"I want to say this," stammered the spokesman. "You get fooled sometimes. Most often in politics. But no one can fool us again—not about the Thornton family."
"Pass that word around the district, boys," advised the Duke, complacently. "There's an election coming, you know."
They departed, three new and promising evangelists.
"Campaign expenses, bub," broke in the old man, when Harlan began; "campaign expenses! It's a soggy lump of dough out back there. That kind of yeast will lighten it."
He looked across at the hills, squinting reflectively again, and at last glanced up at his grandson, who stood regarding him with thoughtful hesitation.
"Say it, boy!" he counselled. "A little more bile left over from yesterday?"
"No, sir! Not that. But I think I'll send Ben Kyle in with the crews and let him locate the new camps."
"I didn't intend to have you go back—not if you'd listen to me. We've got men enough to attend to that sort of work, Harlan. I want you with me for a while. I've got some plans for you."
"And I've got a few plans for myself. Now that I'm in this, I propose to be in it in earnest."
"You wouldn't be a Thornton if you didn't get at it all over," commended the Duke. "You see, I understood you, boy!"