I shook my head. "I shall resign," I repeated. "What's the matter—won't Goodrich take the place?"
He looked away. "I have not seriously thought of any one but you," he said reproachfully.
I happened to know that the place had been offered to Goodrich and that he had declined it, protesting that I, a Western man, must not be disturbed when the West was vital to the party's success. "My resolution is fixed," said I.
A long silence, then: "Sayler, have you heard anything of an attempt to defeat me for the nomination?"
"Goodrich has decided to nominate Governor Ridgeway of Illinois," said I.
He blanched and had to moisten his dry, wrinkled lips several times before he could speak. "A report of that nature reached me last Thursday," he went on. "For some time I have been perplexed by the Ridgeway talk in many of our organs. I have questioned Goodrich about it—and—I must say—his explanations are not—not wholly satisfactory."
I glanced at him and had instantly to glance away, so plainly was I showing my pity. He was not hiding himself from me now. He looked old and tired and sick—not mere sickness of body, but that mortal sickness of the mind and heart which kills a man, often years before his body dies.
"I have come to the conclusion that you were right about Goodrich, Sayler. I am glad that I took your advice and never trusted him. I think you and I together will be too strong for him."
"You are going to seek a renomination?" I asked.
He looked at me in genuine astonishment. "It is impossible that the party should refuse me," he said.