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“But how much, that’s the question?” demanded Bromley.

“Oh, well, three or four thousand, perhaps; maybe five. Hell! I can’t tell exactly. It’s no cinch, the amount ain’t. A couple o’ thousand ’uld do fer a starter, till we could tell how she developed.”

Bromley received McFarlane’s estimate in silence, and looked somewhere out of his window for support. McFarlane sat and eyed him keenly.

“Has Garwood any means?” the lawyer asked presently, and then immediately answered his own question by observing: “I suppose not, though; his practice, as I suppose he calls it, is confined to the personal injury business.” The judge said this with a corporation lawyer’s contempt for one who has no money and whose practice is confined to the speculative side of personal injury cases.

“No, Jerry’s poor,” said McFarlane. “But I hear it rumored that old Ethan Harkness’s puttin’ up some fer ’im.”

“Ethan Harkness? The banker over at Grand Prairie?”

“Yep.”

“Why should he provide means for Garwood’s campaign?”