"Oh, well," Rankin continued, "you know it hain't all like it used to be, that's all. I don't know how to say it--I just feel it, but it's there, an', damn it, I don't like it." Rankin paused, and then when Garwood did not reply, he went on: "I reckon it's 'cause o' my fallin' down in the county convention here 't home, an' that's all right; I don't blame you fer feelin' sore. Course, it come out all right over at Pekin--I don't know how it was done, an' I don't know as I want to know--I know I didn't have nothin' to do 'ith it, an' I don't claim none o' the credit, ner want it. I 'as glad you won out, glad as you was. I'd 'a' give my right arm clean up to the shoulder to've brought it 'bout fer you myself. I didn't do nothin', I know. I felt kind o' paralyzed all the time over there, after losin' the delegation here, an' I seemed to myself jus' to be standin' roun' like any other dub that 'as on the outside. I didn't feel _in_ it, somehow, an' I don't feel in it now, that's what's the matter. I've al'ays been with you, Jerry, an' you know it, an' I'm with you now, but they're tellin' strange stories 'roun', an' I don't like 'em, an'--I jus' want to know where I stand 'ith you, that's all." Garwood wheeled about in his swivel chair. He looked at Rankin a moment and then he smiled. And when he had smiled, he leaned comfortably back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together over his white waistcoat, and then he spoke at last, in his softest voice: "What is it, Jim, that worries you--the post-office?" Rankin looked him straight in the eyes. "No, Jerry," he said, "it ain't so much that. I want it, o' course, you know how I need it, an' I want it more'n ever jus' now, but I ain't worried so much about that. I've got your word, an' I know you never went back on it yet, to a friend, though you know, Jerry, that if it 'uld help you any, you could have your promise back, an' give the post-office where it 'uld do the mos' good. You know all you'd have to do 'uld be to say the word, don't you?" Garwood smiled again and leaned forward in his chair and laid one of his white hands on Rankin's fat knee. "Why, my boy," he said, "you've been giving yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble. You know me, don't you?" "Why, sure," assented Rankin. "Well, you ought to," added Garwood, still smiling blandly, and a slight reproach was in his tone. "You should have known, Jim, that I realized you had done all in your power. I never for an instant blamed you; believe me when I say that. It only occurred to me that I could handle the little affair over at Pekin better than you could. I knew that you could never come at Pusey; I knew that you two never could agree in a thousand years, so I just took hold of it myself--not with very much hope, I confess, but I thought it worth trying. And luckily it came about all right in the end."