That evening after supper I went to see Dominick.
In the lower end of Pulaski there was a large beer-garden, known as
Dominick's headquarters. He received half the profits in return for
making it his loafing-place, the seat of the source of all political
honor, preferment and privilege in the third, sixth and seventh
congressional districts. I found him enthroned at the end of a long
table in the farthest corner of the garden. On one side of him sat James
Spencer, judge of the circuit court,--"Dominick's judge"; on the other
side Henry De Forest, principal owner of the Pulaski Gas and Street
Railway Company. There were several minor celebrities in politics, the
law, and business down either side of the table, then Fessenden, talking
with Cowley, our lieutenant governor. As soon as I appeared Fessenden
nodded to me, rose, and said to the others generally: "Come on, boys,
let's adjourn to the next table. Mr. Dominick wants to talk to this
young fellow."
I knew something of politics, but I was not prepared to see that
distinguished company rise and, with not a shadow of resentment on any
man's face, with only a respectful, envious glance at me, who was to
deprive them of sunshine for a few minutes, remove themselves and their
glasses to another table. When I knew Dominick better, and other bosses
in this republic of ours, I knew that the boss is never above the
weaknesses of the monarch class for a rigid and servile court etiquette.
My own lack of this weakness has been a mistake which might have been
serious had my political power been based upon men. It is a blunder to
treat men without self-respect as if they were your equals. They expect
to cringe; if they are not compelled to do so, they are very likely to
forget their place. At the court of a boss are seen only those who have
lost self-respect and those who never had it. The first are the lower
though they rank themselves, and are ranked, above the "just naturally
low."
But--Dominick was alone, his eternal glass of sarsaparilla before him.
He used the left corner of his mouth both for his cigar and for speech.
To bid me draw near and seat myself, he had to shift his cigar. When the
few words necessary were half-spoken, half-grunted, he rolled his cigar
back to the corner which it rarely left. He nodded condescendingly, and,
as I took the indicated chair at his right, gave me a hand that was fat
and firm, not unlike the flabby yet tenacious sucker of a moist
sea-creature.
He was a huge, tall man, enormously muscular, with a high head like a
block, straight in front, behind and on either side; keen, shifty, pig
eyes, pompous cheeks, a raw, wide mouth; slovenly dress, with a big
diamond as a collar button and another on his puffy little finger. He
was about forty years old, had graduated from blacksmith too lazy to
work into prize-fighter, thence into saloon-keeper. It was as a
saloon-keeper that he founded and built his power, made himself the
local middleman between our two great political factors, those who buy
and break laws and those who aid and abet the lawlessness by selling
themselves as voters or as office-holders.
Dominick had fixed his eyes upon his sarsaparilla. He frowned savagely
into its pale brown foam when he realized that I purposed to force him
to speak first. His voice was ominously surly as he shifted his cigar to
say: "Well, young fellow, what can I do for you?"
"Mr. Fessenden told me you wanted to see me," said I.
"He didn't say nothing of the sort," growled Dominick. "I've knowed Buck
seventeen years, and he ain't no liar."
I flushed and glanced at the distinguished company silently waiting to
return to the royal presence. Surely, if these eminent fellow citizens
of mine endured this insulting monarch, I could,--I, the youthful, the
obscure, the despondent. Said I: "Perhaps I did not express myself quite
accurately. Fessenden told me you were considering making me your
candidate for county prosecutor, and suggested that I call and see
you."
[Illustration: HE SHIFTED HIS CIGAR TO SAY: "WELL, YOUNG FELLOW, WHAT
CAN I DO FOR YOU?" p. 20]
Dominick gave a gleam and a grunt like a hog that has been flattered
with a rough scratching of its hide. But he answered: "I don't give no
nominations. That's the province of the party, young man."
"But _you_ are the party," was my reply. At the time I was not conscious
that I had thus easily dropped down among the hide-scratchers. I assured
myself that I was simply stating the truth, and ignored the fact that
telling the truth can be the most degrading sycophancy, and the subtlest
and for that reason the most shameless, lying.
"Well, I guess I've got a little something to say about the party," he
conceded. "Us young fellows that are active in politics like to see
young fellows pushed to the front. A good many of the boys ain't stuck
on Ben Cass,--he's too stuck on himself. He's getting out of touch with
the common people, and is boot-licking in with the swells up town. So,
when I heard you wanted the nomination for prosecutor, I told Buck to
trot you round and let us look you over. Good party man?"
"Yes--and my father and grandfather before me."
"No reform germs in your system?"
I laughed--I was really amused, such a relief was it to see a gleam of
pleasantry in that menacing mass. "I'm no better than my party," said I,
"and I don't desert it just because it doesn't happen to do everything
according to my notions."
"That's right," approved Dominick, falling naturally into the role of
political schoolmaster. "There ain't no government without
responsibility, and there ain't no responsibility without organization,
and there ain't no organization without men willing to sink their
differences." He paused.
I looked my admiration,--I was most grateful to him for this chance to
think him an intellect. Who likes to admit that he bows before a mere
brute? The compulsory courtiers of a despot may possibly and in part
tell the truth about him, after they are safe; but was there ever a
voluntary courtier whose opinion of his monarch could be believed? The
more distinguished the courtier the greater his necessity to exaggerate
his royal master--or mistress--to others and to himself.
Dominick forged on: "Somebody's got to lead, and the leader's got to be
obeyed. Otherwise what becomes of the party? Why, it goes to hell, and
we've got anarchy."
This was terse, pointed, plausible--the stereotyped "machine" argument.
I nodded emphatically.
"Ben Cass," he proceeded, "believes in discipline and organization and
leadership only when they're to elect him to a fat job. He wants to use
the party, but when the party wants service in return, up goes Mr. Cass'
snout and tail, and off he lopes. He's what I call a cast iron--" I
shall omit the vigorous phrase wherein he summarized Cass. His
vocabulary was not large; he therefore frequently resorted to the
garbage barrel and the muck heap for missiles.
I showed in my face my scorn for the Cass sort of selfishness and
insubordination. "The leader has all the strings in his hand," said I.
"He's the only one who can judge what must be done. He must be trusted
and obeyed."
"I see you've got the right stuff in you, young man," said Dominick
heartily. "So you want the job?"
I hesitated,--I was thinking of him, of his bestial tyranny, and of my
self-respect, unsullied, but also untempted, theretofore.