“You’ve got me,” he stated. “You’ve got me snared! Not that I give two hoots about what happens to Dennison, mind! I don’t––although I must admit that the prospect of his starving to death is a lovely one to contemplate. And I’d die happy, I think, if I could see The Red trimmed, and trimmed with conscientious thoroughness. But those aren’t 227 my reasons for going hands with you in this assassination.
“I know a hunch when I see one. I ought to, for I’ve spent the contents of my little yellow envelope often enough trying to make one come true. And I’m in with you, Flash, till the returns are all in from the last district, but it’s because I know that there is something more than either of us dream of behind that boy’s wanting to meet Conway. He has something on his mind; he wants something, and wants it real bad. And I like him––I liked him right from the beginning––so I’ll stick around and help. Maybe I’ll find out what it is that’s been bothering him, too, before I get through. But I wish I wasn’t of such an inquiring turn of mind. It keeps one too stirred up.”
He stopped to grin comically.
“Any objection, now that I’ve sworn allegiance, Flash, if I go out and present myself?”
Hogarty’s whole tense body began to relax, his lean face softened and his eyes lost much of their hardness and glitter as he shook his head in negation.
“That’s a little detail of the campaign which I had already assigned to you,” he replied, and the inflection of his voice was perfect. “Not that I have any fears of his going the way of his forefathers, however, because I haven’t. And if my assurance on that point 228 perplexes you, you might ask him to have one drink and watch his eyes when he refuses you.
“But I would like to have you look out for him for a while. If you don’t Ogden will––Ogden likes him, too––and he is too frivolous to be trusted.”
Hogarty reached out one long arm and dropped a hand heavily upon Morehouse’s shoulder. He was smiling openly now––smiling with a barefaced enjoyment which the plump newspaper man had never before known him to exhibit. And he continued to smile, while he stood there in the open door and watched Morehouse mince on tiptoe across the polished floor to the corner where Ogden was officiously presenting each member of the Monday morning squad of regulars, as they returned from the dressing-rooms, to the big-shouldered boy in black, whose face was so very grave.
Hogarty smiled as he closed his office door, after he had seen Morehouse slip his hand through the crook of Young Denny’s arm, in spite of Bobby Ogden’s yelp of protest, and clear a way to the outer entrance with one haughty flip of his free hand.
Hours later that same day, when the tumult in the long main room of the gymnasium had hushed and the apathetic Legs and his helper had turned again to their endless task of grooming the waxed floor, Dennison, the manager of Jed The Red, sitting in that same chair which Morehouse had occupied, 229 cuddling one knee in his hands, fairly basked in that same smile. The purring perfection of Hogarty’s discourse was enticing. The absurd simplicity of his plan, which he admitted must, after all, be credited to the astuteness of Dennison himself, was more than alluring. But that smile was the quintessence of hypnotic flattery.