for a
straightforward declaration of principles, Evan Blount saw in the
arrival of the Overland, with the vice-president's private car attached,
only an added argument for haste.

During the better part of the long tramp in the outskirts of the city he
had been halting between two opinions. The fighting blood of the
Tennessee pioneer strain had clamored for its hearing, prompting him to
enter the lists, to set up the standard of honesty and fair-dealing in
the Blount name, to plunge into the approaching political campaign with
a single purpose--the purpose of overthrowing the power of the machine
in his native State. On the other hand, filial affection had pleaded
eloquently. The battle for political honesty would inevitably involve
his father; would, if successful, defeat and disgrace him. As often as
he thought he had closed decisively with the idealistic determination,
the other side of the argument sprang up again, keen-edged and biting.
Up to the present moment he had owed his father everything--was still
owing him day by day. Would it not be the part of a son to drop out
quietly, leaving the political house-cleaning for some one who would not
be obliged to pay such a costly price?

It was the idealistic decision which had been in the saddle when he
dropped from the trolley car at the western portal of the railway
station, and which was sending him to seek the scale-turning interview
with Gantry. But, after all, it was chance and the swift current of
events which seized upon him and swept him along, smashing all the
arguments and fine-spun theories. Before he had gone ten steps in the
direction of Gantry's office, some one in the throng of debarking
Overland travellers called his name. Turning quickly, he found himself
face to face with a white-haired little gentleman who had plucked
impatiently at his sleeve.

"Why, bless my soul! Of all the lucky miracles!" gasped the young man
who, but an instant earlier, had been deaf and blind to all external
things. And then: "Where is Patricia?"

"She's here, somewhere," snapped the little gentleman irascibly. "I've
lost her in this confounded mob. Find her for me. I've got my
reading-glasses on, and I can't see anything. Why don't they have this
barn of a place lighted up?"

"Stand still right where you are," Blount directed, and a moment later
he had found Patricia guarding a pair of suit-cases which were too heavy
for her to carry.

"You poor lost child!" was his