“And Blake’s respectables,” the old man continued imperturbably, “the people will choose Blake’s. Are my conclusions right so far?”
“Couldn’t be more right. What next?”
“As I figure it out, our only chance, and that a bare fighting chance, is to put up men who are not only irreproachable, but who are radicals and fighters. We’ve got to do something new, big, sensational, or we’re lost.”
“Well?” said Bruce.
“I was thinking,” said Blind Charlie, “that our best move would be to run you for mayor.”
“Me?” cried Bruce, starting forward.
“Yes. You’ve got ideas. And you’re a fighter.”
Bruce scrutinized the old face, all suspicion.
“See here, Charlie,” he said abruptly, “what the hell’s your game?”
“My game?”