"I reckon, that's so, too," was the measured reply. "But there's just this one little difference, Hardwick: a machine, in a factory or in politics, is a mighty necessary thing, and we wouldn't get very far nowadays without it. Here in America we're just coming to learn that machine politics--which is sometimes only another name for intelligent organization--needn't be bad politics unless we make 'em bad. To put it another way, the machine will grind corn or clean up the streets and alleys just as easily as it will grind up men and principles." The vice-president made a gesture of impatience. "Come to the point," he urged. "Do you mean to tell me that you can face an investigation by the Supreme Court?" "For this one time, Hardwick, I can. For this one time in the history of the Sage-Brush State, the slate--the machine slate--is as clean as the back of your hand. When the court comes to investigate, it will find that every crooked deal in this campaign has had a railroad man or a corporation man at the back of it. Let me tell you what's due to happen. Chief Justice Hemingway had luncheon with me to-day, and he came early enough to give me a quiet hour before we went to table with the ladies. There is going to be an investigation, and some sharp, shrewd young lawyer is going to be appointed by the court to take evidence. When this young man gets to work, every wheel in the machine is going to roll his way. Every bribe you've offered and paid, every false name you've put on the registration lists, every deal you've made with men like Pete Hathaway and McDarragh, has had its witnesses, and by the gods, Hardwick, they'll testify--every man of them!" Again the vice-president sprang from his chair, but this time it was to walk the floor with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets. The listener in the musicians' gallery found a seat and sat down to let the intoxicating, overwhelming joy of it all have its will of him. In the fulness of time the tramping magnate who had been so crushingly out-generalled in his own chosen field came to stand before the big man, who was still quietly smoking in the sham-Sheraton arm-chair. "You spoke of the appointment of a special prosecuting attorney, David," he said in a harsh monotone. "Who will it be?" "You've guessed it already, I reckon. It'll be the boy, Hardwick. Hemingway will appoint him if he is willing to serve." "He's taken our retainer!" snapped the vice-president. "Not much, he hasn't! you hired him for wages, and if he wants to resign--he has resigned, by the way--and take another job, I reckon he can do it without breaking any of the Ten Commandments." "We can't stand for that--you know we can't."