Todd looked at him keenly. “Mind tellin’ it?” he asked. “Why, yes,” said Caleb, “it’s not proven, but I’m willing to show you one objection; this scheme is offering abnormal interest--” “And paying it,” threw in Todd. “And paying it now,” admitted Trench, “but for how long? Why can they pay ten per cent when the others only pay four and a half? I’d put my money in the four and a half per cent concerns and feel safe. When a firm offers such an inducement, it’s not apt to be sound; it isn’t legitimate business, as I see it.” Todd put the papers slowly back into his pocket. “Mebbe you’re right,” he admitted, “but they’re all in it; I reckon the whole East Mountain district’s in it, an’ half of Eshcol. They say it’s Jacob Eaton’s.” Trench strummed lightly on the desk with his fingers. “So they say,” he assented without emotion. Todd ruminated, cutting off a piece of tobacco. “Eaton’s bent on lickin’ Yarnall out of the nomination, an’ we don’t want Aylett again. I believe I’ll take to your ticket,” he remarked. Trench looked at him, and his full regard had a singularly disconcerting effect; Diana herself had felt it. “Vote for Peter Mahan,” he said coolly. “See here, Trench,” said Todd abruptly, “I believe you’d make a man vote for the devil if you looked at him like that!” Caleb laughed, and his laugh was as winning as his smile; both were rare. “I’m only suggesting Mahan,” he said. “We’ve never had a Republican, not since five years before the war. That was before I was born,” Todd replied. “It would sweep out every office-holder in the State, I reckon.” “Where’s your civil service?” asked Trench dryly. “It’s rotten,” said Todd. “There ain’t a man in now that ain’t an Eaton or an Aylett runner. I’d a damned sight rather hunt a flea in a feather-bed than try to catch Jacob Eaton when he’s dodging in politics.” “Yet Mr. Eaton has you all in the hollow of his hand,” said Trench. “You don’t like his methods; you’re all the time reviling his politics, but there isn’t a man among you that dares vote the Republican ticket. It’s not his fault if he is your boss.” Todd rubbed the back of his head. “There’s a pesky lot of truth in that,” he admitted reluctantly, “but--well, see here, Mr. Trench, about three quarters of the county’s his, anyway, and the rest of it belongs to men who’ve invested with him an’ they’re afraid to run against him.” “This Land Company seems to be about the biggest political engine he has,” Caleb remarked. “Twenty-nine out of every thirty tell me the same story. Practically, then, Mr. Eaton hasn’t bought you, but he’s got your money all in his control, you elect his underlings and through them he governs you, speculates with your money, and, in time, you’ll send him to the United States Senate. As a matter of fact, if the same system worked in the other States, he could be President.”