if your uncle should not run?"

"I should be happy to give you my support."

Birmingham looked as blank as one before whom a door opens unexpectedly.

"You understand," continued Arthur, "that I have been absent too long to
grasp the situation clearly. I think my uncle aspires...."

"A very worthy man," murmured Birmingham.

"You seem to think he has not much of a chance...."

"I know something of Sullivan's mind," Birmingham ventured, "and you
know it still better. The exploits of the Senator in his youth--really
it would be well for him not to expose himself to public ridicule...."

"I had not thought of that," said Arthur, when the other paused
delicately. "You are quite right. He should not expose himself. As no
other has done me the honor to ask my help, I am free to help you."

"You are more than kind. This nomination means election, and election
means the opening of a fine career for me. Beyond lie the governorship,
the senate, and perhaps higher things. To us these high offices have
been closed as firmly as if they were in Sweden. I want the honor of
breaking down the barriers."

"It is time. I hope you will get the honor," said Arthur gravely. He
felt sadly about the Senator, and the shining ambition of his mother.
How could he shatter their dreams? Yet in very pity the task had to be
done, and when next he heard them vaporing on the glory of the future,
he said casually:

"I know what your enemies will say if you come into contrast with
Livingstone."

"I've heard it often enough," answered the Senator gayly. "If I'd
listened to them I'd be still in the ring."

Then a suspicion overcame him, and he cried out bitterly:

"Do you say the same, Artie?"

"Rot. There isn't another like you in the whole world, uncle. If my vote
could do it you'd go into the White House to-morrow. If you're in
earnest in this business of the nomination, then I'm with you to the
last ditch. Now when you become mayor of the first city in the
land"--Oh, the smile which flashed on the faces of Anne and the Senator
at this phrase!--"you become also the target of every journal in the
country, of every comic paper, of every cartoonist. All your little
faults, your blunders, past and present, are magnified. They sing of you
in the music-halls. Oh, there would be no end to it! Ridicule is worse
than abuse. It would hurt your friends more than you. You could not
escape it, and no one could answer it. Is the prize worth the pain?"