Bassett's right hand lay on the table and Dan found himself watching it.
It was broad but not heavy; the fingers that opened and shut quietly on
a small paperweight were supple. It was a hand that would deal few
blows, but hard ones. Harwood was aware, at a moment when he began to be
bored by the bald facts of local history, that Bassett had abruptly
switched the subject.

"Parties are necessary to democratic government. I don't believe merely
in my own party; I want the opposition to be strong enough to make a
fight. The people are better satisfied if there's a contest for the
offices. I'm not sorry when we lose occasionally; defeat disciplines and
strengthens a party. I have made a point in our little local affairs of
not fighting independents when they break with us for any reason.
Believing as I do that parties are essential, and that schismatic
movements are futile, I make a point of not attacking them. Their
failures strengthen the party--and incidentally kill the men who have
kicked out of the traces. You never have to bother with them a second
time."

"But they help clear the air--they serve a purpose?" suggested Harwood.
He had acquired a taste for the "Nation" and the New York "Evening Post"
at college, and Bassett's frank statement of his political opinions
struck Dan as mediæval. He was, however, instinctively a reporter, and
he refrained from interposing himself further than was necessary to
stimulate the talk of the man before him.

"You are quite right, Mr. Harwood. They serve an excellent purpose. They
provide an outlet; they serve as a safety valve. Now and then they will
win a fight, and that's a good thing too, for they will prove, on
experiment, that they are just as human and weak in practical