“Fiddlesticks! Tariff has made you—iron and steel. Fiddlesticks!”
Chase fidgeted; Amos fell silent, and for a time neither man spoke. Once Amos reached into a table drawer and produced a cigar and offered it to the other. Chase lighted it. When it was half smoked, Amos asked carelessly:
“Well, Chase, what was it you wanted to see me about?”
Chase put himself on the defensive. “I—why you asked me to come. I supposed....”
Amos grinned. “Have it so, Chase. Have it so.” He puffed hard at his pipe, looked at the other. “Well—does it look like the swing was coming in Hardiston?”
Chase stiffened self-consciously. “The town has demanded that I run for Mayor—and—I consented.”
“That was a public-spirited thing to do, Chase. With all your business to hinder you—take your time....”
“I was glad to do it. A man owes it.... If there is a demand for him, he must respond.”
“Sure! Sure thing! And you’ve responded noble, Chase.”
“I’ve made a straightforward campaign.”