n on his face, was John Thwing, president
of the Atlantic and Western System, and Senator Goodrich's
brother-in-law.

De Milt could not hear what Thwing was saying, so careful was that
experienced voice to reach only the ears for whom its insinuating
subtleties were intended. But he saw a puzzled look come into
Scarborough's face, heard him say: "I don't think I understand you,
John."

Thwing unconsciously raised his voice in his reply, and De Milt
caught--"satisfactory assurances from you that these alarming views and
intentions attributed to you are false, and they'll be glad to exert
themselves to elect you."

Scarborough smiled. "Impossible," he said. "Very few of them would
support _me_ in any circumstances."

"You are mistaken, Hampden," was Thwing's answer. "On the contrary, they
will--"

Scarborough interrupted with an impatient motion of his head.
"Impossible!" he repeated. "But in any case, why should they send you to
me? My speeches speak for themselves. Surely no intelligent man could
fancy that my election would mean harm to any legitimate business, great
or small, East or West. You've known me for twenty years, Thwing. You
needn't come to me for permission to reassure your friends--such of them
as you can _honestly_ reassure."

"I have been reassuring them," Thwing answered. "I tell them that you
are about the last man in the world to permit mob rule."

"Precisely," said Scarborough. "I purpose to continue to do what I can
to break up the mob that is being led on by demagogues disguised as
captains of industry and advance agents of prosperity--led on to pillage
the resources of the country, its riches and its character."

This ought to have put Thwing on his guard. But, convinced that the gods
he worshiped must be the gods of all men, whatever they might profess,
he held to his purpose.

"Still, you don't quite follow me," he persisted. "You've said some very
disquieting things against some of my friends--of course, they
understand that the exigencies of campaigning, the necessity of rousing
the party spirit, the--"

Thwing stopped short; De Milt held his breath. Scarborough was leaning
forward, was holding Thwing's eyes with one of those looks that grip.
"Do you mean," said he, "that, if I'll assure these friends of yours
that I don't mean what I say, they'll buy me the presidency?"

"My dear Hampden," expostulated Thwing, "nothing of the sort. Simply
that the campaign fund which Burbank mu