A Public-service-commission law might, ipso facto, have been quietly passed at this session, if the arbitrary franchise¹-extending proviso had not been introduced, and this on the thin excuse that so novel a change in the working scheme of the state government might bring about hardship to some. This redounded² too obviously to the benefit of one particular corporation. The newspaper men—as thick as flies about the halls of the state capitol at Springfield, and essentially³ watchful⁴ and loyal to their papers—were quick to sense the true state of affairs. Never were there such hawks⁵ as newspapermen. These wretches⁶ (employed by sniveling, mud-snouting newspapers of the opposition⁷) were not only in the councils of politicians, in the pay of rival corporations, in the confidence of the governor, in the secrets of the senators and local representatives, but were here and there in one another’s confidence. A piece of news—a rumor⁸, a dream, a fancy—whispered by Senator Smith to Senator Jones, or by Representative Smith to Representative Jones, and confided⁹ by him in turn to Charlie White, of the Globe, or Eddie Burns, of the Democrat¹⁰, would in turn be communicated to Robert Hazlitt, of the Press, or Harry¹¹ Emonds, of the Transcript¹².

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