Mr. Crewe's Career — Complete. Winston Churchill
the worm will turn. “This town's got a noble history.”
“I don't care anything about Silas Grantley. What I want to know is, how this rascal manages to make anything out of the political pickings of a town like Leith.”
“Well, Job ain't exactly a rascal, Mr. Crewe. He's got a good many of them hill farmers in a position of—of gratitude. Enough to control the Republican caucus.”
“Do you mean he buys their votes?” demanded Mr. Crewe.
“It's like this,” explained Mr. Ball, “if one of 'em falls behind in his grocery bill, for example, he can always get money from Job. Job takes a mortgage, but he don't often close down on 'm. And Job has been collectin' credentials in Avalon County for upward of forty years.”
“Collecting credentials?”
“Yes. Gets a man nominated to State and county conventions that can't go, and goes himself with a bunch of credentials. He's in a position to negotiate. He was in all them railrud fights with Jethro Bass, and now he does business with Hilary Vane or Brush Bascom when anything especial's goin' on. You'd ought to see him, Mr. Crewe.”
“I guess I won't waste my time with any picayune boss if the United Northeastern Railroads has any hand in this matter,” declared Mr. Crewe. “Wind her up.”
This latter remark was addressed to a long-suffering chauffeur who looked like a Sicilian brigand.
“I didn't exactly like to suggest it,” said Mr. Ball, rubbing his hands and raising his voice above the whir of the machine, “but of course I knew Mr. Flint was an intimate friend. A word to him from you—”
But by this Mr. Crewe had got in his second speed and was sweeping around a corner lined with farmers' teams, whose animals were behaving like circus horses. On his own driveway, where he arrived in incredibly brief time, he met his stenographer, farm superintendent, secretary, housekeeper, and general utility man, Mr. Raikes. Mr. Raikes was elderly, and showed signs of needing a vacation.
“Telephone Mr. Flint, Raikes, and tell him I would like an appointment at his earliest convenience, on important business.”
Mr. Raikes, who was going for his daily stroll beside the river, wheeled and made for the telephone, and brought back the news that Mr. Flint would be happy to see Mr. Crewe the next afternoon at four o'clock.
This interview, about which there has been so much controversy in the newspapers, and denials and counter-denials from the press bureaus of both gentlemen—this now historic interview began at four o'clock precisely the next day. At that hour Mr. Crewe was ushered into that little room in which Mr. Flint worked when at Fairview. Like Frederick the Great and other famous captains, Mr. Flint believed in an iron bedstead regime. The magnate was, as usual, fortified behind his oak desk; the secretary with a bend in his back was in modest evidence; and an elderly man of comfortable proportions, with a large gold watch-charm portraying the rising sun, and who gave, somehow, the polished impression of a marble, sat near the window smoking a cigar. Mr. Crewe approached the desk with that genial and brisk manner for which he was noted and held out his hand to the railroad president.
“We are both business men, and both punctual, Mr. Flint,” he said, and sat down in the empty chair beside his host, eyeing without particular favour him of the watch-charm, whose cigar was not a very good one. “I wanted to have a little private conversation with you which might be of considerable interest to us both.” And Mr. Crewe laid down on the desk a somewhat formidable roll of papers.
“I trust the presence of Senator Whitredge will not deter you,” answered Mr. Flint. “He is an old friend of mine.”
Mr. Crewe was on his feet again with surprising alacrity, and beside the senator's chair.
“How are you, Senator?” he said, “I have never had the pleasure of meeting you, but I know you by reputation.”
The senator got to his feet. They shook hands, and exchanged cordial greetings; and during the exchange Mr. Crewe looked out of the window, and the senator's eyes were fixed on the telephone receiver on Mr. Flint's desk. As neither gentleman took hold of the other's fingers very hard, they fell apart quickly.
“I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Crewe,” said the senator. Mr. Crewe sat down again, and not being hampered by those shrinking qualities so fatal to success he went on immediately:—“There is nothing which I have to say that the senator cannot hear. I made the appointment with you, Mr. Flint, to talk over a matter which may be of considerable importance to us both. I have made up my mind to go to the Legislature.”
Mr. Crewe naturally expected to find visible effects of astonishment and joy on the faces of his hearers at such not inconsiderable news. Mr. Flint, however, looked serious enough, though the senator smiled as he blew his smoke out of the window.
“Have you seen Job Braden, Mr. Crewe?” he asked, with genial jocoseness. “They tell me that Job is still alive and kicking over in your parts.”
“Thank you, Senator,” said Mr. Crewe, “that brings me to the very point I wish to emphasize. Everywhere in Leith I am met with the remark, 'Have you seen Job Braden?' And I always answer, 'No, I haven't seen Mr. Braden, and I don't intend to see him.”'
Mr. Whitredge laughed, and blew out a ring of smoke. Mr. Flint's face remained sober.
“Now, Mr. Flint,” Mr. Crewe went on, “you and I understand each other, and we're on the same side of the fence. I have inherited some interests in corporations myself, and I have acquired an interest in others. I am a director in several. I believe that it is the duty of property to protect itself, and the duty of all good men in politics—such as the senator here,”—(bow from Mr. Whitredge)—“to protect property. I am a practical man, and I think I can convince you, if you don't see it already, that my determination to go to the Legislature is an advantageous thing for your railroad.”
“The advent of a reputable citizen into politics is always a good thing for the railroad, Mr. Crewe,” said Mr. Flint.
“Exactly,” Mr. Crewe agreed, ignoring the non-committal quality of this remark, “and if you get a citizen who is a not inconsiderable property holder, a gentleman, and a college graduate—a man who, by study and predilection, is qualified to bring about improved conditions in the State, so much the better.”
“So much the better,” said Mr. Flint.
“I thought you would see it that way,” Mr. Crewe continued. “Now a man of your calibre must have studied to some extent the needs of the State, and it must have struck you that certain improvements go hand in hand with the prosperity of your railroad.”
“Have a cigar, Mr. Crewe. Have another, Senator?” said Mr. Flint. “I think that is safe as a general proposition, Mr. Crewe.”
“To specify,” said Mr. Crewe, laying his hand on the roll of papers he had brought, “I have here bills which I have carefully drawn up and which I will leave for your consideration. One is to issue bonds for ten millions to build State roads.”
“Ten millions!” said Mr. Flint, and the senator whistled mildly.
“Think about it,” said Mr. Crewe, “the perfection of the highways through the State, instead of decreasing your earnings, would increase them tremendously. Visitors by the tens of thousands would come in automobiles, and remain and buy summer places. The State would have its money back in taxes and business in no time at all. I wonder somebody hasn't seen it before—the stupidity of the country legislator is colossal. And we want forestry laws, and laws for improving the condition of the farmers—all practical things. They are all there,” Mr. Crewe declared, slapping the bundle; “read them, Mr. Flint. If you have any suggestions to make, kindly note them on the margin, and I shall be glad to go over them with you.”
By this time the senator was in a rare posture for him—he was seated upright.
“As you know, I am a very busy man, Mr. Crewe,” said the railroad president.