"Please don't say that again, Governor," I interrupted coldly. "I repeat, Goodrich must give place to me, or Scarborough will be elected."
"You don't mean that you would turn against me?" came from him in a queer voice after a long pause.
"While I was in St. Louis, working to make you President," said I, "you were plotting behind my back, plotting against me and yourself."
"You were at St. Louis aiding in the nomination of the strongest candidate," he retorted, his bitterness distinct though guarded.
"Strongest—yes. But strongest with whom?"
"With the people," he replied.
"Precisely," said I. "But the people are not going to decide this election. The party lines are to be so closely drawn that money will have the deciding vote. The men who organize and direct industry and enterprise—they are going to decide it. And, in spite of Goodrich's traitorous efforts, the opposition has put up the man who can't get a penny from them."
In fact, I had just discovered that Scarborough had instructed Pierson, whom he had made chairman of his campaign, not to take any money from any corporation even if it was offered. But I thought it wiser to keep this from Burbank.
He sat folding a sheet of paper again and again. I let him reason it out. Finally he said: "I see your point, Harvey. But I practically promised Goodrich—practically asked him to remain—"
I waited.