“I ain’t used to talkin’ politics with a girl,” he admitted; “but seein’ as you’re the editor of this paper—­a daily, by Jupe!—­you’ve probably got a head on you and understand that a man don’t get into office for his health.  There’s a lot of bother in servin’ your country, and a man oughter be well paid for it.  I did jest like the others do—­like Kleppish is doin’ right now—­but the reg’lar voters don’t understand politics, and when the howl went up about graft, backed by Kleppish’s bought-up newspapers, they turned me down cold.  I’ve been eight years watchin’ for a chance to get in again, an’ now I’ve got it.”

“This is very interesting, I’m sure,” remarked Patsy; “but our paper doesn’t go much into local politics, Mr. Boglin, and I’m very busy to-day.”

“Honer’ble Ojoy Boglin,” he said, correcting her; but he did not take the hint to leave.

Patsy picked up her pencil as if to resume her work, while he eyed her with a countenance baffled and uncertain.  Presently he asked: 

“Has Kleppish got this paper too?”

“No,” she coldly replied.

“I thought I’d likely head him off, you being so new.  See here, Editor—­”

“I am Miss Doyle, sir.”

“Glad to know you, Miss Doyle.  What I was about to remark is this:  The election for senator comes up agin in September and I want this paper to pull for me.  Bein’ as it’s a daily it’s got more power than all of Kleppish’s weeklies put together, and if you work the campaign proper I’ll win the nomination hands down.  This is a strong Republican deestric’, and to git nominated on the Republican ticket is the same as an election.  So what I want is the nomination.  What do you say?”

Patsy glared at him and decided that as far as appearances went he was not a fit candidate for any office, however humble.  But she answered diplomatically: 

“I will inquire into the condition of politics in this district, Mr. Boglin, and try to determine which candidate is the most deserving.  Having reached a decision, the Millville Tribune will espouse the cause of the best man—­if it mentions local politics at all.”

The Hon. Ojoy gave a dissatisfied grunt.

“That means, in plain words,” he suggested, “that you’ll give Kleppish a chance to bid against me.  But I need this paper, and I’m willin’ to pay a big price for it.  Let Kleppish go, and we’ll make our dicker right now, on a lib’ral basis.  It’s the only way you can make your paper pay.  I’ve got money, Miss Doyle.  I own six farms near Hooker’s Falls, which is in this county, and six hundred acres of good pine forest, and I’m director in the Bank of Huntingdon, with plenty of money out on interest.  Also I own half the stock in the new paper mill at Royal—­”

“You do?” she exclaimed.  “I thought Mr. Skeelty—­”

“Skeelty’s the head man, of course,” he said.  “He came to me about the mill proposition and I went in with him.  I own all the forest around Royal.  Bein’ manager, and knowin’ the business, Skeelty stood out for fifty-one shares of stock, which is the controllin’ interest; but I own all the rest, and the mill’s makin’ good money.  People don’t know I’m in that deal, and of course this is all confidential and not to be talked about.”