Amos’ pipe had smoked itself to the end. He emptied it with his accustomed care before answering. Then he said slowly: “Specify, Chase. Specify.”
Chase proceeded to specify. “I’m going to be the next Mayor of Hardiston, Amos.”
“Barring that accident.”
Chase brushed that suggestion aside. “My victory—in a strong Republican town—will make me an important figure in the district.”
“Meaning—my district.”
“Meaning the Congressional district.”
Amos looked at the other. “You figuring to run against me next year.”
Chase shook his head. “I don’t want to. There’s no sense in our cutting each other’s throats.”
“That’s against the law, anyhow.”
Chase leaned forward more earnestly. “Amos—here’s my proposition. We ought to get together. I’m willing. I’ve got Hardiston. Sentiment in the district is swinging. I can make a good fight against you next year—I think I can win. But I don’t want to fight you. So—Let’s get together. Party politics are out of date. We’re the two biggest men in the county, Amos. You step aside and let me go to Congress—I can beat any one else easily. And I’ll back you for—the Senate, Amos.”