“Not yet,” said Helm. “I’ll have to, soon after the Legislature opens. You see, we’re the minority, and nowadays the majority-boss always uses the minority votes to put through whatever dirty business a lot of his men have to be let off from voting for.”
“Well—don’t break with good old Pat till you have to.”
“I’ll get all I can first, you may be sure,” said Helm. “I’m a practical man—that is, I’m a practical politician, with a dangerous, incurable hankering for being a man—self-owned and self-bossed.”
“You give Branagan good legal service for what he pays you.”
“And he hasn’t yet asked me to do any law work that I’ve not been able to stand for.”
“Pat’s a little afraid of you,” declared Desbrough. “He knows how strong you are with the people.”
Helm slowly shook his head. “I don’t deceive myself. He’s saving me till he really needs me.” He straightened out his long figure deliberately, rose and began to pace up and down the office. “It’s all a question of money, Bill. In this day a man has got to have an independence—or do what some other man says.”
“If I could speak as you can—and hold the crowds—and draw in their votes—— You, a Democrat, elected from this district of shell-back Republicans who talk about the Civil War as if Morgan was still raiding the State.” Bill laughed. “Why don’t you drop politics, George? Why fool with the silly game? The people’ll never learn anything. They can always be buncoed—the asses! What did God make ’em for? To work like hell all day and then hand over most of what they’ve made to some clever chap—and thank him for taking it.”
“That used to be so,” replied Helm. “But they’re waking up, Bill. All they need is the right kind of leaders.”
“Meaning you?”