Helm might have explained that he happened to be one of those people who are born with intensely acute senses--eyes that see, ears that hear, nerves of touch, taste and smell that respond where the ordinary nerve remains inert. But he contented himself with a good-natured laugh and a cheerful, “Where’s the cigar? And what do you want, Pat?” Branagan drew the cigar from his well-filled waistcoat pocket. “How’d you like to go to the State Legislature next winter, as Senator from down yonder?” he said. Helm lit the quarter cigar from his “five-center,” strode along in silence beside his shorter and stouter companion. He finally said: “So you and Reichman have fallen out?” “Personally, we’re friends,” replied the Democratic boss with an air of virtue earnest enough, but so grotesque that it did not even seem hypocritical. “But in politics we are and always have been enemies.” Helm’s deep-set gray eyes gazed shrewdly at the heavy red face of the boss. “And,” he went on, as if Branagan had not spoken, “you want to use me as a club for bringing him to terms.” “Who’s been handing you out that line of dope?” said Branagan noisily. Helm ignored this blustering bluff as unworthy of reply. He said: “When do you want your answer?” “I ain’t offered you no nomination,” protested Branagan angrily. “I just put out a suggestion.” “Oh--you want to make terms?--want to pledge me?--want to see if you can control me?” Helm shook his head and smiled. “Nothing doing, Pat,” he said. “Now, look here, George--why’re you so damn suspicious? I’m older’n you and I’ve been all through the game. Let me tell you, my boy, you’re trying to get in the wrong way. There’s nothing in that there end of the game. A fellow who works for the people works for somebody that’s got nothing, and is a fool, to boot. Get in right, George. Work for them as can and will do something for you.” “Oh, I’m not thinking of working for the people,” replied Helm, amused. “I’m working for myself--for my own amusement. I’ve made up my mind to have a good time in my life--not what _you’d_ call a good time, perhaps, but the kind of a time that suits me. I don’t care for money--nor for the things money buys. I rather think the kind of woman I’d want wouldn’t want me--so I’m not going to have a wife and family to work for. I’ve decided to be my own boss--and to do as I damn please.” “You’re a queer chap, for sure,” said Branagan. “But let me tell you one thing. A man that sets out to do as he pleases has got to have a lot of money--unless he pleases to be a hobo, or near it. You’d better wait till you’ve made your pile before you put your nose in the air.” “I’ve thought of that,” said Helm. “Yes, I’ve got to have money. They can always do me up as long as I’m poor. But I’m going to make it in my own way.” “_I_ can help you,” said Branagan. “Yes--you could,” admitted Helm. “You’d not have to touch a cent that wasn’t perfectly honest graft.” Helm laughed.