Anyhow, there is one place on it that is still
needing a name, and I reckon your name would fit it as well as
anybody's."
The young man who was so lately out of the well-balanced East was
astounded.
"Heavens!" he ejaculated. "You're not considering me as a possibility on
the State ticket before I've been twenty-four hours inside of the State
lines, are you?"
"No; not exactly as a possibility, son; that isn't quite the word. We'll
call it a sure thing, if you want it. It's this way: we're needing a
sort of political house-cleaning right bad this year. We have good
enough laws, but they're winked at any day in the week when somebody
comes along with a fistful of yellow-backs. The fight is on between the
people of this State and the corporations; it was begun two years ago,
and the people got the laws all right, but they forgot to elect men who
would carry them out. This time it looks as if the voters had got their
knives sharpened. We've been a little slow catching step maybe, but the
marching orders have gone out. We're aiming to clean house, and do it
right, this fall."
"Not if the slate hangs behind your door--or any man's, father," was the
theorist's sober reminder. "Reform doesn't come in by that road."
"Hold on, boy; steady-go-easy's the word. Reform comes in by any old
trail it can find, mostly, and thanks its lucky stars if it doesn't run
up against any bridges washed out or any mud-holes too deep to ford.
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