He was in Denver now, and he was a member of the legislature. Ambition and a desire to show to Philip Davison that he was not unworthy of his regard and friendship, not unworthy even to become the husband of Lucy Davison, urged him to one course; Clayton’s teachings and influence, and his own inner feeling as to what was right and what was not right, was urging him to the opposite course. Should he continue to offend Philip Davison and at the same time wreck his political prospects?
“But what can I do?” was his mental cry, as he struggled with this problem. “I can’t vote for things which I know are not right, nor for men I know I can’t trust.”
Early in the morning he encountered Fogg. The encounter was not by chance, though Fogg pretended that it was.
“I hope you thought over those things carefully?” he inquired, unable to conceal his anxiety.
“I have thought to this point,” said Justin; “I will vote with the cattlemen wherever my conscience will let me, but I can’t vote for your candidate for United States senator.”
Fogg stood aghast.
“That puts you in the camp of the irrigationists, with all that mongrel crew!”
“I can’t help it.”
Justin’s tone was decided. His face was feverish. He had passed a bad night.
“I can’t help it, if it does, Fogg. The things that man stands for are not right, and I can’t support him.”