Then he told the story; and how Gothecore and Melting Moses were taken from the river not four hours before.
“It was a fire in th' box factory,” said the Chief; “that factory 'buttin' on th' docks. Gothecore goes down from his station. The night's as dark as the inside of a cow. He's jimmin' along th' edge of th' wharf, an' no one noticin' in particular. Then of a sudden, there's an oath an' a big splash.
“'Man overboard!' yells some guy.
“The man overboard is Gothecore. Two or three coves come chasin' up to lend a hand.
“'Some duck jumps after him to save him,' says this party who yells 'overboard!' 'First one, an' then t'other, hits th' water. They oughter be some'ers about.'
“That second party in th' river was Melting Moses. An' say! Gov'nor, he didn't go after Gothecore to save him; not he! Melting Moses had shoved Gothecore in; an' seein' him swimmin' hard, an' likely to get ashore, he goes after him to cinch th' play. I'll tell you one thing: he cinches it. He piles himself on Gothecore's back, an' then he crooks his right arm about Gothecore's neck—the reg'lar garotte hug! an' enough to choke th' life out by itself. That aint th' worst.” Here the Chief's voice sunk to a whisper. “Melting Moses had his teeth buried in Gothecore's throat. Did you ever unlock a bulldog from his hold? Well, it was easy money compared to unhookin' Melting Moses from Gothecore. Sure! both was dead as mackerels when they got 'em out; they're on th' ice right now. Oh, well!” concluded the Chief; “I told Gothecore his finish more'n once. 'Don't rough people around so, Bill,' I'd say; 'you'll dig up more snakes than you can kill.' But he wouldn't listen; he was all for th' strong-arm, an' th' knock-about! It's a bad system. Nothin's lost by bein' smooth, Gov'nor; nothin's lost by bein' smooth!” and the Chief sighed lugubriously; after which he mopped his forehead and looked pensively from the window.
Your river sailor, on the blackest night, will feel the tide for its ebb or flow by putting his hand in the water. In a manner of speaking, I could now as plainly feel the popular current setting against the machine. It was like a strong flood, and with my experience of the town and its tempers I knew that we were lost. That murdered man who might have been a witness, and the violence done to the Reverend Bronson, were arguments in everybody's mouth.
And so the storm fell; the machine was swept away as by a flood. There was no sleight of the ballot that might have saved the day; our money proved no defense. The people fell upon Tammany and crushed it, and the town went from under my hand.
Morton had seen disaster on its way.
“And, really! I don't half like it,” observed that lounging king of traction. “It will cost me a round fifty thousand dollars, don't y' know! Of course, I shall give Tammany the usual fifty thousand, if only for the memory of old days. But, by Jove! there's those other chaps. Now they're going to win, in the language of our departed friend, Mr. Kennedy, I'll have to 'sweeten' them. It's a deuced bore contributing to both parties, but this time I can't avoid it—really!” and Morton stared feebly into space, as though the situation held him helpless with its perplexities.