men should be brought into unjust obloquy
without cause."

"My dear Hothead, they are big enough to look out for themselves."

"Nobody is big enough to kill slander."

"Nonsense, child. You make a mountain out of a mole hill. People WILL
gossip. It really isn't of the least importance what they gabble about."

"Especially when you want to amuse yourself by making a fool of Mr.
Farnum," retorted the downright Alice with a touch of asperity.

Valencia already half regretted having asked him. The chances were
that he would prove a bore. But she did not choose to say so. "If I'm
treading on your preserves, dear," she ventured sweetly.

"That's ridiculous," flushed Alice. "I only suggested that you wait till
after the election before chaining him to your chariot wheels."

"You're certainly an _enfant terrible_, my dear," murmured the widow,
with the little rippling laugh of cynicism her cousin found so annoying.
"But that young man does need a lesson. He's eaten up with conceit of
himself. Somebody ought to take him in hand."

"So you're going to sacrifice yourself to duty," scoffed Alice as she
brought the electric to a stop under the porte-cochere of the Frome
residence.

Mrs. Van Tyle folded her hands demurely. "It's sweet of you to see it
that way, Alice."

Part 2

James turned in at the Century Building. In the elevator he met his
cousin. Both of them were bound for the office of the candidate being
supported by the progressives for the Senate.

"Anything new?" Jeff asked.

"A rumor that Killen has fallen by the wayside. Big Tim was with him for
an hour last night at the Pacific."

"I've not been sure of Killen for quite a while. He's a weak sister."

"He'd better not go wrong if he expects to keep on living in this
state," James imparted, a hard light in his eyes.

At the third floor they left the elevator and turned to the right under
an arch bearing the sign Hardy, Elliott & Carson. Without knocking they
passed into Hardy's private office.

Of the three men they found there it was plain that one was being pushed
doggedly to bay. He was small and insignificant, with weak blinking
eyes. Standing with his back to the wall, he moistened his lips with the
tip of his tongue.

"Who says it?" he whined shrilly. "Who says I sold out?"

An apoplectic, bull-necked ruffian stood directly in front of him and
sawed the air violently with a fat forefinger.

"I ain't sayin' it, Killen--I'm askin' if you ha