Archer Converse reappeared in his home city as unobtrusively as he had left it and he held the polished shield of his urbane reserve over any vulnerable points which darts of questions might attack.
Mr. Breed, assuring himself that he had certain personal rights in the matter, came with a veritable lance of interrogation, and thrust tirelessly.
“It is the custom when a man has been nominated never to close an eye or leave the job for a minute. You have broke over all rules and I have been doing my best to fix up a story to account for it,” stated Mr. Breed.
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Converse. “No doubt you have done a very good job.”
“I done the best I could without knowing what I was talking about.”
“And the general comment—the run of talk was—what?”
“General talk was that you didn't seem to be worrying much about the election.”
Mr. Converse turned a benignant smile on his new law partner.
“It's generally conceded, then, that I feel sure of being elected?”
“Why, they think you wouldn't have skyhooted off unless you were confident.”