“It's a crazy thing you're tryin' to do,” said the other. “And take my word for it—somethin' will happen to you if you go on.”
“What will happen?”
“I dunno, my boy—maybe you'll fall into the river.”
“Fall into the river!”
“Yes; or else run your head into a slungshot some night, in a dark alley. I can't tell you what—only you won't make the speech.”
Samuel was dumfounded. “You can't mean such things!” he gasped.
“Sure I mean them,” was the reply. “Why not?”
Samuel did not respond. “I don't know why you're tryin' to do this thing,” went on the other, “nor who's backing you. But from what I can make out, you've got the goods, and you've got them on most everybody in the town. You've got Slattery, and you've got Pat McCullagh, and you've got the machine. You've got Wygant and Hickman—you've even got something on Bertie Lockman, haven't you?”
“I suppose I have,” said Samuel. “But I'm not going to tell that.”
“Well, they don't know what you're going to tell, and they won't take any chances. They won't let you tell anything.”