The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg, and Other Stories
him--when nothing else will answer. But that's an extreme case. That is
a sort of force, and force is bad. Diplomacy is the effective thing. Now
if a man has tact--if a man will exercise diplomacy--'
For two minutes we had been standing at a telegraph wicket, and during
all this time the Major had been trying to get the attention of one of
the young operators, but they were all busy skylarking. The Major spoke
now, and asked one of them to take his telegram. He got for reply:
'I reckon you can wait a minute, can't you?' And the skylarking went on.
The Major said yes, he was not in a hurry. Then he wrote another
telegram:
'President Western Union Tel. Co.:
'Come and dine with me this evening. I can tell you how business is
conducted in one of your branches.'
Presently the young fellow who had spoken so pertly a little before
reached out and took the telegram, and when he read it he lost colour
and began to apologise and explain. He said he would lose his place if
this deadly telegram was sent, and he might never get another. If he
could be let off this time he would give no cause of complaint again.
The compromise was accepted.
As we walked away, the Major said:
'Now, you see, that was diplomacy--and you see how it worked. It
wouldn't do any good to bluster, the way people are always doing.
That boy can always give you as good as you send, and you'll come out
defeated and ashamed of yourself pretty nearly always. But you see he
stands no chance against diplomacy. Gentle words and diplomacy--those
are the tools to work with.'
'Yes, I see: but everybody wouldn't have had your opportunity. It isn't
everybody that is on those familiar terms with the President of the
Western Union.'
'Oh, you misunderstand. I don't know the President--I only use him
diplomatically. It is for his good and for the public good. There's no
harm in it.'
I said with hesitation and diffidence:
'But is it ever right or noble to tell a lie?'
He took no note of the delicate self-righteousness of the question, but
answered with undisturbed gravity and simplicity:
'Yes, sometimes. Lies told to injure a person and lies told to profit
yourself are not justifiable, but lies told to help another person,
and lies told in the public interest--oh, well, that is quite another
matter. Anybody knows that. But never mind about the methods: you see
the result. That youth is going to be useful now, and well-behaved. He
had a good face. He was worth saving. Why, he was worth saving on his
mother's account if not his own. Of course, he has a mother--sisters,
too. Damn these people who are always forgetting that! Do you know,
I've never fought a duel in my life--never once--and yet have been
challenged, like other people. I could always see the other man's
unoffending women folks or his little children standing between him and
me. They hadn't done anything--I couldn't break their hearts, you know.'
He corrected a good many little abuses in the course of the day, and
always without friction--always with a fine and dainty 'diplomacy' which
left no sting behind; and he got such happiness and such contentment
out of these performances that I was obliged to envy him his trade--and
perhaps would have adopted it if I could have managed the necessary
deflections from fact as confidently with my mouth as I believe I could
with a pen, behind the shelter of print, after a little practice.
Away late that night we were coming up-town in a horse-car when three
boisterous roughs got aboard, and began to fling hilarious obscenities
and profanities right and left among the timid passengers, some of whom
were women and children. Nobody resisted or retorted; the conductor
tried soothing words and moral suasion, but the toughs only called him
names and laughed at him. Very soon I saw that the Major realised that
this was a matter which was in his line; evidently he was turning over
his stock of diplomacy in his mind and getting ready. I felt that
the first diplomatic remark he made in this place would bring down a
landslide of ridicule upon him, and maybe something worse; but before I
could whisper to him and check him he had begun, and it was too late. He
said, in a level and dispassionate tone:
'Conductor, you must put these swine out. I will help you.'
I was not looking for that. In a flash the three roughs plunged at him.
But none of them arrived. He delivered three such blows as one could not
expect to encounter outside the prize-ring, and neither of the men had
life enough left in him to get up from where he fell. The Major dragged
them out and threw them off the car, and we got under way again.
I was astonished: astonished to see a lamb act so; astonished at the
strength displayed, and the clean and comprehensive result; astonished
at the brisk and business-like style of the whole thing. The situation
had a humorous side to it, considering how much I had been hearing about
mild persuasion and gentle diplomacy all day from this pile-driver, and
I would have liked to call his attention to that feature and do some
sarcasms about it; but when I looked at him I saw that it would be of no
use--his placid and contented face had no ray of humour in it; he would
not have understood. When we left the car, I said:
'That was a good stroke of diplomacy--three good strokes of diplomacy,
in fact.'
'That? That wasn't diplomacy. You are quite in the wrong. Diplomacy is a
wholly different thing. One cannot apply it to that sort; they would not
understand it. No, that was not diplomacy; it was force.'
'Now that you mention it, I--yes, I think perhaps you are right.'
'Right? Of course I am right. It was just force.'
'I think, myself, it had the outside aspect of it. Do you often have to
reform people in that way?'
'Far from it. It hardly ever happens. Not oftener than once in half a
year, at the outside.'
'Those men will get well?'
'Get well? Why, certainly they will. They are not in any danger. I know
how to hit and where to hit. You noticed that I did not hit them under
the jaw. That would have killed them.'
I believed that. I remarked--rather wittily, as I thought--that he
had been a lamb all day, but now had all of a sudden developed into a
ram--battering-ram; but with dulcet frankness and simplicity he said no,
a battering-ram was quite a different thing, and not in use now. This
was maddening, and I came near bursting out and saying he had no more
appreciation of wit than a jackass--in fact, I had it right on my
tongue, but did not say it, knowing there was no hurry and I could say
it just as well some other time over the telephone.
We started to Boston the next afternoon. The smoking compartment in the
parlour-car was full, and he went into the regular smoker. Across the
aisle in the front seat sat a meek, farmer-looking old man with a sickly
pallor in his face, and he was holding the door open with his foot to
get the air. Presently a big brakeman came rushing through, and when he
got to the door he stopped, gave the farmer an ugly scowl, then wrenched
the door to with such energy as to almost snatch the old man's boot off.
Then on he plunged about his business. Several passengers laughed, and
the old gentleman looked pathetically shamed and grieved.
After a little the conductor passed along, and the Major stopped him and
asked him a question in his habitually courteous way:
'Conductor, where does one report the misconduct of a brakeman? Does one
report to you?'
'You can report him at New Haven if you want to. What has he been
doing?'
The Major told the story. The conductor seemed amused. He said, with
just a touch of sarcasm in his bland tones:
'As I understand you, the brakeman didn't say anything?'
'No, he didn't say anything.'
'But he scowled, you say?'
'Yes.'
'And snatched the door loose in a rough way?'
'Yes.'
'That's the whole business, is it?'
'Yes, that is the whole of it.'
The conductor smiled pleasantly, and said:
'Well, if you want to report him, all right, but I don't quite make out
what it's going to amount to. You'll say--as I understand you--that
the brakeman insulted this old gentleman. They'll ask you what he said.
You'll say he didn't say anything at all. I reckon they'll say, How are
you going to make out an insult when you acknowledge yourself that he
didn't say a word?'
There was a murmur of applause at the conductor's compact reasoning, and
it gave him pleasure--you could see it in his face. But the Major was
not disturbed. He said:
'There--now you have touched upon a crying defect in the complaint
system. The railway officials--as the public think and as you also seem
to think--are not aware that there are any insults except spoken ones.
So nobody goes to headquarters and reports insults of manner, insults of
gesture, look, and so forth; and yet these are sometimes harder to bear
than any words. They are bitter hard to bear because there is nothing
tangible to take hold of; and the insulter can always say, if called
before the railway officials, that he never dreamed of intending any
offence. It seems to me that the officials ought to specially
and urgently request the public to report unworded affronts and
incivilities.'
The conductor laughed, and said:
'Well, that would be trimming it pretty fine, sure!'
'But not too fine, I think. I will report this matter at New Haven, and
I have an idea that I'll be thanked for it.'
The conductor's face lost something of its complacency; in fact, it
settled to a quite sober cast as the owner of it moved away. I said:
'You are not really going to bother with that trifle, are you?'
'It isn't a trifle. Such things ought always to be reported. It is a
public duty and no citizen has a right to shirk it. But I sha'n't' have
to report this case.'
'Why?'
'It won't be necessary. Diplomacy will do the business. You'll see.'
Presently the conductor came on his rounds again, and when he reached
the Major he leaned over and said:
'That's all right. You needn't report him. He's responsible to me, and
if he does it again I'll give him a talking to.'
The Major's response was cordial:
'Now that is what I like! You mustn't think that I was moved by any
vengeful spirit, for that wasn't the case. It was duty--just a sense
of duty, that was all. My brother-in-law is one of the directors of the
road, and when he learns that you are going to reason with your brakeman
the very next time he brutally insults an unoffending old man it will
please him, you may be sure of that.'
The conductor did not look as joyous as one might have thought he would,
but on the contrary looked sickly and uncomfortable. He stood around a
little; then said:
'I think something ought to be done to him now. I'll discharge him.'
'Discharge him! What good would that do? Don't you think it would be
better wisdom to teach him better ways and keep him?'
'Well, there's something in that. What would you suggest?'
'He insulted the old gentleman in presence of all these people. How
would it do to have him come and apologise in their presence?'
'I'll have him here right off. And I want to say this: If people would
do as you've done, and report such things to me instead of keeping mum
and going off and blackguarding the road, you'd see a different state of
things pretty soon. I'm much obliged to you.'
The brakeman came and apologised. After he was gone the Major said:
'Now you see how simple and easy that was. The ordinary citizen would
have accomplished nothing--the brother-in-law of a director can
accomplish anything he wants to.'
'But are you really the brother-in-law of a director?'
'Always. Always when the public interests require it. I have a