"Well, won't you?"
"Yes, but it's good politics to keep that to yourself."
"Don't you do it! Throw down all your cards and win out on what's in your hand."
"That's your advice, is it? It might lose me the office."
"I don't believe it. It takes nerve to state your intentions and invite the party to stay in or go out. The public cares more for nerve than party, I think."
They walked and talked until the black mass of the Park blocked the way. Paul told her of the reform bills he wanted to get put through, bills that would cost him dear, because there were big vested interests in opposition. Bob listened, commented, urged him to fight on principle, not politics. They were so absorbed in themselves that the midnight crowds scattered and left the world to them.
The walk downtown was over before they realized it. The cold night air, the exercise, or something had cleared the world of all difficulties for both of them.
"I'm glad I met you," she nodded to him, as she laid her hand in his for good-night.
"It was a fine walk; but no more gallivanting alone at night—without me," he warned her.
"I make no promises and take no orders. I'm a free-lance and an anarchist. I'm agin the government."