Vanulm dropped into the chair next to Carrington's, reaching for a match as he did so. "Well, Mr. Journalist," he said, "and what's the news today?"

Carrington sighed. Following the campaign through the hot weather was no easy task. "The news to-day," he echoed. "Why, for me the same as it was yesterday, and the same as it will be tomorrow. State politics, morning, noon and night. I've just come from an interview with an old friend of yours."

"Gordon?" queried Vanulm.

Carrington smiled. "How'd you guess it?" he answered. "Yes, they told me to get a column and a half out of him on his chances of election. He says he's going to win."

The brewer paused a moment before lighting his cigar. "And is he?" he asked.

Carrington's brow wrinkled doubtfully. "Well," he replied at last, "I wouldn't want to be quoted, but between ourselves I really think he's got a good show. It would seem queer enough, too, to have a Democratic governor again after so many years. Nobody down-town thinks he's even got a show, and yet somehow away down in my heart I think he'll go in. How do you feel about it?"

Vanulm shook his head. "Why should he?" he answered. "The state's normally Republican, to begin with, of course, and always has been. Add to this that Endicott's a man of intelligence, and a man of great wealth; that he's essentially a corporation man, and supposed to be hand in glove with the Combine, and how's Gordon going to beat him? I dare say he'll make a creditable showing, but he won't win. I'm sure of that."

Carrington did not look convinced. "Well, you voice the general down-town opinion, of course," he answered, "but here's something that you don't realize. The strongest bond in the world is the bond of a common misfortune, and the strongest passion in the world is the passion for revenge; and when you come to instil that passion into men already united by that bond, why, something's going to drop. And that's been Gordon's game ever since the panic. He's got a tremendous following throughout the state, as far as the market goes, and men aren't Republicans or Democrats when they've been touched in their pocket-books. So you see the chance he's had. Day in and day out he's been preaching the same thing: that that Konahassett drive was a deliberate, cold-blooded steal from the stock-holders of an honest mining venture, that the whole thing was planned and carried through by the Combine, and that the only way to break up such practices and give the people a show is to place an honest man in the governor's chair. That man, he modestly admits, is himself. That's only his start, and it's a strong start, at that. You and I may laugh at the hackneyed 'People against the Corporations' cry, but it's as effective with the masses to-day as it ever was, perhaps even more so. And added to all that, Gordon's been a tireless and systematic worker. He's gone everywhere; he's sent out the greatest mass of literature you ever heard of; he's apparently had plenty of money to use—and, by the way, that's a queer thing. I understood he was busted when they made that raid on his mine, but he doesn't act so. I wonder where he gets his money. I guess we both know one place he doesn't get it from."

Vanulm laughed. "The Combine," he said. "Yes, that's right. I don't believe they've been very large subscribers to his campaign. They aren't worrying, though. I talked yesterday with a man very close to headquarters. He says they don't even take him seriously."

Carrington rose. "Well, I must get along," he said. "Buy a paper to-morrow, anyway, and read my write-up. And, though I'm not posing as a prophet, you may get a surprise on election day, too. Remember that."

Gordon's campaign for the nomination, fostered carefully for a year, had been one which had puzzled every one, most of all the politicians of the old "machine" school. Received at first with unbelief, then with derision, the announcement of his candidacy had never met with really serious consideration until about a week before the primaries. Then, indeed, disquieting rumors began to pour in from all over the state, and there was a general revival of interest at the headquarters of Logan, the machine candidate, who had so far branded Gordon as a "butter-in" and an "amachoor," and had further regarded as unnecessary the usual "distribution of campaign funds." Subsequent events proved the revival to have been started about a month late, and the nomination came to Gordon by a clear ten thousand plurality.

Even then, however, the Republicans had not seen fit to be alarmed, regarding the choice as reflecting on the judgment of their opponents rather than as putting their own candidate in serious danger. And now, with election day only three weeks away, the situation was practically unchanged; the Republicans serenely, even majestically, confident; Gordon's forces working day and night, for the most part under cover, with Gordon himself the only figure really in the limelight, but working with a silence and with a system that spoke well for the youthful manager of the campaign. Doyle's methods had been characteristic. For Gordon, ceaseless activity; the entire round of the state; speeches not too long, but clear and to the point, driving their lesson home to the humblest intellect in the crowds which flocked to hear him; the "glad hand" to all; the introduction of the much-abused "personal element" into all that was said or written concerning the candidate. For every one else connected with the campaign, the most praiseworthy shrinking from publicity; an almost morbid desire not to attract too much the attention of the public; as Doyle, in a phrase long remembered, had put the matter to his lieutenants assembled in full conclave: "Gordon's looking out for the theoretical part; and the rest of us are going to be practical, and pretty damned practical, too."

The day on which Carrington had interviewed Gordon had been a hard one for the candidate. The hands of the clock pointed to half-past six as Senator Hawkins rose from his seat in the inner office to take his leave. Gordon rose also, smiling and shaking hands with the distinguished leader of the fifth ward just as cordially as though he had been his first, instead of his hundredth, visitor for the day.

"Well, thank you for coming in to see me, Senator," he said, with the utmost sincerity in his tone. "I think we understand each other perfectly, and I'm delighted that I'm to have your support. You won't forget to remember me to Mrs. Hawkins, will you? And about the details—if you will see Doyle any time after to-morrow. I leave all that in his hands. Thank you again for coming in. I think we're going to win. Good-by."

As the door closed behind the senator, Gordon resumed his seat and rang for Doyle. The year's struggle had certainly not improved him physically. His face in repose looked tired and worn, and the vitality and energy of former days seemed strangely lacking.

"I guess, Doyle," he said, "I'm pretty near my limit for to-day. Anybody outside I've really got to see, or can you put them off until to-morrow morning?"

Doyle glanced with ready sympathy at the candidate's weary face. He, better perhaps than any one else, realized what the strain of the last few months had been.

"You do look a little off color," he said; "it's been a hard week for every one. Yes, I think I can fix things outside without making any friction. You've seen most of the big fellows already."

He hesitated a moment, as if suddenly recalling something, then added doubtfully: "There's one young fellow out there that I don't really know how to place. He's been around two or three times now. First, I took him for an ordinary 'heeler,' but to-day he said he wanted to see you right away, and intimated pretty strongly that it would be to your advantage to see him, too. I should almost advise you to see him, I think."

Gordon frowned. "The story sounds old enough," he said indifferently. "They all have something to tell me that's going to be to my advantage."

Doyle nodded. "I know it," he answered, "and I may be all wrong. It was his manner, really, more than anything he said. But suit yourself. I'm just giving you my impression."

Gordon sighed. "All right," he said, "show him in; and for Heaven's sake, clear out the rest of them. If this fellow's an ordinary cheap grafter, I'm going to use up the little strength I've got left kicking you down-stairs."

Doyle grinned and withdrew, presently to usher in a slight, wiry, young man, with a keen, alert face, and a manner that bore out Doyle's description. Without embarrassment he came quickly forward and took the vacant chair by the side of Gordon's desk.

"My name is Lynch, Mr. Gordon," he said, "Thomas Lynch; I live out in ward twenty-six, Bradfield's ward, and I should like very much to have charge of your interests there on election day."

Mentally Gordon enjoyed the process of kicking Doyle down the two steep flights. Outwardly he managed to keep to the tone of unvarying courtesy so necessary to the candidate for public office.

"I'm very glad to have a chance of meeting you, Mr. Lynch," he said smoothly, "and extremely sorry that I've already looked out for things in twenty-six. If you'd come in a couple of weeks ago, now—"

He stopped, as if to talk further was hardly necessary. Lynch nodded, as if he understood the situation. Then he drew his chair a trifle nearer.

"To tell the truth," he said, "I supposed that was about what you'd say. But there are exceptional circumstances back of my request. And when you hear them, I think you'll change the arrangements you've already made."

Gordon glanced sharply at his visitor. He was, indeed, out of the ordinary; either a monumental impostor, Gordon decided, or a ward leader of real importance somehow unknown to him.

"Suppose," he suggested, "you come right down to the facts. What are they?"

His answer was as sudden as it was unexpected. Lynch, a bright gleam of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward and whispered two or three brief sentences. In spite of himself, Gordon could not repress a start, and the eyes that looked into Lynch's were the eyes of a frightened man.

"You lie!" he cried, and then something in the other's look made him add quickly, "and if you were speaking the truth, what good would it do? It's your word against mine."

Lynch shook his head. Again he leaned forward and whispered in Gordon's ear. Then fell silence, until finally Gordon turned full on his accuser. "Come," he said, "we might as well talk this thing over now."

In the outer office, Doyle waited patiently. Fifteen minutes passed—twenty—a half hour. At last he heard the door leading to the hall close sharply, and, with a smile, entered the inner office.

"Well," he said, "are you going to kick me downstairs?" and then stopped short, struck by the expression on Gordon's face.

The candidate's lips forced a smile, belied by the expression in his eyes. With an effort he made reply.

"No, Doyle, you were right, as usual," he said, in a voice curiously unlike his own. "I'll see you in the morning," and, with steps that seemed to falter strangely, he passed quickly from the office and out into the street.