"There hain't no light at Ozaukee," says Corkey.

"That's what the administration said, too," replies Lockwin.

"Did you tell 'em I got you fine?" asks Corkey.

"I told them I thought you had as good a case as I had."

"Did you tell 'em I'd knock seventeen kinds of stuffin' out of their
whole party? That I'd--"

Corkey is at his wits ends. His challenge has been accepted. At the
outset he had saved fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his wages.
He has spent fifteen already. The thought of a contest against the
machine candidate carries with it the loss of the rest of the little
hoard. He has boasted that he will retain Emery Storrs, the eminent
advocate. Corkey grows black in the face. He hiccoughs. He strangles.

He unburdens himself with a supreme sneeze. The mate enters the cabin.

"I _knew_ that sneeze would wreck us!" he cries savagely.

"Is your old tub sinking?" asks Corkey, in retort.

"That's what she is!" replies the mate.

Corkey looks like a man relieved. Politics is off his mind. He will
not be laughed at on the docks now.

"Pardner, I'm sorry we're in this hole," he says, as the twain rush