“But why? You and I have never been especially good friends. You’ve never shown any interest in politics or ref——”
“Well, I will now, you bet! I’ll make the old man wish he’d packed me off to New York by the first train. He’ll sweat for the way he treated me before he’s done. I suppose I’ve got to work secretly for you, so he won’t suspect. But I’ll do none the less work for that; and I can keep you posted on the other side’s moves, too. If I’m to be tied to this damned one-horse town by Father’s orders till after election, I’ll make him sorry he ever——”
“Good for you!” cried Ansel. “You’ve got the spirit of a man, after all. Here’s a bunch of our membership blanks. Fill this one out, and give the rest to your club friends. We—why, Standish!” he broke off, furious and dumbfounded; for Clive had calmly stepped between the two, taken the membership blank from Gerald’s shaky hand and torn it across.
“We don’t care for members of your sort, Gerald,” he said, with a cold contempt that was worse than a kick. “This League was formed to help our City and State, not to gratify private grudges; for white men, not for curs who want to betray their own flesh and blood. Get out of here!”
“Standish!” protested the horrified Ansel, “you’re crazy! You’re throwing away our best chance. You are——”
“If this apology for a human being is ‘our best chance,’ I’ll throw him out bodily, unless he goes at once,” retorted Clive, advancing on the cowering and utterly astonished boy.
“Why!” sputtered Gerald, as he backed doorward, before the menacing approach of the Leaguer, “I thought you’d want me— I— Oh, I’ll go, then, if you’ve no more sense than that! But I’ll find a way of downing the old man in spite of you! Maybe you’ll be glad enough to get my help when the time comes! I——”
His heels hit against the threshold in his retrograde march. Still declaiming, he stepped over the sill into the outer office, and Clive Standish slammed the door upon him, breaking off his threats in the middle of their fretful outpouring.
“There,” said Clive, returning to the gaping, frowning committeemen, “that’s off our hands. Now let’s get down to business.”
“Mr. Standish,” remarked Ansel, after a moment’s battle with words he found hard to check, “you’re the most Quixotic, impractical idealist that ever got hold of the foolish idea he had a ghost of a chance for success in politics. And,” he added, after a pause, “I’m blest if I don’t think I’d rather lose with a leader like you than win with any other man in the Mountain State.”