confiding friendliness, of the Governor's
manner. The chances were, he said to himself, that the whole thing was
mere burlesque, one of the successful sleight-of-hand tricks of the
charlatan. In theory he was still sceptical of Gideon Vetch, yet he had
already surrendered every faculty except that impish heretical spectator
that dwelt apart in his brain.

"You want something of course, every last one of you, even Darrow,"
resumed Vetch, with his charming smile. "I can safely assume that if you
didn't want something, you wouldn't be here. Good Lord, if a man so much
as bows to me in the street without asking a favour, I begin to think
that he is either a half-wit or a ne'er-do-well."

"At least I want nothing for myself," laughed Stephen, a trifle sharply.

"Nor does Darrow, God bless him!--nor, for the matter of that, does
Judge Page. I've got nothing to give you that you would take, and so you
are wishing Berkeley on me for the penitentiary board." The gleam of
humour was still in his eyes and the drollery in his expressive voice.

"We are seeking this for the penitentiary, not for Mr. Berkeley. He is
the man you need."

"For a hobby, yes. That's all right, of course, but, my dear young sir,
you can't run the business of a state as a hobby any more than you can
administer it as a philanthropy."

"Perhaps. But can you administer it successfully without philanthropy?"

At this Darrow turned with a smile. "Can't you see that he is fooling
with you?" he said. "Prison reform is one of his fads--that and the
rights of the indigent aged and orphans and animals and any other mortal
thing that has to live on what he calls the stones of charity. He knows
why you came, and he likes you the better because of it."

"Gershom and I have had a word or two about that board," resumed Vetch;
and as he stopped to strike a match, Stephen noticed that the cigar he
held was of a cheap and strong brand. "Between the Legislature on one
side and that bunch of indefatigable lobbyists on the other, I shan't be
permitted presently to appoint the darkey who waits on my table." The
cigar was lighted now, and to Stephen's sensitive nostrils the air was
rapidly becoming too heavy. Oddly enough, he reflected, nothing had
"placed" Vetch so forcibly as the brand of that cigar.

"That," observed the young man briefly, "is the penalty of political
office."

"So long as I was merely a dark horse," said Vetch, "I was afraid to
pull on the curb; b