“This initiative and referendum idea is spreading.” Powers drove his fist into a pile of papers on the desk. “Stop it. I give you carte blanche. Spend as much as you like. But win. What good is a lobby to me if those hare-brained farmers can kill every bill we pass through their grafting legislature?” The possibilities grew on Farnum. “I'll send Professor Perkins of Verden University to New Zealand to prepare a paper showing the thing is a failure there. I'll have every town in the state thoroughly canvassed by lecturers and speakers against the bill. I'll bombard the farmers with literature.” “What about the newspapers?” “We control most of them. At Verden only the _World_ is against us.” “Buy it.” “Can't be bought. Its editorial columns are not for sale.” “Anything can be bought if you've got the price. Who owns it?” “A Captain Chunn. He made his money in Alaska. My cousin is the editor. He is the real force back of it.” “Does the paper have any influence?” “A great deal.” “I've heard of your cousin. A crack-brained Socialist, I understand.” “You'll find he's a long way from that,” James denied. “Whatever he is, buy him,” ordered Powers curtly. The young man shook his head. “Can't be done. He doesn't want the things you have to offer.” “Every man has his price. Find his, and buy him.” James shook his head decisively. “Absolutely impossible. He's an idealist and an altruist.” Powers snorted impatiently. “Talk English, young man, and I'll understand you.” Farnum had heard Joe Powers was a man who would stand plain talk from those who had the courage to give it him. His cool eyes hardened. Why not? For once the old gray pirate, chief of the robber buccaneers who rode on their predatory way superior to law, should see himself as Jeff Farnum saw him. “What I mean is that the things he holds most important can't be bought with dollars and cents. He believes in justice and fair play. He thinks the strong ought to bear the burdens of the weak. “He has a passion to uplift humanity. You can't understand him because it isn't possible for you to conceive of a man whose first thought is always for what is equitable.” “Just as I thought, a Socialist dreamer and demagogue,” pronounced Powers scornfully. “Merrill and Frome have been thinking of him just as you do.” James waved his hand toward the newspaper in front of the railroad king. “With what result our election shows.” “Well, where does his power lie? How can you break it?” the old man asked. “He is a kind of brother to the lame and the halt all over the state. Among the poor and the working classes he has friends without number. They believe in him as a patriot fighting for them against the foes of the country.” “Do you call me a foe of the country, young man?” Powers wanted to know grimly.