Mr. Crewe's Career
CHAPTER IX
Mr. CREWE ASSAULTS THE CAPITAL
Those portions of the biographies of great men which deal with the small
beginnings of careers are always eagerly devoured, and for this reason the
humble entry of Mr. Crewe into politics may be of interest. Great revolutions
have had their origins in back cellars; great builders of railroads have begun
life with packs on their shoulders, trudging over the wilderness which they were
to traverse in after years in private cars. The history of Napoleon Bonaparte
has not a Sunday-school moral, but we can trace therein the results of industry
after the future emperor got started. Industry, and the motto "nil desperandum"
lived up to, and the watchword "thorough," and a torch of unsuspected genius,
and "l'audace, toujours l'audace," and a man may go far in life.
Mr. Humphrey Crewe possessed, as may have been surmised, a dash of all these
gifts. For a summary of his character one would not have used the phrase (as a
contemporary of his remarked) of "a shrinking violet." The phrase, after all,
would have fitted very few great men; genius is sure of itself, and seeks its
peers.
The State capital is an old and beautiful and somewhat conservative town.
Life there has its joys and sorrows and passions, its ambitions, and
heart-burnings, to be sure; a most absorbing novel could be written about it,
and the author need not go beyond the city limits or approach the state-house or
the Pelican Hotel. The casual visitor in that capital leaves it with a sense of
peace, the echo of church bells in his ear, and (if in winter) the impression of
dazzling snow. Comedies do not necessarily require a wide stage, nor tragedies
an amphitheatre for their enactment.
No casual visitor, for instance, would have suspected from the faces or
remarks of the inhabitants whom he chanced to meet that there was excitement in
the capital over the prospective arrival of Mr. Humphrey Crewe for the
legislative session that winter. Legislative sessions, be it known, no longer
took place in the summer, a great relief to Mr. Crewe and to farmers in general,
who wished to be at home in haying time.
The capital abounded in comfortable homes and boasted not a dwellings of
larger pretensions. Chief among these was the Duncan house—still so called,
although Mr. Duncan, who built it, had been dead these fifteen years, and his
daughter and heiress, Janet, had married an Italian Marquis and lived in a Roman
palace, rehabilitated by the Duncan money. Mr. Duncan, it may be recalled by
some readers of "Coniston," had been a notable man in his day, who had married
the heiress of the State, and was president of the Central Railroad, now
absorbed in the United Northeastern. The house was a great square of brick, with
a wide cornice, surrounded by a shaded lawn; solidly built, in the fashion of
the days when rich people stayed at home, with a conservatory and a library that
had once been Mr. Duncan's pride. The Marchesa cared very little about the
library, or about the house, for that matter; a great aunt and uncle, spinster
and bachelor, were living in it that winter, and they vacated for Mr. Crewe. He
travelled to the capital on the legislative pass the Northeastern Railroads had
so kindly given him, and brought down his horses and his secretary and servants
from Leith a few days before the first of January, when the session was to open,
and laid out his bills for the betterment of the State on that library table
where Mr. Duncan had lovingly thumbed his folios. Mr. Crewe, with characteristic
promptitude, set his secretary to work to make a list of the persons of
influence in the town, preparatory to a series of dinner-parties; he dropped
into the office of Mr. Ridout, the counsel of the Northeastern and of the Winona
Corporation in the capital, to pay his respects as a man of affairs, and
incidentally to leave copies of his bills for the improvement of the State. Mr.
Ridout was politely interested, and promised to read the bills, and agreed that
they ought to pass.
Mr. Crewe also examined the Pelican Hotel, so soon to be a hive, and stood
between the snow-banks in the capital park contemplating the statue of the great
statesman there, and repeating to himself the quotation inscribed beneath. "The
People's Government, made for the People, made by the People, and answerable to
the People." And he wondered, idly,—for the day was not cold,—how he would look
upon a pedestal with the Gladstone collar and the rough woollen coat that would
lend themselves so readily to reproduction in marble. Stranger things had
happened, and grateful States had been known to reward benefactors.
At length comes the gala night of nights,—the last of the old year,—and the
assembling of the five hundred legislators and of the army that is wont to
attend them. The afternoon trains, steaming hot, are crowded to the doors, the
station a scene of animation, and Main Street, dazzling in snow, is alive with a
stream of men, with eddies here and there at the curbs and in the entries. What
handshaking, and looking over of new faces, and walking round and round! What
sightseeing by the country members and their wives who have come to attend the
inauguration of the new governor, the Honourable Asa P. Gray! There he is, with
the whiskers and the tall hat and the comfortable face, which wears already a
look of gubernatorial dignity and power. He stands for a moment in the lobby of
the Pelican Hotel,—thronged now to suffocation,—to shake hands genially with new
friends, who are led up by old friends with two fingers on the elbow. The old
friends crack jokes and whisper in the ear of the governor-to-be, who presently
goes upstairs, accompanied by the Honourable Hilary Vane, to the bridal suite,
which is reserved for him, and which has fire-proof carpet on the floor. The
Honourable Hilary has a room next door, connecting with the new governor's by
folding doors, but this fact is not generally known to country members. Only old
timers, like Bijah Bixby and Job Braden, know that the Honourable Hilary's room
corresponds to one which in the old Pelican was called the Throne Room, Number
Seven, where Jethro Bass sat in the old days and watched unceasingly the groups
in the street from the window.
But Jethro Bass has been dead these twenty years, and his lieutenants shorn
of power. An empire has arisen out of the ashes of the ancient kingdoms. Bijah
and Job are old, all-powerful still in Clovelly and Leith—influential still in
their own estimations; still kicking up their heels behind, still stuttering and
whispering into ears, still "going along by when they are talking sly." But
there are no guerrillas now, no condottieri who can be hired: the empire has a
paid and standing army, as an empire should. The North Country chiefs, so
powerful in the clan warfare of bygone days, are generals now,—chiefs of staff.
The captain-general, with a minute piece of Honey Dew under his tongue, sits in
Number Seven. A new Number Seven,—with electric lights and a bathroom and a
brass bed. Tempora mutantur. There is an empire and a feudal system, did one but
know it. The clans are part of the empire, and each chief is responsible for his
clan—did one but know it. One doesn't know it.
The Honourable Brush Bascom, Duke of Putnam, member of the House, has arrived
unostentatiously—as is his custom—and is seated in his own headquarters, number
ten (with a bathroom). Number nine belongs from year to year to Mr. Manning,
division superintendent of that part of the Northeastern which was the old
Central,—a thin gentleman with side-whiskers. He loves life in the capital so
much that he takes his vacations there in the winter,—during the sessions of the
Legislature,—presumably because it is gay. There are other rooms, higher up, of
important men, to be sure, but to enter which it is not so much of an honour.
The Honourable Bill Fleming, postmaster of Brampton in Truro (Ephraim Prescott
being long since dead and Brampton a large place now), has his vacation during
the session in room thirty-six (no bathroom); and the Honourable Elisha Jane,
Earl of Haines County in the North Country, and United States consul somewhere,
is home on his annual vacation in room fifty-nine (no bath). Senator Whitredge
has a room, and Senator Green, and Congressmen Eldridge and Fairplay (no baths,
and only temporary).
The five hundred who during the next three months are to register the laws
find quarters as best they can. Not all of them are as luxurious as Mr. Crewe in
the Duncan house, or the Honourable Brush Bascom in number ten of the Pelican,
the rent of either of which would swallow the legislative salary in no time. The
Honourable Nat Billings, senator from the Putnam County district, is comfortably
installed, to be sure. By gradual and unexplained degrees, the constitution of
the State has been changed until there are only twenty senators. Noble five
hundred! Steadfast twenty!
A careful perusal of the biographies of great men of the dynamic type leads
one to the conclusion that much of their success is due to an assiduous
improvement of every opportunity,—and Mr. Humphrey Crewe certainly possessed
this quality, also. He is in the Pelican Hotel this evening, meeting the men
that count. Mr. Job Braden, who had come down with the idea that he might be of
use in introducing the new member from Leith to the notables, was met by this
remark:—"You can't introduce me to any of 'em—they all know who I am. Just point
any of 'em out you think I ought to know, and I'll go up and talk to 'em. What?
Come up to my house after a while and smoke a cigar. The Duncan house, you
know—the big one with the conservatory."
Mr. Crewe was right—they all knew him. The Leith millionaire, the summer
resident, was a new factor in politics, and the rumours of the size of his
fortune had reached a high-water mark in the Pelican Hotel that evening. Pushing
through the crowd in the corridor outside the bridal suite waiting to shake
hands with the new governor, Mr. Crewe gained an entrance in no time, and did
not hesitate to interrupt the somewhat protracted felicitations of an Irish
member of the Newcastle delegation.
"How are you, Governor?" he said, with the bonhomie of a man of the world.
"I'm Humphrey Crewe, from Leith. You got a letter from me, didn't you,
congratulating you upon your election? We didn't do badly for you up there.
What?"
"How do you do, Mr. Crewe?" said Mr. Gray, with dignified hospitality, while
their fingers slid over each other's; "I'm glad to welcome you here. I've
noticed the interest you've taken in the State, and the number of ahem—very
useful societies to which you belong."
"Good," said Mr. Crewe, "I do what I can. I just dropped in to shake your
hand, and to say that I hope we'll pull together."
The governor lifted his eyebrows a little.
"Why, I hope so, I'm sere, Mr. Crewe," said he.
"I've looked over the policy of the State for the last twenty years in regard
to public improvements and the introduction of modern methods as concerns
husbandry, and I find it deplorable. You and I, Governor, live in a progressive
age, and we can't afford not to see something done. What? It is my desire to do
what I can to help make your administration a notable advance upon those of your
predecessors."
"Why—I greatly appreciate it, Mr. Crewe," said Mr. Gray.
"I'm sure you do. I've looked over your record, and I find you've had
experience in State affairs, and that you are a successful and conservative
business man. That is the type we want—eh? Business men. You've read over the
bills I sent you by registered mail?"
"Ahem," said Mr. Gray, "I've been a good deal occupied since election day,
Mr. Crewe."
"Read 'em," said Mr. Crewe, "and I'll call in on you at the state-house day
after to-morrow at five o'clock promptly. We'll discuss 'em, Governor, and if,
by the light of your legislative experience, you have any suggestions to make, I
shall be glad to hear 'em. Before putting the bills in their final shape I've
taken the trouble to go over them with my friend, Mr. Flint—our mutual friend,
let us say."
"I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Flint," said Mr. Gray. "I—ahem—can't
say that I know him intimately."
Mr. Crewe looked at Mr. Gray in a manner which plainly indicated that he was
not an infant.
"My relations with Mr. Flint and the Northeastern have been very pleasant,"
said Mr. Crewe. "I may say that I am somewhat of a practical railroad and
business man myself."
"We need such men," said Mr. Gray. "Why, how do you do, Cary? How are the
boys up in Wheeler?"
"Well, good-by, Governor. See you day after to-morrow at five precisely,"
said Mr. Crewe.
The next official call of Mr. Crewe was on the Speaker-to-be, Mr. Doby of
Hale (for such matters are cut and dried), but any amount of pounding on Mr.
Doby's door (number seventy-five) brought no response. Other rural members
besides Mr. Crewe came and pounded on that door, and went away again; but Mr.
Job Braden suddenly appeared from another part of the corridor, smiling
benignly, and apparently not resenting the refusal of his previous offers of
help.
"W—want the Speaker?" he inquired.
Mr. Crewe acknowledged that he did.
"Ed only sleeps there," said Mr. Braden. "Guess you'll find him in the
Railroad-Room."
"Railroad Room?"
"Hilary Vane's, Number Seven." Mr. Braden took hold of the lapel of his
fellow-townsman's coat. "Callated you didn't know it all," he said; "that's the
reason I come down—so's to help you some."
Mr. Crewe, although he was not wont to take a second place, followed Mr.
Braden down the stairs to the door next to the governor's, where he pushed ahead
of his guide, through the group about the doorway,—none of whom, however, were
attempting to enter. They stared in some surprise at Mr. Crewe as he flung open
the door without knocking, and slammed it behind him in Mr. Braden's face. But
the bewilderment caused by this act of those without was as nothing to the
astonishment of those within—had Mr. Crewe but known it. An oil painting of the
prominent men gathered about the marble-topped table in the centre of the room,
with an outline key beneath it, would have been an appropriate work of art to
hang in the state-house, as emblematic of the statesmanship of the past twenty
years. The Honourable Hilary Vane sat at one end in a padded chair; Mr. Manning,
the division superintendent, startled out of a meditation, was upright on the
end of the bed; Mr. Ridout, the Northeastern's capital lawyer, was figuring at
the other end of the table; the Honourable Brush Bascom was bending over a wide,
sad-faced gentleman of some two hundred and fifty pounds who sat at the centre
in his shirt-sleeves, poring over numerous sheets in front of him which were
covered with names of the five hundred. This gentleman was the Honourable Edward
Doby of Hale, who, with the kind assistance of the other gentlemen above-named,
was in this secluded spot making up a list of his committees, undisturbed by
eager country members. At Mr. Crewe's entrance Mr. Bascom, with great presence
of mind, laid down his hat over the principal list, while Mr. Ridout, taking the
hint, put the Revised Statutes on the other. There was a short silence; and the
Speaker-to-be, whose pencil had been knocked out of his hand; recovered himself
sufficiently to relight an extremely frayed cigar.
Not that Mr. Crewe was in the least abashed. He chose this opportunity to
make a survey of the situation, nodded to Mr. Ridout, and walked up to the
padded armchair.
"How are you, Mr. Vane?" he said. "I thought I'd drop in to shake hands with
you, especially as I have business with the Speaker, and heard he was here. But
I'm glad to have met you for many reasons. I want you to be one of the
vice-presidents of the State Economic League—it won't cost you anything. Ridout
has agreed to let his name go on."
The Honourable Hilary, not being an emotional man, merely grunted as he
started to rise to his feet. What he was about to say was interrupted by a timid
knock, and there followed another brief period of silence.
"It ain't anybody," said Mr. Bascom, and crossing the room, turned the key in
the lock. The timid knock was repeated.
"I suppose you're constantly interrupted here by unimportant people," Mr.
Crewe remarked.
"Well," said Mr. Vane, slowly, boring into Mr. Crewe with his eye, "that
statement isn't far out of the way."
"I don't believe you've ever met me, Mr. Vane. I'm Humphrey Crewe. We have a
good friend in common in Mr. Flint."
The Honourable Hilary's hand passed over Mr. Crewe's lightly.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Crewe," he said, and a faint twinkle appeared in his
eye. "Job has told everybody you were coming down. Glad to welcome a man of your
ahem—stamp into politics."
"I'm a plain business man," answered Mr. Crewe, modestly; "and although I
have considerable occupation, I believe that one in my position has duties to
perform. I've certain bills—"
"Yes, yes," agreed the Honourable Hilary; "do you know Mr. Brush Bascom and
Mr. Manning? Allow me to introduce you,—and General Doby."
"How are you, General?" said Mr. Crewe to the Speaker-to-be, "I'm always glad
to shake the hand of a veteran. Indeed, I have thought that a society—"
"I earned my title," said General Doby, somewhat sheepishly, "fighting on
Governor Brown's staff. There were twenty of us, and we were resistless, weren't
we, Brush?"
"Twenty on a staff!" exclaimed Mr. Crewe.
"Oh, we furnished our own uniforms and paid our own way—except those of us
who had passes," declared the General, as though the memory of his military
career did not give him unalloyed pleasure. "What's the use of State sovereignty
if you can't have a glittering army to follow the governor round?"
Mr. Crewe had never considered this question, and he was not the man to waste
time in speculation.
"Doubtless you got a letter from me, General Doby," he said. "We did what we
could up our way to put you in the Speaker's chair."
General Doby creased a little in the middle, to signify that he was bowing.
"I trust it will be in my power to reciprocate, Mr. Crewe," he replied.
"We want to treat Mr. Crewe right," Mr. Bascom put in.
"You have probably made a note of my requests," Mr. Crewe continued. "I
should like to be on the Judiciary Committee, for one thing. Although I am not a
lawyer, I know something of the principles of law, and I understand that this
and the Appropriations Committee are the most important. I may say with truth
that I should be a useful member of that, as I am accustomed to sitting on
financial boards. As my bills are of some considerable importance and deal with
practical progressive measures, I have no hesitation in asking for the
chairmanship of Public Improvements,—and of course a membership in the
Agricultural is essential, as I have bills for them. Gentlemen," he added to the
room at large, "I have typewritten manifolds of those bills which I shall be
happy to leave here—at headquarters." And suiting the action to the word, he put
down a packet on the table.
The Honourable Brush Bascom, accompanied by Mr. Ridout, walked to the window
and stood staring at the glitter of the electric light on the snow. The
Honourable Hilary gazed steadily at the table, while General Doby blew his nose
with painful violence.
"I'll do what I can for you, certainly, Mr. Crewe," he said. "But—what is to
become of the other four hundred and ninety-nine? The ways of a Speaker are
hard, Mr. Crewe, and I have to do justice to all."
"Well," answered Mr. Crewe, "of course I don't want to be unreasonable, and I
realize the pressure that's put upon you. But when you consider the importance
of the work I came down here to do—"
"I do consider it," said the Speaker, politely. "It's a little early to talk
about the make-up of committees. I hope to be able to get at them by Sunday. You
may be sure I'll do my best for you."
"We'd better make a note of it," said Mr. Crewe; "give me some paper," and he
was reaching around behind General Doby for one of the precious sheets under Mr.
Bascom's hat, when the general, with great presence of mind, sat on it. We have
it, from a malicious and untrustworthy source, that the Northeastern Railroads
paid for a new one.
"Here, here," cried the Speaker, "make the memorandum here."
At this critical juncture a fortunate diversion occurred. A rap—three
times—of no uncertain quality was heard at the door, and Mr. Brush Bascom
hastened to open it. A voice cried out:—"Is Manning here? The boys are hollering
for those passes," and a wiry, sallow gentleman burst in, none other than the
Honourable Elisha Jane, who was taking his consular vacation. When his eyes fell
upon Mr. Crewe he halted abruptly, looked a little foolish, and gave a
questioning glance at the Honourable Hilary.
"Mountain passes, Lish? Sit down. Did I ever tell you that story about the
slide in Rickets Gulch?" asked the Honourable Brush Bascom. "But first let me
make you acquainted with Mr. Humphrey Crewe of Leith. Mr. Crewe has come down
here with the finest lot of bills you ever saw, and we're all going to take hold
and put 'em through. Here, Lish, I'll give you a set."
"Read 'em, Mr. Jane," urged Mr. Crewe. "I don't claim much for 'em, but
perhaps they will help to set a few little matters right—I hope so."
Mr. Jane opened the bills with deliberation, and cast his eyes over the
headings.
"I'll read 'em this very night, Mr. Crewe," he said solemnly; "this meeting
you is a particular pleasure, and I have heard in many quarters of these
measures."
"Well," admitted Mr. Crewe, "they may help some. I have a few other matters
to attend to this evening, so I must say good-night, gentlemen. Don't let me
interfere with those I mountain passes, Mr. Manning."
With this parting remark, which proved him to be not merely an idealist in
politics, but a practical man, Mr. Crewe took his leave. And he was too much
occupied with his own thoughts to pay any attention to the click of the key as
it turned in the lock, or to hear United States Senator Whitredge rap (three
times) on the door after he had turned the corner, or to know that presently the
sliding doors into the governor's bridal suite—were to open a trifle, large
enough for the admission of the body of the Honourable Asa P. Gray.
Number Seven still keeps up its reputation as the seat of benevolence, and
great public benefactors still meet there to discuss the welfare of their
fellow-men: the hallowed council chamber now of an empire, seat of the
Governor-general of the State, the Honourable Hilary Vane, and his advisers. For
years a benighted people, with a fond belief in their participation of
Republican institutions, had elected the noble five hundred of the House and the
stanch twenty of the Senate. Noble five hundreds (biggest Legislature in the
world) have come and gone; debated, applauded, fought and on occasions
denounced, kicked over the traces, and even wept—to no avail. Behold that
political institution of man, representative government There it is on the
stage, curtain up, a sublime spectacle for all men to see, and thrill over
speeches about the Rights of Man, and the Forefathers in the Revolution; about
Constituents who do not constitute. The High Heavens allow it and smile, and it
is well for the atoms that they think themselves free American representatives,
that they do not feel the string of predestination around their ankles. The
senatorial twenty, from their high carved seats, see the strings and smile, too;
yes, and see their own strings, and smile. Wisdom does not wish for flight. "The
people" having changed the constitution, the blackbirds are reduced from four
and forty to a score. This is cheaper—for the people.
Democracy on the front of the stage before an applauding audience; performers
absorbed in their parts, forgetting that the landlord has to be paid in money
yet to be earned. Behind the stage, the real play, the absorbing interest, the
high stakes—occasional discreet laughter through the peep-hole when an actor
makes an impassioned appeal to the gods. Democracy in front, the Feudal System,
the Dukes and Earls behind—but in plain clothes; Democracy in stars and spangles
and trappings and insignia. Or, a better figure, the Fates weaving the web in
that mystic chamber, Number Seven, pausing now and again to smile as a new
thread is put in. Proclamations, constitutions, and creeds crumble before
conditions; the Law of Dividends is the high law, and the Forum an open vent
through which the white steam may rise heavenward and be resolved again into
water.
Mr. Crewe took his seat in the popular assemblage next day, although most of
the five hundred gave up theirs to the ladies who had come to hear his
Excellency deliver his inaugural. The Honourable Asa made a splendid figure, all
agreed, and read his speech in a firm and manly voice. A large part of it was
about the people; some of it about the sacred government they had inherited from
their forefathers; still another concerned the high character and achievements
of the inhabitants within the State lines; the name of Abraham Lincoln was
mentioned, and, with even greater reverence and fervour, the Republican party
which had ennobled and enriched the people—and incidentally elected the
governor. There was a noble financial policy, a curtailment of expense. The
forests should be protected, roads should be built, and, above all, corporations
should be held to a strict accounting.
Needless to say, the speech gave great satisfaction to all, and many old
friends left the hall exclaiming that they didn't believe Asa had it in him. As
a matter of fact (known only to the initiated), Asa didn't have it in him until
last night, before he squeezed through the crack in the folding doors from room
number six to room Number Seven. The inspiration came to him then, when he was
ennobled by the Governor-general, who represents the Empire. Perpetual
Governor-general, who quickens into life puppet governors of his own choosing
Asa has agreed, for the honour of the title of governor of his State, to act the
part, open the fairs, lend his magnificent voice to those phrases which it
rounds so well. It is fortunate, when we smoke a fine cigar from Havana, that we
cannot look into the factory. The sight would disturb us. It was well for the
applauding, deep-breathing audience in the state-house that first of January
that they did not have a glimpse in room Number Seven the night before, under
the sheets that contained the list of the Speaker's committees; it was well that
they could not go back to Ripton into the offices on the square, earlier in
December, where Mr. Hamilton Tooting was writing the noble part of that
inaugural from memoranda given him by the Honourable Hilary Vane. Yes, the
versatile Mr. Tooting, and none other, doomed forever to hide the light of his
genius under a bushel! The financial part was written by the Governor-general
himself—the Honourable Hilary Vane. And when it was all finished and revised, it
was put into a long envelope which bore this printed address: Augustus P. Flint,
Pres't United Northeastern Railroads, New York. And came back with certain
annotations on the margin, which were duly incorporated into it. This is the
private history (which must never be told) of the document which on January
first became, as far as fame and posterity is concerned, the Honourable Asa P.
Gray's—forever and forever.
Mr. Crewe liked the inaugural, and was one of the first to tell Mr. Gray so,
and to express his pleasure and appreciation of the fact that his request
(mailed in November) had been complied with, that the substance of his bills had
been recommended in the governor's programme.
He did not pause to reflect on the maxim, that platforms are made to get in
by and inaugurals to get started by.
Although annual efforts have been made by various public-spirited citizens to
build a new state-house, economy—with assistance from room Number Seven has
triumphed. It is the same state-house from the gallery of which poor William
Wetherell witnessed the drama of the Woodchuck Session, although there are more
members now, for the population of the State has increased to five hundred
thousand. It is well for General Doby, with his two hundred and fifty pounds,
that he is in the Speaker's chair; five hundred seats are a good many for that
hall, and painful in a long session. The Honourable Brush Bascom can stretch his
legs, because he is fortunate enough to have a front seat. Upon inquiry, it
turns out that Mr. Bascom has had a front seat for the last twenty years—he has
been uniformly lucky in drawing. The Honourable Jacob Botcher (ten years'
service) is equally fortunate; the Honourable Jake is a man of large presence,
and a voice that sounds as if it came, oracularly, from the caverns of the
earth. He is easily heard by the members on the back seats, while Mr. Bascom is
not. Mr. Ridout, the capital lawyer, is in the House this year, and singularly
enough has a front seat likewise. It was Mr. Crewe's misfortune to draw number
415, in the extreme corner of the room, and next the steam radiator. But he was
not of the metal to accept tamely such a ticketing from the hat of destiny (via
the Clerk of the House). He complained, as any man of spirit would, and Mr.
Utter, the polite clerk, is profoundly sorry,—and says it maybe managed.
Curiously enough, the Honourable Brush Bascom and the Honourable Jacob Botcher
join Mr. Crewe in his complaint, and reiterate that it is an outrage that a man
of such ability and deserving prominence should be among the submerged four
hundred and seventy. It is managed in a mysterious manner we don't pretend to
fathom, and behold Mr. Crewe in the front of the Forum, in the seats of the
mighty, where he can easily be pointed out from the gallery at the head of the
five hundred, between those shining leaders and parliamentarians, the
Honourables Brush Bascom and Jake Botcher.
For Mr. Crewe has not come to the Legislature, like the country members in
the rear, to acquire a smattering of parliamentary procedure by the day the
Speaker is presented with a gold watch, at the end of the session. Not he! Not
the practical business man, the member of boards, the chairman and president of
societies. He has studied the Rules of the House and parliamentary law, you may
be sure. Genius does not come unprepared, and is rarely caught napping. After
the Legislature adjourned that week the following telegram was sent over the
wires:—
Augustus P. Flint, New York.
Kindly use your influence with Doby to secure my committee
appointments. Important as per my conversation with you.
Humphrey Crewe.
Nor was Mr. Crewe idle from Saturday to Monday night, when the committees
were to be announced. He sent to the State Tribune office for fifty copies of
that valuable paper, which contained a two-column-and-a-half article on Mr.
Crewe as a legislator and financier and citizen, with a summary of his bills and
an argument as to how the State would benefit by their adoption; an accurate
list of Mr. Crewe's societies was inserted, and an account of his life's
history, and of those ancestors of his who had been born or lived within the
State. Indeed, the accuracy of this article as a whole did great credit to the
editor of the State Tribune, who must have spent a tremendous amount of
painstaking research upon it; and the article was so good that Mr. Crewe
regretted (undoubtedly for the editor's sake) that a request could not be
appended to it such as is used upon marriage and funeral notices: "New York,
Boston, and Philadelphia papers please copy."
Mr. Crewe thought it his duty to remedy as much as possible the unfortunate
limited circulation of the article, and he spent as much as a whole day making
out a list of friends and acquaintances whom he thought worthy to receive a copy
of the Tribune—marked personal. Victoria Flint got one, and read it to her
father at the breakfast table. (Mr. Flint did not open his.) Austen Vane
wondered why any man in his obscure and helpless position should have been
honoured, but honoured he was. He sent his to Victoria, too, and was surprised
to find that she knew his handwriting and wrote him a letter to thank him for
it: a letter which provoked on his part much laughter, and elements of other
sensations which, according to Charles Reade, should form the ingredients of a
good novel. But of this matter later.
Mrs. Pomfret and Alice each got one, and each wrote Mr. Crewe appropriate
congratulations. (Alice's answer supervised.) Mrs. Chillingham got one; the
Honourable Hilary Vane got one—marked in red ink, lest he should have skipped it
in his daily perusal of the paper. Mr. Brush, Bascom got one likewise. But the
list of Mr. Crewe's acquaintances is too long and too broad to dwell upon
further in these pages.
The Monday-night session came at last, that sensational hour when the Speaker
makes those decisions to which he is supposed to have given birth over Sunday in
the seclusion of his country home at Hale. Monday-night sessions are, as a rule,
confined in attendance to the Honourable Brush Bascom and Mr. Ridout and a few
other conscientious members who do not believe in cheating the State, but
to-night all is bustle and confusion, and at least four hundred members are
pushing down the aisles and squeezing past each other into the narrow seats, and
reading the State Tribune or the ringing words of the governor's inaugural which
they find in the racks on the back of the seats before them. Speaker Doby, who
has been apparently deep in conference with the most important members (among
them Mr. Crewe, to whom he has whispered that a violent snow-storm is raging in
Hale), raps for order; and after a few preliminaries hands to Mr. Utter, the
clerk, amidst a breathless silence, the paper on which the parliamentary career
of so many ambitious statesmen depends.
It is not a pleasure to record the perfidy of man, nor the lack of judgment
which prevents him, in his circumscribed lights, from recognizing undoubted
geniuses when he sees them. Perhaps it was jealousy on General Doby's part, and
a selfish desire to occupy the centre of the stage himself, but at any rate we
will pass hastily over the disagreeable portions of this narrative. Mr. Crewe
settled himself with his feet extended, and with a complacency which he had
rightly earned by leaving no stone unturned, to listen. He sat up a little when
the Appropriations Committee, headed by the Honourable Jake Botcher, did not
contain his name—but it might have been an oversight of Mr. Utters; when the
Judiciary (Mr. Ridout's committee) was read it began to look like malice;
committee after committee was revealed, and the name of Humphrey Crewe might not
have been contained in the five hundred except as the twelfth member of
forestry, until it appeared at the top of National Affairs. Here was a broad
enough field, certainly,—the Trusts, the Tariff, the Gold Standard, the Foreign
Possessions,—and Mr. Crewe's mind began to soar in spite of himself. Public
Improvements was reached, and he straightened. Mr. Beck, a railroad lawyer from
Belfast, led it. Mr. Crewe arose, as any man of spirit would, and walked with
dignity up the aisle and out of the house. This deliberate attempt to crush
genius would inevitably react on itself. The Honourable Hilary Vane and Mr.
Flint should be informed of it at once.