The greatest Punch and Judy; show on earth. It’s almost as good as the Railroad Commission. There never was and there never will be a California Railroad Commission not in the pay of the P. and S. W.”
“It is to the Railroad Commission, nevertheless,” remarked Magnus, “that the people of the State must look for relief. That is our only hope. Once elect Commissioners who would be loyal to the people, and the whole system of excessive rates falls to the ground.”
“Well, why not HAVE a Railroad Commission of our own, then?” suddenly declared young Osterman.
“Because it can’t be done,” retorted Annixter. “YOU CAN’T BUCK AGAINST THE RAILROAD and if you could you can’t organise the farmers in the San Joaquin. We tried it once, and it was enough to turn your stomach. The railroad quietly bought delegates through S. Behrman and did us up.”
“Well, that’s the game to play,” said Osterman decisively, “buy delegates.”
“It’s the only game that seems to win,” admitted Harran gloomily. “Or ever will win,” exclaimed Osterman, a sudden excitement seeming to take possession of him. His face—the face of a comic actor, with its great slit of mouth and stiff, red ears—went abruptly pink.
“Look here,” he cried, “this thing is getting desperate. We’ve fought and fought in the courts and out and we’ve tried agitation and—and all the rest of it and S. Behrman sacks us every time. Now comes the time when there’s a prospect of a big crop; we’ve had no rain for two years and the land has had a long rest. If there is any rain at all this winter, we’ll have a bonanza year, and just at this very moment when we’ve got our chance—a chance to pay off our mortgages and get clear of debt and make a strike—here is Shelgrim making a deal to cinch us and put up rates. And now here’s the primaries coming off and a new Railroad Commission going in. That’s why Shelgrim chose this time to make his deal. If we wait till Shelgrim pulls it off, we’re done for, that’s flat. I tell you we’re in a fix if we don’t keep an eye open. Things are getting desperate. Magnus has just said that the key to the whole thing is the Railroad Commission. Well, why not have a Commission of our own? Never mind how we get it, let’s get it. If it’s got to be bought, let’s buy it and put our own men on it and dictate what the rates will be. Suppose it costs a hundred thousand dollars. Well, we’ll get back more than that in cheap rates.”
“Mr. Osterman,” said Magnus, fixing the young man with a swift glance, “Mr. Osterman, you are proposing a scheme of bribery, sir.”
“I am proposing,” repeated Osterman, “a scheme of bribery. Exactly so.”
“And a crazy, wild-eyed scheme at that,” said Annixter gruffly. “Even supposing you bought a Railroad Commission and got your schedule of low rates, what happens? The P. and S. W. crowd get out an injunction and tie you up.”
“They would tie themselves up, too. Hauling at low rates is better than no hauling at all. The wheat has got to be moved.” “Oh, rot!” cried Annixter. “Aren’t you ever going to learn any sense? Don’t you know that cheap transportation would benefit the Liverpool buyers and not us? Can’t it be FED into you that you can’t buck against the railroad? When you try to buy a Board of Commissioners don’t you see that you’ll have to bid against the railroad, bid against a corporation that can chuck out millions to our thousands? Do you think you can bid against the P. and S. W.?”
“The railroad don’t need to know we are in the game against them till we’ve got our men seated.”
“And when you’ve got them seated, what’s to prevent the corporation buying them right over your head?”
“If we’ve got the right kind of men in they could not be bought that way,” interposed Harran. “I don’t know but what there’s something in what Osterman says. We’d have the naming of the Commission and we’d name honest men.”
Annixter struck the table with his fist in exasperation.
“Honest men!” he shouted; “the kind of men you could get to go into such a scheme would have to be DIS-honest to begin with.”
Broderson, shifting uneasily in his place, fingering his beard with a vague, uncertain gesture, spoke again:
“It would be the CHANCE of them—our Commissioners—selling out against the certainty of Shelgrim doing us up. That is,” he hastened to add, “ALMOST a certainty; pretty near a certainty.”
“Of course, it would be a chance,” exclaimed Osterman. “But it’s come to the point where we’ve got to take chances, risk a big stake to make a big strike, and risk is better than sure failure.”
“I can be no party to a scheme of avowed bribery and corruption, Mr. Osterman,” declared Magnus, a ring of severity in his voice. “I am surprised, sir, that you should even broach the subject in my hearing.”
“And,” cried Annixter, “it can’t be done.”
“I don’t know,” muttered Harran, “maybe it just wants a little spark like this to fire the whole train.”
Magnus glanced at his son in considerable surprise. He had not expected this of Harran. But so great was his affection for his son, so accustomed had he become to listening to his advice, to respecting his opinions, that, for the moment, after the first shock of surprise and disappointment, he was influenced to give a certain degree of attention to this new proposition. He in no way countenanced it. At any moment he was prepared to rise in his place and denounce it and Osterman both. It was trickery of the most contemptible order, a thing he believed to be unknown to the old school of politics and statesmanship to which he was proud to belong; but since Harran, even for one moment, considered it, he, Magnus, who trusted Harran implicitly, would do likewise—if it was only to oppose and defeat it in its very beginnings.
And abruptly the discussion began. Gradually Osterman, by dint of his clamour, his strident reiteration, the plausibility of his glib, ready assertions, the ease with which he extricated himself when apparently driven to a corner, completely won over old Broderson to his way of thinking. Osterman bewildered him with his volubility, the lightning rapidity with which he leaped from one subject to another, garrulous, witty, flamboyant, terrifying the old man with pictures of the swift approach of ruin, the imminence of danger.
Annixter, who led the argument against him—loving argument though he did—appeared to poor advantage, unable to present his side effectively. He called Osterman a fool, a goat, a senseless, crazy-headed jackass, but was unable to refute his assertions. His debate was the clumsy heaving of brickbats, brutal, direct. He contradicted everything Osterman said as a matter of principle, made conflicting assertions, declarations that were absolutely inconsistent, and when Osterman or Harran used these against him, could only exclaim:
“Well, in a way it’s so, and then again in a way it isn’t.”
But suddenly Osterman discovered a new argument. “If we swing this deal,” he cried, “we’ve got old jelly-belly Behrman right where we want him.”
“He’s the man that does us every time,” cried Harran. “If there is dirty work to be done in which the railroad doesn’t wish to appear, it is S. Behrman who does it. If the freight rates are to be ‘adjusted’ to squeeze us a little harder, it is S. Behrman who regulates what we can stand. If there’s a judge to be bought, it is S. Behrman who does the bargaining. If there is a jury to be bribed, it is S. Behrman who handles the money. If there is an election to be jobbed, it is S. Behrman who manipulates it. It’s Behrman here and Behrman there. It is Behrman we come against every time we make a move. It is Behrman who has the grip of us and will never let go till he has squeezed us bone dry. Why, when I think of it all sometimes I wonder I keep my hands off the man.”
Osterman got on his feet; leaning across the table, gesturing wildly with his right hand, his serio-comic face, with its bald forehead and stiff, red ears, was inflamed with excitement. He took the floor, creating an impression, attracting all attention to himself, playing to the gallery, gesticulating, clamourous, full of noise.
“Well, now is your chance to get even,” he vociferated. “It is now or