The Frame Up

The Frame Up
by Richard Harding Davis
When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who
killed Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching
at Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to
Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was
interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator
Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in the legal
points involved in the bill, his brother-in-law would undoubtedly be
charmed to advise him. So that morning, to talk it over, Bissell had
come from Albany and, as he was forced to return the same afternoon,
had asked Wharton to lunch with him up-town near the station.
That in public life there breathed a man with soul so dead who, were he
offered a chance to serve Hamilton Cutler, would not jump at the
chance was outside the experience of the county chairman. And in so
judging his fellow men, with the exception of one man, the senator was
right. The one man was Hamilton Cutler's brother-in-law.
In the national affairs of his party Hamilton Cutler was one of the four
leaders. In two cabinets he had held office. At a foreign court as an
ambassador his dinners, of which the diplomatic corps still spoke with
emotion, had upheld the dignity of ninety million Americans. He was
rich. The history of his family was the history of the State. When the
Albany boats drew abreast of the old Cutler mansion on the cast bank
of the Hudson the passengers pointed at it with deference. Even when
the search lights pointed at it, it was with deference. And on Fifth
Avenue, as the "Seeing New York" car passed his town house it slowed
respectfully to half speed. When, apparently for no other reason than
that she was good and beautiful, he had married the sister of a then
unknown up State lawyer, every one felt Hamilton Cutler had made his

first mistake. But, like every thing else into which he entered, for him
matrimony also was a success. The prettiest girl in Utica showed
herself worthy of her distinguished husband. She had given him
children as beautiful as herself; as what Washington calls " a cabinet
lady " she had kept her name out of the newspapers; as Madame
L'Ambassatrice she had put archduchesses at their ease; and after ten
years she was an adoring wife, a devoted mother, and a proud woman.
Her pride was in believing that for every joy she knew she was
indebted entirely to her husband. To owe everything to him, to feel that
through him the blessings flowed, was her ideal of happiness.
In this ideal her brother did not share. Her delight in a sense of
obligation left him quite cold. No one better than himself knew that his
rapid-fire rise in public favor was due to his own exertions, to the fact
that he had worked very hard, had been independent, had kept his
hands clean, and had worn no man's collar. Other people believed he
owed his advancement to his brother-in-law. He knew they believed
that, and it hurt him. When, at the annual dinner of the Amen Corner,
they burlesqued him as singing to "Ham" Cutler, "You made me what I
am to-day, I hope you're satisfied," he found that to laugh with the
others was something of an effort. His was a difficult position. He was
a party man; he had always worked inside the organization. The fact
that whenever he ran for an elective office the reformers indorsed him
and the best elements in the opposition parties voted for him did not
shake his loyalty to his own people. And to Hamilton Cutler, as one of
his party leaders, as one of the bosses of the "invisible government," he
was willing to defer. But while he could give allegiance to his party
leaders, and from them was willing to receive the rewards of office,
from a rich brother-in-law he was not at all willing to accept anything.
Still less was he willing that of the credit he deserved for years of hard
work for the party, of self-denial, and of efficient public service the rich
brother-in-law, should rob him.
His pride was to be known as a self-made man, as the servant only of
the voters. And now that ambition, now that he was district attorney of
New York City, to have it said that the office was the gift of his
brother-in-law was bitter. But he believed the injustice would soon end.

In a month he was coming up for re-election, and night and day was
conducting a campaign that he hoped would result in a personal victory
so complete as to banish the shadow of his