DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK.
Peter had not been working long the next morning when he was told that
“The Honorable Terence Denton wishes to see you,” “Very well,” he said,
and that worthy was ushered in.
“Good-morning, Denton. I’m glad to see you. I was going down to the
Hall to-day to say something, but you’ve saved me the trouble.”
“I know you was. So I thought I’d get ahead of you,” said Denton, with
a surly tone and manner.
“Sit down,” said Peter. Peter had learned that, with a certain class of
individuals, a distance and a seat have a very dampening effect on
anger. It is curious, man’s instinctive desire to stand up to and be
near the object for which anger is felt.
“You’ve been talking against me in the ward, and makin’ them down on
me.”
“No, I didn’t talk against you. I’ve spoken with some of the people
about the way you think of voting on the franchises.”
“Yes. I wasn’t round, but a friend heard Dennis and Blunkers a-going
over it last night. And it’s you did it.”
“Yes. But you know me well enough to be sure, after my talk with you
yesterday, that I wouldn’t stop there.”
“So you try to set the pack on me.”
“No. I try to see how the ward wants its alderman to vote on the
franchises.”
“Look a-here. What are you so set on the Hummel crowd for?”
“I’m not.”
“Is it because Hummel’s a big contractor and gives you lots of law
business?”
“No,” said Peter, smiling. “And you don’t think it is, either.”
“Has they offered you some stock cheap?”
“Come, come, Denton. You know the _tu quoque_ do here.”
Denton shifted in his seat uneasily, not knowing what reply to make.
Those two little Latin words had such unlimited powers of concealment
in them. He did not know whether _tu quoque_ meant something about
votes, an insulting charge, or merely a reply, and feared to make
himself ridiculous by his response to them. He was not the first man
who has been hampered and floored by his own ignorance. He concluded he
must make an entire change of subject to be safe. So he said, “I ain’t
goin’ to be no boss’s puppy dog.”
“No,” said Peter, finding it difficult not to smile, “you are not that
kind of a man.”
“I takes my orders from no one.”
“Denton, no one wants you to vote by order. We elected you alderman to
do what was best for the ward and city, as it seems to you. You are
responsible for your votes to us, and no other man can be. I don’t care
who orders you or advises you; in the end, you must vote yourself, and
you yourself will be held to account by us.”
“Yes. But if I don’t vote as you wants, you’ll sour the boys on me.”
“I shall tell them what I think. You can do the same. It’s a fair game
between us.”
“No, it ain’t. You’re rich and you can talk more.”
“You know my money has nothing to do with it. You know I don’t try to
deceive the men in talking to them. If they trust what I tell them,
it’s because it’s reasonable, and because I haven’t tricked them
before.”
“Well, are you goin’ to drive me out?”
“I hope not. I think you’ve made a good alderman, Denton, and you’ll
find I’ve said so.”
“But now?”
“If you vote for that franchise, I shall certainly tell the ward that I
think you’ve done wrong. Then the ward will do as they please.”
“As you please, you mean.”
“No. You’ve been long enough in politics to know that unless I can make
the ward think as I do, I couldn’t do anything. What would you care for
my opinion, if you didn’t know that the votes are back of it?”
Just then the door swung open, and Dennis came in. “Tim said yez was
alone wid Denton, sir, so Oi came right in. It’s a good-mornin’, sir.
How are yez, Terence?”
“You are just the man I want, Dennis. Tell Denton how the ward feels
about the franchises.”
“Shure. It’s one man they is. An’ if Denton will step down to my place
this night, he’ll find out how they think.”
“They never would have felt so, if Mister Stirling hadn’t talked to
them. Not one in twenty knew the question was up.”
“That’s because they are most of them too hard working to keep track of
all the things. Come, Denton; I don’t attempt to say how you shall
vote. I only tell you how it seems to me. Go round the ward, and talk
with others. Then you can tell whether I can give you trouble in the
future or not. I don’t want to fight you. We’ve been good friends in
the past, and we can do more by pulling in double harness than by
kicking, I don’t know a man I would rather see at the Hall.” Peter held
out his hand, and Denton took it.
“All right, Mister Stirling. I’ll do my best to stay friends,” he said,
and went out.
Peter turned and smiled at Dennis. “They can’t find out that it’s not
I, but the ward. So every time there’s trouble they lay it against me,
and it’s hard to keep them friendly. And I hate quarrels and
surliness.”
“It’s yezself can do it, though. Shure, Denton was in a great state av
mind this mornin’, they was tellin’ me, but he’s all right now, an’
will vote right, or my name isn’t Dennis Moriarty.”
“Yes. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll vote square on Tuesday.”
Just then Tim brought in the cards of Watts and Leonore, and strangely
enough, Peter said they were to be shown in at once. In they came, and
after the greetings, Peter said:
“Miss D’Alloi, this is my dear friend, Dennis Moriarty. Dennis, Miss
D’Alloi has wanted to know you because she’s heard of your being such a
friend to me.”
“Shure,” said Dennis, taking the little hand so eagerly offered him,
“Oim thinkin’ we’re both lucky to be in the thoughts at all, at all, av
such a sweet young lady.”
“Oh, Mr. Moriarty, you’ve kissed the blarney stone.”
“Begobs,” responded Dennis, “it needs no blarney stone to say that.
It’s afther sayin’ itself.”
“Peter, have you that opinion?”
“Yes.” Peter handed her out a beautifully written sheet of script, all
in due form, and given an appearance of vast learning, by red ink
marginal references to such solid works as “Wheaton,” “Story,” and
“Cranch’s” and “Wallace’s” reports. Peter had taken it practically from
a “Digest,” but many apparently learned opinions come from the same
source. And the whole was given value by the last two lines, which
read, “Respectfully submitted, Peter Stirling.” Peter’s name had value
at the bottom of a legal opinion, or a check, if nowhere else.
“Look, Mr. Moriarty,” cried Leonore, too full of happiness over this
decision of her nationality not to wish for some one with whom to share
it, “I’ve always thought I was French—though I didn’t feel so a bit—and
now Mr. Stirling has made me an American, and I’m so happy. I hate
foreigners.”
Watts laughed. “Why, Dot. You mustn’t say that to Mr. Moriarty. He’s a
foreigner himself.”
“Oh, I forgot. I didn’t think that——” Poor Leonore stopped there,
horrified at what she had said.
“No,” said Peter, “Dennis is not a foreigner. He’s one of the most
ardent Americans I know. As far as my experience goes, to make one of
Dennis’s bulls, the hottest American we have to-day, is the
Irish-American.”
“Oh, come,” said Watts. “You know every Irishman pins his loyalty to
the ‘owld counthry.’”
“Shure,” said Dennis, “an’ if they do, what then? Sometimes a man finds
a full-grown woman, fine, an’ sweet, an’ strong, an’ helpful to him,
an’ he comes to love her big like. But does that make him forget his
old weak mother, who’s had a hard life av it, yet has done her best by
him? Begobs! If he forgot her, he wouldn’t be the man to make a good
husband. Oi don’t say Oi’m a good American, for its small Oi feel
besides Misther Stirling. But Oi love her, an’ if she ever wants the
arm, or the blood, or the life, av Dennis Moriarty, she’s only got to
say so.”
“Well,” said Watts, “this is very interesting, both as a point of view
and as oratory; but it isn’t business. Peter, we came down this morning
to take whatever legal steps are necessary to put Dot in possession of
her grandmother’s money, of which I have been trustee. Here is a lot of
papers about it. I suppose everything is there relating to it.”
“Papa seemed to think it would be very wise to ask you to take care of
it, and pay me the income, I can’t have the principal till I’m
twenty-five.”
“You must tie it up some way, Peter, or Dot will make ducks and drakes
of it. She has about as much idea of the value of money as she has of
the value of foreigners. When we had our villa at Florence, she
supported the entire pauper population of the city.”
Peter had declined heretofore the care of trust funds. But it struck
him that this was really a chance—from a business standpoint, entirely!
It is true, the amount was only ninety two thousand, and, as a trust
company would handle that sum of money for four hundred and odd
dollars, he was bound to do the same; and this would certainly not pay
him for his time. “Sometimes, however,” said Peter to himself, “these,
trusteeships have very handsome picking’s, aside from the half per
cent.” Peter did not say that the “pickings,” as they framed themselves
in his mind, were sundry calls on him at his office, and a justifiable
reason at all times for calling on Leonore; to say nothing of letters
and other unearned increment. So Peter was not obstinate this time.
“It’s such a simple matter that I can have the papers drawn while you
wait, if you’ve half an hour to spare.” Peter did this, thinking it
would keep them longer, but later it occurred to him it would have been
better to find some other reason, and leave the papers, because then
Leonore would have had to come again soon. Peter was not quite as cool
and far-seeing as he was normally.
He regretted his error the more when they all took his suggestion that
they go into his study. Peter rang for his head clerk, and explained
what was needed with great rapidity, and then left the latter and went
into the study.
“I wonder what he’s in such a hurry for?” said the clerk, retiring with
the papers.
When Peter entered the library he found Leonore and Watts reposing in
chairs, and Dennis standing in front of them, speaking. This was what
Dennis was saying:
“‘Schatter, boys, an’ find me a sledge.’ Shure, we thought it was
demented he was, but he was the only cool man, an’ orders were orders.
Dooley, he found one, an’ then the captain went to the rails an’ gave
it a swing, an’ struck the bolts crosswise like, so that the heads flew
off, like they was shootin’ stars. Then he struck the rails sideways,
so as to loosen them from the ties. Then says he: ‘Half a dozen av yez
take off yez belts an’ strap these rails together!’ Even then we didn’t
understand, but we did it All this time the dirty spal—Oi ask yez
pardon, miss—all this time the strikers were pluggin’ at us, an’
bullets flyin’ like fun. ‘Drop your muskets,’ says the captain, when we
had done; ‘fall in along those rails. Pick them up, and double-quick
for the shed door,’ says he, just as if he was on parade. Then we saw
what he was afther, and double-quick we went. Begobs, that door went
down as if it was paper. He was the first in. ‘Stand back,’ says he,
‘till Oi see what’s needed.’ Yez should have seen him walk into that
sheet av flame, an’ stand theer, quiet-like, thinkin’, an’ it so hot
that we at the door were coverin’ our faces to save them from
scorchin’. Then he says: ‘Get your muskets!’ We went, an’ Moike says to
me: ‘It’s no good. No man can touch them cars. He’s goin’ to attind to
the strikers,’ But not he. He came out, an’ he says: ‘B’ys, it’s hot in
there, but, if you don’t mind a bit av a burn, we can get the poor
fellows out. Will yez try?’ ‘Yes!’ we shouted. So he explained how we
could push cars widout touchin’ them. ‘Fall in,’ says he. ‘Fix
bayonets. First file to the right av the cars, second rank to the left.
Forward, march!’ An’ we went into that hell, an’ rolled them cars out
just as if we was marchin’ down Broadway, wid flags, an’ music, an’
women clappin’ hands.”
“But weren’t you dreadfully burnt?”
“Oh, miss, yez should have seen us! We was blacker thin the divil
himsilf. Hardly one av us but didn’t have the hair burnt off the part
his cap didn’t cover; an’, as for eyelashes, an’ mustaches, an’
blisters, no one thought av them the next day. Shure, the whole company
was in bed, except them as couldn’t lie easy.”
“And Mr. Stirling?”
“Shure, don’t yez know about him?”
“No.”
“Why, he was dreadful burnt, an’ the doctors thought it would be blind
he’d be; but he went to Paris, an’ they did somethin’ to him there that
saved him. Oh, miss, the boys were nearly crazy wid fear av losin’ him.
They’d rather be afther losin’ the regimental cat.”
Peter had been tempted to interrupt two or three times, but it was so
absorbing to watch Leonore’s face, and its changing expression, as,
unconscious of his presence, she listened to Dennis, that Peter had not
the heart to do it. But now Watts spoke up.
“Do you hear that, Peter? There’s value for you! You’re better than the
cat.”
So the scenes were shifted, and they all sat and chatted till Dennis
left. Then the necessary papers were brought in and looked over at
Peter’s study-table, and Miss D’Alloi took another of his pens. Peter
hoped she’d stop and think a little, again, but she didn’t. Just as she
had begun an L she hesitated, however.
“Why,” she said, “this paper calls me ‘Leonore D’Alloi, spinster!’ I’m
not going to sign that.”
“That is merely the legal term,” Peter explained. Leonore pouted for
some time over it, but finally signed. “I shan’t be a spinster, anyway,
even if the paper does say so,” she said.
Peter agreed with her.
“See what a great blot I’ve made on your clean blotter,” said Leonore,
who had rested the pen-point there. “I’m very sorry.” Then she wrote on
the blotter, “Leonore D’Alloi. Her very untidy mark.” “That was what
Madame Mellerie always made me write on my exercises.”
Then they said “Good-bye.” “I like down-town New York better and
better,” said Leonore.
So did Peter.