"Well, stay by him, then!" cried Edgington. "Go on and butt your brains out on this stone wall of ism, and see where you come out. You're already beaten. The other side knew about this last night, and you'll be blown out of water before to-morrow morning. Doctor Bulkon and his crowd are already lined up against you: the doctor will take the position that Brassfield's proposal to segregate vice is a compromise with sin, and that that's the paramount issue. Why, Pumphrey and Johnson and the Williams set are all among his best-paying parishioners, and they've put the screws to Bulkon—who doesn't see the point, anyhow. I tell you that there are too many pillars of the church with downtown property to rent, for you to keep either them or their pastors in line. They'll find moral issues to fight the ten commandments on, if they have to. You ought to know this, Jim."
"Well," said Alvord, "let the Pharisees oppose us! I'll appeal to the liberal element. I'll convince 'em that Brassfield don't mean this stuff. They like him, and they'll stick!"
"Stick!" sneered Edgington. "Like him! You make me tired, Jim! How long will they 'stick' against the influence of their landlords and bankers? Why, they've all read this platform, and the story has gone down the line that Brassfield is so infatuated with Miss Waldron that he's allowing her to write his platform, and that she'll be the mayor. Don't you think that that won't cut the ground from under you, either! A saloon man or gambler fears a good woman's influence as a wolf fears fire. Why, Jim, when this 'advanced thought' platform of yours comes to be voted on, there won't be any one for it except thick-and-thin party men who 'never scratch.' Now I'm not going down with any such sinking scow. I shall make terms for my financial interests with the other side."
"Go, then!" shouted Alvord, "and find you've hopped out of the frying pan into the fire! By George, I tell you we've got the money to buy this election!"
"Oh!" said Edgington, "have you! And how about your publishing an itemized account of campaign expenses?"
Alvord, his last card played, fell back beaten, every vestige of optimistic pugnacity gone from his face. Edgington laid his hand on the other's shoulder, in sympathy.
"I tell you, Jim," said he, as he departed, "this is no place nor time to run a reform campaign. Brassfield isn't the candidate for it, and you're not the manager. You're simply fish trying to fly. Come with me and we'll get into our natural element."
"Not by a good deal," said Alvord stubbornly. "I don't know anything in this but Brassfield, and to him I'll stick!"
"As you please," said Edgington. "But keep the lid on the Scarlett business!"
Alvord made no reply. But when Edgington was gone he took up his work with a groan of real distress.