But this was going too fast for the district attorney. He shook his
head. "No. Too dangerous."
"Now look here," said Rafe, leaning forward and tapping the district
attorney's knee with a persuasive forefinger, "you're forgetting that
all this trouble we're having is due to Tip O'Gorman. If it hadn't
been for him wanting a 'safe' man, Jack Murray would have been elected,
and everything about now would be fine as frawg's hair in January."
"Well, we had to give 'em one honest man," said the district attorney
cynically. "The voters were getting ideas."
"Rats," snorted Rafe. "What if they were? I don't give a damn what
Tip or anybody says, we were strong enough to elect our whole ticket.
Huh? No 'maybe' about it. I know. Tip's an old woman, I tell you.
He's gettin' too big for his boots. He needs a lesson."
"Who'll give him one?"
"We will."
"No. Not for a minute. I know Tip. I ain't locking horns with that
gent."
"Whatcha afraid of? He can't do anything."
"Can't, huh? Aw right, let it go at that. Not any for me, thanks."
Again Rafe's persuasive forefinger came into action. "Say, Tip ain't
any grizzly bear, feller. He's only a two-legged man like you and me.
He can be put where he belongs."