an downstairs, breaking into a whistle on the way, and Galt, after a
moment's hesitation, took up his hat and followed him. He had an
appointment with Burr's campaign manager, who had his headquarters at
the Royal Hotel.

It was there that Galt found him, holding a jubilant gathering in his
rooms. He was absolutely sanguine of success, and when Galt left an hour
later, he sought to impart to him his emphatic confidence. "My dear sir,
I can conclusively prove to you that we shall win," he said, one eye on
Galt and one on a reporter who had just entered. "I can prove it to you
in figures--and figures never lie. There is not the faintest doubt that
Burr will have seventy votes by the meeting of the caucus."

"Glad to hear it," was Galt's response; but in passing through the lobby
on his way out he encountered an equal assurance in the opposite camp.
Rann, who was the centre of a small group, broke away and came towards
him.

"I suppose the governor has reconciled himself to defeat, eh, Mr. Galt?"

Galt shook his head with a laugh. "Defeat! Why, Major, we're just
beginning to enjoy our triumph. Burr has his seventy votes in his hand
and he keeps it closed."

Rann flushed angrily, his mouth twitching. "If you will come this way,
sir, I can prove to you on paper--on paper, sir--that Webb has his
majority as plain as if the caucus was over. Seventy votes! Why, bless
my soul, he must have counted in every Republican and Independent that
will be sent up. Seventy votes! I tell you he won't have forty--not
forty, sir!"

"Ah, he laughs best that laughs last, my dear Major."

And he left the hotel, walking rapidly in the direction of the Capitol.
Once or twice he stopped to speak to an acquaintance who wanted his
opinion of Burr's chances, and to such inquiries his response was
invariably an expression of perfect conviction. But when alone his
uncertainty appeared--and he acknowledged to himself that he was afraid
of Rann's last card. What it was he did not know, but he knew that when
the time came it would be well played. Bassett was right--it was not
party bitterness that moved Rann, it was personal hatred.

The square was flooded with sunshine, and down the green slopes gray
squirrels were feeding from the hands of children. Overhead the elms
were russet from a sharp frost, and the golden leaves of the sycamores
shone against the leprous whiteness of the branches.

Near a fountain he came upon his own small daughter bui