Part 17 (1/2)

”Do I know him? Me name's kep' on his bail-bond as reg'lar as on the parish book.”

”Yes, of course; well, I met him, as I was saying, and, to make a long story short, I found that Bockerheisen had got hold of him, and they've packed a lot of tenement-houses with Poles and Italians and organized an a.s.sociation. There are about 600 of them. Dutchy keeps them in beer, and that's about all they want, you know.”

Colonel Boozy had been about to drink a gla.s.s of beer as Dennie began this communication. He had raised the gla.s.s to his lips, but it got no further. His eyes began to bulge and his nose to widen, his forehead to contract and his jaws to close, and when Dennie stopped and drained off his amber gla.s.s, the Alderman was standing stiff with stupefied rage. He recovered speech and motion shortly, however, and both came surging upon him in a flood. He fetched his heavy beer-gla.s.s down upon the bar with a furious blow, and a volley of oaths such as only a New York Alderman can utter shot forth like slugs from a Gatling gun. When this cyclone of rage had pa.s.sed away he was left pensive.

Dennie, who had remained cool and sympathetic during the exhibition, now observed: ”It is as you say, Colonel, very wicked in Dutchy thus to seek to win by fraud what he never could get on his merits. It is also most ungrateful in The Croak. Well, I've told you what the facts are. You'll know how to manage them. So-long,” and Dennie started for the street.

But the Colonel detained him. ”Don't be goin' yet, Dennie,” he said. ”I want ter talk this bizness over wid ye. Come intil the back room, Dennie.”

They adjourned into a little private room at the rear of the bar, and the Alderman drew from a closet a bottle of wine, a couple of gla.s.ses, and a box of cigars.

”Dennie,” he said nervously, ”we must bate 'em. That Dootch pookah aint the fool he looks. Things is feelin' shaky, an' you mus' undo yer wits fer me an' set 'em a-warkin'. If the Dootchy kin hev a 'sosheas.h.i.+n, I kin, too. If he kin run in Poles an' Eyetalyans, I kin run in n.i.g.g.e.rs an' Jerseymen.”

Dennie contemplated a knot-hole in the floor for several minutes. ”No, Colonel,” he said, at last, ”that wont do. There's a limit to the number of repeaters that can be brought into the district. If we fetch too many, there'll be trouble. Dutchy has put up a job with the police, too, I'm told; they're all training with Tammany now. Besides, if you get up your gang of six or seven hundred, you don't make anything; you only offset his gang. You must buy The Croak; that'll be cheaper and more effective. Then you'll get your a.s.sociation and Dutchy will get nothing. You will be making him pay for your votes.”

Boozy grasped Dennie's hand admiringly. ”It's a great head ye have, Dennie, wid a power o' brains in it an' a talent fer shpakin' 'em out.

I'll l'ave the fixin' av it in your hands. Ye'll see The Croak, Dennie, an' get his figgers, an' harkee, Dennie, if ye air thrue to me, Dennie, ye'll be makin' a fri'nd, d'ye moind!”

While Dennie was thus engaged with Boozy, The Croak was occupied in effecting a similar arrangement with Mr. Bockerheisen. In a few gloomy but well-chosen words, for The Croak, though a mournful, was yet a vigorous, talker, he explained to Bockerheisen that a wicked conspiracy had been entered into by Boozy and McCafferty to bring about his defeat by fraud, and he urged that Mr. Bockerheisen ”get on to 'em” without delay.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. BOCKERHEISEN.]

”Dot I vill!” said the German savagely, ”I giv you two huntered tolars for der names of der men vat dot Poozy mitout der law registers!”

”I aint no copper!” cried The Croak, angrily. ”Wot you wants ter do is ter get elected, doncher?”

”Vell, how vas I get elected mit wotes vat vas for der udder mans cast, hey?”

”You can't,” said The Croak, ”dey aint no doubt 'bout dat.”

”If dey vas cast for him, dey don't gount for me, hey?”

”No.”

”Den I vill yust der bolice got und raise der debbil mit dot Poozy.”

”Hol' on!” the Croak replied. ”If dey was ter make a mistake about de ballots, an' s'posen 'stead of deir bein' hisn dey happens to be yourn, den if dey're cast fer you dey wont count fer him, will dey?”

Mr. Bockerheisen turned his head around and stared at The Croak in an evidently painful effort to grasp the idea.

”If Boozy t'inks dey're his wotes--”

”Yah,” said Bockerheisen reflectively.

”And pays all de heavy 'spences of uniforms an' beer--”

”Yah,” said Bockerheisen, with an affable smile.

”But w'en dey comes to wote--”