“That is,” drawled Thelismer Thornton, “the State Committee says, as the fork says to the cook:  ’I’m willing to be used for all reasonable purposes, but not to pick your teeth with or pull out carpet tacks.’”

The pleasantry did not relieve the gloom.

“The State Committee can’t do anything without money, General Waymouth,” added the chairman, getting bolder as he allowed his rancor full play.  “You’ve fixed it so that we can’t get the money.”

“Then the State Committee would be able to go ahead and do what it ought to do if I should assure Senator Pownal that he and his crowd may help themselves to the water-powers of this State—­if I let the rumsellers sell and the office-holders filch?  It’s on those terms, is it, that I’m to get the help of the men the Republican party has selected as its executives?”

“That isn’t a square way to put it,” objected Mr. Presson, with heat.  “I simply say it was all right to open this campaign with prayer, as we did at the State Convention, but as to carrying it through on the plane of a revival meeting, that’s a different proposition!  You’ve asked for business talk, General.  I’ve given you straight business.  You’re asking something from some one else, just now.  In politics it’s nothing for nothing, and d—­n-d little for a dollar!  You know it just as well as I do.  Now suppose we have some business talk from you!” There was a sneer in the last sentence.

General Waymouth swung one thin leg over the knee of the other.  He leaned back in his chair.  His elbow rested on the chair-arm, his fingers were set, tips on his chin, and over them he surveyed his listeners with calmness.  He did not raise his voice.  It was his mild manner that made what he said sound so balefully savage.  Bluster would have weakened it.

“The legitimate expenses of a campaign are considerable, even when the party organization, from you, Mr. Presson, down to the humblest town committeeman, does full duty in time and effort.  But if one has to buy it all, it needs a deep purse.  From what you say, it is plain to me that I am now left to run my own campaign.  I tell you very frankly, gentlemen, my means are limited.  I have not made money out of politics.  One course only is left open to me.  I notify you that I shall issue a statement to the people of this State.  I shall inform them that I have been abandoned by the State Committee and the party machine.  I shall state the reasons very plainly.  I shall say I am left to defeat because I refused to betray the people’s interests.  Then I shall appeal to the people as a whole—­to Republicans and Democrats alike—­for support at the polls.  If there are enough honest men to elect me, very well.  If the majority wants to hand the thing over to the looters and tricksters after the fair warning I give them, they will do so with their eyes open, and I’ll accept the result and leave this State to itself.”

Chairman Presson pushed himself slowly up out of his chair, his arms propping him, his face shoved forward.