“Nobody knows what the people want,” said the chairman sententiously. “Now, this young Baxter. He’s a fine feller. He’s got lots of friends. Everybody likes him. He has a clear record. There isn’t a thing we can say against him. On the other hand, he can say a lot of nasty things about you, Mr. Gooch. We can’t come back at him when he begins stumping the county and talking about tax-sales, foreclosures, ten per cent interest, people having to go to the poorhouse, and all that kind of stuff. What kind of a comeback have we? What are we to—”
“No man can accuse me of being dishonest; no man can question my integrity—”
“Lord bless you, Mr. Gooch, nobody’s going to accuse you of being dishonest. All they’re going to say about you is that you’re a rich man, a skinflint, a tax shark, a gouger, a hypocrite, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a snake in the grass, a Shylock, and a good many other things,” said the county chairman, with brutal frankness.
Mr. Gooch was not greatly disturbed by the prospect. He had heard all these terms of opprobrium before; he was used to them. He said something about “water off of a duck’s back,” and fell to twisting his wiry gray beard with steady, claw-like fingers.
“We can’t afford to lose a single seat in the legislature,” went on the chairman. “That’s why we thought best to put it up to you straight, Mr. Gooch. I’m not saying you’ll be licked next November, but you stand a blamed good chance of it, let me tell you, if this young Baxter goes after you without gloves.”
“I’ve just been thinking,” said Mr. Gooch, leaning forward in his chair, “suppose I go down to Rumley and have a talk with Oliver.”
“What about?” demanded the other, sharply.
“I may be able to reason with him. I understand he has not definitely decided to make the race. I have an idea I can persuade him to decline.”
“No chance,” said the other, shaking his head. “He’s got it in for you, I hear.”
Mr. Gooch got up and began pacing the floor. His lean, mean face was set in even harder lines than usual; his mouth was drawn down at the corners, the lower lip protruding like a thin liver-colored cushion into which his shaved upper lip seemed to sink rigidly.