You ain't Bishop Doane," said the poll clerk.
"The hell I ain't, you--I" yelled the repeater.
Now, that is the sort of bad judgment the Fusionists are guilty of.

They don't pick men to suit the work they have to do.
Take me, for instance.

My district, the Fifteenth, is made up of all sorts of people, and a cosmopolitan is needed to run it successful.

I'm a cosmopolitan.

When I get into the silk-stockin' part of the district, I can talk grammar and all that with the best of them.