“But——”
“Oh, yes, I know. Conover holds the Convention in the hollow of his hand. He owns the delegates and the newspapers and the Legislature as well as the railroads. And no sane man would dream of bucking such a combination. But maybe I’m not quite sane. For I’m going to try it. Now laugh all you like.”
“Laugh? I feel more like crying. It’s—it’s knightly and splendid of you, Clive! And—perhaps it may prove less crazy than you think.”
“You mean?”
“I mean nothing at all. I wish you luck, though. All the luck in the world. Tell me more.”
“There is no more. Besides, I’d rather talk about you. Tell me of your life here.”
“There’s nothing to tell. It’s work. Pleasant enough work, even though it’s hard. Everyone is nice to me. I——”
“That doesn’t explain your choosing such a career out of all that were open to you. Why did you take it?”
“I’ve often explained it to you, but you never seem to understand. When father died, he left me nothing. I had my living to make, and——”
“But surely there were a thousand easier, pleasanter ways of earning it than to kill yourself socially by becoming an employee in such a family as this. It can’t be congenial——”