"Your father plays poker in Washington; I've seen him."
"He's not on trial; you are. Furthermore," went on the girl, the twinkle going from her eye, leaving it searching yet unfathomable, "this editor says that you are only a dummy in this game of politics, and that once you are mayor, your signature will be all that will be required of you. That is to say, you will be nothing but a puppet in the hands of the men who brought about your election."
Williard thought of Matthews, and the smile on his lips died.
"Now, Dick, this paper says that it seeks only the truth of things, and admits that you possess certain engaging qualities. What am I to believe?"
"Betty, you know very well that they'll have me robbing the widows before election." He was growing restless. He felt that this trial wasn't all play. "If you don't mind, I'd rather talk of something else. Politics, politics, morning, noon and night until my ears ache!"
"Or burn," suggested the girl. "The things they say about your private life—I don't care for them. I know that they are not truths. But the word 'puppet' annoys me." She laid aside the paper.
"Have I ever acted like a dummy, Betty? In justice to me, have I?" He was serious.
"Not in ordinary things."
"No one has ever heard that I broke a promise."
"No."