Graft
Two weeks later, the fluffy little member of the Progressive Workers presented herself one morning at the rooms of the Mayor and requested a private interview. Probably she was the last woman in Roma one would have suspected of wanting to take a hand in politics. Yet, here she was.
"Why, Bella, is it you?" asked Gertrude. "What is it? Don't they keep your street clean? or empty your ash can often enough?"
"Well, I hope I should know enough, Gertrude Van Deusen," retorted the fluffy lady, "to go to the street-cleaning department about that. No, I've something really important to tell you."
"Indeed. You may close the door after you, Minnie," she said to the stenographer. "Now, what is it, Bella?" For the life of her, she could not help using the same tone she would have used to a pretty child who had dropped in to complain of her teacher.
"Well, Mary Flynn,—that's my laundress, you know,—has overworked lately, and to keep up her strength, I'm sorry to say, has indulged in her habit of toning up for her day's work with more of the 'crathur' than is good for—, By the way, when are you going to tackle the saloons, Gertie?" She did not wait for an answer, but rattled on. "And so, you know, she gets rather talkative. Yesterday she was about half-seas over and talked every minute, and when I went down stairs to show her about my new lingerie waists—well, you should have heard her!"
"Entertaining, no doubt," said Gertrude, wondering why she should have come here to take up her time with these purely domestic affairs.
"'Faith, an' a woman for mayor is it, we do be havin'. An' a fine muss she'll be in ef she kapes on, indade and indade! McAlister's foreman was a tellin' av us last night, he was, that they'll soon be losin' their job. He says, says he, she's again' an honest man makin' a livin', she is. Why, there's me own naice's husband, Tim Mathews, ain't he an ahlderman, rayspicted an' looked up to? Ain't he layin' by a tidy little fortin' for Mary, just by aldermannin', when he's dead an' gone?' 'How is that, Mary?' I asked. 'He doesn't get much of a salary as alderman, does he? How can he support his six children and lay up a fortune?' 'Oh, well, ma'am, it ain't the salary as does it,' returned the woman. 'It's the plooms; ef it wasn't for the plooms, he couldn't afford to lave his groceryin' an' his little corner saloon. But it's the plooms as make it worth while, he says.' 'What do you mean by "plums," Mary,' I asked, 'perquisites?' 'Why, ma'am, them that wants railroads an' saloons an' other privileges must pay the aldermin for thim. Why,' says she, 'would you believe it—Tim put a thousan' dollars in the bank in me naice's name the day he voted the franchise for the new street railroad, or that is—well, Mis,' did you say blue thim waists or not?' and not another word could I get out of her, although I quizzed her carefully as long as I dared to. I told Rudolph about it last night and he said, 'Aha!' and whistled; and then he told me to tell nobody else in the world, but you. So I've come. Rudolph will support you. I always said so. He seems to think,—at least he said—'this may open up a pretty deep question for Miss Van Deusen.'"
"As indeed, it does," replied Gertrude, thoughtfully. "Tim Mathews, you said was the man?"
"Yes," said the fluffy lady, "but Rudolph said if that story was so, undoubtedly there are others."
"Undoubtedly," replied Gertrude. "Thank you, Bella, for coming to me. And you'll say nothing of this to anyone else?"
"O, no; and Rudolph thought it better that I should not be known in this. So you must promise, Gertie, not to let it be known that I told you. I might lose a very excellent laundress if you did."
Gertrude laughed. "What a very feminine point of view!" she said. "But you may have rendered the city a very good service, and I heartily thank you."
When her visitor had gone Gertrude Van Deusen sat alone for some time. She had caught only at a straw,—but it might indicate which way a very strong wind had blown or might now be blowing. Was this the reason the board of aldermen were so opposed to her proposed bill? Evidently, there was need of a secret and courageous study of the situation. Corruption was in the very air; she had known it was there for a long time; but this was the first real evidence of it in definite shape. And yet,—the story might have been but the idle boast of a half-drunken washerwoman. What should she do? Send for Judge Bateman?—Bailey?—Allingham? Not yet. She would look into it herself a little more.
She sent for the city treasurer, who came in somewhat uncertain as to what this woman could want with him. But he soon found out, for after perfunctory greetings, the Mayor put the case squarely before him.
"Mr. Hanaford, I would like to look into the matter of our expenses for the last year or two."
"Why, certainly, I will draw up the statement for you," he answered in some surprise.
"No. That is in all the reports, I suppose," she said; "I would prefer to look into the books myself. I can then take the time to study the situation and compare figures."
"But really, Miss Van Deusen,—your Honor—you do not mean to insinuate that you do not trust me?" The man's tone was aggrieved, almost rebellious.
"I insinuate nothing. I distrust nobody," she replied quietly. "But our charter gives the mayor access to all the books and accounts of the city at any time. I wish to familiarize myself with the city records, financial as well as clerical."
"Very well," said Mr. Hanaford. "But this is—may I be excused for saying it?—unexpected." He was saying to himself, "And what we might expect from a woman, with no knowledge of business."
"Will you come to my office?" he added respectfully, reassured by the thought that because she was a woman, she could not grapple with the problems before her, except by special study in each department.
"It will be better for you to bring all the books to my office," she answered. "Please have them here tomorrow morning."
Mr. Hanaford had scarcely gone out of hearing when an unfamiliar name was announced, with the information that the man insisted on seeing the mayor.
"I have tried to make him tell what he wants," said Mary Snow, "but apparently he wants nothing but you. He is a gentleman,—that is, he dresses and speaks like one."
"Send him in and stay near the telephone," said Gertrude. And a moment later a stranger entered,—a well-dressed, heavily mustached man of forty-five.
"Your Honor, the Mayor," he began. "I am proud to meet the first woman who sits in a mayor's chair in America." He waited for her to be seated and then drew up a chair close to her desk.
"Thank you. Let us hope I may not be the last," answered Gertrude.
"There will never be one that will grace the office more completely," returned the stranger gallantly. "Although, you will say that a mayor of either sex should not be chosen for graciousness alone."
"That is what I was about to say," said Gertrude. "But I am glad you recognize that firmer qualities are necessary, Mr.—Pardon me, did you give me your name?"
"Perhaps not," was the suave reply. "I am Orlando Vickery. I represent the Boulevard Railway Co."
Gertrude mastered her astonishment. This elegant person, then, was the man who was accused of trying to push his franchise through City Hall, illegally.
"I called to talk over matters with you," he was saying. "I feel that if you were to understand our position exactly, what we hope to do for the public, what we intend to do for the development of the city, I might persuade you that our cause is a just one—that we are entitled to all we ask and that, really, we are making a most liberal arrangement for the city."
"I do not fully understand just what you want to do," admitted the mayor. "Won't you explain?"
He did so at considerable length, entering into a voluble account of the proposed railroad and its expected earnings, and detailing at some length the advantages to that part of Roma which the proposed line would open up.
"But you know, of course, that the citizens of that section of the city are opposed to having your railway go through it?" asked the Mayor when he finally stopped.
"But they are short-sighted, blind," urged the man. "Now look here," lowering his voice. "We want you with us. I am prepared to offer you a bonus of $10,000 the day you sign our franchise."
"Mr. Vickery!" cried Gertrude.
"Fifteen, then—twenty thousand," he urged, oblivious to the look on her face. "And, yes, I can make you a shareholder in the system,—and our Railway will be a winner, as I have shown you—"
"Mr. Vickery!" the Mayor rose to her full height. "We may as well terminate this interview. I could not think of accepting anything of the sort. Understand, once for all, that I am not to be bought."
"Tut, tut, my dear lady," answered Vickery suavely, "I might have known better than to have presented my proposition to any woman—but you are an advanced woman, one who knows the ways of the world. I had presumed you knew something of the ways of politics."
"Mr. Vickery," said she, softening under a new idea; "tell me, is it customary for officials with whom you have had similar dealings to,—well, to be made shareholders in the concern?—And these little arrangements of which you speak.—should I be doing an unprecedented thing if I were to accede to your proposition?"
"Now you're talking like a sensible woman—a woman who has some idea of running municipal affairs in a business way," the man replied. "While I do not wish to violate any confidences,—I may say you will not find yourself the first, nor the second official who is 'in it,' with the Boulevard Railway scheme."
"Well, Mr. Vickery, I want to think this over a little," said Gertrude. "I cannot decide today."
"Take all the time you want," replied the promoter, cheerfully. "Only, of course, the sooner we get this through, the better it will be for us all."
"I see," answered the Mayor. "And now, good morning, Mr. Vickery."
When she was alone again she sat back in her chair and stared hard at her desk for a good five minutes.
"I am beginning to see light," said she at last.
Meanwhile, Orlando Vickery was getting into his automobile and whirling away down the street, chuckling to himself.
"Reformers are just like other folks," he told himself. "Catch 'em just as easy as a bird—only put a little salt on their tails, in the shape of good paying stocks, or a sufficient number of good hard, gold plunks."