Garwood could have crushed him for his tone as Pusey would have crushed the cockroaches he could never hit, but he was better schooled to his part and he thought of the agonies of defeat. He needed every dollar of his salary now. So he went on: "You are on the delegation, I believe?" "I believe I am; yes," Pusey replied. "Very well," said Garwood, unable to resist the impulse to assume his congressional manner, "very well. And I understand that you are opposed to my renomination." "I haven't said so, have I?" said Pusey, turning his head for the first time and squinting at Garwood over his spectacles. "I don't know." The reply took Pusey by surprise, and he lost something of his position. "Well, I haven't," he answered. "But you opposed me in the convention." "No, not quite that," Pusey answered. "Well," and Garwood smiled his old consequential smile once more and gathered his power to put others ill at ease, "it amounted to that." "No, you are a bit mistaken, Mr. Garwood," Pusey replied. "What I did was to oppose instructions. I believed, you know, in sending a delegation to the convention that shall be absolutely free and untrammeled, so that it might be, as I may say, instantly responsive to the will of the people. That is all." "Oh, I see," said Garwood; "I see. But let me ask this--you _are_ opposed to my nomination, aren't you?" Pusey was silent and did not answer for a long time. He cut out another paragraph and cocked his little head to one side, tilting the old straw hat ridiculously as he trimmed the edges of the slip with unusual and unnecessary care. "No," he said at length, "I haven't said that, either." "Well, then, to get at it in another way--you will pardon me, Mr. Pusey, for my persistent interrogation--let me ask you this: You are in favor of Mr. Sprague's nomination, are you not?" "I haven't said that, either," Pusey promptly replied. "Then, if I understand your position, you are free and untrammeled like the delegation. Is that right?" "Exactly," said Pusey, laying down his scissors and his papers, folding his hands in his lap, and screwing about in his chair until for the first time he squarely faced Garwood, at whom he looked pertly, as little men can, through his spectacles, "exactly." He snapped out the word as if he relished it. "Well, then," said Garwood, hitching his chair closer as if instantly to seize his advantage, "that warrants me in asking you whether or not you can give me your support?" Pusey lowered his eyes and turned his face away. He began plucking at the few withered hairs on his chin. "What do you say?" Garwood pressed him. "Well," Pusey hemmed, "I am hardly able to determine so important a matter as that instantly, Mr. Garwood. Complications might arise which would not render it expedient for me to--" Garwood did not wait for Pusey to unwind one of the long sentences he loved so well, but broke in: