“I mean you're nothing.” “Run in and take another drink, sonny,” advised Breed, giving slow cant of his head to denote the baize door through which Dodd had emerged. “What you have had up to date seems to be making you optimistic--and there's nothing like being optimistic in politics. I'm always optimistic--but naturally so. Don't need torching!” “Look here, Breed, we've got enough dope on that ex-hobo who is doing your errand-boy work--we know enough about him to kill your whole sorehead proposition. But I don't believe my uncle will even use it. No need of it.” “Probably not,” said Mr. Breed, without resentment. “And I wouldn't if I were he.” “We won't descend to it. Now that we have got rid of a lot of old battle-axes of politicians--and I'm calling no names--we can conduct a campaign with dignity.” “So do! So do! And it will save a lot of trouble, son; that's why the newspapers wouldn't print that stuff about Mr. Farr after your uncle got it ready. Libel cases make a lot of trouble.” Dodd grew red and scowled. “Look here, Breed, you're licked before the start, and as a good politician you know you are. My uncle wants you to drop in and see him. He told me to tell you so. This is no official order, you understand. Just drop in informally, and he'll probably have something interesting to say to you.” “I'm terribly rushed up--shall be till after convention,” averred Mr. Breed, piercing the end of a cigar with a peg he had whittled from a match. “What's the good of your being a fool any longer?” “Always have been, so I've found out from that state committee who never told a lie--and it's comfortable to keep on being one,” he said, with great serenity. “You don't think for a minute that you are going to get control of the next legislature, do you?” “How much money have you got--your own money, I mean?” inquired Mr. Breed, guilelessly, his eyes centered carefully on the lighted tip of his cigar. “Say--you--you--What do you mean by that?” rasped Dodd, putting the cracker of a good round oath on the question. “I meant that I wanted to bet something--and I wouldn't want you to go out and borrow money--or--or--anything else.” From the cavernous depths where his eyes were set Mr. Breed turned a slow and solemn stare on the enraged chief clerk of the state treasury. “What do you want to bet?” “Any amount in reason that after the first of next January there'll be a fresh deal in the way of state officers in every department in the Capitol. Arguing futures don't get you anywhere, son. If you've got money to back that opinion you just gave me it will express your notions without any more talk. But don't go borrow--or--or anything else.” Dodd stared at the shrewd old political manipulator for a long time. “You have money to bet, have you?” he asked. Mr. Breed languidly drew forth a wallet which would make a valise for some men and carelessly displayed a thick packet of bills.