willing to leave it to me?"

"I am."

"Then I'll admit I've picked the men in my mind. One is Linton, that
young lawyer that's been taking the lead in the referendum and the
direct primaries campaigns--both of them devilish poor political
policies; but that doesn't prevent him from being the most eloquent
young chap in the State. And he'll tole along the liberals. We'll need
only one other--that's old Colonel Wadsworth. You see the scheme of that
combination, of course! We don't need any more. The convention will be
off its feet before the old Colonel gets half through his seconding
speech. Linton is a delegate, Luke, and I saw to it that the old Colonel
was fixed out with a proxy after I got here. Now, Harlan, you go out and
hunt up those two gentlemen, and bring them here quietly. They're in the
hotel. Come to the private door, there. You say you haven't suggestions,
Vard?"

"Not now," said the General, not shifting his position. "The time for my
suggestions has not come yet."

Harlan went out into the throng, searching, asking questions. The first
man of whom he made inquiry recognized him as Thelismer Thornton's
grandson, and invited him to the bar to have a drink.

"Busy?" he ejaculated when the young man declined. "H--l, there ain't
any one really busy here to-night, except Senator Pownal and Luke
Presson. They're running the convention. The delegates don't have to do
anything--they are just here for a good time. Come on!"

As Harlan walked away from him, he remembered what Chairman Presson had
just delivered from his papers, and decided that truth often spoke from
the depths of the wine-cup.

He did not find either of his men in the Hon. David Everett's
headquarters. The rooms were packed. Perspiring delegates were edging in
and oozing out. Everett was industriously shaking hands, his rubicund
face sweat-streaked, his voice hoarse after his hours of constant
chatter in that smoke-drenched atmosphere. Harlan stood a moment, and
looked at him with a sort of shamed pity. The plot seemed unworthy, in
spite of its object. The sordid treachery of politics was turned up to
him, all its seamy side displayed.

Two men crowded past him, talking low; but in that press their mouths
were near his ear. They were halted by the jam at the door.

"What did you stab him for--how much?" asked one.

"Got ten," said his companion--"ten on account. I get fifty for the
caucus."

"Too many machine Republicans in my town,