tudy to the subject. He is an executive now, although it is
the last year of his term, and of course he is never seen either in the
Throne Room or the Railroad Room. And besides, he may become a senator.

August has come, and the forces are spent and panting, and neither side
dares to risk the final charge. The reputation of Jethro Bass is at
stake. Should he risk and lose, he must go back to Coniston a beaten man,
subject to the contempt of his neighbors and his state. People do not
know that he has nothing now to go back to, and that he cares nothing for
contempt. As he sits in his window day after day he has only one thought
and one wish,--to ruin Isaac D. Worthington. And he will do it if he can.
Those who know--and among them is Mr. Balch himself--say that Jethro has
never conducted a more masterly campaign than this, and that all the
others have been mere childish trials of strength compared to it. So he
sits there through those twelve weeks while the session slips by, while
his opponents grumble, and while even his supporters, eager for the
charge, complain. The truth is that in all the years of his activity be
has never had such an antagonist as Mr. Flint. Victory hangs in the
balance, and a false move will throw it to either side.

Victory hangs now, to be explicit, upon two factors. The first and most
immediate of these is a certain canny captain of many wars whose regiment
is still at the disposal of either army--for a price, a regiment which
has hitherto remained strictly neutral. And what a regiment it is! A
block of river towns and a senator, and not a casualty since they marched
boldly into camp twelve weeks ago. Mr. Batch is getting very much worried
about this regiment, and beginning to doubt Jethro's judgment.

"I tell you, Bass," he said one evening, "if you allow him to run around
loose much longer, we're lost, that's all there is to it!" (Mr. Batch
referred to the captain in question.) "They'll buy up his block at his
figure--see, if they don't. They're getting desperate. Don't you think
I'd better bid him in?"

"B-bid him in if you've a mind to; Ed."

"Look here, Jethro," said Mr. Batch, savagely biting off the end of a
cigar, "I'm beginning to think you don't care a continental about this
business. Which side are you on, anyway?" The heat and the length and the
uncertainty of the struggle were telling on the nerves of the railroad
president. "You sit there from morning till night and won't say