The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg, and Other Stories

by Mark Twain

  TRAVELLING WITH A REFORMER

  Last spring I went out to Chicago to see the Fair, and although I didnot see it my trip was not wholly lost--there were compensations. InNew York I was introduced to a Major in the regular army who said he wasgoing to the Fair, and we agreed to go together. I had to go to Bostonfirst, but that did not interfere; he said he would go along and put inthe time. He was a handsome man and built like a gladiator. But hisways were gentle, and his speech was soft and persuasive. He wascompanionable, but exceedingly reposeful. Yes, and wholly destitute ofthe sense of humour. He was full of interest in everything that went onaround him, but his serenity was indestructible; nothing disturbed him,nothing excited him.

  But before the day was done I found that deep down in him somewhere hehad a passion, quiet as he was--a passion for reforming petty publicabuses. He stood for citizenship--it was his hobby. His idea was thatevery citizen of the republic ought to consider himself an unofficialpoliceman, and keep unsalaried watch and ward over the laws and theirexecution. He thought that the only effective way of preserving andprotecting public rights was for each citizen to do his share inpreventing or punishing such infringements of them as came under hispersonal notice.

  It was a good scheme, but I thought it would keep a body in troubleall the time; it seemed to me that one would be always trying to getoffending little officials discharged, and perhaps getting laughed atfor all reward. But he said no, I had the wrong idea: that there was nooccasion to get anybody discharged; that in fact you mustn't get anybodydischarged; that that would itself be a failure; no, one must reform theman--reform him and make him useful where he was.

  'Must one report the offender and then beg his superior not to dischargehim, but reprimand him and keep him?'

  'No, that is not the idea; you don't report him at all, for then yourisk his bread and butter. You can act as if you are going to reporthim--when nothing else will answer. But that's an extreme case. That isa sort of force, and force is bad. Diplomacy is the effective thing. Nowif a man has tact--if a man will exercise diplomacy--'

  For two minutes we had been standing at a telegraph wicket, and duringall this time the Major had been trying to get the attention of one ofthe young operators, but they were all busy skylarking. The Major spokenow, 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 anothertelegram:

  '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 beforereached out and took the telegram, and when he read it he lost colourand began to apologise and explain. He said he would lose his place ifthis deadly telegram was sent, and he might never get another. If hecould 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. Itwouldn'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 outdefeated and ashamed of yourself pretty nearly always. But you see hestands no chance against diplomacy. Gentle words and diplomacy--thoseare the tools to work with.'

  'Yes, I see: but everybody wouldn't have had your opportunity. It isn'teverybody that is on those familiar terms with the President of theWestern Union.'

  'Oh, you misunderstand. I don't know the President--I only use himdiplomatically. It is for his good and for the public good. There's noharm 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, butanswered with undisturbed gravity and simplicity:

  'Yes, sometimes. Lies told to injure a person and lies told to profityourself are not justifiable, but lies told to help another person,and lies told in the public interest--oh, well, that is quite anothermatter. Anybody knows that. But never mind about the methods: you seethe result. That youth is going to be useful now, and well-behaved. Hehad a good face. He was worth saving. Why, he was worth saving on hismother'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 beenchallenged, like other people. I could always see the other man'sunoffending women folks or his little children standing between him andme. 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, andalways without friction--always with a fine and dainty 'diplomacy' whichleft no sting behind; and he got such happiness and such contentmentout of these performances that I was obliged to envy him his trade--andperhaps would have adopted it if I could have managed the necessarydeflections from fact as confidently with my mouth as I believe I couldwith 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 threeboisterous roughs got aboard, and began to fling hilarious obscenitiesand profanities right and left among the timid passengers, some of whomwere women and children. Nobody resisted or retorted; the conductortried soothing words and moral suasion, but the toughs only called himnames and laughed at him. Very soon I saw that the Major realised thatthis was a matter which was in his line; evidently he was turning overhis stock of diplomacy in his mind and getting ready. I felt thatthe first diplomatic remark he made in this place would bring down alandslide of ridicule upon him, and maybe something worse; but before Icould whisper to him and check him he had begun, and it was too late. Hesaid, 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 notexpect to encounter outside the prize-ring, and neither of the men hadlife enough left in him to get up from where he fell. The Major draggedthem 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 thestrength displayed, and the clean and comprehensive result; astonishedat the brisk and business-like style of the whole thing. The situationhad a humorous side to it, considering how much I had been hearing aboutmild persuasion and gentle diplomacy all day from this pile-driver, andI would have liked to call his attention to that feature and do somesarcasms about it; but when I looked at him I saw that it would be of nouse--his placid and contented face had no ray of humour in it; he wouldnot 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 awholly different thing. One cannot apply it to that sort; they would notunderstand 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 toreform people in that way?'

  'Far from it. It hardly ever happens. Not oftener than once in half ayear, at the outside.'

  'Those men will get well?'

  'Get well? Why, certainly they will. They are not in any danger. I knowhow to hit and where to hit. You noticed that I did not hit them underthe jaw. That would have killed them.'

  I believed that. I remarked--rather wittily, as I thought--that hehad been a lamb all day, but now had all of a sudden developed into aram--battering-ram; but with dulcet frankness and simplicity he said no,a battering-ram was quite a different thing, and not in use now. Thiswas maddening, and I came near bursting out and saying he had no moreapp
reciation of wit than a jackass--in fact, I had it right on mytongue, but did not say it, knowing there was no hurry and I could sayit just as well some other time over the telephone.

  We started to Boston the next afternoon. The smoking compartment in theparlour-car was full, and he went into the regular smoker. Across theaisle in the front seat sat a meek, farmer-looking old man with a sicklypallor in his face, and he was holding the door open with his foot toget the air. Presently a big brakeman came rushing through, and when hegot to the door he stopped, gave the farmer an ugly scowl, then wrenchedthe 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, andthe old gentleman looked pathetically shamed and grieved.

  After a little the conductor passed along, and the Major stopped him andasked him a question in his habitually courteous way:

  'Conductor, where does one report the misconduct of a brakeman? Does onereport to you?'

  'You can report him at New Haven if you want to. What has he beendoing?'

  The Major told the story. The conductor seemed amused. He said, withjust 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 outwhat it's going to amount to. You'll say--as I understand you--thatthe 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 areyou going to make out an insult when you acknowledge yourself that hedidn't say a word?'

  There was a murmur of applause at the conductor's compact reasoning, andit gave him pleasure--you could see it in his face. But the Major wasnot disturbed. He said:

  'There--now you have touched upon a crying defect in the complaintsystem. The railway officials--as the public think and as you also seemto think--are not aware that there are any insults except spoken ones.So nobody goes to headquarters and reports insults of manner, insults ofgesture, look, and so forth; and yet these are sometimes harder to bearthan any words. They are bitter hard to bear because there is nothingtangible to take hold of; and the insulter can always say, if calledbefore the railway officials, that he never dreamed of intending anyoffence. It seems to me that the officials ought to speciallyand urgently request the public to report unworded affronts andincivilities.'

  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, andI have an idea that I'll be thanked for it.'

  The conductor's face lost something of its complacency; in fact, itsettled 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 apublic duty and no citizen has a right to shirk it. But I sha'n't' haveto 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 reachedthe Major he leaned over and said:

  'That's all right. You needn't report him. He's responsible to me, andif 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 anyvengeful spirit, for that wasn't the case. It was duty--just a senseof duty, that was all. My brother-in-law is one of the directors of theroad, and when he learns that you are going to reason with your brakemanthe very next time he brutally insults an unoffending old man it willplease 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 alittle; 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 bebetter 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. Howwould 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 woulddo as you've done, and report such things to me instead of keeping mumand going off and blackguarding the road, you'd see a different state ofthings 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 wouldhave accomplished nothing--the brother-in-law of a director canaccomplish 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 abrother-in-law on all the boards--everywhere. It saves me a world oftrouble.'

  'It is a good wide relationship.'

  'Yes. I have over three hundred of them.'

  'Is the relationship never doubted by a conductor?'

  'I have never met with a case. It is the honest truth--I never have.'

  'Why didn't you let him go ahead and discharge the brakeman, in spite ofyour favourite policy. You know he deserved it.'

  The Major answered with something which really had a sort of distantresemblance to impatience:

  'If you would stop and think a moment you wouldn't ask such a questionas that. Is a brakeman a dog, that nothing but dogs' methods will dofor him? He is a man and has a man's fight for life. And he always has asister, or a mother, or wife and children to support. Always--there areno exceptions. When you take his living away from him you take theirsaway too--and what have they done to you? Nothing. And where is theprofit in discharging an uncourteous brakeman and hiring another justlike him? It's unwisdom. Don't you see that the rational thing to do isto reform the brakeman and keep him? Of course it is.'

  Then he quoted with admiration the conduct of a certain divisionsuperintendent of the Consolidated road, in a case where a switchman oftwo years' experience was negligent once and threw a train off the trackand killed several people. Citizens came in a passion to urge the man'sdismissal, but the superintendent said:

  'No, you are wrong. He has learned his lesson, he will throw no moretrains off the track. He is twice as valuable as he was before. I shallkeep him.'

  We had only one more adventure on the train. Between Hartford andSpringfield the train-boy came shouting with an armful of literature,and dropped a sample into a slumbering gentleman's lap, and the manwoke up with a start. He was very angry, and he and a couple of friendsdiscussed the outrage with much heat. They sent for the parlour-carconductor and described the matter, and were determined to have the boyexpelled from his situation. The three complainants were wealthy Holyokemerchants, and it was evident that the conductor stood in some awe ofthem. He tried to pacify them, and explained that the boy was not underhis authority, but under that of one of the news companies; but heaccomplished nothing.

  Then the Major volunteered some testimony for the defence. He said:

  'I saw it all. You gentlemen have not meant to exaggerate thecircumstances, but still that is what you have done. The boy hasdone nothing more than all train-boys do. If you want to get his wayssoftened down and his manners reformed, I am with you and ready to help,but it isn't fair to get him discharged without giving him a chance.'

  But they were angry, and would hear of no compromise. They were wellacquainted with the President of the Boston and Albany, they said, andwould put everything aside next day a
nd go up to Boston and fix thatboy.

  The Major said he would be on hand too, and would do what he could tosave the boy. One of the gentlemen looked him over and said:

  'Apparently it is going to be a matter of who can wield the mostinfluence with the President. Do you know Mr. Bliss personally?'

  The Major said, with composure:

  'Yes; he is my uncle.'

  The effect was satisfactory. There was an awkward silence for a minuteor more; then the hedging and the half-confessions of over-hasteand exaggerated resentment began, and soon everything was smooth andfriendly and sociable, and it was resolved to drop the matter and leavethe boy's bread and butter unmolested.

  It turned out as I had expected: the President of the road was not theMajor's uncle at all--except by adoption, and for this day and trainonly.

  We got into no episodes on the return journey. Probably it was becausewe took a night train and slept all the way.

  We left New York Saturday night by the Pennsylvania road. Afterbreakfast the next morning we went into the parlour-car, but found it adull place and dreary. There were but few people in it and nothing goingon. Then we went into the little smoking compartment of the same car andfound three gentlemen in there. Two of them were grumbling over one ofthe rules of the road--a rule which forbade card-playing on the trainson Sunday. They had started an innocent game of high-low-jack and hadbeen stopped. The Major was interested. He said to the third gentleman:

  'Did you object to the game?'

  'Not at all. I am a Yale professor and a religious man, but myprejudices are not extensive.'

  Then the Major said to the others:

  'You are at perfect liberty to resume your game, gentlemen; no one hereobjects.'

  One of them declined the risk, but the other one said he would like tobegin again if the Major would join him. So they spread an overcoatover their knees and the game proceeded. Pretty soon the parlour-carconductor arrived, and said, brusquely:

  'There, there, gentlemen, that won't do. Put up the cards--it's notallowed.'

  The Major was shuffling. He continued to shuffle, and said:

  'By whose order is it forbidden?'

  'It's my order. I forbid it.'

  The dealing began. The Major asked:

  'Did you invent the idea?'

  'What idea?'

  'The idea of forbidding card-playing on Sunday.'

  'No--of course not.'

  'Who did?'

  'The company.'

  'Then it isn't your order, after all, but the company's. Is that it?'

  'Yes. But you don't stop playing! I have to require you to stop playingimmediately.'

  'Nothing is gained by hurry, and often much is lost. Who authorised thecompany to issue such an order?'

  'My dear sir, that is a matter of no consequence to me, and--'

  'But you forget that you are not the only person concerned. It may bea matter of consequence to me. It is, indeed, a matter of very greatimportance to me. I cannot violate a legal requirement of my countrywithout dishonouring myself; I cannot allow any man or corporation tohamper my liberties with illegal rules--a thing which railway companiesare always trying to do--without dishonouring my citizenship. So I comeback to that question: By whose authority has the company issued thisorder?'

  'I don't know. That's their affair.'

  'Mine, too. I doubt if the company has any right to issue such a rule.This road runs through several States. Do you know what State we are innow, and what its laws are in matters of this kind?'

  'Its laws do not concern me, but the company's orders do. It is my dutyto stop this game, gentlemen, and it must be stopped.'

  'Possibly; but still there is no hurry. In hotels they post certainrules in the rooms, but they always quote passages from the State lawas authority for these requirements. I see nothing posted here of thissort. Please produce your authority and let us arrive at a decision, foryou see yourself that you are marring the game.'

  'I have nothing of the kind, but I have my orders, and that issufficient. They must be obeyed.'

  'Let us not jump to conclusions. It will be better all around to examineinto the matter without heat or haste, and see just where we standbefore either of us makes a mistake--for the curtailing of the libertiesof a citizen of the United States is a much more serious matter thanyou and the railroads seem to think, and it cannot be done in my personuntil the curtailer proves his right to do so. Now--'

  'My dear sir, will you put down those cards?'

  'All in good time, perhaps. It depends. You say this order must beobeyed. Must. It is a strong word. You see yourself how strong it is.A wise company would not arm you with so drastic an order as this, ofcourse, without appointing a penalty for its infringement. Otherwise itruns the risk of being a dead letter and a thing to laugh at. What isthe appointed penalty for an infringement of this law?'

  'Penalty? I never heard of any.'

  'Unquestionably you must be mistaken. Your company orders you to comehere and rudely break up an innocent amusement, and furnishes you no wayto enforce the order! Don't you see that that is nonsense? What do youdo when people refuse to obey this order? Do you take the cards awayfrom them?'

  'No.'

  'Do you put the offender off at the next station?'

  'Well, no--of course we couldn't if he had a ticket.'

  'Do you have him up before a court?'

  The conductor was silent and apparently troubled. The Major started anew deal, and said:

  'You see that you are helpless, and that the company has placed you ina foolish position. You are furnished with an arrogant order, and youdeliver it in a blustering way, and when you come to look into thematter you find you haven't any way of enforcing obedience.'

  The conductor said, with chill dignity:

  'Gentlemen, you have heard the order, and my duty is ended. As toobeying it or not, you will do as you think fit.' And he turned toleave.

  'But wait. The matter is not yet finished. I think you are mistakenabout your duty being ended; but if it really is, I myself have a dutyto perform yet.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'Are you going to report my disobedience at headquarters in Pittsburg?'

  'No. What good would that do?'

  'You must report me, or I will report you.'

  'Report me for what?'

  'For disobeying the company's orders in not stopping this game. As acitizen it is my duty to help the railway companies keep their servantsto their work.'

  'Are you in earnest?'

  'Yes, I am in earnest. I have nothing against you as a man, but I havethis against you as an officer--that you have not carried out thatorder, and if you do not report me I must report you. And I will.'

  The conductor looked puzzled, and was thoughtful a moment; then he burstout with:

  'I seem to be getting myself into a scrape! It's all a muddle; I can'tmake head or tail of it; it never happened before; they always knockedunder and never said a word, and so I never saw how ridiculous thatstupid order with no penalty is. I don't want to report anybody, and Idon't want to be reported--why, it might do me no end of harm! No dogo on with the game--play the whole day if you want to--and don't let'shave any more trouble about it!'

  'No, I only sat down here to establish this gentleman's rights--he canhave his place now. But before you go won't you tell me what you think thecompany made this rule for? Can you imagine an excuse for it? I mean arational one--an excuse that is not on its face silly, and the inventionof an idiot?'

  'Why, surely I can. The reason it was made is plain enough. It is tosave the feelings of the other passengers--the religious ones amongthem, I mean. They would not like it to have the Sabbath desecrated bycard-playing on the train.'

  'I just thought as much. They are willing to desecrate it themselves bytravelling on Sunday, but they are not willing that other people--'

  'By gracious, you've hit it! I never thought of that before. The factis, it is a silly rule when you come to lo
ok into it.'

  At this point the train conductor arrived, and was going to shut downthe game in a very high-handed fashion, but the parlour-car conductorstopped him, and took him aside to explain. Nothing more was heard ofthe matter.

  I was ill in bed eleven days in Chicago and got no glimpse of the Fair,for I was obliged to return East as soon as I was able to travel. TheMajor secured and paid for a state-room in a sleeper the day before weleft, so that I could have plenty of room and be comfortable; but whenwe arrived at the station a mistake had been made and our car had notbeen put on. The conductor had reserved a section for us--it was thebest he could do, he said. But Major said we were not in a hurry, andwould wait for the car to be put on. The conductor responded, withpleasant irony:

  'It may be that you are not in a hurry, just as you say, but we are.Come, get aboard, gentlemen, get aboard--don't keep us waiting.'

  But the Major would not get aboard himself nor allow me to do it. Hewanted his car, and said he must have it. This made the hurried andperspiring conductor impatient, and he said:

  'It's the best we can do--we can't do impossibilities. You will take thesection or go without. A mistake has been made and can't be rectifiedat this late hour. It's a thing that happens now and then, and thereis nothing for it but to put up with it and make the best of it. Otherpeople do.'

  'Ah, that is just it, you see. If they had stuck to their rights andenforced them you wouldn't be trying to trample mine underfoot inthis bland way now. I haven't any disposition to give you unnecessarytrouble, but it is my duty to protect the next man from this kind ofimposition. So I must have my car. Otherwise I will wait in Chicago andsue the company for violating its contract.'

  'Sue the company?--for a thing like that!'

  'Certainly.'

  'Do you really mean that?'

  'Indeed, I do.'

  The conductor looked the Major over wonderingly, and then said:

  'It beats me--it's bran-new--I've never struck the mate to itbefore. But I swear I think you'd do it. Look here, I'll send for thestation-master.'

  When the station-master came he was a good deal annoyed--at the Major,not at the person who had made the mistake. He was rather brusque, andtook the same position which the conductor had taken in the beginning;but he failed to move the soft-spoken artilleryman, who still insistedthat he must have his car. However, it was plain that there was onlyone strong side in this case, and that that side was the Major's. Thestation-master banished his annoyed manner, and became pleasant andeven half-apologetic. This made a good opening for a compromise, andthe Major made a concession. He said he would give up the engagedstate-room, but he must have a state-room. After a deal of ransacking,one was found whose owner was persuadable; he exchanged it for oursection, and we got away at last. The conductor called on us in theevening, and was kind and courteous and obliging, and we had a longtalk and got to be good friends. He said he wished the public would maketrouble oftener--it would have a good effect. He said that the railroadscould not be expected to do their whole duty by the traveller unless thetraveller would take some interest in the matter himself.

  I hoped that we were done reforming for the trip now, but it was not so.In the hotel car, in the morning, the Major called for broiled chicken.The waiter said:

  'It's not in the bill of fare, sir; we do not serve anything but what isin the bill.'

  'That gentleman yonder is eating a broiled chicken.'

  'Yes, but that is different. He is one of the superintendents of theroad.'

  'Then all the more must I have broiled chicken. I do not like thesediscriminations. Please hurry--bring me a broiled chicken.'

  The waiter brought the steward, who explained in a low and polite voicethat the thing was impossible--it was against the rule, and the rule wasrigid.

  'Very well, then, you must either apply it impartially or break itimpartially. You must take that gentleman's chicken away from him orbring me one.'

  The steward was puzzled, and did not quite know what to do. He began anincoherent argument, but the conductor came along just then, and askedwhat the difficulty was. The steward explained that here was a gentlemanwho was insisting on having a chicken when it was dead against the ruleand not in the bill. The conductor said:

  'Stick by your rules--you haven't any option. Wait a moment--is this thegentleman?' Then he laughed and said: 'Never mind your rules--it's myadvice, and sound: give him anything he wants--don't get him started onhis rights. Give him whatever he asks for; and it you haven't got it,stop the train and get it.'

  The Major ate the chicken, but said he did it from a sense of duty andto establish a principle, for he did not like chicken.

  I missed the Fair it is true, but I picked up some diplomatic trickswhich I and the reader may find handy and useful as we go along.