CHAPTER LI

SENATOR BRODERICK

Swept clear of its lesser rascals, San Francisco still, ostensibly, was ruled by Freelon, Scannell, Byrne and other officials of the former city government, who had defied the people's invitation to resign. They did little more than mark time, however. Jury-packing was at an end for the Committee had posted publicly the names of men unfit to judge their fellows, and the courts had wisely failed to place them on venires.

"Wait till November," was the watchword. And San Francisco waited. A committee of twenty-one was appointed at a mass meeting shortly before the city election. By this body were selected candidates for all municipal offices. Their ticket was the most diversified, perhaps, that ever was presented to a city's voters, for it included northern and southern men, Republicans, Democrats, Know-Nothings, Jews, Catholics and Protestants. Yet there was an extraordinary basic homogeneity about them. All were honest and respected business men, pledged to serve the city faithfully and selflessly. Former Marshal Doane of Vigilante fame was chosen as chief of police.

* * * * *

Broderick was the Windhams' guest at their new home on Powell street overlooking the bay when Benito's clerk brought them news of the election.

"Every reform candidate wins by a landslide," cried the youth enthusiastically. "I cast my first vote today, Mr. Windham," he said proudly, "and I'm glad to know that the ballot-box had no false bottom." He turned to Broderick. "Your men fared mighty well too, sir, considering--" He paused and reddened, but the politician clapped him, laughing, on the shoulder. "That's right, my boy. Be honest," he declared.

"It means you'll be our Senator next year," the lad said staunchly, holding out his hand. "They're all saying so down town. Allow me to congratulate you, sir."

The keen, half-smiling eyes of Broderick took stock of Herbert Waters. Tall, shy and awkward, with a countenance fresh, unmarked, but eager and alert with clean ideals.

"Thank you, son," he pressed the lad's hand vigorously. "Perhaps ... if I should get to Washington, there'll be a place for you. You'll like it, wouldn't you? To see a little of the world?"

"Would I?" cried the youth, delighted. "Try me." He departed, treading on air. Alice Windham shook a finger at her guest. "Dave, you mustn't trifle with our little protégé.... But you did it charmingly. Tell me, will you have to go about now, kissing babies and all that sort of thing?"

"No doubt," he answered gaily. "So I'll practice on your little Bob." He caught the child up in his arms. "Got a kiss for Uncle Dave?" he asked.

Robert's response was instant and vehement. Laughing, Broderick took from an inner pocket a long and slender parcel, which he unwrapped with tantalizing slowness. It revealed at last a gaily painted monkey-on-a-stick which clambered up and down with marvelous agility when Broderick pulled a string.

"This, my little man," he said half soberly, "is how we play the game of politics." He made the jointed figure race from top to bottom while his eyes were rather grim. "Here, you try it, Bobbie," he said. "I've played with it long enough."

Broderick came to them aglow with triumph. He was a big man now, a national figure. Only a short time ago he had been a discredited boss of municipal politics. Now he was going to Washington. He had made William Gwin, the magnificent, do homage. He had all of the federal patronage for California. For years it had gone to Southern men. San Francisco's governmental offices had long been known as "The Virginia Poorhouse." Now its plums would be apportioned to the politicians of the North.

Everywhere one heard the praise of Broderick's astuteness. He had a way of making loyal friends. A train of them had followed him through years of more or less continuous defeat and now they were rejoicing in the prospect of reward.

He was explaining this to Alice. Trying to at least. "One has to pay his debts," he told her. "These men have worked for me as hard as any factory slaves. And without any definite certainty of compensation. Do you remember young Waters who came here last December to congratulate me? Yes, of course, he was Benito's clerk. I'd forgotten that. Well, what did that young rascal do but grow a beard and hire out as a waiter in the Magnolia Hotel. He overheard some plots against me in a corner of the dining room. And thus we were prepared to checkmate all the movements of the enemy.... I call that smart. I'll see that he gets a good berth. A senate clerkship. Something of the sort."

"When do you leave?" asked Alice quickly.

"Tomorrow.... Gwin is going also. I'll stop over in New York." He smiled at her. "When I left there I told my friends I'd not return until I was a senator. Eight years ago that was.... And now I'm making good my promise." He laughed boyishly.

"You're very happy over it, aren't you, Dave?" she said with a shadow of wistfulness.

"Why, yes, to be sure," he answered. His eyes held hers. "I'll miss you, of course.... All of you." He spoke with a touch of restraint.

"And we'll miss YOU." She said more brightly, "I know you will do us much honor ... there in the nation's capital." Her hand went half way out toward him and drew back. "You'll fight always ... for the right alone ... Dave Broderick."

He took a step toward her. "By God! I will promise you that. I'm through with ward politics, with tricks and intriguing. I'm going to fight for Freedom ... against Slavery. They're trying to fasten Slavery onto Kansas. President Buchanan is a Pennsylvanian but he's dominated by the Southern men. Washington is dominated by them. There aren't more than half a dozen who are not afraid of them." He drew himself up. "But I'm one. Douglas of Illinois is another. And Seward of New York. I've heard from them. We stand together."

He laughed a shade bitterly. "It's difficult to fancy, isn't it? Dave Broderick, the son of a stone mason, a former fireman, bartender, ward-boss--fighting for an ideal? Against the Solid South?"

She came closer. "Dave, you must not say such things." She looked about her. They were alone in the room, for Benito had gone out with Robert. "Dave, we're proud of you.... And I--I shall always see you, standing in the Senate Chamber, battling, like a Knight of Old...."

Her face was upturned to his. His hands clenched themselves. With a swift movement he caught up his hat and stick. Fled from the house without a good-bye.

As he went down the hill with long strides, his mind was torn between a fierce pride in his proven strength and a heart-wrecked yearning.

He started the next morning for Washington.

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