"Bub, 'politics before friendship' is all right for a code. I practice that myself, but it hurts me to have you put politics before relationship--the kind that's between us." "Grandfather," replied the young man, firmly, "you remember that you told me you were going to put me into politics right. I consider that you've done so. I'm going to stay where you put me." "Oh, you mean one thing and I mean another, my boy, as matters stand just now. You're in wrong. A man isn't in right when he's playing on the losing end." "I stay where you put me," insisted Harlan, doggedly. "I'm with General Waymouth." "General Waymouth was a winner till he committed hari-kari there last night. He had Luke's machine, and he had my scheme. He kicked over the machine, and the scheme won't work now; it could have been _snapped_ through, but it can't be _bulled_ through--not with the bunch forewarned and on the lookout. Your political chances with Vard Waymouth, Harlan, don't amount to that!" He clicked his finger smartly above his head. "You may as well go back up-country and boss the Quedaws." "And yet you know that General Waymouth is right, Mr. Thornton," broke in Linton, pausing in lacing his shoes. "There's no chance for argument about that. Why is it the big men of this State--men like you, that have the influence to set things straight--won't back the man that's honest and right?" "Linton, that's the kind of a question that's asked by the man whose experience in practical politics is limited to a term on the School Board and the ownership of a subscription edition of _American Statesmen_, bound in half morocco. I'll tell you why we don't: we're dealing with conditions, not theories. The chap who writes for the 'Kickers' Column' in the newspapers can tell you all about how politics should be run, but that's the only privilege he ever gets. It's the chap who keeps still and runs the politics that gets what's to be got out of it. And that's because mankind wants what it wants, and not what it says it wants." He went to the window, snapped up the shade, and let the morning light flood the room. "Wake up, my boys! Dreams are rosy--I've had 'em myself. But they don't buy the breakfast next morning. Martyrs get a devil of a reputation after they're dead. It doesn't do 'em a mite of good, not as human beings. As long as you're taking the curse that belongs with a human being, get some of the good, too. I tried to operate on a different plan long ago--about the time I had the dreams--but I had to give it up if I was to get anything out of life. Vard Waymouth can't build over the human nature in this State. I've had to drop him. I hadn't realized he was in such a bad way. Get aboard with the winners this trip! Then at least you can be in the swim--you can find some good to do on the side, and be able to do it. But you won't amount to anything sitting on the bank and bellowing."