But his fluttering expectations were dashed to the
ground with the reply.
"'How much,' did you say? A clean majority over all. Your name stands at
the head of the ticket."
"I am obliged to you," replied Sandford, sadly, "but I don't think I can
accept the nomination."
"Well, that _is_ rather strong," said Plotman. "You'd best keep your
modesty for the papers; it's thrown away on me."
"I really can't bother with politics."
"Why in the Devil, then, did you lay your corns to get the place, and
make me all this trouble for nothing?"
"I am really sorry, Plotman; but, to tell you just how it is, I am so
much involved in this fearful monetary pressure that I have no time nor
heart for anything else."
"Confounded spooney!" muttered Plotman, between his teeth. "If I'd known
he was so weak in the knees. I'd have gone in for Spreadeagle, who
offered a handsome figure."
"Come in to-morrow, Plotman, and we'll talk about it. I can't think
about it now. I'll make all right with you."
Still muttering, the disappointed politician departed, leaving Sandford
in a deeper abyss than before. To prevent unwelcome visits, the latter
left word with his clerks that he could see no one whatever.
To wile away the time, he took out his cash-book and private papers.
There was about a thousand dollars in bank.
"It will be best to draw that," thought he, "for there's no knowing what
may happen."
And the office-boy was dispatched with a check for the amount.
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