in politics."

"What infernal notion is afoul of you, Orne, grabbing for my money
before you report?"

"I do business with a man according to his own rules--and then he's
suited, or ought to be. You collect sharp on the dot after service has
been rendered. So do I." Mr. Orne was displaying more acute nervous
apprehension. "And the understanding was that you'd leave it to me as
your manager, and wouldn't go banging around, yourself."

Britt found the agent's manner puzzling. "I haven't been out of this
office, except to go to my dinner. I haven't talked politics with
anybody."

"Oh!" remarked Orne, showing relief. "Perhaps, then, it was the way the
light fell on your face." He peered closely at his client. Mr. Britt's
color was coming back. Orne's cryptic speeches and his haste to collect
had warmed the banker's wrath. "It'll be ten dollars, as we agreed."

Britt yanked a big wallet from his breast pocket, plucked out a bill,
and shoved it at Orne. The latter set the bill carefully into a big
wallet of his own, "sunk" the calfskin, and buttoned up his buffalo
coat.

"It does beat blazes," stated "Sniffer" Orne, "what a messed up state
all politics is in since this prim'ry business has put the blinko onto
caucuses and conventions. Caucuses was sensible, Mr. Britt. Needn't tell
me! Voters liked to have the wear and tear off 'em. Now a voter gets
into that booth and has to caucus by himself, and he's either so puffed