The night before the primaries a crowd, foul with the reek of tobacco, alcohol and perspiration, was shuffling about in the hall and anterooms of the colonel’s headquarters. The crowd was noisy, profane and confident. But inside, the steering committee was assembled, and it was very sober. Garwood, at the littered table, had been scratching his head over political equations.
Conventions had been held in all the thirty-six outside districts, and sixty-nine candidates had been nominated, fifty-five representatives and fourteen senators. Of these they could depend upon twenty-nine. It requires fifty-two to control a legislative caucus, when the party has a bare majority on joint ballot, so they would have to nominate at least twenty-three of their candidates in Cook County to get a caucus majority, assuming the ultimate election of them all. Fifty-seven candidates were to be selected in Cook County on the morrow. Of them, they should name at least thirty-five to be entirely safe. In other words, they must carry Cook County.
“Is that countin’ hold-over senators?” asked Mosely, when Garwood was done.
“Yes, counting the hold-overs—Warren claims fourteen out of the seventeen.”
“Josh Badger never’ll vote for him,” said Mosely.
“He gives us Josh,” Garwood replied. “Bates and Halliday are uncertain.”
“Not so damned uncertain,” said Mosely. “They’re only waitin’ to be seen.”
“Warren’ll get them easy enough,” said Harkness.
“Yes, they’re cheap,” Mosely assented, spitting across the room at an iron cuspidor. “’Bout eight dollars apiece, I’d guess ’em off at,” he added, with a poor man’s contempt for low prices.
“Well, that only makes it worse,” replied Garwood. “But leave them out entirely. With sixty-two votes Warren can control the caucus—”