tther with Edgington?"

"Edgington? The matter? What do you mean?"

Conlon leaned over the shelf of the roll-top desk, and pressed upon a
paper-weight with his knobby thumb.

"Thin ye don't know," said he impressively, "that he's out pluggin' up
a dale to bate you an' nominate McCorkle!"

Brassfield faced him smilingly.

"Oh, that notion of Edgington's!" said he. "That amounts to nothing!
If you and my other strong friends stay by me, there's nothing to fear.
I'm glad you know of that little whim of Edgington's. But about this
contract. Now, I usually look after these things myself, and do them
by days' work. But if I am forced to take this office of mayor, I
sha'n't be able to do this--won't have the time; and I'll want you to
do it. Perhaps I'd better give you a check on account now--say on the
terms of the Rogers' job? All right, there's five hundred. That
settles the contract. Now with that off our minds, let's talk of the
political situation. You can see that, being forced into this, I don't
want to be skinned. Now, what can you do, Conlon?"

"Do?" said Conlon. "Ask anny of the byes that've got things in the
past! Wait till the carkuses an' ye'll see. But mind, Misther
Brassfield, don't be too unconscious. Edgington an' McCorkle, startin'
in on the run the day of carkuses, may have good cards. Watch thim!"

XVI

THE OFFICE GOES IN QUEST OF THE MAN

Victory brings peace without;
Amity conquers within.
How can my thought hide a doubt?
Doubt in the mighty is sin!
Yet, as I watch from my height,
Rearing his spears like a wood,
On swarms the dun Muscovite--
Slavish, inebriate, rude!
Dim-seen, within the profound,
Shapeless, insensate, malign,
Fold within dragon-fold wound,
Opes the dread Mongol his eyne!
_One waking, one in the field--
Foe after foe still I see.
Last of them all, half-revealed
Prophecy's eye rests on--Me!_
--_A Racial Reverie_.

Mr. Brassfield sat alone, listening to Barney Conlon's retreating
footsteps. A few years ago I could have described the solitude of the
deserted counting-house, and made a really effective scene of it. Now,
however, telephones exist to deny us the boon. No sooner do we find
ourselves a moment alone, than we think of some one to whom we imagine
we have something to say, and call him up over the wire; or,
conversely, he thinks of us with like results. Conlon's bac