Rankin’s gaze was fixed afar. His brows had knitted themselves into a scowl.
“You had to tell him that, did you?”
“I did tell him that, yes. Why?”
“Well—I don’t jus’ like this thing o’ gettin’ thick ’ith him, so sudden, that’s all. Who’s goin’ to run the campaign fer you this time?”
“Why, who would run it but you?”
“Me?” said Rankin, smiling again all over. “You want me? An’ what’s Pusey goin’ to have to do?”
“Oh, we’ll let him print editorials,” laughed Garwood.
“That’s all right,” said Rankin, “jus’ so’s I don’t have to see him, that’s all.”
Garwood scrutinized Rankin closely an instant, and once more he leaned over in his persuasive way and laid his hand on Rankin’s knee.
“Look here, Jim,” he said, “I want you and Pusey to be friends.”