"Don't feel sore because you didn't get the governor you thought you
were going to get when you went around preaching the gospel?" said the
father, still chuckling.
"We've got a better man and a bigger one, I'm sure," was the quick
reply. Then he added: "But I think I am still doubtful about the
advisability of injecting the machine principle into politics."
The senator laughed silently.
"Call it 'the organization' instead of 'the machine,' son, and you've
named the power that moves the civilized world to-day. Man, the
individual, is just about as helpless as a new-born baby. If you want to
reform anything, from an unjust poor-law to the tariff, your first move
is to rustle up a following; after that, you've got to solidify your
bunch of sympathizers into a working organization--in other words, into
a machine. Isn't that so, Professor Anners?"
The white-haired professor of palaeontology nodded sleepily. He had been
dreaming of the Megalosauridae, and had not heard the question.
"You've heard me called 'the boss' from the time Dick Gantry had his
first talk with you back yonder in Massachusetts," the senator went on,
turning again to his son. "Call me a man with friends enough to make me
a sort of foreman of round-ups in the old home State, and you've got it
about right. I don't say that I've always used the power as it ought to
be used; the good Lord knows, I'm no more infallible than other folks.
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