A Spoil of Office: A Story of the Modern WestGarland, Hamlin
General
A Spoil of Office: A Story of the Modern West
Garland, Hamlin
Farmers -- Fiction
"If you do, it will be a miracle. The House is under the rule of a
Republican Czar, and men with your ideas or any ideas are to be shut
out remorselessly. Let me tell you something right here; it will save
time and worry: You want to know the Speaker, cultivate him. He's the
real power. That's the reason the speakership becomes such a terrible
struggle. It decides the most tremendous question. In his hand is the
appointing of committees, which should be chosen by the legislators
themselves. The power of these committees is unlimited, you'll find.
They can smother bills of the utmost importance. Theoretically they are
the servants of the House. Actually they are its autocrats."
"I didn't realize that."
"I don't suppose it is realized by the people. This appointing of the
committee is supposed to save time, and yet the speakership contest
consumes weeks, sometimes months. It will grow in ferocity."
"Can't something be done?"
"Try and see," he said rising. "Well, suppose we got out and walk about
a little. I infer you're on to see the town. Where are you stopping?"
Bradley named the hotel with a little reluctance. He knew how cheap it
was; and since he had discovered that congressmen were at a premium in
boarding-houses, he saw that he must get more sumptuous quarters than
he had hitherto occupied. They went out into the open air together. The
sun was very brilliant and warm. The eaves were running briskly. The
sky was gentle, beautiful, and spring-like. The fact that he was in
Washington came upon Bradley again, as he saw the soaring dome of the
capitol at the head of the avenue.
"What you want to do is to get on good social terms with the so-called
leaders," Radbourn was saying. "Recognition goes by favor on the floor
of the House. We might go up to the capitol and look about," Radbourn
suggested.
They walked up the steps leading to the west front of the building.
Everywhere the untrodden snow lay white and level.
"This is the finest part of the whole thing," Radbourn remarked, as
they reached the level of esplanade. "It has more beauty and simple
majesty than the main building itself, or any structure in the city."
It was magnificent. Bradley turned and looked at it right and left with
admiring eyes. It gleamed with snow, and all about was the sound of
dripping water, and in the distance the roll of wheels and click of
hoofs. The esplanade was a broad walk extending the entire width of the
building, and conforming to it. It was bottomed with marble squares,
and bordered with a splendid wall, breast-high on one side, and by the
final terrace running to the basement wall on the other. Here and there
along the wall gigantic brazen pots sat, filled with evergreens, whose
color seemed to have gradually dropped down and entered into the marble
beneath them. The bronze had stained with rich, dull green each
pedestal and irregular sections of the marble wall itself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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