are moving all the same," said Mortimer, as he entered the
reading room of the Saddle Club. "Quarrier and Belwether have listened
a damned sight more respectfully to me since they read that column about
you and the bishops and that chapel business."

Plank turned his heavy head with a disturbed glance around the room; for
he always dreaded Mortimer's indiscretions of speech--was afraid of his
cynical frankness in the presence of others; even shrank from the brutal
bonhomie of the man when alone with him.

"Can't you be careful?" he said; "there was a man here a moment ago."
He picked up his unfinished letter, folded and pocketed it, touched an
electric bell, and when a servant came, "Take Mr. Mortimer's order,"
he said, supporting his massive head on his huge hands and resting his
elbow on the writing-desk.

"I've got to cut out this morning bracer," said Mortimer, eyeing the
servant with indecision; but he gave his order nevertheless, and later
accepted a cigar; and when the servant had returned and again retired,
he half emptied his tall glass, refilled it with mineral water, and,
settling back in the padded arm-chair, said: "If I manage this thing as
it ought to be managed, you'll go through by April. What do you think of
that?"

Plank's phlegmatic features flushed. "I'm more obliged to you than I
can say," he began, but Mortimer silenced him with a gesture: "Don't
interrupt. I'm going to put you through The Patroons Club by April.
That's thirty yards through the centre; d'ye see, you dunderheaded
Dutchman? It's solid gain, and it's our ball. The Lenox will take
longer; they're a 'holier-than-thou' bunch of nincompoops, and it always
horrifies them to have any man elected, no matter who he is. They'd
rather die of dry rot than elect anybody; it shocks them to think that
any man could have the presumption to be presented. They require
the spectacle of fasting and prayer--a view of a candidate seated in
sackcloth and ashes in outer darkness. You've got to wait for the Lenox,
Plank."

"I am waiting," said Plank, squaring his massive jaws.

"You've got to," growled Mortimer, emptying his glass aggressively.

Plank looked out of the window, his shrewd blue eyes closing in
retrospection.

"Another thing," continued Mortimer thickly; "the Kemp Ferralls
are disposed to be decent. I don't mean in asking you to meet some
intellectual second-raters, but in doing it handsomely. I don't know
whether it's time yet," he