“That you come and get it.”

CHAPTER XLII.

DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK.

Peter had not been working long the next morning when he was told that “The Honorable Terence Denton wishes to see you,” “Very well,” he said, and that worthy was ushered in.

“Good-morning, Denton.  I’m glad to see you.  I was going down to the Hall to-day to say something, but you’ve saved me the trouble.”

“I know you was.  So I thought I’d get ahead of you,” said Denton, with a surly tone and manner.

“Sit down,” said Peter.  Peter had learned that, with a certain class of individuals, a distance and a seat have a very dampening effect on anger.  It is curious, man’s instinctive desire to stand up to and be near the object for which anger is felt.

“You’ve been talking against me in the ward, and makin’ them down on me.”

“No, I didn’t talk against you.  I’ve spoken with some of the people about the way you think of voting on the franchises.”

“Yes.  I wasn’t round, but a friend heard Dennis and Blunkers a-going over it last night.  And it’s you did it.”

“Yes.  But you know me well enough to be sure, after my talk with you yesterday, that I wouldn’t stop there.”

“So you try to set the pack on me.”

“No.  I try to see how the ward wants its alderman to vote on the franchises.”

“Look a-here.  What are you so set on the Hummel crowd for?”

“I’m not.”

“Is it because Hummel’s a big contractor and gives you lots of law business?”

“No,” said Peter, smiling.  “And you don’t think it is, either.”

“Has they offered you some stock cheap?”

“Come, come, Denton.  You know the tu quoque do here.”

Denton shifted in his seat uneasily, not knowing what reply to make.  Those two little Latin words had such unlimited powers of concealment in them.  He did not know whether tu quoque meant something about votes, an insulting charge, or merely a reply, and feared to make himself ridiculous by his response to them.  He was not the first man who has been hampered and floored by his own ignorance.  He concluded he must make an entire change of subject to be safe.  So he said, “I ain’t goin’ to be no boss’s puppy dog.”

“No,” said Peter, finding it difficult not to smile, “you are not that kind of a man.”

“I takes my orders from no one.”

“Denton, no one wants you to vote by order.  We elected you alderman to do what was best for the ward and city, as it seems to you.  You are responsible for your votes to us, and no other man can be.  I don’t care who orders you or advises you; in the end, you must vote yourself, and you yourself will be held to account by us.”

“Yes.  But if I don’t vote as you wants, you’ll sour the boys on me.”

“I shall tell them what I think.  You can do the same.  It’s a fair game between us.”