The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him by Paul Leicester Ford

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"And if the Health Board helps you, and the bill is made a law?"

Peter looked Mr. Costell in the face, and spoke quietly: "I shall tell
my ward that you have done them a great service."

Two of the men moved uneasily in their seats, as if not comfortable, and
a third scowled.

"And if we can give you some tenement-house legislation?"

"I shall tell my ward that you have done them a great service." Peter
spoke in the same tone of voice, and still looked Mr. Costell in the
face.

"And if we don't do either?"

"What I shall do then will depend on whether you refuse for a good
reason or for none. In either case I shall tell them the facts."

"This is damned----" began one of the dinner-party, but the lifting of
Mr. Costell's hand stopped the speech there.

"Mr. Stirling," said Mr. Costell, rising as he spoke, "I hope when you
come to think it over, that you will vote with us for Catlin. But
whether you do or not, we want you to work with us. We can help you, and
you can help us. When you are ready to begin on your bills, come and see
me."

"Thank you," said Peter. "That is just what I want." He said good-night
to the company, and left the house.

"That fellow is going to be troublesome," said Green.

"There's no good trying to get anything out of him. Better split with
him at once," said the guest who had used the expletive.

"He can't have any very big hold," said a third. "It's only that trial
which has given him a temporary popularity."

"Wait and see if he goes back on Catlin, and if he does, lay for him,"
remarked Green.

A pause came, and they all looked at Costell, who was smiling a certain
deep smile that was almost habitual with him, and which no one had ever
yet been able to read. "No," he said slowly. "You might beat him, but he
isn't the kind that stays beat. I'll agree to outwit any man in
politics, except the man who knows how to fight and to tell the people
the truth. I've never yet seen a man beaten in the long run who can do
both those, unless he chose to think himself beaten. Gentlemen, that
Stirling is a fighter and a truth-teller, and you can't beat him in his
ward. There's no use having him against us, so it's our business to see
that we have him with us. We may not be able to get him into line this
time, but we must do it in the long run. For he's not the kind that lets
go. He's beaten Nelson, and he's beaten Gallagher, both of whom are old
hands. Mark my words, in five years he'll run the sixth ward. Drop all
talk of fighting him. He is in politics to stay, and we must make it
worth his while to stay with us."

CHAPTER XXII.

POLITICS.

Peter sat up later than was prudent that night, studying his blank wall.
Yet when he rose to go to bed, he gave his head a puzzled shake. When he
had gone through his papers, and drunk his coffee the next morning, he
went back to wall-gazing again. He was working over two conundrums not
very easy to answer, which were somewhat to this effect:

Does the best man always make the best official?

Is the honest judgment of a fellow verging on twenty-four better than
the experienced opinion of many far older men?

Peter began to think life had not such clear and direct "right" and
"wrong" roads as he had thought. He had said to himself long ago that it
was easy to take the right one, but he had not then discovered that it
is often difficult to know which is the right, in order to follow it. He
had started in to punish Bohlmann, and had compromised. He had
disapproved of Dennis breaking the law, and had compromised his
disapproval. He had said he should not go into saloons, and had ended by
going. Now he was confronted with the problem whether the interests of
his ward would be better served by the nomination of a man of good
record, whom Peter personally liked, or by that of a colorless man, who
would be ruled by the city's leaders. In the one case Peter feared no
support for his measures from his own party. In the other case he saw
aid that was tantamount to success. Finally he shook himself.

"I believe Dennis is right," he said aloud. "There are more 'real'
things than 'convictions' in New York politics, and a 'real' thing is
much harder to decide about in voting than a 'conviction.'"

He went to his bedroom, packed his bag, and took his way to the station.
There he found a dense crowd of delegates and "well-wishers," both
surrounding and filling the special train which was to carry New York's
contribution to the collected party wisdom, about to concentrate at
Saratoga.

Peter felt like a stranger in the crowd, but on mingling in it he
quickly found himself a marked man. He was seized upon by one of the
diners of the evening before, and soon found himself forming part of a
group, which constantly changed its components, but continued to talk
convention affairs steadily. Nor did the starting of the train, with
cheers, brass bands, flags, and other enthusing elements, make more than
a temporary break. From the time the special started, till it rolled
into Saratoga, six hours later, there was one long series of political
debates and confabs. Peter listened much, and learned much, for the talk
was very straight and plain. He had chats with Costell and Green. His
two fellow-delegates from "de sixt" sought him and discussed intentions.
He liked Schlurger, a simple, guileless German, who wanted only to do
what his constituents wished him to do, both in convention and Assembly.
Of Kennedy he was not so sure. Kennedy had sneered a little at Peter's
talk about the "best man," and about "helping the ward," and had only
found that Peter's ideas had value after he had been visited by various
of the saloon-keepers, seen the vast torchlight meeting, and heard the
cheers at Peter's arguments. Still, Peter was by no means sure that
Kennedy was not a square man, and concluded he was right in not
condemning him, when, passing through one of the cars, he overheard the
following:

"What kind of man is that Stirling, who's raised such ---- in the
sixth?"

"I don't know him, but Kennedy told me, before he'd swung round, that he
was a darned good sort of a cuss."

This was flattery, Peter understood, however questionable the form might
seem, and he was pleased. Very few of us do not enjoy a real compliment.
What makes a compliment uncomfortable is either a suspicion that the
maker doesn't mean it, or a knowledge that it is not merited.

Peter went at once to his room on reaching the hotel in Saratoga,
intending to make up the sleep of which his long "think" the night
before had robbed him. But scarcely had the colored gentleman bowed
himself out, after the usual "can I git de gentleman a pitcher of ice
water" (which translated means: "has de gentleman any superfluous
change?") when a knock came at the door. Peter opened it, to find a man
outside.

"Is this Mr. Stirling's room?" inquired the individual.

"Yes."

"Can I see him?"

"Come in." Peter moved his bag off one of his chairs, and his hat and
overcoat off the other.

"Mr. Stirling," said the stranger as he sat down, "I am Senator Maguire,
and am, as perhaps you know, one of Porter's managers."

"Yes."

"We understand that you are friendly to us. Now, I needn't say that New
York is otherwise a unit in opposing us."

"No," said Peter. "My fellow-delegates from the sixth, Schlurger and
Kennedy, stand as I do!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"The change must have been very sudden. They were elected as Catlin men,
we were told."

"Yes. But there's quite a different feeling in the ward now, and they
have yielded to it."

"That's good news."

"We all three come here prepared to do what seems best."

The Senator's expression lost some of the satisfaction Peter's news had
put into it. He gave a quick look at Peter's face, as if to try and find
from it what lay behind the words. He hesitated, as if divided in mind
over two courses of action. Finally he said:

"I needn't tell you that this opposition of practically the whole of the
New York City delegation, is the most serious set-back to Porter's
chance. Now, we have talked it over, and it seemed to us that it would
be a great card for him if he could be nominated by a city delegate.
Will you do it?"

"I don't know him well enough, do I? Doesn't the nominating delegate
have to make a speech in his favor?"

"Yes. But I can give you the material to-night. Or if you prefer, we'll
give it to you all written for delivery?"

"I don't make other men's speeches, Mr. Maguire."

"Suit yourself about that. It shall be just as you please."

"The difficulty is that I have not decided myself, yet, how I shall
vote, and of course such an act is binding."

Mr. Maguire's countenance changed again. "I'm sorry to hear that. I
hoped you were for Porter. He's far away the best man."

"So I think."

The Senator leaned back in his chair, and tucked his thumbs into the
armholes of his waistcoat. He thought he had fathomed Peter, and felt
that the rest was plain sailing. "This is not a chap to be tolled. I'll
give him the gaff at once," was his mental conclusion. Then he asked
aloud:

"What do you want?"

It was a question susceptible of many different constructions, but as
Mr. Maguire asked it, it seemed to him to have but one, and that not
very honest. Peter hesitated. The temptation was strong to lead the
Senator on, but he did not like to do it. It seemed to savor of traps,
and Peter had never liked traps. Still--he did want to know if the
managers on Porter's side would stoop to buy his support by some
bargain. As Peter hesitated, weighing the pros and cons, Maguire spoke
again.

"What does the other side offer you?"

Peter spoke quickly. "They haven't offered me anything, but advice. That
is, Costell said he'd try and help me on some legislation I want--"

"Special?" interrupted Maguire.

"No, General. I've talked about it with Porter as well"

"Oh! Indeed?"

"I'm really anxious to get that. Otherwise I want nothing."

"Whew," said the Senator to himself. "That was a narrow squeak. If he
hadn't spoken so quickly, I should have shown my hand before the call. I
wonder if he got any inkling?" He never dreamed that Peter had spoken
quickly to save that very disclosure.

"I needn't say, Mr. Stirling, that if you can see your way to nominate
Porter, we shall not forget it. Nor will he. He isn't the kind of man
who forgets his friends. Many a man in to-morrow's convention would give
anything for the privilege we offer you."

"Well," said Peter, "I realize the honor offered me, but I don't see my
way to take it. It will please me better to see him nominated by some
one who has really stood close to him, than to gain his favor by doing
it myself."

"Think twice, Mr. Stirling."

"If you would rather, I will not give you my answer till to-morrow
morning?"

"I would," said Maguire rising, "Try and make it favorable. It's a great
chance to do good for yourself and for your side. Good-night."

Peter closed his door, and looked about for a bit of blank wall. But on
second thought he sat down on his window-sill, and, filling his pipe,
tried to draw conclusions as well as smoke from it.

"I wonder," he pondered to himself, "how much of that was Maguire, and
how much Porter? Ought I, for the sake of doing my best for my ward, to
have let him go on? Has an agent any right to refuse what will help is
client, even if it comes by setting pitfalls?"

Rap, rap, rap.

"Come in," called Peter, forgetting he had turned down his light.

The door opened and Mr. Costell came in. "Having a quiet smoke?" he
asked.

"Yes. I haven't a cigar to offer you. Can you join me in a pipe?"

"I haven't come to that yet. Suppose you try one of my cigars." Costell
sat down on the window-ledge by Peter.

"Thank you," said Peter. "I like a cigar, but it must be a good one, and
that kind I can't afford." He lit the cigar, and leaned back to
luxuriate in it.

"You'll like that, I'm sure. Pretty sight, isn't it?" Costell pointed to
the broad veranda, three stories below them, gay with brilliant dresses.

"Yes. It's my first visit here, so it's new to me."

"It won't be your last. You'll be attending other conventions than
this."

"I hope so."

"One of my scouts tells me you've had a call from Maguire?"

"Yes." Peter hesitated a moment. "He wants me to nominate Porter," he
continued, as soon as he had decided that plain speaking was fair to
Maguire.

"We shall be very sorry to see you do it."

"I don't think I shall. They only want me because it would give the
impression that Porter has a city backing, and to try to give that
amounts to a deception."

"Can they get Schlurger or Kennedy?"

"Schlurger is safe. I don't know about Kennedy."

"Can you find out for us?"

"Yes. When would you like to know?"

"Can you see him now? I'll wait here."

Peter rose, looking at his cigar with a suggestion of regret. But he
rubbed out the light, and left the room. At the office, he learned the
number of Kennedy's room, and went to it. On knocking, the door was
opened only a narrow crack.

"Oh! it's you," said Kennedy. "Come in."

Peter entered, and found Maguire seated in an easy attitude on a lounge.
He noticed that his thumbs were once more tucked into his waistcoat.

"Mr. Kennedy," said Peter without seating himself, "there is an attempt
being made to get a city delegate to nominate Porter. It seems to me
that is his particular friends' business."

Maguire spoke so quickly that Kennedy had no chance to reply: "Kennedy's
promised to nominate him, Mr. Stirling, if you won't."

"Do you feel that you are bound to do it?" asked Peter.

Kennedy moved uneasily in his chair. "Yes, I suppose I have promised."

"Will you release Mr. Kennedy from his promise if he asks it?" Peter
queried to Maguire.

"Why, Mr. Stirling, I don't think either he or you ought to ask it."

"That was not my question."

It was the Senator's turn to squirm. He did not want to say no, for fear
of angering Peter, yet he did not like to surrender the advantage.
Finally he said: "Yes, I'll release him, but Mr. Kennedy isn't the kind
of a man that cries off from a promise. That's women's work."

"No," said Kennedy stiffening suddenly in backbone, as he saw the outlet
opened by Maguire, between antagonizing Peter, and retracting his
consent. "I don't play baby. Not me."

Peter stood thinking for a longer time than the others found
comfortable. Maguire whistled to prove that he was quite at ease, but he
would not have whistled if he had been.

"I think, Mr. Kennedy, that I'll save you from the difficulty by
nominating Mr. Porter myself," said Peter finally.

"Good!" said Maguire; and Kennedy, reaching down into his hip pocket,
produced a version of the holy text not yet included in any
bibliography. Evidently the atmosphere was easier. "About your speech,
Mr. Stirling?" continued the Senator.

"I shall say what I think right."

Something in Peter's voice made Maguire say: "It will be of the usual
kind, of course?"

"I don't know," said Peter, "I shall tell the facts."

"What sort of facts?"

"I shall tell how it is that a delegate of the sixth ward nominates
Porter."

"And that is?"

"I don't see," said Peter, "why I need say it. You know it as well as I
do."

"I know of many reasons why you should do it."

"No," said Peter. "There's only one, and that has been created in the
last ten minutes. Mr. Maguire, if you insist on the sixth ward
nominating Mr. Porter, the sixth ward is going to tell why it does so.
I'm sorry, for I like Porter, but the sixth ward shan't lend itself to a
fraud, if I can help it."

Kennedy had been combining things spiritual and aqueous at his
wash-stand. But his interest in the blending seemed suddenly to cease.
Maguire, too, took his thumbs from their havens of rest, and looked
dissatisfied.

"Look here, Mr. Stirling," he said, "it's much simpler to leave it to
Kennedy. You think you're doing what's right, but you'll only do harm to
us, and to yourself. If you nominate Porter, the city gang won't forgive
you, and unless you can say what we want said, we shall be down on you.
So you'll break with both sides."

"I think that is so. That is why I want some real friend of Porter's to
do it."

Maguire laughed rather a forced laugh. "I suppose we've got to satisfy
you. We'll have Porter nominated by one of our own crowd."

"I think that's best. Good-evening." Peter went to the door.

"Mr. Stirling," called Kennedy. "Won't you stay and take some whisky and
water with us?"

"Thank you," said Peter. "Mr. Costell's in my room and he must be tired
of waiting." He closed the door, and walked away.

The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment.

"The ---- cuss is playing a double game," Maguire gasped.

"I don't know what it means!" said Kennedy.

"Mean?" cried Maguire. "It can mean only one thing. He's acting under
Costell's orders."

"But why should he give it away to us?"

"How the ---- should I know? Look here, Kennedy, you must do it, after
all."

"I don't want to."

"Tut, tut, man, you must."

"But my ward?"

"Come. We'll make it quarantine, as you want. That's six years, and you
can ---- your ward."

"I'll do it."

"That's the talk."

They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an hour. Then Maguire
said good-night.

"You shall have the speech the first thing in the morning," he said at
parting. Then as he walked down the long corridor, he muttered, "Now
then, Stirling, look out for the hind heel of the mule."

Peter found Costell still waiting for him.

"It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was there."

"Indeed!" said Costell, making room for Peter on the window-ledge.

Peter re-lit his cigar, "Maguire promises me that Porter shall be
nominated by one of his friends."

"He had been trying Kennedy?"

"I didn't ask."

Costell smiled. "I had no business to ask you that?"

"No," Peter said frankly.

Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence.

Then Costell began talking about Saratoga. He told Peter where the
"Congress" spring was, and what was worth seeing. Finally he rose to go.
He held out his hand, and said:

"Mr. Stirling, you've been as true as steel with us, and with the other
men. I don't want you to suppose we are not conscious of it. I think
you've done us a great service to-night, although it might have been
very profitable to you if you had done otherwise. I don't think that
you'll lose by it in the long run, but I'm going to thank you now, for
myself. Good-night."

Peter had a good night. Perhaps it was only because he was sleepy, but a
pleasant speech is not a bad night-cap. At least it is better than a
mental question-mark as to whether one has done wrong. Peter did not
know how it was coming out, but he thought he had done right, and need
not spend time on a blank wall that evening.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CONVENTION.

Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the
next morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around
Saratoga, before the place gave many evidences of life. He ended his
tramp at the Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with
exceeding disgust at the result. As he set down his half-finished
tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De Voe at his elbow, about
to take her morning glass.

"This is a very pleasant surprise," she said, holding out her hand.
"When did you arrive?"

"I only came last night."

"And how long shall you be here?"

"I cannot say. I am attending the convention, and my stay will depend on
that."

"Surely you are not a Democrat?" said Miss De Voe, a shade of horror
showing itself in her face, in spite of her good breeding. In those days
it was not, to put it mildly, a guarantee of respectability to belong to
that party, and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social
station, all the more because she was absolutely ignorant of political
events.

Peter said he was.

"How can you be? When a man can ally himself with the best, why should
he choose the worst?"

"I think," said Peter quietly, "that a Pharisee said the same thing, in
different words, many hundred years ago."

Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed. She also became suddenly
conscious of the two girls who had come to the spring with her. They had
been forgotten in the surprise over Peter, but now Miss De Voe wondered
if they had heard his reply, and if they had enough Bible lore to enable
them to understand the reproof.

"I am sure you don't mean that," she said, in the sting of the moment.

"I am very sorry," said Peter, "if I made an unkind speech. What I
meant was that no one has a right to pick out the best for himself. I am
sure, from your letter to me, that you think a man should help those not
as well off as himself."

"Oh, but that is very different. Of course we should be charitable to
those who need our help, but we need not mix in their low politics."

"If good laws, and good administration can give the poor good food, and
good lodgings, don't you think the best charity is to 'mix' in politics,
and try to obtain such results?"

"I want you to know my two cousins," Miss De Voe replied. "Dorothy, I
wish to present Mr. Stirling. My cousin, Miss Ogden, and Miss Minna
Ogden."

Peter saw two very pretty girls, and made a bow to them.

"Which way are you walking?" asked Miss De Voe.

"I have been tramping merely for exercise," said Peter, "and stopped
here to try the spring, on my way to the United States."

"It is hardly worth while, but if you will get into our carriage, we
will drop you there. Or if you can spare the time, we will drive to our
cottage, and then send you back to the hotel."

"Thank you," said Peter, "but I shall only crowd you, I fear."

"No. There is plenty of room."

"Will the convention be interesting to watch, Mr. Stirling?" asked one
of the girls, as soon as they were seated.

"I don't know," Peter told her. "It is my first experience at it. There
is pretty strong feeling, and that of course makes it interesting to the
delegates, but I am not sure that it would be so to others."

"Will there be speeches, and cheers, and all that sort of thing?"

"Yes."

"Cousin Anneke, won't you take us? It will be such fun!"

"Are spectators admitted, Mr. Stirling?"

"I believe so. I heard something about tickets last night. If you care
to go, I'll see if I can get you some?"

"Oh, please," cried both girls.

"If you can do so, Mr. Stirling, we should like to see the interesting
part," said Miss De Voe.

"I'll try."

"Send word back by Oliver." The carriage had drawn up at the cottage,
and farewells were made.

As soon as Peter reached the hotel, he went to the New York City
delegation room, and saw Costell. He easily secured admissions, and
pencilling on a card, "At headquarters they tell me that the nominations
will begin at the afternoon session, about two o'clock," he sent them
back by the carriage. Then bearding the terrors of the colored "monarch
of all he surveys," who guards the dining-room of every well-ordered
Saratoga hotel, he satisfied as large an appetite as he remembered in a
long time.

The morning proceedings in the convention were purely formal. The
election of the chairman, the roll-call, the naming of the committees,
and other routine matter was gotten through with, but the real interest
centred in the undertone of political talk, going on with little regard
to the business in hand. After the committees were named, an unknown man
came up to Peter, and introduced himself by a name which Peter at once
recognized as that of one of the committee on the platform.

"Mr. Costell thinks you might like to see this, and can perhaps suggest
a change," explained Mr. Talcott, laying several sheets of manuscript on
Peter's desk and indicating with his finger a certain paragraph.

Peter read it twice before saying anything. "I think I can better it,"
he said. "If you can give me time I'm very slow about such things."

"All right. Get it in shape as quickly as possible, and send it to the
committee-room."

Left alone Peter looked round for a blank wall. Failing in his search,
he put his head into his hands, and tried to shut out the seething,
excited mass of men about him. After a time he took a sheet of paper and
wrote a paragraph for the platform. It pledged the party to investigate
the food and tenement questions, and to pass such remedial legislation
as should seem best. It pledged the party to do this, with as little
disturbance and interference with present conditions as possible, "but
fully recognizing the danger of State interference, we place human life
above money profits, and human health above annual incomes, and shall
use the law to its utmost to protect both." When it appeared in the
platform, there was an addition that charged the failure to obtain
legislation "which should have rendered impossible the recent terrible
lesson in New York City" to "the obstruction in the last legislature in
the interest of the moneyed classes and landlords, by the Republican
party." That had not been in Peter's draft and he was sorry to see it.
Still, the paragraph had a real ring of honesty and feeling in it. That
was what others thought too. "Gad, that Stirling knows how to sling
English," said one of the committee, when the paragraph was read aloud.
"He makes it take right hold." Many an orator in that fall's campaign
read the nineteenth section of the Democratic platform aloud, feeling
that it was ammunition of the right kind. It is in all the New York
papers of September 24th, of that year.

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