And every man, and woman, too, was forged at Birmingham,
And mounted all in batteries, each on a separate cam;
And when one showed, in love or war or politics or fever,
A sign of maladjustment, why you just pulled on his lever,
And upside down and inside out and front side back he stood;
And the Inspector saw which one was evil, which was good.
Chorus:
On the other side!
On the other side!
Oh, you must somehow see the other side!
If you'd repair or clean
This delicate old machine,
You must have a way to see the other side!
--_The Inventor's Song in, "Bedlam."_
Messrs. Sheehan and Zalinsky, before being ushered into the Turkish
room where Mr. Brassfield sat awaiting them, were told by Mr. Alvord
that, should Mr. Brassfield's position on the labor question be found
satisfactory to them, he would like to have their good offices in the
matter of getting a fair attendance at the caucuses the next evening.
As this is always an expensive thing for the patriot who engages to do
it, he, Mr. Alvord, would beg to place at their disposal funds in an
amount named by him, for use in the transportation of distant and
enfeebled voters and for such refreshment as might be thought necessary.
"Weh-ull," said Sheehan, "Fr th' carkuses only it may do. What say,
Zalinsky?"
Mr. Zalinsky, his eyes gleaming with gratification, thought the sum
named might possibly suffice.
"Good!" said Alvord. "And now come up and see the next mayor."
"What's de use?" asked Zalinsky. "Don't we know him all right? Ain't
it all fixed? I want to git busy wit me end of deliverin' de goods."
"Mr. Brassfield's views on labor----" began Alvord, but Sheehan
interrupted him.
"Your word goes wid us!" said he. "Ye've convinced us Brassfield's the
laborin' man's frind. What say, Zalinsky?"
"So!" said Zalinsky. "Ve better git to work over in de fourt' ward."
"They didn't come up," said Alvord, returning to the Turkish room.
"The figures on that card seemed to convince 'em. Now for the saloons
and their end of the vote."
"What do _they_ want?" asked Brassfield.
"Why," said Alvord, "it's the policy of the office more'n anything else
they want assurances on. I've sent for Fatty Pierson and his fellow
members of the retail liquor dealers' association, and they'll be here
by the time we dispose of this steak. I must be counted in on the
dinner--I forgot mine."
While Alvord, greatly rejoiced at the sudden restoration of his friend
to the possession of those qualities which made him so useful and
reliable in all business projects, and promised so well for the future
of Bellevale under his wise, conservative and liberal administration as
mayor, was cozily discussing the dinner in the Turkish room at Tony's,
awaiting the arrival of Mr. Fatty Pierson and his committee, there was
a council of the hypnotic board of strategy at the Bellevale House.
The board consisted of Judge Blodgett, Professor Blatherwick, and
Madame le Claire. The matter under consideration was how to return
Brassfield to his much-to-be-desired nihility: how to recover Amidon
from his relapse into occultation.
"I can never forgive myself for allowing it!" cried Madame le Claire.
"And yet, how could I help it? His clerk came running in with a
telegram, or something of the sort, and Mr. Amidon rushed away with
him. What would this man have thought and said, if I had subjected his
employer to the treatment necessary to restore him--put him into the
cataleptic state, and then into the normal, by passes and
manipulations!"
"Just now," answered the judge, "when he seems to be doing the meteor
act in local politics, such an occurrence in public might be
misconstrued in non-hypnotic circles, and commented on. Passes and
manipulations are not thoroughly understood in politics--except in a
different sense! I guess you had to let him go. How to get him back,
is the question. He's certainly off the map as Amidon: turned me down
when I tried to get him up here, with the air of a bank president
dealing with a check-raiser; and yet, the way he rose to the lure of
getting evidence in this lawsuit of his shows that he's as sharp as
ever in business. What's likely to be the result if he's allowed to go
in this way, Professor?"
"Nopody gan say," said the professor. "He may go on as Brassfield for
anodder fife years or more. He may vake up as Amidon to-morrow
morning. Propoply he vill geep on intefinitely, aggumulating
spondulix, and smashing hearts, unless ve gan pinch him some vay."
"Oh, we must get him back!" said Madame le Claire. "We _must_!"
"In te interests off science," said the professor, "id vould pe
tesiraple to allow him to go on as Brassfield ant note results. Ve haf
alreaty optained some faluaple data in the fact of his attempt to buy
the destimony of our frient the chutche, and his gontemptuous treatment
of me as a con man. He didn't seem to remember us at all. Should ve
not allow de gase to go on a vile? Supliminally gonsidered, it vill be
great stuff!"
"No!" exclaimed the judge. "It ain't safe. He'll be running for
mayor, and doing a lot of things to make him trouble when he does come
to. We've got to surround him somehow; and he's a wary bird."
"Anyway," said the professor, "I should like to opsairve the result of
a meeting with Clara. In his short Brassfield states he saw her, ant
her only. Vill he remember her clearly, or how? How vill dis mind of
his coordinate te tisgonnected views of her, with te rest of his vorld?
It ought to pe vorked out."
"Well," said the judge, "I don't owe science much. I'm against any
experiments. Can't some one suggest something to do? Is it feasible
to kidnap him?"
"Let me suggest something," said Madame le Claire hesitatingly. "In
his Brassfield state he seemed to--to like me very much. In affairs
concerning--that is, affairs relating to women--he seems less wary, to
use Judge Blodgett's word, than he is on other lines. Maybe I
could--could induce him to come. It seems a sort of--of questionable
thing to do; but----"
"Questionable!" cried the judge, "questionable! Why, not at all. We
must try it. I'll risk it!"
"If ve are to gif up te itea of vorking out the gase," acquiesced the
professor, "vy I agree vith the chutche."
"That is," said the girl, "like the judge, you'll 'risk it.' Very
brave of you both to 'risk' so much! As for me, I must ask for time to
think over my own proposal, before I undertake to entrap this prominent
business man at my apartments. I'm not so sure that I'll 'risk' it.
And yet it seems the only way!"
Speaking of traps: The emissaries of the retail liquor dealers'
association were engaged in a trapping enterprise of their own in the
Turkish room at Tony's, at this very crucial moment. Fatty Pierson,
and two fellow retailers, gentlemen of smooth-shaven face, ample girth,
and that peculiar physiognomy which seems fitted to no artistic setting
except a background of mirrors and glasses, and a plain foreground of
polished wood, were arranging for a police policy to their liking,
during the Brassfield administration.
"Colonel McCorkle," said Fatty, "is a mighty good man, and, while a
church member, seems to be liberal. On the other hand, you're well
known to be broad in your views, and you do things"--here Fatty's arm
took in the bottles and the cigars with a sweeping gesture--"that he
don't. You've got property rented for saloon purposes. We know you're
a good man, Mr. Brassfield, but in such matters we saloon men have
learned to be careful. A police force can make our business profitable
or put us all dead losers, just as they're steered by the mayor. Now,
what would be your policy?"
"I should expect," said Mr. Brassfield, "to give the city a good,
conservative, business administration, and to make my oath of office my
guide."
"Good!" said Fatty. "But we've all heard that before. Colonel
McCorkle, or the Reverend Absalom McCosh, would say _that_."
"Well," said Brassfield, "now, definitely, what do you want? Anything
reasonable and not contrary to law, you have only to ask for."
I wonder if burglars, in arranging their business, stipulate that
nothing "contrary to law" is to be done!
"Exactly," replied Fatty. "But now as to reasonableness: when the hour
for closing comes, our customers bein' gathered for social purposes, it
seems abrupt to fire 'em all out when the clock strikes. Now, when a
policeman comes along after hours an' finds one of us with a roomful of
customers discussin' public questions, we don't want to turn up in
court next morning. See?"
"I see," said Brassfield. "My view of the function of the saloon is
that it is a sort of club for those too poor to belong to the more
exclusive organizations. As long as they are performing these
functions in an orderly way, why inquire as to the hour?"
"That seems reasonable," said Fatty. "And about how long ought a man
to have to slow up an' stop performin' functions, do you think?"
"Well," said Mr. Brassfield, "there isn't much doing in the way of
business, say from two to five A. M., is there?"
"No," said Mr. Pierson, "not much. But on special occasions----?"
"I shall do the right thing," said Brassfield.
"An' you wouldn't feel obliged," queried Pierson, "to start any
detectives out spyin' upon the uses we put our second stories to, or
the kind of tenants we have?"
"Not at all," said Brassfield. "I shan't disturb things. Alvord can
tell you that. What I want is the policy that is best for the property
owners; and things as they are are good enough for me. Is that
satisfactory?"
"Well, I should smile!" said Mr. Pierson. "And now, gentlemen, before
we go an' begin work for the caucuses to-morrow, in the interests of
our friend here, I propose a toast to Mr. Eugene Brassfield, who will
be the best mayor Bellevale ever had!"
"You've got to give me a bed to-night," said Brassfield, as the last of
the delegations Alvord had brought to the Turkish room retired in
apparent satisfaction. "I don't care to go to my rooms--there are too
many folks up there at the hotel who seem anxious to see me. And I
want to be where I can talk the situation over with you."
"Glad to have you," said Alvord. "Come on, and we'll turn in. As for
the situation, how can you improve it? If Conlon and Sheehan and
Zalinsky can't control these caucuses, I'm mistaken. Put them along
with the saloons and the others that depend on police permission for
existence, and you've got a dead open-and-shut."
As they walked along the street they noticed a motley crowd emerging
from a public house and moving in a body to another, seemingly under
the leadership of a little man with Jewish features. Alvord took
Brassfield's arm and hurried him on.
"You see what Edgington's up to?" asked Brassfield. "He's got Abe
Meyer out taking the crowd down the line in McCorkle's interest. I
wonder if they won't turn things over somewhat."
"Turn nothing!" said Alvord. "They'll make the noise to-night; we'll
have the votes to-morrow night. The boys'll rake in McCorkle's money
now, and in the morning the word will be passed that the best interests
of the town require every one to boost for you. They won't know what
hit 'em!"
"I hope you're right," answered Brassfield, "but Edgington's no fool.
I wouldn't have him for my lawyer if he was."
"Of course he's no fool," was Alvord's reply, "but he's handicapped by
the personality of his man. Edge's doing pretty well, considering. He
probably is wise to the situation. He didn't expect anything like a
contest, you know, owing to that confounded blunder one of you two
made. Now he's doing the best he can; but his man's been too strong in
the God-and-morality way in years gone by to wipe out the stain by one
evening of free booze. On the other hand, your life has been
perfect--always careful and sound in business, no isms or reform
sentiments on any line, a free spender, a paying attendant of the
richest church, but not a member, and no wife full of wild ideas for
the uplifting of folks that don't want to be uplifted. Why, Mrs.
McCorkle's advanced ideas alone are enough to make him lose out."
"I don't know about that," said Brassfield. "McCorkle and his wife are
not the same in these affairs."
"Well, don't you fall down and forget it," said Alvord, "that the
fellows on the seamy side won't see it your way. They've got good
imaginations, and they can see the colonel on one side of the table and
his wife, the president of the Social Purity League, pouring tea on the
other, and they can see the position it would put the mayor in to do
the right thing along liberal lines--and he sort of strict in habits
himself. No, sir, my boy, you go to bed and sleep sweetly. You are
about to reap the reward of living the right kind of a life."
And sweetly Mr. Brassfield slept, with none of the anxiety felt by
Judge Blodgett as to whether he would awake as Brassfield or Amidon.