"Why not Paret?"suggested Leonard Dickinson.Mr.Watling was not present at this conference."Paret seems to be running Watling's campaign,anyway."It was settled that I should be the emissary.With lively sensations of curiosity and excitement,tempered by a certain anxiety as to my ability to match wits with the Spider,I made my way to his "lair"over Monahan's saloon,situated in a district that was anything but respectable.The saloon,on the ground floor,had two apartments;the bar-room proper where Mike Monahan,chamberlain of the establishment,was wont to stand,red faced and smiling,to greet the courtiers,big and little,the party workers,the district leaders,the hangers-on ready to be hired,the city officials,the police judges,--yes,and the dignified members of state courts whose elections depended on Mr.Jason's favour:even Judge Bering,whose acquaintance I had made the day I had come,as a law student,to Mr.Watling's office,unbent from time to time sufficiently to call there for a small glass of rye and water,and to relate,with his owl-like gravity,an anecdote to the "boys."The saloon represented Democracy,so dear to the American public.Here all were welcome,even the light-fingered gentlemen who enjoyed the privilege of police protection;and who sometimes,through fortuitous circumstances,were hauled before the very magistrates with whom they had rubbed elbows on the polished rail.
Behind the bar-room,and separated from it by swinging doors only the elite ventured to thrust apart,was an audience chamber whither Mr.Jason occasionally descended.Anecdote and political reminiscence gave place here to matters of high policy.
I had several times come to the saloon in the days of my apprenticeship in search of some judge or official,and once I had run down here the city auditor himself.Mike Monahan,whose affair it was to know everyone,recognized me.It was part of his business,also,to understand that I was now a member of the firm of Watling,Fowndes and Ripon.
"Good morning to you,Mr.Paret,"he said suavely.We held a colloquy in undertones over the bar,eyed by the two or three customers who were present.Mr.Monahan disappeared,but presently returned to whisper:
"Sure,he'll see you,"to lead the way through the swinging doors and up a dark stairway.I came suddenly on a room in the greatest disorder,its tables and chairs piled high with newspapers and letters,its windows streaked with soot.From an open door on its farther side issued a voice.
"Is that you,Mr.Paret?Come in here."
It was little less than a command.
"Heard of you,Mr.Paret.Glad to know you.Sit down,won't you?"The inner room was almost dark.I made out a bed in the corner,and propped up in the bed a man;but for the moment I was most aware of a pair of eyes that flared up when the man spoke,and died down again when he became silent.They reminded me of those insects which in my childhood days we called "lightning bugs."Mr.Jason gave me a hand like a woman's.I expressed my pleasure at meeting him,and took a chair beside the bed.
"I believe you're a partner of Theodore Watling's now aren't you?Smart man,Watling.""He'll make a good senator,"I replied,accepting the opening.
"You think he'll get elected--do you?"Mr.Jason inquired.
I laughed.
"Well,there isn't much doubt about that,I imagine.""Don't know--don't know.Seen some dead-sure things go wrong in my time.""What's going to defeat him?"I asked pleasantly.
"I don't say anything,"Mr.Jason replied."But I've known funny things to happen--never does to be dead sure.""Oh,well,we're as sure as it's humanly possible to be,"I declared.
The eyes continued to fascinate me,they had a peculiar,disquieting effect.Now they died down,and it was as if the man's very presence had gone out,as though I had been left alone;and I found it exceedingly difficult,under the circumstances,to continue to address him.Suddenly he flared up again.
"Watling send you over here?"he demanded.
"No.As a matter of fact,he's out of town.Some of Mr.Watling's friends,Mr.Grunewald and Mr.Dickinson,Mr.Gorse and others,suggested that I see you,Mr.Jason."There came a grunt from the bed.
"Mr.Watling has always valued your friendship and support,"I said.
"What makes him think he ain't going to get it?""He hasn't a doubt of it,"I went on diplomatically."But we felt--and Ifelt personally,that we ought to be in touch with you,to work along with you,to keep informed how things are going in the city.""What things?""Well--there are one or two representatives,friends of yours,who haven't come out for Mr.Watling.We aren't worrying,we know you'll do the right thing,but we feel that it would have a good deal of influence in some other parts of the state if they declared themselves.And then you know as well as I do that this isn't a year when any of us can afford to recognize too closely party lines;the Democratic administration has brought on a panic,the business men in that party are down on it,and it ought to be rebuked.And we feel,too,that some of the city's Democrats ought to be loyal to Mr.Watling,--not that we expect them to vote for him in caucus,but when it comes to the joint ballot--""Who?"demanded Mr.Jason.
"Senator Dowse and Jim Maher,for instance,"I suggested.
"Jim voted for Bill 709all right--didn't he?"said Mr.Jason abruptly.
"That's just it,"I put in boldly."We'd like to induce him to come in with us this time.But we feel that--the inducement would better come through you."I thought Mr.Jason smiled.By this time I had grown accustomed to the darkness,the face and figure of the man in the bed had become discernible.Power,I remember thinking,chooses odd houses for itself.
