“Why hasn't he been put at the head?”
“I have been in delegations that have gone to him”—he waved his hand—“he said he couldn't think of being mixed into political messes.”
“He looked on you wallowing in muddy water and you invited him in. I don't blame him for not jumping.”
“He's a good man,” insisted Citizen Drew. “He gives more money to the poor than any other man in town. The only way I found that out is by having a natural nose for finding out things. He doesn't say anything about it.”
“How he would swim!” repeated Farr. “Steady and strong and straight toward the shore, Citizen Drew, and he wouldn't kick away the poor drowning devils, either.”
“He probably thinks he has paid his debt to the world when he hands out his money,” stated Drew. “When he looks around and sees so many other men holding the poor chaps upside down and shaking the dollars out of their pockets he must think he is doing a mighty sight more than is required of him. But sticking plasters of dollar bills onto sore places in this state ain't curing anything.” He stopped. “I've walked with you farther than I intended to, Mr. Farr. But somehow I wanted to talk with you. There's a meeting of the Square Deal Club this evening at Union Hall. I didn't know but in some way we might—It was thought you might be going to run for office.”
“The registration-office will prove that I'm not. Pass that word!”
“I'll go back—to the meeting. It doesn't seem to be much use in holding the meetings,” said the man. “We hear one another talk—we know we are talking the truth. But nobody listens who can help us poor folks. Well, I'll admit that the politicians come in and listen and promise to help us and we give our votes; but that's all: they give nothing back to us.”
Farr broke out with a remark which seemed to have no bearing on what Citizen Drew was saying.
“He comes out at nine o'clock, eh?”