“Keep your shirt on, Farwell,” said I. He was pretty hot. “I'll be obliged to you,” he returned, “if you'll explain what you're doing here in secret with this low hound of Gorgett's. Do you think you can play with me the way you do with your petty committee-men? If you do, I'll _show_ you! You're not dealing with a child, and I'm not going to be tricked or sold out of this elec--” I took him by the shoulders and sat him down hard on a cane-bottomed chair. “That's a dirty thought,” said I, “and if you knew enough to be responsible I reckon you'd have to account for it. As it is--why, I don't care whether you apologize or not.” He weakened right away, or, at least, he saw his mistake. “Then won't you give me some explanation,” he asked, in a less excitable way, “why are you closeted here with a notorious member of Gorgett's ring?” “No,” said I, “I won't.” “Be careful,” said he. “This won't look well in print.” That was just so plumb foolish that I began to laugh at him; and when I got to laughing I couldn't keep up being angry. It _was_ ridiculous, his childishness and suspiciousness. Right there was where I made my mistake. “All right,” says I to Bob Crowder, giving way to the impulse. “He's the candidate. Tell him.” “Do you mean it?” asks Bob, surprised. “Yes. Tell him the whole thing.” So Bob did, helped by Genz, who was more or less sulky, of course; and is wasn't long till I saw how stupid I'd been. Knowles went straight up in the air. “I knew it was a dirty business, politics,” he said, jumping out of his chair, “but I didn't _realize_ it before. And I'd like to know,” he went on, turning to me, “how you learn to sit there so calmly and listen to such iniquities. How do you dull your conscience so that you can do it? And what course do you propose to follow in the matter of this confession?” “Me?” I answered. “Why, I'm going to send supper in to our fellows, and the box'll never see that closet. The man upstairs may get a little tired. I reckon the laugh's on Gorgett; it's his scheme and--” Farwell interrupted me; his face was outrageously red. “_What!_ You actually mean you hadn't intended to expose this infamy?” “Steady,” I said. I was getting a little hot, too, and talked more than I ought. “Mr. Genz here has our pledge that he's not given away, or he'd never have--” “_Mister_ Genz!” sneered Farwell. “_Mister_ Genz has your pledge, has he? Allow me to tell you that I represent the people, the _honest_ people, in this campaign, and that the people and I have made no pledges to _Mister_ Genz. You've paid the scoundrel--” “_Here!_” says Genz. “The scoundrel!” Farwell repeated, his voice rising and rising, “paid him for his information, and I tell you by that act and your silence on such a matter you make yourself a party to a conspiracy.” “Shut the transom,” says I to Crowder.