“If you're goin' to put in money, put in enough to win. There's no sense puttin' in just enough to lose. Th' other fellows will come into th' district with money enough to burn a wet dog. We've got to break even with 'em, or they'll have us faded from th' jump.” “But what can you do with so much?” asked the reputable old gentleman dismally. “It seems a fortune! What would you do with it?” “Mass meetin's, bands, beer, torches, fireworks, halls; but most of all, buy votes.” “Buy votes!” exclaimed the reputable old gentleman, his cheek paling. “Buy 'em by th' bunch, like a market girl sells radishes!” Then, seeing the reputable old gentleman's horror: “How do you s'ppose you're goin' to get votes? You don't think that these dock-wallopers an' river pirates are stuck on you personally, do you?” “But their interest as citizens! I should think they'd look at that!” “Their first interest as citizens,” observed Big Kennedy, with a cynical smile, “is a five-dollar bill.” “But do you think it right to purchase votes?” asked the reputable old gentleman, with a gasp. “Is it right to shoot a man? No. Is it right to shoot a man if he's shootin' at you? Yes. Well, these mugs are goin' to buy votes, an' keep at it early an' late. Which is why I say it's dead right to buy votes to save yourself. Besides, you're th' best man; it's th' country's welfare we're protectin', d'ye see!” The reputable old gentleman remained for a moment in deep thought. Then he got upon his feet to go. “I'll send my son to talk with you,” he said. Then faintly: “I guess this will be all right.” “There's somethin' you've forgot,” said Big Kennedy with a chuckle, as he shook hands with the reputable old gentleman when the latter was about to depart; “there's a bet you've overlooked.” Then, as the other seemed puzzled: “You aint got off your bluff about bein' a taxpayer. But, I understand! This is exec'tive session, an' that crack about bein' a taxpayer is more of a public utterance. You're keepin' it for th' stump, most likely.” “I'll send my son to you to-night,” repeated the reputable old gentleman, too much in the fog of Big Kennedy's generous figures to heed his jests about taxpayers. “He'll be here about eight o'clock.” “That's right!” said Big Kennedy. “The sooner we get th' oil, th' sooner we'll begin to light up.” The reputable old gentleman kept his word concerning his son and that young gentleman's advent. The latter was with us at eight, sharp, and brought two others of hard appearance to bear him company as a kind of bodyguard. The young gentleman was slight and superfine, with eyeglass, mustache, and lisp. He accosted Big Kennedy, swinging a dainty cane the while in an affected way. “I'm Mr. Morton--Mr. James Morton,” he drawled. “You know my father.” Once in the sanctum, and none save Big Kennedy and myself for company, young Morton came to the question.