SECRET WORKINGS OF THE SYSTEM.
Peter Dieman was happier than usual one morning, if he could ever be
called happy by any possibility of reading such a state of feeling in
his otherwise perverse and irascible countenance.
Happy! Well, Peter was never more happy in all his born days; but what
the extent of that emotion might become in his after life was hard to
predict at that time. Whenever he was in good humor, it was his never
failing custom to puff at his pipe like a locomotive getting off a
dead-center, and to rub his hands with less expenditure of energy, and
to squint his eyes with less vigor, and to shut his mouth with less
desire to keep it closed. In fact, on such rare occasions, it might be
said of him that he was in his subconscious region of retroflection, one
peculiarly of his own conception.
The cause of all his good humor was nothing more nor less than the
refreshing information, imparted to him the day before by Jim Dalls, i.
e., that Jim Dalls had decided to go to Europe. Ever since this
enlightening piece of intelligence broke in upon the deepness of Peter's
outward density of intellect, that gentleman was in a high fever of
unemotional genuflexion. Why, mortal man! Peter sat in his chair all
that night offering up his devotion to the Gods that They might be
propitiated for Their timely intervention. And betimes eating cheese and
crackers, and drinking beer, and surfeiting the air with the delicious
fumes of his strong pipe. He was, as it were, riding on the back of
Alborak into the Seventh Heaven of satisfaction.
Not only did he offer up devotion to his Deity, but to other people's
Deity as well. Oh, ah, he would think often, but never utter; it being
merely his manner of getting rid of superfluous enthusiasm. And his oh,
ah's extended on through the night, mixed with cheese, crackers, beer
and smoke, to the hour of nine o'clock in the forenoon, at which time he
suddenly aroused himself to the position of the hands on the dial of the
dollar-clock that hung above his desk, where he could always keep his
eyes on its horological exactness.
Having noted the time, Eli, after having opened the shop without the
least interference with his master's meditations, was summarily summoned
into the august presence of Peter through the tintinnabulating medium of
a large iron spike applied to a piece of sounding brass suspended by a
string from the ceiling on the right hand of his chair. Eli came to
attention, with the alertness of an orderly, before Peter, and waited to
be commanded.
"Call up 206070-m and tell him to come to my office by 9:45 sharp," said
Peter in a less tragic tone than he had been used to in hurling his
commands at Eli.
"Yes, sir," said Eli, departing. Directly he returned, stood attention,
and said: "He will be here."
"Ha! Good!" cried Peter. "Go to work, you lazy scamp." The last to Eli.
Peter sat still and mused on in the same barbarous manner, with only one
change in the program of his devotions, and that was, that since 7:30
o'clock he had kept his face close to the peephole that gave him a view
into his store, and upon Eli's performances.
With his sharp little eyes he saw the store, with all its junk and
jumble; he saw poor imbecilic Eli skipping about with undying devotion
in his heart; but his devotion was to serve his master, and serve him
well he did. Verily, he saw everything within the store, almost; at
least what he did not see, he knew of, as if his eyes were optical
divining rods. And he saw also beyond the confines of the four walls
that bound him about during his personifying period of the devil:--He
saw his henchmen going here and there, like earth-worms, through the
devious passages of the dark and dangerous undermining of the civic
welfare; he saw the policemen on their beats, wielding their maces, as
if he had as many hands as there were officers, and doing the execution
thereof himself; he saw the aldermanic bodies sitting in grave
deliberation on important or unimportant questions, knowing well himself
what their action might be on anything out of the purely routine order;
he saw the fawning sycophants, with their justifiable tale of complaint,
being brushed aside by the higher hands; he saw the givers of tribute
paying into the coffers of the system the doubloons of unwholesome
preferment; he saw special privilege unsatisfied, always; he saw the
needy come up with their last dollar out of the depths of their
nefarious haunts and lay it at the feet of the King of Graft; he saw the
glow-worms of society in a trail of phosphorescent splendor making the
welkin ring with the hallelujahs of their perfections; he saw the
merchant, the lawyer, the doctor, the craftsman, the civic officer, the
banker, the broker, the justice, the bailiff, the warden--all he saw
bending to the power of the system in all its ramifying debasement.
Aye, aye, he saw, too, the danger of it all to that system; to himself,
to his friends, and to those who sat above him on the high throne
erected to the debauchment of popular government, should Jim Dalls not
be removed to some other ruler's domains. And Jim must go; and he must
remain away; and all those of his present tendencies must go, and they,
too, must remain away, if money was all that were needed to that end.
While Peter was reflecting on all these things, there came into view in
the store, the short stalky form of a man past middle life. He walked
with a business air in his every movement directly into the presence of
Eli, to whom he gave the pass, which was 206070-m, and then continued
through the alleyways of junk to the black hole in the rear occupied by
Peter. Arriving at the door, he stepped inside, took off his hat, and
sat down, sniffing with some annoyance at the foul atmosphere.
"Now, what is the game?" he asked Peter.
"I want ten thousand by ten o'clock," replied Peter, without any
ceremonious introduction of the question.
"That's mighty short notice, I must say, Peter," replied the man.
"Fifteen minutes is time enough to rob any man or institution," answered
Peter.
"The pull on our purse strings is very great at present," said the man.
"Cut the strings," retorted Peter.
"Cut them, you all say; but that won't preserve enough to pay the
fiddlers," responded the man.
"Fiddlers be damned," roared Peter; "we must get Jim Dalls out of the
country."
"Is he wanting to squeal?" asked the man, with upraised eyebrows.
"He is ready," answered Peter.
"Can't he be staved off by bluff?" asked the man.
"He's best in Europe."
"Is he going there?"
"He's going."
"When?" asked the man, bluntly.
"Get the money, and buy a ticket also."
"Why, Peter, it will take a little more time than you have given to
complete the transaction."
"You may have till 10:30 to fix it up."
"I will return at that time with the amount," said the man,
reflectively.
The man was rising to pass out, when the tall figure of Jim Dalls
entered. The latter halted, and stood a moment gazing at Peter and the
man, with a contemptuous smile breaking up his smooth features.
"Well, Jacob Cobb, you here?" he asked, with some asperity in his
voice.
"Who else do you see, Jim Dalls, I would like to know, besides we
three?" asked Jacob, for that is whom the man proved to be, and who was
known to Peter only as 206070-m; and to his henchmen as the same.
"You fellows are not turning a trick on me?" asked Jim Dalls, with
suspicion.
"We will be only too glad to get rid of you," answered Peter.
"And see you safely out of the country," joined Cobb.
"I think I should have more money," remarked Jim; "ten thousand won't
last long in Europe, where you have to bribe every sonofagun who looks
at you; it's worse than Pittsburgh."
"How much more?" asked Peter, in alarm.
"Twenty thousand ought to be sufficient," answered Jim.
"Bring three tickets, Cobb, reading from Pittsburgh to Paris, and twenty
thousand," said Peter. "And that's the last sou I'll give you, you cur."
"Don't be too sure, Peter; I may ask for ten thousand more," said Jim,
independently.
"You won't get it," barked Peter. "Get the tickets and the money, Cobb."
Jacob Cobb forthwith departed, going direct to a vault in one of the big
banking institutions. Procuring the money, he purchased three tickets
for Jim Jones and wife and daughter. Returning with the tickets in his
pocket, and the money safely lodged in the depths of an immense sack, he
hiked it, with expeditious tread, to The Die; and thereat turned the
sack, with its valuable contents, over to the lamentable Eli for secret
delivery.
In the office. Jacob Cobb confronted Jim Dalls with the three tickets,
which that gentleman refused, at first, to accept without the
accompanying "dough;" but being informed that that little feature of the
transaction would be consummated through the faithful Eli, Jim returned
to the store to be further set upon by more mysterious signs of secrecy
as to the source of the money.
On entering the store, Jacob threw the sack, with all its preciousness,
under a bundle of other similar sacks, and told Eli to offer it for sale
to the man in the office, who would, in a moment, be along to make a
purchase in that article of usefulness. So when Eli saw Jim Dalls
approaching, not then being busy himself, he casually withdrew the sack,
and laid it upon a table, and asked him if he did not want to purchase
it. Only ten cents, he said, was asked for it. Didn't he want it in his
line of business, whatever that might be? Jim caught the cue, of course,
and paid the ten cents without protest. After obtaining it, he returned
to the office.
"Good bye, Peter; good bye, Jacob," he said, extending his hand. "I'll
be off this very day; but, remember, if I should run short in touring
Europe, I expect more help from you two."
"You dog!" howled Peter.
"Ah! you may 'you dog' all you want to now; I have you where I want you.
I will see that as long as you fellows play the game, I am properly
cared for--so long, gentlemen."
With these parting remarks, Jim Dalls took his leave; and in another
twenty-four hours had vanished from his beaten tracks in the city that
knew him so well. A newspaper announcement said that he had gone to
Europe for his health.
Alter Jim Dalls left that day, the implacable Peter turned upon Jacob
Cobb and said:
"We must raise the levy."
"It's already reaching the high tide mark," said Jacob.
"We will let her reach it; then we will let her ebb, after this sum is
raised," said Peter, rubbing his hands.
"But we may be drowned in the flow before it turns," answered Jacob,
with emphasis on the may.
"Let her drown," replied Peter, resolutely.
"We'll go down in the wreck, if we get too reckless," said Jacob,
fearfully.
"Who cares?" responded Peter, inexorably.
"I care," said Jacob, with some humility.
"I don't," said the dogmatic Peter.
"But I have daughters and a son," protested Jacob.
"No more than lots of other men," replied the angry Peter, rubbing
excitedly.
"But look at the difference?" now pleaded Jacob.
"There isn't any," snapped Peter.
"Do you infer, Peter, that you will play false, too?" asked Jacob,
seized with the impression that his fellow grafters would desert him.
"I infer nothing; I act," said Peter, turning to look out his place of
espial.
"You think you are safe?" said Jacob.
"I think nothing; I act. If I fail, I fail, and don't cry!" he shouted.
"You are exasperating, Peter; come, now, let's get down to
business--what will we raise it on first?" asked Jacob.
"On every resort in town; I'll send word tonight to my entire force to
press on the screws," answered Peter.
"Good!" exclaimed Jacob, now in full accord with Peter's views.
"Have you seen Monroe?" asked Peter, now turning to a new subject.
"Had a talk with him yesterday."
"What did he say?"
"Said he was with us still."
"Can he be trusted?"
"Without a doubt."
"Does Jarney know of his connection with us?"
"No."
"Jarney, the goody-goody, must be made to pay for big knocking."
"Monroe has been detailed to work on him," said Jacob.
"And you can trust to Monroe for that?" asked Peter.
"I believe we can; but he is handicapped now by the firing of Jarney's
old reliable secretary."
"He's been fired? Who has he now?"
"A young country bumpkin."
"Can't you get him in your ranks?" asked Peter.
"I fear not," replied Jacob, with a shake of the head. "He's been
approached, and seems to be as susceptible as a cow."
"Ah, we must get rid of him, some way--get him out of Monroe's way."
"That's what Monroe will attempt to do," said Jacob.
"Can he do it?" asked Peter, squinting.
"If he's slick enough, he can; nobody else can get so near the scene of
operation like Monroe."
"How's Jarney's adopted daughter coming on in society?" asked Peter,
with a faint attempt at smiling.
"Fine, I hear," answered Jacob, rising in his chair, and turning around
with his back to Peter.
"That's a funny piece of business on Jarney's part," said Peter, puffing
very hard at his pipe.
"His daughter took a fancy to her, on seeing her one day while slumming
on the South Side, and she's trying to make a lady of her," said Jacob,
sitting down again, after throwing away the stump of a cigar.
"Can she do it?" asked Peter, with considerable interest.
"She's doing it," responded Jacob, who noticed the change of Peter's
interest, which was now of the kindly kind.
"God bless her!" exclaimed Peter, as he turned again to his ever present
peephole expression.
"Mike Barton's dead," said Jacob, slowly.
"The devil!" shouted Peter, turning from his peephole.
"Yes; didn't you hear of it?"
"No. How?"
"Automobile accident."
"There are others to take his place," said Peter, grunting like a
satisfied pig after eating heartily. "How did it happen?"
"Stole Jarney's auto, with the two young ladies in it; run it like h----
to the country, to kidnap them, I suppose; ran into a telegraph
pole--busted the machine, and busted his head."
"Poor wretch! I am glad he is gone, for his sister's sake," said Peter,
sighing, which he could do sometimes.
"Ah, I see you are very compassionate for the girl all at once," said
Jacob, eyeing Peter.
"I have reasons to be," replied Peter, spiritedly. "Were the girls
hurt?"
"No; but Edith Jarney is very ill--."
"Very ill! What?" interrupted Peter.
"Brain fever, she's got."
"Ah, she is too good to live," said Peter, looking out his peephole
again. Then turning quickly, with his peculiar little eyes turned up
sidewise at Jacob, he said: "Say, Jacob, we must put our sleuths on the
trail of that old drunkard, Billy Barton. He has been gone a long time,
and not a single word from him."
"What do you want with the sot?" asked Jacob, mystified. "He's no good."
"That's my business--poor Billy," and Peter lapsed into a moody spell,
for sometimes he seemed to have a little of the feelings of a natural
heart; but this quality in him was as rare as the air on Pike's Peak.
"His family must be cared for."
"Jarney's doing that," answered Jacob.
"Is he?" jerked out Peter, wrathfully. "I'll not allow it from him, the
interloper!"
"You are getting generous all at once, Peter; I should not begrudge him
the privilege."
"Well, then, I don't," replied Peter, after a moment's reflection. "Let
him keep them; he owes it to them."
"It is time for me to be at my office, Peter; so good bye," said Jacob,
rising to leave.
"Remember Monroe," said Peter.
"Oh, I'll see to that," said Jacob, as he went out.
So are the "ropes" laid, as per the rule of things, to further the ends
of the men who neither toil nor spin. Were the dear people less disposed
to supine indifference toward their public officials, the government of
our country would be as perfect, no doubt, as that of the fabled Utopia.