“Of course I am; I couldn't do anything else if I wanted to.”
“Why not?”
“Why, look here, Hiram, haven't you any idea of political obligation? It's expected of me.”
“Oh, it is, eh? Did you promise to appoint the Governor?”
“Why, I don't know that I exactly made any promises, but that doesn't make a particle of difference. The understanding was that the Governor was to pull out and I was to go in and appoint him. It's a matter of honour;” and Governor Berriman drew himself up with pride.
The farmer turned a troubled face to the fire.
“I suppose, then,” he said finally, “that you all think the Governor is the best man we have for the United States Senate. I take it that in appointing him, John, you feel sure he will guard the interests of the people before everything else, and that the people—I mean the working people of this State—will always be safe in his hands; do you?”
“Oh, Lord, no, Hiram!” exclaimed the Governor irritably. “I don't think that at all!”
Hiram Berriman's brown face warmed to a dull red.
“You don't?” he cried. “You mean to sit there, John Berriman, and tell me that you don't think the man you're going to put in the United States Senate will be an honest man? What do you mean by saying you're going to put a dishonest man in there to make laws for the people, to watch over them and protect them? If you don't think he's a good man, if you don't think he's the best man the State has”—the old farmer was pounding the table heavily with his huge fist—“if you don't think that, in God's name, why do you appoint him?”