He never considered them.  But strength and weakness—­oh, yes!  If you had strength you could protect yourself always and be something.  If you were weak—­pass quickly to the rear and get out of the range of the guns.  He was strong, and he knew it, and somehow he always believed in his star.  Something—­he could not say what—­it was the only metaphysics he bothered about—­was doing something for him.  It had always helped him.  It made things come out right at times.  It put excellent opportunities in his way.  Why had he been given so fine a mind?  Why always favored financially, personally?  He had not deserved it—­earned it.  Accident, perhaps, but somehow the thought that he would always be protected—­these intuitions, the “hunches” to act which he frequently had—­could not be so easily explained.  Life was a dark, insoluble mystery, but whatever it was, strength and weakness were its two constituents.  Strength would win—­weakness lose.  He must rely on swiftness of thought, accuracy, his judgment, and on nothing else.  He was really a brilliant picture of courage and energy—­moving about briskly in a jaunty, dapper way, his mustaches curled, his clothes pressed, his nails manicured, his face clean-shaven and tinted with health.

In the meantime, Cowperwood had gone personally to Skelton C. Wheat and tried to explain his side of the situation, alleging that he had done no differently from many others before him, but Wheat was dubious.  He did not see how it was that the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of certificates were not in the sinking-fund.  Cowperwood’s explanation of custom did not avail.  Nevertheless, Mr. Wheat saw that others in politics had been profiting quite as much as Cowperwood in other ways and he advised Cowperwood to turn state’s evidence.  This, however, he promptly refused to do—­he was no “squealer,” and indicated as much to Mr. Wheat, who only smiled wryly.

Butler, Sr., was delighted (concerned though he was about party success at the polls), for now he had this villain in the toils and he would have a fine time getting out of this.  The incoming district attorney to succeed David Pettie if the Republican party won would be, as was now planned, an appointee of Butler’s—­a young Irishman who had done considerable legal work for him—­one Dennis Shannon.  The other two party leaders had already promised Butler that.  Shannon was a smart, athletic, good-looking fellow, all of five feet ten inches in height, sandy-haired, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, considerable of an orator and a fine legal fighter.  He was very proud to be in the old man’s favor—­to be promised a place on the ticket by him—­and would, he said, if elected, do his bidding to the best of his knowledge and ability.