“It is a party principle, Mr. Ames,” returned the congressman tenaciously.
“Look here, Wales,” said Ames, turning savagely upon his companion. “The cotton farmers are organizing. They have got to be stopped. Their coöperative associations must be smashed. The tariff schedule which you have before your Committee will do it. And you are going to pass it.”
“Mr. Ames,” replied the congressman, “I––I am opposed to the constant manipulation of cotton by you rich men. I––”
“There,” interrupted Ames, “never mind explaining your conscientious scruples. What I want to know is, do you intend to cast your vote for the unaltered schedule?”
“N––no, Mr. Ames, I can’t––”
“H’m,” murmured Ames. Then, with easy nonchalance, turning to an apparently irrelevant topic as he gazed over the railing, “I heard just before coming from my office this evening that the doors of the Mercantile Trust would not open to-morrow. Too bad! A lot of my personal friends are heavily involved. Bank’s been shaky for some time. Ames and Company will take over their tangible assets; I believe you were interested, were you not?” He glanced at the trembling man out of the corners of his eyes.
Wales turned ashen. His hands shook as he grasped the railing before him and tried to steady himself.
“Hits you pretty hard, eh?” coolly queried Ames.
“It––it––yes––very hard,” murmured the dazed man. “Are you––positive?”
“Quite. But step into the waiting room and ’phone the newspapers. They will corroborate my statements.”