sn't for him," she cried, picking up the lamp, "I'd leave you this very
night."

She swept past him, and up the narrow stairway to her bedroom.

CHAPTER XVII

BUSY DAYS AT WEDDERBURN

There is no blast so powerful, so withering, as the blast of ridicule.
Only the strongest men can withstand it, only reformers who are such in
deed, and not alone in name, can snap their fingers at it, and liken it
to the crackling of thorns under a pot. Confucius and Martin Luther must
have been ridiculed, Mr. Crewe reflected, and although he did not have
time to assure himself on these historical points, the thought stayed
him. Sixty odd weekly newspapers, filled with arguments from the Book,
attacked him all at once; and if by chance he should have missed the best
part of this flattering personal attention, the editorials which
contained the most spice were copied at the end of the week into the
columns of his erstwhile friend, the State Tribune, now the organ of that
mysterious personality, the Honourable Adam B. Hunt. 'Et tu, Brute!'

Moreover, Mr. Peter Pardriff had something of his own to say. Some
gentlemen of prominence (not among the twenty signers of the new
Declaration of Independence) had been interviewed by the Tribune reporter
on the subject of Mr. Crewe's candidacy. Here are some of the answers,
duly tabulated.

"Negligible."--Congressman Fairplay.

"One less vote for the Honourable Adam B. Hunt."--The Honourable Jacob
Botcher.

"A monumental farce."--Ex-Governor Broadbent.

"Who is Mr. Crewe?"--Senator Whitredge. (Ah ha! Senator, this want shall
be supplied, at least.)

"I have been very busy. I do not know what candidates are in the
field."--Mr. Augustus P. Flint, president of the Northeastern Railroads.
(The unkindest cut of all!)

"I have heard that a Mr. Crewe is a candidate, but I do not know much
about him. They tell me he is a summer resident at Leith."--The
Honourable Hilary Vane.

"A millionaire's freak--not to be taken seriously.--State Senator
Nathaniel Billings."

The State Tribune itself seemed to be especially interested in the past
careers of the twenty signers. Who composed this dauntless band, whose
members had arisen with remarkable unanimity and martyr's zeal in such
widely scattered parts of the State? Had each been simultaneously
inspired with the same high thought, and--more amazing still--with the
idea of the same peerless leader? The Tribune modestly ventured the
theory that