"He stamped the feathers off of it," said Hayward, and laughingly told her the details.
"Papa thinks—everybody—should be a lawyer, or a politician with a pull," Lily commented complainingly.
The temptation to vindicate his dignity was too much for Hayward.
"I was not always a footman and do not intend always to be a footman; and yet, footman as I am, if your father values a pull with the President, perhaps, if he knew—oh, well, he might think better of me."
"Oh, you have a pull? How interesting. Do tell me about it. I have read so much about pulls that I am dying to know what one is like. How do you work it? I believe you work a pull, don't you? Or do you pull the—"
"I haven't pulled mine yet. I'm waiting," said Hayward. "But it will work when the time comes."
"And when will the time come? Tell me. I'm so anxious to see the wheels go round in a genuine political machine. How many Southern delegates can you influence in the next national convention? That's the mainspring, isn't it?"
"I'm no politician or vote vender. I've never had the pleasure of influencing my own vote yet, and won't as long as I live in the District."
"What! Without politics or votes, and yet you have a pull?"
"It is a personal matter entirely," Hayward answered carelessly, as if personal friendships with Presidents were very ordinary affairs for him. Lily Porter was a mite skeptical, but she hoped he spoke the truth, for it would more than confirm her estimate of him and would be such an effective counter to her father's nagging opposition.