Farwell's head sank lower till we couldn't see his face, only his
fingers working kind of pitifully.

"I guess you've had rather a bad night?" said Gorgett, inquiringly.

"Oh, my God!" The words came out in a whisper from under Knowles's
tilted hat-brim.

"I believe I'd advise you to stick to your wife," Gorgett went on,
quietly, "and let politics alone. Somehow I don't believe you're the
kind of man for it. I've taken considerable interest in you for some
time back, Mr. Knowles, though I don't suppose you've noticed it until
lately; and I don't believe you understand the game. You've said some
pretty hard things in your paper about me; you've been more or less
excitable in your statements; but that's all right. What I don't like
altogether, though, is that it seems to me you've been really tooting
your own horn all the time--calling everybody dishonest and
scoundrels, to shove _yourself_ forward. That always ends in sort
of a lonely position. I reckon you feel considerably lonely, just now?
Well, yesterday, I understand you were talking pretty free about the
penitentiary. Now, that ain't just the way to act, according to my
notion. It's a bad word. Here we are, he and I"--he pointed to
me--"carrying on our little fight according to the rules, enjoying it
and blocking each other, gaining a point here and losing one there,
everything perfectly good-natured, when _you_ turn up and begin
to talk about the penitentiary! That ain't quite the thing. You see
words like that are liable to stir up the passions. It's dangerous.
You were trusted, when they told you the closet story, to regard it as
a confidence--though they didn't go through the form of pledging