“You either know too much or too little, Dexter.  I guess you’re an older hand at this business than I took you for.  Tell me what you know.”

“You tell me what I want to know,” Larry said with a smile.  “You probably know all that I do and more, too.  But I don’t know half as much as you do about this, though I know enough to print something in the Leader.  You might as well come out with it.”

Sullivan hesitated.  He was wondering how this new young reporter had discovered information supposed to be a secret among the politician’s closest advisers.  Clearly there was a leak somewhere, and he must play the game warily until he discovered it.  Meanwhile, since part of the truth was known he decided to tell more of it.  He could manage matters to suit his ends if necessary, even after he gave out the interview for which all the papers in New York were anxiously waiting.

“Did Mr. Emberg send you to see me?” asked Sullivan.

“He did,” Larry answered, wondering how intimate was the politician’s acquaintance with the city editor of the Leader.

“Emberg’s foxy,” went on Sullivan.

“Do I get the interview?” asked Larry.

“You do.  I like your nerve, and I’d like to find out where you heard that about Potter.”

Larry did not think it well to say he had merely overheard, in the politician’s own headquarters, a reference to the man, who was a well-known millionaire and promoter of New York.  The truth of the matter was Larry only used the information that had so unexpectedly come to him, but he used it in such a way that Sullivan thought he knew a great deal more than he did.

“I’m going to support Reilly,” went on Sullivan.  “I don’t know that I have such great influence as the papers credit me with, but what I have is for my friend, William Reilly.  You can say for me that I think he served well in the Legislature and is entitled to another term.  As for Mr. Kilburn, who I hear would like the nomination, he is an excellent young man.  I know little about him, but I believe he would do well.  But I believe in rewarding good work, and so I am for Mr. Reilly.”

“Do you want to say anything about Potter and the new line?” asked Larry, though if Sullivan had said anything about them the reporter would have been decidedly in the dark as to what the politician was driving at.

“I guess you’ve got enough out of me for one day,” replied Sullivan with a smile.  “It’s more talking than I’ve done in a long while—­to reporters,” he added.  “Lots of ’em would give a good bit to have what you’ve got, and I wouldn’t have given it to you, only I think you’re smarter than I gave you credit for.  Now you tell me where you heard about Potter.”

“I can’t,” answered Larry, truthfully enough, for he did not feel that he could betray one of Sullivan’s own men, because of the talk he had inadvertently overheard.  “Sometime I may.”