ttered
with a rough scratching of its hide. But he answered: "I don't give no
nominations. That's the province of the party, young man."

"But _you_ are the party," was my reply. At the time I was not conscious
that I had thus easily dropped down among the hide-scratchers. I assured
myself that I was simply stating the truth, and ignored the fact that
telling the truth can be the most degrading sycophancy, and the subtlest
and for that reason the most shameless, lying.

"Well, I guess I've got a little something to say about the party," he
conceded. "Us young fellows that are active in politics like to see
young fellows pushed to the front. A good many of the boys ain't stuck
on Ben Cass,--he's too stuck on himself. He's getting out of touch with
the common people, and is boot-licking in with the swells up town. So,
when I heard you wanted the nomination for prosecutor, I told Buck to
trot you round and let us look you over. Good party man?"

"Yes--and my father and grandfather before me."

"No reform germs in your system?"

I laughed--I was really amused, such a relief was it to see a gleam of
pleasantry in that menacing mass. "I'm no better than my party," said I,
"and I don't desert it just because it doesn't happen to do everything
according to my notions."

"That's right," approved Dominick, falling naturally into the role of
political schoolmaster. "There ain't no government without
responsibility, and there ain't no responsibility without organization,
and there ain't no organization without men willing to sink their
differences." He paused.

I looked my admiration,--I was most grateful to him for this chance to
think him an intellect. Who likes to admit that he bows before a mere
brute? The compulsory courtiers of a despot may possibly and in part
tell the truth about him, after they are safe; but was there ever a
voluntary courtier whose opinion of his monarch could be believed? The
more distinguished the courtier the greater his necessity to exaggerate
his royal master--or mistress--to others and to himself.

Dominick forged on: "Somebody's got to lead, and the leader's got to be
obeyed. Otherwise what becomes of the party? Why, it goes to hell, and
we've got anarchy."

This was terse, pointed, plausible--the stereotyped "machine" argument.
I nodded emphatically.

"Ben Cass," he proceeded, "believes in discipline and organization and
leadership only when they're to elect him to a fat job. He wants