half an hour ago, and I knew there was some devilish--"

"Keep your shirt on, Farwell," said I.

He was pretty hot. "I'll be obliged to you," he returned, "if you'll
explain what you're doing here in secret with this low hound of
Gorgett's. Do you think you can play with me the way you do with your
petty committee-men? If you do, I'll _show_ you! You're not
dealing with a child, and I'm not going to be tricked or sold out of
this elec--"

I took him by the shoulders and sat him down hard on a cane-bottomed
chair. "That's a dirty thought," said I, "and if you knew enough to
be responsible I reckon you'd have to account for it. As it is--why,
I don't care whether you apologize or not."

He weakened right away, or, at least, he saw his mistake. "Then won't
you give me some explanation," he asked, in a less excitable way, "why
are you closeted here with a notorious member of Gorgett's ring?"

"No," said I, "I won't."

"Be careful," said he. "This won't look well in print."

That was just so plumb foolish that I began to laugh at him; and when
I got to laughing I couldn't keep up being angry. It _was_
ridiculous, his childishness and suspiciousness. Right there was where
I made my mistake.

"All right," says I to Bob Crowder, giving way to the impulse. "He's