The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on FootDay, Holman
General
The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot
Day, Holman
Political corruption -- Fiction; Water-supply -- Fiction
“I don't know what you mean,” replied the colonel, following his
own code of combat and mentally fumbling at a net to throw over this
antagonist.
“Yes, you do,” retorted Mr. Converse. “You know better than I do because
you own the water systems of this state. But if you need to be reminded,
Colonel, I'll say that you are making great profits. You can afford to
tap lakes--spend money for mains even if you do have to go fifteen or
twenty miles into the hills around the cities and towns.”
“Whom do you represent, sir?”
“Colonel Dodd, I think--really--that I'm representing _you_ when I give
you mighty good advice and do not charge for it.”
“I've got my own lawyers, Mr. Converse.”
Both men were employing politeness that was grim, and they were swapping
glances as duelists slowly chafe swords, awaiting an opening.
Sullen anger was taking possession of the colonel, thus bearded.
Righteous indignation, born from his bitterness of the past few days,
made Converse's eyes flash.
“You are one of the richest men in this state, Colonel Dodd, and
your money has come to you from the pockets of the people--tolls from
thousands of them. Remember that!”
“Huh!” snorted the colonel, looking up at a bouquet.
It is not often given to men to place proper estimate on their own
limitations. Otherwise, the Honorable Archer Converse would never have
gone in person to prevail upon Colonel Symonds Dodd. In temperament and
ethics they were so far asunder that conference between them on a common
topic was as hopeless an undertaking as would be argument between a
tiger and a lion over the carcass of a sheep.
Mr. Converse rose, unfolding himself with dignified angularity.
“I must remind you, sir, that I belong to the political party of which
you assume to be boss. If you refuse to give common justice to the
people, then you are using that party to cover iniquity.”
Colonel Dodd worked himself out of his chair and stood up. “I am taking
no advice from you, sir, as to how I shall manage business or politics.”
“Perhaps, sir, in regard to your business I can only exhort you to be
honest, but as regards the party which my honored father led to victory
in this state I have something to say, by gad! sir, when I see it being
led to destruction.”
“Well, sir, what have you to say?”
“I will not stand by and allow it to be ruined by men who are using it
to protect their methods in business dealings.”
“What ice do you think you cut in the politics of this state?” inquired
the colonel, dropping into the vernacular of the politician, too angry
to deal in any more grim politeness.
“Not the kind you are cutting, sir--your political ice is like the ice
you cut from the poisoned rivers.”
“It seems to be still popular for cranks to come here and threaten me,”
sneered the colonel. “It was started a while ago by a shock-headed idiot
from the Eleventh Ward.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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