“Supper is late to-night,” replied Mrs. Benton. “I’ll get it now. Your—your father has something to tell you, Tom, dear.”
Mrs. Benton hurried out to the kitchen and Tom took a seat and viewed his father anxiously. Mr. Benton asked what Tom had been doing at the garage, but seemed to pay small attention to the replies, and it wasn’t difficult to see that he was postponing a disagreeable subject. At last, however, “Tom, Connors was around to see me yesterday,” he announced. “And—and I had a talk with him again to-day.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom, frowning expectantly.
“You know—or maybe you don’t know it, son—that my postmastership ends pretty soon and there’ll be a new appointment. Well, Connors has a good deal to say about it. He—he’s a kind of political boss in this district. I guess you don’t understand much about politics, Tom, but the fact is that unless Connors says I’m to be reappointed I—I won’t be.”
“But—but I thought the President appointed the postmasters, sir,” said Tom.
“He does nominally. That is, he appoints the man the local political machine wants him to. Well, the local machine is ruled by William Connors and he tells me that they’re thinking of making a change.”
“What for, sir? Haven’t you done all right? Why, I thought every one liked you, dad! And—and Connors himself said just the other day that you and he were great pals!”
Mr. Benton smiled sadly. “Friendship doesn’t stand for much, Tom, in politics; or, anyway, in one kind of politics.”
“So you think he will go against you, sir?”
“Yes, unless——” Mr. Benton paused and frowned. “I guess there’s no use beating about the bush, son. What Connors means is that unless you give up this automobile business he will see that I don’t get back. That’s the thing in a nutshell. Of course,” continued Mr. Benton hurriedly, “I don’t ask you to do it, son. I guess it would be a hard blow to you. The only thing is that—well, I don’t know just what we’d do if I lost my position, Tom!”