“Then you won’t let me deny the story for you?” There was a ring of disappointment in Farley’s voice.
For a moment Briggs did not speak. Then he said, slowly: “Farley, I know you mean all right, and I know you’d like to do me a good turn. You Gazette people have been mighty good friends to me. You’ve stood by me when I had almost no other friends on the independent press; in fact, no friends.”
Farley’s brow knotted. “But if you’ll only let us show there’s nothing in the story!”
Briggs shook his head. “No, not one word! I discovered before I’d been in public life three months it was simply a waste of time to deny campaign stories. When a man goes into politics,” he concluded, bitterly, “he makes himself the target of all the blackguards in the country.”
“But, Congressman,” Farley pleaded, “just a word would be enough.”
“No. I’m older than you are, and I know what I’m talking about. I care so little about this particular story that I made a point of getting Franklin West to come here to-night. He’s the man, you know, who’s supposed to be at the bottom of that railroad scandal.”
“There’s not another man in your position who’d dare to take the bull by the horns like that,” said Farley, his brow clearing.
“I assure you,” Briggs replied, reassuming his confidential manner, “it’s the only way of treating the bull.”
Farley held out his hand. “I’m glad to have had this little talk with you, Congressman.”
Briggs took the hand firmly. “Look in on me at the House to-morrow; I may have something for you.”