“Ain't I?” rasped out the boss. “It's just here: Pogue's got his eye on his brother for the place, yet when Burke was made senator it was agreed I was to follow him. Isn't it plain to you why I came down here? I want your word that I'm to succeed Burke; then I'll shake hands with the next governor.”
“When it's business I'll dicker for anything I can swap, use myself, or give away; but I got a different feeling about politics,” remarked Mr. Carveth.
This came with such a shock to Ames that he almost fell off his seat.
“Quite right, Mr. Carveth,” said Smith pleasantly. “But a few pledges——”
“I won't promise nothin',” said Jeremiah Carveth with sudden stubbornness. “If I go to office I'm going there a free man. Otherwise Marysville's good enough for me.”
“Not pledged in any offensive sense, Mr. Carveth,” Smith urged. “We would never attempt to dictate a course of action to you——”
“I guess you wouldn't—more than once,” said Carveth shortly.
Mr. Smith gasped audibly, and Ames surmised he was hearing the distant roar of the convention, the first rumble of that landslide he had prematurely set going, which was to bury Slippery Dick while it uncovered Jeremiah Carveth.
“I'm offering you the place at the head of the ticket,” began Smith quietly. “That's tantamount to election; all I want is your promise that if Burke dies you'll appoint me to fill out his term——”
“Ain't you read any of my speeches?” asked Carveth. “Haven't you noticed that I take pretty firm ground in the matter of boss rule? Mr. Smith, you're the last man I'd ever think of making senator. I don't want to seem rude, but, well, I've told you Marysville's good enough for me.”