Pocock Vancouver was also abroad in the snowstorm. He would not in any
case have stayed at home on account of the weather, but on this particular
morning he had very urgent business with a gentleman who, like Lamb, rose
with the lark, though he did not go to bed with the chickens. There are no
larks in Boston, but the scream of the locomotives answers nearly as well.
Vancouver accordingly had himself driven at an early hour to a certain
house not situated in the West End, but of stone quite as brown, and
having a bay window as prominent as any sixteen-foot-front on Beacon
Street; those advantages, however, did not prevent Mr. Vancouver from
wearing an expression of fastidious scorn as he mounted the steps and
pulled the polished German silver handle of the door-bell. The curl on his
lip gave way to a smile of joyous cordiality as he was ushered into the
presence of the owner of the house.
"Indeed, I'm glad to see you, Mr. Vancouver," said his host, whose
extremely Celtic appearance was not belied by unctuous modulation of his
voice, and the pleasant roll of his softly aspirated consonants.
This great man was no other than Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy. He received
Vancouver in his study, which was handsomely furnished with bright green
wall-paper, a sideboard on which stood a number of decanters and glasses,
several leather easy-chairs, and a green china spittoon.
In personal appearance, Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was vastly more striking
than attractive. He was both corpulent and truculent, and his hands and
feet were of a size and thickness calculated to crush a paving-stone at a
step, or to fell an ox at a blow. The nails of his fingers were of a hue
which is made artificially fashionable in eastern countries, but which
excites prejudice in western civilization from an undue display of real
estate. A neck which the Minotaur might have justly envied surmounted the
thickness and roundness of Mr. Ballymolloy's shoulders, and supported a
head more remarkable for the immense cavity of the mouth, and for a
quantity of highly pomaded sandy hair, than for any intellectuality of the
brows or high-bred fineness of the nose. Mr. Ballymolloy's nose was
nevertheless an astonishing feature, and at a distance called vividly to
mind the effect of one of those great glass bottles of reddened water,
behind which apothecaries of all degrees put a lamp at dusk in order that
their light may the better shine in the darkness. It was one of the most
surprising feats of nature's alchemy that a liquid so brown as that
contained in the decanters on Patrick's sideboard should be able to
produce and maintain anything so supernaturally red as Patrick's nose.
Mr. Ballymolloy was clad in a beautiful suit of shiny black broadcloth,
and the front of his coat was irregularly but richly adorned with a
profusion of grease-spots of all sizes. A delicate suggestive mezzotint
shaded the edges of his collar and cuffs, and from his heavy gold watch-chain depended a malachite seal of unusual greenness and brilliancy.
Vancouver took the gigantic outstretched hand of his host in his delicate
fingers, with an air of cordiality which, if not genuine, was very well
assumed.
"I'm glad to see you, sir," said the Irishman again.
"Thanks," said Vancouver, "and I am fortunate in finding you at home."
Mr. Ballymolloy smiled, and pushed one of his leather easy-chairs towards
the fire. Both men sat down.
"I suppose you are pretty busy over this election, Mr. Ballymolloy," said
Vancouver; blandly.
"Now, that's just it, Mr. Vancouver," replied the Irishman. "That's just
exactly what's the matter with me, for indeed I am very busy, and that's
the truth."
"Just so, Mr. Ballymolloy. Especially since the change last night. I
remember what a good friend you have always been to Mr. Jobbins."
"Well, as you say, Mr. Vancouver, I have been thinking that I and Mr.
Jobbins are pretty good friends, and that's just about what it is, I
think."
"Yes, I remember that on more than one occasion you and he have acted
together in the affairs of the state," said Vancouver, thoughtfully.
'"Ah, but it's the soul of him that I like," answered Mr. Ballymolloy very
sweetly. "He has such a beautiful soul, Mr. Jobbins; it does me good, and
indeed it does, Mr. Vancouver."
"As you say, sir, a man full of broad human sympathies. Nevertheless I
feel sure that on the present occasion your political interests will lead
you to follow the promptings of duty, and to vote in favor of the
Democratic candidate. I wish you and I did not differ in politics, Mr.
Ballymolloy."
"And, indeed, there is not so very much difference, if it comes to that,
Mr. Vancouver," replied Patrick in conciliating tones. "But it's just what
I have been thinking, that I will vote for Mr. Harrington. It's a matter
of principle with me, Mr. Vancouver, and that's it exactly."
"And where should we all be without principles, Mr. Ballymolloy? Indeed I
may say that the importance of principles in political matters is very
great."
"And it's just the greatest pity in the world that every one has not
principles like you, Mr. Vancouver. I'm speaking the truth now." According
to Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy's view of destiny, it was the truth and nothing
but the truth. He knew Vancouver of old, and Vancouver knew him.
"You flatter me, sir," said Pocock, affecting a pleased smile. "To tell
the truth, there is a little matter I wanted to speak to you about, if you
can spare me half an hour.".
"Indeed, I'm most entirely delighted to be at your service, Mr. Vancouver,
and I'm glad you came so early in the morning."
"The fact is, Mr. Ballymolloy, we are thinking of making an extension on
one of our lines; a small matter, but of importance to us."
"I guess it must be the branch of the Pocahontas and Dead Man's Valley
you'll be speaking of, Mr. Vancouver," said the Irishman, with sudden and
cheerful interest.
"Really, Mr. Ballymolloy, you are a man of the most surprising quickness.
It is a real pleasure to talk with you on such matters. I have no doubt
you understand the whole question thoroughly."
"Well, it's of no use at all to say I know nothing about it, because I
_have_ heard it mentioned, and that's the plain truth, Mr. Vancouver.
And it will take a deal of rail, too, and that's another thing. And where
do you think of getting the iron from, Mr. Vancouver?"
"Well, I had hoped, Mr. Ballmolly," said Vancouver, with some affected
hesitation, "that as an old friend, we might be able to manage matters
with you. But, of course, this is entirely unofficial, and between
ourselves."
Mr. Ballymolloy nodded with something very like a wink of one bloodshot
eye. He knew what he was about.
"And when will you be thinking of beginning the work, Mr. Vancouver?" he
inquired, after a short pause.
"That is just the question, or rather, perhaps, I should say the
difficulty. We do not expect to begin work for a year or so."
"And surely that makes no difference, then, at all," returned Patrick.
"For the longer the time, the easier it will be for me to accommodate
you."
"Ah--but you see, Mr. Ballymolloy, it may be that in a year's time these
new-fangled ideas about free trade may be law, and it may be much cheaper
for us to get our rails from England, as Mr. Vanderbilt did three or four
years ago, when he was in such a hurry, you remember."
"And, indeed, I remember it very well, Mr. Vancouver."
"Just so. Now you see, Mr. Ballymolloy, I am speaking to you entirely as a
friend, though I hope I may before long bring about an official agreement.
But you see the difficulty of making a contract a year ahead, when a party
of Democratic senators and Congressmen may by that time have upset the
duty on steel rails, don't you?"
"And indeed, I see it as plain as day, Mr. Vancouver. And that's why I was
saying I wished every one had such principles as yourself, and I'm telling
you no lie when I say it again." Verily Mr. Ballymolloy was a truthful
person!
"Very well. Now, do not you think, Mr. Ballymolloy, that all this talk
about free trade is great nonsense?"
"And, surely, it will be the ruin of the whole country, Mr. Vancouver."
"Besides, free trade has nothing to do with Democratic principles, has it?
You see here am I, the best Republican in Massachusetts, and here are you,
the best Democrat in the country, and we both agree in saying that it is
great nonsense to leave iron unprotected."
"Ah, it's the principle of you I like, Mr. Vancouver!" exclaimed
Ballymolloy in great admiration. "It's your principles are beautiful,
just!"
"Very good, sir. Now of course you are going to vote for Mr. Harrington
to-day, or to-morrow, or whenever the election is to be. Don't you think
yon might say something to him that would be of some use? I believe he is
very uncertain about protection, you see. I think you could persuade him,
somehow."
"Well, now, Mr. Vancouver, it's the truth when I tell you I was just
thinking of speaking to him about it, just a little, before I went up to
the State House. And indeed I'll be going to him immediately."
"I think it is the wisest plan," said Vancouver, rising to go, "and we
will speak about the contract next week, when all this election business
is over."
"Ah, and indeed, I hope it will be soon, sir," said Ballymolloy. "But
you'll not think of going out again in the snow without taking a drop of
something, will you, Mr. Vancouver?" He went to the sideboard and poured
out two stiff doses of the amber liquid.
"Since you are so kind," said Vancouver, graciously taking the proffered
glass. He knew better than to refuse to drink over a bargain.
"Well, here goes," he said.
"And luck to yourself, Mr. Vancouver," said Ballymolloy.
"I think you can persuade him, somehow," said Vancouver, as his host
opened the street-door for him to go out.
"And, indeed, I think so too," said Ballymolloy. Then he went back to his
study and poured out a second glass of whiskey. "And if I cannot persuade
him," he continued in soliloquy, "why, then, it will just be old Jobbins
who will be senator, and that's the plain truth."
Vancouver went away with a light heart, and the frank smile on his
delicate features was most pleasant to see. He knew John Harrington well,
and he was certain that Mr. Ballymolloy's proposal would rouse the honest
wrath of the man he detested.
Half an hour later Mr. Ballymolloy entered Harrington's room in Charles
Street. John was seated at the table, fully dressed, and writing letters.
He offered his visitor a seat.
"So the election is coming on right away, Mr. Harrington," began Patrick,
making himself comfortable, and lighting one of John's cigars.
"So I hear, Mr. Ballymolloy," answered John with a pleasant smile. "I hope
I may count on you, in spite of what you said yesterday. These are the
times when men must keep together."
"Now Mr. Harrington, you'll not believe that I could go to the House and
vote against my own party, surely, will you now?" said Patrick. But there
was a tinge of irony in his soft tones. He knew that Vancouver could make
him great and advantageous business transactions, and he treated him
accordingly. John Harrington was, on the other hand, a mere candidate for
his twenty votes; he could make John senator if he chose, or defeat him,
if he preferred it, and he accordingly behaved to John with an air of
benevolent superiority. "I trust you would do no such thing, Mr.
Ballymolloy," said John gravely. "Without advocating myself as in any way
fit for the honors of the Senate, I can say that it is of the utmost
importance that we should have as many Democrats in Congress as possible,
in the Senate as well as in the House."
"Surely you don't think I doubt that, Mr. Harrington? And indeed the
Senate is pretty well Democratic as it is."
"Yes," said John, smiling, "but the more the better, I should think. It is
a very different matter from the local legislature, where changes may
often do good."
"Indeed and it is, Mr. Harrington. And will you please to tell me what you
will do about free trade, when you're in the Senate, sir?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you anything that I did not tell you yesterday,
Mr. Ballymolloy. I am a tariff reform man. It is a great Democratic
movement, and I should be bound to support it, even if I were not myself
so thorough a believer in it as I am."
"Now see here, Mr. Harrington, it's the gospel truth I'm telling you, when
I say you're mistaken. Here are plenty of us Democrats who don't want the
least little bit of free trade. I'm in the iron business, Mr. Harrington,
and you won't be after thinking me such an all-powerful galoot as to cut
my own nose off, will you?"
"Well, not exactly," said John, who was used to many peculiarities of
language in his visitors. "But, of course, iron will be the thing last on
the tariff. I am of opinion that it is necessary to put enough tax on iron
to protect home-producers at the time of greatest depression. That is
fair, is not it?"
"I dare say you may think so, Mr. Harrington," said Ballymolloy, knocking
the ashes from his cigar. "But you are not an iron man, now, are you?"
"Certainly not," said John. "But I have studied the question, and I know
its importance. In a reformation of the tariff, iron would be one of the
things most carefully provided for."
"Oh, I know all that," said Ballymolloy, somewhat roughly, "and there's
not much you can tell me about tariff reform that I don't know, neither.
And when you have reformed other things, you'll be for reforming iron,
too, just to keep your hands in. And, indeed, I've no objection whatever
to your reforming everything you like, so long as you don't interfere with
me and mine. But I don't trust the principles of the thing, sir; I don't
trust them the least little bit, and for me I would rather there were not
to be any reforming at all, except for the Chinamen, and I don't care much
for them, neither, and that's a fact."
"Very good, Mr. Ballymolloy. Every man has a right to his free opinion.
But we stand on the reform platform, for there is no country in the world
where reform is more needed than it is here. I can only repeat that the
interests of the iron trade stand high with the Democratic party, and that
it is highly improbable that any law will interfere with iron for many
years. I cannot say more than that and yet stick to facts."
"Always stick to facts, Mr. Harrington. You will find the truth a very
important thing indeed, and good principles too, in dealing with plain-spoken men like myself, sir. Stick to the truth, Mr. Harrington, forever
and ever."
"I propose to, Mr. Ballymolloy," answered John, internally amused at the
solemn manner of his interlocutor.
"And then I will put the matter to you, Mr. Harrington, and indeed it's a
plain matter, too, and not the least taste of dishonesty in it, at all.
I've been thinking I'd make you senator if you'll agree to go against free
trade, and that's just what I'll do, and no more."
"It is impossible for me to make such a bargain, Mr. Ballymolloy. After
your exposition of the importance of truth I am surprised that you should
expect me to belie my whole political life. As I have told you, I am
prepared to support laws to protect iron as much as is necessary. Free
trade nowadays does not mean cutting away all duties; it means a proper
adjustment of them to the requirements of our commerce. A proper
adjustment of duties could not possibly be interpreted to mean any injury
to the iron trade. You may rely upon that, at all events."
"Oh, and I'm sure I can," said Ballymolloy incredulously, and he grew, if
possible, redder in the face than nature and the action of alcohol had
made him. "And I'm not only sure of it, but I'll swear it's gospel truth.
But then, you know, I'm of opinion that by the time you've done reforming
the other things, the reformed gentlemen won't like it, and then they'll
just turn round and eat you up unless you reform us too, and that just
means the ruin of us."
"Come now, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is exaggeration," said John. "If you will
listen to me for a moment"--
"I haven't got the time, sir, and that's all about it. If you'll protect
our interests and promise to do it, you'll be senator. The election is
coming on, Mr. Harrington, and I'd be sorry to see you thrown out."
"Mr. Ballymolloy, I had sincerely hoped that you would support me in this
matter, but I must tell you once more that I think you are unreasonable. I
vouch for the sufficient protection of your interests, because it is the
belief of our party that they need protection. But it is not necessary for
you to have an anti-reform senator for that purpose, in the first place;
and secondly, the offer of a seat in the Senate would never induce me to
change my mind, nor to turn round and deny everything that I have said and
written on the subject."
"Then that is your last word of all, Mr. Harrington?" said Ballymolloy,
heaving his heavy body out of the easy-chair. But his voice, which had
sounded somewhat irate during the discussion, again rolled out in
mellifluous tones.
"Yes, Mr. Ballymolloy, that is all I have to say."
"And indeed it's not so very bad at all," said Patrick. "You see I just
wanted to see how far you were likely to go, because, though I'm a good
Democrat, sir, I'm against free trade in the main points, and that's just
the truth. But if you say you will stand up for iron right through, and
use your best judgment, why, I guess you'll have to be senator after all.
It's a great position, Mr. Harrington, and I hope you'll do honor to it."
"I hope so, indeed," said John. "Can I offer you a glass of wine, or
anything else, Mr. Ballymolloy?"
"Indeed, and it's dirty weather, too," said Patrick. "Thank you, I'll take
a little whiskey."
John poured out a glass.
"You won't let me drink alone, Mr. Harrington?" inquired Patrick, holding
his tumbler in his hand. To oblige him, after the manner of the country,
John poured out a small glass of sherry, and put his lips to it.
Ballymolloy drained the whiskey to the last drop.
"You were not really thinking I would vote for Mr. Jobbins, were you now,
Mr. Harrington?" he asked, with a sly look on his red face.
"I always hope that the men of my party are to be relied upon, Mr.
Ballymolloy," said John, smiling politely.
"Very well, they are to be relied upon, sir. We are, every man of us, to
the last drop of Christian blood in our blessed bodies," said Patrick,
with a gush of patriotic enthusiasm, at the same time holding out his
heavy hand. Then he took his leave.
"You had better have said 'to the last drop of Bourbon whiskey in the
blessed bottle!'" said John to himself when his visitor was gone. Then he
sat down for a while to think over the situation.
"That man will vote against me yet," he thought.
He was astonished to find himself nervous and excited for the first time
in his life. With characteristic determination he went back to his desk,
and continued the letter which the visit of the Irish elector had
interrupted.
Meanwhile Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was driven to the house of the
Republican candidate, Mr. Jobbing.