At six o'clock Mr. Schwab led Winthrop into the big library and asked for his ticket of leave.
"They'll be counting the votes soon," he begged. "I can't do no harm now, and I don't mean to. I didn't see nothing, and I won't say nothing. But it's election night, and—and I just GOT to be on Broadway."
"Right," said Winthrop, "I'll have a car take you in, and if you will accept this small check——"
"No!" roared "Izzy" Schwab. Afterward he wondered how he came to do it. "You've give me a good time, Mr. Winthrop. You've treated me fine, all the gentlemen have treated me nice. I'm not a blackmailer, Mr. Winthrop." Mr. Schwab's voice shook slightly.
"Nonsense, Schwab, you didn't let me finish," said Winthrop, "I'm likely to need a lawyer any time; this is a retaining fee. Suppose I exceed the speed limit—I'm liable to do that——"
"You bet you are!" exclaimed Mr. Schwab violently.
"Well, then, I'll send for YOU, and there isn't a police magistrate, nor any of the traffic squad, you can't handle, is there?"
Mr. Schwab flushed with pleasure.
"You can count on me," he vowed, "and your friends too, and the ladies," he added gallantly. "If ever the ladies want to get bail, tell 'em to telephone for 'Izzy' Schwab. Of course," he said reluctantly, "if it's a retaining fee——"
But when he read the face of the check he exclaimed in protest. "But, Mr. Winthrop, this is more than the Journal would have give me!"