"We have misjudged Crazy," said Hickey; "his record was against him, but we have misjudged him. He's been the only live one in the bunch. Now we've got to meet his terms."
The door opened and Crazy Opdyke sauntered in.
"Hello, fellows," he drawled. "How's the campaign going? Are you satisfied with your progress?" He stretched languidly into an armchair. "Am I still welcome in the home of great moral ideas?"
"Crazy, our feelings for you are both of sorrow and of affection," said Cheyenne, conciliatingly. "You certainly are a boss politician. What's this new wrinkle of yours over in the Cleve?"
"I've been amusing myself," said Crazy with a drawl, "organising the Mugwumps, the intelligent and independent vote, the balance of power, you know, the party that doesn't heel to any boss, but votes according to its, to its——"
"To its what, Crazy?" said Hickey, gently.
"To its conscience," replied Crazy firmly. "To its conscience, when its conscience is intelligently approached."
"Oh, you're for sale, are you?" said Turkey aggressively.
"No, Turkey, no-o-o! And yet we've organised the Blocks of Five Marching Club; rather significant, eh?"