“Well,” began Rankin with evident reluctance, “I hate to tell you, but the truth is, we’ve got to have some money, an’ I don’t know where it’s comin’ from. I’ve spent all we had, an’ more, too, an’ I’ve held up everybody here in town till I’ve squeezed ’em dry. They don’t like to give to us anyway; most of ’em has already contributed to the county fund, an’ they think that’s enough. I can’t use all the county funds fer you; the candidates is kickin’ already; they say I’ve been neglectin’ ’em fer you, an’ it won’t do to git ’em sore on us—’taint hardly square nohow. Damned if I like it. We’ve got along so fur, but now we’re up to the limit.”
“Wouldn’t the Hutchinsons give?”
“Well, they put all theirn in the county fund, so’s to elect Sanford; they say anyhow a congressman can’t help ’em; they’re lookin’ fer the treas’rer only—all they care fer is the bank.”
“That’s the way with those bankers,” said Garwood. “Hogs, all of them. That’s what we get for giving them Sanford. If we’d nominated a fellow of our own for treasurer we might have forced him to lay down on them.”
“Yes, you’re right, but that time’s gone by now, no use cryin’ over spilt milk. We’ve got to face the present. We owe a good many bills, some fer printin’, an’—”
“Can’t they wait till after election?”
“Oh, maybe they might, but I hate to ask ’em; it wouldn’t help us any. The postage—well, I’ve paid all that out o’ my own pocket.”
“You know how I appreciate that, Jim, don’t you?”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Rankin, waving his gratitude aside. “Then there’s the Citizen an’ some other papers over the district, they’re beginning to clamor fer the’r money.”
“It’s a regular hold-up, isn’t it?” said Garwood.