“It is estimated,” says the opposition press, “that Lockwin, the rich man’s candidate, backed by the machine, the organized toughs of the ‘Levee,’ and the gamblers, has spent over $25,000 of corruption money. The primaries, which were held yesterday, were the most disgraceful political exhibitions which have ever been offered in our civic history. Harpwood was counted out in every ward but one. Corkey, the sailors’ candidate, carried two wards by the same tactics which the police made use of elsewhere. In the First and Second, the officers arrested all ‘disturbers’ on complaint of Corkeyites. Everywhere else Corkeyites were either forced off the field or are now in the bull-pens at the stations.

“As our interview with the mayor shows, he is unacquainted with facts which everybody else possesses. It is well enough to repeat that we shall never have a real mayor until the present rule-or-ruin machine shall be destroyed.

“It is to be hoped that the split which threatens the convention of to-day will herald the dawn of law-and-order rule, when bossism, clamor for office, and saloon primaries will happily be things of the past.”

The primaries which were held on Friday elected delegates to the convention of Saturday. If we scan the large body which is now gathering, it may be seen that the business of to-day is to be done by men who either hold or control office. The sidewalk inspectors, the health inspectors, the city and county building men, the men of the “institutions;” and the men of the postoffice are delegates. It may be safely guessed that they have no desire other than to hold their places until better places can be commanded. The party can trust its delegates. In this hall is gathered the effective governing force of the whole city. To these men a majority of the citizens have relinquished the business of public service. All those citizens who object are in the minority, and a majority of the minority object, only because it is desired that a different set of men should perform the same labors in the same way.

The political boss is not in sight. Eight delegations of Harpwood men are admitted because they cannot be kept out. The convention is called to order by a motion that a Lockwin man shall be chairman.

Four saloon-keepers stand upon chairs and shout.

Four bouncers of four rival saloons pull the orators down to the floor. The saloon-keepers are unarmed their bung-starters are at home. The Lockwin man is in the chair. He has not been elected. Election in such a hubbub is impossible, and is not expected.

But the assumption of the chair by anybody is a good thing. The convention is thus enabled to learn that Corkey is making a speech. A chair is held on top of another chair. On this conspicuous perch the hero of the docks holds forth.

Corkey is an oddity. He is a new factor in politics. The rounders are curious to hear what he is saying.

“Your honor!” cries Corkey in a loud voice.

There is a sensation of merriment, which angers the orator.

“Oh, I know you’re all no-gooders,” he says. “I know that as well as any of ye.”

There is a hurricane of cat-calls from the galleries.

There are cries of “Come down!” “Pull down his vest!” “See the sawed-off!”

“Yes, ’come down’!” yells the speaker in a white heat. “That’s what you bloodsuckers make Lockwin do. He come down! I should say he did! But I’m no soft mark you hear me? You bet your sweet life!”

The merriment is over. This is outrageous. The dignity of this convention has been compromised. There is a furious movement in the rear. The tumult is again unrestrained. Corkey has blundered.

The chairman pounds for order. The police begin to “suppress the excitement.”

“Mr. Corkey, I understand, has an important announcement to make,” cries the chair.

“You bet I have!” corroborates the navigator.

“Spit it out!”

“Make the turn, Corkey!”

“Everything goes as it lays!”

Such are the preparatory comments of the audience.

“Your honor

Corkey has been “pulled” for gambling. His public addresses heretofore have been made before the police justice.

“Your honor, Mr. Chairman, and Mr. Delegates: We’re goin’ to quit you. We’re goin’ to walk, to sherry, to bolt. We didn’t have no fair chance to vote our men yesterday. We carried our wards just as you carried your’n. We’ve just as good a right to the candidate as you have. We therefore with-with-with-go out and you can bet your sweet life we stay out! and you hear me

“Goon!” “Goon!” “Ki-yi!” “Yip-yip!”

Such are the flattering outbursts. Why does the orator pause?

His head quakes and vibrates, his face grows black, the mouth opens into a parallelogram, the sharp little tongue plays about the mass of black tobacco.

The convention leaps to its feet. The Sneeze has come.

“That settles it!” cry the delegates. “Bounce any man that’ll do such a thing as that! Fire him out!”

The irresistible movement has reached Corkey’s eyrie. Four faithful Corkeyites are holding Corkey’s platform. The assault on these supports, these Atlases, brings the collapse of Corkey. He goes down fighting, and he fights like a hero. One of the toughs who saw Corkey put away his revolver at the primary is badly battered before he can retreat.

The melee is a good-sized one. “It is to be observed,” writes the keen-eyed reporters, “that the consumption of peanuts rises to its maximum during the purgation of a convention.”

The convention is purged. The fumes of whisky and tobacco increase. The crash of peanuts ceases. The committee on credentials reports. Harmony is to be the watchword. In this interest it has been agreed to seat four Harpwood delegates and eight Lockwin delegates in each of the contests.

Although the Harpwood delegates howl with indignation, it is only a howl. None of them go out. They will all vote. But their votes will not affect the nomination. If otherwise, the convention can be again purged and the correct result established. That would be bloody and difficult. Wait until it shall be necessary.

“It is one of the workings of the status quo,” writes the reporter of the single-tax weekly, “that friction is everywhere reduced to the minimum of the system. There is little waste of bloody noses in politics.”

“It is getting past dinner time. Why not be through with this? What is the matter?”

These are the questions of the sidewalk inspectors, who perhaps ache to return to their other public duties.

“It is Corkey’s fault Corkey’s fault! But here’s the platform, now!”

“We point with the finger of scorn ” reads the clerk in a great voice.

“That’s the stuff!” respond the faithful, shaking hands one with another.

“Order!” scream the bouncers and police. They desire to hear the platform. It is the hinge on which liberty hangs. It is the brass idol of politics.

“And the peace, prosperity and general happiness of the American people will ever remain dear to the party which saved the union and now reaches a fraternal hand across the bloody chasm!” So reads the clerk.

“That’s what! We win on that! They can’t answer to that!”

“We demand a free ballot and a fair count!”

“No more bulldozing!” exclaims the bouncer who has heard the plank.

“We guarantee to the sovereign electors of the First district, and to the whole population of the nation a reform of the civil service and an entire abolition of the spoils system.”

“I suppose,” says the bouncer, “that things is going on too open in Washington.”

The reading ceases.

“Ki-yi!” “Hooray!” “He-e-e-e-e-e!” “Zip-zip-zippee!”

There is a crash of peanuts, a tornado of bad air, a tempest of wild and joyous noise.

“The platform was received with genuine enthusiasm. It was adopted without a dissenting voice.” Thus the reporters write hurriedly.

There has been an uproar ever since the question was put. Now, if the delegate quicken his ear, he may hear the chairman commanding:

“All those in favor will vote ‘aye!’”

Again there is the tempest. The Harpwood delegates have voted aye!

“What is it?” ask most of the delegates.

“Lockwin is nominated by acclamation,” comes the answer from the front.

“Oh, is he?” say the delegates, Harpwood men and all.

There is a numerous outgo for liquor. A man is escorted to the stage. He is cheered by those who see him. Most of the leading delegates are bargaining for places on the central committee. The Harpwood men are to be taken care of.

The speech goes on. “It is,” says the orator, “the proudest day of my life, I assure you.”

“Do you suppose he’s gone broke?” inquire the committee men.

“It is the matchless character of our institutions ” continues the candidate.

“We’d be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey,” says a hungry saloon-keeper.

“ The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold the reins of government.”

The orator is gathering an audience. “The people” are hungry, but love of oratory is a still weaker place in their armor. The voice rises. The eye flashes. The cheeks turn crimson. The form straightens.

The orator weeps and he thunders.

Hi hi!” says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration.

“America! My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert the rock of liberty.

“We have a weapon firmer set,
And better than the bayonet;
A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman’s will
As lightning does the will of God.”

The effect is electric.

“Jiminy!” whistles the hungry saloonkeeper, “ain’t we lucky we put him up? I could sell fifty kag if he spoke anywhere in the same block.”