“It’s a thousand, now,” he said. “A thousand, and we’re falling further behind every time the clock ticks.” He retrieved the 260 Herald, and abstractedly smoothed out the pages. “That was a great spread-eagle speech of Mix’s wasn’t it? Talking about his model ordinance, and what he’s going to do next year!... Nothing I’d love better than to give that fellow a dose of his own tonic. But that’s the deuce of it––I can’t think how to put it over.... Even if I’m licked, I wouldn’t feel so badly if I just had the personal satisfaction of making him look like a sick cat. Just once.”
“Yes,” she said, sorrowfully. “Dad’s prophecy didn’t seem to work out, did it?”
“What prophecy was that?”
“Don’t you remember? He said if Mr. Mix only had enough rope––”
“Oh, yes. Only Mix declined the invitation. He’s handled himself pretty well; you’ve got to grant that. There’s a lot of people around here that honestly think he’s a first-class citizen. Sometimes I’m darned if I don’t think they will elect him something. And then God save the Commonwealth! But if they ever realized how far that League’ll go if it ever gets under way, and what a bunch of hocum Mix’s 261 part of it is––” He stopped abruptly, and froze in his place; and then, to Anna’s amazement, he turned to her with a whoop which could have carried half-way to the Orpheum.
“Henry! What on earth is it?”
Henry snatched up his hat and made for the door. “More rope!” he said, exultantly, over his shoulder. “Lots more rope––I’ll tell you tonight!”
He arrived at the City Hall before the record room was open, and he fretted and stamped in the corridor until a youthful clerk with spats, pimples, and an imitation diamond scarf-pin condescended to listen to his wants. In twenty minutes he was away again, and he was lucky enough to catch Judge Barklay before the bailiff had opened court.
“Hello, Henry,” said the Judge. “Did you want to see me about anything?”