"We'll gather lots of honey, won't we?" snapped the other. "Both Shotgun and Riley are absolutely honest."
"And sharp—infernal sharp. Don't forget that."
"You take it easy."
"Spilt milk. We've overlooked a bet, that's all."
"Oh, that's all is it? I tell you it won't be all. I've got a hunch."
"Don't be superstitious. Politics is no place to play hunches."
"Apparently it isn't even a place to play common sense," said the judge. "If it hadn't been for you and your advice, we wouldn't be in this fix. You got us in. Now you get us out."
"You make me sick, Tom. You're getting to be a regular old granny. I tell you there is no rat in the hole. Suppose Bill does appoint two honest deputies. There is still Bill, isn't there? What are two deputies going to do against Bill's orders? And Bill will do what I tell him. Oh, yes, he will. You needn't shake your head. I can manage Bill Wingo."
"I wish I could be sure of that," worried the judge.
"You can be, old-timer, you can be. I'll manage Bill as per invoice, so you just bed your mind down and give it a rest. The bottle's in that cupboard, water's in the kettle, sugar's on the table, lemons in that box. Help yourself, make punch and be happy. Make enough for two, while you're about it. Your punch always did taste better than mine. I never could mix one to taste anything like. Lord knows how you do it. It's a gift. I hear you had a long run of luck at Crafty's last night."