THE DRIVEN BARGAIN
The Honorable Daniel Breed, “sipping” his thin lips and propping his coat-tails on his gaunt fingers, patrolled the lobby of the National Hotel and his complacency was not a whit disturbed when Richard Dodd passed in front of him and sneered in his face.
“Keep on practising making up faces,” advised the old man, amiably. “Perhaps in the course of time your uncle will give you a job making up faces as his understudy, seeing that his physog is getting so tough he can't manage it very well these days.”
Young Dodd whirled on his heel and returned. “We've got a line on you and your amateur angels, Breed.”
“Don't consider me an amateur, do you?” asked the old politician, smacking his lips complacently.
“You're a has-been.”
“Sure thing!” agreed Mr. Breed. “The state committee told me so, and the state committee never made a mistake.”
“We've got so much of a line on your crowd that my uncle has called off the organizers. There's no need of our wasting money in this campaign. You're that!” He clacked a finger smartly into his palm.
“Oh yes! You're right! Some snap to us.”
“I mean you're nothing.”