“You agree with me, then, Poundstone, that the N.C.O. is not designed to foster the best interests of the community. Of course you do.”
“Well, I hadn't given the subject very mature thought, Colonel, but in the light of your observations it would appear that you are quite right.”
“Of course I am right. I take it, therefore, that when the N.C.O. applies for its franchise to run through Sequoia, neither you nor your city council will consider the proposition at all.”
“I cannot, of course, speak for the city council—” Poundstone began, but Pennington's cold, amused smile froze further utterance.
“Be frank with me, Poundstone. I am not a child. What I would like to know is this: will you exert every effort to block that franchise in the firm conviction that by so doing you will accomplish a laudable public service?”
Poundstone squirmed. “I should not care, at this time, to go on record,” he replied evasively. “When I have had time to look into the matter more thoroughly—”
“Tut-tut, my dear man! Let us not straddle the fence. Business is a game, and so is politics. Neither knows any sentiment. Suppose you should favour this N.C.O. crowd in a mistaken idea that you were doing the right thing, and that subsequently numberless fellow-citizens developed the idea that you had not done your public duty? Would some of them not be likely to invoke a recall election and retire you and your city council—in disgrace?”
“I doubt if they could defeat me, Colonel.”
“I have no such doubt,” Pennington replied pointedly.
Poundstone looked up at him from under lowered lids. “Is that a threat?” he demanded tremulously.