Mr. Mix sat up with a jerk. The climax had been reached six months too soon. "Dear lady--"
"You can't refuse," she went on with an emphasis which sobered him. "We want you for an officer, and a director. I've taken it up with the committee. And you _can't_ refuse. You believe everything we believe. Mr. Mix, look me in the eye, and tell me--if you're true to yourself, how _can_ you refuse?"
"That isn't it," he said, truthfully enough. "I--I wouldn't be as valuable to you as you think."
He knew that he was in a corner, and he hunted desperately for an opening. "And--in _any_ event, I couldn't become an officer, or even a director. I--"
"I haven't the time, for one thing, nor the experience in--"
She swept away his objections with a stiff gesture. "You're modest, and it's becoming. But either you're with us or against us: there's no half-way about morals. If you're with us, you ought to show your colours. And if you _are_ with us, you'll lead us, because you're a born leader. You inspire. You instill. And for the sake of the common welfare--" She paused: he was staring at her as if hypnotized. "For the sake of the city and the state and the nation--" His eyes were wide, and filled with a light which deceived her. "For the sake of civic honour and decency and self-respect--"
Again, she leaned out and touched his arm. "For _my_ sake?"
Mr. Mix recoiled slightly. "For _your_ sake!" he muttered.
"Yes, for mine. The sister of your oldest friend."
He owed her five thousand dollars, and if she demanded payment, he was a bankrupt. "Why does it mean so much to you?" he asked, sparring for time.
"It would be an epoch in the history of the League, Mr. Mix."
"You spoke about leadership. No one can hope to replace yourself."
"Thank you--I know you mean it. But _no_ woman can lead a campaign such as the one we're just starting. It takes a strong, dominant man who knows politics. Of course, when we go after dancing and cards and dress-reform, I guess I can do all right, but in _this_ campaign--"
"What campaign is this, Miss Starkweather?"
She nodded. "We're going to concentrate on one thing at a time. That's first."
"Tight!" she said, and the word was like the lash of a whip. "Tight as a drum."
Mr. Mix controlled himself rigidly. "You'll have to pardon my seeming indelicacy, but--" He coughed behind his hand. "That might bring about a very unhappy relationship between my family and yours. Had you thought of it?"