“You’re right; I’m not!” cried Bruce. “And so you threaten to send word around to the boys to knife me on election day?”
“As I said, I guess I don’t need to explain.”
“No, you don’t, for I now see why you came here,” cried Bruce, his wrath rising as he realized that he had been hoodwinked by Blind Charlie from the very first. “So there’s a frame-up between you and Blake, and you’re trying to sell me out and sell out the party! You first tried to wheedle me into laying down—and when I wouldn’t be fooled, you turned to threats!”
“The question isn’t what I came for,” snapped Blind Charlie. “The question is, what are you going to do? Either you do as I say, or not one of the boys will vote for you. Now I want your answer.”
“You want my answer, do you? Why—why——” Bruce glared down at the old man in a fury. “Well, by God, you’ll get my answer, and quick!”
He dropped down before his typewriter, ran in a sheet of paper, and for a minute the keys clicked like mad. Then he jerked out the sheet of paper, scribbled a cabalistic instruction across its top, sprang to his office door and let out a great roar of “Copy!”
He quickly faced about upon Blind Charlie.
“Here’s my answer. Listen:
“‘This afternoon Charlie Peck called at the office of the Express and ordered its editor, who is candidate for mayor, to cease from his present aggressive campaign tactics. He threatened, in case the candidate refused, to order the “boys” to knife him at the polls.
“‘The candidate refused.