4 The Transit Bill

Arthur began to consider his election a foregone conclusion, and it seemed to him that Radigan and the principal ward workers shared his opinion as they always spoke in the most hopeful manner. He and the leader fell into the habit of discussing Arthur’s plans when he should go to Albany, and often Radigan, in a way almost fatherly, would volunteer advice. He was never obtrusive about it, merely suggesting it, and leaving the inference that Cathcart was welcome to leave it alone or adopt it, as he thought fit. One day he mentioned again, quite casually, the matter of the East Side Rapid Transit Bill, and said that he had looked farther into it.

“It seems to me that it’s a mighty good thing,” he said. “It would be a big help to us, here on the East Side, where transportation lines are so crowded.”

“Of course,” said Arthur, speaking in a general way.

Later in the day, when he was alone, Radigan’s suggestion returned to him and he began to think more directly about the bill. If it were of such importance to his district he ought to examine its details and he began to make inquiries. He learned that the measure had been introduced at the last regular session, but too late for action, and would come up at a special session called by the governor on account of several important questions. He obtained a copy of the bill from Albany, and when it arrived he went up to his own room to study it.

Arthur Cathcart was not a lawyer, but he had a clear and direct mind which, backed by application, can often supply the place of legal learning. He read the bill the first time with interest, the second time with keen attention, the third time with suspicion, a fourth time with indignation, and a fifth time with conviction. Then he put it upon a table and thought a long time, trying to see clearly through cloudy regions.

The bill was worded in the most skillful and artful manner. Here and there were vague little sentences which seemed to be in the nature of a “whereas” or a “resolved”, a sort of legal mortising, but in which Cathcart’s clear, intent mind saw a meaning that would be overlooked by the casual reader. The strength of the bill lay in these modest little clauses, and it gave to its incorporators, all of whose names were obscure, enormous powers. They would have the right to condemn property at very low rates for their right of way, they were enabled to parallel existing lines, and the company would make no financial return to the city for any of its immensely valuable privileges.

Arthur’s indignation gave way for a moment to a feeling of relief. He had intended to refer to this bill in his speeches and to speak of the great good that it would do for the East Side, and now he had been saved from compromising himself and his honor so horribly. Surely Radigan could not know, he could not dream that this bill was a huge gouge, and he made up his mind to enlighten the leader as soon as possible. He would also declare himself at once upon such an important measure and denounce it in his speeches, knowing that if he could arouse public indignation it would help to kill the bill.

In the morning he went early to Radigan’s office, and found the leader just dismissing a crippled workman to whom he was giving help for himself and his family, Radigan seemed to be embarrassed when he was caught thus in the act, but he waved it aside as a trifle, and benevolent, smiling, turned his attention to Cathcart.

“Sit down, won’t you, Mr. Radigan,” said Cathcart. “I want to speak to you on a matter of some importance.”

“I’ve always time for you, Mr. Cathcart,” said the leader.

Arthur drew from a pocket his copy of the East Side Rapid Transit Bill and laid it on the table between them.

“I had that from Albany yesterday,” he said.

“What is it?” asked the leader.

“You remember speaking to me of the East Side Rapid Transit Bill that was introduced at Albany last session and which will come up again at the special term, and how we agreed that it would be a good thing. Well, we were both fooled. It looks all right on the surface, but it’s full of little ‘jokers.’ Why that thing will rip up the whole East Side in favor of its incorporators and the charter alone will be worth millions to them.”

“You don’t say so, Mr. Cathcart?” said Radigan, opening wide his eyes. “Let me read it”

Arthur handed him the bill and Radigan read it slowly, clause by clause. Arthur studied his face closely as he read and he was surprised to see neither indignation nor astonishment depicted there. Instead Radigan’s expression was rather puzzled.

When the leader finished he folded the bill carefully, and handed it back to Cathcart.

“It’s queer how opinions differ,” he said in a tone of slow, good humor. “I don’t see anythin’ wrong with the bill. The powers that you think it gives to the incorporators couldn’t be exercised because the courts would step in first. You’re such an honest man yourself, Mr. Cathcart, that you get suspicious.”

Arthur’s surprise continued, but after all, as the whole world knows, every man has a right to his own opinion, and different men see in different ways.

“I’m quite convinced that I have ground for my suspicions in this case,” he said firmly.

“You’re over-anxious,” said the leader, compassionately. “Anyway, I wouldn’t commit myself. I think the East Side needs this bill, an’ it might hurt you if you were to come out against it.”

Arthur was annoyed. He had expected Radigan to rise up and share his indignation, but the leader steadfastly refused to be disturbed. Moreover, he clung to his own opinion, and the more Arthur argued with him and tried to show him where he was wrong the more tenacious he was about it, though always mild in speech and friendly in manner. Arthur finally gave up the attempt, and while much disappointed at his own failure, he had a lower opinion of Radigan’s acuteness. The man’s lack of education must be against him.

“Well,” he said at last, “I’m sorry we can’t agree, but I’m going to come back at you about this. I’m bound to make you see the light,”

Radigan smiled, showing the narrow line of a fine set of teeth, and just as another man had done, patted Arthur on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

“Don’t you be in any hurry,” he said. “Don’t you tangle yourself up on this bill when you’don’t have any need to do it. The East Side wants it, and wants it bad.”

Arthur made no promise and Radigan followed him to the door, repeating his advice to be cautious.

“We want to elect you,” he said, “an’ the road’s all smooth now unless you’re bent on trippin’ yourself up with your own feet.”

Arthur left much disturbed, and while usually a man who was quite able to make up his own mind he would have liked, in this case, to ask the advice of his uncle, his nearest blood relative, the very man who ought to give him advice. But he could not do it. Mr. Cathcart would merely sneer and repeat his old assertion that he had washed his hands of the whole affair. It was, therefore, an impulse that caused him to go with his question, not to any man, but to a woman. The woman was Lucy Howe.

He had advanced far enough now with the Howe family to take Lucy in the park without a chaperone. He had bought an automobile of his own, despite his uncle’s sneer that it would probably cost him many votes among his constituents, “the people,” and he could take her down the more secluded roads of Central Park, over which the bare, wintry branches hung. It was on such an occasion as this that he told her about the bill, and his fears.

“Are you sure that you are right in your reading of it?” she asked.

“Absolutely!” he replied. “It’s a grab; it can’t be anything else. Radigan thinks to the contrary, but he’s not a lawyer, and I don’t think he understands technical language. He’s an exceedingly bright man, but his early education was neglected.”

He did not say anything, and he looked covertly at her to see if he could read her opinion in her face, most of which was hidden, however, by furs. But her lips were curved thoughtfully, and the blue eyes so wonderfully like her father’s, though softer, were very grave. He suddenly forgot all about the question and thought how beautiful and tempting she was, with the glow of the winter’s cold on her face, and the rays of the winter’s sun turning her yellow hair to flaming gold.

“Political usage does not require you to declare yourself on any bill before you are even elected, does it?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he replied doubtfully. “No, not unless the question is actively before the public, and this certainly is not at the present time. I have not heard a soul mention it except myself and those to whom I have spoken about it.”

“But it’s a bad bill anyhow and you believe that the sooner a fight upon it is begun the more chance you have to beat it?”

“Undoubtedly. Public opinion should be aroused.”

“Then I think you ought to speak of it, at once,” she said, her eyes sparkling with honest fire. “If it’s wicked and you feel sure that it is wicked I should come out and say so.”

“I thank you,” he said very gravely. “Your opinion is mine, and I’ve made up my mind to act.”

They said little more until they were on the way home and then she asked, as if it were an afterthought:

“Will your declaration now against this bill imperil your election?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got to take the risk.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and her lip trembled a little. Was she inciting him to a resolution that would injure him or ruin his career? But she gave no utterance to her fears, and presently the lip grew firm again. But Arthur felt that he was approved, and he seemed to feel a certain respect in her manner when he left her at her father’s house. He needed nothing more to strengthen him in his resolution.

He was to speak that evening and again Liberty Hall was to be the scene of his effort. He had in the beginning a certain facility of speech, perhaps a gift from his ancestors on the Kentucky side, and with practice he was fast acquiring an oratorical power that added to the interest of his campaign. His speeches, or the attendant circumstances, were reported more freely than usual in the press, and tonight, when he arrived, he found a little group of reporters at a table on the stand, among whom was his friend Collins, who greeted him cheerfully, But they were all his friends; he had adopted Collins’ advice of unfailing politeness, with the reserve of his own judgment as to what to say or whether to say anything at all.

“What’s the program tonight, Mr. Cathcart,” asked Collins, “going to stir ’em up ?”

Cathcart smiled. Now that he had taken his resolution he was satisfied with himself and had no further fears.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I’m going to say something new. There’s a measure particularly affecting the East Side that I’m going to discuss.”

Collins and his brethren sat up and their eyes brightened. An attack is always more interesting than defense, and here was the possibility of a good story. What was the measure to which he referred? They had not heard of it before.

The hall was well filled. Cathcart was now always an attraction, and in the absence of other political races attention was concentrated upon him. Radigan came upon the stage by the side entrance and sat down in a corner, quietly enough, it is true, and in a place obscure enough, but with the air of leadership and direction that in the last few days had grated with increasing harshness upon Cathcart. Arthur looked from the crowd to Radigan and the leader smiled as their glances met. But Cathcart did not smile back, his mind was full of his purpose, and he imagined that it would be a disagreeable surprise to Radigan. Then he turned his gaze, rose, and faced his audience.

He spoke for a little while on those general principles with which nearly all politicians begin their addresses, and then he turned to the immediate needs of the district.

“Now there is one thing of which I wish particularly to speak to you tonight,” he said, “and it is a bill introduced at the last session of the General Assembly too late for action, but which will come up promptly at the special term. It is the East Side Rapid Transit Bill, ostensibly to build a new subway, but including with it almost unlimited powers, worth millions to its incorporators.”

He proceeded to attack the bill in a speech of impassioned eloquence and remarkable clearness. He had taken it previously to an expert franchise lawyer, who confirmed him in his opinion of its fraudulent nature, and he was armed with abundant proof. He told, moreover, how the public was often imposed upon by measures which pretended to be in the general interest, and which had a good look, but which in reality were gigantic grabs, and this was a most flagrant instance of the kind.

As he spoke he saw a look of amazement spread over the face of Italian and Slav, Hebrew and Russian, Irishman and American. They could scarcely believe him. It seemed incredible to them that a measure which promised so well, which apparently was all for the public interest, was bad; but as he went on he saw that in many cases the look of amazement changed to a look of conviction, His own indignation at the measure swelled as it found vent in speech. His words came in a hot torrent. He was surprised at his own power of invective, and he riddled the bill, clause by clause.

Arthur never once turned to see the face of Radigan, but when he finished and sat down the leader came directly within his range of vision. Radigan’s eyes expressed no burning indignation, their look was merely surprised, grieved, and troubled, and the grief and trouble seemed to be more for Cathcart than for anybody or anything else. He rose from his chair, and shook his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, awful sorry, Mr. Cathcart,” he said in a grieved tone. “I wish you’d talked to me about this beforehand. I’m afraid you’ve made a big break. You’re all wrong about that bill, You ’ve jumped too soon an’ you ’ve jumped the wrong way.”

Cathcart’s lip stiffened. He did not like Radigan’s manner. He would have preferred more heat rather than this air of grief and solicitude.

“I knew your opinion, already,” he replied, “and I haven’t been able to change it, so there was nothing to do but to declare mine.”

Radigan gave him a pitying look which said clearly: “Here is a foolish and obstinate young man who must have his head.” But he merely spoke the terse words:

“It’s my business to win.”

Cathcart made no rejoinder. He was sorry that Radigan took an opposing view, but he had no regrets. Instead, he felt a great relief that he had spoken. He walked slowly out of the hall with Radigan, both in silence, and as they reached the door the janitor turned out the last light, leaving the place a cave of darkness behind them,

“Good night,” said Radigan, when they stood in the street.

“Good night,” said Cathcart with equal brevity and then the unlike pair separated, each going his own way.

When Cathcart awoke the next morning he found that he had indeed stirred up a local sensation. All the newspapers contained full accounts of his attack upon the East Side Rapid Transit Bill, and several of them went further, giving information that was news to Cathcart himself. They saw that the bill was backed by powerful financial interests, and they volunteered the statement that young Cathcart was in for a fight.

“I guess they are right,” said Cathcart to himself. He did not say, even to himself, that he intended to be in the fight, but he was full of resolution.

Not hearing from Radigan the next day he chose the direct way and went to see him, finding the leader yet in the grieved and troubled state that had marked his reception of the speech.

“I’ve been doin’ my best for you, Mr. Cathcart,” said Radigan in a pained voice, “but when you kicked over the traces in that speech of yours you planted a hoof right in my face. An’ I’ll stand by you yet, but you’re wrong about the bill, dead wrong, an’ the East Side wants it.”

Cathcart went three or four days later to the Twentieth National Bank, where he kept a deposit, in order to secure some funds. He had no occasion to see Mr. Howe, but as he waited in the line at the paying teller’s window he saw someone come from the inner offices and go quickly out at the front door. He caught only a glimpse of the man’s back and it was a chance look at that, but the thick, square shoulders and the swing of the body reminded him of Radigan. The incident aroused no interest in his mind, but he thought of it after he left the bank. Just then his attention was drawn by Mr. Hargrove, who had come outside the steel railing, and who, noticing Cathcart, spoke to him with a satisfied air of patronage that could not fail to be repellent. But Cathcart pretended not to notice it.

“We haven’t seen much of you lately,” said Mr. Hargrove.

“No,” replied Arthur, “but it’s been the lack of opportunity not of will. How is Mr. Howe?”

“Never stronger or better,” replied Mr. Hargrove, maliciously, “but you won’t mind it, will you, when I tell you he thinks that you’ve made a mess of it about that bill. He lays it to your youth and inexperience.”

Cathcart was offended. He thought that Mr. Hargrove showed lack of taste, and he also detected a note of exultation in both his tone and his manner. It seemed to him that Mr. Hargrove rejoiced in the difficulties accumulating in his path.

“Mr. Howe may be right,” he replied coldly, “but again he may be wrong. However, he is entitled to his opinion.”

He turned away with a curt nod, and Mr. Hargrove went behind the steel railing to his office.

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