“He’s one of them there damned agitators that’s bad for business,” said Mr. Branagan to his friend and partner, the Republican boss. “Everything’s running quiet and smooth here, and the people’s satisfied. If that fellow had his way, they’d be attendin’ to politics instead of to their jobs.”
“That’s right,” said Reichman. “My people”--meaning the corporations whose political agent he was--“my people understand you didn’t intend to do it. They look to you to get rid of him.” Reichman said “my people” rather than “your people,” because Republican partisans being overwhelmingly in the majority in that district, the interests had him for chief political manager, and dealt with the Democratic boss only through him. If Reichman had been strictly accurate he would not have said “my people,” but “_the_ people”; for the interests are the only people who have not power in politics.
“Helm’s leaving, all right,” said Branagan. “That there campaign of his used up his money. He never had no law business, and he’s smart enough to know he’ll never get none hereabouts, so long as Powers is on the bench. So he’s gone up the State to teach school.”
“Well, that’s the last of _him_,” said Reichman. “I’m kind of sorry for him, Pat. He’s a damn nice young fellow.”
“Yes--and a mighty good stumper, too.” With a grin, “He landed on your friend the Judge--jaw, solar plexus, kidneys--had him groggy.”
The two bosses laughed uproariously. Then Branagan said: “Yes, George Helm’s a nice boy. But I don’t like him. If he’d a won out, he’d a made it hot for me--and for you, too.”
“But he didn’t,” said Reichman. “And he’s all in. I can think well of the dead.”
“I don’t like him,” growled Branagan. “He fooled me with those crazy red whiskers of his. I knew what he was the first time I saw him after he cut ’em off--that was the day after I put him on the ticket. When a man fools me, he makes me mad.”
“He fooled everybody,” said Reichman soothingly. “And as it has turned out there’s no harm done. The way we made him walk the plank’ll be a warning to any other young smart Alecks there are in these parts, thinking of upsetting things.”
It certainly looked as if George Helm were dead and done for in that community. But Patrick Branagan was a sensible man. Vain men concern themselves about likes and dislikes; sensible men, about advantages and disadvantages. It came to pass in that winter, while George Helm was teaching school up the State, and saving money for another attempt as a lawyer, Branagan and Reichman fell out about the division of the graft. Branagan was a slow thinker, but it gradually penetrated to him that in George Helm he had a threat wherewith he could, or, rather, should, extort for himself a larger share of the spoils. Helm, making a single-handed campaign against both machines--for the Branagan machine had repudiated him--had carried the district, had been kept out of office only by the most barefaced frauds in Harrison and the three large towns. So Branagan told Reichman that unless his share--in the vice money, in the “campaign contributions” and in the contracts--were raised to an equality with Reichman’s own share, he would bring Helm back. Reichman laughed, Branagan insisted. Reichman grew insulting. Branagan presented an ultimatum. Reichman answered by cutting Branagan’s third to a fourth.