way through hell to do it. I dream of a palatial home, of soft white beds, grand banquet halls, and music and wine, and the faces of those I love near me. Besides, the work I am doing is the best for the state and the nation."
"But how can you walk arm in arm with a big black negro, as they say you do, to get his vote?"
"Simply because they represent 120,000 votes I need. You can't tell their colour when they get in the box. I use these fools as so many worms. My political creed is for public consumption only. I never allow anybody to impose on me. I don't allow even Allan McLeod to deceive me with a paper platform, or a lot of articulated wind. I'm not a preacher."
She winced at that shot, blushed and looked at him curiously for a moment.
"No, you are not a preacher. I wish you were a better man."
"So do I, when I am with you," he answered in a low serious voice.
"But I can't get over the sense of personal degradation involved in your association with negroes as your equal," she persisted.
"The trouble is you're an unreconstructed rebel. Women never really forgive a social wrong."
"I am unreconstructed," she snapped with pride.
"And you thank God daily for it, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. Human nature can't be reconstructed by the fiat of fools who tinker with laws," she cried.
"These thousands of black votes are here. They've got to be controlled. I'm doing the job."
"You don't try to get rid of them."
"Get rid of them? Ye gods, that would be a task! The Negro is the sentimental pet of the nation. Put him on a continent alone, and he will sink like an iron
