The cashier was Martin's black beast, and his temper was a trifle short where the talker of platitudes was concerned.
"Yes," he had said, "Charley Hapgood is what they call a rising young man--somebody told me as much.

And it is true.

He'll make the Governor's Chair before he dies, and, who knows?
maybe the United States Senate." "What makes you think so ?" Mrs.Morse had inquired.
"I've heard him make a campaign speech.

It was so cleverly stupid and unoriginal, and also so convincing, that the leaders cannot help but regard him as safe and sure, while his platitudes are so much like the platitudes of the average voter that--oh, well, you know you flatter any man by dressing up his own thoughts for him and presenting them to him." "I actually think you are jealous of Mr.Hapgood," Ruth had chimed in.
"Heaven forbid!" The look of horror on Martin's face stirred Mrs.Morse to belligerence.
"You surely don't mean to say that Mr.Hapgood is stupid ?" she demanded icily.
"No more than the average Republican," was the retort, "or average Democrat, either.

They are all stupid when they are not crafty, and very few of them are crafty.