“‘—let us
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy; our own loss how repair;
How overcome this dire calamity;
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.’”
They stared at him in amazement, wondering how it was possible for him to know what the devil had said, all except Pusey, who nodded appreciatively, to show his own relation to the world of letters. And then Hale drew a long breath and threw back his shoulders.
“Of course,” he said, “if we can carry the primaries here in Polk, that will help us to win out over in my county. Can you do it?”
“How about Jim Rankin?” blurted out the tactless, maladroit Kellogg. The name cast a chill over the little gathering just as the new cheer was warming it, and they were all vicariously embarrassed by what, just at that time, amounted to a contretemps. If Rankin himself, passing by outside at that very moment, could have seen the expressive glances that were secretly exchanged before they all yielded to the impulse to fix unitedly on Garwood’s face, he would have had a sensation to gladden him during all his homeward way. But Garwood met the situation with real dignity.
“Well, Jim will be against me, of course.”
They might have demurred out of mere politeness, but Garwood added:
“And I can assure you, gentlemen, he is an antagonist not to be despised.”
The mention of Rankin’s name, however, had the final effect of forcing them to seek some positive means of dealing with the situation, and after the preliminary waste of time common to most conferences, they began at last to plan for the coming primaries. They were at it a long while, and when in the chill, ghastly hours of the early morning they separated, Garwood voiced what was doubtless in the hearts of all of them, when he said to Pusey:
“Remember, we have Jim Rankin to fight, Pusey.”
Pusey switched his little eyes toward Garwood, but Garwood did not see them. He was thinking of other days.