write free-trade editorials for the Times—he went over to the Telegraph, you remember, and writes all those protection arguments."
The mayor did not seem to be interested in Dick Jennings, or in the ethics of his profession.
"Of course, you know I'm for you, Mr. Clayton, just exactly as I've always been. I'm going to vote for you."
This did not seem to interest the mayor, either.
"And, maybe, you know—I thought, perhaps," he snatched at this bright new idea that had come to him just in the nick of time, "that I might help you by my cartoons in the Telegraph; that is, I might keep them from being as bad as they might—"
"But that wouldn't be dealing fairly with your new employers, Neil," the mayor said.
Kittrell was making more and more a mess of this whole miserable business, and he was basely glad when they reached the corner.
"Well, good-by, my boy," said the mayor, as they parted. "Remember me to the little woman."
Kittrell watched him as he went on down the avenue, swinging along in his free way, the broad felt hat he wore riding above all the other hats in
