“There won’t be many of us left,” Stone interrupted with a smile.
“—I want to get back some of the money you have stolen from this city,” continued Bobby; “and I want, last of all, to drive you out of this town for good.”
Stone rose with a sigh.
“This is the only chance I’ll give you to climb in with the music,” he rumbled. “I’ve kept off three days, figuring out where you were leading to and what you were after. Now, last of all, what will you take to call it off?”
“I have told you the price,” said Bobby.
“Then you’re looking for trouble and you must have it, eh?”
“I suppose I must.”
“Then you’ll get it,” and without the sign of a frown upon his brow Mr. Stone left the office.
The next morning things began to happen. The First National Bank called up the business office of the Bulletin and ordered its advertisement discontinued. Not content alone with that, President De Graff called up Bobby personally, and in a very cold and dignified voice told him that the First National was compelled to withdraw its patronage on account of the undignified personal attacks in which the Bulletin was indulging. Bobby whistled softly. He knew De Graff quite well; they were, in fact, upon most intimate terms, socially.
“I should think, De Graff,” Bobby remonstrated, “that of all people the banks should be glad to have all this crookedness rooted out of the city. As a matter of fact, I intended shortly to ask your coöperation in the formation of a citizens’ committee to insure honest politics.”