“I’m agin no man because he sticks till what his father wur before him.”
“And there’s Kelly for select—a neighbour of yours; and here’s Haley for school director.”
“I knew yez father,” said Tim to Haley; “he wur a United man, an’ an A. O. H., so I’ll do what I can till give his son a boost. But for James Kelly—never!” Tim smacked his hands together loudly. “Gartenheim gits me vote; for he give me a job av work when the rist av yez passed me by!”
“Don’t let any o’ those young fellows jolly you, Tim; for they’re goin’ to git it in the neck, sure! Kelly’s the man! He’s the only one that can hold the workers, for he stands in with the mayor. He can git jobs.”
“I’ve heard that afore now,” remarked Tim, stubbornly. McQuirk touseled up the eldest boy’s head once more and also shook hands with the mother.
“Gartenheim’s name won’t be mentioned,” prophesied he as he buttoned up his light overcoat and paused at the door. “Stand in with the party, that’s the thing, eh, Mrs. Burns? The right kind o’ people never forgets who puts them in office. Do what’s regular, Tim, that’s all I ask, do what’s regular; vote to hold the organization together and keep the snide reformers out. And, remember, we’ve got a congressman to elect, the only one o’ the right stripe in the city.” He opened the door and stood aside while Haley stepped out. “Good night, Tim; I just thought I’d drop in and talk to you about the thing. No harm done?”
“Not a bit,” answered Mr. Burns, “Good night.”
And so it went from house to house, from alley to alley, from division to division through the ward. McQuirk did not trust himself in the hands of his workers; he saw the voters in person, raised the standard and appealed to the partisanship that is born in every man; and so if there was glory to be gained, he was the gainer; if there was a harvest of defeat to reap, it was not because of lack of personal attention on his part.
Politics had been McQuirk’s study for years, and he had been an apt scholar. He knew nothing of the profundity of statesmanship, and cared less; he had never made a speech upon his feet, and could not had his life depended upon it. But what he did not know of practical politics, as his friend Moran was in the habit of saying, was not worth knowing. He possessed a genius for organization: in getting out the full vote he was unexcelled, and he dominated the freemen of his district by one of three things: Favour—the expectation of favour—the fear of disfavour.
There were people in the ward that had known him when he was a dump-cart driver, and others who remembered a later period when his only visible means of support was Sunday poker-playing in the parlours of social clubs. Then he became a political hanger-on; he fetched and carried for the powers that were and by his astuteness gained their favour. Little by little he rose in power, and at length, was sent, under orders, to represent his division in the ward committee. From that time he grew visibly; his name began to appear in the political columns of the Sunday papers and he took to wearing a silk hat. Then came the revolt of a clique of workers that presaged disaster to the ward machine; McQuirk saw his opportunity, threw himself at the head of the insurgents and in a desperate battle of the ballots, came off victorious. His old benefactors were driven to the wall and ruthlessly knifed, and McQuirk stood at the head of the committee in the pivotal ward of the district.