come a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; no
help from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'll
be of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it."

"What?" asked Warrington skeptically.

Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I was
in Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. The
table next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow named
Bolles."

"Bolles?"

"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles the
dagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questions
about you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women."

Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed an
alert angle.

"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece of
mine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your name
at the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do you
some way or other."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined
that he won't let you."

Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Go
on," he said.

"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to
New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to
look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing.
McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get
real facts."

This time Warrington's laughter was genuine.

"He's welcome to all he can find."

"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the
whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out.
They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think
the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the
public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last
week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This
means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in
town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers,
Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss."

Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of
the ordinary. And he had defied him.

"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of
honor, I'll do something for you."

"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously.

"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am