“You see, Ele, if we could only send something of the right stamp—the right stamp, I say, in the place of Watkins Bodley from the third district, we should be all right. Bodley is very uncertain.”
“I know,” returned the Honorable Mr. Ele, “Bodley is not sound. He has not the true party feeling. He is not willing to make sacrifices. And yet I think that—that—perhaps—”
He looked at General Belch inquiringly. That gentleman turned, beamed approval, and squirted a copious cascade.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Ele, “I was saying that I think if Mr. Bodkins, who is a perfectly honorable man—”
“Oh, perfectly; nothing against his character. Besides, it’s a free country, and every body may have his opinions,” said General Belch.
“Precisely,” resumed Mr. Ele, “as I was saying; being a perfectly honorable man—in fact, unusually honorable, I happen to know that he is in trouble—ahem! ahem! pecuniary trouble.”
He paused a moment, while his friend of the military title looked hard at the grate, as if selecting a fair mark, then made a clucking noise, and drenched it completely. He then said, musingly,
“Yes, yes—ah yes—I see. It is a great pity. The best men get into such trouble. How much money did you say he wanted?”
“I said he was in pecuniary trouble,” returned Mr. Ele, with a slight tone of correction.
“I understand, Mr. Ele,” answered the other, a little pompously, and with an air of saying, “Know your place, Sir.”