Big Kennedy called one of his underlings, and gave him directions to have the sleeping drunkard conveyed instantly to a bath-house.
“Get th' kinks out of him,” said he; “an' bring him back to me in four days. I want to see him as straight as a string, an' dressed as though for a weddin'. I'm goin' to need him to make a speech, d'ye see! at that mugwump ratification meetin' in Cooper Union.”
When the Reverend Bronson, and the drunken Cicero, in care of his keeper, had gone their several ways, Big Kennedy wheeled upon us. He was briefly informed of the troubles of Mulberry Traction.
“If them gas crooks don't hold hard,” said he, when young Morton had finished, “we'll have an amendment to th' city charter passed at Albany, puttin' their meters under th' thumb an' th' eye of th' Board of Lightin' an' Supplies. I wonder how they'd like that! It would cut sixty per cent, off their gas bills. However, mebby th' Gas Company's buttin' into this thing in th' dark. What judge does the injunction come up before?”
“Judge Mole,” said young Morton.
“Mole, eh?” returned Big Kennedy thoughtfully. “We'll shift th' case to some other judge. Mole won't do; he's th' Gas Company's judge, d'ye see.”
“The Gas Company's judge!” exclaimed the reputable old gentleman, in horrified amazement.
Big Kennedy, at this, shone down upon the reputable old gentleman like a benignant sun.
“Slowly but surely,” said he, “you begin to tumble to th' day an' th' town you're livin' in. Don't you know that every one of our giant companies has its own judge? Why! one of them Captains of Industry, as th' papers call 'em, would no more be without his judge than without his stenographer.”
“In what manner,” snorted the reputable old gentleman, “does one of our great corporations become possessed of a judge?”