n drawn up to command a view of the spirited
scene in the lobby below. The senator had gone down to mingle with the
politicians, and she could see him--big, masterful, and smiling--moving
about from group to group. On the opposite side of the mezzanine
gallery, Evan and Patricia were "doing time," as the little lady
musingly phrased it: walking up and down and talking quietly; a handsome
couple, as the approving glances of more than one passing guest
testified.

To Mrs. Honoria, thus isolated, came at the appointed time the
sober-eyed young traffic manager for the railroad company. Gantry had
been under orders from the little lady for the better part of the
afternoon, but the business of the day had given him no chance to report
earlier.

"You got my note?" he asked, taking the place she made for him on the
tete-a-tete divan.

"Yes; a little while before dinner. It came just in time to let me send
frightfully late 'regrets' to Mrs. Weatherford."

"I couldn't come sooner. I've had the Hathaway crowd on my hands all
afternoon. There is something in the wind, and those fellows are scared
stiff. They say that Evan's speech-making has stirred up the working men
and the rank and file like a declaration of war with Mexico, and nobody
can tell what is going to happen next Tuesday."

"Is that all?"

"No, not quite all. There is a mild panic on in at least three of the
city wards over the disappearance of a fellow named Gryson, a sort
of--er--wire-puller and all-around general-utility man. Some say he has
been doing crooked work and had to disappear; others say that he has
taken his pay for whatever job he was doing and has skipped out, leaving
his journeymen strikers to hold the bag."

"Gryson," said the little lady, her eyes narrowing; "Gryson--the name is
curiously familiar. He is what you call a ward-worker, isn't he?"

Gantry nodded. "Something of the sort, yes. Evan calls him one of the
'pie-eaters,' and away along early in the game they had a set-to in
Evan's office and Evan fired him; told him if he ever came back he'd
throw him out."

Again Mrs. Honoria's fine eyes became reflective.

"Richard," she said softly, "I'd give anything in the world if I could
know that Evan still feels that way about Thomas Gryson."

"Then you know the plug-ugly, do you?" said Gantry.

"I know of him. He is a criminal and a dangerous man."

"Well, he is out of it, I guess; he must be, if his own running-mates
can't find him."