I HAVE often tried to draw a mental picture of
his lean, colorless face since my series of
encounters with the cunning brain behind it, and
each time my picture changes. Certain central
details, however, stand out vividly — the blinking
eyes behind the black rimmed spectacles, the
fringe of sparse gray hair, the thin, cackling
voice, the rusty black suit, and the clubbed foot
resting on a little stool before his chair.
So far as emotion was concerned, his face
might have been a slate sponged clean. On the
desk were always a glass of water and a brightly
polished apple. Whether the water was ever drunk
or the apple ever eaten no one seemed to know.
Such was the man who had built up a
political power almost incredible in the thoroughness
of its details and the elusiveness of its
evidence. Seldom appearing in public, almost a
misanthrope, Solomon Enright had been the unseen
swayer of every election in Merino County for a
generation. Once, years before, he had gone to the
State Senate for a single term. There his ambition
had ended. Perhaps his personal effacement
was due to his deformity — perhaps he preferred
the power behind the scenes, and was shrewd
enough to thrust others into the lime-light to
draw the public eye from himself. Whatever his
motive, he remained nevertheless the Master —
silent, shadowy, but with a grip which no man
had ever shaken and few had attempted to
try. The era of bossism, of
public spoils, of the unseen
ruler is passing in American
politics, I am told. The reign
of Solomon Enright is now
several years to the rearward, and
perhaps it could not now be
duplicated. It is not from a
political but from a human
angle that I present the
account of its curious ending.
As for the geographical
location of Merino County or
its county seat, Octorara, you
would search the map in vain,
and your quest for the political
coloring of my chronicle would
yield you as little profit. Apart
from the obvious reasons for
this concealment, this is designed
as a detective and not a
political narrative, as I have
mentioned before.
RICHARD BURTON'S fist
descended into the palm of his
left hand.
"The cry of reform is
excellent as far as it goes — but
we need something more. We
must fight the devil with his
own fire! We must catch the
man with the goods! and
that" — he looked across at me —
"is what we want you for!"
"You are setting me a rather
formidable task," I said
flushing. There was something
contagious in his enthusiasm.
"To be concise then," I summed
up, "you charge that —–"
"Solomon Enright and his
so-called 'machine' have filched
a fortune from the citizens of
Merino County, and are planning
to steal another fortune
in the present campaign."
"Suppose," I interrupted,
"we dispense with the past tense
and confine ourselves to the
present. Just what do you mean
by the present campaign?"
"The campaign for the
control of the Octorara city
government. For eight years the
Enright machine has swayed both
the city and the county elections
without a question. A few
months ago, a citizens' party
was formed, and an independent
municipal ticket launched,
of which I happen to be the head as the
candidate for mayor.
THE primary impulse behind the independent
movement is the rebellion against the
renewal of the free franchise to the Octorara Street
Railway Company. Action on the franchise comes
up in council six weeks after the election. If the
Enright ticket goes through, the street car
company will be given a ninety-nine year extension
of its franchise without the payment of a dollar
to the city! What it will have to pay the
Enright supporters in return for their good will is,
of course, quite another question. When I tell
you that the substitute franchise, advocated by
the Citizens' League, provides for a municipal
revenue of three per cent of the company's gross
annual business and that this business runs to
over six hundred thousand dollars, you can
understand that the company is prepared to open
a good-sized 'barrel' for its friends during the
campaign!"
"Yes, I can quite understand!" I said softly.
"And I have not mentioned the new schedule
of fares stipulated in the revised franchise. The
independent platform advocates six tickets for a
quarter. Heretofore, the company has never seen
the necessity of selling more than five. Add this
reduction in its revenue to the proposed municipal
taxation, and you can appreciate something
of the fight which the independent ticket is
facing. In short, it is a hopeless fight unless we
can find some way to keep the company from
opening its barrel — and Solomon Enright and his
lieutenants from using its contents!
"As I said, we know that the most eloquent
oratory won't do it. We know that the most
aggressive political campaign we can make won't
do it. We've got to do something more practical
than making speeches and holding rallies. There
is something more at stake, too, than a street
car franchise — the cancer of public graft, and we
have never had a more urgent need to cut it
out of our municipal system than now!"
Burton had been pacing the floor of my
office impulsively. He paused at my desk.
"We are ready to stand by you, to give you
every assistance that we can. And we are not
afraid to spend money. If it is possible to end
the regime of Solomon Enright, we mean to do
it! Will you help us?"
I studied his face for a moment in silence.
It was a clean-cut face, with a good, square
chin, and a pair of steady gray eyes. I could
understand that Richard Burton, in his thirty odd
years, had had obstacles to fight. I looked in
vain for signs of the fanatical reformer. If I had
found them, I think I should have stayed in my
office. I saw only the earnest purpose of a man
who sees a tremendous battle ahead — and means
to fight it like a man.
I reached over and accepted his offered hand.
A CROWD, packed deep about the corner, and
overflowing onto the pavement. A row of
flickering gasoline torches casting weird lights on
the upturned faces. The center of the attraction,
two red automobiles drawn up at the side of the
curb. In one, a weary-faced quintette of musicians
who had just lowered their much-used
instruments after a lively ragtime selection. In
the second car, a tall, athletic young man in a
linen duster and cap, who had risen to his feet
and was facing the crowd, with a slight smile.
A half-hearted cheer arose and then dwindled.
If there were those who appreciated the spirit
behind Richard Burton's whirlwind campaign and
his fiery street corner addresses, they were greatly
out-numbered. From my position in the
shadows watched the scene curiously. For six
evenings, the speech-making automobile tour of
the independent ticket of Octorara had continued,
with the band and the torches drawing the
crowds at the strategic points and the indomitable
young candidate for mayor endeavoring
desperately to win their interest, if not their
support. On three occasions he had been interrupted
by threatened physical violence. The evening
before, it was only the reluctant intervention of the
police, quite obviously under the influence of the
Enright faction, that had saved the orator's car
from wreck.
I surveyed the crowd now for more signs of
the professional thug. And although the corner
was in a quiet, ordinarily well regulated
section of the city, I found a sprinkling of scowling
faces that one would have associated only with
the most disreputable saloons. And it was
apparent that they were not there from idle
curiosity. Even as Burton began his speech I saw
them edging toward the front of the throng.
FOR perhaps five minutes the address
continued without interruption. Richard
Burton was a born orator; and his experience
in the practice of law had given him
excellent training for the political field. Not even
a Patrick Henry, however, could have made
headway against the manufactured hostility
which he faced.
Burton paused wearily and then, with a determined flash of
his eyes, plunged again into his exposition.
At that instant from the rear of the
crowd, a rock whizzed toward the car. As the
speaker ducked, it was followed by a shower
of others. The more peacefully inclined
members of the audience surged back.
I saw Burton stiffen his shoulders. He
was not to be daunted thus easily.
"Men," he shouted, "I come to you in the
interests of fair play. All I ask —–"
A sudden swishing sound came from
beyond the corner building, a cry of warning,
and a heavy stream of water swept toward the
automobile. Someone had connected a hose
with the fire plug.
The crowd stampeded
in a wild rout as the water shot back and
forth across the two cars. The shock of the icy
water must have come with cruel force.
The chauffeurs tugged desperately at their
wheels. With a final wrench, the two machines
swerved back from the curb, their occupants
drenched. The itinerary of the independent
candidate was ended for that night.
I PRESENT this incident as perhaps the most
effective illustration of the kind of politics I
found in Octorara, and the peculiar nature of the
problem which confronted me. For three days I
had been conducting a preliminary survey of the
situation, with the purpose of obtaining a working
knowledge of the territory, before I
commenced active operations.
I found Octorara to be the average type of
the prosperous manufacturing community of
seventy-five thousand population, the bulk of its
inhabitants depending for their livelihood on its
industries, and frankly indifferent to the call of
civic reform. It was evident that the Citizens'
League was bending every effort to penetrate
below the crust and waken the dormant civic
conscience. And it was also evident that it was
meeting with but little success.
Not that the Enright partisans were conducting
an openly aggressive campaign against the
reform crusade. As a matter of fact, from their
view-point there was little outward activity. It
was true that they were holding rallies, engaging
bands, scattering badges and buttons, and organizing
occasional torch-light demonstrations, but
to not nearly the same degree as the reform
leaders. My impressions soon grew to a certainty
that they were quietly but steadily laying
"underground wires," whose power would not be felt
until the counting of the ballots.
Election was three weeks distant, and it
needed no far-seeing political prophet to divine
that unless the tide of events materially changed
victory for the Enright machine was again certain.
The attack on Richard Burton's automobile
showed me the need for immediate action.
Whatever was to be done must be done at once.
THAT
night at my hotel where I was registered
as the agent for a large wholesale
millinery house interested in the possibilities for a
new retail store in Octorara, I sent a long
telegram in my office-code to my Chicago manager
in my absence.
The following afternoon three of my
operatives, two men and a woman, alighted from the
Chicago express, and registered at an
unpretentious hotel near the station, whose address I
had indicated in my message. I joined them a
half hour later first paying my bill at my own
hotel and announcing that I was leaving the
city by an early evening train.
Mrs. Alice Moreland, the millinery agent
was to disappear at least for the immediate
future.
"Burke" I said addressing the younger of
my two male operatives, "I believe you told me
that you once had some experience as a
newspaper reporter. You are to apply in the morning
to the city editor of the Octorara Herald
for a place on his local staff. I understand that
he is looking for two or three street men. If he
wants references tell him to telegraph my friend,
Connors, of the Chicago Sentinel. I wrote
Connors last night and he will know how to answer."
"What's the dope?" asked Burke briskly.
"It divides itself under two heads. The
Herald is the personal organ of Mr. Enright. I want
you to keep in touch as far as possible with
what is going on there, any beats it may plan to
pull off and so on. Also you are to make the
acquaintance of Andy Reynolds, its political
reporter. You will find that when Reynolds is not
working he spends most of his time at Murphy's
cafe. If you manage your game right, in the next
week you and he ought to be on intimate terms.
I understand newspaper men get acquainted fast."
"And now, Johnson," I said to my second
operative, "for the next ten days you are to be
a traveling organizer from the Chicago office of
the tin workers' union interested in establishing
a local organization here. The tin workers
are practically the only trade in Octorara not
unionized. In the course of your labors you will
not only get in touch with the factory men, but
will make it a point to spend your evenings at
the various saloons. I want to find out just what
the Enright agents are doing, whether they are
handing out real money yet, or only promises."
"As for you, Miss Ericson," turning to my
female assistant. "I fancy we will have use for
your stenographic experience. In just what way
you will understand after a certain appointment
I have made for this evening."
"Burke, you and Johnson can report to me
each evening at six at Room 416 in the Bismarck
office building. Mrs. Viola Williams is opening an
employment agency there. I am Mrs. Williams."
Two hours later Miss Ericson and I were
closeted with a stoop-shouldered, consumptive
looking young lady, whose fingers alone would
have showed that she gained her livelihood at
the keys of a typewriter.
"Miss Doyle," I said, "you will tell the
manager of the Octorara Street Railway Company in
the morning that your physician has ordered you
to take a month's rest in the country, and that
you hope he will let your cousin, Miss Ericson,
from Chicago take your place during your
absence. Here is a hundred dollars for your
expenses. I will promise you another hundred
dollars and your old position back or another just
as good on your return."
Before I retired, I stepped to the telephone.
Richard Burton's voice answered my call.
"I have started the ball rolling," I told him.
AT
the offices of the Octorara Street Railway
Company, Miss Ericson had found no
difficulty in obtaining the conveniently vacated
position of the sickly Miss Doyle. So far, however,
the fact had developed nothing of aid to our
purpose. On several occasions, Miss Ericson had
been called to take the correspondence of the
general manager when the latter's personal
secretary was busy but the letters related entirely
to routine matters of the company. Twice she
had found opportunity to examine the addressed
envelopes of the out-going mail, but there had
been nothing suggesting even a remote
connection between the company and Solomon
Enright.
The most promising feature of her reports
was the fact that on two afternoons, the
general manager and the company's attorney, a
shrewd corporation lawyer by the name of
McDowell had been closeted behind locked doors
for several hours at a stretch, with peremptory
orders not to be disturbed.
I drew out a telegraph blank and wrote
another code message to my Chicago office. The
time had come to make my attack from another
angle.
THE
next day two more of my staff arrived in
Octorara, men who had made a specialty of
shadow work. I met them at the station, to
avoid possibility of public comment connecting
them with my employment office.
"Scott," I said to one, handing him the written
address and description of Solomon Enright,
"I want you to trail this man for the next
two weeks. And I want him to know it!"
Scott stared. "You mean —–"
"I want him to feel that there is a shadow
always on his trail. You are to follow him home
from his office, and are to be at the corner,
ready to pick him up again in the morning. Do
you understand me? He is never to shake you
off! And Dawson," I continued to my second
agent. "You are to perform a similar service
in the case of McDowell, the attorney of the
street car company. Here is my telephone number. Do not risk reporting at my office, but
telephone me twice each day." That evening I
held a sort of emergency conference with Burke,
Johnson and Miss Ericson.
TO Johnson I gave a marked copy of "The
Union Labor Apostle," of New York, containing
a lengthy editorial on the importance of workmen
generally organizing for cheaper street car
fare and citing the effect which such an
organization had had in reducing fares in several
western cities.
"Show this to your man, Prentiss, tonight,"
I said, "and tell him that it was forwarded to
you from Chicago with the suggestion that it
might prove to be a popular union movement
in Octorara. Where will you see Prentiss?"
"Down at Randall's place probably. That
seems to be his headquarters."
"Burke," I continued, "suppose you spend
the evening at Randall's, also. If it can be
managed at all, I want you to overhear what
Prentiss has to say to Johnson. We will need two
witnesses if the case comes to court."
After which I stepped to the telephone and
asked Richard Burton to meet me at my
employment office in the Bismarck building that
evening.
I QUOTE from Johnson's report for the
account of his interview with "Reddy" Prentiss
at Randall's place:
"During a lull in the conversation around
the bar I motioned Prentiss to one of the
private drinking booths, and with an appearance of
gravity told him that I wanted his advice, that
my work in organizing the tin-workers' union
was not proceeding as it should, that I had
received a rather sharp letter from headquarters,
and an intimation that I was lagging on the
job. He showed a sympathetic attitude, and
ordered drinks.
"'What can I do for you?' he asked.
"I pulled out the copy of the 'The Union
Labor Apostle,' said that it had been sent from
the home office as a suggestion for a new line of
approach at Octorara, and with a display of
enthusiasm asked him if he would give me the
names of a few well known working men who
would be interested in street car reform. The
expression on his face was one of such ludicrous
surprise that under other circumstances I would
have laughed outright. The money with which
he had paid for our drinks had been supplied to
fight the very issue which I was coolly asking
him to support!
"He sat for two or three minutes in silence.
I knew that Burke had managed to secure a
table in the booth adjoining ours and that if we
kept to even normal tones he could hear our
conversation easily. Prentiss looked up finally.
"'Say, old man, if I was you, I would forget
this street car dope. You'll find it won't be
popular here.'
"'Not popular?' I retorted. 'Then this will
be the first place in the country where that is
so! Do you suppose the workingmen won't jump
at a chance to get six tickets for a quarter? And
who knows — if we manage the thing right, we
may get it down to seven! Of course, I know
that the men who ride around in automobiles
won't give a rap —'
"Prentiss leaned across the table.
"'Say how much money do you draw from
the labor people?'
"'Twenty-five a week and expenses. What
has that to do with it?'
"'Would you consider a better job if it paid
you a nice little bonus to start with — say five
hundred dollars?'
"'Wake up!' I laughed, rising and stuffing
the paper back into my pocket.
"'But I mean it! Think about it, and if you
are in for it suppose you meet me here this
time tomorrow?'
"'Say,' I burst out, 'I came to you in good
faith for advice. And you are handing me a line
of hot air —–'
"'It's not hot air! You meet me here
tomorrow and see. And say,' he added, 'I would
let that article in the paper alone for the present,
if I were you.'
"'I can't see what that has got to do with
it,' I grumbled. 'I believe the boys would fall
for it if it was put up to them right!'
"I looked over my shoulder as we left the
booth. I saw that Burke had heard every word."
RICHARD BURTON
had waited in my office for
the return of my two operatives. He glanced
at me at the conclusion of their report.
"How do you stand with the prosecuting
attorney?" I asked. "Is he an Enright or an
Independent man?"
"Owned by Enright, body and soul. And so
is the court!"
"But even at that, they couldn't refuse a
grand jury investigation if the petition were
backed by representative citizens?"
"No, but it wouldn't amount to anything!"
"Still, you would take such action if I called
upon you?"
"Of course, but as I said, from a legal
standpoint —"
"My dear Mr. Burton from a legal standpoint,
I am quite well aware it would accomplish
nothing. I am not interested in its legal effect
but its psychological effect!"
Johnson's second interview with "Reddy"
Prentiss, with Burke, as before, in safe hearing
distance, bore out the promise of the first.
Without preliminary, the ward heeler extracted from
a wallet ten fifty-dollar bills.
