The Fighting Edge (Smith's Magazine 1907)/Chapter 7

Blake’s elation was not destined to endure long after he left the presence of Miss Marriott. He wrapped himself in it as he stepped out briskly into the crisp, frosty night air, and he swung along unconscious of the retrospective smile that lingered in his eyes as he relived the hour and dwelt upon her winsome camaraderie.

But he had not gone far before he became aware that he was followed. Several times during the past two days he had been conscious of this annoyance, and had accepted it as an inevitable consequence of the course he had set himself to pursue. Something in his mood to-night revolted, and he determined to make an end of the surveillance. Turning the corner of a business block, he waited till he heard approaching footsteps, and then met the man face to face.

“Have you any business with me, my man?” he demanded sharply.

The spy pushed back his slouch-hat with a little laugh. To Blake’s surprise, he looked into the face of Samuel Higgins, chief legislative lobbyist on behalf of Simon Schaffner.

The man glanced around furtively. “Yes, Mr. Blake, I’ve got some business with you, all right. But we can’t talk it over here. Can you give me half an hour in my office right away?”

A surge of disgust swept through the young man; a sudden nausea of the dirty game of politics. “What do you want with me? What business have you with me that can’t be transacted here?” he cried sharply.

“Don’t go off half-cocked, Mr. Blake,” implored the man, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. “And for Heaven’s sake don’t talk so loud.”

Devereux subdued his contempt, succeeded at least in keeping it from his manner. “Well, I’ll meet you there if you like,” he conceded, not very graciously.

“All right; say at my office in ten minutes. Slip in by the alley way, and give three knocks on the back window.”

“I’ll be hanged if I do! I go in by the front door or not at all.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” agreed Higgins hastily. “Most of the members don’t like to be seen coming in, but if you don’t care, I don’t.”

Fifteen minutes later the State senator was offered a bribe for the second time in his life. It was wrapped up in the form of a contract to purchase timber-land he owned in Oregon, but Blake recognized it as a bribe pure and simple.

“What’s the use of buying my vote while you still lack so many?” he asked bluntly, in reply to Higgins’ statement that his support was vital to the election of the mining magnate.

The lobbyist sawed the air with a fat forefinger. “Mr. Blake, last night Bulger was in your rooms. He made you some kind of a proposition. That’s a cinch. You get up and tell the joint assembly what it was, and Stoneman will be down and out inside of fifteen minutes. We'll have a lot of his followers on the run to save themselves from suspicion. See? They’d have to throw him over to save their own bacons.”

“How do you know I didn’t agree to vote for Stoneman?”

“If you did, we can show you good reasons why it won’t pay you to do it—good business reasons. That offer I made on your timber-lands ain’t an outside price, if you think it too low.”

Higgins watched his victim like a hawk while the young man considered his offer. “The beauty of this proposition, Mr. Blake, is that you can swing to us without being suspected at all. Bulger tries to bribe you, and the result is that you are driven to vote with us to defeat his man. You get the credit with the people of doing the square thing. I don’t mind telling you that we have two other votes promised us conditionally on our getting yours.”

“Whose?”

“I don’t know as I ought to tell you that,” hesitated Higgins. “Still, if you're going in with us it doesn’t matter. Kreagh and Kirby have promised to line up with us whenever you do.”

After a long discussion, carried on solely to save appearances, Blake came to an agreement with him to expose Bulger on the morrow, and to vote for Schaffner. He went to his rooms thoroughly sick at heart of the sordid conflict, of the series of desperate battles that were being daily waged for the honor of the men who had sworn to serve only the interests of the people they were supposed to represent. In this fierce duel of the soul to which each of them had been subjected no temptation had been left untried. Neither the love of kin, of friendship, of good-fellowship, nor the secret weaknesses of the heart, had been spared to drag down the wretched victims. So fierce had been the battle that, unless a man were anchored by sure strands to honor, he was lost of a certainty.

A hundred times Blake had gone over the ground, had considered this man and that, citizens hitherto of good repute—honorable, kindly, unsmirched. He had seen them swept from their moorings one by one; had read in their furtive, haggard faces the inner strife that wrung their hearts, and would stamp them for life in their own minds as men bought for a price. He knew how searchingly they had been tried; this one by the knowledge of impending ruin, that other by the grinding poverty which was making his wife an old woman before her time. He knew, too, the specious arguments they used to justify their surrender—that everybody was tarred with the same brush, and to decline would be Quixotic; that a refusal to yield could in no way affect the result; that after this one lapse they would be in a financial position to keep clear of all dubious transactions. The knowledge of all this had decided him in his course. The honor of the State should remain intact, at least, and those who were debauching its representatives should not profit by their shameful seductions. He had sought. out the three men of whom he was absolutely sure—there were others in the legislature beyond the lure of the dollar, but he could not trust their secrecy—and they had agreed to stand together in exposing the corruption all about them. Blake knew that he took his life in his hands, and this was the one compensation, the one exhilarating aspect of the whole dismal business.

Since the formation of their alliance political, it had been Blake’s custom to meet occasionally with Kreagh, Kirby, and McCune to outline their policy of action. He got them now on the telephone, and arranged for an immediate consultation. McCune arrived within a few minutes, and at his heels the other two.

In the midst of deep discussion of their plans came a knock at the door. The four men glanced at each other in silence before Devereux spoke his “Come in.”

It was Mr. Timothy Bulger that presented himself.in answer to the invitation.

His greeting was cavalier. “What the hell youse think you are doing?” he growled, and faced them with his head thrust forward on the bull-neck.

“Entertaining uninvited guests, suggested Blake suavely.

“Don’t get gay, young fellow,” surlily cautioned the politician.

“May I ask to what good luck we are indebted for the pleasure of your company?” asked his host ironically.

“Cut it out, Blake. I don’t stand for none of your high and mighty airs.” He glared round at the assembled company in a purple rage. “What I want to know is what youse fellows mean by holding meetings with Higgins and his bunch. Ain’t youse lined up with us? Or are youse selling out for a bigger price? Now youse have got it straight.”

“Your frankness is commendable, and I’m going to emulate it,” hit back Blake sharply. “I have had quite enough of you, Mr. Bulger. I’m not going to throw you down-stairs, because I don’t want to make a hole in the wall plaster. But I give you my word on one thing; if you do not leave this room inside of three minutes I shall not under any consideration vote for Stoneman.”

Kreagh, the big cattleman, rose up and took Bulger by the fat throat. Despite his struggles, he swept the briber back to the wall, and pinned him there with a grip of steel.

“Now listen to me, Tim Bulger. I reckon you’re born a fool, and can’t help it. That’s your misfortune. If you had the sense of a locoed two-year-old, you would know we weren't going to vote for Simon Schaffner. But you let one thing soak into your coconut, my friend. We want to see you just once more before the election, and that is at ten-thirty to-morrow morning, with the mazuma. Now get busy minding your own business, or we'll chuck the whole affair. Vamos!”

Bulger flashed one venomous look at Kreagh, another at Blake, and stayed not on the order of his going.