University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

MR. JABEZ SHARP, the member from the
old Whetstone State, was, it must be understood,
the real head of the Great Subfluvial corporation,
and also of that interior manifestation
of it which we have called the Hen Persuader.

As Vane hurried toward this honorable's house,
he met that eminent and venerated, but just now
grievously slandered statesman, Mr. Greatheart.
The two could not pass each other without a
moment's discourse. By the way, there was a
vast deal of mysterious, muttered conversation
going on just now among Congressmen. They
had a subject in common, a subject of terrifying
interest to only too many of them, the subject of
this approaching, unavoidable investigation. You
could scarcely turn a corner without discovering
a couple of broad-backed, thick-necked, and big-headed
gentlemen leaning solemnly toward each

other and engaged in such cautious, inaudible communion
that it seemed as if they were speaking
only through their staring eyes, or by means of
some twitching of their noses. The number of
these duos, the noiseless gravity with which they
were conducted, the usually swollen configuration
of the performers in them, and the stupefied
astonishment which was depicted in their faces,
all reminded one of those numerous solemn meetings
of toads which may be seen after a shower.

Mr. Greatheart was not physically such a man
as you might have expected from his heroic name.
There was not a line about him, either in the way
of muscle or expression, which could suggest descent
from that stalwart knight who guided
Christiana through the Dark Valley. He was
short and squab in build, with a spacious, clean-shaved,
shining face, huge red wattles of cheeks
hanging down over his jaws, and a meek, noncombatant
semi-clerical mien. A bacchanalian
cardinal, who should lately have turned Quaker,
but lacked time to get the Burgundy out of his

complexion, might wear a similar physiognomy.
There was conscience in this visage, but there
was also spiritual pride and animal propensity,
and perhaps other evidences of a nature not yet
made perfect. Good people who believed in him
knew him as a man whose public career was
famed for spotless, and whose private life had
been smirched here and there by inuendo.

Just now the Honorable Greatheart was evidently
in low spirits, not to say in a bewildering
funk. Recalling our batrachian simile, we might
describe him as a toad who looked as if he had
eaten too many ants and got the dyspepsia. In
real truth he was ready to call on mushrooms to
hide him, and on molchills to cover him. His
condition was a sorry one, much sorrier than John
Vane's. He had pocketed Hen Persuader stock,
and then had publicly and positively denied the
fact, either to save his own reputation from the
charge of bribery, or to lighten the party ship
over the breakers of the election. Now there
was to be an investigation, and the ownership of

this malodorous property would be traced to him,
and he would be convicted of lying. Is it any
wonder that under such circumstances a reputed
saint should have somewhat the air of a reptile?

“Glad to see you, Vane,” he murmured, shaking
our member's hand fervently, for he was a
cordial man when in adversity. “What do you
judge to be the prospects about an investigation?”

“Sure to come on, I hear,” answered John, who
was much cheered by the results of his interviews
with Ironman and Dorman, and remembered that
he might yet sit in judgment on Greatheart.

“So I understand,” sighed that stumbled worthy,
his wattles drooping still lower and taking a yellowish
tint. “Ah well! we may suffer severely
for this error. I conceive now, Mr. Vane, that it
was an error. Yes, it was a really terrible mistake,”
he went on conceding, for he was in that
mood of confession which gripes unaccustomed
misdoers under the threatenings of punishment.
“A blunder is sometimes worse than a crime,—
that is, worse in its consequences. And circumstances

are such in Washington that the best-intentioned
of us are occasionally beguiled into
very sad blunders.”

“In spite of everything that we can do,” eagerly
affirmed Vane, classing himself of course among
the “best-intentioned.”

“Very few men are really fit for Congress,”
pursued Mr. Greatheart, in a certain preaching
tone which was natural to him, he having once
been a clergyman. “I sometimes feel that I myself
ought never to have come here. I had
neither the pecuniary means nor the stoical character
to grapple with the protean life of Washington.
It is too full of exigencies and temptations
for any human nature which is not quite
extraordinary. The legislative system alone is
enough to kill us. As long as these subsidy bills
and relief bills are allowed, no man ought to run
for Congress who is not a Crœsus or a Cato. A
poor fellow will get into debt, and then the lobby
offers to help him out, and it is very hard to refuse.

The whole arrangement is terribly severe
on men of small means.”

“Just so,” feelingly assented Vane, who heard
his own decline and fall narrated, and was moved
to compassion by the tale. “It's too bad on us.
Either the whole system of special legislation
ought to be done away with, or else we ought to
be allowed a regular percentage on the appropriations
we vote, and the thing made business-like.”

“That—that is a bold idea,” smiled Greatheart,
apparently not disapproving it. “Are you thinking
of proposing it?”

“O, no!” exclaimed John, drawing back bodily
in the earnestness of his negation. “I suppose
it would cost a fellow his re-election.”

“I suppose it would, unless he represented a
very staunch district,” said Greatheart. “I don't
know but one man who would dare advocate such
a plan. I think—if you have no objection—that
I'll mention it to General Boum.”

And so these two penitents, who were ready to
resume thievery as soon as they could get free

from their crosses, bade each other a sad good
morning and parted.

Next John found Mr. Sharp, and was received
by him with razor-strop smoothness, as that well-oiled
gentleman received everybody who could
vote on his schemes.

“Do take a seat, Mr. Vane,—take a seat without
ceremony,” he begged, meanwhile softly
handling his visitor by the arms, much as though
they were glass ones. “Let me offer you this
easy-chair. You honor me by accepting it. I
thank you kindly.”

Vane had an instinctive desire to look at the
sleeves of his overcoat. It always seemed to him,
after Mr. Sharp had fingered him, as if he must
be greasy.

“I am exceedingly glad to see you here,” continued
the Whetstone representative, gazing as
genially as he could at our member through his
cold, vitreous eyes. “I had begun to fear that I
was under such a cloud of misrepresentation and
obloquy that my old friends would not come to

call on me. This great enterprise, which I have
had the honor to foster a little, according to my
poor measure of financial ability, has been terribly
abused and maligned. A national enterprise,
too! a thing not only beneficial, but absolutely
necessary to the country! The noblest scheme
ever indorsed by the wisdom of Congress! What
do people mean? What does the press mean?
What is this investigation for? I am completely
bewildered.”

“It's giving the stock to Congressmen that has
made the row,” answered Vane, who judged that
they might as well come to the point at once.

“O, that is it?” grinned Mr. Sharp, with an air
of getting light in the midst of really discouraging
darkness. “I am glad you have explained it
to me. I should have expected it from a man of
your clearness of vision. I thank you kindly.
Well—as to that matter—why, that is simple. I
put the stock where it would do the most good to
a good thing.”

“Just so,” nodded Vane, meanwhile thinking

what nonsense it was for Sharp to be talking
gammon to him. “But you see— Well, never
mind about that now; we may as well get to business.
There is sure to be an investigation.”

“Exactly,” answered the Whetstone member,
sloughing off his coating of “soft sawder,” and
coming out as hard and bright as a new silver
dollar.

“And I have a smart chance of being put on
the House committee,” continued John.

Mr. Sharp opened the dark-lantern of his Puritanic
visage, and let out a smile which contained
all the guile of all the peddlers that ever sold
wooden nutmegs.

“Mr. Vane,” said he, “are your arrangements
about that stock of yours completed to your entire
satisfaction?”

“I have paid Dorman for it and got a receipt
that will do me.”

“Mr. Vane, do let me hand that money back,”
pursued Sharp, fumbling in his desk and producing
a package of bills. “It was a trifling mark

of private amity and sincere esteem. I never
meant it should be paid for. Dorman is an able
business man, but hasn't an idea beyond trading.
I insist, Mr. Vane, on your taking back your
money.”

“Well—from that point of view—since you
will have it so,” smiled Dishonest John, pocketing
the bills.

“Want any more of the stock?” inquired
Sharp, with a cunning twinkle in his half-shut
eyes, as if he saw a way to recover his thousand
dollars.

“No!” answered Vane, not less promptly and
positively than if he had been offered a ladleful
of pitch from the infernal caldron.

“My dear sir, we are at your service,” bowed
the financier. “Anything that we can do for
you, call on us. Of course you will have all our
influence towards putting you on that committee.
Must you go? So obliged for this call! Let me
open the door for you. Thank you kindly.”