It's your
modesty keeps you blind, I guess. But here's what I don't see: why don't
you come out of this little hole in the ground and get in line?"
"In line?"
"You're dead and buried here. Now you mention the _Evening Windbag_ that
nobody pays no more attention to than kids yelling in the street. How
about having a paper of your own some day, to express your own ideas and
get things done, big things, the way you want 'em?"
"You mean the _Post?_"
"Well, the editor of the _Post_ certainly would be in line, whereas the
president of Blaines Grammar School certainly ain't."
"What do you mean by in line, Plonny?"
Mr. Neal invested his cigar with an enigmatic significance. "I might
mean one thing and I might mean another. I s'pose you never give a
thought to poltix, did you?"
"Well, in a general way I have thought of it sometimes."
"Think of it some more," said Mr. Neal, from the door. "I see a kind of
shake-up comin'. People say I've got infloonce in poltix, and sort of
help to run things. Of course it ain't so. I've got no more infloonce
than what my ballot gives me, and my takin' an intelligent public
interest in what's goin' on.
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