"Of course, Jim," he said, "what some of my friends may be doing I don't know. They seem to think, some of them, that they have cause for dissatisfaction in the way I was treated at the Clinton convention." "Oh, come off, now," said Rankin. "You know that won't go 'ith me, Con. You know how much chance you ever had at the Clinton convention, and you know jus' what I told you there in the Gleason House that night before we met. So don't try to come any o' that old gag on me, 'cause I won't stand fer it." "Well--" Sprague began, in a voice that indicated a want of conviction on his part, lifting his brows to add to the effect of the tone. He ended by spitting at his convenient cuspidor. "But I don't care 'bout me," said Rankin; "go in an' abuse me all you want. Ther' ain't nobody'll believe you, anyhow. Everybody knows't I never broke a promise in my life, an' that I al'ays stood pat fer my friends--which you wasn't one o' them, so long's I can remember--but that don't cut any figur' here ner there." "I always supposed we were friends, Jim," Sprague complained. "Oh, that's all right--in politics, I mean. I hain't nothin' ag'in you pers'nally, course, but in politics we've al'ays been ag'in each other, an' ther' ain't no use tryin' to ignore that now. You've been sore ever since the convention, of course, an' I don't know's I blame you fer it, but we beat you fair an' square, an' I come over here to tell you that we expect you to get out an' support the ticket." "Oh, you did, did you?" said Sprague, with half a smile. "Yes, I did," said Rankin. "Well," said Sprague, deliberately stopping to spit again, "I supposed that after the Clinton convention I might consider myself out of politics." "Yes, you _might_," Rankin rejoined, "but the trouble is, you _don't_, an' your fellers right here in Moultrie County is out with the'r knives fer Jerry." "Well, if they are," said Sprague, "I'm sure I didn't know it." "Oh, hell, now, Con," expostulated Rankin, disgustedly, "don't fer God's sake use that 'ith me. Maybe it goes down to Washin'ton, I don' know, but it don't go here, not 'ith me, 't any rate. You know what they're doin', an' so do I. An' I'll just tell you this," Rankin leaned over and laid his hand on the edge of Sprague's desk, while Sprague eyed him with disfavour, "that if you expect to be in politics any more they've got to stop it, an' stop it now, an' if they don't----" "Well, if they don't?" Sprague interrupted in an ugly, defiant note. "If they don't, why, don't ever dare stick your head up out o' your crab-hole ag'in; an' what's more----" "What's more?" repeated Sprague, nodding. "This is a game two can play at. We've got a few knives over in Polk County, and, while they're a little rusty an' out o' use, they're long, an' they're deadly, an' we'll get 'em out at once an' run 'em into that brother-'n-law o' yourn about that fur----"