want ter talk this bizness over wid ye. Come intil the back room,
Dennie."
They adjourned into a little private room at the rear of the bar, and
the Alderman drew from a closet a bottle of wine, a couple of glasses,
and a box of cigars.
"Dennie," he said nervously, "we must bate 'em. That Dootch pookah aint
the fool he looks. Things is feelin' shaky, an' you mus' undo yer wits
fer me an' set 'em a-warkin'. If the Dootchy kin hev a 'sosheashin, I
kin, too. If he kin run in Poles an' Eyetalyans, I kin run in niggers
an' Jerseymen."
Dennie contemplated a knot-hole in the floor for several minutes. "No,
Colonel," he said, at last, "that wont do. There's a limit to the
number of repeaters that can be brought into the district. If we fetch
too many, there'll be trouble. Dutchy has put up a job with the police,
too, I'm told; they're all training with Tammany now. Besides, if you
get up your gang of six or seven hundred, you don't make anything; you
only offset his gang. You must buy The Croak; that'll be cheaper and
more effective. Then you'll get your association and Dutchy will get
nothing. You will be making him pay for your votes."
Boozy grasped Dennie's hand admiringly. "It's a great head ye have,
Dennie, wid a power o' brains in it an' a talent fer shpakin' 'em out.
I'll l'ave the fixin' av it in your hands. Ye'll see The Croak, Dennie,
an' get his figgers, an' harkee, Dennie, if ye air thrue to me, Dennie,
ye'll be makin' a fri'nd, d'ye moind!"
While Dennie was thus engaged with Boozy, The Croak was occupied in
effecting a similar arrangement with Mr. Bockerheisen. In a few gloomy
but well-chosen words, for The Croak, though a mournful, was yet a
vigorous, talker, he explained to Bockerheisen that a wicked conspiracy
had been entered into by Boozy and McCafferty to bring about his defeat
by fraud, and he urged that Mr. Bockerheisen "get on to 'em" without
delay.
[Illustration: MR. BOCKERHEISEN.]
"Dot I vill!" said the German savagely, "I giv you two huntered tolars
for der names of der men vat dot Poozy mitout der law registers!"
"I aint no copper!" cried The Croak, angrily. "Wot you wants ter do is
ter get elected, doncher?"
"Vell, how vas I get elected mit wotes vat vas for der udder mans cast,
hey?"
"You can't," said The Croak, "dey aint no doubt 'bout dat."
"If dey vas cast for him, dey don't gount for me, hey?"
"No."
"Den I vill yust der bolice got und raise der debbil mit dot Poozy."
"Hol' on!" the Croak replied. "If dey was ter make a mistake about de
ballots, an' s'posen 'stead of deir bein' hisn dey happens to be yourn,
den if dey're cast fer you dey wont count fer him, will dey?"
Mr. Bockerheisen turned his head around and stared at The Croak in an
evidently painful effort to grasp the idea.
"If Boozy t'inks dey're his wotes--"
"Yah," said Bockerheisen reflectively.
"And pays all de heavy 'spences of uniforms an' beer--"
"Yah," said Bockerheisen, with an affable smile.
"But w'en dey comes to wote--"
"Yah," said Bockerheisen, opening his eyes.
"Deir ballots don't hev his tickets in 'em--"
"Yah!" said Bockerheisen quickly.
"But has yourn instead--"
"Yah-ah!" said Bockerheisen, rubbing his hands.
"Den an' in dat case who does dey count fer?"
Mr. Bockerheisen leaned his head upon his hand, which was supported by
the bar against which they were standing, slowly closed one eye, and
murmured, "Yah-ah-ah."
"I t'ought you'd see de p'int w'en I got it out right," said The Croak.
"How you do somedings like dot?"
"Dat aint fer me to say," The Croak diffidently remarked. "But dey do
tell me dat dat McCafferty has a grudge agin Boozy, an if you wants me
ter ask him ter drop in yere an hev a talk wid ye, I'll do it."
Mr. Bockerheisen did not fail to express the satisfaction he would have
in seeing Mr. McCafferty, and Mr. McCafferty did not fail to give him
that happiness. The association sprang quickly into being, and its rolls
soon showed a membership of nearly 700 voters. Two copies of the rolls
were taken, one for submission to Alderman Boozy and one to Mr.
Bockerheisen. This was in the nature of tangible evidence that the
association was in actual existence. In further proof of this important
fact, the association with banners representing it to be the Michael J.
Boozy Campaign Club marched past the saloon of Mr. Bockerheisen every
other night, and the next night, avoiding Mr. Bockerheisen's, it was led
in gorgeous array past the saloon of Colonel Boozy, labeled the Karl
Augustus Bockerheisen Club. As Mr. Bockerheisen looked out and saw
Colonel Boozy's association, and realized that whereas Boozy was
planting and McCafferty was watering, yet he was to gather the increase,
a High German smile would come upon his poetic countenance, and he would
bite his finger-nails rapturously. And, on the other hand, as Colonel
Boozy heard the drums and fifes of the Bockerheisen Club, and saw its
transparency glowing in the street, he would summon all his friends to
the bar to take a drink with him. It is said that even before election
day, however, the relations between Dennie and the Colonel on the one
hand, and between The Croak and Bockerheisen, on the other, became
painfully strained. It is said that Boozy was compelled to mortgage two
of his houses to support Bockerheisen's club, and that Bockerheisen's
wife had to borrow nearly $10,000 from her brother, a rich brewer,
before Bockerheisen's wild anxiety to pay the expenses of Boozy's club
was satisfied. Dennie acknowledged to the Colonel a couple of days
before the election that he had found The Croak a hard man to deal with,
and that it had been vastly more expensive to make the arrangement than
he had supposed it would be. The Croak's manner, as I have said, was
always subdued, if not actually sad, and in the presence of
Bockerheisen, as the election drew near, he seemed to be so utterly
woe-begone and discouraged that the German told his wife he hadn't the
heart to quarrel with him about having let McCafferty cost so much
money. Besides, as the Colonel remarked to Mrs. Boozy on the night
before election, when she told him he had let that bad man, McCafferty,
ruin him entirely, and as Bockerheisen said to Mrs. Bockerheisen when
she warned him that that ugly-looking Croak would be calling for her
watch and weddingring next--as they both remarked, "What is the
difference if I get the votes of the association? Business will be good
in the Board of Aldermen next year, and I can make it up."
Who did get the votes of the association I'm sure I can't say. All I
know is that the Republican candidate was elected, and a Central Office
detective who haunts the Forty-second Street depot reported at
Headquarters on Election Day night that he had seen Dennie McCafferty,
wearing evening dress and a single glass in his left eye, and Tozie
Monks, The Croak, dressed as Dennie's valet, board the six o'clock train
for Chicago and the West.
X.
MR. MADDLEDOCK.
Mr. Maddledock did not like to wait, and, least of all, for dinner.
Wobbles knew that, and when he heard the soft gong of the clock in the
lower hall beat seven times, and reflected that while four guests had
been bidden to dinner only three had yet come, Wobbles was agitated.
Mrs. Throcton, Mr. Maddledock's sister, and Miss Annie Throcton had
arrived and were just coming downstairs from the dressing-room. Mr.
Linden was in the parlor with Miss Maddledock, both looking as if all
they asked was to be let alone. Mr. Maddledock was in the library
walking up and down in a way that Wobbles could but look upon as
ominous. Again, and for the fifth time in two minutes, Wobbles made a
careful calculation upon his fingers, but to save his unhappy soul he
could not bring five persons to tally with six chairs. And in the mean
while, Mr. Maddledock's step in the library grew sharper in its sound
and quicker in its motion.
There was nothing vulgar about Mr. Maddledock. His tall, erect figure,
his gray eyes, his clearly cut, correct features, his low voice, his
utter want of passion, and his quiet, resolute habit of bending
everything and everybody as it suited him to bend them, told upon people
differently. Some said he was handsome and courtly, others insisted that
he was sinister-looking and cruel. Which were right I shall not
undertake to say. Whether it was a lion or a snake in him that
fascinated, it is certainly true that he impressed every one who knew
him. In some respects his influence was very singular. He seemed to
throw out a strange devitalizing force that acted as well upon inanimate
as upon animate things. The new buffet had not been in the dining-room
six months before it looked as ancient as the Louis XIV. pier-glass in
the upper hall. This subtle influence of Mr. Maddledock had wrought a
curious effect upon the whole house. It oxydized the frescoes on the
walls. It subdued the varied shades of color that streamed in from the
stained-glass windows. It gave a deeper richness to the velvet carpets
and mellowed the lace curtains that hung from the parlor casements into
a creamy tint.
[Illustration: "IN THE MORGUE," SAID MR. MADDLEDOCK, "WELL, THAT'S THE
BEST PLACE FOR HIM."]
Mr. Maddledock's figure was faultless. From head to heels he was
adjusted with mathematical nicety. Every organ in his shapely body did
its work silently, easily, accurately. Silver-gray hair covered his
head, falling gracefully away from a parting in the middle of it. It
never seemed to grow long, and yet it never looked as if it had been
cut. Mr. Maddledock's eyes were his most striking feature. Absolutely
unaffected by either glare or shadow, neither dilating nor contracting,
they remained ever clear, large, gray, and cold. No mark or line in his
face indicated care or any of the burdens that usually depress and
trouble men. If such things were felt in his experience their force was
spent long before they had contrived to mar his unruffled countenance.
Though the house had tumbled before his eyes, by not a single vibration
would his complacent voice have been intensified. He never suffered his
feelings to escape his control. Occasionally, to be sure, he might curl
his lip, or lift his eyebrows, or depress the corners of his mouth. When
deeply moved he might go so far as to diffuse a nipping frost around
him, but no angry words ever fell from his lips.
Five, seven, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes had passed since the hall
clock had sounded the hour and Wobbles's temperature had risen to the
degree which borders on apoplexy. What might have happened is dreadful
to conjecture had not Dinks, the housekeeper, come to his relief with
the sagacious counsel that he wait no longer, but boldly inform Miss
Emily that dinner was served. Wobbles was just on the point of acting
upon this advice when the library call rang, and he hurried to respond.
"You said this note was left here by a tall man, didn't you, Wobbles?"
said Mr. Maddledock.
"Yezzur," said Wobbles.
"And he said he would call for an answer?"
"Yezzur, at seven be the clock, zur."
"But it's past seven, Wobbles?"
"Yezzur, most 'arf an howr, most 'arf."
"That will do, Wobbles--and yet, stay. Did you ask his name?"
"Yezzur. Hi did, zur, and 'e says, sezee, 'Chops,' sezee, 'you need more
salt,' sezee, 'go back to the gridiron,' sezee."
"Well, that's curious," said Mr. Maddledock; "was he sober?"
"'E 'med be in cups, zur, but they be quiet uns."
"Yes--well, if he calls during dinner, Wobbles, you may show him into
the office and stay with him, Wobbles, until I come."
[Illustration: "'CHOPS,' SEZEE, 'YOU NEEDS MORE SALT!' SEZEE. 'GO BACK
TO THE GRIDIRON,' SEZEE."]
"Yezzur, hexackly, zur, I see, zur. Dinner is served, zur, but Mr.
Torbert be not come. Shall I tell Miss Emily?"
"Yes, to be sure. How absurd of Torbert! Why, it's quite late. When I go
into the parlor, which will be in another minute, Wobbles you may
announce dinner."
Wobbles bowed himself away and Mr. Maddledock sat himself down. He
picked up the note to which he had just referred, and read it through
carefully. Then he rubbed his eyeglass, stroked his nose reflectively,
crumpled the note in his hand, and tossed it into the grate fire before
him. He rose and stood watching it burn. "Only two things are possible,"
he said, quietly. "I must shoot him or pay him, and I don't feel
entirely certain which I'd better do." Then he walked into the parlor.
"You're almost as bad as Mr. Torbert, father," said Miss Maddledock.
"I've been waiting long enough for you, and now we'll all go to dinner."
"Torbert's late, is he?" said Mr. Maddledock, as if this were the first
he had heard of it, bowing gravely to the others. "How's that, Linden?"
"I'm sure I can't account for it at all, sir," answered the young man.
"We took breakfast together, and at that hour he was in full possession
of his faculties. His watch was doing its accustomed duty, and there was
no sign of any such condition in or about him as would suggest the
possibility of preposterous behavior like this."
"Perhaps his business keeps him," said Miss Maddledock amiably.
"Ho, ho," chuckled Mrs. Throcton, in her jolly way, "if he depended on
that to keep him, he'd be ill kept, indeed."
"Why, mamma," said Miss Throcton, reprovingly, "how can you?"
"And why not, Nancy, my child? Bless me! how perfectly absurd to think
of Torbert, all jewels and bangs, with a business. I'll leave it to Mr.
Linden if he ever earned a penny in his life."
"But that is not the test of having a business, dear Mrs. Throcton,"
Linden replied. "I know some wonderfully busy men, whose earnings
wouldn't keep a pug dog."
"Now more than likely something's the matter with his clothes," remarked
plump Miss Nancy, in tones of deep sympathy. "I've often been late
because I couldn't get into mine."
"While we speculate the dinner cools," said Miss Maddledock
suggestively. "Father, will you give your arm to Mrs. Throcton? Mr.
Linden, there stands Miss Nancy. I will go alone and mourn for Mr.
Torbert."
"Now, this is really too bad," said Linden, when they were seated at the
table. "It is a form of social misconduct which goes right at the bottom
of Torbert's character. When he comes I'll tell him the story of a
friend of mine who never was late for dinner in his life, and who
consequently--"
"Died!" interrupted Mrs. Throcton. "I know he did. Any man who never was
late for dinner in his life must in the nature of things have had a
short time to live."
"Come to think of it," said Linden, "he did die, and I never suspected
why before. He was the last man in the world whom I should have thought
the dread angel would want."
"Oh, you never can tell," Mrs. Throcton cheerily declared. "It's all
luck, pure luck. This man died because it isn't in fate for any man who
is never late to dinner to live long, but still living is all luck. If
the 'dread angel,' as you call him, happens to look your way and fancies
you, why, off you go--plunk! like a frog in the pond."
Mrs. Throcton had scarcely concluded this genial doctrine before the
belated guest, all bows, smiles, and graceful attitudes, was rendering
homage to Miss Maddledock.
"Sir!" she said, "you will kindly observe that my aspect is severe. You
are indicted for--for--what is he indicted for, Mr. Linden?"
Linden was a lawyer, and he answered promptly: "For violating Section
One of the Code of Prandial Procedure, which defines tardiness at dinner
as a felony punishable by banishment from all social festivities at the
house where offense is given, for a period of not less than two nor more
than five years."
"You hear the--the--what are you, Mr. Linden--something horrid, aren't
you?"
"He is, or his looks belie him," interjaculated Torbert.
"The prosecutor, your Honor," replied Linden, "prepared, with regard to
this prisoner, to be as horrid as I look."
"May it please the Court," began Torbert, with mock gravity, "I find
myself the victim of an unfortunate situation, and not a conscious and
willing offender against the Prandial Code. Justice is all I ask. More I
have no need for. Less I am confident your Honor never fails to render."
"Now, Mr. Prosecutor, where's my judicial temperament gone that you
compliment me upon so often?" demanded Miss Maddledock, turning sharply
to the lawyer. "I had it a moment ago, together with a frown; where
have they gone?"
"They will return directly I call your Honor's attention to the flagrant
nature of the prisoner's crime," said Linden--"a crime so utterly
atrocious--"
"True, you do well to remind me. Justice you called for, sir. Very well.
Justice you shall have. Go on!"
"Your Honor is most gracious. That part of the indictment which charges
me with having an engagement to dine with your Honor at seven P. M. is
admitted. I left my house in plenty of time, but--"
Mrs. Throcton (_sotto voce_).--Does the prisoner live in Harlem?
Miss Nancy.--Or in Hoboken?
The Court (with great dignity)--If the prisoner is going to put his
trust in the saving grace of the elevated cars or the tardy ferry, the
Court would prefer not to delay its consomme listening to such trivial
excuses. The Court's soup is growing cold.
A roar of laughter greeted this observation, and Mr. Linden remarked,
"The prosecutor feels it his duty to suggest that the prisoner enter a
plea of guilty, and throw himself at once upon the Court's mercy."
"The distinguished assistants to the prosecutor," said Torbert, turning
with an extravagant bow toward Mrs. Throcton and Miss Nancy, "think to
throw contempt upon the defense by associating it with Harlem and
Hoboken. Let them beware. Let them not tempt me to extremities. There
are insults which even my forbearing spirit will not meekly endure. Had
they said Hackensack--"
The Court--Well, what then?
"Then, your Honor, I should have objected; and had your Honor ruled
against me, I should have been reluctantly compelled to demand an
exception! But let me come at once to my defense. My offense, if offense
it is, was caused by the necessity which was imposed upon me of
unharnessing a man."
"What!"
"Of unharnessing a man, please your Honor! A man coming north and
a horse going east endeavored to cross the street at a given point,
at one and the same moment. It proved an impossibility, and
they--er--intersected."
"Dreadful!" cried Miss Maddledock.
"It so impressed me, else I had not dared to risk your Honor's
displeasure by pausing to unharness the man."
Mrs. Throcton, merry soul that she usually was, had grown quite serious
when Torbert spoke of a collision and an accident. Her voice was
earnest as she said, "Now, Mr. Torbert, stop your jesting right away and
tell us what you mean."
"It was as I have said, and all done in a second," Torbert replied. "You
never can tell just how a thing like that is done, you know. The horse
was a runaway. It must have come some distance, for it had broken away
from the vehicle to which it had been attached, and its torn harness was
held upon it by only one or two feeble straps. The man was a tall,
queer-looking fellow, rather seedily dressed, and possibly not quite
sober. He had been walking just ahead of me for several blocks. I can't
say what it was about him that first attracted my attention. Possibly it
was a peculiarity in his walk."
Mr. Maddledock, who had not spoken a word since they sat down to dinner,
now glanced up, and said, in an inquiring tone, "A peculiarity in his
walk?"
"Yes," answered Torbert, dropping into his seat and picking up his
oyster fork, "and I am somewhat at a loss to describe it. I don't think
he was lame, or wooden-legged, or afflicted with any hip trouble. As I
recall the step now, it seems to me that it was merely a habit. I think
he took a long and then a short step, long and short, long and short."
[Illustration: "HE WAS AN ODD-LOOKING FELLOW," SAID TORBERT, "ODD AND
BAD."]
"Um," said Mr. Maddledock.
"Just as he approached the crossing where the accident occurred he
turned his head, and I don't think I ever saw a more Mephistophelean
countenance. The only thing that broke the dark-angel shape of his face
was his nose, and that, with slight alterations, would have made an
excellent shepherd's crook."
Mr. Maddledock took up his wine-glass and drained it at a single quaff.
"A shepherd's crook," he repeated; "an odd nose, truly."
"He was an odd-looking fellow all over," Torbert continued, "odd and
bad. I never was more disagreeably impressed with a human face in my
life. Well, when we reached the corner we both heard the clatter of the
horse's hoofs on the cobbles and looked up. He was coming on at a
fearful rate, and people were shouting at him in a way that must have
increased his frenzy. Quite a crowd had collected, and this fellow and I
were jostled forward upon the crossing. I shouted to the crowd not to
push us, and pressed back with all my strength. He was just ahead of me.
He had two means of escape--to hold back as I had done, or to dash
forward. He hesitated, and that second's pause was fatal. The horse
plunged forward, struck him squarely, knocked him heavily upon the
stones, and left him there, covered with the remnants of its harness,
which having become caught in his coat, somehow or another, were drawn
off its back."
[Illustration: THE HORSE PLUNGED FORWARD, STRUCK HIM SQUARELY, AND
KNOCKED HIM HEAVILY UPON THE STONES.]
"Terrible!" cried Miss Maddledock, "Was he much hurt?"
Mr. Maddledock leaned forward and bent his ear to catch the answer.
"I don't know how much, but certainly enough to make his recovery a
matter of doubt."
Mr. Maddledock slightly frowned. "A--matter--of--doubt?" he repeated,
pausing with singular emphasis on each word.
"Yes, of grave doubt," answered Torbert, "and dread too, for even if he
gets well again, he must be maimed for life, and he was the sort of
creature that ought not to have a deformity added to his general
ugliness."
Emily Maddledock had been leaning her chin upon her hand with a
thoughtful look in her face for several minutes. As Torbert paused, she
said: "Your description of that man brings a face to my mind that I saw
recently somewhere. I can't seem to remember about it clearly, though
the face is very distinct."
"Indeed?" said Torbert. "Now, that's curious. If you've ever seen the
beggar you ought to remember it. There's one other mark upon him that
may serve to place him still more clearly before you. Directly over his
left cheek-bone there is a long rectangular mole--"
"Yes! yes!" cried Emily. "I remember. Why, father--"
Mr. Maddledock had been sipping his wine. As Emily suddenly looked up
and addressed him, he twirled the glass carelessly between his thumb and
finger, remarking, as if this were the only feature of the story that at
all impressed him, "A mole, did you say? What a monstrosity!"
"Um, well, is it?" Torbert replied. "Can't say I'd thought of that."
"Don't think of it!" sharply remarked Mrs. Throcton, as if annoyed at
the interruption, "but go on."
"Several of us sprang forward from among the crowd and set at work
trying to free him from the confining straps. How in the world they
contrived to get around him and to tie him up as they did is a mystery.
We cut them loose, lifted him up, and found him quite unconscious.
Somebody thoughtfully rang for an ambulance. Before it came we carried
him into a drug store close by and the druggist plied him with
restoratives. I supposed he was dead, but the drug man said he wasn't.
He had shown no sign of life, however, when the ambulance arrived. They
took him off, and I, having made myself somewhat more presentable than I
was, called a carriage and am here."
Then turning to Miss Maddledock he smilingly continued: "I now move,
please your Honor, for the dismissal of the indictment against me on the
ground that the evidence does not show any offense to have been
committed."
"I think you'll have to grant the motion, Emily, my dear," said Mr.
Maddledock, fixing his gray eyes upon his daughter in a way that always
riveted hers upon him and drew her mind after them to the complete
exclusion of everything except what he intended to say. "Mr. Torbert's
defense strikes me as all we could demand. You remarked a moment ago
that his description suggested a face to your mind, but you couldn't
remember where you saw it."
"I know now," she said. "It was this very afternoon--"