The Machine | Page 6

business to be there . . . one of them a Judge of the City Court, and another a State's attorney . . . and all of them storming at Montague.
JULIA. What did he do?
JACK. He just made them throw out the marked ballots. They were willing enough to put them to one side, but wanted to count them in on the tally sheets. And, of course, Montague knew perfectly well that if they ever counted them in they'd close up at the end, and that would be all there was to it. He had the law with him, of course. He's a lawyer himself, and he seemed to know it all by heart; and he'd quote it to them, paragraph by paragraph, and they'd look it up and find that he was right, and, of course, that only made them madder. The old Judge would start up in his seat. "Officer!" he'd shout (he was a red- faced, ignorant fellow . . . a typical barroom politician, "I demand that you put that man out of here." And the cop actually laid his hand on Montague's shoulder; if he'd ever been landed on the other side of that railing the crowd would have torn him to pieces. But the man stayed as cool as a cucumber. "Officer," he said, "you are aware that I am an election official, here under the protection of the law; and if you refuse me that protection you are liable to a sentence in State's prison." Then he'd quote another paragraph.
JULIA. It's a wonder he ever held them.
JACK. He did it; he made them throw out forty-seven ballots . . . and thirty- eight of them were Tammany ballots, too. There was one time when I thought the gang was going to break loose, and I sneaked out and telephoned for help. Then I came back and spoke up for him. I wanted them to know there'd be one witness. You should have seen the grateful look that Montague gave me.
LAURA. I can imagine it.
JULIA. And how did it end?
JACK. Why, you see, we kept them there till eleven o'clock at night, and by that time everybody knew that Tammany had won, and the ballots were not needed. So the old Judge patted us on the back and told us we were heroes, and invited us out to get drunk with him. Montague and I walked home together through the election din, and got acquainted. I don't know that I ever met a man I took to more quickly.
LAURA. You are making a Socialist out of him, of course?
JACK. Oh, he's coming on. But he is not the sort of man to take his ideas from any one else . . . he wants to see for himself. He hasn't been in New York long, you know . . . he comes from the South . . . from Mississippi.
LAURA. [Startled.] From Mississippi! What's his first name?
JACK. Allan.
LAURA. [Betraying emotion.] Allan Montague!
JACK. Do you know him?
LAURA. Yes; I know him very well, indeed. Oh . . . I didn't . . . that is . . . I have not seen him for a long time. [Recovering her poise.] Is he surely coming?
JACK. He generally keeps his engagements.
JULIA. How did you come to know him?
LAURA. He's Ollie Montague's brother.
JACK. Who's Ollie Montague?
LAURA. He's one of those pretty boys that everybody knows in society; he brought his brother up from the South to introduce him. He was in some business deal or other with my father. Then he seemed to drop out of everything, and nobody sees him any more. I don't know why.
JACK. I think he was disgusted with his experiences.
LAURA. Oh!
JACK. [Realizing that he had said something awkward.] I think I was the first Socialist he'd ever met. He had just gotten to the stage of despair. He'd started out with a long program of reforms . . . and he was going to educate the people to them . . . one by one, until he'd made them all effective. I said to him: "By the time you've got the attention of the public on reform number thirty . . . what do you suppose the politicians will have been doing with reform number one?"
JULIA. We all have to go through that stage. I can remember just as well . . . [A ring upon the bell.] Ah, there he is.
JACK. [Rises and goes to the door.] But I think he's most through butting his head against the stone wall! [Calls.] Are you there, old man?
MONTAGUE. [Off.] I'm here!
JACK. How are you?
MONTAGUE. Fine!
JACK. Come right in.
MONTAGUE. [Enters; a tall, handsome man of thirty; self-contained and slow of speech; the dark type of a Southerner.] I'm a trifle late. [Sees LAURA; starts.] Miss