heels. He had been terribly hardened in some ways, so calloused that it
sometimes seemed to him he had not the actual nerve surface for feeling
anything. The lambent glow of beauty might fall upon him unheeded; even
its lightnings might not penetrate his shell. But that had been better
than the dry-rot of an escape from righteous punishment.

"You know, Choate," said he, "I believe the first thing for a man to
learn is that he can't dodge penalties."

"I believe you. Though if he dodges, he doesn't get off. That's the
other penalty, rot inside the rind. All the palliatives in the
world--the lying securities and false peace--all of them together aren't
worth the muscle of one man going out to bang another man for just
cause. And getting banged!"

Jeff was looking at him quizzically.

"Where do you live," said he, "in the new Addington or the old one?"

Choate answered rather wearily, as if he had asked himself that question
and found the answer disheartening.

"Don't know. Guess I'm a non-resident everywhere. I curse about
Addington by the hour--the new Addington. But it's come, and come to
stay."

"You going to let Moore administer it?"

"If he's elected."

"He can't be elected. We won't have it. What you going to do?"

"Nothing, in politics," said Alston. "They're too vile for a decent man
to touch."

Jeffrey thought he had heard the sound of that before. Even in the older
days there had been some among the ultra-conservative who refused to
pollute their ideals by dropping a ballot. But it hadn't mattered much
then. Public government had been as dual in its nature as good and
evil, sometimes swaying to the side of one party, sometimes the other;
but always, such had been traditionary influence, the best man of a
party had been nominated. Then there was no talk of Weedon Moores.

"Do you suppose Weedie's going on with his circus-ground rallies?" he
asked.

"They say not."

"Who?"

"Oh, I've kept a pretty close inquiry afoot. I'm told the men won't go."

"Why not?"

"Madame Beattie won't let them."

"The devil she won't! What's the old witch's spell?"

"I don't know. Esther--" he caught himself up--"Mrs. Blake doesn't know.
She only knows, as I tell you, the men come to the house, and talk
things over. And I hear from reliable sources, Weedie summons them and
the men simply won't go. So I assume Madame Beattie forbids it."

"It's not possible." Jeff had withdrawn his gaze from the old playgrou