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Updated: May 31, 2025
Therefore Plonny Neal's passionate earnestness surprised him, and Plonny's reasoning, which he knew to be the reasoning of the thoroughly informed State leaders, impressed him very decidedly. Of the boss's sincerity he never entertained a doubt; to question that candid eye was impossible. That Plonny had long been watching him with interest and admiration, West knew very well.
West liked Plonny, as everybody did, and of Plonny's sincere liking for him he never had the slightest doubt. In fact, Mr. Neal's present call was to report that the manner in which a lady brushes a midge from her summering brow was no simpler than the wiping of James E. Winter off the board of Blaines College. That topic being disposed of, West introduced another.
Day by day, since the appearance of the reformatory article, West had waited for some sign of appreciation and understanding from those on the inside. None had come. Not a soul except himself, and Plonny, had appeared aware that he, by a masterly compromise, had averted disaster from the party, and clearly revealed himself as the young man of destiny.
The article boldly taxed "our more or less esteemed contemporary" with the murder of the reformatory, and showed unpleasant freedom in employing such phrases as "instantaneous conversion," "treacherous friendship," "disgusting somersaulting," and the like. Next day, grown still more audacious, it had the hardihood to refer to the Post as "The Plonny Neal organ."
"The point is that if we spend all this money now, the people will kick the party out at the next election. I wouldn't admit this to many, 'cause I'm ashamed of it, but it's gospel truth. Mr. West," said Plonny, earnestly, "I know you want the Post to stand for the welfare of the party " "Certainly.
"Got your young feller all picked out, Plonny?" queried the Mayor elect, Mr. Bangor, with a wink around the room. Plonny denied that he had any candidate. Under pressure, however, he admitted having his eye on a certain youth, a "dark horse" who was little known at present, but who, in his humble judgment, was a coming man.
"Aren't you wandering rather carelessly into the future, Plonny?" "If I am," said Mr. Neal, solemnly, "it's because you stand at the crossroads to-day." West found the office deserted, his assistant being gone for lunch. He finished two short articles begun earlier in the day, and himself departed with an eye to food.
"You're wrong, Plonny, in my opinion, and if you were ten times right, what of it? You seem to think that the Post is advocating this reformatory because Dayne has asked for it. The Post is doing nothing of the sort. It is advocating the reformatory because it has studied this question to the bottom for itself, because it knows " "Right! Good f'r you!" exclaimed Mr. Neal, much gratified.
To him, as he sat long in his office brooding upon the darkness of life, there came a visitor, a tall, angular, twinkling-eyed, slow-speaking individual who perpetually chewed an unlighted cigar. He was Plonny Neal, no other, the reputed great chieftain of city politics. Once the Post, in an article inspired by West, had referred to Plonny as "this notorious grafter."
"Noticed the way the Chronicle is jumping on me with all four feet, Plonny?" he asked, with rather a forced laugh. "Why can't those fellows forget it and leave me alone?" By a slow facial manoeuvre, Mr. Neal contrived to make his cigar look out upon the world with contemptuousness unbearable. "Why, nobody pays no attention to them fellers' wind, Mr. West.
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