Branagan frowned—grinned. “I don’t need you any more than you need me,” retorted he. “Not as bad. How much does this job you’ve got pay?”
“Sixty-five a month.”
“And you an educated man. That was a pretty good hash house you’re livin’ in.”
“Fourth rate. But my bed’s clean and the food is good.”
“Sixty-five a month! I can put you in the way of makin’ that much a day—if you deliver the goods.”
“Meaning—”
“If you carry in my ticket next fall—and behave yourself like a sensible man after you get in.”
“What was my majority in the district last fall?” Helm suddenly asked.
“About twelve hundred,” replied Branagan.
“I thought so,” said Helm. “If I’d had five thousand dollars I’d have sent you and Reichman to the pen for the frauds. But you knew I’d be helpless.”