“What is this?” he asked of his neighbor and nearest associate, Alderman Gavegan, when he gained the safety of his seat. “A free country?”
“Search me!” replied his compatriot, wearily. “I never seen such a band as I have to deal with out in the Twentieth. Why, my God! a man can’t call his name his own any more out here. It’s got so now the newspapers tell everybody what to do.”
Alderman Pinski and Alderman Hoherkorn, conferring together in one corner, were both very dour. “I’ll tell you what, Joe,” said Pinski to his confrere; “it’s this fellow Lucas that has got the people so stirred up. I didn’t go home last night because I didn’t want those fellows to follow me down there. Me and my wife stayed downtown. But one of the boys was over here at Jake’s a little while ago, and he says there must ’a’ been five hundred people around my house at six o’clock, already. Whad ye think o’ that?”
“Same here. I don’t take much stock in this lynching idea. Still, you can’t tell. I don’t know whether the police could help us much or not. It’s a damned outrage. Cowperwood has a fair proposition. What’s the matter with them, anyhow?”
Renewed sounds of “Marching Through Georgia” from without.
Enter at this time Aldermen Ziner, Knudson, Revere, Rogers, Tiernan, and Kerrigan. Of all the aldermen perhaps Messrs. Tiernan and Kerrigan were as cool as any. Still the spectacle of streets blocked with people who carried torches and wore badges showing slip-nooses attached to a gallows was rather serious.
“I’ll tell you, Pat,” said “Smiling Mike,” as they eventually made the door through throngs of jeering citizens; “it does look a little rough. Whad ye think?”
“To hell with them!” replied Kerrigan, angry, waspish, determined. “They don’t run me or my ward. I’ll vote as I damn please.”
“Same here,” replied Tiernan, with a great show of courage. “That goes for me. But it’s putty warm, anyhow, eh?”
“Yes, it’s warm, all right,” replied Kerrigan, suspicious lest his companion in arms might be weakening, “but that’ll never make a quitter out of me.”
“Nor me, either,” replied the Smiling One.
Enter now the mayor, accompanied by a fife-and-drum corps rendering “Hail to the Chief.” He ascends the rostrum. Outside in the halls the huzzas of the populace. In the gallery overhead a picked audience. As the various aldermen look up they contemplate a sea of unfriendly faces. “Get on to the mayor’s guests,” commented one alderman to another, cynically.
A little sparring for time while minor matters are considered, and the gallery is given opportunity for comment on the various communal lights, identifying for itself first one local celebrity and then another. “There’s Johnnie Dowling, that big blond fellow with the round head; there’s Pinski—look at the little rat; there’s Kerrigan. Get on to the emerald. Eh, Pat, how’s the jewelry? You won’t get any chance to do any grafting tonight, Pat. You won’t pass no ordinance tonight.”
Alderman Winkler (pro-Cowperwood). “If the chair pleases, I think something ought to be done to restore order in the gallery and keep these proceedings from being disturbed. It seems to me an outrage, that, on an occasion of this kind, when the interests of the people require the most careful attention—”
A Voice. “The interests of the people!”
Another Voice. “Sit down. You’re bought!”
Alderman Winkler. “If the chair pleases—”
The Mayor. “I shall have to ask the audience in the gallery to keep quiet in order that the business in hand may be considered.” (Applause, and the gallery lapses into silence.)
Alderman Guigler (to Alderman Sumulsky). “Well trained, eh?”
Alderman Ballenberg (pro-Cowperwood, getting up—large, brown, florid, smooth-faced). “Before calling up an ordinance which bears my name I should like to ask permission of the council to make a statement. When I introduced this ordinance last week I said—”
A Voice. “We know what you said.”
Alderman Ballenberg. “I said that I did so by request. I want to explain that it was at the request of a number of gentlemen who have since appeared before the committee of this council that now has this ordinance—”
A Voice. “That’s all right, Ballenberg. We know by whose request you introduced it. You’ve said your little say.”
Alderman Ballenberg. “If the chair pleases—”
A Voice. “Sit down, Ballenberg. Give some other boodler a chance.”
The Mayor. “Will the gallery please stop interrupting.”
Alderman Horanek (jumping to his feet). “This is an outrage. The gallery is packed with people come here to intimidate us. Here is a great public corporation that has served this city for years, and served it well, and when it comes to this body with a sensible proposition we ain’t even allowed to consider it. The mayor packs the gallery with his friends, and the papers stir up people to come down here by thousands and try to frighten us. I for one—”
A Voice. “What’s the matter, Billy? Haven’t you got your money yet?”
Alderman Hvranek (Polish-American, intelligent, even artistic looking, shaking his fist at the gallery). “You dare not come down here and say that, you coward!”
A Chorus of Fifty Voices. “Rats!” (also) “Billy, you ought to have wings.”
Alderman Tiernan (rising). “I say now, Mr. Mayor, don’t you think we’ve had enough of this?”
A Voice. “Well, look who’s here. If it ain’t Smiling Mike.”
Another Voice. “How much do you expect to get, Mike?”
Alderman Tiernan (turning to gallery). “I want to say I can lick any man that wants to come down here and talk to me to my face. I’m not afraid of no ropes and no guns. These corporations have done everything for the city—”
A Voice. “Aw!”
Alderman Tiernan. “If it wasn’t for the
