road means the
prosperity of the State. And the leaders of the party protect the road
from vindictive assaults on it like Gaylord's, and from scatterbrains
and agitators like your friend Redbrook."

Austen shook his head sadly as he gazed at his father. He had always
recognized the futility of arguments, if argument on this point ever
arose between them.

"It's no use, Judge," he said. "If material prosperity alone were to be
considered, your contention would have some weight. The perpetuation of
the principle of American government has to be thought of. Government by
a railroad will lead in the end to anarchy. You are courting destruction
as it is."

"If you came in here to quote your confounded Emerson--" the Honourable
Hilary began, but Austen slipped around the table and took him by the
arm and led him perforce to his chair.

"No, Judge, that isn't Emerson," he answered. "It's just common sense,
only it sounds to you like drivel. I'm going now,--unless you want to
hear some more about the plots I've been getting into. But I want to say
this. I ask you to remember that you're my father, and that--I'm fond
of you. And that, if you and I happen to be on opposite sides, it won't
make any difference as far as my feelings are concerned. I'm always
ready to tell you frankly what I'm doing, if you wish to know. Good-by.
I suppose I'll see you in Ripton at the end of the week." And he pressed
his father's shoulder.

Mr. Vane looked up at his son with a curious expression. Perhaps (as
when Austen returned from the shooting of Mr. Blodgett in the West)
there was a smattering of admiration and pride in that look, and
something of an affection which had long ceased in its strivings for
utterance. It was the unconscious tribute, too,--slight as was its
exhibition,--of the man whose life has been spent in the conquest of
material things to the man who has the audacity, insensate though it
seem, to fling these to the winds in his search after ideals.

"Good-by, Austen," said Mr. Vane.

Austen got as far as the door, cast another look back at his
father,--who was sitting motionless, with head bowed, as when he
came,--and went out. So Mr. Vane remained for a full minute after the
door had closed, and then he raised his head sharply and gave a piercing
glance at the curtains that separated Number Seven from the governor's
room. In three strides he had reached them, flung them open, and the
folding doors behind them, already