"Are you frustrated with your commute? Irritated over the constant clopping of hooves? Disgusted over the state of our roads? You are in luck, the Ministry of Health is gathering funds for our very own electric transport! If everyone donate a small amount, perhaps a few coins, thrn we will soon have enough for this project. So, the Coalition Against Disease invites every one of you to donate whatever they can for a cleaner commute."
At nearly every street corner across New Winstam volunteer orators asked for donations from the lower class, the poor and needy. Many walked away from their calls, but some, those who the speeches truly resonated with and those who trusted the new Minister, they gave what they could spare. And it started to add up.
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Dr. Bertold Vanderbilt only heard of this campaign when the donations started arriving at his door. Initially he tried to return the money, but found his efforts rebuffed by the sheer impracticality of returning small coins to every donater. Then he called to Eleanor for an explanation.
Once she arrived, he started questioning. "Eleanor, what in the world is this?"
"Minister Vanderbilt, this is my counter to privatization. We can sinply accept donations from the people if the charities and city government have naught to spare."
"Eleanor, uou realise this move contradicts my orders?"
"I do, sir."
Vanderbilt smiled, a bittersweet sort of smile you see when a grandfather recognises his terrible traits in another.
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A few days later
Jacob's schemes were startin to run out of time, the routes were almost fully mapped and money collection is going at a rapid pace, he needed to finish this. Thankfully he has access to the mayor and will give the proposal. Thinking courageous thoughts, he entered the mayor's office with a city map in hand. "Mr. Mayor, thr Ministry of Health has a proposal for you, I have been authorized to contact the relevant parties should a revision need to be made."
"Yes, let me see what all this hullabaloo has been about...very interesting, I especially like the subtle discrimination against certain businessess. Discreet enough to not normally be noticed...very well, I will agree to this. On one condition, there must be a line going from here," he says while pointing at a spot in the city ouskirts, "to here." He said while moving his pointer finger to a place in the center of the city. "Do we have an accord?
Jacob immediately went to the telegraph station and contacted Clein by telegraph, asking for his consent, which was easily granted. Returning to the office he nodded in agreement, "We have an accord."
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Clein sat by the fireplace, watching as cloth and leather burned in the flames. He had answered the awaited telegraph half an hour earlier and started thinking about his career on the "advisory board" or whatever official name Vanderbilt signed them under. It all felt so blindingly quick, it was what, like a month and a half since he was hired? Since then Vanderbilt managed to introduce regulations to business, start construction of a sewer, save his family from kidnapping, frame his opposition, get the support of a very shady mayor, and is well on the way to starting a strertcar line.
Clein could not help but feel a bit of whiplash, since when has life been this quick?
"Ah, well," he muttered, "must be the outcome of the times."
