Before setting to work to prepare my speeches it was necessary to make an

attempt to familiarize myself with the seemingly unprecedented line of

argument Krebs had evolved--apparently as disconcerting to his friends as

to his opponents. It occurred to me, since I did not care to attend

Krebs's meetings, to ask my confidential stenographer, Miss McCoy, to go

to Turner's Hall and take down one of his speeches verbatim. Miss McCoy

had never intruded on me her own views, and I took for granted that they

coincided with my own.

"I'd like to get an accurate record of what he is saying," I told her.

"Do you mind going?"

"No, I'll be glad to go, Mr. Paret," she said quietly.

"He's doing more harm than we thought," I remarked, after a moment. "I've

known him for a good many years. He's clever. He's sowing seeds of

discontent, starting trouble that will be very serious unless it is

headed off."

Miss McCoy made no comment....

Before noon the next day she brought in the speech, neatly typewritten,

and laid it on my desk. Looking up and catching her eye just as she was

about to withdraw, I was suddenly impelled to ask:--"Well, what did you

think of it?"

She actually flushed, for the first time in my dealings with her

betraying a feeling which I am sure she deemed most unprofessional.

"I liked it, Mr. Paret," she replied simply, and I knew that she had

understated. It was quite apparent that Krebs had captivated her. I tried

not to betray my annoyance.

"Was there a good audience?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"How many do you think?"

She hesitated.

"It isn't a very large hall, you know. I should say it would hold about

eight hundred people."

"And--it was full?"--I persisted.

"Oh, yes, there were numbers of people standing."

I thought I detected in her tone-although it was not apologetic--a desire

to spare my feelings. She hesitated a moment more, and then left the

room, closing the door softly behind her...

Presently I took up the pages and began to read. The language was simple

and direct, an appeal to common sense, yet the words strangely seemed

charged with an emotional power that I found myself resisting. When at

length I laid down the sheets I wondered whether it were imagination, or

the uncomfortable result of memories of conversations I had had with him.

I was, however, confronted with the task of refuting his arguments: but

with exasperating ingenuity, he seemed to have taken the wind out of our

sails. It is difficult to answer a man who denies the cardinal principle

of American democracy,--that a good mayor or a governor may be made out

of a dog-catcher. He called this the Cincinnatus theory: that any

American, because he was an American, was fit for any job in the gift of

state or city or government, from sheriff to Ambassador to Great Britain.

Krebs substituted for this fallacy what may be called the doctrine of

potentiality. If we inaugurated and developed a system of democratic

education, based on scientific principles, and caught the dog-catcher,

young enough, he might become a statesman or thinker or scientist and

make his contribution to the welfare and progress of the nation: again,

he might not; but he would have had his chance, he would not be in a

position to complain.

Here was a doctrine, I immediately perceived, which it would be suicidal

to attempt to refute. It ought, indeed, to have been my line. With a

growing distaste I began to realize that all there was left for me was to

flatter a populace that Krebs, paradoxically, belaboured. Never in the

history of American "uplift" had an electorate been in this manner wooed!

upbraided for expediency, a proneness to demand immediate results, an

unwillingness to think, yes, and an inability to think straight. Such an

electorate deserved to be led around by the nose by the Jasons and

Dickinsons, the Gorses and the Griersons and the Parets.

Yes, he had mentioned me. That gave me a queer sensation. How is one to

handle an opponent who praises one with a delightful irony? We, the

Dickinsons, Griersons, Parets, Jasons, etc., had this virtue at least,

and it was by no means the least of the virtues,--that we did think. We

had a plan, a theory of government, and we carried it out. He was

inclined to believe that morality consisted largely, if not wholly, in

clear thinking, and not in the precepts of the Sunday-school. That was

the trouble with the so-called "reform" campaigns, they were conducted on

lines of Sunday-school morality; the people worked themselves up into a

sort of revivalist frenzy, an emotional state which, if the truth were

told, was thoroughly immoral, unreasonable and hypocritical: like all

frenzies, as a matter of course it died down after the campaign was over.

Moreover, the American people had shown that they were unwilling to make

any sacrifices for the permanent betterment of conditions, and as soon as

their incomes began to fall off they turned again to the bosses and

capitalists like an abject flock of sheep.

He went on to explain that he wasn't referring now to that part of the

electorate known as the labour element, the men who worked with their

hands in mills, factories, etc. They had their faults, yet they possessed

at least the virtue of solidarity, a willingness to undergo sacrifices in

order to advance the standard of conditions; they too had a tenacity of

purpose and a plan, such as it was, which the small business men, the

clerks lacked....

We must wake up to the fact that we shouldn't get Utopia by turning out

Mr. Jason and the highly efficient gentlemen who hired and financed him.

It wasn't so simple as that. Utopia was not an achievement after all, but

an undertaking, a state of mind, the continued overcoming of resistance

by a progressive education and effort. And all this talk of political and

financial "wickedness" was rubbish; the wickedness they complained of did

not reside merely in individuals it was a social disorder, or rather an

order that no longer suited social conditions. If the so-called good

citizens would take the trouble to educate themselves, to think instead

of allowing their thinking to be done for them they would see that the

"evils" which had been published broadcast were merely the symptoms of

that disease which had come upon the social body through their collective

neglect and indifference. They held up their hands in horror at the

spectacle of a commercial, licensed prostitution, they shunned the

prostitute and the criminal; but there was none of us, if honest, who

would not exclaim when he saw them, "there, but for the Grace of God, go

I!" What we still called "sin" was largely the result of lack of

opportunity, and the active principle of society as at present organized

tended more and more to restrict opportunity. Lack of opportunity, lack

of proper nutrition,--these made sinners by the wholesale; made, too,

nine-tenths of the inefficient of whom we self-righteously complained. We

had a national philosophy that measured prosperity in dollars and cents,

included in this measurement the profits of liquor dealers who were

responsible for most of our idiots. So long as we set our hearts on that

kind of prosperity, so long as we failed to grasp the simple and

practical fact that the greatest assets of a nation are healthy and sane

and educated, clear-thinking human beings, just so long was prostitution

logical, Riverside Franchises, traction deals, Judd Jasons, and the

respectable gentlemen who continued to fill their coffers out of the

public purse inevitable.

The speaker turned his attention to the "respectable gentlemen" with the

full coffers, amongst whom I was by implication included. We had simply

succeeded under the rules to which society tacitly agreed. That was our

sin. He ventured to say that there were few men in the hall who at the

bottom of their hearts did not envy and even honour our success. He, for

one, did not deem these "respectable gentlemen" utterly reprehensible; he

was sufficiently emancipated to be sorry for us. He suspected that we

were not wholly happy in being winners in such a game,--he even believed

that we could wish as much as any others to change the game and the

prizes. What we represented was valuable energy misdirected and

misplaced, and in a reorganized community he would not abolish us, but

transform us: transform, at least, the individuals of our type, who were

the builders gone wrong under the influence of an outworn philosophy. We

might be made to serve the city and the state with the same effectiveness

that we had served ourselves.

If the best among the scientists, among the university professors and

physicians were willing to labour--and they were--for the advancement of

humanity, for the very love of the work and service without

disproportionate emoluments, without the accumulation of a wealth

difficult to spend, why surely these big business men had been moulded in

infancy from no different clay! All were Americans. Instance after

instance might be cited of business men and lawyers of ability making

sacrifices, giving up their personal affairs in order to take places of

honour in the government in which the salary was comparatively small,

proving that even these were open to inducements other than merely

mercenary ones.

It was unfortunate, he went on, but true, that the vast majority of

people of voting age in the United States to-day who thought they had

been educated were under the obligation to reeducate themselves. He

suggested, whimsically, a vacation school for Congress and all

legislative bodies as a starter. Until the fact of the utter inadequacy

of the old education were faced, there was little or no hope of solving

the problems that harassed us. One thing was certain--that they couldn't

be solved by a rule-of-thumb morality. Coincident with the appearance of

these new and mighty problems, perhaps in response to them, a new and

saner view of life itself was being developed by the world's thinkers,

new sciences were being evolved, correlated sciences; a psychology making

a truer analysis of human motives, impulses, of human possibilities; an

economics and a theory of government that took account of this

psychology, and of the vast changes applied science had made in

production and distribution. We lived in a new world, which we sought to

ignore; and the new education, the new viewpoint was in truth nothing but

religion made practical. It had never been thought practical before. The

motive that compelled men to work for humanity in science, in medicine,

in art--yes, and in business, if we took the right view of it, was the

religious motive. The application of religion was to-day extending from

the individual to society. No religion that did not fill the needs of

both was a true religion.

This meant the development of a new culture, one to be founded on the

American tradition of equality of opportunity. But culture was not a weed

that grew overnight; it was a leaven that spread slowly and painfully,

first inoculating a few who suffered and often died for it, that it might

gradually affect the many. The spread of culture implied the recognition

of leadership: democratic leadership, but still leadership. Leadership,

and the wisdom it implied, did not reside in the people, but in the

leaders who sprang from the people and interpreted their needs and

longings.... He went on to discuss a part of the programme of the

Citizens Union....

What struck me, as I laid down the typewritten sheets, was the

extraordinary resemblance between the philosophies of Hermann Krebs and

Theodore Watling. Only--Krebs's philosophy was the bigger, held the

greater vision of the two; I had reluctantly and rather bitterly to admit

it. The appeal of it had even reached and stirred me, whose task was to

refute it! Here indeed was something to fight for--perhaps to die for, as

he had said: and as I sat there in my office gazing out of the window I

found myself repeating certain phrases he had used--the phrase about

leadership, for instance. It was a tremendous conception of Democracy,

that of acquiescence to developed leadership made responsible; a

conception I was compelled to confess transcended Mr. Watling's, loyal as

I was to him.... I began to reflect how novel all this was in a political

speech--although what I have quoted was in the nature of a preamble. It

was a sermon, an educational sermon. Well, that is what sermons always

had been,--and even now pretended to be,--educational and stirring,

appealing to the emotions through the intellect. It didn't read like the

Socialism he used to preach, it had the ring of religion. He had called

it religion.

With an effort of the will I turned from this ironical and dangerous

vision of a Hugh Paret who might have been enlisted in an inspiring

struggle, of a modern yet unregenerate Saul kicking against the pricks,

condemned to go forth breathing fire against a doctrine that made a true

appeal; against the man I believed I hated just because he had made this

appeal. In the act of summoning my counter-arguments I was interrupted by

the entrance of Grierson. He was calling on a matter of business, but

began to talk about the extracts from Krebs's speech he had read in the

Mail and State.

"What in hell is this fellow driving at, Paret?" he demanded. "It sounds

to me like the ranting of a lunatic dervish. If he thinks so much of us,

and the way we run the town, what's he squawking about?"

I looked at Grierson, and conceived an intense aversion for him. I

wondered how I had ever been able to stand him, to work with him. I saw

him in a sudden flash as a cunning, cruel bird of prey, a gorged, drab

vulture with beady eyes, a resemblance so extraordinary that I wondered I

had never remarked it before. For he had the hooked vulture nose, while

the pink baldness of his head was relieved by a few scanty tufts of hair.

"The people seem to like what he's got to say," I observed.

"It beats me," said Grierson. "They don't understand a quarter of

it--I've been talking to some of 'em. It's their d--d curiosity, I guess.

You know how they'll stand for hours around a street fakir."

"It's more than that," I retorted.

Grierson regarded me piercingly.

"Well, we'll put a crimp in him, all right," he said, with a laugh.

I was in an unenviable state of mind when he left me. I had an impulse to

send for Miss McCoy and ask her if she had understood what Krebs was

"driving at," but for reasons that must be fairly obvious I refrained. I

read over again that part of Krebs's speech which dealt with the

immediate programme of the Citizens Union. After paying a tribute to

Greenhalge as a man of common sense and dependability who would make a

good mayor, he went on to explain the principle of the new charter they

hoped ultimately to get, which should put the management of the city in

the hands of one man, an expert employed by a commission; an expert whose

duty it would be to conduct the affairs of the city on a business basis,

precisely as those of any efficient corporation were conducted. This plan

had already been adopted, with encouraging results, in several smaller

cities of the country. He explained in some detail, with statistics, the

waste and inefficiency and dishonesty in various departments under the

present system, dwelling particularly upon the deplorable state of

affairs in the city hospital.

I need not dwell upon this portion of his remarks. Since then text-books

and serious periodicals have dealt with these matters thoroughly. They

are now familiar to all thinking Americans.