“And several other old friends more recently!” observed the injudicious Bradwyn.
“I don't speak of myself,” said Ullweather, “but Orange was unusually devoted to the fellow; and all I wish to make clear is this, that when Reckage ever said or did the right thing in times past, the credit was solely due to Orange. He weeded prophecy from his speeches, and rudeness from his jokes. Great services, I assure you!”
“True,” said Randall Hatchett, “for there is nothing more fatal to a political career than brilliant impromptus and spirited orations. A statesman's words, like butcher's meat, should be well weighed.”
“You have so many prescriptions for success,” said Bradwyn, “that I wonder you ain't President yourself.”
“Reckage has taken us all in,” said Ullweather.
“By no means,” said Bradwyn. “I maintained from the first that he was overrated. His genial manner—his open-hearted smile! Men always smile at creditors whom they don't intend to pay.”
“I foretold the whole situation,” observed Penborough. “I said, ‘Let Reckage once get full power, and he will fool us all.’ He affects not to be ambitious, and to prefer moral science to immoral politics. I have no faith in these active politicians who make long speeches to the public, and assure their friends, in very short notes, that they prefer trout-fishing to the cares of State! There is but one man who can save the society now.”
Bradwyn, Hatchett, and Ullweather looked up, each armed with a modest and repudiating smile.
“Who?” asked Hatchett, looking down.
“Robert Orange,” said Penborough.