I'm only talking to you because you're an old friend."
An occasional roar from within testified to Mr. Pettit's continued
enjoyment of his own jokes.
"You know," Rose continued, "I learned a good deal those winters I spent
at the State House, when I was stenog to certain senate committees. I
see where you stand now, all right, Colonel. I always knew you didn't
belong in that bunch of lobbyists that was always gum-shoeing through
the marble halls of the State House. Thatcher sends somebody around to
look me up every little while to see if he can't coax something out of
me,--something he can use, you know."
"Thatcher oughtn't to do that. If you want me to, I'll pull him off."
"No; I guess I can take care of myself. He"--Rose indicated the inner
office with a slight movement of the head, "he never tries to pump me.
He ain't that kind of a fighter. But everybody that's anywhere near the
inside knows that Thatcher carries a sharp knife. He's going to shed
some pink ink before he gets through. Are you on?"
They exchanged a glance.
"Something that isn't nice?"
Rose nodded.
"I hate to see that sort of thing brought into the game. But they'll
never find anything. The gentleman we are referring to works on
noiseless rollers." Colonel Ramsay indicated the closed door by an
almost imperceptible gesture of interrogation; and Rose replied by
compressing her lips and shaking her head.
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