"Good? Good?" Yeates laughed angrily. "What are you talking about? You're talking as if these men were pirates. You're talking like one of those fellows that make speeches on a soap-box on the corner. It's all right to fight police-graft, and it's all right to run the crooks out of town—that's what the League's for and why I'm for the League—but I'm not going to keep on with an organization that's mixing up the biggest men in America with that sort of cattle. I won't stand for having my personal friends called thieves. I can't stand for it, and I won't!"
Luke looked at his watch. He rose.
"I have to be uptown in half a hour," he said.
"But see here——" Yeates's chair clattered to the floor as Yeates sprang up.
"When this nomination was offered to me," said Luke, "you were present. Do you remember something you said—something about outside influences and so on?"
"Oh, rot! Who's talking about outside influences?"
"I am. The nomination was given me along with certain promises. I've accepted it. I mean to act on the strength of those promises."
"You mean you're going crazy."
"Then, the League's going crazy, too. As the only sane man in it, I'm afraid you won't find yourself in congenial company, Yeates. You'd better get out."
"Get out?" Yeates could scarcely credit his ears.