"Anybody who isn't living to see how long he can live takes a foolish chance once in a while. That turret crew were on the battle-range trying to make big-gun records."
"And did they make 'em?"
"They did. And their seven-inch batteries made 'em, too. Single guns and broadsides at ten thousand five hundred yards."
"I didn't hear about that," growled Flavin.
"No? That's a shame, J. J. The department ought to 've wired you about it."
Flavin eyed Carlin sidewise. No use—he would never change. Would he never get on to himself? Flavin wondered. Carlin ought to have been one of the best-advertised men in his line in the country, as everybody around Washington said, but a fellow liable to hop out any time and bat somebody that could be of use to him over the eye, how could anybody go boosting him?
"They must 'a' treated you pretty well, Carlin?" he hazarded slyly.
"They treated me well—yes," snapped Carlin. "And they're treating you pretty decently now, aren't they?"
"I'd like to see 'em treat me, or any member o' Congress, any other way!"
"A member of Congress—that's right. And as a member of Congress you're drawing down how much, J. J.?"