The mayor laid down his magazine and arose. As the Colonel watched him with surprise, he removed his leathern apron. The Colonel folded his hand into a fist, but on the pleasant face of Mayor Stitz there was no sign of anger; no sign of righteous indignation; only a bland look of satisfaction.
“Well,” inquired the Colonel impatiently, “will ye put the ordinance through, or won't ye?”
The mayor looked at him with surprise in every feature. Clearly this Colonel did not understand the first rudiments of graft.
“First I must go by Mr. Skinner,” said Stitz simply. “Mebby he grafts me more NOT to pass such an ordinance.”
“Look here, Stitz,” said the Colonel in alarm. “You ain't goin' to do that, are ye?”
“Vell,” said the mayor, “still must I do it! So always does the boss grafter. Which side grafts him the most, so he does. It is always so, never different. To the most grafter, so goes he. I read it in this books. When the boss grafter does not so, what use is the grafts? How then does he know which he shall do for, the ordinance-wanting man, or the ordinance-not-wanting man?”
The Colonel tried to argue with him, but the mayor was obdurate. He would not budge from the highest principles of graft, and, as the Colonel had gone too far now to recede with honor, he secured the best terms he could. The most he could obtain was a promise that the mayor would not mention any names, nor so much as hint that graft had been promised. He uneasily awaited the mayor's return.
Stitz returned radiant. He was rubbing his hands and beaming.
“Fine!” he exclaimed. “Fine! I make me one boss grafter yet! Mister Skinner grafts me one roast beef and six pigs' feet. He ain't much liking those fire-extinguishers to have. How much more will you graft me now?”
The Colonel looked the mayor squarely in the eye.