Ellen smiled—amused, a little sad. She said: “Poor papa! He ought to be ashamed of himself for trying to interfere between you and me.” A pause of several minutes, filled with building—repairing the ravages of a wild thrust of the “fat one’s” fists. Then her mind went back to what he had said.
“I suppose he will cut us off,” observed she. “I knew it would come to that, when we married. I’m sorry. You might have used the money in your politics.”
“No,” said George, working steadily away at the castle. “Money’s of no use in our kind of politics, Ellen. It’s been tried again and again. It always fails. You see, we’re trying to make everybody see that it’s to his interest to wake up and work. And the only money we want is what our people must learn to invest, themselves.”
Eleanor was building a tower now, and delicate work it was. “Wouldn’t you have let me take it, George, if he had given it to me?”
“No,” said George. “We don’t need it, and we’d not let the baby be spoiled by it.”
A long and busy pause, then Eleanor: “I’ve known some nice people with money. But they’d have been nicer, I guess, without it. It’s so hard to have friends or to be friends if one has money—lots of money. George Helm, do untwist your legs. You’ll get awful cramps.”
“They’re used to it,” replied the governor and statesman. “Now, listen! now, fat one!”
And with a wild shout of glee the “fat one” fell upon the finished castle, fist and foot, and demolished it, and rolled in the ruins with his father and mother mauling him and each other. The waitress, coming to announce lunch, caught them. But she was used to it. She laughed at them and they laughed back at her. On the way down, George said:
“I’ve figured it all out. I could force them to give me a second term. But I want to get my independent movement under way. So I’ll let Sayler and Hazelrigg do as they like, and I’ll run independent—and take a defeat.”
“I’ll be glad to get away from this house,” said Eleanor. “I sometimes think it’s damp and bad for the baby.”