Their immovable phlegm, their long, expressionless faces, the dull, monotonous twang of their voices, the oscillation of the three large feet hung over the bony knees had now, as often before, a singular effect upon Farnham’s irritation.  He felt he could not irritate them in return; they could not appreciate his motives, and thought too little of his opinion to be angry at his contempt.  He was thrown back upon himself now as before.  It was purely a matter of conscience whether he should stay and do what good he could, or resign and shake the dust of the city hall from his feet.  Whatever he recommended in regard to the administration of the library was always adopted without comment; but, whenever a question of the sort which the three politicians called “practical” arose, involving personal patronage in any form, they always arranged it for themselves, without even pretending to ask his or Buchlieber’s opinion.

The very fact of his holding the position of chairman of the board was wounding to his self-love, as soon as he began to appreciate the purpose with which the place had been given him.  He and some of his friends had attempted a movement the year before, to rescue the city from the control of what they considered a corrupt combination of politicians.  They had begun, as such men always do, too late, and without any adequate organization, and the regular workers had beaten them with ridiculous ease.  In Farnham’s own ward, where he possessed two thirds of the real estate, the candidates favored by him and his friends received not quite one tenth of the votes cast.  The loader of the opposing forces was a butcher, one Jacob Metzger, who had managed the politics of the ward for years.  He was not a bad man so far as his lights extended.  He sold meat on business principles, so as to get the most out of a carcass; and he conducted his political operations in the same way.  He made his bargains with aspirants and office-holders, and kept them religiously.  He had been a little alarmed at the sudden irruption of such men as Farnham and his associates into the field of ward politics; he dreaded the combined effect of their money and their influence.  But he soon found he had nothing to fear—­they would not use their money, and they did not know how to use their influence.  They hired halls, opened committee-rooms, made speeches, and thundered against municipal iniquities in the daily press; but Jacob Metzger, when he discovered that this was all, possessed his soul in peace, and even got a good deal of quiet fun out of the canvass.  He did not take the trouble to be angry at the men who were denouncing him, and supplied Farnham with beefsteaks unusually tender and juicy, while the young reformer was seeking his political life.

“Lord love you,” he said to Budsey, as he handed him a delicious rib-roast the day before election.  “There’s nothing I like so much as to see young men o’ property go into politics.  We need ’em.  Of course, I wisht the Cap’n was on my side; but anyhow, I’m glad to see him takin’ an interest.”