Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1911 — THE MAN HGHER UP [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAN HGHER UP

BY HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

CHAPTER 11. 808 ENTERS A NEW FIELD. BUT Bob was not to conquer in the Empire of Steel. Squire Mehaffey—the squire had married Molly Flinn—was the pebble that deflected the course of Bob’s destiny. One night this young dispenser of justice for the Fourth ward entered Maloney’s saloon, white faced and excited. “Whisky. Mike.’’ The proprietor placed a bottle before him. “What’s up, Jim?” The squire made no answer other than to seize the bottle with tremblin;’ hands and pour out a full glass of the liquor, which he tossed off at a gulp. “Where’s Bob?” he demanded ab ruptly. “In there.” Mike’s thumb indicated the back room of the saloon. Thither Mehaflfey strode. Before a table littered With beer and whisky bottles Bob was sitting, the one silent member of a noisy group. “Where can I see you alone?” the squire interrupted without apology. “You can see me right here. Boys”— At the unspoken suggestion the group, with frank, matter of fact obedience, gathered up their bottles and went Into the barroom. “Well?” Bob interrogated. The squire dropped into a chair. “Haggin’s turned me down,” he announced despondently. “He says I can’t run again. He’s going to give my job to Harvey, just because he’s his nephew. After the way I’ve slaved for him and done his dirty work in the ward for ten years!” he added bitterly.

“What of It?” Bob asked, with no sign of interest “What of it! I lose my only chance to make a livin’. Here I am, thirtyfive years old. I’ve got no education. I don’t know bookkeepin’ nor anything else. I can’t clerk. I ain’t strong enough to hold down a job in the mills. I can take care of myself. But how Tm to make enough for three I don’t see.” “Three?” “Yes, there’s goin’ to be a baby soon, and I can’t see”— • “Humph! You politicians have got no business to have kids. What are you going to do?” “What can I do?” Mehaffey returned helplessly. “You might fight him,” Bob suggested. “I can’t,” groaned the squire. “But I can,” Bob said. By degrees the possible significance of Bob’s words wormed its way into the squire’s comprehension. His grief gave way to amazement, amazement to an incredulous joy. “You don’t mean it, Bob?” “I always mean what I say, don’t I?” Bob returned impatiently. "Shut up, Jim; I’m thinking.” For some moments Bob stared at tho ceiling. Then he called out abruptly: “Mike, come in here and bring the boys—and some more whisky.” Mike came in aS bidden, bringing the liquor, “the boys” trooping obediently in behind.

“The drinks are on me, boys?' Bob said by way of preliminary. When every one had taken his quota he continued, “Boys, Haggin has turned Jim down.” “Well, I guess that lets Jim out,” said Mike pityingly. “I tell him,” Bob continued, “that he ought to fight him.” Mike shook his head. “It can’t be done. Bob.” “Yes. it can.” Bob responded tartly. “And I’m going to do it” An amazed silence fell upon the group. The silence was broken by Mike’s delighted ejaculation. “Be th’ poker, it’s a fine scrimmage •we’ll be havin’. If anny wan can lick Haggin ye’re th’ bye., Bob.” “That ye are,” assented the others, awakened from their wonderment “All right. Be here tomorrow night and I’ll tell you what to do. And bring the other boys along—as many as you can get Come along. Jim.” And, meekly followed by the squire, who had not yet recovered from his astonishment, Bob left the saloon. Haggin had been a prizefighter and a successful one. History records how he fought a twenty round draw—bare fists—with Donnelly, the heavyweight champion of the world. At the zenith of his career he abandoned the ring and Invested his last purse in an Irishtown saloon. And Irishtown counted it an honor to buy its drinks from the only man that had ever given Donnelly a hard fight So that Haggin waxed prosperous and sported many diamonds. It was a natural result of his popularity and business that he should go into politics. He developed a certain crude genius for the game. He was good natured—when not opposed.

He knew how to be generous, when to be generous was a good policy. And he learned to organize his henchmen. But beneath all were his fame and skill as a fighter. Consequently he became the undisputed autocrat of things political in the Fourth ward. Now the average American, especially the Irish-American, loves fair play and has a sneaking admiration for the under dog. Bob already bad a certain personal following, which nucleus he began systematically to augment. “This young McAdoo of the Fourth is a corker.” said the great MacPherson. “Of course. Haggin ’ll beat him; the old grafter has too strong a grip on his ward to lose this time. But the youngster wilf bear watching in the future.” "Say, now. this is a fight!” Haggin exclaimed when reports began to come in to him. '

But the fight came to a most unexpected ending. The second night before the primaries Irishtown was In a frenzy of excitement. The saloons were crowded, the streets alive with eager, expectant men and boys. A reporter of one of the morning papers entered Maloney’s saloon and accosted Bob. “I hear.” the reporter remarked with what was meant as an ingratiating smile, “that you intend visiting Haggin’s saloon.” “An ass.” Bob answered dryly, amid the guffaws of his followers, “havin’ long ears, can hear a lot that ain’t his business.” The reporter flushed angrily. “I told the same thing to Haggin.” he said spitefully, “and he said if you entered his saloon he’d kick you out. ’Knock the stiffs block off’ were his exact words. I believe.” The crowd stood aghast. It was a challenge. “Is that so?” Leisurely Bob emptied his bottle of beer and then without a word left the saloon, followed at a respectful distance by friends, torn between delight and fear. Haggin sat in the rear room" of his saloon trying to maintain a conversation with some of his lieutenants, a difficult matter because of the tumult in the outer room. Suddenly the clamor ceased-; blank silence enveloped the saloon. Haggin sprang to his feet and rushed to the door. There he stopped short, petrified by amazement at the sight before him, for there by the bar in the midst of an awestruck, dazed crowd towered Bob McAdoo.

Bob calmly struck a match and lighted his cigar. “Line up, boys!" he commanded. Slowly, mechanically, as under U compulsion they could not resist, the men moved to the bar. “What’ll you have? This is on Jim Mehaffey, boys.” Not a man dared to name his drink. “Humph!” Bob sneered. "Whisky for mine. The best in the house, barhe ordered sharply. The bartender moved fearfully to obey. Then Haggin came to himself. With a low growl he sprang in front of Bob, who nonchalantly looked him over. “Not a drink d’ye get in this house, Bob McAdoo,” Haggin raged. "Not a drink, d’ye hear? An’ git out o' this saloon, quick—see!” Bob’s only answer was to take the bottle from the bartender’s uncertain hand, pour himself a liberal portion and swallow it at a gulp. Then he seized a glass of water and tossed its contents full into Haggln’s face. The crowd breathed painfully. Haggin dashed the water from his eyes and shook his great fist before

Bob’s face. “D’ye know what that means, Bob McAdoo?” he roared. “It means you got to fight.” I -“All right” Bob responded cheerfully. “That’s what I'm here for.” Then began Bob’s last fist fight, a battle which still lives unparalleled in Irjshtown annals. Man for man in point of size, weight and courage the two were equally matched. On Haggin’s side there was the advantage of superior science and the cool generalship of the trained box? er. But Bob was the born fighter, and his muscles were hard and elastic as the steel whose forging had developed them, whereas his antagonist had been years out of training. Amid a tense silence. broken only by the shuffling of their feet, they faced each other and began the combat. Coolly, warily, savagely they fought, two splendid brutes, beasts of prey thirsting for each other’s blood. Suddenly Haggin feinted, then brought his right crashing to Bob’s temple. For an instant Bob was numbed and blinded with pain. Then all feeling of hurt left him. He saw as though a red film had been lowered before his eyes. His thin lips drew back cruelly, and he pressed forward to meet the onslaught of Haggin. who had 'thought to finish him with one more blow. There was a short, fierce interchange, then—no one knew just how it happened—it was all over. Haggin, the mighty, lay on the floor, helpless and groaning, his head rolling from side to side in the futile effort to raise himself.

“Bring some water,” Bob ordered. The bartender brought a bucketful, with which Bob carelessly deluged bis prostrate antagonist. Then he turned to the bar. “The boys ’ll take another round of the same they ordered before,” he said in dry sarcasm. The spell was broken. The crowd of men who had in awed silence watched the combat, McAdoo followers and Haggin adherents alike, cheered the victor, each trying to shake his hand, a familiarity which he coldlj’ denied them and for the refusal of which they strangely admired him the more. Haggin, staggering to his feet, looked on dumbly, uncomprehendingly. "What—what’s the matter?” he muttered thickly. “Ye’re licked. Tom Haggin! Bob McAdoo licked ye!” they yelled derisively. “Ye didn’t lick me. Ye never licked me. Bob McAdoo. My God!” His voice rose to a loud shriek, the agonized cry of a monarch who sees his kingdom forever departed from him. “Yes, I did,” Bob said sternly. “And if you want more of the same, come on.”

But Haggin did not come on. H& took one step toward Bob, then a new, unfamiliar sensation entered his heart —fear—fear of the big young man who stood before him. “My" God.” he groaned hoarsely, “ye did lick me!” Then in a pitiful attempt to gather the tatters of bls lost prestige around the nakedness of his defeat he yelled again: “But ye could never ’a’ done it when I was in trainin’. Ye never could.”

A derisive shout went up. “Ha,” sneered one, an erstwhile supporter, “It’s easy enough to say that now, when there’s no chance o’ provin’ it.” With the bellow of a mad bull Haggin sprang toward the speaker, who fled the saloon. The ex-pugilist, grim and desperate, turned to the crowd. “Come on, ye dogs! Bob McAdoo’s licked me, but ye hain’t. An’ ye can’t —none o’ ye, all o’ ye! If there’s any thinks he can come on, as many as ye like, an’ I’ll show ye!” “Right!” said Bob contemptuously. you can handle about a dozen, Haggin. If more’n that comes I’m with you.” But none came. The next was the hardest and the greatest moment in Haggin’s life. Under the bully was hidden a crude manhood. He turned to his conqueror and said slowly: “Ye licked me, Bob McAdoo, fair an’ square. That goes. Ye’re the only man as ever done it. There ain’t another man in the city can do it Shake!”

“Sure,” said Bob heartily, grasping the outstretched hand. “The drinks is on me,” Haggin continued painfully, thus completing the public acknowledgment of his defeat as required by Irishtown etiquette. While the drinks were being poured and consumed Bob took Haggin by the arm and led him into the rear room, whither many a longing glance was cast, but none dared follow. "Haggin,” he said gruffly, “you’re a man. What’s the use of you and me fightin’ ? 1 can lick you after tonight—that’s right, ain’t it?” “That goes.” Haggin assented. “When I went into this political game.” Bob continued, “it was to help the squire out. But I like it, and I’m in it to stay now—for myself. I’ve got you licked this time. I can go on lickin’ you if I have to, but I don’t whnt to have to. Now, what’s the matter with me and you hangin’ together in this deal. Between us we can hold this ward so no one can hurt us. W T hat do you say?” “Shake again,” said Haggin huskily. “You’re a man.” Thus Haggin was conquered and became Bob’s faithful retainer. The squire was renominated and later reelected without opposition. (To be continued.)

THEBE WAS A SHOBT, FIERCE INTERCHANGE.