THE BOSS AND HIS AIDS.
One of the nation's prominent beings, indigenous with American politics,
is "The Boss."
The Boss is a great man, and stands forth mighty and inscrutable, an
autocrat wielding his sceptre with a strong hand.
He must be brave as a lion; sagacious as an elephant; with all the
cunning of a fox and the obstinacy of a bull-dog. His hide should be
thick as that of the rhinoceros, and he must be as quick as the leopard
in the mythical ability to change his spots. Like the hyena he must
have an appetite for ghoulish work, while his eyes must be powerful as
the eagle's, and his talons equal to those of any bird of prey. He must
have a backbone combining all the vertebral rigidity of the whole animal
kingdom, and his heels should resemble in their trip hammer power the
catapults of the great American mule.
He must be a man of quick conception, ready to comprehend situations at
once, and when an emergency suddenly rises he must be able to take it
by the coat-collar and make it resume its seat. He must be a positive
character in all things. He cannot be a boor, for social qualities are
useful to him.
He is not the creation of human hands; he is born, not made, and his
qualifications are merely perversions of noble gifts of the Creator. In
all deals on the political card-table, the Boss stacks the cards just as
really as do such magnates as Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, _ed omnes_, in Wall
Street.
The Boss dictates candidates and sketches plans of political action,
and if the man desiring an office does not suit the Boss, he may as
well take a back seat without waiting to be sat upon and rolled over
afterward.
The Boss does not always act openly, but generally prefers to keep in
the background. Sometimes he is a judge "out of politics," as he says.
He does not openly take part in the composition of tickets, but when a
candidate comes to the surface the question is usually asked, "Does he
suit the Judge?"
The Boss has his trusted lieutenants, selected for their fealty to
their leader, and no man can expect to obtain an appointment within
the territory of any Boss unless the latter espouses his cause. In
many cases the Boss is a Senator or an Assemblyman, or even a lesser
county official. Oftentimes he holds no elective office, but may be an
appointee of the government or State. In office or out, he exists, and
seems to be as inseparable from the political machinery of this Republic
as the engineer from the machinery driving a steamboat.
Senator Hamblin, the Boss of his senatorial district, had his trusted
aids in every town. He knew whom he could depend on when the town
caucuses were held, yet feared the attempt of Daley to overthrow him,
although confident of his ability to intercept the little scheme.
Monday evening, the four men arriving at Cleverdale, Senator Hamblin
and Miller walked together toward the home of the former, while Horton
and Rawlings went direct to the _Investigator_ office. Rawlings calling
for his proof-sheets, an article laudatory of Senator Hamblin was shown
Horton. It was read and pronounced good, Horton suggesting the addition
referred to in the conference at Saratoga. The words were quickly
penned, and copy given the compositor. This was barely done when the
sanctum door opened and Daley entered.
"Ah, Mr. Daley, how do you do?" exclaimed Rawlings. "Just returned home.
How's things in Cleverdale? Nothing new, eh?"
"No--guess not. How are you, Horton?" and he extended his hand to the
County Clerk.
"By the way, Rawlings," said Daley, "I am told you have changed your
mind about carrying out the conservative wishes of the community. Is
that so?"
"I don't exactly catch your meaning, Daley. Be a little more explicit,"
said Rawlings.
"Well, if you want it any plainer, I mean just this: the machine has
recaptured the _Investigator_, after its editor's declaring he was with
the people. That's all, Rawlings--that's all."
Rawlings, usually cool and collected, at once lost his temper; his lips
trembled, his face flushed with anger, and raising his clenched fist, he
said:
"See here, Daley, there is the door! and if you don't get out of it
d----d quick, I'll throw you out! D'ye hear?" Rawlings stepped forward
as if to execute his threat, and Daley quickly turned and left the
office.
The next morning the _Investigator_ appeared with the article reflecting
on Daley. In the mean time Senator Hamblin visited the bank, and,
meeting several party leaders, discussed the political situation,
seemingly anxious concerning the position of every one with whom he
conversed. He was suspicious of all, well knowing the hold he possessed
on his followers was only retained by the amount of patronage at his
control and the sum of money he was willing to spend for the purpose of
enthusing "the boys," for no boss must let the boys become low-spirited;
they may in such case take a notion to change bosses.
As the Senator dismissed two persons the door opened and Paddy Sullivan
entered. Paddy was a large, red-faced, sandy-haired Irishman, his cheeks
covered with a long rough beard. Holding a cigar between the second and
third fingers of his left hand, he seized his black slouched hat with
his right and dropped it on the table. His appearance seemed to please
the Senator, for he extended a more cordial welcome to Paddy than to any
previous visitors.
"How are you, Paddy?" he said, warmly grasping the great mass of flesh
that individual used for a hand.
"Foine as a top, Sinitor, and how's yersel'?" quickly answered Paddy.
"Well--very well. Sit down and let's have a quiet talk. Throw away that
old stump, there--try a choice Havana," and he passed a cigar-box taken
from a private drawer. "Now, Paddy, how are all the boys, and how goes
politics at 'The Shades'?"
"Politics has been so dull that we're only been able to dhraw about two
kegs of lager a day. I've always noticed, Sinitor, that when politics is
a little hazy, the boys are busted and the beer-tap only runs driblets.
Ah, Sinitor, if I was in Congress, be jabers! I'd go in for a law that
would have elickshun hild ivery month. But see here, Sinitor, look out
for that blagyard Daley. He bought four kegs of lager lasht week; but
shure I sot up six kegs for the b'ys--and--sh-h-h-h, d'ye moind--I tould
'em Sinitor Hamblin had left orders for me to do it--that I did. When
the Daleys get the shtart of Paddy Sullivan and his frinds it's whin
Paddy's shlapin'."
"You did right," said the Senator, "and you can send the bill to me. By
the way, Paddy, are the boys all right? How many of the laborers at the
mill can you pull for me? Ah, Paddy, you are a clear-headed man; no one
can control as many votes as yourself."
"Ah, bedad! yee's jist roight. Ayven the good Father Burns wid his
blissed callin' can't run as many men wid his holy power as Paddy
Sullivan wid his lager and whishkey. The b'ys knows who's their frind,
and when they was swallowing Daley's lager I tips 'em the wink and says
I, 'B'ys, dom Daley, but here's to the hilth of the Boss!' and, Sinitor,
ivery mother's son of 'em was rid hot for yees!"
"Well, Paddy, keep your eyes open. The caucus will be held in about six
weeks. In the mean time set a keg of lager on tap each Wednesday and
Saturday evenings and let the boys drink. If Daley comes around let
Miller know. I shall be absent a few days, but on my return we must
open the ball. One hundred copies of the _Investigator_ will be given
you each week. Give them to the boys, and call especial attention to
the leading article. Right must win. Daley is engaged in an infamous
conspiracy to help the corporations, and if it takes every dollar I am
worth I am bound to stand by the people against monopolies. Ah, Paddy,
to just such men as you are we indebted for a sound government founded
and upheld upon patriotic principles. Without such, America as a nation
would be a failure. Yes, sir, a failure."
"There's where your head is livil, Sinitor, and when yees git Paddy
Sullivan's infl_oo_ence, yees git as thrue a heart as iver wint
pitty-pat benaythe a man's vist. But I must go, and niver ye fear but
that yee'l bate that Daley. Good-mornin', sir, good-mornin'," and Paddy
was gone.
The Senator quickly threw open the window, and the fumes of tobacco,
whiskey, and onions passing out, he thus soliloquized:
"Whew! that chap is not a very sweet-smelling bouquet. Gracious! it
makes me sick. What a dirty road is the political highway to success.
Bah! But a man cannot secure good fruit without the use of unsavory
fertilizers, and so it is with politics; the tree must be nursed, and if
the gardener wants palatable fruit he must not object to the fertilizing
element needed to give the tree life and strength. No, I can stand a
thousand Sullivans if they are as strong politically as Paddy."
At that moment the door opened and Cyrus Hart Miller entered.
"Well, Miller, what is it? You seem hot and flushed. Anything new?"
quickly asked the Senator.
"Yes, and you must act at once. You remember a military company is
about to be organized here. Those in charge have succeeded in getting
enough names enrolled to obtain the necessary papers for organization.
The company is an assured fact, the next thing needed is a name. Daley
has offered to buy them a complete set of colors worth four hundred
dollars, if the company is named for him. I just learned this from Kip
Rogers, who expects to be captain, and I said to Kip, 'Senator Hamblin
would do better.' How would Hamblin Guards sound? The organization is to
be composed of the best blood in Cleverdale, and every man would be a
strong friend of a generous patron. It is a good scheme, Senator, and a
magnanimous offer from you would make the company a powerful auxiliary
to your other strings. Of course there is the 'Hamblin Mutual Benefit
Death Lottery Association,' named for you; then there is the 'Hamblin
Steam-Engine Company,' the 'Hamblin Yacht Club,' all good, substantial
aids to your ambition; but, Senator, the 'Hamblin Guards' would be of
more real benefit to you than all the rest put together. What say you? I
told Kip I would see him in an hour's time, for Daley wanted an answer
this evening."
"Miller, you are a shrewd manager. Yes, you are right. You can say to
Kip that I will present a stand of colors worth seven hundred and fifty
dollars. The company can command me for one thousand dollars cash
beside to fit up their parlors if the organization is named for me. Not
a bad idea, and when the grand centennials occur the 'Hamblin Guards'
shall go. Yes, Miller, they shall go with all the glory the men and
their patron can command. Go at once and bring me their answer."
Miller was off in an instant, when the Senator seated himself and thus
soliloquized:
"Hamblin Guards! eh? yes; it will read well in the newspapers. Ah, it
is pleasing to see one's name in print--for other people to read. Such
things as this, for instance, tell at the polls:
"'Senator Hamblin is the generous patron of our local churches.
He gives large sums for the support of the gospel. His charities
are generously bestowed, while his name is recorded upon the
hearts of all who love the church.'
"Yes, permitting Belle to bestow gifts upon charitable institutions has
been of great advantage, for every dollar thus expended has brought me
at least four votes. She gives from her heart, while I advance funds
from my pocket at the dictation of my head. She is a noble girl, and I
was cruel to her when I left Lake George. But pshaw! George Alden! only
a clerk in the bank! He has no political significance, and I cannot
allow my daughter to form an alliance with a mere private citizen.
Her heart is young and tender, and the fire of to-day can be easily
quenched. When she marries she must make a brilliant match. Belle is
sick, her mother writes, and I must return to Lake George. This evening
I must attend the church meeting; to-morrow the Cleverdale Woollen
Mill Company are to hold an important business meeting, and I must be
present. Senator, you have too many irons in the fire! Be careful, sir,
for these hard times are shrinking values. No unwise ventures, sir, or
your fortune will take wings and fly away."
Thus he soliloquized, until interrupted by a note which read as follows:
_Investigator_ OFFICE.
DEAR SENATOR: I will be at your house at 7 P.M. Will you be at
home? Tell boy Yes or No.
Yours faithfully,
J. RAWLINGS.
"Tell him Yes," said the Senator, and as the boy passed out, he
remarked: "What the devil does he want now?"
Senator Hamblin stood high in the community as a successful business
man. Until recently he had suffered but few losses. At the height of
his business career, he was the leader of numerous enterprises, and for
the past ten years president of the Cleverdale National Bank, the stock
of said institution being quoted at one dollar and ninety cents. He was
director in the Cleverdale Woollen Mill Company, capital one million
dollars. His business friends saw and regretted that his infatuation for
politics caused him to do many questionable things. In business, social,
and religious walks, a man must be the personification of all that is
good, but in politics he is allowed the fullest license to tread paths
that are crooked. Hence Senator Hamblin's friends tried to reconcile
themselves to his action, but succeeded only in stultifying themselves.
Promptly at seven that evening, Editor Rawlings was admitted into the
library at Senator Hamblin's residence.
"Good-evening, Senator! Excuse me for calling. I will not occupy much
of your valuable time. I have called to inquire concerning our business
matters. I want to go to New York on Friday to buy that press and
engine. What shall I do about payments?" said Rawlings.
"You can buy a press and engine for fifteen hundred dollars and have
them billed to me," said the Senator. "After election I will make over
same to you after you render me a bill for legitimate services and
distribution of campaign papers. Do you understand?"
"Y-e-s, I understand, but Daley sent word he would give me out-and-out
two thousand dollars to support him. Business is business, Senator, and
I must make hay while the sun shines. Now I don't want to be mean or go
back on a bargain, but hadn't you better see the two thousand dollars?
You needn't say yes now, but let Miller come around and see me--he can
fix it, for Miller is a man of business."
Senator Hamblin rose and walked toward the door. He was not in an
agreeable mood, for he knew the man was a knave. Yet he was at his
mercy. Had he followed the impulse of his mind he would have kicked him
out-doors, but conquering his feelings, he said:
"Rawlings, you are not playing fair with me. If I accede to your demand
now, will this be the last? I must know where I stand, as I cannot pay
all I am worth for the help of a newspaper. Everybody thinks I have a
gold mine and that they can tap me at their will."
"Oh, no, Senator, I don't think anything of that kind, but the railroads
are shelling out money to overthrow you, and you know that business is
business. I would rather be with you, by thunder, and am only asking
what is fair."
Senator Hamblin, aware that Rawlings would desert him if he did not
submit to his extortionate demand, and anxious to terminate the
interview, replied:
"Well, I suppose I must submit. Miller will call in the morning and
arrange matters. I have an engagement at eight, and time is most up."
Rawlings, not at all put out by the Senator's manner, rose and said:
"All right, I will leave you. I am solid, Senator--a regular
thoroughbred--and when I go for a man I go my whole length," and passed
out.
"Solid! Yes, you _are_ solid--in your cheek. You are one of the
representative men of the political arena. Bad--bad; and still you must
be tolerated--yes, courted and paid. It is a blot upon our institutions
that such rascals sometimes mould public opinion, all because they can
wield a powerful pen. They prate of honesty and rob a man by their
disgraceful blackmailing and--But how could politicians get along if it
weren't for such rascals?"