"Sit down, my friend," spoke the boss. His tone held a crisp cordiality,
searching and professionally genial. "What d'ye want ... a story?"
"Yes," said Stanley.
"About the election?"
Stanley hesitated. "Tell me about the gambling concession at Platt's
Hall," he said suddenly.
Buckley's manner changed. It became, if anything, more cordial.
"My boy," his tone was low, "you're wasting time as a reporter. Listen,"
he laid a hand upon Francisco's knee. "I've got a job for you.... The
new Mayor will need a secretary ... three hundred a month. And extras!"
"What are they?" asked Francisco curiously.
"Lord! I don't have to explain that to a bright young man like you....
People coming to the Mayor for favors. They're appreciative ...
understand?"
"Well," Francisco seemed to hesitate, "let me think it over.... Can I
let you know," he smiled, "tomorrow?"
Buckley nodded as Francisco rose. As soon as the latter's back was
turned the little sharp-eyed man came trotting to his master's call.
"Follow him. Find out what's his game," he snapped. The little man sped
swiftly after. Buckley made another signal. The top-hatted
representative of railway interests approached.
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