which
make him a marked man; although the convention wherein his fate will be
decided is now but a few days distant, and everything has been done to
secure a victory which mortal man can do, let us follow Hilary Vane to
Fairview. Not that Hilary has been idle. The "Book of Arguments" is
exhausted, and the chiefs and the captains have been to Ripton, and
received their final orders, but more than one has gone back to his fief
with the vision of a changed Hilary who has puzzled them. Rumours have
been in the air that the harmony between the Source of Power and the
Distribution of Power is not as complete as it once was. Certainly,
Hilary Vane is not the man he was--although this must not even be
whispered. Senator Whitredge had told--but never mind that. In the old
days an order was an order; there were no rebels then. In the old days
there was no wavering and rescinding, and if the chief counsel told you,
with brevity, to do a thing, you went and did it straightway, with the
knowledge that it was the best thing to do. Hilary Vane had aged
suddenly, and it occurred for the first time to many that, in this
utilitarian world, old blood must be superseded by young blood.

Two days before the convention, immediately after taking dinner at the
Ripton House with Mr. Nat Billings, Hilary Vane, in response to a
summons, drove up to Fairview. One driving behind him would have observed
that the Honourable Hilary's horse took his own gaits, and that the
reins, most of the time, drooped listlessly on his quarters. A September
stillness was in the air, a September purple clothed the distant hills,
but to Hilary the glories of the day were as things non-existent. Even
the groom at Fairview, who took his horse, glanced back at him with a
peculiar expression as he stood for a moment on the steps with a
hesitancy the man had never before remarked.

In the meantime Mr. Flint, with a pile of letters in a special basket on
the edge of his desk, was awaiting his counsel; the president of the
Northeastern was pacing his room, as was his wont when his activities
were for a moment curbed, or when he had something on his mind; and every
few moments he would glance towards his mantel at the clock which was set
to railroad time. In past days he had never known Hilary Vane to be a
moment late to an appointment. The door was open, and five and twenty
minutes had passed the hour before he saw the lawyer in the doorway. Mr.
Flint was a man of such pre