“See here, Blaney. You just stop and ask yourself what Weeks has done for you. He's sunk a lot of your money and a lot of St. Johns's money, to say nothing of Chicago, in a road that never has paid and never will pay. Why, man, the stock would be at forty now if we hadn't pushed it up. I tell you Jim Weeks is licked. The only way for you to get your money back is to vote in men who can make it go. We've got the money, and we've got the men. It will be a good thing for Tillman City, and a good thing”—he paused, and looked meaningly at the three faces before him—“a mighty good thing for you boys.”
“We couldn't put it through in time for the election anyhow.”
“The eighth? That's two weeks.”
“I know it, but we'd have to work the opposition.”
“Talk business, Blaney. I'll make it worth your while.”
“What'll you give?”
“For the stock?”
“Well—yes, for the stock.”
“I'll give you par.”
“Um—when?”