“Mr. Burnit, how much political influence do you think you could swing?”
“Frankly, I never thought of it,” said Bobby surprised.
“You belong to the Idlers’ Club, you belong to the Traders’ Club, to the Fish and Game, the Brassie, the Gourmet, and the Thespian Clubs. You are a member of the board of governors in three of these clubs, and are very popular in all of them. A man like you, if he would get wise, could swing a strong following.”
“Possibly,” admitted Bobby dryly; “although I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“One-third of the members of the Traders’ Club do not vote, more than half of the members of the Fish and Game and the Brassie do not vote, none of the members of the other clubs vote at all,” went on Mr. Stone. “They ain’t good citizens. If you’re the man that can stir them up the right way you’d find it worth while.”
“But just now,” evaded Bobby, “whom did you say I should see about this consolidation?”
“Sharpe,” snapped Stone. “Good day, Mr. Burnit.” And Bobby walked away rather belittled in his own estimation.
He had been offered an excellent chance to become one of Stone’s political lieutenants, had been given an opportunity to step up to the pie counter, to enjoy the very material benefits of the Stone style of municipal government; and in exchange for this he had only to sell his fellows. He knew now that his visit to Sharpe would be fruitless, that before he could arrive at Sharpe’s office that puppet would have had a telephone message from Stone; yet, his curiosity aroused, he saw the thing through. Mr. Sharpe, upon his visit, met Bobby as coldly as the January morning when the Christmas bills come in.
“We don’t really care for the Brightlight Electric in the combination at all,” said Mr. Sharpe, “but if you wish to come in at a valuation of five hundred thousand I guess we can find a place for you.”
“Let me understand,” said Bobby. “By a valuation of five hundred thousand dollars you mean that the Brightlight stock-holders can exchange each share of their stock for one share in the Consolidated?”