“I seen his pitcher in the paper,” said the other. “He's one of them reformers—always messin' into things.”
“Maybe that's why he was at the court,” observed Samuel.
“Sure thing! He's a professor of sociology an' such things, an' he thinks he knows all about politics. But we handed him a few last election—just you bet!”
“Who's 'we'?” asked Samuel.
“The organization,” said Finnegan; “the Democrats, o' course. Them reformers is always Republicans—the 'better element,' an' all that. That means the rich guys—that have their own little grafts to work. This perfessor was a great friend of old Henry Lockman—an' the old man used to run this town with his little finger. But they had a big strike here three years ago, and too many men got hit over the head. So it'll be a long day before there's any more 'reform' in Lockmanville.”
“I see,” said Samuel.
“They make a great howl about the saloons an' all the rest,” added the barkeeper. “But when the Republicans ran things, my boss paid his little rake-off just the same, you can bet. But you needn't tell that to the perfessor.”
“I won't,” said the boy.
“What you goin' to do now?” asked the other.
“I don't know. I guess I'll have to get something to eat first.”