"Ah! Just so! Great pity you were ever discharged from your American indigenate. Then one year in California would settle the matter. Which of our parties makes the strongest appeal to you?"
Gwynne's eyes had contracted and he was staring at the stove. But his abstraction was too brief to be noticed, and he answered in a confidential tone, "Well, Judge, to tell you the truth—" And then he stopped and laughed.
"I see. You think one is about as bad as the other."
"Well, I am afraid that is it."
"Oh, my boy, they're not nearly as bad as they are made out to be—our American politics. Judge Leslie is dotty on that subject, and so are a good many of the other old fossils of Rosewater. I don't say but that San Francisco would be the better for a good spring cleaning, but the State's not nearly so bad as it's painted, not nearly so bad as it's painted."
He delivered his repeated phrases with an unctuous indulgent roll that made Gwynne long to grind his teeth. But the prospective American merely raised an interrogative eyebrow. "I don't hear much good in any direction," he murmured.
"Of course, I can understand that you have seen through Tom Colton, and that he has appalled you as much as the fossils. He's in a hurry, and if he isn't mighty careful the machine will throw him down. For all his affected simplicity he's too fond of the limelight: loves to see his name in print; and when he makes a donation to a charity or an improvement scheme he uses up all the fireworks in the State."
"I was under the impression that he was in high favor with the district Boss—"
"The district Boss is getting old, and Tom, one way or another, has acquired a great influence over him; but I happen to know that he doesn't stand any too well with the State Democratic Boss."
"If Tom were really earnest in his reforms, really had the interest of the common people at heart—although I never saw common people so well off in my life—but the point is that if Tom were really sincere he might form an independent party."