“Cap’n Townsend, I—er—well, I am going to be—I am going to speak right out, as man to man. I know you would rather have me speak that way.”
Townsend nodded. “There aren’t any women here, as I know of,” he agreed. “Go ahead and speak.”
“Yes.” Mr. Mooney seemed to find the “man to man” speaking difficult. “Well,” he began, “it has come to my ears—far be it from me to say it is true; I don’t believe it is, Cap’n Townsend—but I have heard that you weren’t so very—well, anxious to see me reëlected Representative. I have heard stories that you said you didn’t care whether they reëlected me or not. Now, as I say, I don’t believe you ever said anything of the kind. In fact, I as good as know you didn’t.”
He paused and looked up eagerly, seeking confirmation of the expressed disbelief. The Townsend face was still quite expressionless, nor was the reply altogether satisfactory.
“All right,” said the captain again. “If you know it, then you don’t need to worry, do you?”
“No. No-o; but—you haven’t said any such thing, have you, Cap’n Townsend?”
Townsend did not answer the question. He regarded his visitor with a disquieting lack of interest.
“I was given to understand that you said you were as good as reëlected already,” he observed. “If you said that, and believe it, then what I said or what anybody else said isn’t worth fretting about, let alone cruising twelve miles in a rainstorm to find out about.”
“Well, but, Cap’n Townsend—”
“Heave to a minute. See here, Mooney, you’ve got the Republican nomination.”