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

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"He will find out quick enough," laughed a girl, "and then he will do
what they all do."

"No," said Miss De Voe. "I suspect it will make no difference. He isn't
that kind, I think. I really am curious to see if I have to ask him a
second time. It will be the only case I can remember. I'm afraid, my
dears, your cousin is getting to be an old woman."

Peter, had in truth, met, and spent over four hours in the company of a
woman whom every one wished to know. A woman equally famous for her
lineage, her social position, her wealth and her philanthropy. It would
not have made any difference, probably, had he known it, though it might
have increased his awkwardness a little. That he was not quite as
unconscious as Miss De Voe seemed to think, is shown by a passage in a
letter he wrote to his mother:

"She was very much interested in the case, and asked a good many
questions about it, and about myself. Some which I would rather
not have answered, but since she asked them I could not bring
myself to dodge them. She asked me to come and see her again. It
is probably nothing but a passing interest, such as this class
feel for the moment."--[Then Peter carefully inked out "such as
this class feel for the moment," and reproved himself that his
bitterness at--at--at one experience, should make him condemn a
whole class]--"but if she asks me again I shall go, for there is
something very sweet and noble about her. I think she is probably
some great personage."

Later on in the letter he wrote:

"If you do not disapprove, I will put this money in the savings
bank, in a special or trustee account, and use it for any good
that I can do for the people about here. I gave the case my
service, and do not think I am entitled to take pay when the money
can be so much better employed for the benefit of the people I
tried to help."

CHAPTER XVIII.

ANOTHER CLIENT.

Peter had seen his clients on the morning following the settlement of
the cases, and told them of their good fortune. They each had a look at
Bohlmann's check, and then were asked how they would like their shares.

"Sure," said Dooley, "Oi shan't know what to do wid that much money."

"I think," said Peter, "that your two thousand really belongs to the
children."

"That it does," said Mrs. Dooley, quite willing to deprive her husband
of it, for the benefit of her children.

"But what shall Oi do wid it?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"I'd like Mr. Stirling to take charge of mine," said Blackett.

"That's the idea," said Dooley.

And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing would be to put
it in the savings bank. "Perhaps later we'll find something better."
They all went around to a well-known institution on the Bowery, and
Peter interviewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over the
check to the bank, and credit the proper share to each.

"I shall have to ask you to give me the odd two hundred and fifty,"
Peter said, "as that is my legal fee."

"You had better let me put that in your name, Mr. Stirling?" said the
president, who had been called into the consultation.

"Very well," said Peter. "I shall want some of it before long, but the
rest will be very well off here." So a book was handed him, and the
president shook him by the hand with all the warmth that eight thousand
two hundred and fifty dollars of increased assets and four new
depositors implied.

Peter did not need to draw any of the two hundred and fifty dollars,
however. In November he had another knock at his door.

It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we have incidentally spoken
in connection with the half-price drinks for the Milligan wake, and as
spokesman of the torchlight procession.

"Good-mornin' to yez, sir," said the visitor.

It was a peculiarity of Peter's that he never forgot faces. He did not
know Mr. Moriarty's name, never having had it given him, but he placed
him instantly.

"Thank you," said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter did not usually
shake hands in meeting people, but he liked the man's face. It would
never take a prize for beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose
was a real sky-scraper and the tipper lip was almost proboscidian in
its length. But every one liked the face.

"It's proud Oi'm bein' shakin' the hand av Misther Stirling," said the
Irishman.

"Sit down," said Peter.

"My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an' Oi keeps a saloon near
Centre Street, beyant."

"You were round here in the procession."

"Oi was, sir. Shure, Oi'm not much at a speech, compared to the likes av
yez, but the b'ys would have me do it."

Peter said something appropriate, and then there was a pause.

"Misther Stirling," finally said Moriarty, "Oi was up before Justice
Gallagher yesterday, an' he fined me bad. Oi want yez to go to him, an'
get him to be easier wid me. It's yezself can do it."

"What were you fined for?" asked Peter.

"For bein' open on Sunday."

"Then you ought to be fined."

"Don't say that till Oi tell yez. Oi don't want to keep my place open,
but it's in my lease, an' so Oi have to."

"In your lease?" enquired Peter.

"Yes." And the paper was handed over to him.

Peter ran over the three documents. "I see," he said, "you are only the
caretaker really, the brewer having an assignment of the lease and a
chattel mortgage on your fixtures and stock."

"That's it," said Dennis. "It's mighty quick yez got at it. It's
caretaker Oi am, an' a divil of a care it is. Shure, who wants to work
seven days a week, if he can do wid six?"

"You should have declined to agree to that condition?"

"Then Oi'd have been turned out. Begobs, it's such poor beer that it's
little enough Oi sell even in seven days."

"Why don't you get your beer elsewhere then?"

"Why, it's Edelhein put me in there to sell his stuff, an' he'd never
let me sell anythin' else."

"Then Edelhein is really the principal, and you are only put in to keep
him out of sight?"

"That's it"

"And you have put no money in yourself?"

"Divil a cent."

"Then why doesn't he pay the fine?"

"He says Oi have no business to be afther bein' fined. As if any one
sellin' his beer could help bein' fined!"

"How is that?" said Peter, inferring that selling poor beer was a
finable offence, yet ignorant of the statute.

"Why yez see, sir, the b'ys don't like that beer--an' sensible they
are--so they go to other places, an' don't come to my place."

"But that doesn't explain your fines."

"Av course it does. Shure, if the boys don't come to my place, it's
little Oi can do at the primary, an' so it's no pull Oi have in
politics, to get the perlice an' the joodges to be easy wid me, like
they are to the rest."

Peter studied his blank wall a bit.

"Shure, if it's good beer Oi had," continued Moriarty, "Oi'd be afther
beatin' them all, for Oi was always popular wid the b'ys, on account of
my usin' my fists so fine."

Peter smiled. "Why don't you go into something else?" he asked.

"Well, there's mother and the three childers to be supported, an' then
Oi'd lose my influence at the primary."

"What kind of beer does Mr. Bohlmann make?" asked Peter, somewhat
irrelevantly.

"Ah," said Moriarty, "that's the fine honest beer! There's never
anythin' wrong wid his. An' he treats his keepers fair. Lets them do as
they want about keepin' open Sundays, an' never squeezes a man when he's
down on his luck."

Peter looked at his wall again. Peter was learning something.

"Supposing," he asked, "I was able to get your fine remitted, and that
clause struck out of the lease. Would you open on Sunday?"

"Divil a bit."

"When must you pay the fine?"

"Oi'm out on bail till to-morrow, sir."

"Then leave these papers with me, and come in about this time."

Peter studied his wall for a bit after his new client was gone. He did
not like either saloon-keepers or law-breakers, but this case seemed to
him to have--to have--extenuating circumstances. His cogitations
finally resulted in his going to Justice Gallagher's court. He found the
judge rather curt.

"He's been up here three times in as many months, and I intend to make
an example of him."

"But why is only he arrested, when every saloon keeper in the
neighborhood does the same thing?"

"Now, sir," said the judge, "don't waste any more of my time. What's the
next case?"

A look we have mentioned once or twice came into Peter's face. He
started to leave the court, but encountered at the door one of the
policemen whom he was "friends with," according to the children, which
meant that they had chatted sometimes in the "angle."

"What sort of a man is Dennis Moriarty?" he asked of him.

"A fine young fellow, supporting his mother and his younger brothers."

"Why is Justice Gallagher so down on him?"

The policeman looked about a moment. "It's politics, sir, and he's had
orders."

"From whom?"

"That's more than we know. There was a row last spring in the primary,
and we've had orders since then to lay for him."

Peter stood and thought for a moment. "What saloon-keeper round here has
the biggest pull?" he asked.

"It's all of them, mostly, but Blunkers is a big man."

"Thank you," said Peter. He stood in the street thinking a little. Then
he walked a couple of blocks and went into Blunkers's great gin palace.

"I want to see the proprietor," he said.

"Dat's me," said a man who was reading a paper behind the bar.

"Do you know Justice Gallagher?"

"Do I? Well, I guess," said the man.

"Will you do me the favor to go with me to his court, and get him to
remit Dennis Moriarty's fine?"

"Will I? No. I will not. Der's too many saloons, and one less will be
bully."

"In that case," said Peter quietly, "I suppose you won't mind my closing
yours up?"

"Wot der yer mean?" angrily inquired the man.

"If it comes to closing saloons, two can play at that game."

"Who is yer, anyway?" The man came out from behind the bar, squaring his
shoulders in an ugly manner.

"My name's Stirling. Peter Stirling."

The man looked at him with interest. "How'll yer close my place?"

"Get evidence against you, and prosecute you."

"Dat ain't de way."

"It will be my way."

"Wot yer got against me?"

"Nothing. But I intend to see Moriarty have fair play. You want to fight
on the square too. You're not a man to hit a fellow in the dark."

Peter was not flattering the man. He had measured him and was telling
him the result of that measure. He told it, too, in a way that made the
other man realize the opinion behind the words.

"Come on," said Blunkers, good-naturedly.

They went over to the court, and a whispered colloquy took place between
the justice and the bartender.

"That's all right, Mr. Stirling," presently said the judge. "Clerk,
strike Dennis Moriarty's fine off the list."

"Thank you," said Peter to the saloon-keeper. "If I can ever do a turn
for you, let me know it."

"Dat's hunky," said the man, and they parted.

Peter went out and walked into the region of the National Milk Company,
but this time he went to the brewery. He found Mr. Bohlmann, and told
him the story, asking his advice at the end.

"Dondt you vool von minute mit dod Edelheim. I dells you vot I do. I
harf choost a blace vacant down in Zender Streed, and your frient he
shall it haf."

So they chatted till all the details had been arranged. Dennis was to go
in as caretaker, bound to use only Bohlmann's beer, with a percentage on
that, and the profits on all else. He was to pay the rent, receiving a
sub-lease from Bohlmann, who was only a lesee himself, and to give a
chattel mortgage on the stock supplied him. Finally he was to have the
right of redemption of stock, lease, and good-will at any time within
five years, on making certain payments.

"You draw up der babers, Misder Stirling, and send der bill to me. Ve
vill give der yoonger a chance," the brewer said.

When Dennis called the next day, he was "spacheless" at the new
developments. He wrung Peter's hand.

"Arrah, what can Oi say to yez?" he exclaimed finally. Then having found
something, he quickly continued: "Now, Patsy Blunkers, lookout for
yezself. It's the divil Oi'll give yez in the primary this year."

He begged Peter to come down the opening night, and help to "celebrate
the event."

"Thank you," said Peter, "but I don't think I will."

"Shure," said Dennis, "yez needn't be afraid it won't be orderly. It's
myself can do the hittin', an' the b'ys know it."

"My mother brought me up," Peter explained, "not to go into saloons, and
when I came to New York I promised her, if I ever did anything she had
taught me not to, that I would write her about it. She would hardly
understand this visit, and it might make her very unhappy."

Peter earned fifty dollars by drawing the papers, and at the end of the
first month Dennis brought him fifty more.

"Trade's been fine, sir, an' Oi want to pay something for what yez did."

So Peter left his two hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, having
recouped the expenses of the first case out of his new client.

He wrote all about it to his mother:

"I am afraid you won't approve of what I did entirely, for I know
your strong feeling against men who make and sell liquor. But I
somehow have been made to feel in the last few days that more can
be done in the world by kindness and help than by frowns and
prosecutions. I had no thought of getting money out of the case,
so I am sure I was not influenced by that. It seemed to me that a
man was being unfairly treated, and that too, by laws which are
meant for other purposes. I really tried to think it out, and do
what seemed right to me. My last client has a look and a way of
speaking that makes me certain he's a fine fellow, and I shall try
to see something of him, provided it will not worry you to think
of me as friendly with a saloon-keeper. I know I can be of use to
him."

Little did Peter know how useful his last client would be to him.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PRIMARY.

After this rush of work, Peter's life became as routine as of yore. The
winter passed without an event worth noting, if we except a steadily
growing acquaintance with the dwellers of the district. But in July a
new phase was injected into it by a call from Dennis Moriarty.

"Good-mornin' to yez, sir, an' a fine day it is," said the latter, with
his usually breezy way.

"Yes," said Peter.

"Misther Stirling. An' is it engaged yez are for this night?"

"No." Peter had nothing.

"Then," said Dennis, "maybe ye'll be afther goin' wid me to the
primary?"

"What primary?"

"For the election of delegates to the convention, shure."

"No. What party?"

"What party is it?"

"Yes."

"Misther Stirling, do yez know my name?"

"Dennis Moriarty, isn't it?"

"Yes. An' what's my business?"

"You keep a saloon."

"Yes. An' what ward do Oi live in?"

"The sixth, don't you?"

"Then," said Dennis, his upper lip twisting into a smile of enormous
proportions, "Oi suppose yez afther thinkin' Oi'm a dirty black
Republican."

Peter laughed, as few could help doing, when Dennis led the way. "Look
here, Dennis," he said, "don't you run down that party. My father was a
Democrat, but he voted for Lincoln, and fought for the blacks when the
time came, and though I'm a Democrat like him, the Republicans are only
black in their sympathies, and not in their acts."

"An' what do yez say to the whisky frauds, an' black Friday, an' credit
mobilier?" asked Dennis.

"Of course I don't like them," said Peter; "but that's the politicians,
not the party."

"Shure," said Dennis, "what's the party but the men that run it?"

"You've seen something of Mr. Bohlmann lately, Dennis?"

"Yes."

"Well, he was the man who put Goldman in charge of that cow stable. Yet
he's an honest man."

Dennis scratched his head. "It's a convincin' way yez have wid yez," he
said; "but it's scoundrels the Republicans are, all the same. Look at
them in the district; there's not one a decent man would invite to drink
wid him."

"I think, Dennis," said Peter, "that when all the decent men get into
one party, there'll be only one worth talking about."

"Av course," replied Dennis. "That's the reason there's only the
Democratic party in New York City."

"Tell me about this primary," said Peter, concluding that abstract
political philosophy was not the way to liberalize Dennis.

"It's most important, it is," he was told, "it's on top Patsy Blunkers
an' his gang av dirty spalpeens (Dennis seemed to forget that he had
just expressed the opinion that all the "decent" men were Democrats)
have been this two years, but we've got orders for a new enrollment at
last, an' if we don't knock them this time, my name isn't Dinnis
Moriarty."

"What is the question before the meeting?"

"Afther the enrollment, it's to vote for delegates."

"Oh! Then it's just a struggle over who shall be elected?"

"That's it. But a fine, big fight it will be. The whole district's so
excited, sir, that it's twice Oi've had to pound the b'ys a bit in my
saloon to keep the peace."

"What do you want of me?"

"Shure, every vote counts on a night like this. An' ye'd be afther
helpin' us big, for the district likes yez."

"But, Dennis, I can't vote without knowing something about the way
things are. I shouldn't know whether I was voting rightly."

"Why, a man votes right when he votes for his friends!"

"No; a man votes right when he votes for his convictions."

"Convictions, is it?"

"Yes. That is, he votes as he thinks is best for the country."

"That, maybe, is the way yez do it where yez come from," said Dennis,
"but it's no good it would be here. Convictions, whatever they be, are
never nominated here. It's real things we're afther votin' for in New
York."

Peter laughed. "I've got to take you in hand, Dennis, and you've got to
take me in hand. I think we both need each other's help. Yes, I'll come
to the primary. Will they let me vote?"

"The dirty spalpeens will never dare to stop yez! Thank yez, sir. Oi'll
be along for yez about eight."

"Remember, though, Dennis--I don't say how I'll vote."

"Yez just listen, an I'm not afraid av what ye'll do."

That evening, Peter was ushered into a large hot room, pretty well
packed with men, and the interstices already filled in with dense
tobacco smoke. He looked about him curiously, and was surprised to find
how many of the faces he knew. Blackett, Dooley, and Milligan were
there, and shook hands with him warmly. Judge Gallagher and Blunkers
were in evidence. In plain clothes were two policemen, and three of the
"fire-laddies," who formed part of the "crew" of the nearest engine,
with all of whom he had often chatted. Mr. Dummer, his rival lawyer in
the case, and one of the jurymen in it, likewise were visible. Also many
faces which were familiar to Peter by a former occasional friendly word
or nod exchanged in passing. Intense excitement evidently reigned, and
every one was whispering in a sort of breathless way, which showed how
deeply interested they were.

At Dennis's suggestion, made in walking to the room, Peter presented
himself without guidance, at the desk. Some one behind him asked if he
lived in the ward, and for how long, but this was the only apparent
opposition made to the prompt entering of his name. Then Peter strolled
round and talked to those whom he knew, and tried to find out, without
much success, just what was the division. Every one knew that a fight
was on, but in just what it consisted they seemed neither to know nor
care.

He noticed that hot words were constantly exchanged at the enrolling
desk, over would-be members, but not understanding the exact nature of
the qualifications needed, he could not follow the disputes. Finally
these ceased, for want of applicants.

"Misther Stirling," said Dennis, coming up to him hurriedly. "Will yez
be afther bein' chairman for us?"

"No. I don't know anything about the proceedings."

"It don't take any," said Dennis. "It's only fair play we're afther."

He was gone again before Peter could say anything. The next instant, the
enrolling officer rose and spoke.

"Are there any more to be enrolled?" he called. No one came forward, so
after a moment he said: "Will the meeting choose a presiding officer?"

"Mr. Chairman," rang two voices so quickly that they in truth cut the
presiding officer off in his suggestion.

"Mr. Muldoon," said that officer.

"Oi spoke first," shouted Dennis, and Peter felt that he had, and that
he was not having fair play.

Instantly a wave of protest, denials, charges, and counter-charges swept
through the room, Peter thought there was going to be a fight, but the
position was too critical to waste a moment on what Dennis styled "a
diversion." It was business, not pleasure, just then.

"Mr. Muldoon," said the officer again, not heeding the tempest in the
least.

"Mr. Chairman," shouted Muldoon, "I am proud to nominate Justice
Gallagher, the pride of the bar, for chairman of this distinguished
meeting, and I move to make his election unanimous."

"Misther Chairman," shouted Dennis.

"Mr. Moriarty," said the officer.

"Misther Chairman, Oi have the honor to nominate for chairman av this
meetin' the people's an' the children's friend, Misther Peter Stirling,
an' Oi don't have to move to make it unanimous, for such is the
intelligince an' manhood av this meetin' that it will be that way for
shure."

Peter saw a hurried consultation going on between Gallagher, Muldoon,
and two others, during the latter part of this speech, and barely had
Dennis finished his remarks, when Justice Gallagher spoke up.

"Mr. Chairman."

"The Honorable Justice Gallagher," said that gentleman.

"I take pride in withdrawing in favor of Mr. Stirling, who so justly
merits the honor of presiding on this important occasion. From recent
events too well known to need mention, I am sure we can all look to him
for justice and fairness."

"Bad cess to him!" groaned Dennis. "Oi hoped they'd be just fools enough
to oppose yez, an' then we'd have won the first blood."

Peter was chosen without dissent, and was escorted to the seat behind
the desk.

"What is the first business before the meeting?" he asked of Gallagher,
aside, as he was taking his seat.

"Election of delegates to the State convention. That's all to-night," he
was told.

Peter had presided at college in debates, and was not flurried. "Will
you stay here so as to give me the names of those I don't know?" he said
to the enrolling officer. "The meeting will please come to order," he
continued aloud. "The nomination of delegates to the State convention is
the business to be acted upon."

"Misther Chairman," yelled Dennis, evidently expecting to find another
rival as before. But no one spoke.

"Mr. Moriarty," said Peter.

"Misther Chairman. It's my delight to nominate as delegates to the State
convention, the Honorable Misther Schlurger, our distinguished
representative in the Assembly, the Honorable Misther Kennedy, our noble
Police-commissioner, an' Misther Caggs, whom it would be insult for me
to praise in this company."

"Second the motion," said some one.

"Mr. Chairman," shouted a man.

"That's Caggs," said the enrolling officer.

"Mr. Caggs," said Peter.

"Mr. Chairman," said Caggs. "I must decline the honor offered me from
such a source."

"What?" shrieked Dennis, amazement and rage contesting for first place
in voice and expression.

"Mr. Chairman," said Dummer.

"Mr. Dummer," said Peter.

"I have the honor to nominate the Honorable Justice Gallagher, Mr. Peter
Sweeney, and Mr. Caggs, to whom Mr. Moriarty has just paid so glowing a
tribute, as delegates to the State convention."

"Second the--" shouted some one, but the rest was drowned by another
storm which swept through the room. Even above the tumult, Peter could
hear Dennis challenging and beseeching Mr. Caggs to come "outside an'
settle it like gentlemen." Caggs, from a secure retreat behind
Blunkers's right arm, declined to let the siren's song tempt him forth.
Finally Peter's pounding brought a degree of quiet again.

"Misther Chairman," said Dennis.

"Mr. Moriarty," said Peter.

"Misther Chairman. Oi'll not take the valuable time av this meetin' to
speak av dirty, cowardly, black-hearted, treacherous snakes, wid souls
blacker than the divil's own--"

"Order!" said Peter to the crowd.

"No," continued Dennis, in answer to the audible remarks of the
opposition. "It's no names Oi'm callin'. If yez know such a beast, such
a snake, fit it to him. Oi'm mentionin' no names. As Oi was sayin',
Misther Chairman, Oi'll not waste the time av this meetin' wid
discribin' the conduct av a beast so vile that he must be the contempt
av every honest man. Who would have been driven out by St. Patrick, wid
the rest av the reptiles, if he'd lived at that time. Oi only rise to
widdraw the name av Caggs from the list Oi nominated for delegates to
the state convention, an' to put in place av it that av a man who is as
noble an' true, as some are false an' divilish. That of Misther Peter
Stirling, God bless him!"

Once more chaos came. Peter pounded in vain. Both sides were at fever
heat. Finally Peter rose.

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