This was not encouraging. I called Merriweather back. "Why don't you people nominate Scarborough at St. Louis?" said I.
Behind his surface of attention, I saw his mind traveling at lightning speed in search of my hidden purpose along every avenue that my suggestion opened.
"Scarborough'd be a dangerous man for you," he replied. "He's got a nasty way of reaching across party lines for votes."
I kept my face a blank.
"You've played politics only in your own state or against the Eastern crowd, these last few years," he went on, as if in answer to my thoughts. "You don't realize what a hold Scarborough's got through the entire West. He has split your party and the machine of his own in our state, and they know all about him and his doings in the states to the west. The people like a fellow that knocks out the regulars."
"A good many call him a demagogue, don't they?" said I.
"Yes—and he is, in sort of a way," replied Merriweather. "But—well, he's got a knack of telling the truth so that it doesn't scare folks. And he's managed to convince them that he isn't looking out for number one. It can't be denied that he made a good governor. For instance, he got after the monopolies, and the cost of living is twenty per cent. lower in Indiana than just across the line in Ohio."
"Then I should say that all the large interests in the country would line up against him," said I.
"Every one," said Merriweather, and an expression of understanding flitted across his face. He went on: "But it ain't much use talking about him. He couldn't get the nomination—at least, it wouldn't be easy to get it for him."
"I suppose not," said I. "That's a job for a first-class man—and they're rare." And I shook hands with him.