But what virtue is there in waiting, our cynical friend would ask. Why not go home and sleep? Because, O cynical friend, the Wigwam now is Khalid’s home. For was he not, in creaking boots and a slouch hat, ceremoniously married to Democracy? Ay, and after spending their honeymoon on the Stump and living another month or two with his troll among her People, he returns to his cellar to brood, not over the blank pages in his Text, nor over the disastrous results of the Campaign, but on the weightier matter of divorce. For although Politics and Romance, in the History of Human Intrigue, have often known and enjoyed the same yoke, with Khalid they refused to pull at the plough. They were not sensible even to the goad. Either the yoke in his case was too loose, or the new yoke-fellow too thick-skinned and stubborn.
Moreover, the promise of a handsome dowry, made by the Shamrag Father-in-Law or his Brokers materialised only in the rotten eggs and tomatoes with which the Orator was cordially received on his honeymoon trip. Such a marriage, O Mohammad, and such a honeymoon, and such a dowry!—is not this enough to shake the very sides of the Kaaba with laughter? And yet, in the Wigwam this not uncommon affair was indifferently considered; for the good and honourable Tammanyites marry off their Daughters every day to foreigners and natives alike, and with like extraordinary picturesque results.
Were it not wiser, therefore, O Khalid, had you consulted your friend the Dictionary before you saw exact meaning of canvass and manipulation, before you put on your squeaking boots and slouch hat and gave your hand and heart to Tammany’s Daughter and her Father-in-Law O’Graft? But the Dictionary, too, often falls short of human experience; and even Mr. O’Donohue could at best but hint at the meaning of the esoteric terms of Tammany’s political creed. These you must define for yourself as you go along; and change and revise your definitions as you rise or descend in the Sacred Order. For canvass here might mean eloquence; there it might mean shrewdness; lower down, intimidation and coercion; and further depthward, human sloth and misery. It is but a common deal in horses. Ay, in Tammany Land it is essentially a trade honestly conducted on the known principle of supply and demand. These truths you had to discover for yourself, you say; for neither the Dictionary, nor your friend and fellow traveller in Bohemia, Mr. Hoolihan, could stretch their knowledge or their conscience to such a compass. And you are not sorry to have made such a discovery? Can you think of the Dowry and say that? We are, indeed, sorry for you. And we would fain insert in letter D of the Dictionary a new definition: namely, Dowry, n. (Tammany Land Slang). The odoriferous missiles, such as eggs and tomatoes, which are showered on an Orator-Groom by the people.
But see what big profits Khalid draws from these small shares in the Reality Stock Company. You remember, good Reader, how he was kicked away from the door of the Temple of Atheism. The stogies of that inspired Doorkeeper were divine, according to his way of viewing things, for they were at that particular moment God’s own boots. Ay, it was God, he often repeats, who kicked him away from the Temple of his enemies. And now, he finds the Dowry of Democracy, with all its wonderful revelations, as profitable in its results, as divine in its purpose. And in proof of this, we give here a copy of his letter to Boss O’Graft, written in that downright manner of his contemporaries, the English original of which we find in the Histoire Intime.
“From Khalid to Boss O’Graft.
“Right Dishonourable Boss:
“I have just received a check from your Treasurer, which by no right whatever is due me, having been paid for my services by Him who knows better than you and your Treasurer what I deserve. The voice of the people, and their eggs and tomatoes, too, are, indeed, God’s. And you should know this, you who dare to remunerate me in what is not half as clean as those missiles. I return not your insult of a check, however; but I have tried to do your state some service in purchasing the few boxes of soap which I am now dispatching to the Wigwam. You need more, I know, you and your Honourable Henchmen or Hashmen. And instead of canvassing and orating for Democracy’s illustrious Candidate and the Noble Cause, mashallah! one ought to do a little canvassing for Honesty and Truth among Democracy’s leaders, tuft-hunters, political stockjobbers, and suchlike. O, for a higher stump, my Boss, to preach to those who are supporting and degrading the stumps and the stump-orators of the Republic!”
And is it come to this, you poor phantom-like dreamer? Think you a Tammany Boss is like your atheists and attorneys and women of the studio, at whom you could vent your ire without let or hindrance? These harmless humans have no constables at their command. But his Shamrag Majesty—O wretched Khalid, must we bring one of his myrmidons to your cellar to prove to you that, even in this Tammany Land, you can not with immunity give free and honest expression to your thoughts? Now, were you not summoned to the Shamrag’s presence to answer for the crime of lèse-majesté? And were you not, for your audacity, left to brood ten days and nights in gaol? And what tedium we have in Shakib’s History about the charge on which he was arrested. It is unconscionable that Khalid should misappropriate Party funds. Indeed, he never even touched or saw any of it, excepting, of course, that check which he returned. But the Boss was still in power. And what could Shakib do to exonerate his friend? He did much,
