"If I don't appoint your men and do appoint mine, what particular form
of devilment would the party feel called upon to put on me?"
"Devilment," grinned Tip. "You don't know us."
"Backward and forward, sideways and from the bottom up. Don't you fool
yourself I don't know you. I been looking over the situation a long
time. It's been a liberal education."
"So that's it," murmured Tip. "Driver told me, but I didn't believe
him."
"The judge sometimes tells the truth."
Tip O'Gorman sighed. He thought he saw what he would have to do. And
he didn't want to do it. It meant one more mouth to feed, and one more
finger in the pie.
"You understand, Bill," said he, "that it was always intended you
should have your share."
"Nothing was ever said to me about any share," said Billy truthfully.
"We occasionally prefer to leave something to the imagination."
"It beats leaving it to the taxpayer," smiled Billy.
"Sure, sure."
"But my share you were speaking of, Tip," prompted Bill. "What is this
share--large, small or indifferent?"
"That depends," replied O'Gorman cadgily.
"On the weather, or some one's generosity?"
Was there mirth or something sinister in the gray eyes? Tip O'Gorman
couldn't be sure. But Lord, there was no cause for apprehension. He'd
been making himself unnecessary worry. Bill Wingo was too easy-going
and good-natured to hold out on the boys. He was just making a play
for his legitimate share. That was only right. Not that Tip had
intended in the beginning that Bill should have his legitimate share.
These politicians!
"You see, Bill, it's thisaway," said Tip. "Some years the party makes
more than other years, and----"
"And the years it makes the most," insisted Bill, "are the years I make
the most. Is that it?"
"You get the general idea."
"But not the general idea of what I get," persisted the strangely
obtuse sheriff. "What is the minimum I can expect?"
Tip did not relish being pinned down to cases in this fashion. He
preferred generalities.
"The minimum," repeated Tip.
"And the maximum," suggested Bill. "I might as well know all the
horrible details."
"From three to five thousand dollars," said Tip, watching his
_vis-a-vis_ closely.
Said _vis-a-vis_ looked disappointed. "Small change," he remarked
coldly. "Who gets the other nickle?"
"Your salary is two thousand," Tip told him reproachfully, "and three
to five thousand above that makes five to seven thousand. What more do
you want?"
"Whatever's right," declared the amazing Mr. Wingo.
"That's right--what I told you."
"What did the last sheriff get?"
"I told you it varied."
"I know you told me. Tell me again."
Tip O'Gorman shifted his position in the chair. He was being baited.
He realized it now. A slow anger rose in his breast. But an admixture
of dismay in the anger kept it from boiling over.
He continued to temporize. "Your slice will be worth while, well worth
while. Leave it to us. You can trust me."
"Can I? I wonder."
"Meaning?" O'Gorman's face was cold as his heart was hot.
"I wonder. I do it now and then. Habit, I suppose. No harm in it, is
there?"
"Lookit here, you don't doubt me, do you?"
"Unhand me, Jack Dalton! I may be poor--I may starve to death, but I
will never be an old man's plaything. Better death than
dishonor-rur-rur. Don't be so melodramatic, Tip. Who am I to doubt
you? You? What a question!"
The fingers with which Billy Wingo then proceeded to make a cigarette
were steady and sure in every movement. Billy licked the length of the
white roll, smoothed it down and twisted one end. Tip O'Gorman did not
know what to make of him. Or rather he thought he knew too well, which
frequently amounts to the same thing.
"You'd better trust me," rumbled Tip.
"Be reasonable, Tip. You ask for trust and you give me a stone."
"A stone?"
"What else is three to five thousand bucks, I'd like to know. I'm no
child, man. I've got my growth, and I've put away childish things,
including all-day suckers."
"You must take me for one."
"Not you, not in a million years. But--" Mr. Wingo paused and looked
up at the ceiling. His lips moved. He muttered of figures and sums.
Tip O'Gorman awaited his pleasure. What else was there to do?
"I think between nine and ten thousand is nearer the correct amount for
li'l me," Billy said at last.
"What?" screeched Tip, fairly jarred off his balance at last.