“Genz.”
“To see Lafe.”
“What?”
“Of course he has. What else can he do? He's gone up any way. The best he can do is to try to square himself a little by owning up the whole thing. Gorgett will know it all any way, tomorrow afternoon, when the Herald comes out.”
“I guess you're right,” said Bob. “We're done up along with Gorgett; but I believe that idiot's right, he won't lose votes by playing hob with us. What's to be done?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “You can't head Farwell off. It's all my fault, Bob.”
“Isn't there any way to get hold of him? A crazy man could see that his best friend couldn't beg it out of him, and that he wouldn't spare any of us; but don't you know of some bludgeon we could hang up over him?”
“Nothing. It's up to Gorgett.”
“Well,” said Bob, “Lafe's mighty smart, but it looks like God-help-Gorgett now!”
Well, sir, I couldn't think of anything better to do than to go around and see Gorgett; so, after waiting long enough for Genz to see him and get away, I went. Lafe was always cool and slow; but I own I expected to find him flustered, and was astonished to see right away that he wasn't. He was smoking, as usual, and wearing his hat, as he always did, indoors and out, sitting with his feet upon his desk, and a pleasant look of contemplation on his face.