n, rather to himself
than to Victoria, and he began to pace the room once more; "he looked
like a sick man when he was here. And who have we got to put in his
place? Not a soul!"

He paced awhile in silence. He appeared to have forgotten Victoria.

"Poor Hilary!" he said again, "poor Hilary! I'll go down there the first
thing in the morning."

Another silence, and then Mr. Freeman, the secretary, entered.

"I telephoned to Dr. Tredway's, Mr. Flint. I thought that would be
quickest. Mr. Vane has left home. They don't know where he's gone."

"Left home! It's impossible!" and he glanced at Victoria, who had risen
to her feet. "There must be some mistake."

"No, sir. First I got the doctor, who said that Mr. Vane was gone--at
the risk of his life. And then I talked to Mr. Austen Vane himself, who
was there consulting with the doctor. It appears that Mr. Hilary Vane
had left home by eight o'clock, when Mr. Austen Vane got there."

"Hilary's gone out of his head," exclaimed Mr. Flint. "This thing has
unhinged him. Here, take these telegrams. No, wait a minute, I'll go out
there. Call up Billings, and see if you can get Senator Whitredge."

He started out of the room, halted, and turned his head and hesitated.

"Father," said Victoria, "I don't think Hilary Vane is out of his mind."

"You don't?" he said quickly. "Why?"

By some unaccountable change in the atmosphere, of which Mr. Flint
was unconscious, his normal relation to his daughter had been suddenly
reestablished. He was giving ear, as usual, to her judgment.

"Did Hilary Vane tell you he would go to the convention?" she asked.

"Yes." In spite of himself, he had given the word an apologetic
inflection.

"Then he has gone already," she said. "I think, if you will telephone a
little later to the State capital, you will find that he is in his room
at the Pelican Hotel."

"By thunder, Victoria!" he ejaculated, "you may be right. It would be
like him."

CHAPTER XXVII. THE ARENA AND THE DUST

Alas! that the great genius who described the battle of Waterloo is not
alive to-day and on this side of the Atlantic, for a subject worthy of
his pen is at hand,--nothing less than that convention of conventions at
which the Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith is one of the candidates.
One of the candidates, indeed! Will it not be known, as long as there
are pensions, and a governor and a state-house and a seal and State
sovereignty and a staff, as the Crewe Co