________________________________________________
_ And now at last Chicago is really facing the thing which it has
most feared. A giant monopoly is really reaching out to enfold
it with an octopus-like grip. And Cowperwood is its eyes, its
tentacles, its force! Embedded in the giant strength and good will
of Haeckelheimer, Gotloeb & Co., he is like a monument based on a
rock of great strength. A fifty-year franchise, to be delivered
to him by a majority of forty-eight out of a total of sixty-eight
aldermen (in case the ordinance has to be passed over the mayor's
veto), is all that now stands between him and the realization of
his dreams. What a triumph for his iron policy of courage in the
face of all obstacles! What a tribute to his ability not to flinch
in the face of storm and stress! Other men might have abandoned
the game long before, but not he. What a splendid windfall of
chance that the money element should of its own accord take fright
at the Chicago idea of the municipalization of public privilege
and should hand him this giant South Side system as a reward for
his stern opposition to fol-de-rol theories.
Through the influence of these powerful advocates he was invited
to speak before various local commercial bodies--the Board of Real
Estate Dealers, the Property Owners' Association, the Merchants'
League, the Bankers' Union, and so forth, where he had an opportunity
to present his case and justify his cause. But the effect of his
suave speechifyings in these quarters was largely neutralized by
newspaper denunciation. "Can any good come out of Nazareth?" was
the regular inquiry. That section of the press formerly beholden
to Hand and Schryhart stood out as bitterly as ever; and most of
the other newspapers, being under no obligation to Eastern capital,
felt it the part of wisdom to support the rank and file. The most
searching and elaborate mathematical examinations were conducted
with a view to showing the fabulous profits of the streetcar trust
in future years. The fine hand of Eastern banking-houses was
detected and their sinister motives noised abroad. "Millions for
everybody in the trust, but not one cent for Chicago," was the
Inquirer's way of putting it. Certain altruists of the community
were by now so aroused that in the destruction of Cowperwood they
saw their duty to God, to humanity, and to democracy straight and
clear. The heavens had once more opened, and they saw a great
light. On the other hand the politicians--those in office outside
the mayor--constituted a petty band of guerrillas or free-booters
who, like hungry swine shut in a pen, were ready to fall upon any
and all propositions brought to their attention with but one end
in view: that they might eat, and eat heartily. In times of great
opportunity and contest for privilege life always sinks to its
lowest depths of materialism and rises at the same time to its
highest reaches of the ideal. When the waves of the sea are most
towering its hollows are most awesome.
Finally the summer passed, the council assembled, and with the
first breath of autumn chill the very air of the city was touched
by a premonition of contest. Cowperwood, disappointed by the
outcome of his various ingratiatory efforts, decided to fall back
on his old reliable method of bribery. He fixed on his price
--twenty thousand dollars for each favorable vote, to begin with.
Later, if necessary, he would raise it to twenty-five thousand,
or even thirty thousand, making the total cost in the neighborhood
of a million and a half. Yet it was a small price indeed when the
ultimate return was considered. He planned to have his ordinance
introduced by an alderman named Ballenberg, a trusted lieutenant,
and handed thereafter to the clerk, who would read it, whereupon
another henchman would rise to move that it be referred to the
joint committee on streets and alleys, consisting of thirty-four
members drawn from all the standing committees. By this committee
it would be considered for one week in the general council-chamber,
where public hearings would be held. By keeping up a bold front
Cowperwood thought the necessary iron could be put into his followers
to enable them to go through with the scorching ordeal which was
sure to follow. Already aldermen were being besieged at their
homes and in the precincts of the ward clubs and meeting-places.
Their mail was being packed with importuning or threatening letters.
Their very children were being derided, their neighbors urged to
chastise them. Ministers wrote them in appealing or denunciatory
vein. They were spied upon and abused daily in the public prints.
The mayor, shrewd son of battle that he was, realizing that he had
a whip of terror in his hands, excited by the long contest waged,
and by the smell of battle, was not backward in urging the most
drastic remedies.
"Wait till the thing comes up," he said to his friends, in a great
central music-hall conference in which thousands participated, and
when the matter of ways and means to defeat the venal aldermen was
being discussed. "We have Mr. Cowperwood in a corner, I think.
He cannot do anything for two weeks, once his ordinance is in, and
by that time we shall be able to organize a vigilance committee,
ward meetings, marching clubs, and the like. We ought to organize
a great central mass-meeting for the Sunday night before the Monday
when the bill comes up for final hearing. We want overflow meetings
in every ward at the same time. I tell you, gentlemen, that, while
I believe there are enough honest voters in the city council to
prevent the Cowperwood crowd from passing this bill over my veto,
yet I don't think the matter ought to be allowed to go that far.
You never can tell what these rascals will do once they see an
actual cash bid of twenty or thirty thousand dollars before them.
Most of them, even if they were lucky, would never make the half
of that in a lifetime. They don't expect to be returned to the
Chicago City Council. Once is enough. There are too many others
behind them waiting to get their noses in the trough. Go into
your respective wards and districts and organize meetings. Call
your particular alderman before you. Don't let him evade you or
quibble or stand on his rights as a private citizen or a public
officer. Threaten--don't cajole. Soft or kind words won't go
with that type of man. Threaten, and when you have managed to
extract a promise be on hand with ropes to see that he keeps his
word. I don't like to advise arbitrary methods, but what else is
to be done? The enemy is armed and ready for action right now.
They're just waiting for a peaceful moment. Don't let them find
it. Be ready. Fight. I'm your mayor, and ready to do all I can,
but I stand alone with a mere pitiful veto right. You help me and
I'll help you. You fight for me and I'll fight for you."
Witness hereafter the discomfiting situation of Mr. Simon Pinski
at 9 P.M. on the second evening following the introduction of the
ordinance, in the ward house of the Fourteenth Ward Democratic
Club. Rotund, flaccid, red-faced, his costume a long black
frock-coat and silk hat, Mr. Pinski was being heckled by his
neighbors and business associates. He had been called here by
threats to answer for his prospective high crimes and misdemeanors.
By now it was pretty well understood that nearly all the present
aldermen were criminal and venal, and in consequence party enmities
were practically wiped out. There were no longer for the time
being Democrats and Republicans, but only pro or anti Cowperwoods
--principally anti. Mr. Pinski, unfortunately, had been singled
out by the Transcript, the Inquirer, and the Chronicle as one of
those open to advance questioning by his constituents. Of mixed
Jewish and American extraction, he had been born and raised in the
Fourteenth and spoke with a decidedly American accent. He was
neither small nor large--sandy-haired, shifty-eyed, cunning, and
on most occasions amiable. Just now he was decidedly nervous,
wrathy, and perplexed, for he had been brought here against his
will. His slightly oleaginous eye--not unlike that of a small
pig--had been fixed definitely and finally on the munificent sum
of thirty thousand dollars, no less, and this local agitation
threatened to deprive him of his almost unalienable right to the
same. His ordeal took place in a large, low-ceiled room illuminated
by five very plain, thin, two-armed gas-jets suspended from the
ceiling and adorned by posters of prizefights, raffles, games, and
the "Simon Pinski Pleasure Association" plastered here and there
freely against dirty, long-unwhitewashed walls. He stood on the
low raised platform at the back of the room, surrounded by a score
or more of his ward henchmen, all more or less reliable, all
black-frocked, or at least in their Sunday clothes; all scowling,
nervous, defensive, red-faced, and fearing trouble. Mr. Pinski
has come armed. This talk of the mayor's concerning guns, ropes,
drums, marching clubs, and the like has been given very wide
publicity, and the public seems rather eager for a Chicago holiday
in which the slaughter of an alderman or so might furnish the
leading and most acceptable feature.
"Hey, Pinski!" yells some one out of a small sea of new and decidedly
unfriendly faces. (This is no meeting of Pinski followers, but a
conglomerate outpouring of all those elements of a distrait populace
bent on enforcing for once the principles of aldermanic decency.
There are even women here--local church-members, and one or two
advanced civic reformers and W. C. T. U. bar-room smashers. Mr.
Pinski has been summoned to their presence by the threat that if
he didn't come the noble company would seek him out later at his
own house.)
"Hey, Pinski! You old boodler! How much do you expect to get out
of this traction business?" (This from a voice somewhere in the
rear.)
Mr. Pinski (turning to one side as if pinched in the neck). "The
man that says I am a boodler is a liar! I never took a dishonest
dollar in my life, and everybody in the Fourteenth Ward knows it."
The Five Hundred People Assembled. "Ha! ha! ha! Pinski never took
a dollar! Ho! ho! ho! Whoop-ee!"
Mr. Pinski (very red-faced, rising). "It is so. Why should I
talk to a lot of loafers that come here because the papers tell
them to call me names? I have been an alderman for six years now.
Everybody knows me.
A Voice. "You call us loafers. You crook!"
Another Voice (referring to his statement of being known). "You
bet they do!"
Another Voice (this from a small, bony plumber in workclothes).
"Hey, you old grafter! Which way do you expect to vote? For or
against this franchise? Which way?"
Still Another Voice (an insurance clerk). "Yes, which way?"
Mr. Pinski (rising once more, for in his nervousness he is constantly
rising or starting to rise, and then sitting down again). "I have
a right to my own mind, ain't I? I got a right to think. What
for am I an alderman, then? The constitution..."
An Anti-Pinski Republican (a young law clerk). "To hell with the
constitution! No fine words now, Pinski. Which way do you expect
to vote? For or against? Yes or no?"
A Voice (that of a bricklayer, anti-Pinski). "He daresn't say.
He's got some of that bastard's money in his jeans now, I'll bet."
A Voice from Behind (one of Pinski's henchmen--a heavy, pugilistic
Irishman). "Don't let them frighten you, Sim. Stand your ground.
They can't hurt you. We're here."
Pinski (getting up once more). "This is an outrage, I say. Ain't
I gon' to be allowed to say what I think? There are two sides to
every question. Now, I think whatever the newspapers say that
Cowperwood--"
A Journeyman Carpenter (a reader of the Inquirer). "You're bribed,
you thief! You're beating about the bush. You want to sell out."
The Bony Plumber. "Yes, you crook! You want to get away with
thirty thousand dollars, that's what you want, you boodler!"
Mr. Pinski (defiantly, egged on by voices from behind). "I want
to be fair--that's what. I want to keep my own mind. The
constitution gives everybody the right of free speech--even me.
I insist that the street-car companies have some rights; at the
same time the people have rights too."
A Voice. "What are those rights?"
Another Voice. "He don't know. He wouldn't know the people's
rights from a sawmill."
Another Voice. "Or a load of hay."
Pinski (continuing very defiantly now, since he has not yet been
slain). "I say the people have their rights. The companies ought
to be made to pay a fair tax. But this twenty-year-franchise idea
is too little, I think. The Mears bill now gives them fifty years,
and I think all told--"
The Five Hundred (in chorus). "Ho, you robber! You thief! You
boodler! Hang him! Ho! ho! ho! Get a rope!"
Pinski (retreating within a defensive circle as various citizens
approach him, their eyes blazing, their teeth showing, their fists
clenched). "My friends, wait! Ain't I goin' to be allowed to
finish?"
A Voice. "We'll finish you, you stiff!"
A Citizen (advancing; a bearded Pole). "How will you vote, hey?
Tell us that! How? Hey?"
A Second Citizen (a Jew). "You're a no-good, you robber. I know
you for ten years now already. You cheated me when you were in
the grocery business."
A Third Citizen (a Swede. In a sing-song voice). "Answer me this,
Mr. Pinski. If a majority of the citizens of the Fourteenth Ward
don't want you to vote for it, will you still vote for it?"
Pinski (hesitating).
The Five Hundred. "Ho! look at the scoundrel! He's afraid to say.
He don't know whether he'll do what the people of this ward want
him to do. Kill him! Brain him!"
A Voice from Behind. "Aw, stand up, Pinski. Don't be afraid."
Pinski (terrorized as the five hundred make a rush for the stage).
"If the people don't want me to do it, of course I won't do it.
Why should I? Ain't I their representative?"
A Voice. "Yes, when you think you're going to get the wadding
kicked out of you."
Another Voice. "You wouldn't be honest with your mother, you
bastard. You couldn't be!"
Pinski. "If one-half the voters should ask me not to do it I
wouldn't do it."
A Voice. "Well, we'll get the voters to ask you, all right. We'll
get nine-tenths of them to sign before to-morrow night."
An Irish-American (aged twenty-six; a gas collector; coming close
to Pinski). "If you don't vote right we'll hang you, and I'll be
there to help pull the rope myself."
One of Pinski's Lieutenants. "Say, who is that freshie? We want
to lay for him. One good kick in the right place will just about
finish him."
The Gas Collector. "Not from you, you carrot-faced terrier. Come
outside and see." (Business of friends interfering).
The meeting becomes disorderly. Pinski is escorted out by friends
--completely surrounded--amid shrieks and hisses, cat-calls, cries
of "Boodler!" "Thief!" "Robber!"
There were many such little dramatic incidents after the ordinance
had been introduced.
Henceforth on the streets, in the wards and outlying sections, and
even, on occasion, in the business heart, behold the marching
clubs--those sinister, ephemeral organizations which on demand of
the mayor had cropped out into existence--great companies of the
unheralded, the dull, the undistinguished--clerks, working-men,
small business men, and minor scions of religion or morality; all
tramping to and fro of an evening, after working-hours, assembling
in cheap halls and party club-houses, and drilling themselves to
what end? That they might march to the city hall on the fateful
Monday night when the street-railway ordinances should be up for
passage and demand of unregenerate lawmakers that they do their
duty. Cowperwood, coming down to his office one morning on his
own elevated lines, was the observer of a button or badge worn
upon the coat lapel of stolid, inconsequential citizens who sat
reading their papers, unconscious of that presence which epitomized
the terror and the power they all feared. One of these badges had
for its device a gallows with a free noose suspended; another was
blazoned with the query: "Are we going to be robbed?" On sign-boards,
fences, and dead walls huge posters, four by six feet in dimension,
were displayed.
WALDEN H. LUCAS
against the
BOODLERS
===========================
Every citizen of Chicago should
come down to the City Hall
TO-NIGHT
MONDAY, DEC. 12
===========================
and every Monday night
thereafter while the Street-car
Franchises are under consideration,
and see that the interests
of the city are protected against
BOODLEISM
=========
Citizens, Arouse and Defeat the Boodlers!
In the papers were flaring head-lines; in the clubs, halls, and
churches fiery speeches could nightly be heard. Men were drunk
now with a kind of fury of contest. They would not succumb to
this Titan who was bent on undoing them. They would not be devoured
by this gorgon of the East. He should be made to pay an honest
return to the city or get out. No fifty-year franchise should be
granted him. The Mears law must be repealed, and he must come
into the city council humble and with clean hands. No alderman
who received as much as a dollar for his vote should in this
instance be safe with his life.
Needless to say that in the face of such a campaign of intimidation
only great courage could win. The aldermen were only human. In
the council committee-chamber Cowperwood went freely among them,
explaining as he best could the justice of his course and making
it plain that, although willing to buy his rights, he looked on
them as no more than his due. The rule of the council was barter,
and he accepted it. His unshaken and unconquerable defiance
heartened his followers greatly, and the thought of thirty thousand
dollars was as a buttress against many terrors. At the same time
many an alderman speculated solemnly as to what he would do afterward
and where he would go once he had sold out.
At last the Monday night arrived which was to bring the final test
of strength. Picture the large, ponderous structure of black
granite--erected at the expense of millions and suggesting somewhat
the somnolent architecture of ancient Egypt--which served as the
city hall and county court-house combined. On this evening the
four streets surrounding it were packed with thousands of people.
To this throng Cowperwood has become an astounding figure: his
wealth fabulous, his heart iron, his intentions sinister--the
acme of cruel, plotting deviltry. Only this day, the Chronicle,
calculating well the hour and the occasion, has completely covered
one of its pages with an intimate, though exaggerated, description
of Cowperwood's house in New York: his court of orchids, his sunrise
room, the baths of pink and blue alabaster, the finishings of
marble and intaglio. Here Cowperwood was represented as seated
in a swinging divan, his various books, art treasures, and
comforts piled about him. The idea was vaguely suggested that in
his sybaritic hours odalesques danced before him and unnamable
indulgences and excesses were perpetrated.
At this same hour in the council-chamber itself were assembling
as hungry and bold a company of gray wolves as was ever gathered
under one roof. The room was large, ornamented to the south by
tall windows, its ceiling supporting a heavy, intricate chandelier,
its sixty-six aldermanic desks arranged in half-circles, one behind
the other; its woodwork of black oak carved and highly polished;
its walls a dark blue-gray decorated with arabesques in gold--thus
giving to all proceedings an air of dignity and stateliness. Above
the speaker's head was an immense portrait in oil of a former mayor
--poorly done, dusty, and yet impressive. The size and character
of the place gave on ordinary occasions a sort of resonance to the
voices of the speakers. To-night through the closed windows could
be heard the sound of distant drums and marching feet. In the
hall outside the council door were packed at least a thousand men
with ropes, sticks, a fife-and-drum corps which occasionally struck
up "Hail! Columbia, Happy Land," "My Country, "Tis of Thee," and
"Dixie." Alderman Schlumbohm, heckled to within an inch of his
life, followed to the council door by three hundred of his
fellow-citizens, was there left with the admonition that they would
be waiting for him when he should make his exit. He was at last
seriously impressed.
"What is this?" he asked of his neighbor and nearest associate,
Alderman Gavegan, when he gained the safety of his seat. "A free
country?"
"Search me!" replied his compatriot, wearily. "I never seen such
a band as I have to deal with out in the Twentieth. Why, my God!
a man can't call his name his own any more out here. It's got so
now the newspapers tell everybody what to do."
Alderman Pinski and Alderman Hoherkorn, conferring together in one
corner, were both very dour. "I'll tell you what, Joe," said
Pinski to his confrere; "it's this fellow Lucas that has got the
people so stirred up. I didn't go home last night because I didn't
want those fellows to follow me down there. Me and my wife stayed
down-town. But one of the boys was over here at Jake's a little
while ago, and he says there must 'a' been five hundred people
around my house at six o'clock, already. Whad ye think o' that?"
"Same here. I don't take much stock in this lynching idea. Still,
you can't tell. I don't know whether the police could help us
much or not. It's a damned outrage. Cowperwood has a fair
proposition. What's the matter with them, anyhow?"
Renewed sounds of "Marching Through Georgia" from without.
Enter at this time Aldermen Ziner, Knudson, Revere, Rogers, Tiernan,
and Kerrigan. Of all the aldermen perhaps Messrs. Tiernan and
Kerrigan were as cool as any. Still the spectacle of streets
blocked with people who carried torches and wore badges showing
slip-nooses attached to a gallows was rather serious.
"I'll tell you, Pat," said "Smiling Mike," as they eventually made
the door through throngs of jeering citizens; "it does look a
little rough. Whad ye think?"
"To hell with them!" replied Kerrigan, angry, waspish, determined.
"They don't run me or my ward. I'll vote as I damn please."
"Same here," replied Tiernan, with a great show of courage. "That
goes for me. But it's putty warm, anyhow, eh?"
"Yes, it's warm, all right," replied Kerrigan, suspicious lest his
companion in arms might be weakening, "but that'll never make a
quitter out of me."
"Nor me, either," replied the Smiling One.
Enter now the mayor, accompanied by a fife-and-drum corps rendering
"Hail to the Chief." He ascends the rostrum. Outside in the halls
the huzzas of the populace. In the gallery overhead a picked
audience. As the various aldermen look up they contemplate a sea
of unfriendly faces. "Get on to the mayor's guests," commented
one alderman to another, cynically.
A little sparring for time while minor matters are considered, and
the gallery is given opportunity for comment on the various communal
lights, identifying for itself first one local celebrity and then
another. "There's Johnnie Dowling, that big blond fellow with the
round head; there's Pinski--look at the little rat; there's Kerrigan.
Get on to the emerald. Eh, Pat, how's the jewelry? You won't get
any chance to do any grafting to-night, Pat. You won't pass no
ordinance to-night."
Alderman Winkler (pro-Cowperwood). "If the chair pleases, I think
something ought to be done to restore order in the gallery and
keep these proceedings from being disturbed. It seems to me an
outrage, that, on an occasion of this kind, when the interests of
the people require the most careful attention--"
A Voice. "The interests of the people!"
Another Voice. "Sit down. You're bought!"
Alderman Winkler. "If the chair pleases--"
The Mayor. "I shall have to ask the audience in the gallery to
keep quiet in order that the business in hand may be considered."
(Applause, and the gallery lapses into silence.)
Alderman Guigler (to Alderman Sumulsky). "Well trained, eh?"
Alderman Ballenberg (pro-Cowperwood, getting up--large, brown,
florid, smooth-faced). "Before calling up an ordinance which bears
my name I should like to ask permission of the council to make a
statement. When I introduced this ordinance last week I said--"
A Voice. "We know what you said."
Alderman Ballenberg. "I said that I did so by request. I want
to explain that it was at the request of a number of gentlemen who
have since appeared before the committee of this council that now
has this ordinance--"
A Voice. "That's all right, Ballenberg. We know by whose request
you introduced it. You've said your little say."
Alderman Ballenberg. "If the chair pleases--"
A Voice. "Sit down, Ballenberg. Give some other boodler a chance."
The Mayor. "Will the gallery please stop interrupting."
Alderman Horanek (jumping to his feet). "This is an outrage. The
gallery is packed with people come here to intimidate us. Here
is a great public corporation that has served this city for years,
and served it well, and when it comes to this body with a sensible
proposition we ain't even allowed to consider it. The mayor packs
the gallery with his friends, and the papers stir up people to come
down here by thousands and try to frighten us. I for one--"
A Voice. "What's the matter, Billy? Haven't you got your money
yet?"
Alderman Hvranek (Polish-American, intelligent, even artistic
looking, shaking his fist at the gallery). "You dare not come
down here and say that, you coward!"
A Chorus of Fifty Voices. "Rats!" (also) "Billy, you ought to
have wings."
Alderman Tiernan (rising). "I say now, Mr. Mayor, don't you think
we've had enough of this?"
A Voice. "Well, look who's here. If it ain't Smiling Mike."
Another Voice. "How much do you expect to get, Mike?"
Alderman Tiernan (turning to gallery). "I want to say I can lick
any man that wants to come down here and talk to me to my face.
I'm not afraid of no ropes and no guns. These corporations have
done everything for the city--"
A Voice. "Aw!"
Alderman Tiernan. "If it wasn't for the street-car companies we
wouldn't have any city."
Ten Voices. "Aw!"
Alderman Tiernan (bravely). "My mind ain't the mind of some people."
A Voice. "I should say not."
Alderman Tiernan. "I'm talking for compensation for the privileges
we expect to give."
A Voice. "You're talking for your pocket-book."
Alderman Tiernan. "I don't give a damn for these cheap skates and
cowards in the gallery. I say treat these corporations right.
They have helped make the city."
A Chorus of Fifty Voices. "Aw! You want to treat yourself right,
that's what you want. You vote right to-night or you'll be sorry."
By now the various aldermen outside of the most hardened characters
were more or less terrified by the grilling contest. It could do
no good to battle with this gallery or the crowd outside. Above
them sat the mayor, before them reporters, ticking in shorthand
every phrase and word. "I don't see what we can do," said Alderman
Pinski to Alderman Hvranek, his neighbor. "It looks to me as if
we might just as well not try."
At this point arose Alderman Gilleran, small, pale, intelligent,
anti-Cowperwood. By prearrangement he had been scheduled to bring
the second, and as it proved, the final test of strength to the
issue. "If the chair pleases," he said, "I move that the vote by
which the Ballenberg fifty-year ordinance was referred to the joint
committee of streets and alleys be reconsidered, and that instead
it be referred to the committee on city hall."
This was a committee that hitherto had always been considered by
members of council as of the least importance. Its principal
duties consisted in devising new names for streets and regulating
the hours of city-hall servants. There were no perquisites, no
graft. In a spirit of ribald defiance at the organization of the
present session all the mayor's friends--the reformers--those who
could not be trusted--had been relegated to this committee. Now
it was proposed to take this ordinance out of the hands of friends
and send it here, from whence unquestionably it would never reappear.
The great test had come.
Alderman Hoberkorn (mouthpiece for his gang because the most skilful
in a parliamentary sense). "The vote cannot be reconsidered." He
begins a long explanation amid hisses.
A Voice. "How much have you got?"
A Second Voice. "You've been a boodler all your life."
Alderman Hoberkorn (turning to the gallery, a light of defiance
in his eye). "You come here to intimidate us, but you can't do
it. You're too contemptible to notice."
A Voice. "You hear the drums, don't you?"
A Second Voice. "Vote wrong, Hoberkorn, and see. We know you."
Alderman Tiernan (to himself). "Say, that's pretty rough, ain't
it?"
The Mayor. "Motion overruled. The point is not well taken."
Alderman Guigler (rising a little puzzled). "Do we vote now on
the Gilleran resolution?"
A Voice. "You bet you do, and you vote right."
The Mayor. "Yes. The clerk will call the roll."
The Clerk (reading the names, beginning with the A's). "Altvast?"
(pro-Cowperwood).
Alderman Altvast. "Yea." Fear had conquered him.
Alderman Tiernan (to Alderman Kerrigan). "Well, there's one baby
down."
Alderman Kerrigan. "Yep."
"Ballenberg?" (Pro-Cowperwood; the man who had introduced the
ordinance.)
"Yea."
Alderman Tiernan. "Say, has Ballenberg weakened?"
Alderman Kerrigan. "It looks that way."
"Canna?"
"Yea."
"Fogarty?"
"Yea."
Alderman Tiernan (nervously). "There goes Fogarty."
"Hvranek?"
"Yea."
Alderman Tiernan. "And Hvranek!"
Alderman Kerrigan (referring to the courage of his colleagues).
"It's coming out of their hair."
In exactly eighty seconds the roll-call was in and Cowperwood had
lost--41 to 25. It was plain that the ordinance could never be
revived. _
Read next: chapter LXII - The Recompense
Read previous: chapter LX - The Net
Table of content of Titan
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
