“Don’t do it, Farley,” said Briggs, wearily. “It isn’t worth while.”
Farley looked astonished. “Not worth while?” he repeated.
“No. I don’t care whether I’m licked or not. In fact, I think I’d rather be licked.”
Farley looked sharply at Briggs. “You’re tired out, I guess,” he said.
“Yes, I’m mentally, physically, morally exhausted,” Briggs replied, passing his hand across his eyes. “Nothing seems worth while to me—not even success. Strange, isn’t it? I’ve staked everything on this election to-night, and if I’m beaten, my political career is done for. And yet I don’t care.”
“But you won’t be beaten,” Farley insisted, with a laugh.
Briggs made a gesture of impatience. “Don’t be too sure of that. To tell the truth, Farley, I’ve felt all along that the fight was hopeless. But I’ve tried to keep a stiff upper lip. I didn’t want you fellows to know how discouraged I was. Look here, Farley, I’m sick of this. If I’m snowed under, I’ll only get what I deserve.”
“You’re pretty tired, Congressman,” said Farley, with anxiety in his face. He had seen men break down before under the strain of a political campaign.
“When a man has to go through life without any self-respect he’s apt to get pretty tired of himself. And when he has a wife who knows what he is!” Briggs threw back his head and laughed. “God! I suppose there are thousands of men right here in New York who are like that. Their wives know they’re blackguards, and they know they know it!”
The two men sat in silence. The look of worry was deepening in Farley’s face.