The Conflict [26]
If it had been House, the Democratic boss and Kelly's secret dependent and henchman, she would have said ``Mr. Joseph House'' in a tone of deep respect.
``Kelly,'' said Hastings. ``Must be something important or he'd 'a telephoned or asked me to see him at my office or at the Lincoln Club. He never came out here before. Bring him in, Lizzie.''
A moment and there appeared in the doorway a man of perhaps forty years who looked like a prosperous contractor who had risen from the ranks. His figure was notable for its solidity and for the power of the shoulders; but already there were indications that the solidity, come of hard manual labor in early life, was soon to soften into fat under the melting influence of prosperity and the dissipation it put within too easy reach. The striking features of his face were a pair of keen, hard, greenish eyes and a jaw that protruded uglily--the jaw of aggressiveness, not the too prominent jaw of weakness. At sight of Jane he halted awkwardly.
``How're you, Mr. Hastings?'' said he.
``Hello, Dick,'' said the old man. ``This is my daughter Jane.''
Jane smiled a pleasant recognition of the introduction. Kelly said stiffly, ``How're you, ma'am?''
``Want to see me alone, I suppose?'' Hastings went on. ``You go out on the porch, Jenny.''
As soon as Jane disappeared Kelly's stiffness and clumsiness vanished. To head off Hastings' coming offer of a cigar, he drew one from his pocket and lighted it. ``There's hell to pay, Mr. Hastings,'' he began, seating himself near the old man, tilting back in his chair and crossing his legs.
``Well, I reckon you can take care of it,'' said Hastings calmly.
``Oh, yes, we kin take care of it, all right. Only, I don't want to do nothing without consulting you.''
In these two statements Mr. Kelly summed up the whole of politics in Remsen City, in any city anywhere, in the country at large.
Kelly had started life as a blacksmith. But he soon tired of the dullness and toil and started forth to find some path up to where men live by making others work for them instead of plodding along at the hand-to- mouth existence that is the lot of those who live by their own labors alone. He was a safe blower for a while, but wisely soon abandoned that fascinating but precarious and unremunerative career. From card sharp following the circus and sheet-writer to a bookmaker he graduated into bartender, into proprietor of a doggery. As every saloon is a political club, every saloon- keeper is of necessity a politician. Kelly's woodbox happened to be a convenient place for directing the floaters and the repeaters. Kelly's political importance grew apace. His respectability grew more slowly. But it had grown and was growing.
If you had asked Lizzie, the maid, why she was a Democrat, she would have given no such foolish reason as the average man gives.
She would not have twaddled about principles--when everyone with eyeteeth cut ought to know that principles have departed from politics, now that both parties have been harmonized and organized into agencies of the plutocracy. She would not have said she was a Democrat because her father was, or because all her friends and associates were. She would have replied--in pleasantly Americanized Irish:
``I'm a Democrat because when my father got too old to work, Mr. House, the Democrat leader, gave him a job on the elevator at the Court House--though that dirty thief and scoundrel, Kelly, the Republican boss, owned all the judges and county officers. And when my brother lost his place as porter because he took a drink too many, Mr. House gave him a card to the foreman of the gas company, and he went to work at eight a week and is there yet.''
Mr. Kelly and Mr. House belong to a maligned and much misunderstood class. Whenever you find anywhere in nature an activity of any kind, however pestiferous its activity may seem to you--or however good --you may be sure that if you look deep enough you will find that that activity has a use, arises from a need. The ``robber trusts''
``Kelly,'' said Hastings. ``Must be something important or he'd 'a telephoned or asked me to see him at my office or at the Lincoln Club. He never came out here before. Bring him in, Lizzie.''
A moment and there appeared in the doorway a man of perhaps forty years who looked like a prosperous contractor who had risen from the ranks. His figure was notable for its solidity and for the power of the shoulders; but already there were indications that the solidity, come of hard manual labor in early life, was soon to soften into fat under the melting influence of prosperity and the dissipation it put within too easy reach. The striking features of his face were a pair of keen, hard, greenish eyes and a jaw that protruded uglily--the jaw of aggressiveness, not the too prominent jaw of weakness. At sight of Jane he halted awkwardly.
``How're you, Mr. Hastings?'' said he.
``Hello, Dick,'' said the old man. ``This is my daughter Jane.''
Jane smiled a pleasant recognition of the introduction. Kelly said stiffly, ``How're you, ma'am?''
``Want to see me alone, I suppose?'' Hastings went on. ``You go out on the porch, Jenny.''
As soon as Jane disappeared Kelly's stiffness and clumsiness vanished. To head off Hastings' coming offer of a cigar, he drew one from his pocket and lighted it. ``There's hell to pay, Mr. Hastings,'' he began, seating himself near the old man, tilting back in his chair and crossing his legs.
``Well, I reckon you can take care of it,'' said Hastings calmly.
``Oh, yes, we kin take care of it, all right. Only, I don't want to do nothing without consulting you.''
In these two statements Mr. Kelly summed up the whole of politics in Remsen City, in any city anywhere, in the country at large.
Kelly had started life as a blacksmith. But he soon tired of the dullness and toil and started forth to find some path up to where men live by making others work for them instead of plodding along at the hand-to- mouth existence that is the lot of those who live by their own labors alone. He was a safe blower for a while, but wisely soon abandoned that fascinating but precarious and unremunerative career. From card sharp following the circus and sheet-writer to a bookmaker he graduated into bartender, into proprietor of a doggery. As every saloon is a political club, every saloon- keeper is of necessity a politician. Kelly's woodbox happened to be a convenient place for directing the floaters and the repeaters. Kelly's political importance grew apace. His respectability grew more slowly. But it had grown and was growing.
If you had asked Lizzie, the maid, why she was a Democrat, she would have given no such foolish reason as the average man gives.
She would not have twaddled about principles--when everyone with eyeteeth cut ought to know that principles have departed from politics, now that both parties have been harmonized and organized into agencies of the plutocracy. She would not have said she was a Democrat because her father was, or because all her friends and associates were. She would have replied--in pleasantly Americanized Irish:
``I'm a Democrat because when my father got too old to work, Mr. House, the Democrat leader, gave him a job on the elevator at the Court House--though that dirty thief and scoundrel, Kelly, the Republican boss, owned all the judges and county officers. And when my brother lost his place as porter because he took a drink too many, Mr. House gave him a card to the foreman of the gas company, and he went to work at eight a week and is there yet.''
Mr. Kelly and Mr. House belong to a maligned and much misunderstood class. Whenever you find anywhere in nature an activity of any kind, however pestiferous its activity may seem to you--or however good --you may be sure that if you look deep enough you will find that that activity has a use, arises from a need. The ``robber trusts''