“He’s an honest, square man,” said Peter.
“Can’t help that. One dose of a man who’s got as little gumption as he, is all we can stand. He may have education, but I’ll be hanged if he has intellect. Why don’t you ask us to choose a college professor, and have done with it.”
“Come, Stirling,” said the previous questioner, “the thing’s been messed so that we’ve got to go into convention with just the right man to rally the delegates. There’s only one man we can do it with, and you know it.”
Peter rose, and dropped his cigar-stump into the ash-receiver. “I don’t see anything else,” he said, gloomily. “Do any of you?”
A moment’s silence, and then Number One said: “No.”
“Well,” said Peter, “I’ll take the nomination if necessary, but keep it back for a time, till we see if something better can’t be hit upon.”
“No danger,” said Number One, holding out his hand, gleefully.
“There’s more ways of killing a pig than choking it with butter,” said Number Three, laughing and doing the same.
“It’s a pity Costell isn’t here,” added the previous questioner. “After you’re not yielding to him, he’d never believe we had forced you to take it.”
And that was what actually took place at that very-much-talked-about dinner.