Mr. Lord ordered the dinner and
chose the wines. He could be coarse enough to suit even the
President's palate, and Ratcliffe was not behindhand. When the
new Secretary went away at ten o'clock that night, his chief; who
was in high good humour with his dinner, his champagne, and his
conversation, swore with some unnecessary granite oaths, that
Ratcliffe was "a clever fellow anyhow," and he was glad "that job
was fixed."
The truth was that Ratcliffe had now precisely ten days before the
new Cabinet could be set in motion, and in these ten days he must
establish his authority over the President so firmly that nothing
could shake it. He was diligent in good works. Very soon the court
began to feel his hand. If a business letter or a written memorial
came in, the President found it easy to endorse: "Referred to the
Secretary of the Treasury." If a visitor wanted anything for himself
or another, the invariable reply came to be: "Just mention it to Mr.
Ratcliffe;" or, "I guess Ratcliffe will see to that."
Before long he even made jokes in a Catonian manner; jokes that
were not peculiarly witty, but somewhat gruff and boorish, yet
significant of a resigned and self-contented mind. One morning he
ordered Ratcliffe to take an iron-clad ship of war and attack the
Sioux in Montana, seeing that he was in charge of the army and
navy and Indians at once, and Jack of all trades; and again he told
a naval officer who wanted a court-martial that he had better get
Ratcliffe to sit on him for he was a whole court-martial by himself.
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