“You didn’t——” Desbrough stopped and laughed. “Yes, you did, come to think of it. I’d never have offered if you hadn’t made me feel that you wanted me. I’d not have done it even then, if you hadn’t compelled me. How do you compel people to do things without even asking ’em, George?”
For reply Helm laughed. Said he:
“Nineteen hundred and fifty a year. That’s enough for you. I must have more—about five thousand a year.”
“You can make it at the law.”
“If the gang didn’t shut me out of the courts, when I broke with them. And if I’d take crooked cases. I’ve thought that all out. It can’t be done any more. Lincoln and the big fellows of the past could. But that was a different day. Now all the law cases worth-while—all the good fees—come from the very chaps I’ve got to attack. A lawyer who has done any business as a lawyer can go into politics in only one way—and that’s a more or less crooked way. I’ve thought it all out, Bill. I can’t afford to make an independence, and then wash up and go in on the level. I hoped I could see my way clear to do it. But—I can’t.”
“But you won’t get money any other way,” said Desbrough. “And if you haven’t got the money to live on and to carry on your campaigns, why, you’re beaten in advance.”
“I haven’t forgotten my campaign for judge,” said Helm. “Bill, I’ve learned a thing or two about practical politics. I’m going to play cards—not play the fool.”
“Why not marry Clara Hollister?” cried Desbrough, suddenly inspired.
“Would she have you?” asked Helm.
“Me? Good Lord, what’d I do with another wife? I had one, and am paying alimony. No, I mean you marry Clara.”