SENATOR BRODERICK
Swept clear of its lesser rascals, San Francisco still, ostensibly, was
ruled by Freelon, Scannell, Byrne and other officials of the former city
government, who had defied the people's invitation to resign. They did
little more than mark time, however. Jury-packing was at an end for the
Committee had posted publicly the names of men unfit to judge their
fellows, and the courts had wisely failed to place them on venires.
"Wait till November," was the watchword. And San Francisco waited. A
committee of twenty-one was appointed at a mass meeting shortly before
the city election. By this body were selected candidates for all
municipal offices. Their ticket was the most diversified, perhaps, that
ever was presented to a city's voters, for it included northern and
southern men, Republicans, Democrats, Know-Nothings, Jews, Catholics and
Protestants. Yet there was an extraordinary basic homogeneity about
them. All were honest and respected business men, pledged to serve the
city faithfully and selflessly. Former Marshal Doane of Vigilante fame
was chosen as chief of police.
* * * * *
Broderick was the Windhams' guest at their new home on Powell street
overlooking the bay when Benito's clerk brought them news of
the election.
"Every reform candidate wins by a landslide," cried the youth
enthusiastically. "I cast my first vote today, Mr. Windham," he said
proudly, "and I'm glad to know that the ballot-box had no false bottom."
He turned to Broderick. "Your men fared mighty well too, sir,
considering--" He paused and reddened, but the politician clapped him,
laughing, on the shoulder. "That's right, my boy. Be honest,"
he declared.
"It means you'll be our Senator next year," the lad said staunchly,
holding out his hand. "They're all saying so down town. Allow me to
congratulate you, sir."
The keen, half-smiling eyes of Broderick took stock of Herbert Waters.
Tall, shy and awkward, with a countenance fresh, unmarked, but eager and
alert with clean ideals.
"Thank you, son," he pressed the lad's hand vigorously. "Perhaps ... if
I should get to Washington, there'll be a place for you. You'll like it,
wouldn't you? To see a little of the world?"
"Would I?" cried the youth, delighted. "Try me." He departed, treading
on air. Alice Windham shook a finger at her guest. "Dave, you mustn't
trifle with our little protégé.... But you did it charmingly. Tell me,
will you have to go about now, kissing babies and all that sort
of thing?"
"No doubt," he answered gaily. "So I'll practice on your little Bob." He
caught the child up in his arms. "Got a kiss for Uncle Dave?" he asked.
Robert's response was instant and vehement. Laughing, Broderick took
from an inner pocket a long and slender parcel, which he unwrapped with
tantalizing slowness. It revealed at last a gaily painted
monkey-on-a-stick which clambered up and down with marvelous agility
when Broderick pulled a string.
"This, my little man," he said half soberly, "is how we play the game of
politics." He made the jointed figure race from top to bottom while his
eyes were rather grim. "Here, you try it, Bobbie," he said. "I've played
with it long enough."
Broderick came to them aglow with triumph. He was a big man now, a
national figure. Only a short time ago he had been a discredited boss of
municipal politics. Now he was going to Washington. He had made William
Gwin, the magnificent, do homage. He had all of the federal patronage
for California. For years it had gone to Southern men. San Francisco's
governmental offices had long been known as "The Virginia Poorhouse."
Now its plums would be apportioned to the politicians of the North.
Everywhere one heard the praise of Broderick's astuteness. He had a way
of making loyal friends. A train of them had followed him through years
of more or less continuous defeat and now they were rejoicing in the
prospect of reward.
He was explaining this to Alice. Trying to at least. "One has to pay his
debts," he told her. "These men have worked for me as hard as any
factory slaves. And without any definite certainty of compensation. Do
you remember young Waters who came here last December to congratulate
me? Yes, of course, he was Benito's clerk. I'd forgotten that. Well,
what did that young rascal do but grow a beard and hire out as a waiter
in the Magnolia Hotel. He overheard some plots against me in a corner of
the dining room. And thus we were prepared to checkmate all the
movements of the enemy.... I call that smart. I'll see that he gets a
good berth. A senate clerkship. Something of the sort."
"When do you leave?" asked Alice quickly.
"Tomorrow.... Gwin is going also. I'll stop over in New York." He smiled
at her. "When I left there I told my friends I'd not return until I was
a senator. Eight years ago that was.... And now I'm making good my
promise." He laughed boyishly.
"You're very happy over it, aren't you, Dave?" she said with a shadow of
wistfulness.
"Why, yes, to be sure," he answered. His eyes held hers. "I'll miss
you, of course.... All of you." He spoke with a touch of restraint.
"And we'll miss YOU." She said more brightly, "I know you will do us
much honor ... there in the nation's capital." Her hand went half way
out toward him and drew back. "You'll fight always ... for the right
alone ... Dave Broderick."
He took a step toward her. "By God! I will promise you that. I'm through
with ward politics, with tricks and intriguing. I'm going to fight for
Freedom ... against Slavery. They're trying to fasten Slavery onto
Kansas. President Buchanan is a Pennsylvanian but he's dominated by the
Southern men. Washington is dominated by them. There aren't more than
half a dozen who are not afraid of them." He drew himself up. "But I'm
one. Douglas of Illinois is another. And Seward of New York. I've heard
from them. We stand together."
He laughed a shade bitterly. "It's difficult to fancy, isn't it? Dave
Broderick, the son of a stone mason, a former fireman, bartender,
ward-boss--fighting for an ideal? Against the Solid South?"
She came closer. "Dave, you must not say such things." She looked about
her. They were alone in the room, for Benito had gone out with Robert.
"Dave, we're proud of you.... And I--I shall always see you, standing in
the Senate Chamber, battling, like a Knight of Old...."
Her face was upturned to his. His hands clenched themselves. With a
swift movement he caught up his hat and stick. Fled from the house
without a good-bye.
As he went down the hill with long strides, his mind was torn between a
fierce pride in his proven strength and a heart-wrecked yearning.
He started the next morning for Washington.