"That's so,"he agreed."I like books--some books.If I'd had an education,I'd have liked more of 'em,known more about 'em.Now I can read this one over and over.That feller Carlyle was a genius,he could look right into the bowels of the volcano,and he was on to how men and women feet down there,how they hate,how they square 'emselves when they get a chance."He had managed to bring before me vividly that terrible,volcanic flow on Versailles of the Paris mob.He put back the book and resumed his seat.
"And I know how these people fed down here,below the crust,"he went on,waving his cigar out of the window,as though to indicate the whole of that mean district."They hate,and their hate is molten hell.I've been through it.""But you've got on top,"I suggested.
"Sure,I've got on top.Do you know why?it's because I hated--that's why.A man's feelings,if they're strong enough,have a lot to do with what he becomes.""But he has to have ability,too,"I objected.
"Sure,he has to have ability,but his feeling is the driving power if he feels strong enough,he can make a little ability go a long way."I was struck by the force of this remark.I scarcely recognized Judd Jason.The man,as he revealed himself,had become at once more sinister and more fascinating.
"I can guess how some of those Jacobins felt when they had the aristocrats in the dock.They'd got on top--the Jacobins,I mean.It's human nature to want to get on top--ain't it?"He looked at me and smiled,but he did not seem to expect a reply."Well,what you call society,rich,respectable society like you belong to would have made a bum and a criminal out of me if I hadn't been too smart for 'em,and it's a kind of satisfaction to have 'em coming down here to Monahan's for things they can't have without my leave.I've got a half Nelson on 'em.
I wouldn't live up on Grant Avenue if you gave me Scherer's new house."I was silent.
"Instead of starting my career in college,I started in jail,"he went on,apparently ignoring any effect he may have produced.So subtly,so dispassionately indeed was he delivering himself of these remarks that it was impossible to tell whether he meant their application to be personal,to me,or general,to my associates."I went to jail when I was fourteen because I wanted a knife to make kite sticks,and I stole a razor from a barber.I was bitter when they steered me into a lockup in Hickory Street.It was full of bugs and crooks,and they put me in the same cell with an old-timer named 'Red'Waters;who was one of the slickest safe-blowers around in those days.Red took a shine to me,found out I had a head piece,and said their gang could use a clever boy.If I'd go in with him,I could make all kinds of money.I guess I might have joined the gang if Red hadn't kept talking--about how the boss of his district named Gallagher would come down and get him out,--and sure enough Gallagher did come down and get him out.I thought I'd rather be Gallagher than Red--Red had to serve time once in a while.Soon as he got out I went down to Gallagher's saloon,and there was Red leaning over the bar.'Here's a smart kid!he says,'He and me were room-mates over in Hickory Street.'He got to gassing me,and telling me I'd better come along with him,when Gallagher came in.'What is it ye'd like to be,my son?'says he.A politician,I told him.I was through going to jail.
Gallagher had a laugh you could hear all over the place.He took me on as a kind of handy boy around the establishment,and by and by I began to run errands and find out things for him.I was boss of that ward myself when I was twenty-six....How'd you like that cigar?"I praised it.
"It ought to have been a good one,"he declared."Well,I don't want to keep you here all afternoon telling you my life story."I assured him I had been deeply interested.
"Pretty slick idea of yours,that dummy company,Mr.Paret.Go ahead and organize it."He rose,which was contrary to his custom on the departure of a visitor."Drop in again.We'll talk about the books."...
I walked slowly back reflecting on this conversation,upon the motives impelling Mr.Jason to become thus confidential;nor was it the most comforting thought in the world that the artist in me had appealed to the artist in him,that he had hailed me as a breather.But for the grace of God I might have been Mr.Jason and he Mr.Paret:undoubtedly that was what he had meant to imply...And I was forced to admit that he had succeeded--deliberately or not--in making the respectable Mr.Paret just a trifle uncomfortable.
In the marble vestibule of the Corn National Bank I ran into Tallant,holding his brown straw hat in his hand and looking a little more moth-eaten than usual.
"Hello,Paret,"he said "how is that telephone business getting along?""Is Dickinson in?"I asked.
Tallant nodded.
We went through the cool bank,with its shining brass and red mahogany,its tiled floor,its busy tellers attending to files of clients,to the president's sanctum in the rear.Leonard Dickinson,very spruce and dignified in a black cutaway coat,was dictating rapidly to a woman,stenographer,whom he dismissed when he saw us.The door was shut.
"I was just asking Paret about the telephone affair,"said Mr.Tallant.
"Well,have you found a way out?"Leonard Dickinson looked questioningly at me.
"It's all right,"I answered."I've seen Jason.""All right!"they both ejaculated at once.
"We win,"I said.
They stood gazing at me.Even Dickinson,who was rarely ruffled,seemed excited.
"Do you mean to say you've fixed it?"he demanded.
I nodded.They stared at me in amazement.
"How the deuce did you manage it?"
"We organize the Interurban Telephone Company,and bid for the franchise --that's all.""A dummy company!"cried Tallant."Why,it's simple as ABC!"Dickinson smiled.He was tremendously relieved,and showed it.
"That's true about all great ideas,Tallant,"he said."They're simple,only it takes a clever man to think of them.""And Jason agrees?"Tallant demanded.
