THE SENATORSHIP
_The people's choice--What the legislature of a great state
represents--The Strauss lobby--Public opinion, pro and con--An
unflattering description of myself--Carboner's confidences--On the
bill-boards--Popular oratory--I discover my brother in strange
company--I do some talking on my own account--An organ of kick and
criticism--Turned crank_
Jane Dround was right about old Senator Parkinson. He came home to die
early in the fall, and faded away in a couple of months afterward. The
political pot at the capital of the state then began to hum in a lively
fashion. It was suspected that the Governor himself wanted to succeed
the late Senator, and there were one or two Congressmen and a judge
whose friends thought they were of senatorial size. That was the talk on
the surface and in the papers. But the situation was very different
underneath.
The legislature might be said, in a general way, to represent the people
of the state of Illinois, but it represented also the railroad
interests, the traction and gas interests, and the packers, and when it
came to a matter of importance it pretty generally did what it was told
by its real bosses. This time it was told to put me in the Senate in
place of the late Senator, and it obeyed orders after a time.
Carmichael was honest with me, and stuck to his agreement to use the
Strauss lobby in the legislature in my behalf.
Of course the papers in Chicago howled, all those that hadn't their
mouths stopped with the right cake. The three largest papers couldn't be
reached by our friends in any way, but their scoring did little harm.
They had up again the story of Judge Garretson and the bonds of the
London and Chicago concern. But the story was getting a little hazy in
men's memories, and that kind of talk is passed around so often when a
man runs for office in our country that it hasn't much significance. We
did not even think it worth while to answer it. Besides, to tell the
truth, we had nothing much to say. Our policy was, of necessity, what
Slocum sarcastically described as "dignified silence." When my name
began to be heard at Springfield more and more insistently, the Chicago
_Thunderer_ came out with a terrific roast editorially:--
"Who is this fellow, E.V. Harrington, who has the presumption to
look lustfully on the chair of our late honorable Senator? Eighteen
years ago Harrington was driving a delivery wagon for a packing
firm, and there are to-day on the West Side retail marketmen who
remember his calls at their places. We believe that his first rise
in fortune came when, in some tricky way, he got hold of a
broken-down sausage plant, which he sold later to the redoubtable
Strauss. But it was not until the year '95, when the notorious
American Meat Products Company was launched, that Harrington
emerged from the obscurity of the Stock Yards. That corporation,
conceived in fraud, promoted by bribery, was the child of his
fertile brain. Not content with this enterprise, he became involved
in railroad promotion in the Southwest, and he and his man Friday,
Slocum, were celebrated as the most skilful manipulators of
legislative lobbies ever seen in the experienced state of Texas.
"What will Harrington represent in the Senate, assuming that he will
be able to buy his way there? Will he represent the great state of
Illinois,--the state of Lincoln, of Douglas, of Oglesby? He will
represent the corrupt Vitzer and the traction interests of Chicago,
the infamous Dosserand and the gas gang--above all, he will
represent the packers' combine,--Joe Strauss, Jenks, 'big John'
Carmichael. These citizens, who are secretly preparing to perpetrate
the greatest piece of robbery this country has ever witnessed,
propose to seat Harrington in the United States Senate as their
personal representative. Can the degradation of that once honorable
body be carried to a greater depth?"
It was not a flattering description of myself, but Tom Stevens, the
proprietor of the _Thunderer_, always hated Strauss and his crowd, and
the papers had to say something. To offset that dose, the _Vermilion
County Herald_ printed a pleasant eulogy describing me as a type of the
energy and ability of our country,--"the young man of farmer stock who
had entered the great city without a dollar and had fought his way up to
leadership in the financial world by his will and genius for commerce.
Such practical men, who have had training and experience in large
affairs, are the suitable representatives of a great commercial people.
The nation is to be congratulated on securing the services of men of Mr.
Harrington's ability, who could with so much more profit to themselves
continue in the career of high finance."
The only trouble with this puff was that it was composed in the office
of my lawyers and paid for at high rates. But, so far as affecting the
result, the _Thunderer_ and the _Vermilion County Herald_ were about on
a par. The order had gone out from headquarters that I was to be sent to
the Senate to take Parkinson's vacant seat, and, unless a cyclone swept
the country members off their feet, to the Senate I should go. All that
I had to do was to wait the final roll-call and pay the bills.
My old, tried counsellor, Jaffrey Slocum, was managing this campaign for
me. We could not use him at Springfield, however; for by this time he
was too well known as one of the shrewdest corporation lawyers in the
West. He represented the United Metals Trust, among other corporations,
and had done some lively lobbying for them of late. He was a rich man
now, and weighed several stone more than he did when he and I were
living at Ma Pierson's joint. He was married, and had a nice wife, an
ambitious woman, who knew what her husband was worth. She might push him
to New York or Washington before she was done. Meantime, it was settled
that he should take care of the packers' merger, when that came off, and
that business would mean another fortune for him.
One day, while the election was still pending, I went over to see Jules
Carboner. The old fellow was cheery as ever, and as pleased to see me as
if I had been a good boy just home from school. We had some of his
strong coffee and talked things over.
"By the way," he said, as I was leaving, "let me tell you now how we
happened to get hold of that block of Products' stock."
And he explained to me the mystery of that stock, which had saved my
life, so to speak, at a critical time. It seems that about three months
before the war scare, when there were bad rumors about Meat Products all
over the city, Dround had placed his stock in the hands of a New York
firm of bankers. I suppose he was ashamed to let me know that he was
going to break his last promise to me. For if he didn't tell those
bankers to offer Strauss his stock, he knew that was just what they
would do. So much for the scrupulous Henry I! The bankers felt around
and tried to strike a bargain with the great packer, and negotiations
were under way for some time about the stock. That gave our enemies the
confidence to sell us short. They thought that, in case the market went
wrong, they could put their hand on Dround's stock. Just at this point
Carboner received word where the stock was and orders to buy it. He went
to New York the next day and bought it outright, paying all it was
worth, naturally....
I came back from Carboner's place through Newspaper Row. On the boards
in front of the offices one could read in large red and blue letters:--
HARRINGTON SAID TO BE SLATED FOR THE
SENATE
FINAL BALLOT TO-DAY
Men passing on their way home from their work paused to read the
bulletin, and I stopped, too. A group of laboring men were gathered
about the door of a building near by, and from the numbers entering and
leaving the place I judged that some kind of meeting was in progress
within. As I stood there my attention was caught by a man who went in
with several others. Something about the man's back reminded me of my
brother Will, and I followed into the building and upstairs to a smoky
room, where the men were standing about in groups, talking together,
only now and then paying any attention to the speaker on the platform.
He was a fat, round little fellow, and he was shouting himself out of
breath:--
"Yes! I tell you right here, you and your children are sold like so many
hogs over at the Yards. Don't you believe it? What do you pay for meat?
What do you pay for every basket of coal you put in your stoves? The
millionnaires there at Washington make the laws of this free country,
and who do they make them for? Don't you know? Do they make 'em for you,
or for Joe Strauss? They are putting one of their kind in the Senate
from this state right now!"...
So he rambled on, and having sampled his goods, and not seeing the face
I was looking for, I was moving toward the door, when I was arrested by
the voice of a man who began to speak over in one corner.
[Illustration: _Men paused to read the bulletin, and I stopped, too._]
"That's so. I know him!" he shouted, and the attention of the room was
his. The men around him moved back, and I could see that the speaker was
Will. He was dressed in a long waterproof coat, and his hat was tipped
back on his head. An untrimmed black beard covered the lower half of his
face. "I can tell you all about him," he continued in a thin, high
voice. "He's the man who got a bill through Congress giving himself and
his partners a slice of land out of the Indian Territory. He's the man
who kept the Texas legislature in his hire the same as a servant."
[Illustration: "_He's the man who sold scraps and offal to the
Government for canned beef_--"]
Generally when I hear this kind of sawing-air I go about my business.
The discontented always growl at the other fellow's bone. Give them a
chance at the meat, and see how many bites they would make! It's
hopeless to try and winnow out the truth from the mass of lies they talk
about the trusts, capital, the tariff, corruption, and the rest of it.
But it hurt all the same to have Will say such things about me....
"He's the man who sold scraps and offal to the Government for canned
beef--"
"That's a lie!" I spoke out promptly.
"Don't I know what I am saying? Didn't I try to live on the rancid,
rotten stuff? My God, I've got some home now I could show you!"
Will turned to see who had contradicted him, and recognized me.
"You ought to know better than that," I replied, directly to him. "Some
of it was rotten, but not the Meat Products' goods. We lost on our
contract, too, what's more."
Will was a little startled, but he steadied himself soon and said
again:--
"That's the same thing. You were all the same crowd."
"No; that wasn't so," I remonstrated, "and you ought to know it."
The men in the room had stopped their talking and were craning their
heads to look at us. Will and I eyed each other for a time; then I
turned to the crowd and made the first and last real public speech of my
life.
"That's all a d----d lie about the beef _we_ sold the Government. I know
it because I inspected it myself. And I gave my own money, too, to
support men at the front, and that is more than any of you fellows ever
did. And the rest of the talk these gentlemen have been giving you is
just about as wrong, too. Let me tell you one thing: if you folks were
honest, if you didn't send rascals to Springfield and to Congress, if
you weren't ready to take a dollar and club a man if he didn't hand it
over, there wouldn't be this bribery business. I know it, because I've
got the club over and over again. And one thing more, it's no more use
for you and I to kick about the men who put their money into trusts than
it would be to try to swallow all the water in the lake. That's the way
business has got to be done nowadays, and if it weren't done you folks
would starve, and your wives and children would starve--"
"Who are you?" some began to shout, interrupting me.
"I am E.V. Harrington!" I called back.
Then they hooted: "Hello, Senator. Put him out!"
I turned toward Will, and called to him:--
"Come on! I want to have a word with you, Will."
He followed me downstairs into a saloon. Some of the loafers who had
heard our talk upstairs came in and crowded up to the bar, and I set up
the drinks all around several times. Will wouldn't take any whiskey.
Then the bartender let us into a little room at the end of the bar,
where we could be by ourselves.
"Will!" I exclaimed, "whatever has happened to you?"
It wrung my heart to see what a wreck he was. He had let his beard grow
to cover up his wasted face. His eyes were sunk and bloodshot. The old
waterproof covered a thin flannel coat.
"I'm all right," he replied gloomily. "What do you want of me?"
"I want you to come out and get some dinner with me, first," I said.
But he shook his head, saying he must go home to May.
"It ain't no use, Van," he added, in a high, querulous voice. "We don't
belong together. May and I are of the people--the people you fatten on."
"Quit that rot! I am one of the people, too."
"Oh, you're Senator, I expect, by this time," he sneered. "What did it
cost you, Van?"
"I don't want to talk politics."
"That's all I care to talk. I want to get a chance to show you fellows
up one of these days. I'm considering a proposition for part control of
a paper--a labor weekly."
So he talked for a while about his scheme of getting hold of a little
three-cent outfit and making it into an organ of kick and criticism. He
had seen life from the inside during the war, he explained, and he
wanted to give the public the benefit of his experience. He had a snarl
for every conceivable thing that was, and he was eager to express it.
When I showed him that such an attitude was dead against American
feeling, he accused me of trying to suppress his enterprise because it
was aimed at my friends, "the thieves and robbers." It was hopeless to
argue with him, and the more we talked the worse I felt. He was just
bitter and wild, and he kept saying: "You taught me what it meant! You
showed me what it was to be rich!" The war had ruined his health and
weakened his mind. The gentle, willing side in him had turned to fury.
He was a plain crank now!
"I'll buy this paper for you--or I'll start a new one for you to curse
me and my friends with--if you'll just take May and the children and go
down to my farm in the country. There are two thousand acres down there,
Will, and you can do as you please on the place. When you've got back
your health, then you can start in to baste me as good as you've a mind
to."
But he refused to compromise his "cause." So we parted at the door of
the saloon, he buttoning up his old raincoat and striding out for the
West Side without a look back to me. And as I hailed a cab to take me to
the club I heard in my ears that charge, "You taught me what it meant to
be rich, Van!" It made me mad, but it hurt just the same.
Though I knew perfectly well that I was not responsible for his
crankiness, yet I thought that if he could have kept on at business
under me he would have been all right, earning a good living for his
wife and children, and not taking up with thoughts he hadn't the mind to
think out. For Will was not one to step safely out of the close ranks of
men, but he was always a mighty faithful worker wherever he was put. And
now he was just a crank--good for nothing.