For all his dauntless vigor and political astuteness,
Destiny as yet withheld from Broderick the coveted United States
senatorship. At best he had achieved an impasse, a dog-in-the-manger
victory. By preventing the election of a rival he had gained little and
incurred much censure for depriving the State of national
representation. Benito and Alice tried to rouse him from a fit of
moodiness as he dined with them one evening in November. Lately he had
made a frequent, always-welcome third at their evening meal.
"Cheer up, Dave," Benito rallied, as he raised a glass of wine. "We'll
be reading your speeches in the Washington reports before many years
have gone by. Come," he said to his wife, "let's drink to the future of
'The Gentleman from California.'"
Broderick smiled; his glass clinked against those of his two companions.
He gazed a moment musingly at both; then quaffed his liquor with a
touch of haste.
Alice Windham's eyes were troubled. "David," she was hesitant, yet
earnest. "It is really necessary to associate with people such as--well,
you know ... James Casey, Billy Mulligan, McGowan?"
He answered her with a vehemence close to anger. "Politicians cannot
choose their weapons.
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