g-houses to secure members of Congress. Then begins"--

The girl suddenly saw Bradley standing there, and called out, "Some one
to see you, Mr. Radbourn!"

Radbourn stopped the cylinder, and turned.

"Ah, how do you do," he said, as if greeting a stranger.

Bradley smiled in reply, knowing that Radbourn did not recognize him.
"I'm very well. I don't suppose you remember me, but I'm Brad Talcott."

Radbourn rose with great cordiality. "Well, well, I'm glad to see you,"
he said, his sombre face relaxing in a smile, as he seized Bradley by
the hand. "Sit down, sit down. I'm glad to see an old class-mate."

"Don't let me interrupt your work. I was interested in hearing you talk
into that thing there."

"Oh, yes, I was just getting off my syndicate letter for this week. Sit
down and talk; you don't interrupt me at all. Now tell me all about
yourself. Of course I have heard of your success, State Legislature and
Congress and all that, but I would like to have you tell me all about
it."

"There aint very much to tell. I had very little to do with it," said
Bradley.

They took seats near the window, looking out upon the square, and upon
the vast, squat, Egyptian, tomb-like structure, that rose out of the
centre of the smooth, snow-covered plat, across which the sun streamed
with vivid white radiance.

There was a little pause after they sat down. Radbourn leaned his head
on his arm, and studied Bradley earnestly. He seemed older and more
bitter than Bradley expected to see him. He asked of the old friends in
a slow way, as if one name called up another in a slowly moving chain
of association. They talked on for an hour thus, sitting in the same
position. At last Radbourn said--

"How far I've got from all those scenes and people! and yet the memory
of that little old town and its people has a powerful fascination. I
never'll go back, of course. To tell the truth, I am afraid to go back;
it would drive me crazy. I am a city man naturally. I am gregarious. I
like to be in the centre of things. It'll get hold of you, too. This
city is full of ruined young men and women, who came here from the
slow-moving life of inland towns and villages, and, after two or three
years of a richer life, find it impossible to go back; and here they
are, struggling along on forty-five cents a day at hash-houses, living
in hall bedrooms, preferring to pick up such a living, at all kinds of
jobs, than to go back home. I'd do it myself, if