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

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Finally, however, he rose and put photographs, rose, and card away.

"I've not allowed myself to yield to it," he said (which was a whopper)
"till I was sure she was what I could always love. Now I shall do my
best to make her me."

CHAPTER XLIV.

A GOOD DAY.

The next day it was raining torrents, but despite this, and to the utter
neglect of his law business, Peter drove up-town immediately after
lunch, to the house in Fifty-seventh Street. He asked for Watts, but
while he was waiting for the return of the servant, he heard a light
foot-step, and turning, he found Leonore fussing over some flowers. At
the same moment she became conscious of his presence.

"Good-day," said Peter.

"It isn't a good day at all," said Leonore, in a disconsolate voice,
holding out her hand nevertheless.

"Why not?"

"It's a horrid day, and I'm in disgrace."

"For what?"

"For misbehaving last night. Both mamma and madame say I did very wrong.
I never thought I couldn't be real friends with you." The little lips
were trembling slightly.

Peter felt a great temptation to say something strong. "Why can't the
women let such an innocent child alone?" he thought to himself. Aloud he
said, "If any wrong was done, which I don't think, it was my fault. Can
I do anything?"

"I don't believe so," said Leonore, with a slight unsteadiness in her
voice. "They say that men will always monopolize a girl if she will
allow it, and that a really well-mannered one won't permit it for a
moment."

Peter longed to take her in his arms and lay the little downcast head
against his shoulder, but he had to be content with saying: "I am so
sorry they blame you. If I could only save you from it." He evidently
said it in a comforting voice, for the head was raised a trifle.

"You see," said Leonore, "I've always been very particular with men, but
with you it seemed different. Yet they both say I stayed too long
upstairs, and were dreadfully shocked about the photographs. They said I
ought to treat you like other men. Don't you think you are different?"

Yes. Peter thought he was very different.

"Mr. D'Alloi will see you in the library," announced the footman at this
point.

Peter turned to go, but in leaving he said: "Is there any pleasure or
service I can do, to make up for the trouble I've caused you?"

Leonore put her head on one side, and looked a little less
grief-stricken. "May I save that up?" she asked.

"Yes."

A moment later Peter was shaking hands with Watts.

"This is nice of you. Quite like old times. Will you smoke?"

"No. But please yourself. I've something to talk about."

"Fire away."

"Watts, I want to try and win the love of your little girl."

"Dear old man," cried Watts, "there isn't any one in God's earth whom I
would rather see her choose, or to whom I would sooner trust her."

"Thank you, Watts," said Peter, gratefully. "Watts is weak, but he is a
good fellow," was his mental remark. Peter entirely forgot his opinion
of two weeks ago. It is marvellous what a change a different point of
view makes in most people.

"But if I give you my little Dot, you must promise me one thing."

"What is that?"

"That you will never tell her? Ah! Peter, if you knew how I love the
little woman, and how she loves me. From no other man can she learn what
will alter that love. Don't make my consent bring us both suffering?"

"Watts, I give my word she shall never know the truth from me."

"God bless you, Peter. True as ever. Then that is settled. You shall
have a clear field and every chance."

"I fear not. There's something more. Mrs. D'Alloi won't pardon that
incident--nor do I blame her. I can't force my presence here if she does
not give her consent. It would be too cruel, even if I could hope to
succeed in spite of her. I want to see her this morning. You can tell
better than I whether you had best speak to her first, or whether I
shall tell her."

"H'm. That is a corker, isn't it? Don't you think you had better let
things drift?"

"No. I'm not going to try and win a girl's love behind the mother's
back. Remember, Watts, the mother is the only one to whom a girl can go
at such a time. We mustn't try to take advantage of either."

"Well, I'll speak to her, and do my best. Then I'll send her to you.
Help yourself to the tobacco if you get tired of waiting _tout seul_."

Watts went upstairs and knocked at a door. "Yes," said a voice. Watts
put his head in. "Is my Rosebud so busy that she can't spare her lover a
few moments?"

"Watts, you know I live for you."

Watts dropped down on the lounge. "Come here, then, like a loving little
wife, and let me say my little say."

No woman nearing forty can resist a little tenderness in her husband,
and Mrs. D'Alloi snuggled up to Watts in the pleasantest frame of mind.
Watts leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then Mrs. D'Alloi snuggled some
more.

"Now, I want to talk with you seriously, dear," he said. "Who do you
think is downstairs?"

"Who?"

"Dear old Peter. And what do you think he's come for!"

"What?"

"Dot."

"For what?"

"He wants our consent, dear, to pay his addresses to Leonore."

"Oh, Watts!" Mrs. D'Alloi ceased to snuggle, and turned a horrified face
to her husband.

"I've thought she attracted him, but he's such an impassive, cool old
chap, that I wasn't sure."

"That's what I've been so afraid of. I've worried so over it."

"You dear, foolish little woman. What was there to worry over?"

"Watts! You won't give your consent?"

"Of course we will. Why, what more do you want? Money, reputation,
brains, health." (That was the order in which Peter's advantages ranged
themselves in Watts's mind). "I don't see what more you can ask, short
of a title, and titles not only never have all those qualities combined,
but they are really getting decidedly _nouveau richey_ and not
respectable enough for a Huguenot family, who've lived two hundred and
fifty years in New York. What a greedy mamma she is for her little
girl."

"Oh, Watts! But think!"

"It's hard work, dear, with your eyes to look at. But I will, if you'll
tell me what to think about."

"My husband! You cannot have forgotten? Oh, no! It is too horrible for
you to have forgotten that day."

"You heavenly little Puritan! So you are going to refuse Peter as a
son-in-law, because he--ah--he's not a Catholic monk. Why, Rosebud, if
you are going to apply that rule to all Dot's lovers, you had better
post a sign: 'Wanted, a husband. P.S. No man need apply.'"

"Watts! Don't talk so."

"Dear little woman. I'm only trying to show you that we can't do better
than trust our little girl to Peter."

"With that stain! Oh, Watts, give him our pure, innocent, spotless
child!"

"Oh, well. If you want a spotless wedding, let her marry the Church.
She'll never find one elsewhere, my darling."

"Watts! How can you talk so? And with yourself as an example. Oh,
husband! I want our child--our only child--to marry a man as noble and
true as her father. Surely there must be others like you?"

"Yes. I think there are a great many men as good as I, Rosebud! But I'm
no better than I should be, and it's nothing but your love that makes
you think I am."

"I won't hear you say such things of yourself. You know you are the best
and purest man that ever lived. You know you are."

"If there's any good in me, it's because I married you."

"Watts, you couldn't be bad if you tried." And Mrs. D'Alloi put her arms
round Watts's neck and kissed him.

Watts fondled her for a moment in true lover's fashion. Then he said,
"Dear little wife, a pure woman can never quite know what this world is.
I love Dot next to you, and would not give her to a man whom I believe
would not be true to her, or make her happy. I know every circumstance
of Peter's connection with that woman, and he is as blameless as man
ever was. Such as it was, it was ended years ago, and can never give him
more trouble. He is a strong man, and will be true to Dot. She might get
a man who would make her life one long torture. She may be won by a man
who only cares for her money, and will not even give her the husks of
love. But Peter loves her, and has outgrown his mistakes. And don't
forget that but for him we might now have nothing but some horribly
mangled remains to remember of our little darling. Dear, I love Dot
twenty times more than I love Peter. For her sake, and yours, I am
trying to do my best for her."

So presently Mrs. D'Alloi came into the library, where Peter sat. She
held out her hand to him, but Peter said:

"Let me say something first. Mrs. D'Alloi, I would not have had that
occurrence happen in your home or presence if I had been able to prevent
it. It grieves me more than I can tell you. I am not a roue. In spite of
appearances I have lived a clean life. I shall never live any other in
the future. I--I love Leonore. Love her very dearly. And if you will
give her to me, should I win her, I pledge you my word that I will give
her the love, and tenderness, and truth which she deserves. Now, will
you give me your hand?"

"He is speaking the truth," thought Mrs. D'Alloi, as Peter spoke. She
held out her hand. "I will trust her to you if she chooses you."

Half an hour later, Peter went back to the drawing-room, to find Leonore
reposing in an exceedingly undignified position before the fire on a big
tiger-skin, and stroking a Persian cat, who, in delight at this enviable
treatment, purred and dug its claws into the rug. Peter stood for a time
watching the pretty tableau, wishing he was a cat.

"Yes, Tawney-eye," said Leonore, in heartrending tones, "it isn't a good
day at all."

"I'm going to quarrel with you on that," said Peter. "It's a glorious
day."

Leonore rose from the skin. "Tawney-eye and I don't think so."

"But you will. In the first place I've explained about the monopoly and
the photographs to your mamma, and she says she did not understand it,
and that no one is to blame. Secondly, she says I'm to stay to dinner
and am to monopolize you till then. Thirdly, she says we may be just as
good friends as we please. Fourthly, she has asked me to come and stay
for a week at Grey-Court this summer. Now, what kind of a day is it?"

"Simply glorious! Isn't it, Tawney-eye?" And the young lady again forgot
her "papas, proprieties, potatoes, prunes and prisms," and dropping down
on the rug, buried her face in the cat's long silky hair. Then she
reappeared long enough to say:

"You are such a comforting person! I'm so glad you were born."

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BOSS.

After this statement, so satisfying to both, Leonore recovered her
dignity enough to rise, and say, "Now, I want to pay you for your
niceness. What do you wish to do?"

"Suppose we do what pleases you."

"No. I want to please you."

"That _is_ the way to please me," said Peter emphatically.

Just then a clock struck four. "I know," said Leonore. "Come to the
tea-table, and we'll have afternoon tea together. It's the day of all
others for afternoon tea."

"I just said it was a glorious day."

"Oh? yes. It's a nice day. But it's dark and cold and rainy all the
same."

"But that makes it all the better. We shan't be interrupted."

"Do you know," said Leonore, "that Miss De Voe told me once that you
were a man who found good in everything, and I see what she meant."

"I can't hold a candle to Dennis. He says its 'a foine day' so that you
feel that it really is. I never saw him in my life, when it wasn't 'a
foine day.' I tell him he carries his sunshine round in his heart."

"You are so different," said Leonore, "from what every one said. I never
knew a man pay such nice compliments. That's the seventh I've heard you
make."

"You know I'm a politician, and want to become popular."

"Oh, Peter! Will you let me ask you something?"

"Anything," said Peter, rashly, though speaking the absolute truth.
Peter just then was willing to promise anything. Perhaps it was the warm
cup of tea; perhaps it was the blazing logs; perhaps it was the shade of
the lamp, which cast such a pleasant rosy tint over everything; perhaps
it was the comfortable chair; perhaps it was that charming face;
perhaps it was what Mr. Mantalini called the "demd total."

"You see," said Leonore, shaking her head in a puzzled way, "I've begun
to read the papers--the political part, I mean--and there are so many
things I don't understand which I want to ask you to explain."

"That is very nice," said Peter, "because there are a great many things
of which I want to tell you."

"Goody!" said Leonore, forgetting again she was now bound to conduct
herself as befit a society girl. "And you'll not laugh at me if I ask
foolish questions?"

"No."

"Then what do the papers mean by calling you a boss?"

"That I am supposed to have sufficient political power to dictate to a
certain extent."

"But don't they speak of a boss as something not nice?" asked Leonore, a
little timidly, as if afraid of hurting Peter's feelings.

"Usually it is used as a stigma," said Peter, smiling. "At least by the
kind of papers you probably read."

"But you are not a bad boss, are you?" said Leonore, very earnestly.

"Some of the papers say so."

"That's what surprised me. Of course I knew they were wrong, but are
bosses bad, and are you a boss?"

"You are asking me one of the biggest questions in American politics. I
probably can't answer it, but I'll try to show you why I can't. Are
there not friends whose advice or wish would influence you?"

"Yes. Like you," said Leonore, giving Peter a glimpse of her eyes.

"Really," thought Peter, "if she does that often, I can't talk abstract
politics." Then he rallied and said: "Well, that is the condition of men
as well, and it is that condition, which creates the so-called boss. In
every community there are men who influence more or less the rest. It
may be that one can only influence half a dozen other intimates. Another
may exert power over fifty. A third may sway a thousand. One may do it
by mere physical superiority. Another by a friendly manner. A third by
being better informed. A fourth by a deception or bribery. A fifth by
honesty. Each has something that dominates the weaker men about him.
Take my ward. Burton is a prize-fighter, and physically a splendid man.
So he has his little court. Driscoll is a humorist, and can talk, and he
has his admirers. Sloftky is popular with the Jews, because he is of
their race. Burrows is a policeman, who is liked by the whole ward,
because of his kindness and good-nature. So I could go on telling you of
men who are a little more marked than the rest, who have power to
influence the opinions of men about them, and therefore have power to
influence votes. That is the first step in the ladder."

"But isn't Mr. Moriarty one?"

"He comes in the next grade. Each of the men I have mentioned can
usually affect an average of twenty-five votes. But now we get to
another rung of the ladder. Here we have Dennis, and such men as
Blunkers, Denton, Kennedy, Schlurger and others. They not merely have
their own set of followers, but they have more or less power to dominate
the little bosses of whom I have already spoken. Take Dennis for
instance. He has fifty adherents who stick to him absolutely, two
hundred and fifty who listen to him with interest, and a dozen of the
smaller bosses, who pass his opinions to their followers. So he can thus
have some effect on about five hundred votes. Of course it takes more
force and popularity to do this and in this way we have a better grade
of men."

"Yes. I like Mr. Moriarty, and can understand why others do. He is so
ugly, and so honest, and so jolly. He's lovely."

"Then we get another grade. Usually men of a good deal of brain force,
though not of necessity well educated. They influence all below them by
being better informed, and by being more far-seeing. Such men as
Gallagher and Dummer. They, too, are usually in politics for a living,
and so can take the trouble to work for ends for which the men with
other work have no time. They don't need the great personal popularity
of those I have just mentioned, but they need far more skill and brain.
Now you can see, that these last, in order to carry out their
intentions, must meet and try to arrange to pull together, for otherwise
they can do nothing. Naturally, in a dozen or twenty men, there will be
grades, and very often a single man will be able to dominate them all,
just as the smaller bosses dominate the smaller men. And this man the
papers call a boss of a ward. Then when these various ward bosses
endeavor to unite for general purposes, the strongest man will sway
them, and he is boss of the city."

"And that is what you are?"

"Yes. By that I mean that nothing is attempted in the ward or city
without consultation with me. But of course I am more dependent on the
voters than they are on me, for if they choose to do differently from
what I advise, they have the power, while I am helpless."

"You mean the smaller bosses?"

"Not so much them as the actual voters. A few times I have shot right
over the heads of the bosses and appealed directly to the voters."

"Then you can make them do what you want?"

"Within limits, yes. As I told you, I am absolutely dependent on the
voters. If they should defeat what I want three times running, every one
would laugh at me, and my power would be gone. So you see that a boss is
only a boss so long as he can influence votes."

"But they haven't defeated you?"

"No, not yet."

"But if the voters took their opinions from the other bosses how did you
do anything?"

"There comes in the problem of practical politics. The question of who
can affect the voters most. Take my own ward. Suppose that I want
something done so much that I insist. And suppose that some of the other
leaders are equally determined that it shan't be done. The ward splits
on the question and each faction tries to gain control in the primary.
When I have had to interfere, I go right down among the voters and tell
them why and what I want to do. Then the men I have had to antagonize do
the same, and the voters decide between us. It then is a question as to
which side can win the majority of the voters. Because I have been very
successful in this, I am the so-called boss. That is, I can make the
voters feel that I am right."

"How?"

"For many reasons. First, I have always tried to tell the voters the
truth, and never have been afraid to acknowledge I was wrong, when I
found I had made a mistake, so people trust what I say. Then, unlike
most of the leaders in politics, I am not trying to get myself office or
profit, and so the men feel that I am disinterested. Then I try to be
friendly with the whole ward, so that if I have to do what they don't
like, their personal feeling for me will do what my arguments never
could. With these simple, strong-feeling, and unreasoning folk, one can
get ten times the influence by a warm handshake and word that one can by
a logical argument. We are so used to believing what we read, if it
seems reasonable, that it is hard for us to understand that men who
spell out editorials with difficulty, and who have not been trained to
reason from facts, are not swayed by what to us seems an obvious
argument. But, on the contrary, if a man they trust, puts it in plain
language to them, they see it at once. I might write a careful
editorial, and ask my ward to read it, and unless they knew I wrote it,
they probably wouldn't be convinced in the least. But let me go into the
saloons, and tell the men just the same thing, and there isn't a man who
wouldn't be influenced by it."

"You are so popular in the ward?" asked Leonore.

"I think so, I find kind words and welcome everywhere. But then I have
tried very hard to be popular. I have endeavored to make a friend of
every man in it with whom one could be friendly, because I wished to be
as powerful as possible, so that the men would side with me whenever I
put my foot down on something wrong."

"Do you ever tell the ward how they are to vote?"

"I tell them my views. But never how to vote. Once I came very near it,
though."

"How was that?"

"I was laid up for eight months by my eyes, part of the time in Paris.
The primary in the meantime had put up a pretty poor man for an office.
A fellow who had been sentenced for murder, but had been pardoned by
political influence. When I was able to take a hand, I felt that I could
do better by interfering, so I came out for the Republican candidate,
who was a really fine fellow. I tried to see and talk to every man in
the ward, and on election day I asked a good many men, as a personal
favor, to vote for the Republican, and my friends asked others. Even
Dennis Moriarty worked and voted for what he calls a 'dirty Republican,'
though he said 'he never thought he'd soil his hands wid one av their
ballots.' That is the nearest I ever came to telling them how to vote."

"And did they do as you asked?"

"The only Republican the ward has chosen since 1862 was elected in that
year. It was a great surprise to every one--even to myself--for the ward
is Democratic by about four thousand majority. But I couldn't do that
sort of thing often, for the men wouldn't stand it. In other words, I
can only do what I want myself, by doing enough else that the men wish.
That is, the more I can do to please the men, the more they yield their
opinions to mine."

"Then the bosses really can't do what they want?"

"No. Or at least not for long. That is a newspaper fallacy. A relic of
the old idea that great things are done by one-man power. If you will go
over the men who are said to control--the bosses, as they are called--in
this city, you will find that they all have worked their way into
influence slowly, and have been many years kept in power, though they
could be turned out in a single fight. Yet this power is obtained only
by the wish of a majority, for the day they lose the consent of a
majority of the voters that day their power ends. We are really more
dependent than the representatives, for they are elected for a certain
time, while our tenure can be ended at any moment. Why am I a power in
my ward? Because I am supposed to represent a given number of votes,
which are influenced by my opinions. It would be perfectly immaterial to
my importance how I influenced those votes, so long as I could control
them. But because I can influence them, the other leaders don't dare to
antagonize me, and so I can have my way up to a certain point. And
because I can control the ward I have made it a great power in city
politics."

"How did you do that?"

"By keeping down the factional feeling. You see there are always more
men struggling for power or office, than can have it, and so there
cannot but be bad blood between the contestants. For instance, when I
first became interested in politics, Moriarty and Blunkers were quite as
anxious to down each other as to down the Republicans. Now they are
sworn friends, made so in this case, by mere personal liking for me.
Some have been quieted in this way. Others by being held in check. Still
others by different means. Each man has to be studied and understood,
and the particular course taken which seems best in his particular case.
But I succeeded even with some who were pretty bitter antagonists at
first, and from being one of the most uncertain wards in the city, the
sixth has been known at headquarters for the last five years as 'old
reliability' from the big majority it always polls. So at headquarters I
am looked up to and consulted. Now do you understand why and what a boss
is?"

"Yes, Peter. Except why bosses are bad."

"Don't you see that it depends on what kind of men they are, and what
kind of voters are back of them. A good man, with honest votes back of
him, is a good boss, and _vice versa_."

"Then I know you are a good boss. It's a great pity that all the bosses
can't be good?"

"I have not found them so bad. They are quite as honest, unselfish, and
reasonable as the average of mankind. Now and then there is a bad man,
as there is likely to be anywhere. But in my whole political career, I
have never known a man who could control a thousand votes for five
years, who was not a better man, all in all, than the voters whom he
influenced. More one cannot expect. The people are not quick, but they
find out a knave or a demagogue if you give them time."

"It's the old saying; 'you can fool all of the people, some of the time,
and some of the people all of the time, but you can't fool all of the
people all of the time,'" laughed a voice.

Peter took his eyes off Leonore's face, where they had been resting
restfully, and glanced up. Watts had entered the room.

"Go on," said Watts. "Don't let me interrupt your political
disquisitions; I have only come in for a cup of tea."

"Miss D'Alloi and I were merely discussing bosses," said Peter. "Miss
D'Alloi, when women get the ballot, as I hope they will, I trust you
will be a good boss, for I am sure you will influence a great many
votes."

"Oh!" said Leonore, laughing, "I shan't be a boss at all. You'll be my
boss, I think, and I'll always vote for you."

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