up by importance that he thinks he's the whole party or else--"

Mr. Britt's patience was ground between the millstones of anger and
indigestion. He smacked the flat of his hand on his desk. "When I want
a stump speech out of you, Orne, I'll drop you a postcard and give you
thirty days' notice so that you can get up a good one. You have made a
short day of it, as I said, but you needn't feel called on to fill it up
with a lecture." Mr. Britt continued on pompously and revealed that he
placed his own favorable construction on the emissary's early return
from the field. "You didn't have to go very far, hey, to find out how I
stand for that nomination?"

"I went far enough so that you can depend on what I tell you."

"Go ahead and tell, then."

Mr. Orne slowly fished a quill toothpick from the pocket of his
overcoat, set the end of the quill in his mouth, and "sipped" the air
sibilantly, gazing over Britt's head with professional gravity. "Of
course, you're the doctor in this case and are paying the money, and if
you don't want any soothing facts, like I was intending to throw in free
of charge and for good measure, showing how the best of politicians--"

There were ominous sounds from the direction of Britt. Orne checked his
discourse, but he did not look at the candidate. "But no matter," said
the agent. "That may be neither here nor there. You're the doctor, I
say! When I first came in here I thought you had been disobeying my
orders and had dabbled into the thing. Your face looked like you was
posted."