"You are such a comforting person! I'm so glad you were born."

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BOSS.

After this statement, so satisfying to both, Leonore recovered her dignity enough to rise, and say, "Now, I want to pay you for your niceness. What do you wish to do?"

"Suppose we do what pleases you."

"No. I want to please you."

"That _is_ the way to please me," said Peter emphatically.

Just then a clock struck four. "I know," said Leonore. "Come to the tea-table, and we'll have afternoon tea together. It's the day of all others for afternoon tea."

"I just said it was a glorious day."

"Oh? yes. It's a nice day. But it's dark and cold and rainy all the same."

"But that makes it all the better. We shan't be interrupted."

"Do you know," said Leonore, "that Miss De Voe told me once that you were a man who found good in everything, and I see what she meant."

"I can't hold a candle to Dennis. He says its 'a foine day' so that you feel that it really is. I never saw him in my life, when it wasn't 'a foine day.' I tell him he carries his sunshine round in his heart."

"You are so different," said Leonore, "from what every one said. I never knew a man pay such nice compliments. That's the seventh I've heard you make."

"You know I'm a politician, and want to become popular."

"Oh, Peter! Will you let me ask you something?"

"Anything," said Peter, rashly, though speaking the absolute truth.

Peter just then was willing to promise anything. Perhaps it was the warm cup of tea; perhaps it was the blazing logs; perhaps it was the shade of the lamp, which cast such a pleasant rosy tint over everything; perhaps it was the comfortable chair; perhaps it was that charming face; perhaps it was what Mr. Mantalini called the "demd total."

"You see," said Leonore, shaking her head in a puzzled way, "I've begun to read the papers--the political part, I mean--and there are so many things I don't understand which I want to ask you to explain."

"That is very nice," said Peter, "because there are a great many things of which I want to tell you."

"Goody!" said Leonore, forgetting again she was now bound to conduct herself as befit a society girl. "And you'll not laugh at me if I ask foolish questions?"

"No."

"Then what do the papers mean by calling you a boss?"

"That I am supposed to have sufficient political power to dictate to a certain extent."

"But don't they speak of a boss as something not nice?" asked Leonore, a little timidly, as if afraid of hurting Peter's feelings.

"Usually it is used as a stigma," said Peter, smiling. "At least by the kind of papers you probably read."

"But you are not a bad boss, are you?" said Leonore, very earnestly.

"Some of the papers say so."

"That's what surprised me. Of course I knew they were wrong, but are bosses bad, and are you a boss?"

"You are asking me one of the biggest questions in American politics. I probably can't answer it, but I'll try to show you why I can't. Are there not friends whose advice or wish would influence you?"

"Yes. Like you," said Leonore, giving Peter a glimpse of her eyes.

"Really," thought Peter, "if she does that often, I can't talk abstract politics." Then he rallied and said: "Well, that is the condition of men as well, and it is that condition, which creates the so-called boss. In every community there are men who influence more or less the rest. It may be that one can only influence half a dozen other intimates. Another may exert power over fifty. A third may sway a thousand. One may do it by mere physical superiority. Another by a friendly manner. A third by being better informed. A fourth by a deception or bribery. A fifth by honesty. Each has something that dominates the weaker men about him.

Take my ward. Burton is a prize-fighter, and physically a splendid man.

So he has his little court. Driscoll is a humorist, and can talk, and he has his admirers. Sloftky is popular with the Jews, because he is of their race. Burrows is a policeman, who is liked by the whole ward, because of his kindness and good-nature. So I could go on telling you of men who are a little more marked than the rest, who have power to influence the opinions of men about them, and therefore have power to influence votes. That is the first step in the ladder."

"But isn't Mr. Moriarty one?"

"He comes in the next grade. Each of the men I have mentioned can usually affect an average of twenty-five votes. But now we get to another rung of the ladder. Here we have Dennis, and such men as Blunkers, Denton, Kennedy, Schlurger and others. They not merely have their own set of followers, but they have more or less power to dominate the little bosses of whom I have already spoken. Take Dennis for instance. He has fifty adherents who stick to him absolutely, two hundred and fifty who listen to him with interest, and a dozen of the smaller bosses, who pa.s.s his opinions to their followers. So he can thus have some effect on about five hundred votes. Of course it takes more force and popularity to do this and in this way we have a better grade of men."

"Yes. I like Mr. Moriarty, and can understand why others do. He is so ugly, and so honest, and so jolly. He's lovely."

"Then we get another grade. Usually men of a good deal of brain force, though not of necessity well educated. They influence all below them by being better informed, and by being more far-seeing. Such men as Gallagher and Dummer. They, too, are usually in politics for a living, and so can take the trouble to work for ends for which the men with other work have no time. They don't need the great personal popularity of those I have just mentioned, but they need far more skill and brain.

Now you can see, that these last, in order to carry out their intentions, must meet and try to arrange to pull together, for otherwise they can do nothing. Naturally, in a dozen or twenty men, there will be grades, and very often a single man will be able to dominate them all, just as the smaller bosses dominate the smaller men. And this man the papers call a boss of a ward. Then when these various ward bosses endeavor to unite for general purposes, the strongest man will sway them, and he is boss of the city."

"And that is what you are?"

"Yes. By that I mean that nothing is attempted in the ward or city without consultation with me. But of course I am more dependent on the voters than they are on me, for if they choose to do differently from what I advise, they have the power, while I am helpless."

"You mean the smaller bosses?"

"Not so much them as the actual voters. A few times I have shot right over the heads of the bosses and appealed directly to the voters."

"Then you can make them do what you want?"

"Within limits, yes. As I told you, I am absolutely dependent on the voters. If they should defeat what I want three times running, every one would laugh at me, and my power would be gone. So you see that a boss is only a boss so long as he can influence votes."

"But they haven't defeated you?"

"No, not yet."

"But if the voters took their opinions from the other bosses how did you do anything?"

"There comes in the problem of practical politics. The question of who can affect the voters most. Take my own ward. Suppose that I want something done so much that I insist. And suppose that some of the other leaders are equally determined that it shan't be done. The ward splits on the question and each faction tries to gain control in the primary.

When I have had to interfere, I go right down among the voters and tell them why and what I want to do. Then the men I have had to antagonize do the same, and the voters decide between us. It then is a question as to which side can win the majority of the voters. Because I have been very successful in this, I am the so-called boss. That is, I can make the voters feel that I am right."

"How?"