"At any rate," she said, looking at the handsome solitaire on her finger, "I can keep the ring. He never mentioned it. I must go tell Uncle Barney."
She ran lightly up the stairs to the den where Baldwin, smoking impatiently, was waiting for her.
"Well?" he inquired. "Did you land him?"
"Don't speak so vulgarly, Uncle Barney," the girl replied. "No, I did not. He has grown stubborn. He told me to tell you he intended to keep on playing to the end of the season, and that they would win—I've forgotten what he said they would win. Does it make much difference, just these few more games?"
"Does it make any difference?" he stormed. "Any difference—why, you fool, my whole political future may be ruined by that red-headed idiot. Get out of here. I'm going to telephone."
The girl, weeping in earnest now, hurried from the room as Barney Baldwin seized the telephone. A moment later he was saying:
"Hello, Ed. She fell down. He's stubborn and says he'll keep on playing. You'd better see your man and break that story in the newspaper. What? They got him? Where? Well, then, they've got the wrong man. McCarthy left my house not five minutes ago."