mered. "I am in
politics for my party's sake, just like everybody else," and Sanders
grinned suggestively at his questioner.

"Have you anything further to say?" asked Langdon, in a tone hinting
that he would like to be rid of his caller.

"Well, since you are so very new in this game, Senator, I'll talk
right out in meetin', as they call it. I came to ask about an
appointment an' to tip you off on a couple o' propositions. I want
Jim Hagley taken care of--you've heard of Jim--was clerk o' Fenimore
County. A $2,000 a year job'll do for him; $500 o' that he gives to
the organization."

"You're the organization, aren't you?" queried Langdon.

"Why, yes. Are you just gettin' wise?" cried Sanders. "Haven't I got
fellers, voters, VOTERS, VOTERS, d--n it, hangin' on to me that needs
to be taken care of! An' so I make the fellers that work help those
that don't. Why, Langdon, what'n h--l are you kickin' an' questioning'
about? Didn't you get my twelve votes in the Legislature? Did you have
a chance for Senator without 'em? Answer me that, will you? Why, with
'em you only had two more than needed to elect, an' the opposition
crowd was solid for Wilson," cried the angry boss, pounding the long
table before which Langdon sat.

"I'll answer you almighty quick," retorted the now thoroughly aroused
Senator-elect, rising and shaking his clenched fist at Sanders. "Those
twelve votes you say were yours--yours?"

"Yes, mine. Them noble legislators that cast 'em was an' is mine,
mine. I tell you, jest like I had 'em in my pocket, an' that's where I
mostly carry 'em, so as they won't go strayin' aroun' careless like."

"You didn't have to vote those men for me. I told you at the Capitol
that I would not make you or anybody else any promises. You voted them
for me of your own accord. That's my answer."

At this point the gentlemen of the county present when Sanders entered
and who had no desire to witness further the unpleasant episode, rose
to leave, in spite of the urgent request of Colonel Langdon that they
remain. The only one reluctant to go was Deacon Amos Smallwood, who,
coming to the plantation to seek employment for his son, had not been
denied of his desire to join the assemblage of his neighbors.

Last to move toward the door, he stopped in front of Sanders,
stretched his five feet three inches of stature on tiptoe, and shook a
withered fist in the boss' firmly set, determined face.

"Infamous!" shrieked the deacon.