A POLITICAL DINNER.
Peter had only a month for work after reaching his own conclusions,
before the meeting of the convention, but in that month he worked hard.
As the result, a rumor, carrying dismay to the party leaders, became
current.
“What’s this I hear?” said Gallagher’s former interviewer to that
gentleman. “They say Schlurger says he intends to vote for Porter, and
Kennedy’s getting cold?”
“If you’ll go through the sixth you’ll hear more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a torchlight last night, of nearly every voter in the ward,
and nothing but Stirling prevented them from making the three delegates
pledge themselves to vote for Porter. He said they must go unbound.”
The interviewer’s next remark is best represented by several “blank
its,” no allusion however being intended to bed-coverings. Then he
cited the lower regions to know what it all meant.
“It means that that chap Stirling has got to be fixed, and fixed big. I
thought I knew how to wire pull, and manage men, but he’s taken hold
and just runs it as he wants. It’s he makes all the trouble.”
The interviewer left the court, and five minutes later was in
Stirling’s office.
“My name’s Green,” he said. “I’m a delegate to the convention, and one
of the committee who has the arranging of the special train and
accommodations at Saratoga.”
“I’m glad you came in,” said Peter. “I bought my ticket yesterday, and
the man at headquarters said he’d see that I was assigned a room at the
United States.”
“There’ll be no trouble about the arrangements. What I want to see you
for, is to ask if you won’t dine with me this evening? There’s to be
several of the delegates and some big men there, to talk over the
situation.”
“I should like to,” said Peter.
The man pulled out a card, and handed it to Peter. “Six o’clock sharp,”
he said. Then he went to headquarters, and told the result of his two
interviews. “Now who had better be there?” he asked. After
consultation, a dinner of six was arranged.
The meal proved to be an interesting one to Peter. First, he found that
all the guests were well-known party men, whose names and opinions were
matters of daily notice in the papers. What was more, they talked
convention affairs, and Peter learned in the two hours’ general
conversation more of true “interests” and “influences” and “pulls” and
“advantages” than all his reading and talking had hitherto gained him.
He learned that in New York the great division of interest was between
the city and country members, and that this divided interest played a
part in nearly every measure. “Now,” said one of the best known men at
the table, “the men who represent the city, must look out for the city.
Porter’s a fine man, but he has no great backing, and no matter how
well he intends by us, he can’t do more than agree to such bills as we
can get passed. But Catlin has the Monroe members of the legislature
under his thumb, and his brother-in-law runs Onandaga. He promises they
shall vote for all we want. With that aid, we can carry what New York
City needs, in spite of the country members.”
“Would the country members refuse to vote for really good and needed
city legislation?” asked Peter.
“Every time, unless we agree to dicker with them on some country job.
The country members hold the interest of the biggest city in this
country in their hands, and threaten or throttle those interests every
time anything is wanted.”
“And when it comes to taxation,” added another, “the country members
are always giving the cities the big end to carry.”
“I had a talk with Catlin,” said Peter. “It seemed to me that he wasn’t
the right kind of man.”
“Catlin’s a timid man, who never likes to commit himself. That’s
because he always wants to do what his backers tell him. Of course when
a man does that, he hasn’t decided views of his own, and naturally
doesn’t wish to express what he may want to take back an hour later.”
“I don’t like straw men,” said Peter.
“A man who takes other people’s opinions is not a bad governor, Mr.
Stirling. It all depends on whose opinion he takes. If we could find a
man who was able to do what the majority wants every time, we could
re-elect him for the next fifty years. You must remember that in this
country we elect a man to do what we want—not to do what he wants
himself.”
“Yes,” said Peter. “But who is to say what the majority wants?”
“Aren’t we—the party leaders—who are meeting daily the ward leaders,
and the big men in the different districts, better able to know what
the people want than the man who sits in the governor’s room, with a
doorkeeper to prevent the people from seeing him?”
“You may not choose to do what the people want.”
“Of course. I’ve helped push things that I knew were unpopular. But
this is very unusual, because it’s risky. Remember, we can only do
things when our party is in power, so it is our interest to do what
will please the people, if we are to command majorities and remain in
office. Individually we have got to do what the majority of our party
wants done, or we are thrown out, and new men take our places. And it’s
just the same way with the parties.”
“Well,” said Peter, “I understand the condition better, and can see
what I could not fathom before, why the city delegates want Catlin. But
my own ward has come out strong for Porter. We’ve come to the
conclusion that his views on the license question are those which are
best for us, and besides, he’s said that he will stand by us in some
food and tenement legislation we want.”
“I know about that change, and want to say, Mr. Stirling, that few men
of your years and experience, were ever able to do as much so quickly.
But there are other sides, even to these questions, which you may not
have yet considered. Any proposed restriction on the license will not
merely scare a lot of saloon-keepers, who will only understand that it
sounds unfriendly, but it will alienate every brewer and distiller, for
their interest is to see saloons multiplied. Then food and tenement
legislation always stirs up bad feeling in the dealers and owners. If
the opposite party would play fair, we could afford to laugh at it, but
you see the party out of power can oppose about anything, knowing that
a minority is never held responsible, and so by winning over the
malcontents which every piece of legislation is sure to make, before
long it goes to the polls with a majority, though it has really been
opposing the best interests of the whole state. We can’t sit still, and
do nothing, yet everything we do will alienate some interest.”
“It’s as bad as the doctrine of fore-ordination,” laughed another of
the party:
“You can’t if you will,
You can if you won’t,
You’ll be damned if you do,
You’ll be damned if you don’t.”
“You just said,” stated Peter, “that the man who could do what the
majority wants done every time, would be re-elected. Doesn’t it hold
true as to a party?”
“No. A party is seldom retained in power for such reasons. If it has a
long tenure of office it is generally due to popular distrust of the
other party. The natural tendency otherwise is to make office-holding a
sort of see-saw. Let alone change of opinion in older men, there are
enough new voters every four years to reverse majorities in almost
every state. Of course these young men care little for what either
party has done in the past, and being young and ardent, they want to
change things. The minority’s ready to please them, naturally. Reform
they call it, but it’s quite as often ‘Deform’ when they’ve done it.”
Peter smiled and said, “Then you think my views on license, and
food-inspection, and tenement-house regulation are ‘Deformities’?”
“We won’t say that, but a good many older and shrewder heads have
worked over those questions, and while I don’t know what you hope to
do, you’ll not be the first to want to try a change, Mr. Stirling.”
“I hope to do good. I may fail, but it’s not right as it is, and I must
try to better it.” Peter spoke seriously, and his voice was very clear.
“I’m glad to have had this talk, before the convention meets. You are
all experienced men, and I value your opinions.”
“But don’t intend to act on them,” said his host good-naturedly.
“No. I’m not ready to say that. I’ve got to think them over.”
“If you do that, Mr. Stirling, you’ll find we are right. We have not
been twenty and thirty years in this business for nothing.”
“I think you know how to run a party—but poisoned milk was peddled in
my ward. I went to law to punish the men who sold it. Now I’m going
into politics to try and get laws and administration which will prevent
such evils. I’ve told my district what I want. I think it will support
me. I know you can help me, and I hope you will. We may disagree on
methods, but if we both wish the good of New York, we can’t disagree on
results.” Peter stopped, rather amazed himself at the length of his
speech.
“What do you want us to do?”
“You say that you want to remain in control. You say you can only do so
by majorities. I want you to give this city such a government that
you’ll poll every honest vote on our side,” said Peter warmly.
“That’s only the generalization of a very young man,” said the leader.
Peter liked him all the better for the snub. “I generalized, because it
would make clear the object of my particular endeavors. I want to have
the Health Board help me to draft a food-inspection bill, and I want
the legislature to pass it, without letting it be torn to pieces for
the benefit of special interests. I don’t mind fair amendments, but
they must be honest ones.”
“And if the Health Board helps you, and the bill is made a law?”
Peter looked Mr. Costell in the face, and spoke quietly: “I shall tell
my ward that you have done them a great service.”
Two of the men moved uneasily in their seats, as if not comfortable,
and a third scowled.
“And if we can give you some tenement-house legislation?”
“I shall tell my ward that you have done them a great service.” Peter
spoke in the same tone of voice, and still looked Mr. Costell in the
face.
“And if we don’t do either?”
“What I shall do then will depend on whether you refuse for a good
reason or for none. In either case I shall tell them the facts.”
“This is damned——” began one of the dinner-party, but the lifting of
Mr. Costell’s hand stopped the speech there.
“Mr. Stirling,” said Mr. Costell, rising as he spoke, “I hope when you
come to think it over, that you will vote with us for Catlin. But
whether you do or not, we want you to work with us. We can help you,
and you can help us. When you are ready to begin on your bills, come
and see me.”
“Thank you,” said Peter. “That is just what I want.” He said good-night
to the company, and left the house.
“That fellow is going to be troublesome,” said Green.
“There’s no good trying to get anything out of him. Better split with
him at once,” said the guest who had used the expletive.
“He can’t have any very big hold,” said a third. “It’s only that trial
which has given him a temporary popularity.”
“Wait and see if he goes back on Catlin, and if he does, lay for him,”
remarked Green.
A pause came, and they all looked at Costell, who was smiling a certain
deep smile that was almost habitual with him, and which no one had ever
yet been able to read. “No,” he said slowly. “You might beat him, but
he isn’t the kind that stays beat. I’ll agree to outwit any man in
politics, except the man who knows how to fight and to tell the people
the truth. I’ve never yet seen a man beaten in the long run who can do
both those, unless he chose to think himself beaten. Gentlemen, that
Stirling is a fighter and a truth-teller, and you can’t beat him in his
ward. There’s no use having him against us, so it’s our business to see
that we have him with us. We may not be able to get him into line this
time, but we must do it in the long run. For he’s not the kind that
lets go. He’s beaten Nelson, and he’s beaten Gallagher, both of whom
are old hands. Mark my words, in five years he’ll run the sixth ward.
Drop all talk of fighting him. He is in politics to stay, and we must
make it worth his while to stay with us.”