"At this time, when our political history is one of business development, we are over-burdened with useless offices. Aldermen and legislators who receive on an average less than a thousand a year—often less than it costs to be elected—are suddenly intrusted with the responsibilities of laws and franchises involving millions. When you ask yourself how a man is to continue a political career, support a family, and fight a costly fight for reelection on a thousand a year, the wonder is that any remain honest. We have not the slightest conception of values in America; the worst paid professions are those the vigor of the nation depends on most—the minister, the teacher, and the legislator. There are ministers living on five hundred a year, teachers on six hundred, legislators on less, while the carpenter or plumber who doesn't make at least $5 a day is unorganized." Then, perceiving that he had wandered from his subject, he added: "You see, Ted, this state of affairs results: politics becomes the business of business. Industry is at the mercy of the legislator, and the legislator knows it. He may restrict the field of business of insurance companies, prohibit others from operating in his state, add or detract from the wealth of individuals by tariffs, force the adoption of certain building material on contractors, regulate rates of railroads and force them to adopt certain life-preserving devices; can create rival franchises or tax out of existence corporations that refuse to pay its blackmail.
"That is why there are, back in the secret life of every great business, ledgers it is not good the public should see. That is one reason why business goes into politics, nominates its men, and assists them—in order to protect itself against strikes and blackmail. The great political alliance of business is almost always expressed by the railroad which is the natural agent. All this is known; every newspaper that will shriek out horrified editorials next week knows this; but when the Atlantic Trust is caught in a business depression, and is unable to get ready money from influences it has antagonized, the public will learn only that one institution has secretly contributed to a political party, maintained a huge fund for lobbying purposes, made loans on securities that were speculative, and transgressed the letter of the law. The public will be indignant, and Majendie will be disgraced."
"But, Bruce," said Beecher, who was thinking of the analysis that had been made, "if we are so riddled with corruption, where is it all going to end?"
"The end will come in the opening of another phase of national life. We will become honest through the purifying process of another generation. Honesty, you see, has this one great advantage over corruption—it is the goal of corruption. Those who acquire, wish to retain, to resist those who in turn wish to graft from them. Stealing was an attribute of distinction, until men came to live together. The next generation will purify and reorganize."
"I didn't know you'd gone into things so deeply," said Beecher, impressed.
"I've worked like a pup since I started to amuse myself," said Gunther, with a laugh.
The automobile drew up before the glittering doors of Lazare's, and a gilded footman, recognizing it, flashed obsequiously to their door.
"Say, let's cut this out," said Gunther, frowning. "I'm out of the mood now. Let's run off for a chop and a baked potato somewhere. I'm tired of this."
"Too late," said Beecher, laughing and pointing to an upper window where a feminine arm was waving frantically. "We're caught." Then, suddenly he remembered the hint of McKenna's, and added: "I say, what's the story about Majendie and Mrs. Bloodgood? I'm not up on the gossip, you know."
Gunther signaled impatiently to the flunky to close the door, and related, what every one knew, the attachment of the financier and the wife of the owner of the New York Star.