The Gray Dawn

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Gray Dawn

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

"Glad to see you," he said briefly.

"Getting on?" pursued Krafft.

"Fine."

"Here's a new kind of tobacco I want you to try. I should value your
opinion."

Keith's hand wandered toward his pocket, but stopped at a sharp look from
Krafft. After a moment's chat they withdrew.

"What a pathetic old figure! What utter misery!" cried Keith.

"No!" said Krafft positively. "There you are wrong. Old John is in no need
of us. He has his house and his bed, and he gets his food. How, I do not
know, but he gets it. The spark is burning clear and steady. He has not
lost his grip. He gets his living with confidence. Let him alone."

"But he must be very miserable--especially when it rains," persisted Keith.

Krafft shrugged his shoulders.

"As to that, I know not," he returned indifferently. "That does not matter
to the soul. I will now show you another man."

They retraced their steps. On a corner of Montgomery Street Krafft stopped
before a one-armed beggar, the stump exposed, a placard around his neck.

"Now here's another John," said Krafft. "What he wants is work, and
somebody to see that he does it."

The one-armed beggar, who was fat, with a good-natured countenance,
evidently considered this a joke. He grinned cheerfully.

"Don't have to, guvenor," said he.

"How much did you take in yesterday, John?" asked Krafft; then, catching
the beggar's look of suspicion, he added, "This is a friend of mine; he's
all right."

"Twenty-two dollars," replied the beggar proudly. "Pretty good day's
wages!"

"I'm afraid the spark is about out with you, John," said Krafft
thoughtfully. He walked on a few steps, then turned back. "John," he asked,
"what is your contribution to society?"

The beggar stared, uncertain of this new chaff.

"The true theory of business, John, is that traffic which does not result
In reciprocal advantages to buyer and seller is illegitimate, or at least
abnormal."

They walked on, Keith laughing at the expression on the beggar's face.

"That was considerably over his head," he observed.

Nothing more was said for half a block.

"I wonder if it was over yours," then said Krafft, unexpectedly.

"Eh?" ejaculated Keith, bewildered.

These walks with Krafft finally resulted in the institution of a fund which
Keith raised and put into Krafft's hands for intelligent use. The effects
were so interesting that Keith, thoroughly fascinated, began to pester his
friends for positions for some of his proteges. As he was well-liked and in
earnest, these efforts were taken good-humourediy.

"Here comes Milt Keith," said John Webb to Bert Taylor. "Bet you a beaver
hat he's got a highly educated college professor that he wants a job for."

"'A light job, not beyond his powers,'" quoted Taylor.

"Like cleaning genteel spittoons," supplemented Webb.

"The engine house is full of 'em polishing brass," complained Taylor.

"Well, he's a young felly, and I like him," concluded Webb heartily.

Of course many of the experiments failed, but fewer than might have been
anticipated. Part of Krafft's task was to keep in touch with the men. His
detached, philosophical method of encouragement and analysis of the
situation seemed just the thing they needed.

XXXIV

These activities gave Keith just the required door out into a world other
than his own. Were it not for something of the sort he might, like many
modern corporation lawyers, have confined himself entirely to his own
class. And this, of course, would eventually have meant narrowness.

But through Krafft, and especially through his desire to help Krafft's
work, he came in contact with all sorts of people; and, what was more
important, he found that he liked a great many of them. So it happened that
when it seemed expedient to the ruling caste to put him in as Assistant
District Attorney, his inevitable election met with wider approval than
such elections usually enjoy.

For it must be understood that in the fifties any candidate selected by the
ruling caste was absolutely sure of election. The machinery was thoroughly
in their hands. Diplomacy in party caucuses, delicate manipulation at
primaries, were backed by cruder methods if need be. Associations were
semi-publically formed for the sale of votes; gangs of men were driven from
one precinct to another, voting in all; intimidation, and, indeed, open
violence, was freely used. Only the most adventurous or the most determined
thought it worth while even to try to vote in the rough precincts. And if
the first and second lines of defence failed, there was still the third to
fall back on when the booths were dosed and the ballots counted: the boxes
could still be "stuffed," the count could still be scientifically juggled
to bring about any desired result.

This particular election was one of the worst in the history of the place.
All day fighting was kept up, and the rowdies swaggered everywhere. Whiskey
was to be had for the asking; and the roughs who surrounded the polls fired
shots, and in some places started what might fairly be called riots. Yankee
Sullivan returned James Casey as elected supervisor, which was probably a
mistake, for Casey was not a candidate, his name was on none of the
official ballots, and nobody could be found who had voted for him.
Everybody was surprised, Casey most of all! The sixth ward count was
delayed unconscionably, its returns being withheld until nearly morning. It
was more than hinted that this delay was prolonged until the returns had
been received from all other precincts, so that any deficiencies might be
made up by the sixth. The "slate" went through unbroken.

Of all the candidates, Keith received the most votes, for the simple reason
that his total included both the honest and dishonest ballots. Blanchford,
Neil, Palmer, Adams, all the political overlords of the city were
satisfied, as well they might be, for they had issued the fiat that he be
chosen.

"He's one of us," said they.

But what was more unusual, the rank and file of decent, busy, hard-working
citizens approved, too.

"Keith is not stuck up," they told each other. "He is the _commonest_ man
in that bunch. And he's square."

The position carried some social as well as political significance. Society
made another effort to take him up. His rare appearances were rather in the
nature of concessions. They served to make him more regretted, for he had
an easy, jolly way of moving from one group or one woman to another, of
paying flattering, monopolizing, brief attention to each in turn, and then
disappearing, very early! His bold rather florid countenance radiated
energy and quizzical good humour; his tight, closely curled hair crisped
with virile alertness; he carried himself taut and eager--altogether a
figure to engage the curiosities of women or the interest of men.

Mrs. Sherwood alone was shrewd enough to penetrate to his true feelings.
She had experienced no difficulty in pushing to a social leadership shared
--indolently and indifferently--with Nan Keith. Already her past was
growing dim in a tradition kept alive only by a few whisperers. Her wealth,
her natural tact and poise, her calm assumption of the right to rule, her
great personal charm, beauty, and taste were more than sufficient to get
her what she wanted. The game was almost too easy, when one held the cards.

"Yes, he's very charming," she told her husband, "but that manner of his
does not impress me. As a matter of fact, he doesn't care a snap of his
finger about any of them. He does it too well. It's a stencil. Only the
outside of him does it. He's just as bad as you are; only _he_ doesn't hold
up a corner of the doorway all the evening, and beam vaguely in general,
like a good-natured, dear old owl."

XXXV

A few clear-headed men--not the "chivalry," as the fire-eating professional
politicians and lawyers from the South were almost uniformly designated--
were able to see exactly the problem that must eventually demand Keith's
solution. Some of them talked it over while lounging and smoking in the
Fire Queen reading-room. There were present Talbot Ward and his huge
satellite, Munro; Coleman, quiet, grim, complacent, but looking, with his
sweeping, inky moustache and his florid, complexion, like a flashy "sport";
Hossfros, soon to become an historic character; and the banker, James King
of William.

The latter had recently come in for considerable public discussion. He had
for some time conducted a banking business, but becoming involved in
difficulties, he had turned over all his assets, all his personal fortune,
even his dwelling-house, to another bank as trustee to take care of his
debts. Almost immediately after, that bank had failed. Opinion in the
community divided according to the interests involved. The majority
considered that King had been almost quixotically conscientious in
stripping himself; but there did not lack those who accused him of sharp
practice. In the course of ensuing discussions and recriminations King was
challenged to a duel. He declined to fight, basing his refusal on
principle. As may be imagined, such an action at such a time was even more
widely commented upon than even his refusal to take advantage of the
bankruptcy laws. It was, as far as known, the first time any one had had
the moral courage to refuse a duel. King had gone quietly about his
business, taking an ordinary clerkship with Palmer, Cook & Co. In the eyes
of the discriminating few he had gained prestige, but most people thought
him down and out.

"What do you think of our new Assistant District Attorney?" Ward had begun
the conversation.

"He's a lawyer," growled Hossfros.

"A pretty fairly honest one, I think," ventured King. "His training may be
wrong, but his instincts are right."

"Fat chance anything's got when it mixes up with legalities," supplemented
Frank Munro.

"Nevertheless," remarked Coleman seriously, "I believe plain justice has
more of a chance with him in charge than with another."

"What sort of justice?" queried King. "Commercial?" He laughed in answer to
his own question. "Criminal? I'd like to think it, gentlemen, but I cannot.
You know as well as I do that any of us could this evening go into the
streets, select our victim, and shoot him down secure in the knowledge that
inconvenience is all the punishment we need expect--if we have money or
friends. Am I not right, Coleman?"

Coleman smiled sardonically, lifting his blue-black moustache.

"Were Herod for the slaughter of the Innocents brought before a jury of
this town, he would be acquitted," he said half-seriously. "Judas Iscariot
would pass unscathed so long as any portion of his thirty pieces of silver
remained with him."

They laughed at this remarkable pronouncement, but with an undernote of
seriousness.

"No man, even exceptionally equipped as this young man seems to be," went
on Coleman after a moment, "can accomplish _that_"--he snapped his fingers
--"against organized forces such as those of 'Law and Order.'"

"We can't stand this sort of thing forever!" cried Hossfros hotly. "It's
getting worse and worse!"

"We probably shall not stand it forever," agreed Coleman equably, "but we
are powerless--at present."

They looked toward him for explanation of this last.

"When the people at large find that _they_ cannot stand it either, then we
shall be no longer powerless. A single man can do something then--a single
child!"

"What will happen then?" asked Munro. "Vigilantes? '51 again?"

Coleman, the leader of the Vigilantes of '51, turned on him a grave eye.

"God forbid! We were then a frontier community. We are now an organized,
civilized city. We have rights and powers through the regular channels--at
the ballot box for example."

Hossfros laughed skeptically.

"It must wait," continued Coleman; "it must wait on public opinion."

"Well," spoke up King, "it's all very well to wait, but public opinion left
to itself is a mighty slow growth. It should be fostered. The newspapers--"

"Don't let's lose our sense of humour," cut in Talbot Ward. "Can you see
Charley Nugent or Mike Rowlee crusading for the right?"

"But my point is good," insisted King. "An honest, fearless editor, not
afraid to call a spade a spade--"

"Would be shot," said Coleman briefly.

"The chances of war," replied King.

"They don't grow that kind around here," grinned Ward.

"Well," concluded Coleman, "this young Keith probably won't help any, but
he's going to be interesting to watch, just the same, to see what he'll do
the first time they crack the whip over him. That's the vital point as far
as he is concerned."

XXXVI

Keith's activities did not immediately confront him with anything in the
nature of a test, however. His superiors confined him to the drawing of
briefs and the carrying through of carefully selected cases. It was
considered well to "work him in" a little before putting responsibility on
him.

He enjoyed it, for now he had at his call all the civil and police
resources of the city. This gave him a pleasant feeling of power. He was at
the centre of things. And through his office he came into contact with
ever-widening circles of people, all of whom were disposed, even anxious,
to treat him well, to get in his good graces. Possibly most of these were
what we would call the worst elements; and by that we would mean not only
the roughnecks of the police or sheriff's offices, but also the
punctilious, smooth-mannered Southerners who practically monopolized the
political offices. These men would have been little considered in the
South; in fact, in many cases, they had left their native states under a
cloud or even with prison records; but their natural charm, their audacity,
and their great punctilio as to "honour" deeply impressed the ordinary
citizen. As one chronicler of the times puts it, they had "fluency in
harangue, vigour in invective, ostentatious courage, absolute confidence
about all matters of morals, politics, and propriety"--which is an
excellent thumbnail sketch. Many of these ex-jailbirds rose to wealth and
influence, so that to this day the sound of their names means aristocracy
and birth to those ignorant of local history. Their descendants may be seen
to-day ruffling it proudly on the strength of their "birth!"

They, and the classes they directly and indirectly encouraged, had at last
brought the city fairly on the financial rocks. There was no more revenue.
Everything taxable had been taxed. The poll tax was out of all reason;
property paid 4 per cent. on an actual valuation; theatres, bankers,
brokers, freight, miners, merchants, hotel, keepers, incorporations, every
form of industry was levied upon heavily. Still that was not enough. Even
labour was paid now in scrip so depreciated that the cost of the simplest
public works was terrible.

And to heap up the measure, the year of 1855 was one of financial
stringency. The season of '54-'55 had been one of drought. For lack of
water most of the mining had ceased. The miners wanted to be trusted for
their daily needs; the country stores had to have credit because the miners
could not pay; and so on up to the wholesalers in the city. Goods were
therefore sold cheap at auction, and the gold went East to pay at the
source. Money, actual physical money, became scarce. The gold was gone, and
there existed no institution legally entitled to issue the paper money that
might have taken its place. All the banking was done by private firms.
These took deposits, made loans, issued exchange, but could not issue
banknotes.

Still, things had looked a bit squally many times before, but nothing had
happened. Men had the habit of optimism. No one stopped to analyze the
situation, to realize that the very good reason nothing had happened was
that the city had always had behind it the strength of the mines, and that
now the mines had withdrawn.

Out of a clear sky came the announcement that Adams & Co. had failed!

At first nobody believed it. Adams & Co. had occupied in men's minds from
the start much the same position as the Bank of England. The confirmation
of the news caused the wildest panic and excitement. If Adams & Co. were
vulnerable, nobody was secure. Small merchants began to call in their
credits. The city caught up eagerly every item of news. All the assets of
the bankrupt firm were turned over to Alfred Cohen as receiver. Some
interested people did not trust Cohen. They made enough of a fuss to get H.
M. Naglee appointed in Cohen's place. Naglee, demanding the assets, was
told they had been deposited with Palmer, Cook & Co. The latter refused to
give them up, denying Naglee's jurisdiction in the matter. The case was
brought into court. Then suddenly it was found that Palmer, Cook & Co. had
mysteriously lost their paramount interest in the courts. They had counted
on the case being brought before their own judges; but it was cited before
Judges Hazen and Park, both of whom, while ultra-technical, were honest.
The truth of the matter was that the rats suspected Palmer, Cook & Co. of
sinking, too, and had deserted. Judges Hazen and Park called upon the firm
to turn over to Naglee the assets of Adams & Co. They still refused. One of
the partners, named Jones, and Cohen were imprisoned. Some where $269,000
was missing. Nobody knew anything about it. The books having to do with the
transaction had mysteriously disappeared. Two days later an Irishman found
them floating in the bay, and brought them to the court. But the crucial
pages were missing. And then suddenly, while both Judge Hazen and Judge
Park were out of town, application was made to the Supreme Court--of which
Judge Terry was head--for the release of Jones and Cohen. The application
was granted.

So an immense sum of money disappeared; nobody was punished; it was all
strictly legal; and yet the dullest labourer could see that the whole
transaction amounted to robbery under arms. Failures resulted right and
left. Wells Fargo & Co. closed their doors, but resumed within a few days.
A great many pocketbooks were hit. There was much talk and excitement.

XXXVII

On an evening in October, returning home at an early hour, Keith found Nan
indignant and excited. She held in her hand a tiny newspaper, not half the
usual size, consisting only of a single sheet folded.

"Have you seen this?" she burst out as Keith entered. "Isn't it
outrageous!"

Keith was tired, and sank into an easy chair with a sigh of relaxation.

"No, what is it?" he asked, reaching his hand for the paper. "Oh, the new
paper. I saw them selling it on the street yesterday."

It was the _Bulletin_, Vol. 1, No. 2. Like all papers of that day, and like
some of the English papers now, its first page was completely covered with
small advertisements. A thin driblet of short local items occupied a column
on the third and fourth pages, a single column of editorial on the second.

"Seems a piffling little sheet," he observed, "to be read in about eight
seconds by any one not interested in advertisements. What is it that
agitates you, Nan?"

"Read that." She pointed to the editorial.

The article in question proved to be an attack on Palmer, Cook & Co. It
said nothing whatever about the Cohen-Naglee robbery. Its subject was the
excessive rentals charged the public by Palmer, Cook & Co. for postal
boxes. But it mentioned names, recorded specific instances, avoided
generalities, and stated plainly that this was merely beginning at the
beginning in an expose of the methods of these "Uriah Heeps."

"Why do they permit such things?" cried Nan, scarcely waiting for Keith to
finish his reading, "What is Mr. Palmer going to do about it?"

"Survive, I guess," replied Keith, with a grin. "I take back my opinion of
the paper. It certainly has life." He turned to the head of the page.
"Hullo!" he cried in surprise. "James King of William running this, eh?" He
whistled, then laughed. "That promises to be interesting, sure. He was in
business with that crowd for some time. He ought to have information from
the inside!"

"Mrs. Palmer is simply furious," said Nan.

"I'll bet she is. Are we invited out this evening?"

"The Thurstons' musicale. I thought you'd be interested in that."

"Let me off, Nan, that's a good fellow," pleaded Keith, whose weariness had
vanished. "I'd be delighted to go at any other time. But this is too rich.
I must see what the gang has to say."

"I suppose I could drop Ben Sansome a note," assented Nan doubtfully.

"Do! Send the Chink around with it," urged Keith, rising. "I'll get a bite
downtown and not bother you."

The gang--as indeed the whole city--took it as a great joke. Of those Keith
met, only Jones, the junior partner, failed to see the humour, and he
passed the affair off in cavalier fashion. That did not save him from the
obligation of setting up the drinks.

"I'm going to fix this thing up in the morning," he stated confidently.
"Between you and me, there's evidently been a slip somewhere. Of course it
ought never to have been allowed to go so far. I'll see this man King first
thing in the morning, and buy him off. Undoubtedly that's about the only
reason his paper exists. Wonder where he got the money to start it? He's
busted. It can't last long."

"If it keeps up the present gait, it'll last," said Judge Caldwell
shrewdly. "Me--I'm going to send in a subscription tomorrow. Wouldn't miss
it for anything."

"It'll last as long as he does," growled Terry, "and that'll be about as
long as a snowball in hell. What you ought to do, Jones, is what any man of
spirit ought to do--call him out!"

"He announces definitely that he won't fight duels," said Calhoun Bennett.

"Then treat him like the cowardly hound he is," flared the uncompromising
Terry. "Take the whip to him; and if that isn't effective, shoot him down
as you would any other mad dog!"

"Surely, that's a little extreme, Judge," expostulated Caldwell. "He hasn't
done anything worse than stir up Jonesy a little."

"But he will, sir," insisted Terry, "you mark my words. If you give him
line, he'll not only hang himself, but he'll rope in a lot of bystanders as
well."

"I'll bet he sells a lot of papers to-morrow, anyhow," predicted Keith.

"I hope so," bragged Jones. "There'll be the more to read his apology."

Evidently Jones fulfilled his promise, and quite as evidently Keith's
prediction was verified. Every man on the street had a copy of the next
day's _Bulletin_ within twenty minutes of issue.

A roar of delight went up. Jones's visit was reported simply as an item of
news, faithfully, sarcastically, and pompously. There was no comment. Even
the most faithful partisans of Palmer, Cook & Co. had to grin at the
effectiveness of this new way of meeting the impact of such a visit,

"It's clever journalism," Terry admitted, "but it's blackguardly; and I
blame Jones for passing it over."

The fourth number--eagerly purchased--proved more interesting because of
its hints of future disclosures rather than for its actual information.
Broderick was mentioned by name. The attention of the city marshal was
succinctly called to the disorderly houses and the statutes concerning
them; and it was added, "for his information," that at a certain address a
structure was actually building at a cost of $30,000 for improper purposes.
Then followed a list of personal bonds and sureties for which Palmer, Cook
& Co. were standing voucher, amounting to over two millions.

The expectations of disclosures, thus aroused, were not immediately
gratified, except in the case of Broderick. His swindles in the matters of
the Jenny Lind Theatre and the City Hall were traced out in detail. Every
one knew these things were done, but nobody knew just how; so these
disclosures made interesting reading if only as food for natural curiosity.
However, the tension somewhat relaxed. It was generally considered that the
coarse fibre of the ex-stone-cutter, the old Tammany heeler, and the thick
skins of his political adherents could stand this sort of thing. Nobody
with a sensitive honour to protect was assailed.

The position of the new paper was by now firmly established. It had a large
subscription list; it was eagerly bought on the streets; and its
advertising was increasing. King again turned his attention to Palmer, Cook
& Co. Each day he treated succinctly, clearly, without rhetoric, some
branch of their business. By the time he had finished with them he had not
only exposed their iniquities, he had educated the public to an
understanding of the financial methods of the times. His tilting at this
banking firm had inevitably led him to criticism of certain of their
subterfuges to avoid or take advantage of the law; and that as inevitably
brought him to analysis and condemnation of the firm's legal advisers,
James, Doyle, Barber & Boyd, a firm which had heretofore enjoyed a good
reputation. Incidentally he called attention to duelling, venal newspapers,
city sales, gambling, Billy Mulligan, Wooley Kearney, Casey, Cora, Yankee
Sullivan, Martin Gallagher, Tom Cunningham, Ned McGowan, Charles Duane, and
many other worthies, both of high and low degree. Never did he fear to name
names and cite specific instances plainly. James King of William dealt in
no innuendoes. He had found in himself the editor he had wished for, the
man who would call a spade a spade.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28