"Dirty mess, indeed!" retorted Edgington, "when the best business men—— Oh, well, if that's the way you feel—— Why didn't you say so, instead of—— I think we'd best not discuss the thing any further, Mr. Brassfield; and returning to legal matters, where we are happily at one, let me remind you that you are to send Judge Blodgett up to see me regarding the Corkery case this afternoon. Good day, Mr. Brassfield!"
Mr. Edgington went forth from Amidon's presence in a state of mind which can be appreciated by no one but some "good" citizen who has perfected all the preliminaries for securing a particularly fat financial prize by the cheap and simple device of a popular vote, and finds the man on whom he relies going off into a fanciful ism induced by some maggot of so-called conscientiousness. Any one ought to be able to see that there is nothing wrong in accepting gifts from those able to give: and who is more able than the public? Everybody would be better off for the arrangement contemplated, and no one the worse. So reasoned Mr. Edgington as he saw with chagrin the Bellevale franchise slipping away, and with it the core of their ambitious project of interurban lines connecting half a dozen cities. Bellevale, with its water-power, was the hub of it; and to lose here by such a sudden exhibition of so-called "civic patriotism"—Edgington knew the patter of these reformers—was disgusting, and all the more so from the fact that the one to blame was Brassfield, whose ethical attitude had always been so "safe and sane" in business matters.
He must find some way of re-forming the lines, and adjusting the action of the machine—now engaged in grinding out Brassfield's nomination—so as to produce other grist just as good, if that were possible. It was ticklish business, but it must be done. The time was short, but before the caucuses met a new candidate must be found, and the word passed down the line that the dear people had changed their minds over night on the subject of the next mayor.
To decide, with Mr. Edgington (who fancied that he resembled the first Napoleon), was to act, and almost instantly, his forces, hastily mobilized, began an enveloping movement for the purpose of surrounding and bringing into camp a proper candidate for the local chief magistracy.
Mr. Amidon was flushed after this encounter. Mr. Edgington's cool manner of approaching him with this questionable and shady political job had generated some heat in Florian—a man always possessed of strong convictions concerning civic purity. He was offended; yet he knew that it was to the turpitude of Brassfield that he owed this, rather than to any fault of Edgington's.
"How could such a fellow as Brassfield reap such success!" was Amidon's mental ejaculation. "Ready to rob the community, he enjoys the confidence of all; full of the propensities of Don Juan, he wins the respect and love of Elizabeth Waldron! Shameful commentary upon society, and—— Yes, Miss Strong, who is there? Judge Blodgett: send him right in.… Judge, I'm glad you came in. I'm very glad! I need your advice and aid."
"All right," said the judge, biting a cigar. "What's up, Florian?"
"You've seen a Mr. Edgington?"
"Your lawyer," replied the judge. "The Notes tell all about him."
"Well," resumed Amidon, "he's been here, and I learn that there is some very important litigation pending, which we've got to win, because it involves others—Miss Waldron and her aunt—and this man Brassfield never could give Edgington the evidence he needed in order to win."