"Victor Dorn says we ought to go to work like laborers," pursued David. "But that's where he's a crank. The truth is, we ought to give the service of leadership—especially in politics. And I'm going to do it, Jane Hastings!"
For the first time she had an interest in him other than that of conquest. "Just what are you going to do?" she asked.
"Not upset everything and tear everything to pieces, as Victor Dorn wants to do," replied he. "But reform the abuses and wrongs—make it so that every one shall have a fair chance—make politics straight and honest."
This sounded hazy to her. "And what will you get out of it?" asked she.
He colored and was a little uneasy as he thus faced a direct demand for his innermost secret—the secret of selfishness he tried to hide even from himself. But there was no evading; if he would interest her he must show her the practical advantages of his proposal. "If I'm to do any good," said he, putting the best face, and really not a bad face, upon a difficult and delicate matter—"if I'm to do any good I must win a commanding position—must get to be a popular leader—must hold high offices—and—and—all that."
"I understand," said she. "That sounds attractive. Yes, David, you ought to make a career. If I were a man that's the career I'd choose."
"You can choose it, though you're a woman," rejoined he. "Marry me, and we'll go up together. You've no idea how exciting campaigns and elections are. A little while, and you'll be crazy about it all. The women are taking part, more and more."
"Who's Victor Dorn?" she suddenly asked.
"You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by the railway the day we all went on that excursion to Indianapolis."
"Dorn the carpenter," said Jane. "Yes—I remember." Her face grew dreamy with the effort of memory. "I see it all again. And there was a boy with a very white face who knelt and held his head."