ithin wheels--this work of
electing a man to Congress; and the man's soul reveled in the intrigue
of it. He was quite content to be the one to superintend their
revolutions and to watch the havoc which they might cause. Burroughs'
vaulting ambition was the greatest need of all, but revolving around it
were the triple, lesser desires of the ex-trader; of wreaking vengeance
on Judge Latimer through his wife's folly; of causing Charlie Blair's
downfall, to repay the old grudge of the Queen's evidence; and of
wounding the hated Danvers through his friends, as well as separating
him from Winifred.

And now but one vote was needed to give Burroughs his heart's desire.
Moore had not told Eva this. But if Charlie could be secured to-night,
to-morrow or the next day he would give the signal, and the men, bought
but not yet delivered, would vote for Burroughs--and the battle be won!
Oh, it was glorious! Bob _was_ lucky. How often he had said it of
himself. Yet sudden fear came. A certain Corsican had thought that he
was the darling of the gods, and confused his luck with destiny. Had
Burroughs made the same mistake? Certainly not. Moore's habitual
confidence returned manifold. The opposition was divided among too many
men to amount to anything more than to keep Burroughs in uncertainty,
and no stretching of his imagination could conceive any one man fusing
their warring elements. Moore already saw his winter's work crowned with
success.

Blair was waiting on the club steps for his host, and the dinner was
ready. They were unusually silent until the black coffee and the cigars
were brought. Then Moore leaned forward to reach the cognac for his
coffee and asked:

"How much does it cost you a year to live, Charlie? Expenses run pretty
high?"

The questions were unexpected. Blair knew the motive of his host in
giving a dinner, for Moore seldom entertained without an underlying
reason. Certainly he never spent his own or Burroughs' money without
expecting fair returns. But Charlie had thought the attack would be more
direct. Therefore he answered lightly:

"I might reply as a colored man did who was asked how little he could
live on. 'I live and work on three cents' worth of peanuts a day, but
I'm a little hungry sometimes.'"

Mr. Moore smiled perfunctorily. He had no sense of humor.

"What have you been doing all summer?"

"Prospecting."

"Prospecting is like trying to raise money without security. Neither
pans out."