"Well, I don't!" cried the State chairman. Secretly he had been offended by Thornton's high-handed assumption of control, ever since their talk on the morning after the Fort Canibas caucus. He had promptly recognized the political sagacity of the old man's plan. In his fear of the Spinney agitation—in his apprehension lest all control should be wrested from his faction of the party—he had been eager to compromise on General Waymouth, hoping that he would prove to be as amenable to party reason as he knew Everett already was. But this intractable old Spartan, with his dictation of party principles that meant the loss of policy, power, and profits, had angered him to his marrow. He was ready to declare himself now, Thornton or mo Thornton. He turned on the Duke.
"Perhaps you can lick me—that's the only way you can get it!" he declared. "But you needn't expect me to stand here and grin and hand it over."
Thornton stared at him understandingly, accepting the challenge.
"There was a man up our way, Luke, who fought two highway robbers a whole hour, and when they had finally torn his clothes all off him, he only had two cents in his pockets. He told the robbers, then, that he hadn't fought to save his two cents, but because he didn't want his financial condition revealed."
Candidate Everett was finding this conversation hard to follow.
"There's something here that isn't on the level, and I suspected it the minute I came into this room. Presson, is the State Committee behind me?"
"It is, and it's behind you to stay," declared the chairman. Again he turned to Thornton.
"It's up to you, now, whether Arba Spinney gets the nomination or not. If you keep on and split us, he gets it; but I shall make it mighty plain to the boys as to whose fault it was, Thelismer."
"What's all this about?" demanded Everett.
Presson hesitated only a moment.