uch resolutions as he wished--or as
Mr. Flint wished. But now?

Suddenly a suspicion invaded Mr. Flint's train of thought; he repeated
Hilary's words over to himself. "I'm that kind of a lawyer," and another
individuality arose before the president of the Northeastern. Instincts
are curious things. On the day, some years before, when Austen Vane had
brought his pass into this very room and laid it down on his desk, Mr.
Flint had recognized a man with whom he would have to deal,--a stronger
man than Hilary. Since then he had seen Austen's hand in various
disturbing matters, and now it was as if he heard Austen speaking. "I'm
that kind of a lawyer." Not Hilary Vane, but Hilary Vane's son was
responsible for Hilary Vane's condition--this recognition came to Mr.
Flint in a flash. Austen had somehow accomplished the incredible feat of
making Hilary Vane ashamed--and when such men as Hilary are ashamed,
their usefulness is over. Mr. Flint had seen the thing happen with a
certain kind of financiers, one day aggressive, combative, and the next
broken, querulous men. Let a man cease to believe in what he is doing,
and he loses force.

The president of the Northeastern used a locomotive as long as possible,
but when it ceased to be able to haul a train up-grade, he sent it to the
scrap-heap. Mr. Flint was far from being a bad man, but he worshipped
power, and his motto was the survival of the fittest. He did not yet feel
pity for Hilary--for he was angry. Only contempt,--contempt that one who
had been a power should come to this. To draw a somewhat far-fetched
parallel, a Captain Kidd or a Caesar Borgia with a conscience would never
have been heard of. Mr. Flint did not call it a conscience--he had a
harder name for it. He had to send Hilary, thus vitiated, into the
Convention to conduct the most important battle since the founding of the
Empire, and Austen Vane was responsible.

Mr. Flint had to control himself. In spite of his feelings, he saw that
he must do so. And yet he could not resist saying: "I get a good many
rumours here. They tell me that there may be another candidate in the
field--a dark horse."

"Who?" asked Hilary.

"There was a meeting in the room of a man named Redbrook during the
Legislature to push this candidate," said Mr. Flint, eyeing his counsel
significantly, "and now young Gaylord has been going quietly around the
State in his interest."

Suddenly the listless figure of Hilary Vane straightened, a