“But—” began Jim.
“Hain’t I said them shares might come in handy? Paid two hundred dollars for ’em. Gimme check.”
Zaanan’s methods were now more or less familiar to Jim. He knew the justice would not have bought this stock for him without some good reason. He scented some plan that Zaanan was working out.
“All right, Judge.”
“Git that transfer made right off.”
“Without fail,” said Jim.
“G’-by, Jim.”
“Good afternoon, Judge. But I wish you—”
“G’-by, Jim,” repeated Zaanan, with a convincing tone of finality.
From that day for the week that remained before the caucus Jim talked, argued, pleaded with the voters of Diversity. He even essayed public speaking; hired the local opera-house for the purpose, and there publicly denounced Peleg Goodwin as Moran’s cat’s-paw; publicly excoriated Moran. But he came to perceive his was a hopeless task.