“Maplewood Avenue!” He lay back with his eyes closed, as though trying to visualize such a colossal proposal....

When I left him, two hours later, the details were all arranged, down to Mr. Jason’s consideration from Riverside Company and the “fee” which his lawyer, Mr. Bitter, was to have for “presenting the case” before the Board of Aldermen.  I went back to lunch at the Boyne Club, and to receive the congratulations of my friends.  The next week the Riverside Company was formed, and I made out a petition to the Board of Aldermen for a franchise; Mr. Bitter appeared and argued:  in short, the procedure so familiar to modern students of political affairs was gone through.  The Maplewood Avenue residents rose en masse, supported by the City Improvement League.  Perry Blackwood, as soon as he heard of the petition, turned up at my office.  By this time I was occupying Mr. Watling’s room.

“Look here,” he began, as soon as the office-boy had closed the door behind him, “this is going it a little too strong.”

“What is?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and surveying him.

“This proposed Maplewood Avenue Franchise.  Hugh,” he said, “you and I have been friends a good many years, Lucia and I are devoted to Maude.”

I did not reply.

“I’ve seen all along that we’ve been growing apart,” he added sadly.  “You’ve got certain ideas about things which I can’t share.  I suppose I’m old fashioned.  I can’t trust myself to tell you what I think—­what Tom and I think about this deal.”

“Go ahead, Perry,” I said.

He got up, plainly agitated, and walked to the window.  Then he turned to me appealingly.

“Get out of it, for God’s sake get out of it, before it’s too late.  For your own sake, for Maude’s, for the children’s.  You don’t realize what you are doing.  You may not believe me, but the time will come when these fellows you are in with will be repudiated by the community,—­their money won’t help them.  Tom and I are the best friends you have,” he added, a little irrelevantly.

“And you think I’m going to the dogs.”

“Now don’t take it the wrong way,” he urged.

“What is it you object to about the Maplewood franchise?” I asked.  “If you’ll look at a map of the city, you’ll see that development is bound to come on that side.  Maplewood Avenue is the natural artery, somebody will build a line out there, and if you’d rather have eastern capitalists—­”

“Why are you going to get this franchise?” he demanded.  “Because we haven’t a decent city charter, and a healthy public spirit, you fellows are buying it from a corrupt city boss, and bribing a corrupt board of aldermen.  That’s the plain language of it.  And it’s only fair to warn you that I’m going to say so, openly.”

“Be sensible,” I answered.  “We’ve got to have street railroads,—­your family has one.  We know what the aldermen are, what political conditions are.  If you feel this way about it, the thing to do is to try to change them.  But why blame me for getting a franchise for a company in the only manner in which, under present conditions, a franchise can be got?  Do you want the city to stand still?  If not, we have to provide for the new population.”