A council of three men sat in certain rooms, in Conduit Street, London.
There was nothing whatever about the bachelor's front room overlooking the
thoroughfare to suggest secrecy, nor did any one of the three gentlemen
who sat in easy-chairs, with cigars in their mouths, in any way resemble a
conspirator. They were neither masked nor wrapped in cloaks, but wore the
ordinary garb of fashionably civilized life. For the sake of clearness and
convenience, they can be designated as X, Y, and Z. X was the president on
the present occasion, but the office was not held permanently, devolving
upon each of the three in succession at each successive meeting.
X was a man sixty years of age, clean-shaved, with smooth iron-gray hair
and bushy eyebrows, from beneath which shone a pair of preternaturally
bright blue eyes. His face was of a strong, even, healthy red; he was
stout, but rather thick and massive than corpulent; his hands were of the
square type, with thick straight fingers and large nails, the great blue
veins showing strongly through the white skin. He was dressed in black, as
though in mourning, and his clothes fitted smoothly over his short heavy
figure.
Y was very tall and slight, and it was not easy to make a guess at his
age, for his hair was sandy and thick, and his military moustache
concealed the lines about his mouth. His forehead was high and broad, and
the extreme prominence between his brows made his profile look as though
the facial angles were reversed, as in certain busts of Greek
philosophers. His fingers were well shaped, but extremely long and thin.
He wore the high collar of the period, with a white tie fastened by a pin
consisting of a single large pearl, and it was evident that the remainder
of his dress was with him a subject of great attention. Y might be
anywhere from forty to fifty years of age.
Z was the eldest of the three, and in some respects the most remarkable in
appearance. He was well proportioned, except that his head seemed large
for his body. His face was perfectly colorless, and his thin hair was
white and long and disorderly. A fringe of snowy beard encircled his
throat like a scarf, but his lips and cheeks were clean-shaved. The dead
waxen whiteness of his face was thrown into startling relief by his great
black eyes, in which there was a depth and a fire when he was roused that
contrasted strongly with his aged appearance. His dress was simple in the
extreme, and of the darkest colors.
The three sat in their easy-chairs round the coal fire. It was high noon
in London, and the weather was moderately fine; that is to say, it was
possible to read in the room without lighting the gas. X held a telegram
in his hand.
"This is a perfectly clear case against us," he remarked in a quiet,
business-like manner.
"It has occurred at such an unfortunate time," said Y, who spoke very
slowly and distinctly, with an English accent.
"We shall do it yet," said Z, confidently.
"Gentlemen," said the president, "it will not do to hesitate. There is an
individual in this case who will not let the grass grow under his feet.
His name is Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy. We all know about him, I expect?"
"I know him very well indeed," said old Z. "It was I who put him in the
book." He rose quickly and took a large volume from a shelf near by. It
was a sort of ledger, with the letters of the alphabet printed on the cut
edges of the leaves.
"I don't believe Y knows him," said the president. "Please read him to
us." Z turned over the leaves quickly.
"B--Bally--Ballymolloy-Patrick--Yes," he said, finding the place. "Patrick
Ballymolloy. Irish iron man. Boston, Mass. Drinks. Takes money from both
sides. Voted generally Democratic ticket. P.S. 1882, opposed B. in
election for Governor. Iron interest increased. P.S. 1883, owns twenty
votes in House. Costs more than he did. That is all," said Z, shutting up
the book.
"Quite enough," said the president. "Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy and his
twenty votes will bother us. What a pity J.H. made that speech!"
"It appears that as Patrick has grown rich, Patrick has grown fond of
protection, then," remarked Y, crossing one long leg over the other.
"Exactly," said Z. "That is it. Now the question is, who owns Patrick?
Anybody know?"
"Whoever can pay for him, I expect," said the president.
"Now I have an idea," said the old man suddenly, and again he dived into
the book. "Did either of you ever know a man called Vancouver?"
"Yes--I know all about him," said Y, and a contemptuous smile hinted
beforehand what he thought of the man.
"I made an entry about him the other day," said the president. "You will
find a good deal against his name."
"Here he is," said Z again. "Pocock Vancouver. Railways. Rep. Boston,
Mass. Was taxed in 1870 for nearly a million dollars. Weak character, very
astute. Takes no money. Believed to be dissipated, but he cleverly
conceals it. Never votes. Has extensive financial interests. 1880, taxed
for nearly three millions. 1881, paid ten thousand dollars to Patrick
Ballymolloy (D) for carrying a motion for the Monadminck Railroad (see
Railroads). 1882, voted for Butler"--
"Hollo!" exclaimed the president.
"Wait," said Z, "there is more. 1883, thought to be writer of articles
against J.H. in Boston 'Daily Standard.' Subsequently confirmed by J.H.
That is all."
"Yes," said the president, "that last note is mine. Harrington wired it
yesterday with other things. But I was hurried and did not read his old
record. Things could not be much worse. You see Harrington has no book
with him, or he would know all this, and be on the lookout."
"Has he figured it out?" inquired Y.
"Yes, he has figured it out. He is a first-rate man, and he has the whole
thing down cold. Ballymolloy and his twenty votes will carry the election,
and if Vancouver cares he can buy Mr. Ballymolloy as he has done before.
He does care, if he is going to take the trouble to write articles against
J.H., depend upon it."
"Well, there is nothing for it," said Z, who, in spite of his age, was the
most impulsive of the three. "We must buy Ballymolloy ourselves, with his
twenty men."
"I think that would be a mistake," said the president.
"Do you?" said Z. "What do you say?" he asked, turning to Y.
"Nothing," replied Y.
"Then we will argue it, I suppose," said Z.
"Certainly," said the president. "I will begin." He settled himself in his
chair and knocked the ashes from his cigar.
"I will begin by stating the exact position," he said. "In the first place
this whole affair is accidental, resulting from the death of the junior
senator. No one could foresee this event. We had arranged to put in John
Harrington at the regular vacancy next year, and we are now very busy with
a most important business here in London. If we were on the spot, as one
of us could have been had we known that the senator would die, it would
have been another matter. This thing will be settled by next Saturday at
the latest, but probably earlier. I am opposed to buying Ballymolloy,
because it is an uncertain purchase. He has taken money from both sides,
and if he has the chance he will do it again. If we were present it would
be different, for we could hold him to his bargain.
"We do not like buying, and we only do it in very urgent cases, and when
we are certain of the result. To buy without certainty is simply to begin
a system of reckless bribery, which is exactly what we want to put down.
Moreover, it is a bad plan to bribe a man who is interested in iron. The
man in that business ought to be with us any way, without anything but a
little talking to. When you have stated any reasons to the contrary I will
tell you what I propose instead. That is all."
During the president's little speech, Y and Z had listened attentively.
When he had finished, Z turned in his chair and took his cigar from his
lips.
"I think," said Z, "that the case is urgent. The question is just about
coming to a head, and we want all the men we can get at any price. It will
not do to let a chance slip. If we can put J.H. in the senate now, we may
put another man in at the vacancy. That makes two men instead of one. I am
aware that it would be an improbable thing to get two of our men in for
Massachusetts; but I believe it can be done, and for that reason I think
we ought to make an effort to get J.H. in now. It may cost something, but
I do not believe it is uncertain. I expect Vancouver is not the sort of
man to spend much just for the sake of spite. The question of buying as a
rule is another matter. None of us want that; but if the case is urgent I
think there is no question about its being right. Of course it is a great
pity J.H. said anything about protection in that speech. He did not mean
to, but he could not help it, and at all events he had no idea his
election was so near. If we are not certain of the result, J.H. ought to
withdraw, because it will injure his chance at the vacancy to have him
defeated now. That is all I have to say."
"I am of opinion," said the president, "that our best plan is to let John
Harrington take his chance. You know who his opponent is, I suppose?"
"Ira C. Calvin," said Y and Z together.
"Calvin refused last night," said the president, "and they have put
Jobbins in his place. Here is the telegram. It is code three," he
remarked, handing it to Z.
Z read it, and his face expressed the greatest surprise.
"But Jobbins belongs to us," he cried. "He will not move hand or foot
unless we advise him!"
"Of course," said the president. "But Mr. Ballymolloy does not know that,
nor any other member of the Legislature. Harrington himself does not know
it. Verdict, please."
"Verdict against buying," said Y.
"Naturally," said Z. "What a set of fools they are! How about withdrawing
Harrington?"
"I object," said the president. "Proceed."
"I think it will injure his chance at the vacancy to have him defeated
now, as I said before. That is all," said Z.
"I think it would be dangerous to withdraw him before so weak a man as
Jobbins. It would hurt his reputation. Besides, our second man is in
Washington arguing a case; and, after all, there is a bare chance that
J.H. may win. If he does not, we win all the same, for Jobbins is in
chains. Verdict, please."
Y was silent, and smoked thoughtfully. For five minutes no one spoke, and
the president occupied the time in arranging some papers.
"Let him stand his chance," said Y, at last. In spite of the apparent
informality of the meetings of the three, there was an unchangeable rule
in their proceedings. Whenever a question arose, the member who first
objected to the proposition argued the case briefly, or at length, with
the proposer, and the third gave the verdict, against which there was no
appeal.
These three strong men possessed between them an enormous power. It rarely
happened that they could all meet together and settle upon their course of
action by word of month, but constant correspondence and the use of an
extensive set of telegraphic codes kept them in unbroken communication. No
oaths or ceremonies bound them together, for they belonged to a small
community of men which has existed from the earliest days of American
independence, and which took its rise before that period.
Into this council of three, men of remarkable ability and spotless
character were elected without much respect of age whenever a vacancy
occurred. They worked quietly, with one immutable political purpose, with
which they allowed no prejudiced party view to interfere. Always having
under their immediate control some of the best talent in the country, and
frequently commanding vast financial resources, these men and their
predecessors had more than once turned the scale of the country's future.
They had committed great mistakes, but they had also brought about noble
results. It had frequently occurred that all the three members of the
council simultaneously held seats in the senate, or that one or more were
high in office. More than one President since Washington had sat at one
time or another in the triumvirate; secretaries of state, orators,
lawyers, financiers, and philanthropists had given the best years of their
lives to the duties of the council; and yet, so perfect was the
organization, the tests were so careful, and so marvelously profound was
the insight of the leaders into human character, that of all these men,
not one had ever betrayed the confidence placed in him. In the truest
sense they and their immediate supporters formed an order; an order of
true men, with whom the love of justice, honor, and freedom took the place
of oath and ceremonial, binding them by stronger obligations than ever
bound a ring of conspirators or a community of religious zealots.
The great element of secrecy as regards the outer world lay in the fact
that only two men at any one time knew of the existence of the council of
three, and these were those who were considered fit to sit in the council
themselves. Even these two did not know more than one of the three leaders
as such, though probably personally and even intimately acquainted with
all three. The body of men whom the council controlled was ignorant of its
existence therefore, and was composed of the personal adherents of each of
the three. Manifestly one member of the council could, with the consent
and cooperation of the other two, command the influence of the whole body
of political adherents in favor of one of his friends, at any time,
leaving the individual in entire ignorance of the power employed for his
advancement. When a vacancy occurred in the council, by death or old age
of any member, one of the two already designated took the place, while the
other remained ignorant of the fact that any change had occurred, unless
the vacancy was caused by the withdrawal of the member he had known, in
which case he was put in communication with that member with whom he was
most intimately acquainted. By this system of management no one man knew
more than one of the actual leaders until he was himself one of the three.
At the present time Z had been in the council nearly thirty years, and X
for upwards of twenty, while Y, who was in reality fifty years old, had
received his seat fifteen years before, at the age of thirty-five. A year
ago one of the men selected to fill a possible vacancy had died, and John
Harrington was chosen in his place.
It has been seen that the three kept a sort of political ledger, which was
always in the hands of the president for the time being, whose duty it was
to make the insertions necessary from time to time. Some conception of the
extent and value of the book may be formed from the fact that it contained
upwards of ten thousand names, including those of almost every prominent
man, and of not a few remarkable women in the principal centres of the
country. The details given were invariably brief and to the point, written
down in a simple but safe form of cipher which was perfectly familiar to
every one of the three. This vast mass of information was simply the
outcome of the personal experience of the leaders, and of their trusted
friends, but no detail which could by any possibility be of use escaped
being committed to paper, and the result was in many cases a positive
knowledge of future events, which, to any one unacquainted with the
system, must have appeared little short of miraculous.
"What time is it in Boston?" inquired the president, rising and going to
the writing-table.
"Twenty-eight minutes past seven," said Y, producing an enormous three-dial time-piece, set to indicate simultaneously the time of day in
London, Boston, and Washington.
"All right, there is plenty of time," answered X, writing out a dispatch
on a broad white sheet of cable office paper. "See here--is this all
right?" he asked, when he had done.
The message ran as follows: "Do not withdraw. If possible gain Ballymolloy
and men, but on no account pay for them. If asked, say iron protection
necessary at present, and probably for many years."
Y and Z read the telegram, and said it would do. In ten minutes it was
taken to the telegraph office by X's servant.
"And now," said X, lighting a fresh cigar, "we have disposed of this
accident, and we can turn to our regular business. The question is
broadly, what effect will be produced by suddenly throwing eight or ten
millions of English money into an American enterprise?"
"When Englishmen are not making money, they are a particularly
disagreeable set of people to deal with," remarked Y, who would have been
taken for an Englishman himself in any part of the world.
And so the council left John Harrington, and turned to other matters which
do not in any way concern this tale.
John received the dispatch at half-past ten o'clock in the morning after
the dinner at Mrs. Wyndham's, and he read it without comprehending
precisely the position taken by his instructor. Nevertheless, the order
coincided with what he would have done if left to himself. He of course
could not know that even if his opponent were elected it would be a gain
to his own party, for the outward life of Mr. Jobbins gave no cause for
believing that he was in anybody's power. Harrington was left to suppose
that, if he failed to get the votes of Patrick Ballymolloy and his party,
the election would be a dead loss. Nevertheless, he rejoiced that the said
Patrick was not to be bought. An honorable failure, wherein he might
honestly say that he had bribed no one, nor used any undue pressure, would
in his opinion be better than to be elected ten times over by money and
promises of political jobbery.
The end rarely justifies the means, and there are means so foul that they
would blot any result into their own filthiness. All that the world can
write; or think, or say, will never make it honorable or noble to bribe
and tell lies. Men who lie are not brave because they are willing to be
shot at, in some instances, by the men their falsehoods have injured. Men
who pay others to agree with them are doing a wrong upon the dignity of
human nature, and they very generally end by saying that human nature has
no dignity at all, and very possibly by being themselves corrupted.
Nevertheless, so great is the interest which men, even upright and
honorable men, take in the aims they follow, that they believe it possible
to wade knee-deep through mud, and then ascend to the temple of fame
without dragging the mud with them, and befouling the white marble steps.
"Political necessity!" What deeds are done in thy name! What a merciful
and polite goddess was the necessity of the ancients, compared with the
necessity of the moderns. Political necessity has been hard at work in our
times from Robespierre to Sedan, from St. Helena to the Vatican, from the
Tea-chests of Boston Harbor to the Great Rebellion. Political necessity
has done more lying, more bribery, more murdering, and more stealing in a
century, than could have been invented by all the Roman emperors together,
with the assistance of the devil himself.