“If you had had time to think out a method of approaching me—Let me see, your name is—”
“Farr.”
“Mr. Farr, supposing I had been amenable to your suggestions, what is it you wanted of me?”
“I wanted you to attend a public meeting,” blurted the young man. “They are men who need help—they need—”
“That's sufficient,” snapped Converse. “I am not in politics. I do not address public meetings. Mr. Farr, you would have wasted your time planning. Absolutely!”
“But is there not some appeal that—”
“Useless—useless, sir.” He tapped his cane, and his tones showed irritation. He whirled on his heels. “It is decidedly evident that you are a stranger in these parts, sir. On that account I forgive your presumption.”
At that moment a jigger-wagon rumbled to a halt near them. The corner light had revealed them to the driver.
“Mr. Farr,” called the man, “it hasn't taken long for the news of what you did at the meeting to-night to travel around among the boys. And we ain't going to let you get ahead of us, sir.”
“The more, the merrier, in a good cause,” said Farr; but he was staring regretfully at the back of Mr. Converse, who had begun his retreat.