“No.”
“And liars?”
“Oh, no.”
“All right, old boy. Going to allow me to be a friend of yours, if I don’t butt in on your business?”
“Oh, gee, sure.”
“Then there’s just one favor I want to ask. Will you come to our big meeting tomorrow night? You don’t have to do a thing. If you think we’re four-flushers—all right; that’s your privilege. Only will you come and not decide we’re all wrong beforehand, but really use that big fine incisive brain of yours and study us as we are? Will you come?”
“Oh, yes, sure, you bet.”
“Fine, old boy. Mighty proud to have you let me come butting in here in this informal way. Remember: if you honestly feel I’m using any undue influence on the boys, you come right after me and say so, and I’ll be mighty proud of your trusting me to stand the gaff. So long, old Elm! So long, Jim. God bless you!”
“So long, Jud.”
He was gone, a whirlwind that whisked the inconspicuous herb Eddie Fislinger out after it.