“Colonel Dodd, I think—really—that I'm representing you when I give you mighty good advice and do not charge for it.”
“I've got my own lawyers, Mr. Converse.”
Both men were employing politeness that was grim, and they were swapping glances as duelists slowly chafe swords, awaiting an opening.
Sullen anger was taking possession of the colonel, thus bearded.
Righteous indignation, born from his bitterness of the past few days, made Converse's eyes flash.
“You are one of the richest men in this state, Colonel Dodd, and your money has come to you from the pockets of the people—tolls from thousands of them. Remember that!”
“Huh!” snorted the colonel, looking up at a bouquet.
It is not often given to men to place proper estimate on their own limitations. Otherwise, the Honorable Archer Converse would never have gone in person to prevail upon Colonel Symonds Dodd. In temperament and ethics they were so far asunder that conference between them on a common topic was as hopeless an undertaking as would be argument between a tiger and a lion over the carcass of a sheep.
Mr. Converse rose, unfolding himself with dignified angularity.
“I must remind you, sir, that I belong to the political party of which you assume to be boss. If you refuse to give common justice to the people, then you are using that party to cover iniquity.”