A POLITICIAN
Any man whose interests are extensive and diverse has sooner or later to
master the art of making other men work for him, and he must be content
to trust the management of a great part of his affairs to other hands.
Jim Weeks loved to keep a grasp even on the comparatively insignificant
details of his business, but he showed wonderful insight in the
selection of his lieutenants, and he could impart such momentum to his
projects that they moved forward as he meant them to, though his own
hand was not guiding them. Like other men accustomed to giving orders,
he took it for granted that his directions would be carried out.
Bridge, the Tillman City alderman to whom he had intrusted the task of
watching Blaney, had worked for Jim long enough to know that this affair
was in his own hands, and that something more than obedience and zeal
was expected of him. Though Jim's words had been brief, it was easy to
see that the matter was important; important enough to give Bridge
a great opportunity. He wanted to make the most of it, and, in the
excitement of laying his plans, the design for the stable was forgotten.
As the day wore on and his scheme crystallized, he fluctuated between a
sort of exalted confidence and the depths of nervous depression. He was
naturally a steady, humdrum sort of man, but he was planning to do an
audacious thing. His chance had come, and he meant to take it. At last,
just before supper time, he resolutely locked his office, and started
out to see Blaney. He hesitated a second or two before the contractor's
house; then he ran up the steps and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a little girl, who peered up at him through the
dusk with a child's curiosity. Bridge knew her, but he was of that kind
of bachelors who are embarrassed in the presence of children.
“Good evening, Louise,” he said. “Is your father home?”
“No, sir, he isn't,” she answered.
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then he stammered,--
“Well--good night.” He bent down and gravely shook hands with her, and
turned to go down the steps, but at that moment Blaney himself appeared.
“How are you?” he said. “Did you want to see me?”
“If you've got the time,” said Bridge.
Blaney led the way into the house, and motioned Bridge to a seat in the
parlor. He himself paused in the hall to swing Louise up to his shoulder
and down again.
“What's the matter with you to-night?” he asked. “You don't seem to want
to play. Are you sick?”
“A little,” answered the child. “I'm kind of tired, and my head hurts.”
He ran his thick hand through her red curls, and looked at her anxiously
for a moment. Then he followed Bridge into the parlor.
“What can I do for you, Bridge?” he asked gruffly.
Bridge hesitated a moment; then he said, “Jim Weeks was in town this
morning.”
Blaney looked up sharply, and asked, “Did you see him?”
“Yes,” answered the other. “That is, he came down to see me. You know
the M. & T. election is coming pretty soon now, and he got the idea that
our stock was going to be voted against him. He wanted me to fix it up
so things would go his way in the Council, and I told him that I'd do
what I could. I came around to you to see if your crowd were going to do
anything about it.”
The coolness of the inquiry almost stupefied Blaney, but he managed to
speak.
“I'd like to know,” he said, “what business that is of yours, anyway.”
“It's my business, right enough,” said Bridge, easily. “I could ask the
same question in Council meeting, but I thought it was best to talk
it over with you quietly. There isn't any good in trying to fight Jim
Weeks, and I should think you'd know it. If ever a man had a cinch--”
“What are you up to, anyhow?” demanded Blaney, now thoroughly
exasperated. “Did you come around here to try to bulldoze me? Well, I'll
just tell you you may as well save your breath. Do you understand that?
Weeks thinks he can come his old bluff down here, but he's going to get
fooled just once. We've got the backing that'll beat him. That's all
I've got to say to you.”
“Well, I've got a little more to say to you,” said Bridge. “I came
around here on my own hook to find out whether you were just making your
regular bluff or whether you meant to fight, and I've found out. And
now I'm going to give you your choice. I'll either give you the hottest
scrap you ever had, and make what I can out of Weeks by it, or I'll go
in with you so you can get your deal through quietly. You can take your
choice.”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean just this. That if there's any possible show of kicking that
damned bully out of here so that he'll never come back, I'd like to be
in it. And I guess my services would be valuable.”
“Look here,” demanded Blaney, sharply. “What have you got against
Weeks?”
“What have I got against him?” repeated Bridge. His face was flushed and
his shining eyes and clenched hands testified to his excitement. “Hasn't
he made me pull his hot chestnuts off the fire for the last two years?
Hasn't he held me up and made me pay a good rake-off from every deal
I've been lucky enough to make a little on? And hasn't he loaned me
money until I don't dare sign my own name without asking him if I can
do it, and--” He stopped as though knowing he had gone too far; then he
laughed nervously. “It's all right what I've got against him; that's my
business, I guess, but--”
Again the unfinished sentence was eloquent.
This time it was Blaney who broke the silence. “I guess,” he said
cautiously, “that if you want to tip Weeks over, you'll find there'll be
some to help you.”
Bridge laughed bitterly. “There are plenty who'd be glad enough to do it
if they could. He's had his grip on all of us long enough for that; but
I'm afraid it's no good. We can't beat him. He's got us in a vise.”
“I don't know about that,” said Blaney.
“Why, man,” exclaimed the other, “what can we do? And if we try to buck
him and get left, he'll squeeze the life out of us. You know that.”
Blaney did know that, and Bridge's words brought certain unpleasant
consequences plainly before his mind. All the while Bridge was talking
Blaney had been trying to find out what his motive was. He had always
believed that Bridge was hand and glove with Weeks, and at the
beginning he had suspected a trap. But what Bridge had said was entirely
plausible; he had given himself away without reserve, and had frankly
confessed that Weeks had been driving him. Bridge would be a valuable
ally in the scheme Blaney wanted to put through. Jim was popular in
Tillman, and if he were to be sold out to a corporation like C. & S.C.,
it would, as Bridge had hinted, be well for all parties concerned in the
transfer that it should be accomplished as quietly as possible. Bridge
was at the head of a compact and determined minority, and if he opposed
the deal, he could make matters very uncomfortable for Blaney and his
henchmen. But with Bridge on his side the field was clear and there
could be no doubt as to the success of the scheme. The one thing that
troubled Blaney was that Bridge might demand money; but there was no
need of facing that issue yet, for Bridge had apparently not thought of
it. “He's just getting even for something,” thought Blaney.
There was a long silence, which Blaney broke at last.
“We don't have to buck him all by ourselves,” he said. “We're well
backed. C. & S.C. are behind us. Are you with us?”
Bridge answered him steadily. “I've been waiting for a chance like this
for a year,” he said. “You can count me in for all I'm worth.”
He rose to go and held out his hand to Blaney. “Good night,” he said,
“and good luck to us.”
“So long,” was the answer. “I'll come around in a day or two, and we can
arrange details.”
The interview had been a hard one for Bridge, and it left him weak and
nervous. When he sat down to supper at his boarding-house table that
evening he had no appetite. He went to bed early, but he did not sleep
well, and the next morning found him exhausted by the interminable hours
of dozing, uneasy half-consciousness. He spent the next day in hoping
that Blaney would come, though he had no reason for expecting him so
soon, and by night he was in worse condition than ever. He would
have gone again to see Blaney had he dared, but he felt that such a
proceeding would imperil the whole affair; he must wait for Blaney to
make the next move.
Day followed day with no variation save that Bridge found the delay
more and more nearly unbearable, and the week had dragged to an end and
another begun before anything happened. On Sunday afternoon he started
out for a walk, but he had not gone far when he met Blaney. To his
surprise, the contractor looked as though the past week had been as hard
for him as it had been for Bridge. His face looked thin and his eyes
sunken and there were bristling uneven patches of sandy beard on his
face. When he came up to Bridge he stopped.
“I suppose you've been looking for me,” he said. “I've been staying
right at home taking care of my kid; she's had the scarlet fever.”
“Louise?” asked Bridge, with real concern. “I hope she's better.”
“I guess she'll pull through all right now,” answered Blaney, “but she's
been pretty sick, and it's kept me busy night and day. You see my wife
can't do much at nursing. But I tell you scarlet fever is no joke.”
“I never had it,” was the answer, “but I'm glad it's come out all right.
By the way,” he went on, as Blaney started to walk away, “when will you
be able to talk over that business with me?”
“Why, now as well as at any time, I suppose,” said Blaney, after a
moment's hesitation.
The contractor had an office near by, and at his suggestion they went
there for their conference.
“How many men can you count?” he asked when they were seated.
Now that the period of forced inaction was over, and there was something
important to do, Bridge forgot that his head was burning and his
throat dry, and for the first time in three days he was able to think
consecutively. For half an hour they figured their united strength and
talked over the individual members of the Council. But at last Bridge
said:--
“Before we go any further, I want to know more about this business. I've
taken your word so far that we would be backed up all right, and I hope
we are. But I can't afford to be beaten, and if Weeks isn't clean busted
up, he'll hound me to death. I've got to know more about this business.”
Blaney looked out of the window. “Seems to me you're pretty late with
that talk about not going in,” he said.
“I know I've committed myself to some extent without knowing just what
I was getting into,” answered Bridge, “but I won't go any farther till
some things are cleared up.”
“What do you want to know?” asked Blaney.
“I want to know what you're going to do. Voting that stock against Weeks
won't do any good. We can't get him out all by ourselves.”
“We aren't all by ourselves. C. & S.C. are with us.”
“That's what I'm trying to get at. To what extent are they with us?”
Blaney hesitated. It had not been a part of his plan to tell of the
prospective sale of the stock. He had meant to have the Council direct
the voting of the stock for C. & S.C. faction, and then when they had
committed themselves by this act, to urge upon them the necessity of
selling out and to tempt them with the offer of par. But a glance at
Bridge's set face convinced him that the new ally meant what he said,
and he knew too much already for the safety of the scheme unless he were
furthering it.
“They're with us to this extent,” said Blaney, slowly. “They're going to
buy our stock.”
“That's all rot,” said Bridge. “We can't sell. M. & T.'s a good
investment now, and it's getting better every day.”
“Wait till I get through,” interrupted Blaney, bent now on making an
impression. “Don't you think the Council would vote to sell at par?”
“What's that got to do with it?”
“C. & S.C. are going to pay par, that's all.”
Bridge looked at him incredulously. “Then we're to vote the stock as
they dictate, just on the strength of their telling us they'll pay par
for it afterward. I'm afraid it'll be a long time afterward. How do you
know they aren't playing us for suckers?”
“How do we know?” repeated Blaney. “I'm not quite as green as you think.
I know because I've got it down in black and white. They can't get
around a contract like that.”
Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he drew out a sheet of paper which he
thrust into Bridge's hands. “Read it,” he said.
Bridge read it through once and then again; it was briefly worded, and
he had no difficulty in remembering it. As he laid the paper down he was
conscious of a violent throbbing in his head, and he shivered as though
an icy breeze had blown upon him. He rose uncertainly from his chair and
moved toward the door.
“What's the matter?” demanded Blaney. “Where are you going?”
“I don't feel very well,” said Bridge. “I think I'll go home and go to
bed.”
When he reached the foot of the stairs, however, he turned not toward
his room, but toward the railway station; for in his mind there was a
confused purpose of going to Chicago immediately and telling Jim Weeks
exactly what he had found out.
Scarlet fever is not ordinarily a man's disease, but it had fallen upon
Bridge. He had exposed himself to it on the evening when he went to
Blaney's house to make the preliminary move in his game; and now after
the five days of tense inaction it attacked him furiously.
He was in a raging fever when he left Blaney's office, but he did not
realize it, borne up as he was by the excitement of winning. There could
be no doubt that he had done as good a stroke of work for himself as for
Jim Weeks, for Jim was not the man to let the merit of his lieutenants
go unrecognized. He felt sure that Jim would win the fight, even with C.
& S.C. against him, and though he had not recognized the worthlessness
of the contract Blaney held, he was confident that Jim could use his
knowledge of the existence of such a contract with telling effect.
As he walked on, the exhilaration of his triumph died out of him, and
his steps faltered and his sight became untrustworthy. He realized that
he was not fit for travelling, and reluctantly he turned back to his
room. He was a long time in reaching it, and when he staggered in and
dropped into an easy-chair he knew that he was a very sick man. With a
foreboding of the delirium that was coming upon him he gathered himself
together for a final effort and scrawled a copy of the contract upon a
slip of paper. With shaking hands he folded it and crammed it into an
inner pocket; then he rose and moved slowly toward the bed. He fell
twice in the short distance, but he kept on, and his head sank back in
the pillows before consciousness forsook him.