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" The
cigar was lighted now, and to Stephen's sensitive nostrils the air was
rapidly becoming too heavy. Oddly enough, he reflected, nothing had
"placed" Vetch so forcibly as the brand of that cigar.
"That," observed the young man briefly, "is the penalty of political
office."
"So long as I was merely a dark horse," said Vetch, "I was afraid to
pull on the curb; but now that I've won the race, they'll find that I'm
my own master. Won't you smoke?"
Stephen shook his head. "Not now. There is always the next race to be
considered, I suppose."
The Governor's rugged, rather heavy features hardened suddenly until
they looked as if they were formed of some more durable substance than
flesh. Under the thick sandy hair his eyes lost their blueness and
appeared as gray as Stephen had once thought them. "Have you ever
heard," he asked with biting sarcasm, "that I was easy to manage and
that that was why certain people put me in office?"
"Yes, I've heard that." As the young man replied, Darrow turned from the
window and looked at him attentively.


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