“Because,” retorted Big Kennedy, in his hardy way, “he comes up for renomination within two months. He'd look well throwin' the harpoon into me right now, wouldn't he?” Then, as the double emotions of wrath and wonder began to make purple the visage of the reputable old gentleman: “Look here: you're more'n seven years old. Why should you think a judge was different from other men? Haven't you seen men crawl in th' sewer of politics on their hands an' knees, an' care for nothin' only so they crawled finally into th' Capitol at Albany? Is a judge any better than a governor? Or is either of 'em any better than other people? While Tammany makes th' judges, do you s'ppose they'll be too good for th' organization? That last would be a cunnin' play to make!” “But these judges,” said the reputable old gentleman. “Their terms are so long and their salaries so large, I should think they would defy you and your humiliating orders.” “Exactly,” returned Big Kennedy, with the pleasant air of one aware of himself, “an' that long term an' big salary works square th' other way. There's so many of them judges that there's one or two to be re-elected each year. So we've always got a judge whose term is on th' blink, d'ye see! An' he's got to come to us--to me, if you want it plain--to get back. You spoke of th' big salary an' th' long term. Don't you see that you've only given them guys more to lose? Now th' more a party has to lose, th' more he'll bow and scrape to save himself. Between us, a judge within a year or so of renomination is th' softest mark on th' list.” The reputable old gentleman expressed unbounded indignation, while Big Kennedy laughed. “What're you kickin' about?” asked Big Kennedy, when he had somewhat recovered. “That's the 'Boss System.' Just now, d'ye see! it's water on your wheel, so you oughtn't to raise th' yell. But to come back to Mulberry Traction: We'll have Mole send th' case to Flyinfox; an' Flyinfox will put th' kybosh on it, if it comes up. But I'll let you into a secret. Th' case'll never come up; th' Gas Company will go back to its corner.” “Explain,” said young Morton eagerly. “Because I'll tell 'em to.” “Do you mean that you'll go to the Gas Company,” sneered the reputable old gentleman, “and give its officers orders the same as you say you give them to the State's and the City's officers?” “Th' Gas Company'll come to me, an' ask for orders.” The reputable old gentleman drew a long breath, while his brows worked up and down. “And dare you tell me,” he cried, “that men of millions--our leading men of business, will come to you and ask your commands?”