to the right to a short and narrow corridor across which was the door
of the Council Chamber--a room occupied by that last link between
democratic and aristocratic government. It must not be inferred that
the members of the Council are aristocrats--far from it, but with the
lieutenant-governor they form a "house of lords" which may or may not
agree with the policies of the chief magistrate. They can aid him
greatly, or they can "clip his wings" and materially curb his freedom
of action. The Council is a relic of the old provincial and colonial
days, its inherited aristocratic body clothed in democratic garments.
As its duties could be performed by the Senate without loss of
dignity, and with pecuniary saving, its retention as a part of the
body politic is due to the "let well enough alone" policy of the
American citizen which has supplanted the militant, progressive
democracy of his forefathers.

At the end of the short corridor was the office of the Executive
Secretary and his stenographer from which, through an opening hung
with portieres, one passed into the general reception room where the
faithful messenger stood guard, authorized to learn the business of
each new-comer.

The private secretary had opened the mail and had assorted it as
"ordinary," "important," and "most important." For an hour the
Governor dictated steadily, and it would take several hours' clicking
of the typewriter before the letters and documents were ready for his
signature.

The waiting-room was now filled with persons desiring audience with
his Excellency. A well-known city lawyer and ward politician was the
first to enter.