t of the great man addressing his
henchman.

I did not keep my amusement out of my eyes. "James," said I,
"indifference is precisely the word. I should welcome a chance to
withdraw from this campaign. I have been ambitious for power, _you_ want
place. If you think the time has come to dissolve partnership, say
so--and trade yourself off to Goodrich."

He was angry through and through, not so much at my bluntness as at my
having seen into his plot to help himself at my expense--for, not even
when I showed it to him, could he see that it was to his interest to
destroy Goodrich. Moral coward that he was, the course of conciliation
always appealed to him, whether it was wise or not, and the course of
courage always frightened him. He bit his lip and dissembled his anger.
Presently he began to pace up and down the room, his head bent, his
hands clasped behind him. After perhaps five minutes he paused to say:
"You insist on taking the place yourself, Harvey?"

I stood before him and looked down at him. "Your suspicion that I have
also a personal reason is well-founded, James," said I. "I wouldn't put
myself in a position where I should have to ask as a favor what I now
get as a right. If I help you to the presidency, I must be master of the
national machine of the party, able to use it with all its power and
against _any one_--" here I looked him straight in the eye--"who shall
try to build himself up at my expense. Personally, we are friends, and
it has been a pleasure to me to help elevate a man I liked. But there is
no friendship in affairs, except where friendship and interest point the
same way. It is strange that a man of your experience should expect
friendship from me at a time when you are showing that you haven't for
me even the friendship of enlightened self-interest."

"Your practice is better than your theory, Harvey," said he, putting on
an injured, forgiving look and using his chest tones. "A better friend
never lived than you, and I know no other man who gets the absolute
loyalty you get." He looked at me earnestly. "What has changed you?" he
asked. "Why are you so bitter and so--so unlike your even-tempered
self?"

I waved his question aside,--I had no mind to show him my uncovered
coffin with its tenant who only slept, or to expose to him the feelings
which the erect and fearless figure of Scarborough had set to stirring
in me. "I'm careful to choose my friends from among those who can serve
me and who