"I said," he corrected hastily, "we've got too much at stake to risk any failure when a little money would guarantee success."
"Would five thousand dollars guarantee it?"
"If I had that much in cash, to spend here and there as I saw the need of it--take one type of man out to dinner a few times, where I could get close to him--loan another type fifty dollars if he asked me for it (and some of 'em would)--hire detectives to shadow another type--"
"Yes. To check up their habits. Suppose we found a man gambling on the sly; we'd hold that over his head and--"
"Humph! I don't like it much, but in a good cause it may be justifiable."
"And leaflets and circulars and one thing and another.... But if I have to go out and get permission from a finance committee before I can let go of a dime, I can't do _any_thing. I'd have to have the money so I could use it exactly as I needed it. And if I did, I'll bet I could get support you never dreamed of. Get outside people to bring pressure on the Council." He gazed at the ceiling. "Why, with a leeway of five thousand, I'd even have the Exhibitor's Association with us. I'd have--"
"Because long before I was in the League, I was in politics. When I say I know, I _know_. Of course, the Association's help would only go to show that they see the light in respect to their own business--it wouldn't cover all the whole scope of the amendment, but even so--"
"Theodore, you know politics and I don't. But both of us know the proverb about what you catch flies with. So we'll try both methods together. You can put out the molasses, and I'll put out the vinegar; and between us, we ought to get somewhere."
"We can't fail," said Mr. Mix, sitting on needles.
Mirabelle went over to her desk, and searched the pigeon-holes. "I've been told, Theodore, by--people I consider very reliable--that in August, dear John's money will be coming to me." This was the first time that she had ever broached the delicate subject. "I always meant to use some of it for the League." She had unearthed her check book, and was writing words and figures as angular as herself. "So really,--this is on account." She came over to hand him the check, and after a slight hesitation, she stooped and pecked him on the forehead, but immediately afterwards she relapsed into her consistently, non-romantic character. "You better give me an itemized account of how you spend it, though, Theodore. You better give me one every day. We've got to be businesslike, even if we _are_--engaged."