"Thank you," I said. "You are most kind—most generous."
"So," he went on, not dreaming that he might find sarcasm if he searched for it, "I hope you appreciate why I have refrained from seeing you, as I wished. I know, Sayler, your friendship was loyal. I know you did during the campaign what you thought wisest and best. But I feel that you must see now what a grave mistake you made. Don't misunderstand me, Harvey. I do not hold it against you. But you must see, no doubt you do see, that it would not be fair for me, it would not be in keeping with the dignity of the great office with which the people have intrusted me, to seem to lend my approval."
I looked straight at him until his gaze fell. Then I said, my voice even lower than usual: "If you will look at the election figures carefully you will find written upon them a very interesting fact. That fact is: In all the doubtful states—the ones that elected you—Scarborough swept everything where our party has heretofore been strongest; you were elected by carrying districts where our party has always been weakest. And in those districts, James, our money was spent—as you well know."
I waited for this to cut through his enswaddlings of self-complacence, waited until I saw its acid eating into him. Then I went on: "I hope you will never again deceive yourself, or let your enemies deceive you. As to your plans—the plans for Goodrich and his crowd—I have nothing to say. My only concern is to have Woodruff's matters—his pledges—attended to. That I must insist upon."
He lowered his brows in a heavy frown.
"I have your assent?" I insisted.
"Really, Harvey,"—there was an astonishing change from the complacent, superior voice of a few minutes before,—"I'll do what I can—but—the responsibilities—the duties of—of my position—"
"You are going to take the office, James," said I. "You can't cheat the men who gave it to you."
"I pledged my word," I went on. "You gave the promises. I indorsed for you. The debts must be met." Never before had I enjoyed using that ugliest of words.