CHAPTER EIGHT: The Great Fight for Clean Government
"As to the government of this city," said Mr. Newberry,
leaning back in a leather armchair at the Mausoleum Club
and lighting a second cigar, "it's rotten, that's all."
"Absolutely rotten," assented Mr. Dick Overend, ringing
the bell for a second whiskey and soda.
"Corrupt," said Mr. Newberry, between two puffs of his
cigar.
"Full of graft," said Mr. Overend, flicking his ashes
into the grate.
"Crooked aldermen," said Mr. Newberry.
"A bum city solicitor," said Mr. Overend, "and an infernal
grafter for treasurer."
"Yes," assented Mr. Newberry, and then, leaning forwards
in his chair and looking carefully about the corridors
of the club, he spoke behind his hand and said, "And the
mayor's the biggest grafter of the lot. And what's more,"
he added, sinking his voice to a whisper, "the time has
come to speak out about it fearlessly."
Mr. Overend nodded. "It's a tyranny," he said.
"Worse than Russia," rejoined Mr. Newberry.
They had been sitting in a quiet corner of the club--it
was on a Sunday evening--and had fallen into talking,
first of all, of the present rottenness of the federal
politics of the United States-not argumentatively or with
any heat, but with the reflective sadness that steals
over an elderly man when he sits in the leather armchair
of a comfortable club smoking a good cigar and musing on
the decadence of the present day. The rottenness of the
federal government didn't anger them. It merely grieved
them.
They could remember--both of them--how different everything
was when they were young men just entering on life. When
Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were young, men went
into congress from pure patriotism; there was no such
thing as graft or crookedness, as they both admitted, in
those days; and as for the United States Senate--here
their voices were almost hushed in awe--why, when they
were young, the United States Senate--
But no, neither of them could find a phrase big enough
for their meaning.
They merely repeated "as for the United States Senate"--and
then shook their heads and took long drinks of whiskey
and soda.
Then, naturally, speaking of the rottenness of the federal
government had led them to talk of the rottenness of the
state legislature. How different from the state legislatures
that they remembered as young men! Not merely different
in the matter of graft, but different, so Mr. Newberry
said, in the calibre of the men. He recalled how he had
been taken as a boy of twelve by his father to hear a
debate. He would never forget it. Giants! he said, that
was what they were. In fact, the thing was more like a
Witenagemot than a legislature. He said he distinctly
recalled a man, whose name he didn't recollect, speaking
on a question he didn't just remember what, either for
or against he just couldn't recall which; it thrilled
him. He would never forget it. It stayed in his memory
as if it were yesterday.
But as for the present legislature--here Mr. Dick Overend
sadly nodded assent in advance to what he knew was coming--
as for the present legislature--well--Mr. Newberry had had,
he said, occasion to visit the state capital a week before
in connection with a railway bill that he was trying
to--that is, that he was anxious to--in short in connection
with a railway bill, and when he looked about him at the
men in the legislature--positively he felt ashamed; he
could put it no other way than that--ashamed.
After which, from speaking of the crookedness of the
state government Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were
led to talk of the crookedness of the city government!
And they both agreed, as above, that things were worse
than in Russia. What secretly irritated them both most
was that they had lived and done business under this
infernal corruption for thirty or forty years and hadn't
noticed it. They had been too busy.
The fact was that their conversation reflected not so
much their own original ideas as a general wave of feeling
that was passing over the whole community.
There had come a moment--quite suddenly it seemed--when
it occurred to everybody at the same time that the whole
government of the city was rotten. The word is a strong
one. But it is the one that was used. Look at the aldermen,
they said--rotten! Look at the city solicitor, rotten!
And as for the mayor himself--phew!
The thing came like a wave. Everybody felt it at once.
People wondered how any sane, intelligent community could
tolerate the presence of a set of corrupt scoundrels like
the twenty aldermen of the city. Their names, it was
said, were simply a byword throughout the United States
for rank criminal corruption. This was said so widely
that everybody started hunting through the daily papers
to try to find out who in blazes were aldermen, anyhow.
Twenty names are hard to remember, and as a matter of
fact, at the moment when this wave of feeling struck the
city, nobody knew or cared who were aldermen, anyway.
To tell the truth, the aldermen had been much the same
persons for about fifteen or twenty years. Some were in
the produce business, others were butchers, two were
grocers, and all of them wore blue checkered waistcoats
and red ties and got up at seven in the morning to attend
the vegetable and other markets. Nobody had ever really
thought about them--that is to say, nobody on Plutoria
Avenue. Sometimes one saw a picture in the paper and
wondered for a moment who the person was; but on looking
more closely and noticing what was written under it, one
said, "Oh, I see, an alderman," and turned to something
else.
"Whose funeral is that?" a man would sometimes ask on
Plutoria Avenue. "Oh just one of the city aldermen," a
passerby would answer hurriedly. "Oh I see, I beg your
pardon, I thought it might be somebody important."
At which both laughed.
It was not just clear how and where this movement of
indignation had started. People said that it was part of
a new wave of public morality that was sweeping over the
entire United States. Certainly it was being remarked in
almost every section of the country. Chicago newspapers
were attributing its origin to the new vigour and the
fresh ideals of the middle west. In Boston it was said
to be due to a revival of the grand old New England
spirit. In Philadelphia they called it the spirit of
William Penn. In the south it was said to be the reassertion
of southern chivalry making itself felt against the greed
and selfishness of the north, while in the north they
recognized it at once as a protest against the sluggishness
and ignorance of the south. In the west they spoke of it
as a revolt against the spirit of the east and in the
east they called it a reaction against the lawlessness
of the west. But everywhere they hailed it as a new sign
of the glorious unity of the country.
If therefore Mr. Newberry and Mr. Overend were found to
be discussing the corrupt state of their city they only
shared in the national sentiments of the moment. In fact
in the same city hundreds of other citizens, as
disinterested as themselves, were waking up to the
realization of what was going on. As soon as people began
to look into the condition of things in the city they
were horrified at what they found. It was discovered,
for example, that Alderman Schwefeldampf was an undertaker!
Think of it! In a city with a hundred and fifty deaths
a week, and sometimes even better, an undertaker sat on
the council! A city that was about to expropriate land
and to spend four hundred thousand dollars for a new
cemetery, had an undertaker on the expropriation committee
itself! And worse than that! Alderman Undercutt was a
butcher! In a city that consumed a thousand tons of meat
every week! And Alderman O'Hooligan--it leaked out--was
an Irishman! Imagine it! An Irishman sitting on the police
committee of the council in a city where thirty-eight
and a half out of every hundred policemen were Irish,
either by birth or parentage! The thing was monstrous.
So when Mr. Newberry said "It's worse than Russia!" he
meant it, every word.
Now just as Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were
finishing their discussion, the huge bulky form of Mayor
McGrath came ponderously past them as they sat. He looked
at them sideways out of his eyes--he had eyes like plums
in a mottled face--and, being a born politician, he knew
by the very look of them that they were talking of
something that they had no business to be talking about.
But,--being a politician--he merely said, "Good evening,
gentlemen," without a sign of disturbance.
"Good evening, Mr. Mayor," said Mr. Newberry, rubbing
his hands feebly together and speaking in an ingratiating
tone. There is no more pitiable spectacle than an honest
man caught in the act of speaking boldly and fearlessly
of the evil-doer.
"Good evening, Mr. Mayor," echoed Mr. Dick Overend, also
rubbing his hands; "warm evening, is it not?"
The mayor gave no other answer than that deep guttural
grunt which is technically known in municipal interviews
as refusing to commit oneself.
"Did he hear?" whispered Mr. Newberry as the mayor passed
out of the club.
"I don't care if he did," whispered Mr. Dick Overend.
Half an hour later Mayor McGrath entered the premises of
the Thomas Jefferson Club, which was situated in the rear
end of a saloon and pool room far down in the town.
"Boys," he said to Alderman O'Hooligan and Alderman
Gorfinkel, who were playing freeze-out poker in a corner
behind the pool tables, "you want to let the boys know
to keep pretty dark and go easy. There's a lot of talk
I don't like about the elections going round the town.
Let the boys know that just for a while the darker they
keep the better."
Whereupon the word was passed from the Thomas Jefferson
Club to the George Washington Club and thence to the
Eureka Club (coloured), and to the Kossuth Club (Hungarian),
and to various other centres of civic patriotism in the
lower parts of the city. And forthwith such a darkness
began to spread over them that not even honest Diogenes
with his lantern could have penetrated their doings.
"If them stiffs wants to make trouble," said the president
of the George Washington Club to Mayor McGrath a day or
two later, "they won't never know what they've bumped up
against."
"Well," said the heavy mayor, speaking slowly and cautiously
and eyeing his henchman with quiet scrutiny, "you want
to go pretty easy now, I tell you."
The look which the mayor directed at his satellite was
much the same glance that Morgan the buccaneer might have
given to one of his lieutenants before throwing him
overboard.
Meantime the wave of civic enthusiasm as reflected in
the conversations of Plutoria Avenue grew stronger with
every day.
"The thing is a scandal," said Mr. Lucullus Fyshe. "Why,
these fellows down at the city hall are simply a pack of
rogues. I had occasion to do some business there the
other day (it was connected with the assessment of our
soda factories) and do you know, I actually found that
these fellows take money!"
"I say!" said Mr. Peter Spillikins, to whom he spoke, "I
say! You don't say!"
"It's a fact," repeated Mr. Fyshe. "They take money. I
took the assistant treasurer aside and I said, 'I want
such and such done,' and I slipped a fifty dollar bill
into his hand. And the fellow took it, took it like a
shot."
"He took it!" gasped Mr. Spillikins.
"He did," said Mr. Fyshe. "There ought to be a criminal
law for that sort of thing."
"I say!" exclaimed Mr. Spillikins, "they ought to go to
jail for a thing like that."
"And the infernal insolence of them," Mr. Fyshe continued.
"I went down the next day to see the deputy assistant
(about a thing connected with the same matter), told him
what I wanted and passed a fifty dollar bill across the
counter and the fellow fairly threw it back at me, in a
perfect rage. He refused it!"
"Refused it," gasped Mr. Spillikins, "I say!"
Conversations such as this filled up the leisure and
divided the business time of all the best people in the
city.
In the general gloomy outlook, however, one bright spot
was observable. The "wave" had evidently come just at
the opportune moment. For not only were civic elections
pending but just at this juncture four or five questions
of supreme importance would be settled by the incoming
council. There was, for instance, the question of the
expropriation of the Traction Company (a matter involving
many millions); there was the decision as to the renewal
of the franchise of the Citizens' Light Company--a vital
question; there was also the four hundred thousand dollar
purchase of land for the new addition to the cemetery,
a matter that must be settled. And it was felt, especially
on Plutoria Avenue, to be a splendid thing that the city
was waking up, in the moral sense, at the very time when
these things were under discussion. All the shareholders
of the Traction Company and the Citizens' Light--and they
included the very best, the most high-minded, people in
the city--felt that what was needed now was a great moral
effort, to enable them to lift the city up and carry it
with them, or, if not all of it, at any rate as much of
it as they could.
"It's a splendid movement!" said Mr. Fyshe (he was a
leading shareholder and director of the Citizens' Light),
"what a splendid thing to think that we shan't have to
deal for our new franchise with a set of corrupt
rapscallions like these present aldermen. Do you know,
Furlong, that when we approached them first with a
proposition for a renewal for a hundred and fifty years
they held us up! Said it was too long! Imagine that! A
hundred and fifty years (only a century and a half) too
long for the franchise! They expect us to install all
our poles, string our wires, set up our transformers in
their streets and then perhaps at the end of a hundred
years find ourselves compelled to sell out at a beggarly
valuation. Of course we knew what they wanted. They meant
us to hand them over fifty dollars each to stuff into
their rascally pockets."
"Outrageous!" said Mr. Furlong.
"And the same thing with the cemetery land deal," went
on Mr. Lucullus Fyshe. "Do you realize that, if the
movement hadn't come along and checked them, those
scoundrels would have given that rogue Schwefeldampf four
hundred thousand dollars for his fifty acres! Just think
of it!"
"I don't know," said Mr. Furlong with a thoughtful look
upon his face, "that four hundred thousand dollars is an
excessive price, in and of itself, for that amount of
land."
"Certainly not," said Mr. Fyshe, very quietly and decidedly,
looking at Mr. Furlong in a searching way as he spoke.
"It is not a high price. It seems to me, speaking purely
as an outsider, a very fair, reasonable price for fifty
acres of suburban land, if it were the right land. If,
for example, it were a case of making an offer for that
very fine stretch of land, about twenty acres, is it not,
which I believe your Corporation owns on the other side
of the cemetery, I should say four hundred thousand is
a most modest price."
Mr. Furlong nodded his head reflectively.
"You had thought, had you not, of offering it to the
city?" said Mr. Fyshe.
"We did," said Mr. Furlong, "at a more or less nominal
sum--four hundred thousand or whatever it might be. We
felt that for such a purpose, almost sacred as it were,
one would want as little bargaining as possible."
"Oh, none at all," assented Mr. Fyshe.
"Our feeling was," went on Mr. Furlong, "that if the city
wanted our land for the cemetery extension, it might have
it at its own figure--four hundred thousand, half a
million, in fact at absolutely any price, from four
hundred thousand up, that they cared to put on it. We
didn't regard it as a commercial transaction at all. Our
reward lay merely in the fact of selling it to them."
"Exactly," said Mr. Fyshe, "and of course your land was
more desirable from every point of view. Schwefeldampf's
ground is encumbered with a growth of cypress and evergreens
and weeping willows which make it quite unsuitable for
an up-to-date cemetery; whereas yours, as I remember it,
is bright and open--a loose sandy soil with no trees and
very little grass to overcome."
"Yes," said Mr. Furlong. "We thought, too, that our
ground, having the tanneries and the chemical factory
along the farther side of it, was an ideal place for--"
he paused, seeking a mode of expressing his thought.
"For the dead," said Mr. Fyshe, with becoming reverence.
And after this conversation Mr. Fyshe and Mr. Furlong
senior understood one another absolutely in regard to
the new movement.
It was astonishing in fact how rapidly the light spread.
"Is Rasselyer-Brown with us?" asked someone of Mr. Fyshe
a few days later.
"Heart and soul," answered Mr. Fyshe. "He's very bitter
over the way these rascals have been plundering the city
on its coal supply. He says that the city has been buying
coal wholesale at the pit mouth at three fifty--utterly
worthless stuff, he tells me. He has heard it said that
everyone of these scoundrels has been paid from twenty-five
to fifty dollars a winter to connive at it."
"Dear me," said the listener.
"Abominable, is it not?" said Mr. Fyshe. "But as I said
to Rasselyer-Brown, what can one do if the citizens
themselves take no interest in these things. 'Take your
own case,' I said to him, 'how is it that you, a coal
man, are not helping the city in this matter? Why don't
you supply the city?' He shook his head, 'I wouldn't do
it at three-fifty,' he said. 'No,' I answered, 'but will
you at five?' He looked at me for a moment and then he
said, 'Fyshe, I'll do it; at five, or at anything over
that they like to name. If we get a new council in they
may name their own figure.' 'Good,' I said. 'I hope all
the other businessmen will be animated with the same
spirit.'"
Thus it was that the light broke and spread and illuminated
in all directions. People began to realize the needs of
the city as they never had before. Mr. Boulder, who owned,
among other things, a stone quarry and an asphalt company,
felt that the paving of the streets was a disgrace. Mr.
Skinyer, of Skinyer and Beatem, shook his head and said
that the whole legal department of the city needed
reorganization; it needed, he said, new blood. But he
added always in a despairing tone, how could one expect
to run a department with the head of it drawing only six
thousand dollars; the thing was impossible. If, he argued,
they could superannuate the present chief solicitor and
get a man, a good man (Mr. Skinyer laid emphasis on this)
at, say, fifteen thousand there might be some hope.
"Of course," said Mr. Skinyer to Mr. Newberry in discussing
the topic, "one would need to give him a proper staff of
assistants so as to take off his hands all the routine
work--the mere appearance in court, the preparation of
briefs, the office consultation, the tax revision and
the purely legal work. In that case he would have his
hands free to devote himself entirely to those things,
which--in fact to turn his attention in whatever direction
he might feel it was advisable to turn it."
Within a week or two the public movement had found definite
expression and embodied itself in the Clean Government
Association. This was organized by a group of leading
and disinterested citizens who held their first meeting
in the largest upstairs room of the Mausoleum Club. Mr.
Lucullus Fyshe, Mr. Boulder, and others keenly interested
in obtaining simply justice for the stockholders of the
Traction and the Citizens' Light were prominent from the
start. Mr. Rasselyer-Brown, Mr. Furlong senior and others
were there, not from special interest in the light or
traction questions, but, as they said themselves, from
pure civic spirit. Dr. Boomer was there to represent the
university with three of his most presentable professors,
cultivated men who were able to sit in a first-class club
and drink whiskey and soda and talk as well as any
businessman present. Mr. Skinyer, Mr. Beatem and others
represented the bar. Dr. McTeague, blinking in the blue
tobacco smoke, was there to stand for the church. There
were all-round enthusiasts as well, such as Mr. Newberry
and the Overend brothers and Mr. Peter Spillikins.
"Isn't it fine," whispered Mr. Spillikins to Mr. Newberry,
"to see a set of men like these all going into a thing
like this, not thinking of their own interests a bit?"
Mr. Fyshe, as chairman, addressed the meeting. He told
them they were there to initiate a great free voluntary
movement of the people. It had been thought wise, he
said, to hold it with closed doors and to keep it out of
the newspapers. This would guarantee the league against
the old underhand control by a clique that had hitherto
disgraced every part of the administration of the city.
He wanted, he said, to see everything done henceforth in
broad daylight: and for this purpose he had summoned them
there at night to discuss ways and means of action. After
they were once fully assured of exactly what they wanted
to do and how they meant to do it, the league he said,
would invite the fullest and freest advice from all
classes in the city. There were none he said, amid great
applause, that were so lowly that they would not be
invited--once the platform of the league was settled--to
advise and co-operate. All might help, even the poorest.
Subscription lists would be prepared which would allow
any sum at all, from one to five dollars, to be given to
the treasurer. The league was to be democratic or nothing.
The poorest might contribute as little as one dollar:
even the richest would not be allowed to give more than
five. Moreover he gave notice that he intended to propose
that no actual official of the league should be allowed
under its by-laws to give anything. He himself--if they
did him the honour to make him president as he had heard
it hinted was their intention--would be the first to bow
to this rule. He would efface himself. He would obliterate
himself, content in the interests of all, to give nothing.
He was able to announce similar pledges from his friends,
Mr. Boulder, Mr. Furlong, Dr. Boomer, and a number of
others.
Quite a storm of applause greeted these remarks by Mr.
Fyshe, who flushed with pride as he heard it.
"Now, gentlemen," he went on, "this meeting is open for
discussion. Remember it is quite informal, anyone may
speak. I as chairman make no claim to control or monopolize
the discussion. Let everyone understand--"
"Well then, Mr. Chairman," began Mr. Dick Overend.
"One minute, Mr. Overend," said Mr. Fyshe. "I want everyone
to understand that he may speak as--"
"May I say then--" began Mr. Newberry.
"Pardon me, Mr. Newberry," said Mr. Fyshe, "I was wishing
first to explain that not only may all participate but
that we invite--"
"In that case--" began Mr. Newberry.
"Before you speak," interrupted Mr. Fyshe, "let me add
one word. We must make our discussion as brief and to
the point as possible. I have a great number of things
which I wish to say to the meeting and it might be well
if all of you would speak as briefly and as little as
possible. Has anybody anything to say?"
"Well," said Mr. Newberry, "what about organization and
officers?"
"We have thought of it," said Mr. Fyshe. "We were anxious
above all things to avoid the objectionable and corrupt
methods of a 'slate' and a prepared list of officers
which has disgraced every part of our city politics until
the present time. Mr. Boulder, Mr. Furlong and Mr. Skinyer
and myself have therefore prepared a short list of offices
and officers which we wish to submit to your fullest,
freest consideration. It runs thus: Hon. President Mr.
L. Fyshe, Hon. Vice-president, Mr. A. Boulder, Hon.
Secretary Mr. Furlong, Hon. Treasurer Mr. O. Skinyer, et
cetera--I needn't read it all. You'll see it posted in
the hall later. Is that carried? Carried! Very good,"
said Mr. Fyshe.
There was a moment's pause while Mr. Furlong and Mr.
Skinyer moved into seats beside Mr. Fyshe and while Mr.
Furlong drew from his pocket and arranged the bundle of
minutes of the meeting which he had brought with him. As
he himself said he was too neat and methodical a writer
to trust to jotting them down on the spot.
"Don't you think," said Mr. Newberry, "I speak as a
practical man, that we ought to do something to get the
newspapers with us?"
"Most important," assented several members.
"What do you think, Dr. Boomer?" asked Mr. Fyshe of the
university president, "will the newspapers be with us?"
Dr. Boomer shook his head doubtfully. "It's an important
matter," he said. "There is no doubt that we need, more
than anything, the support of a clean, wholesome unbiassed
press that can't be bribed and is not subject to money
influence. I think on the whole our best plan would be
to buy up one of the city newspapers."
"Might it not be better simply to buy up the editorial
staff?" said Mr. Dick Overend.
"We might do that," admitted Dr. Boomer. "There is no
doubt that the corruption of the press is one of the
worst factors that we have to oppose. But whether we can
best fight it by buying the paper itself or buying the
staff is hard to say."
"Suppose we leave it to a committee with full power to
act," said Mr. Fyshe. "Let us direct them to take whatever
steps may in their opinion be best calculated to elevate
the tone of the press, the treasurer being authorized to
second them in every way. I for one am heartily sick of
old underhand connection between city politics and the
city papers. If we can do anything to alter and elevate
it, it will be a fine work, gentlemen, well worth whatever
it costs us."
Thus after an hour or two of such discussion the Clean
Government League found itself organized and equipped
with a treasury and a programme and a platform. The latter
was very simple. As Mr. Fyshe and Mr. Boulder said there
was no need to drag in specific questions or try to define
the action to be taken towards this or that particular
detail, such as the hundred-and-fifty-year franchise,
beforehand. The platform was simply expressed as Honesty,
Purity, Integrity. This, as Mr. Fyshe said, made a
straight, flat, clean issue between the league and all
who opposed it.
This first meeting was, of course, confidential. But all
that it did was presently done over again, with wonderful
freshness and spontaneity at a large public meeting open
to all citizens. There was a splendid impromptu air about
everything. For instance when somebody away back in the
hall said, "I move that Mr. Lucullus Fyshe be president
of the league," Mr. Fyshe lifted his hand in unavailing
protest as if this were the newest idea he had ever heard
in his life.
After all of which the Clean Government League set itself
to fight the cohorts of darkness. It was not just known
where these were. But it was understood that they were
there all right, somewhere. In the platform speeches of
the epoch they figured as working underground, working
in the dark, working behind the scenes, and so forth.
But the strange thing was that nobody could state with
any exactitude just who or what it was that the league
was fighting. It stood for "honesty, purity, and integrity."
That was all you could say about it.
Take, for example, the case of the press. At the inception
of the league it has been supposed that such was the
venality and corruption of the city newspapers that it
would be necessary to buy one of them. But the word "clean
government" had been no sooner uttered than it turned out
that every one of the papers in the city was in favour
of it: in fact had been working for it for years.
They vied with one another now in giving publicity to
the idea. The Plutorian Times printed a dotted coupon on
the corner of its front sheet with the words, "Are you
in favour of Clean Government? If so, send us ten cents
with this coupon and your name and address." The Plutorian
Citizen and Home Advocate, went even further. It printed
a coupon which said, "Are you out for a clean city? If
so send us twenty-five cents to this office. We pledge
ourselves to use it."
The newspapers did more than this. They printed from day
to day such pictures as the portrait of Mr. Fyshe with
the legend below, "Mr. Lucullus Fyshe, who says that
government ought to be by the people, from the people,
for the people and to the people"; and the next day
another labelled. "Mr. P. Spillikins, who says that all
men are born free and equal"; and the next day a picture
with the words, "Tract of ground offered for cemetery by
Mr. Furlong, showing rear of tanneries, with head of Mr.
Furlong inserted."
It was, of course, plain enough that certain of the
aldermen of the old council were to be reckoned as part
of the cohort of darkness. That at least was clear. "We
want no more men in control of the stamp of Alderman
Gorfinkel and Alderman Schwefeldampf," so said practically
every paper in the city. "The public sense revolts at
these men. They are vultures who have feasted too long
on the prostrate corpses of our citizens." And so on.
The only trouble was to discover who or what had ever
supported Alderman Gorfinkel and Alderman Schwefeldampf.
The very organizations that might have seemed to be behind
them were evidently more eager for clean government than
the league itself.
"The Thomas Jefferson Club Out for Clean Government," so
ran the newspaper headings of one day; and of the next,
"Will help to clean up City Government. Eureka Club
(Coloured) endorses the League; Is done with Darkness";
and the day after that, "Sons of Hungary Share in Good
Work: Kossuth Club will vote with the League."
So strong, indeed, was the feeling against the iniquitous
aldermen that the public demand arose to be done with a
council of aldermen altogether and to substitute government
by a Board. The newspapers contained editorials on the
topic each day and it was understood that one of the
first efforts of the league would be directed towards
getting the necessary sanction of the legislature in this
direction. To help to enlighten the public on what such
government meant Professor Proaser of the university (he
was one of the three already referred to) gave a public
lecture on the growth of Council Government. He traced
it from the Amphictionic Council of Greece as far down
as the Oligarchical Council of Venice; it was thought
that had the evening been longer he would have traced it
clean down to modern times.
But most amazing of all was the announcement that was
presently made, and endorsed by Mr. Lucullus Fyshe in an
interview, that Mayor McGrath himself would favour clean
government, and would become the official nominee of the
league itself. This certainly was strange. But it would
perhaps have been less mystifying to the public at large,
had they been able to listen to certain of the intimate
conversations of Mr. Fyshe and Mr. Boulder.
"You say then," said Mr. Boulder, "to let McGrath's name
stand."
"We can't do without him," said Mr. Fyshe, "he has seven
of the wards in the hollow of his hand. If we take his
offer he absolutely pledges us every one of them."
"Can you rely on his word?" said Mr. Boulder.
"I think he means to play fair with us," answered Mr.
Fyshe. "I put it to him as a matter of honour, between
man and man, a week ago. Since then. I have had him
carefully dictaphoned and I'm convinced he's playing
straight."
"How far will he go with us?" said Mr. Boulder.
"He is willing to throw overboard Gorfinkel, Schwefeldampf
and Undercutt. He says he must find a place for O'Hooligan.
The Irish, he says, don't care for clean government; they
want Irish Government."
"I see," said Mr. Boulder very thoughtfully, "and in
regard to the renewal of the franchise and the
expropriation, tell me just exactly what his conditions
are."
But Mr. Fyshe's answer to this was said so discreetly
and in such a low voice, that not even the birds listening
in the elm trees outside the Mausoleum Club could hear
it.
No wonder, then, that if even the birds failed to know
everything about the Clean Government League, there were
many things which such good people as Mr. Newberry and
Mr. Peter Spillikins never heard at all and never guessed.
Each week and every day brought fresh triumphs to the
onward march of the movement.
"Yes, gentlemen," said Mr. Fyshe to the assembled committee
of the Clean Government League a few days later, "I am
glad to be able to report our first victory. Mr. Boulder
and I have visited the state capital and we are able to
tell you definitely that the legislature will consent to
change our form of government so as to replace our council
by a Board."
"Hear, hear!" cried all the committee men together.
"We saw the governor," said Mr. Fyshe. "Indeed he was
good enough to lunch with us at the Pocahontas Club. He
tells us that what we are doing is being done in every
city and town of the state. He says that the days of the
old-fashioned city council are numbered. They are setting
up boards everywhere."
"Excellent!" said Mr. Newberry.
"The governor assures us that what we want will be done.
The chairman of the Democratic State Committee (he was
good enough to dine with us at the Buchanan Club) has
given us the same assurance. So also does the chairman
of the Republican State Committee, who was kind enough
to be our guest in a box at the Lincoln Theatre. It is
most gratifying," concluded Mr. Fyshe, "to feel that the
legislature will give us such a hearty, such a thoroughly
American support."
"You are sure of this, are you?" questioned Mr. Newberry.
"You have actually seen the members of the legislature?"
"It was not necessary," said Mr. Fyshe. "The governor
and the different chairmen have them so well fixed--that
is to say, they have such confidence in the governor and
their political organizers that they will all be prepared
to give us what I have described as thoroughly American
support."
"You are quite sure," persisted Mr. Newberry, "about the
governor and the others you mentioned?"
Mr. Fyshe paused a moment and then he said very quietly,
"We are quite sure," and he exchanged a look with Mr.
Boulder that meant volumes to those who would read it.
"I hope you didn't mind my questioning you in that
fashion," said Mr. Newberry, as he and Mr. Fyshe strolled
home from the club. "The truth is I didn't feel sure in
my own mind just what was meant by a 'Board,' and 'getting
them to give us government by a Board.' I know I'm speaking
like an ignoramus. I've really not paid as much attention
in the past to civic politics as I ought to have. But
what is the difference between a council and a board?"
"The difference between a council and a board?" repeated
Mr. Fyshe.
"Yes," said Mr. Newberry, "the difference between a
council and a board."
"Or call it," said Mr. Fyshe reflectively, "the difference
between a board and a council."
"Precisely," said Mr Newberry.
"It's not altogether easy to explain," said Mr. Fyshe.
"One chief difference is that in the case of a board,
sometimes called a Commission, the salary is higher. You
see the salary of an alderman or councillor in most cities
is generally not more than fifteen hundred or two thousand
dollars. The salary of a member of a board or commission
is at least ten thousand. That gives you at once a very
different class of men. As long as you only pay fifteen
hundred you get your council filled up with men who will
do any kind of crooked work for fifteen hundred dollars;
as soon as you pay ten thousand you get men with larger
ideas."
"I see," said Mr. Newberry.
"If you have a fifteen hundred dollar man," Mr. Fyshe
went on, "you can bribe him at any time with a fifty-dollar
bill. On the other hand your ten-thousand-dollar man has
a wider outlook. If you offer him fifty dollars for his
vote on the board, he'd probably laugh at you."
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Newberry, "I see the idea. A
fifteen-hundred-dollar salary is so low that it will
tempt a lot of men into office merely for what they can
get out of it."
"That's it exactly," answered Mr. Fyshe.
From all sides support came to the new league. The women
of the city--there were fifty thousand of them on the
municipal voters list--were not behind the men. Though
not officials of the league they rallied to its cause.
"Mr. Fyshe," said Mrs. Buncomhearst, who called at the
office of the president of the league with offers of
support, "tell me what we can do. I represent fifty
thousand women voters of this city--"
(This was a favourite phrase of Mrs. Buncomhearst's,
though it had never been made quite clear how or why she
represented them.)
"We want to help, we women. You know we've any amount of
initiative, if you'll only tell us what to do. You know,
Mr. Fyshe, we've just as good executive ability as you
men, if you'll just tell us what to do. Couldn't we hold
a meeting of our own, all our own, to help the league
along?"
"An excellent idea," said Mr. Fyshe.
"And could you not get three or four men to come and
address it so as to stir us up?" asked Mrs. Buncomhearst
anxiously.
"Oh, certainly," said Mr. Fyshe.
So it was known after this that the women were working
side by side with the men. The tea rooms of the Grand
Palaver and the other hotels were filled with them every
day, busy for the cause. One of them even invented a
perfectly charming election scarf to be worn as a sort
of badge to show one's allegiance: and its great merit
was that it was so fashioned that it would go with
anything.
"Yes," said Mr. Fyshe to his committee, "one of the finest
signs of our movement is that the women of the city are
with us. Whatever we may think, gentlemen, of the question
of woman's rights in general--and I think we know what
we do think--there is no doubt that the influence of
women makes for purity in civic politics. I am glad to
inform the committee that Mrs. Buncomhearst and her
friends have organized all the working women of the city
who have votes. They tell me that they have been able to
do this at a cost as low as five dollars per woman. Some
of the women--foreigners of the lower classes whose sense
of political morality is as yet imperfectly developed--have
been organized at a cost as low as one dollar per vote.
But of course with our native American women, with a
higher standard of education and morality, we can hardly
expected to do it as low as that."
Nor were the women the only element of support added to
the league.
"Gentlemen," reported Dr. Boomer, the president of the
university, at the next committee meeting, "I am glad to
say that the spirit which animates us has spread to the
students of the university. They have organized, entirely
by themselves and on their own account, a Students' Fair
Play League which has commenced its activities. I understand
that they have already ducked Alderman Gorfinkel in a
pond near the university. I believe they are looking for
Alderman Schwefeldampf tonight. I understand they propose
to throw him into the reservoir. The leaders of them--a
splendid set of young fellows--have given me a pledge
that they will do nothing to bring discredit on the
university."
"I think I heard them on the street last night," said
Mr. Newberry.
"I believe they had a procession," said the president.
"Yes, I heard them; they were shouting 'Rah! rah! rah!
Clean Government! Clean Government! Rah! rah!' It was
really inspiring to hear them."
"Yes," said the president, "they are banded together to
put down all the hoodlumism and disturbance on the street
that has hitherto disgraced our municipal elections. Last
night, as a demonstration, they upset two streetcars and
a milk wagon."
"I heard that two of them were arrested," said Mr. Dick
Overend.
"Only by an error," said the president. "There was a
mistake. It was not known that they were students. The
two who were arrested were smashing the windows of the
car, after it was upset, with their hockey sticks. A
squad of police mistook them for rioters. As soon as they
were taken to the police station, the mistake was cleared
up at once. The chief-of-police telephoned an apology to
the university. I believe the league is out again tonight
looking for Alderman Schwefeldampf. But the leaders assure
me there will be no breach of the peace whatever. As I
say, I think their idea is to throw him into the reservoir."
In the face of such efforts as these, opposition itself
melted rapidly away. The Plutorian Times was soon able
to announce that various undesirable candidates were
abandoning the field. "Alderman Gorfinkel," it said,
"who, it will be recalled, was thrown into a pond last
week by the students of the college, was still confined
to his bed when interviewed by our representative. Mr.
Gorfinkel stated that he should not offer himself as a
candidate in the approaching election. He was, he said,
weary of civic honours. He had had enough. He felt it
incumbent on him to step out and make way for others who
deserved their turn as well as himself: in future he
proposed to confine his whole attention to his Misfit
Semi-Ready Establishment which he was happy to state was
offering as nobby a line of early fall suiting as was
ever seen at the price."
There is no need to recount here in detail the glorious
triumph of the election day itself. It will always be
remembered as the purest, cleanest election ever held in
the precincts of the city. The citizens' organization
turned out in overwhelming force to guarantee that it
should be so. Bands of Dr. Boomer's students, armed with
baseball bats, surrounded the polls to guarantee fair
play. Any man wishing to cast an unclean vote was driven
from the booth: all those attempting to introduce any
element of brute force or rowdyism into the election were
cracked over the head. In the lower part of the town
scores of willing workers, recruited often from the
humblest classes, kept order with pickaxes. In every part
of the city motor cars, supplied by all the leading
businessmen, lawyers, and doctors of the city, acted as
patrols to see that no unfair use should be made of other
vehicles in carrying voters to the polls.
It was a foregone victory from the first--overwhelming
and complete. The cohorts of darkness were so completely
routed that it was practically impossible to find them.
As it fell dusk the streets were filled with roaring and
surging crowds celebrating the great victory for clean
government, while in front of every newspaper office huge
lantern pictures of Mayor McGrath the Champion of Pure
Government, and O. Skinyer, the People's Solicitor, and
the other nominees of the league, called forth cheer
after cheer of frenzied enthusiasm.
They held that night in celebration a great reception at
the Mausoleum Club on Plutoria Avenue, given at its own
suggestion by the city. The city, indeed, insisted on
it.
Nor was there ever witnessed even in that home of art
and refinement a scene of greater charm. In the spacious
corridor of the club a Hungarian band wafted Viennese
music from Tyrolese flutes through the rubber trees.
There was champagne bubbling at a score of sideboards
where noiseless waiters poured it into goblets as broad
and flat as floating water-lily leaves. And through it
all moved the shepherds and shepherdesses of that beautiful
Arcadia--the shepherds in their Tuxedo jackets, with vast
white shirt-fronts broad as the map of Africa, with
spotless white waistcoats girdling their equators, wearing
heavy gold watch-chains and little patent shoes blacker
than sin itself--and the shepherdesses in foaming billows
of silks of every colour of the kaleidoscope, their hair
bound with glittering headbands or coiled with white
feathers, the very symbol of municipal purity. One would
search in vain the pages of pastoral literature to find
the equal of it.
And as they talked, the good news spread from group to
group that it was already known that the new franchise
of the Citizens' Light was to be made for two centuries
so as to give the company a fair chance to see what it
could do. At the word of it, the grave faces of manly
bondholders flushed with pride, and the soft eyes of
listening shareholders laughed back in joy. For they had
no doubt or fear, now that clean government had come.
They knew what the company could do.
Thus all night long, outside of the club, the soft note
of the motor horns arriving and departing wakened the
sleeping leaves of the elm trees with their message of
good tidings. And all night long, within its lighted
corridors, the bubbling champagne whispered to the
listening rubber trees of the new salvation of the city.
So the night waxed and waned till the slow day broke,
dimming with its cheap prosaic glare the shaded beauty
of the artificial light, and the people of the city--the
best of them--drove home to their well-earned sleep, and
the others--in the lower parts of the city--rose to their
daily toil.
END
