“No. Yes; I am. I’d forgotten. That doesn’t matter.”
“Apparently not.” The lawyer’s heavy brows went up, “More serious than money,” he commented.
Banneker recognized the light of suspicion, comprehension, confirmation in the keen and fine visage turned upon him. Enderby continued:
“Well, there are matters that can be talked of and other matters that can’t be talked of. But if you ever feel that you want the advice of a man who has seen human nature on a good many sides, and has learned not to judge too harshly of it, come to me. The only counsel I ever give gratis to those who can pay for it”—he smiled faintly—“is the kind that may be too valuable to sell.”
“But I’d like to know,” said Banneker slowly, “why you don’t think me a yellow dog for not resigning.”
“Because, in your heart you don’t think yourself one. Speaking of that interesting species, I suppose you know that your principal is working for the governorship.”
“Will he get the nomination?”
“Quite possibly. Unless I can beat him for it. I’ll tell you privately I may be the opposing candidate. Not that the party loves me any too much; but I’m at least respectable, fairly strong up-State, and they’ll take what they have to in order to beat Marrineal, who is forcing himself down their throats.”
“A pleasant prospect for me,” gloomed Banneker. “I’ll have to fight you.”
“Go ahead and fight,” returned the other heartily. “It won’t be the first time.”