“That and maybe a few others,” laughed Conover, in no wise offended. “I climbed up from yard-boy to railroad president by frequently jamming my fists in where they’d do the most good. I guess you’d have a faint s’spicion you’d been in a fight before you was through. But I presume you didn’t come here to-night to give an encore performance of your grand-stand play at Grafton. It seems I started on the wrong idea just now. You don’t want to drop out gracefully or to sell out, and you prefer the soothing attentions of the hornets to——” “Yes, if you put it that way, Mr. Conover——” “Hold on a second.” The Railroader crossed to a screen at the farther end of the room. Thrusting it aside he said to a stenographer who sat behind it, pencil and pad in hand: “We won’t need you any longer. This ain’t going to be that kind of interview after all. You can go now. Just a little precaution of mine,” he added to Clive as he returned to the table. “Now you can go on talking.” “You were setting a spy to take down what I said!” gasped Clive, incredulous. “No. A stenographer to report our little chat. We were a bit short on campaign litterchoor. But I see it won’t be needed now. Go ahead.” “I’ve just returned from a tour of the State,” commenced Standish, once more forcing himself to keep down his temper. Conover drew a typewritten bundle from a drawer. “If you were counting on telling me all about it,” he observed, “I can save you the trouble. Here’s the whole account.” “Does your ‘account’ include the recital of a mob incited to smash furniture, insult women and attempt murder? Or of suborned town officials, bought policemen and muzzled editors? If not, it is incomplete. I went on that tour prepared to meet all legitimate obstacles. I met only fraud, violence and the creatures of boss-bought conspiracy. It is to call you to account for that and to ask how far it was done by your personal sanction that I have come to see you. Also to ask if you intend to give me fair play in future.” “Fair play?” echoed Conover in genuine bewilderment. “Son, this is politics, not ping pong.” “Everyone in God’s world is entitled to fair play. And I’m here to demand it.” “‘God’s’ world, eh? My friend, when you’ve travelled about it as long as I have, you’ll find out that the original owner sublet the premises long ago.” “It looks so, in the Mountain State, I agree. But I’m trying to act as local dispossess agent for the present tenant. All men are born equal, and some of us are tired of being owned by a political boss. We——”