Theodore Dreiser - The Titan

“Not very long, maybe,” replied Gilgan, simply and contemplatively, “but the world is the world, and we have to take it as we find it.”

“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, undismayed; “but Chicago is Chicago, and I will be here as long as they will. Fighting me in this fashion—building elevated roads to cut into my profits and giving franchises to rival companies—isn’t going to get me out or seriously injure me, either. I’m here to stay, and the political situation as it is to-day isn’t going to remain the same forever and ever. Now, you are an ambitious man; I can see that. You’re not in politics for your health—that I know. Tell me exactly what it is you want and whether I can’t get it for you as quick if not quicker than these other fellows? What is it I can do for you that will make you see that my side is just as good as theirs and better? I am playing a legitimate game in Chicago. I’ve been building up an excellent street-car service. I don’t want to be annoyed every fifteen minutes by a rival company coming into the field. Now, what can I do to straighten this out? Isn’t there some way that you and I can come together without fighting at every step? Can’t you suggest some programme we can both follow that will make things easier?”

Cowperwood paused, and Gilgan thought for a long time. It was true, as Cowperwood said, that he was not in politics for his health. The situation, as at present conditioned, was not inherently favorable for the brilliant programme he had originally mapped out for himself. Tiernan, Kerrigan, and Edstrom were friendly as yet; but they were already making extravagant demands; and the reformers—those who had been led by the newspapers to believe that Cowperwood was a scoundrel and all his works vile—were demanding that a strictly moral programme be adhered to in all the doings of council, and that no jobs, contracts, or deals of any kind be entered into without the full knowledge of the newspapers and of the public. Gilgan, even after the first post-election conference with his colleagues, had begun to feel that he was between the devil and the deep sea, but he was feeling his way, and not inclined to be in too much of a hurry.

“It’s rather a flat proposition you’re makin’ me,” he said softly, after a time, “askin’ me to throw down me friends the moment I’ve won a victory for ’em. It’s not the way I’ve been used to playin’ politics. There may be a lot of truth in what you say. Still, a man can’t be jumpin’ around like a cat in a bag. He has to be faithful to somebody sometime.” Mr. Gilgan paused, considerably nonplussed by his own position.

“Well,” replied Cowperwood, sympathetically, “think it over. It’s difficult business, this business of politics. I’m in it, for one, only because I have to be. If you see any way you can help me, or I can help you, let me know. In the mean time don’t take in bad part what I’ve just said. I’m in the position of a man with his hack to the wall. I’m fighting for my life. Naturally, I’m going to fight. But you and I needn’t be the worse friends for that. We may become the best of friends yet.”

“It’s well I know that,” said Gilgan, “and it’s the best of friends I’d like to be with you. But even if I could take care of the aldermen, which I couldn’t alone as yet, there’s the mayor. I don’t know him at all except to say how-do-ye-do now and then; but he’s very much opposed to you, as I understand it. He’ll be running around most likely and talking in the papers. A man like that can do a good deal.”

“I may be able to arrange for that,” replied Cowperwood. “Perhaps Mr. Sluss can be reached. It may be that he isn’t as opposed to me as he thinks he is. You never can tell.”

Oliver Marchbanks, the youthful fox to whom Stimson had assigned the task of trapping Mr. Sluss in some legally unsanctioned act, had by scurrying about finally pieced together enough of a story to make it exceedingly unpleasant for the Honorable Chaffee in case he were to become the too willing tool of Cowperwood’s enemies. The principal agent in this affair was a certain Claudia Carlstadt—adventuress, detective by disposition, and a sort of smiling prostitute and hireling, who was at the same time a highly presentable and experienced individual. Needless to say, Cowperwood knew nothing of these minor proceedings, though a genial nod from him in the beginning had set in motion the whole machinery of trespass in this respect.

Claudia Carlstadt—the instrument of the Honorable Chaffee’s undoing—was blonde, slender, notably fresh as yet, being only twenty-six, and as ruthless and unconsciously cruel as only the avaricious and unthinking type—unthinking in the larger philosophic meaning of the word—can be. To grasp the reason for her being, one would have had to see the spiritless South Halstead Street world from which she had sprung—one of those neighborhoods of old, cracked, and battered houses where slatterns trudge to and fro with beer-cans and shutters swing on broken hinges. In her youth Claudia had been made to “rush the growler,” to sell newspapers at the corner of Halstead and Harrison streets, and to buy cocaine at the nearest drug store. Her little dresses and underclothing had always been of the poorest and shabbiest material—torn and dirty, her ragged stockings frequently showed the white flesh of her thin little legs, and her shoes were worn and cracked, letting the water and snow seep through in winter. Her companions were wretched little street boys of her own neighborhood, from whom she learned to swear and to understand and indulge in vile practices, though, as is often the case with children, she was not utterly depraved thereby, at that. At eleven, when her mother died, she ran away from the wretched children’s home to which she had been committed, and by putting up a piteous tale she was harbored on the West Side by an Irish family whose two daughters were clerks in a large retail store. Through these Claudia became a cash-girl. Thereafter followed an individual career as strange and checkered as anything that had gone before. Sufficient to say that Claudia’s native intelligence was considerable. At the age of twenty she had managed—through her connections with the son of a shoe manufacturer and with a rich jeweler—to amass a little cash and an extended wardrobe. It was then that a handsome young Western Congressman, newly elected, invited her to Washington to take a position in a government bureau. This necessitated a knowledge of stenography and typewriting, which she soon acquired. Later she was introduced by a Western Senator into that form of secret service which has no connection with legitimate government, but which is profitable. She was used to extract secrets by flattery and cajolery where ordinary bribery would not avail. A matter of tracing the secret financial connections of an Illinois Congressman finally brought her back to Chicago, and here young Stimson encountered her. From him she learned of the political and financial conspiracy against Cowperwood, and was in an odd manner fascinated. From her Congressmen friends she already knew something of Sluss. Stimson indicated that it would be worth two or three thousand dollars and expenses if the mayor were successfully compromised. Thus Claudia Carlstadt was gently navigated into Mr. Sluss’s glowing life.

The matter was not so difficult of accomplishment. Through the Hon. Joel Avery, Marchbanks secured a letter from a political friend of Mr. Sluss in behalf of a young widow—temporarily embarrassed, a competent stenographer, and the like—who wished a place under the new administration. Thus equipped, Claudia presented herself at the mayor’s office armed for the fray, as it were, in a fetching black silk of a strangely heavy grain, her throat and fingers ornamented with simple pearls, her yellow hair arranged about her temples in exquisite curls. Mr. Sluss was very busy, but made an appointment. The next time she appeared a yellow and red velvet rose had been added to her corsage. She was a shapely, full-bosomed young woman who had acquired the art of walking, sitting, standing, and bending after the most approved theories of the Washington cocotte. Mr. Sluss was interested at once, but circumspect and careful. He was now mayor of a great city, the cynosure of all eyes. It seemed to him he remembered having already met Mrs. Brandon, as the lady styled herself, and she reminded him where. It had been two years before in the grill of the Richelieu. He immediately recalled details of the interesting occasion.