The highest class lobbyists, those who “swing” the “biggest deals,” concern themselves only with men who can “handle” or who control lawmakers.  They get regular reports and outline the campaign.  Like crafty spiders they hide in the center of a great web, a web of bribery, threat, cajolery and intrigue, intent on every victim that is lured into the glistening meshes.

Only the small fry mingle freely with the legislators in the open, in the hotels and cafes and in the Capitol corridors.

Jake Steinert did not belong in either of these classes; he ranked somewhere between the biggest and the smallest.  He coupled colossal boldness with the most expert knowledge of all the intricate workings of the congressional mechanism.  Given money to spend among members to secure the defeat of a bill, he would frequently put most of the money in his own pocket and for a comparatively small sum defeat it by influencing the employees through whose hands it must pass.

“Sit down, Jake.  Something to drink?” asked Peabody, reaching for a decanter.

“No,” grunted the lobbyist; “don’t drink durin’ business hours; only durin’ the day.”

“Well, Jake,” said the Pennsylvanian, “you probably know something of what’s going on in the naval affairs committee.”

“You mean the biggest job of the session?”

“Yes.”

“Sure thing, Senator.  It’s the work of an artist.”

“The boss of the Senate” smiled grimly.

“Now, suppose a committeeman named Langdon absolutely refused to be taken care of, and insisted on handing in a minority report to-morrow, with a speech that read like the Declaration of Independence?”

Steinert jerked his head forward quickly.

“You mean what would I do if I was—­er—­if I was runnin’ the job?”

“Yes.”

Steinert leaned toward Peabody.

“Where do I come in on this?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Come, come, man,” was the irritable retort.  “I never let a few dollars stand between myself and my friends.”

“All right, Senator.”

The lobbyist thrust himself down in his chair, puffed slowly at a cigar, and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Few years ago,” he began, after a minute or two, “there was a feller who was goin’ to squeal about a bond issue.  He had his speech all really to warn the country that he thought a crowd of the plutocracy was goin’ to get the bonds to resell to the public at advanced rates.  Well, sir, I arranged to have a carriage, a closed carriage, call that night to take him to see the President, for he was told the President sent the carriage for him.  When he got out he was at the insane asylum, an’ I can tell you he was bundled into a padded cell in jig time, where he stayed for three days.  ’He thinks he’s a member of Congress,’ I told the two huskies that handled him, an’ gave ’em each a twenty-case note.  The doctor that signed the necessary papers got considerable more.”