Hilary. "And if I'd been you, I
wouldn't have let Hunt in this year. But you didn't ask my opinion. You
asked me when you begged me to get Adam out, and I predicted that he
wouldn't get out."

Mr. Flint took a turn up and down the room.

"I'm sorry I didn't send for him to go to New York," he said. "Well,
anyway, the campaign's been muddled, that's certain,--whoever muddled
it." And the president looked at his counsel as though he, at least, had
no doubts on this point. But Hilary appeared unaware of the implication,
and made no reply.

"I can't find out what Bascom and Botcher are doing," Mr. Flint went
on; "I don't get any reports--they haven't been here. Perhaps you know.
They've had trip passes enough to move the whole population of Putnam
County. Fairplay says they're gettin' delegates for Adam Hunt instead
of Giles Henderson. And Whitredge says that Jake Botcher is talking
reform."

"I guess Botcher and Bascom know their business," said Mr. Vane. If Mr.
Flint had been a less concentrated man, he might have observed that the
Honourable Hilary had not cut a piece of Honey Dew this afternoon.

"What is their business?" asked Mr. Flint--a little irrelevantly for
him.

"What you and I taught 'em," said Mr. Vane.

Mr. Flint considered this a moment, and decided to let it pass. He
looked at the Honourable Hilary more closely, however.

"What's the matter with you, Vane? You're not sick, are you?"

"No."

Mr. Flint took another turn.

"Now the question is, what are we going to do? If you've got any plan, I
want to hear it."

Mr. Vane was silent.

"Suppose Crewe goes into the convention with enough delegates to lock it
up, so that none of the three has a majority?"

"I guess he'll do that," said Mr. Vane. He fumbled in his pocket, and
drew out a typewritten list. It must be explained that the caucuses, or
primaries, had been held in the various towns of the State at odd dates,
and that the delegates pledged for the different candidates had been
published in the newspapers from time to time--although very much in
accordance with the desires of their individual newspapers. Mr. Crewe's
delegates necessarily had been announced by what is known as political
advertising. Mr. Flint took the Honourable Hilary's list, ran his eye
over it, and whistled.

"You mean he claims three hundred and fifty out of the thousand."

"No," said Hilary, "he claims six hundred. He'll have three hundred and
fifty."

In spite