ongest appeal to you?"

Gwynne's eyes had contracted and he was staring at the stove. But his
abstraction was too brief to be noticed, and he answered in a
confidential tone, "Well, Judge, to tell you the truth--" And then he
stopped and laughed.

"I see. You think one is about as bad as the other."

"Well, I am afraid that is it."

"Oh, my boy, they're not nearly as bad as they are made out to be--our
American politics. Judge Leslie is dotty on that subject, and so are a
good many of the other old fossils of Rosewater. I don't say but that
San Francisco would be the better for a good spring cleaning, but the
State's not nearly so bad as it's painted, not nearly so bad as it's
painted."

He delivered his repeated phrases with an unctuous indulgent roll that
made Gwynne long to grind his teeth. But the prospective American merely
raised an interrogative eyebrow. "I don't hear much good in any
direction," he murmured.

"Of course, I can understand that you have seen through Tom Colton, and
that he has appalled you as much as the fossils. He's in a hurry, and if
he isn't mighty careful the machine will throw him down. For all his
affected simplicity he's too fond of the limelight: loves to see his
name in print; and when he makes a donation to a charity or an
improvement scheme he uses up all the fireworks in the State."

"I was under the impression that he was in high favor with the district
Boss--"

"The district Boss is getting old, and Tom, one way or another, has
acquired a great influence over him; but I happen to know that he
doesn't stand any too well with the State Democratic Boss."

"If Tom were really earnest in his reforms, really had the interest of
the common people at heart--although I never saw common people so well
off in my life--but the point is that if Tom were really sincere he
might form an independent party."

"Well, he can. It won't do him any good. It wouldn't do even you any
good to work up a reform party, and your abilities are to his as a
thousand to one. In fact a man like yourself would have far less chance.
They would let Tom amuse himself, but they would find you really
dangerous, and the upshot would be that the two parties would unite and
crush you. Crush you flat. You might be a George Washington, Alexander
Hamilton, and Abraham Lincoln rolled into one, and you would emerge from
the swift and simultaneous impact of those two cast-iron walls flatter
than the sole of your boot.