"I hardly know where to begin," replied the other. "They've such a
choice collection of crooks up there. Did you ever notice a little
pot-bellied fellow with mutton-chop whiskers--looks as if he was
eating persimmons all the time?"
"You mean Mr. Hickman?"
"Yes, that's the chap. He's one of the pillars of the church, isn't
he?"
"I suppose so," said Samuel. "He's one of the vestrymen."
"And did you ever hear of Henry Hickman before?"
"I know he's a famous lawyer; and I was told that he managed the
Lockman estate."
"Yes," said Charlie, "and I suppose you don't know what that means!"
"No," admitted Samuel, "I don't."
"It means," went on the other, "that he was old Lockman's right-hand
man, and had his finger in every dirty job that the old fellow ever
did for thirty years. And it means that he runs the business now, and
does all the crooked work that has to be done for it."
There was a pause. "For instance, what?" asked Samuel in a low voice.
"For instance, politics," said the other. "Steering the grafters off
the Lockman preserve. Getting the right men named by the machine, and
putting up the dough to elect them. Last year the Democrats got in, in
spite of all he could do; and he had to buy the city council
outright."
"What!" gasped the boy in horror.
"Sure thing," laughed Charlie--"there was an independent water company
trying to break in, and the Democrats were pledged to them.
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