“Windrows, a capital comparison! They fall in regular windrows before him. Why, he can prove that black is white any day in the week.”
“Men are fools!” was the lady’s oracular remark.
“Unfortunately for them . . . us, I really ought to say. I, myself, have felt the force of that young man’s power, and I’ve been absolutely putty in his hands.”
Mrs. Pratt drew her lips into a thin, straight line, and forbore to comment on this weakness.
“The trouble is—as, of course, you are aware—he has been trained in a bad school, and it may take some time to undo the effect of early education. Then, naturally, he’s only human and the wine of success is a heady beverage. He’s somewhat determined—”
“Mule-ish,” amended Mrs. Pratt.
“No, no, I protest,” cried the Hon. Member, playfully. “You must not be too hard on the fellow. All he needs is a little guidance—perhaps even a shade more definite opposition. For example, this elevator and freight idea of his . . .”
“G’aranteed to plunge the whole country into roon,” interrupted Mrs. Pratt, whose investments were centred strictly to the East.
“I anticipated you would take the view of the better minds,” returned Mr. Sullivan, perceiving that the time had come for him to discard the subtler implements of finesse, and employ the rough, but honest trowel. “But when all’s said and done, it may be better to support a man with whose policies we are not in accord than to split into groups, and eventually be forced from our seats into the benches on the opposite side of the house.”
Mrs. Pratt watched her guest with unmistakable bewilderment in her hard blue eyes.