On the morning that the State chairman hurried out of Fort Canibas he
discussed the matter of the rival candidates with the old man--that is
to say, he talked and Thornton listened. And the more the chairman
talked, the more his own declarations convinced him.
"Why, the old bull fiddle can't fool the convention, Thelismer. He's
running around the State now, and they're listening to him like they'd
listen to a steam calliope, but what he says don't amount to anything
for an argument. It's the pledged delegates that count."
The old man drew a fat, black wallet from his hip pocket, and leisurely
extracted a packet of newspaper clippings.
"I've been watching the lists of delegates as they've been chosen, Luke.
But I fail to see where you're getting pledged delegations."
"They don't need to be pledged, not the men our town committees are
picking."
"Your town committees may be picking the men for delegates, but it is
the caucus that does the pledging. And the delegates are being sent out
without labels. You don't dare to insist on the pledges--now, do you?"
"You know as well as I do, Thelismer, there's no need of shaking the red
rag this year.
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