He said, "Chief, what was Artie Chesbro doing with the congressman?"
Brayer rubbed his chin. "I forgot you and him were competitors," he said, almost apologetically.
"Keep on forgetting it," said Groff. "That isn't why I'm asking."
Brayer looked at him thoughtfully and shrugged. "You think Chesbro's horning in on something? Maybe you're right. He's thick as thieves with old Akslund, all right, and I'd swear they never saw each other before today. The congressman's all hotted up about a regional disaster-relief agency. He's been sending out statements and messages—right through our own radio; I read some of them. One of them went right to the White House, boy. He's asking for a billion dollars grant."
"And I suppose Artie Chesbro wants to have something to say about spending it?"
The chief said slowly, "Wouldn't you?"
"No!" said Groff, suddenly hot. "What's the matter with you, Brayer? You know this Chesbro—Starkman knows him. He's a cheap angle-shooting county politician. Not even your own county, for God's sake! I came up here to start a factory—maybe not a very big factory, compared to Ford or R.C.A., but the biggest damned factory I ever tried to start; and Chesbro was in on the ground floor ahead of me, trying to steal my factory site for some two-bit deal of his own. You think he cares about Hebertown? You think he's going to worry about whether the right people get the right money, or whether the area makes a recovery from this? He cares about Artie Chesbro, and that's all!"
"Now, hold on a minute, boy—"
"Hold on, hell! If Henry Starkman wasn't half-dead, he wouldn't let Chesbro get away with this! What right have you got to—"
"Hold on, boy!" The old man was suddenly erect, forceful. "You don't have to tell me what Henry likes and doesn't like. Forty-one years we've been friends, and between us we pretty near run this town. And you know what's been happening? Every year a couple more buildings off the tax rolls, every year another couple thousand dollars short in collections. Chesbro? Sure, boy. He's out for number one. But I saw that message that went to the White House. It said a billion dollars. God, man—do you know what any part of a billion dollars would mean to Hebertown?"