They were sent to me by a man I do not know, an
anonymous friend of Mr. McCune's; in fact, a friend he seems to have lost.
On consideration of our not printing these papers, Mr. McCune agrees to
retire from politics for good. You understand, if he ever lifts his head
again, politically, We publish them, and the courts will do the rest. Now,
in case anything should happen to me----"
"Something will happen to you, all right," broke out McCune. "You can bank
on that, you black----"
"Come," the editor interrupted, not unpleasantly "why should there be
anything personal, in all this? I don't recognize you as my private enemy
--not at all; and I think you are getting off rather easily; aren't you?
You stay out of politics, and everything will be comfortable. You ought
never to have been in it, you see. It's a mistake not to keep square,
because in the long run somebody is sure to give you away--like the fellow
who sent me these. You promise to hold to a strictly private life?"
"You're a traitor to the party," groaned the other, "but you only
wait----"
The editor smiled sadly. "Wait nothing. Don't threaten, man. Go home to
your wife. I'll give you three to one she'll be glad you are out of it."
"I'll give you three to one," said McCune, "that the White Caps will get
you if you stay in Carlow. You want to look out for yourself, I tell you,
my smart boy!"
"Good-day, Mr.
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