"No, I don't," Bradley admitted.
"You're like all the rest. Every year the army of useless clerks increases; every year the numbers of useless buildings increases. The whole thing is appalling, and yet the people are getting apparently more helpless to reform it. Laws pile upon laws, when the real reform is to abolish laws. Wipe out grants and special privileges. We ought to be legislating toward equality of opportunity in the world, and here we go with McKinley bills, and the devil knows what else. By the way, to change the subject, what has become of Milton Jennings? He started out to be a great Republican politician."
"Well, he lives there yet; he's still in politics, but doesn't seem to get higher than a county office."
"He was a brilliant fellow, but he started in on the wrong side; there is no hope for him on that side in the West."
"He's married, lives just opposite the Seminary, seems to be reasonably contented."
Radbourn turned suddenly. "You are not married?"
Bradley colored. "No, I'm not."
Radbourn mused a little. "Seems to me, I remember some talk about your marrying that little—Russell girl?"
"Well, I didn't." Bradley had just a moment's temptation to tell Radbourn his whole secret, but he gave it up as preposterous.