PETER DIEMAN RECEIVES VISITORS.
Peter Dieman, since he had reached his present state of affluence and influence, did not condescend to wait on customers. He was now above that menial branch of his trade. He seldom went into his store, as a clerk; but he went occasionally to settle some dispute, of one kind or another, that Eli Jerey was continually involved in with some one of the many people, who, for one reason or another, visited The Die.
Eli, in this period of his trammeled existence, was a combative sort of an individual—not through a natural disposition in that direction, but mainly by force of circumstances. Being a creature who was impelled by any line of action by the urgent necessity of earning his bread and butter, he became a willing tool in the hands of Peter for the furtherance of that man's business, or any other of the transactions with which he might be connected. Eli, therefore, was a good servant more through a sense of duty, than through any reason he would bring to bear in applying himself. He might be classed with one of those trusties who is purblind to any one else's good, save that of his employer. Hence, he loved Peter, not for any attraction that the personality of the man had for him, but simply for the job that he filled.
Peter Dieman had that way about him that causes men of any rank, almost, to bow down to force and power and money. While he was revolting in his general aspect, as a man socially, he was certainly a genius when it came to manipulating the "ropes" that so often lead men and women into combinations against society's welfare. Even in the building up of an established business in the marts of other men, he exhibited a wonderful gift of sagacity in organization, and in a knack of accumulating wealth, so far as his endeavors went in the one particular line that to the world at large he was supposed to follow.
One day Peter was sitting at his place of espial, intently concerned for the time with the one predominating thought as to whether his spider-like clerk, Eli Jerey, could accommodate all the customers he saw in waiting, before any of them could get away without leaving a few shekels behind. As he looked, he rubbed his hands nervously, whimsically, naturally, as was his habit; then he squinted up one of his piggish eyes, and scowled menacingly. The reason for this contorting facial expression and revolutionary exhibition with his hands was that he noted his clerk suddenly throw up his left arm to a guarding position, rear backward, clinch his fists, look daggers out of his cat-like eyes, and then lunge forward, with the force of a battering ram going into execution. He also saw two other long arms whirling through the air like a Dutch wind-wheel in motion, saw a head duck, saw the bodies of two men writhe and squirm, and then saw them fall together on a bundle of dirty coiled-up ropes. Seeing all which, he put down his pipe, put on his black cap, and waddled out with the intensity of the furies spread over the wide expanse of his red and rounded visage.
"Wow!" he roared like an exploding blunderbuss. "What in God Almighty's name be you doing, Eli?"
Eli did not look up to respond to the query. He could not look up had he wanted to. The stranger, with whom Eli was in combat, had him gripped so tightly around the neck with one arm, that Eli could neither hurt his antagonist, nor get hurt himself. All that Eli could do was to breathe heavily, strike out at random with his one free hand, hitting the ropes, the floor, a bench leg, and many other things about him. Meanwhile the stranger seemed to lie contentedly on his back surveying the upper regions of the interior of the junkery.
When Peter came up to the combatants, he stopped, with his hands upon his hips, and his arms akimbo, sized up the situation in an instant, and then seized Eli by the scruff of the neck, and raised him to the floor, with his victim still clinging to him in a very loving-like embrace, and with Eli still beating the air at random with his free hand.
"Loosen yourself, brute!" squealed Peter to the stranger. "Loosen yourself, I say!" he shouted.
But the stranger paid no heed to him. Whereupon, Peter, using his fat hands as an entering wedge, heaved away with mighty force, to left and to right, and the twain came asunder. The stranger now stood back, with tousled head and frightful mien, glaring savagely at Eli; while Eli looked the same in the matter of dishevelment, his scanty face showed little more of the baser passions than would a paving stone.
"You rascals! What's all this about?" demanded Peter, directing his eyes on Eli.
"Nothing," piped Eli.
Then turning to the stranger, who was a young man, Peter said, stentoriously: "Clear out at once!"
The stranger took up his fallen hat, turned malevolently upon Peter, and hissed: "All right, you hog! You will pay dear for such an insult!" He turned toward Eli. "You scoundrel," he shouted, "your master keeps you here to insult people—" but he did not finish the sentence, so wroth was he in his anger.
Peter rubbed his hands so rapidly that it would be a wild guess to say whether he was doing it in jest or in earnest. The stranger proceeded toward the front door.
"Wait!" exclaimed Peter, as the stranger was about to make his exit.
The young man turned about, very deliberately, in his tracks, leered at Peter as if he would again hurl a terrible threat at him, but he said nothing.
"Mike Barton," commanded Peter, for that is whom the young man proved to be, "come to my office."
Whereupon, Peter led the way, and Mike Barton followed him to the little black office. Peter removed his cap, resumed his pipe, and sat down, wheezing like an asthmatic pup, near his place of espionage; and he looked curiously at Mike, who had taken a seat unbidden.
"What was the trouble, Mike?" he asked.
"I simply sought to pass him to get to your office, when he confronted me with the insulting remark, 'No pimps allowed in there—your office—without permission of the boss.'"
"He's a good clerk, Mike; he is; and he serves me well."
"Too well, Mr. Dieman, for your safety."
"Ha, ha! Well, he has my instructions, and you know the password to this office."
"I do, sir; but I resent the insult."
"All right, my boy, it's over with now; Eli is a good one for me, you know."
"I reckon he is," returned Mike.
"Now, what can I do for you?" asked Peter, eyeing Mike with one of his singularly inquisitorial stares, which gave Mike a spell of the fidgets.
"I was sent here by the keeper of our place to know the outlook for a continuance of police protection," he replied without any circumlocution about saying what he had in mind.
"Eh!" Peter ejaculated.
"Yes; we want to know—or they want to know. What's the prospects?"
"Eh?"
"What's the prospects? is my question," said Mike, surlily, put out by the evasiveness of Peter.
"Hey?"
"You have my question."
"I have."
"Then answer me."
"How much more is it worth?"
"You and your gang are getting enough already," retorted Mike.
"Don't get gay, young man; don't get gay," said Peter, raising his furzy eyebrows with surprise. "You people are in business—I'm in business—we're all in business—for money."
"Yes, Peter, yes; all in business—all in business—a nasty thing it is, sir, this grafting business," returned Mike. "But my employers are getting tired of having their legs pulled so often. All the profits already go to your bunch—how can they pay any more?"
"Eh, young man, you are talking a little too gay—a little too gay, for one of your experience; hey?"
"Well, it's the truth," answered Mike.
"What have I to do with that? Yes, I, sir; I? Answer me that question?" asked Peter, with a little more animation than he had previously shown in the conversation.
"A whole d—— lot!" exclaimed Mike.
"Don't! don't! don't! boy! Don't cause me to throw you out!" roared Peter, now looking out his peephole.
"I am not a bit afraid of you—no more than I am of that door knob," answered Mike, haughtily.
"Maybe not, Mike; but you fellows must be reasonable," said Peter, less uproariously than before.
"So must you fellows," remarked Mike, placidly, as he indolently shifted one leg over the other and bent forward.
Peter pursued his quest no further for a few moments, being interested in Eli in the outer room. He drummed with his fingers on one arm of the chair, then rubbed his fat hands together. Peter then turned to Mike, as Mike said:
"I want to know, Mr. Dieman, what your gang intends doing?"
"One thousand more per month," was Peter's reply.
"That means two thousand for our house, does it?"
"If I figure right, it does."
"Then, you can go—to—h——!" returned Mike, rising to depart.
"Five hundred will do this time," said Peter, now feeling inclined to be decent in such a deal.
"Go to——" responded Mike, looking back at Peter over his shoulder, as he turned to go out the door.
"Set down, boy, and be respectable," said Peter in a mollifying tone. "Anything new, Mike?"
"Nothing unusual, only I hear that my sister left home today for a finer home in the East End."
"Did sh-e-e?" asked Peter, with a comical leer out of his right eye, which he turned upon Mike, as if the information was of vast importance to him.
"She did," answered Mike.
"Good for her!" said Peter, musingly. "When did you learn this?"
"This afternoon, when I was home for the first time since I got my new job, over three months now," replied Mike, looking down at the floor. "I meant to take her out of that place myself to a finer one, where life is worth while; but she eluded me—if that is the right word, eh."
"Did you intend taking her to the place where you work?" asked Peter.
"I did."
"I have always had such a notion of you in my head," said Peter, squinting at Mike.
"You had? How did you know?" shouted Mike.
"Guessed as much," said Peter, rubbing and looking Mike squarely in the face.
"You old reprobate!" exclaimed Mike, hotly.
"Be careful, boy; be careful. I am no fool," admonished Peter, unruffled as yet, in outward signs. "What other news?"
"I understand my sister's at Hiram Jarney's home," said Mike.
"Yes," responded Peter.
"A strange coincidence," mused Mike. "I met a young man named Winthrope this morning, who works in Jarney's office."
"Good or bad subject?" asked Peter.
"Bad—I judge from his answers."
"That's good," said Peter, rubbing his hands vigorously.
"I don't understand," said Mike.
"You don't?" quizzed Peter, drawling out the words sluringly.
"No, d—— if I do!"
"Well, then go about your miserable business and quit bothering me," commanded Peter.
"You haven't answered me yet about police protection," said Mike.
"Oh, go away; they'll not bother you," replied Peter, impatiently, shaking his head as if he were shaking the words out of his mouth.
"Have I your word for it?" demanded Mike.
"That's all I have to say. Go!" snorted the now exasperated Peter, resuming his habitual work of spying.
Mike retreated, like a man who is cornered by a bear in his den, going out at the opportune time. Passing through the store he beheld Eli looking as dumbly as a lamppost at him. Mike skinned his eyes, as it were, lest Eli should pounce upon him again, and complete the operation of a sound threshing. But Mike got safely to the outer door, and was about to go out, when he turned and hurled back at Eli, shaking his fist:
"I'll fix you, you hireling!"
Eli, becoming riled at the threatening taunt, made a rush for Mike, like a terrier after a scampering cat; but Mike soon disappeared around a corner, leaving Eli standing in the door shaking his fist at the vanishing figure, who did not cease running till he got two or three blocks away, so fearful was he of Eli.
As Eli turned to re-enter the shop, he ran counter to a man—a tall, slouchy fellow with a stubby moustache, short hair, red nose, round face, brown eyes, white complexioned—who had entered unobserved, while Eli was sending his sworn enemy threateningly away. The man sallied lazily through the alleys of junk, paying no heed whatever to the ubiquitous clerk, who was dogging his heels at every turn for an opportunity to inquire about his wants. Several times Eli was sure the man was about to stop and make reply to his questions; but in this he was sorely disappointed. For the man proceeded till he came to the door of Peter's cubby-hole, and was in the act of entering it, when, to his astonishment, he found Eli wraithing up before him in the doorway. The man hesitated for an instant, gave Eli a contemptuous smile, then, with a quick sweep of his strong arm, thrust him aside, as if he were only a part of The Die's junk that had got into his way. Eli, of course, was taken off his feet, both figuratively and literally, and went sprawling in a heap in a corner, on a pile of rubbish.
"Come in!" shouted Peter to the man, with no thought as to what harm might have befallen the dutiful Eli, who, on catching his master's voice as meaning an intimate acquaintanceship with the man, gathered himself together, and took up his burdens still feeling unsquelched as a faithful servant.
"Well, Jim," said Peter to the man, when he seated himself, "how's things going these days?"
"Well enough," answered Jim Dalls.
"Ford & Ford got the contract?" said Peter, without a semblance of his gladness over the matter in his own face.
"Yes; they got it; but hell'll be to pay some day for that dirty piece of work," answered Jim Dalls, moodily.
"That's a hard old place to satisfy," remarked Peter.
"Can't be worse than the grafters of this old city," returned Dalls.
"Don't be pessimistic, Jim."
"Don't like to be; but, I say, there'll be a reckoning up some day, I suppose, when the people once wake up, and find out what is going on in this old town."
"Ah, the people; the dear people," answered Peter; "they don't know enough to eat mud pies."
"Why, haven't they been fed on them a long time, eh, Peter? Their stomachs will revolt at the mess sometime, Peter; then, look out!"
"Have no fear, Jim; have no fear; they'll never catch us," replied Peter, with confidence in his secureness behind the throne of graft.
"But, nevertheless, it is rotten business, Peter; rotten business, and I am tired of playing the game," said Dalls.
"Oh, I'm not; I'll play it till I die," returned Peter, with a bravado air.
"You can afford to, Peter; it's been a gold mine to you and your backers. But to me? Look at me! Nothing is all I get—nothing but a pittance."
"You are paid well, Jim," said Peter, severely.
"Paid well; yes; but it takes it all to keep those below me in line."
"Well, what more do you want, Jim?"
"Nothing—I'm quitting the business."
"Ho! you are? You can't quit, Jim; you can't. If you do, what'll become of the ring?" asked Peter, now for the first time bringing his reasoning faculties into play in connection with such a probable event.
"Bust, I suppose," replied Dalls.
"Never!" exclaimed Peter.
"I am going to quit, I tell you, Peter."
"How much do you want to go away from here?" asked Peter, rubbing and squinting.
"Ten thousand," replied Jim Dalls, slowly.
"You are cheap," said Peter. "Come around tomorrow, when I will pay you and furnish a ticket for you to Europe."
"Agreed, Peter! Shake! I always knew you'd be on the square with me. But put it down in writing," returned Dalls, with less gloom pictured in his face than when he entered.
"I never put anything down in writing, Jim; particularly such things as we have been discussing. I consider my word good, Jim," answered Peter, palaveringly.
"I'll take you at your word, then, Peter."
"Very well; you have been a good lieutenant, Jim, and we don't like to lose you. But if you have scruples on the matter, Jim, I want you to leave—get out of the country, and stay out till I call you back. Jim, do you understand?"
"Just so I get the cash, I'll go anywhere, Peter," answered Jim Dalls.
"That will do, then, Jim; come tomorrow at two," said Peter.
"You have a mighty obnoxious clerk out here," said Dalls, rising to go away.
"Oh, he's all right, Jim; you know the password, and didn't give it," replied Peter.
"That's my fault, then," answered Dalls, as he stepped into the shop, there to encounter the angry look of Eli, who was at that moment waiting on a customer, or otherwise there might have been another little affray, on the spot.
Jim Dalls, as he was familiarly known among Peter's henchmen, had been a member of the present political ring since its inception back in the early nineties. He had now but a poor chance of ever rising higher in the ranks than a poorly paid lieutenant; and so what was the use, he argued with himself, of playing third fiddle any longer, if there was any likelihood at all of getting out with a good round sum in cash. So, as a bluff, he preferred to work the "conscientious scruple" scheme to get what he thought was due him for his valiant services in the corporals' guard of the gang; and he went to Peter playing that he wanted to lead a new life, and his bluff worked out better than he ever anticipated.
It was very necessary, in the workings of this mysterious institution, that whenever an officer felt conscience stricken to remove him, with great dispatch, from the scene of operation, so as to keep out the light of investigation when house-cleaning time should come, which it would sometime. Jim Dalls had been bred in the business and knew its entire ramifications in every branch of civic affairs of the city. He had not prospered in it, as some others had, considering the length of his services and the good that he had done, and the care he had taken in fighting for success. He had not been raised to the sublime degree in the ranks of the upper luminaries, where marched the fitted, to which others had been raised, considering the amount of service he had put into the cause. He had not been treated as equitably in the division of the spoils that had come into the coffers of the charmed circle of grafters, as others had been treated, considering the sum of his own earnings he had put into the hands of his own satellites shining around him, as those above him shone around the great center of this gigantic solar system. In consequence, the monster, Disaffection, lurked within his breast, and became a thing for the master minds to watch with care. Yes, watch with care, and hold in check.
Of course, Jim Dalls was no squealer. No—if he got his price. And now, getting his price, he would leave the city. He would leave his country; and go to Europe, and live like an American Captain of Industry lives in that land when his native soil becomes sterile in its bountifulness of pleasure. Yes, he would go to Europe at the behest of his superiors, so that he could not, for a time, tamper with any of their marked cards, and cause a breaking up in their game.
And to Europe he would go, with his trusting wife and family believing that he had earned his lucre honestly; and they proudly looked every one in the face, believing that the world is on the square.
Oh Europe! Europe! If you only knew the private history of many of those Americans you receive with open arms, craft and graft and greed you would see as their only virtues.
But, ho! Let us smile, instead of crying at their follies. For no nation ever yet raised a monument to men representing such principles.