“I’ll see when the time comes. Meantime, what’s my cue, Pat? To roar—isn’t it?”
Branagan laughed. “And you’re the boy that can do it,” he cried. “You almost make me believe you’re in earnest.”
Helm gave his political sponsor a queer, quick look. “Almost,” he said, with a laugh. “That’s good.”
“For your age, Helm, you’ve got the best nut on you of any man I know or know about. I’ll back you to win. You’ll be the nominee for governor in two years.”
“I hope so,” said Helm.
“And as soon as I settle things with Reichman I’ll give you all the law business you can take care of—good, paying business—the kind that won’t hurt you with the people.”
“I’ll take all of that I can get,” said Helm. “I want to make money. I’ve got to make money.”
“You’ve put me in the way of doing better than ever, my boy, and I’m not ungrateful.”
George winced. But he laughed and said: “And don’t forget, my usefulness has only begun.” He reflected, smiled a peculiar secret smile as he went on: “The people allow the crowd that’s robbing them to pay big wages to the politicians who make the robbery possible. Why shouldn’t an honest man take away from the robbers a big enough share to keep him going and to put him in a position to serve the people better?”
“That’s good sense,” said Branagan heartily.