Also he had innumerable phone calls from people who had been at the dinner, asking what it was all about and confirming the fact that no one at the dinner had heard Hammond’s speech. Following Barney’s hint, the staff at the radio broadcasting station were given the third degree. They swore that Hammond’s speech had come over the regular wire along with the rest of the dinner program. Their announcer on duty at the hall that night could shed no further light, as he had gone home after the Forsythe speech, arranging with the toastmaster to give the radio “good night.” Hammond himself, who had a reputation for truth telling, issued a statement to the afternoon papers exonerating the broadcasting staff. “I was invited to speak at the dinner, and I did,” he told the reporters. “That’s all. I’ll swear to you I made the whole speech right there. I’m sorry if the gentlemen at the dinner couldn’t hear it, but I have the statement of my radio audience about a thousand to one against theirs.” That’s all they got out of him, and the twinkle in his eye indicated that he was enjoying himself immensely. But the speech was on record. That was the important and practical fact. Events pressed too fast to waste further time over a puzzle as to how it got there. Early reports from the counties decided Quaid to hold off his own statement for another day till he could count noses of instructed delegates. It was a worried group who met with him in his office the day after the county conventions. Forsythe, under his air of debonair indifference, was decidedly anxious for fear his sponsor might decide to drop him for the new entrant. “Give ’em the dope, Barney,” the boss ordered. “Well, we figure just about forty per cent of the delegates pledged or sure for Forsythe, and just about the same number for Hammond. That leaves about twenty per cent waiting to be shown.” “And that kind hates a dude,” Quaid remarked, looking hard at Forsythe. “Meaning that’s what I am?” he asked. “No! No!” Barney assured him. “He means that’s what they might figure if you go to talk to ’em personally. They’re shy of city men. You’re a polished gentleman. Hammond’s sort of rough and ready. Other things equal, they’d be for him if they got a look at you both. And it’s a cinch Hammond’ll go around and talk to ’em. I expect Mr. Quaid would like to keep you both out of sight of those birds. For once he’d like a straight radio campaign.” “Barney’s right!” rumbled the boss. “Perhaps I’d better begin wearing soft shirts and a slouch hat,” Forsythe suggested wryly. “Be yourself,” grunted the boss. “I’m for you.” Forsythe departed, content with this assurance of the boss’s support, but not altogether optimistic as to the final outcome. Barney Fogarty retired thoughtfully to his own private office and went into the silences. After a little of this, some cryptic phoning resulted in a luncheon appointment in a discreet back room of one of the city’s quietest speakeasies.