' is not.

"You need not reply by letter. To-morrow's issue answers for you. Until
I have received a copy, I withhold my judgment.

"JOHN HARKLESS."

The morrow's issue--that fateful print on which depended John Harkless's
opinion of H. Fisbee's integrity--contained an editorial addressed
to the delegates of the convention, warning them to act for the vital
interest of the community, and declaring that the opportunity to be
given them in the present convention was a rare one, a singular piece of
good fortune indeed; they were to have the chance to vote for a man who
had won the love and respect of every person in the district--one who
had suffered for his championship of righteousness--one whom even his
few political enemies confessed they held in personal affection and
esteem--one who had been the inspiration of a new era--one whose life
had been helpfulness, whose hand had reached out to every struggler
and unfortunate--a man who had met and faced danger for the sake of
others--one who lived under a threat for years, and who had been almost
overborne in the fulfilment of that threat, but who would live to see
the sun shine on his triumph, the tribute the convention would bring
him as a gift from a community that loved him. His name needed not to be
told; it was on every lip that morning, and in every heart.

Tom was eagerly watching his companion as he read. Harkless fell back
on the pillows with a drawn face, and for a moment he laid his thin hand
over his eyes in a gesture of intense pain.

"What is it?" Meredith said quickly.

"Give me the pad, please."

"What is it, boy?"

The other's teeth snapped together.

"What is it?" he cried. "What is it? It's treachery, and the worst I
ever knew. Not a word of the accusation I demanded--lying _praises_
instead! Read that editorial--there, _there_!" He struck the page
with the back of his hand, and threw the paper to Meredith. "Read that
miserable lie! 'One who has won the love and respect of every person
in the district!'--'One who has suffered for his championship of
righteousness!' _Righteousness!_ Save the mark!"

"What does it mean?"

"Mean! It means McCune--Rod McCune, 'who has lived under a threat for
years'--_my_ threat! I swore I would print him out of Indiana if he ever
raised his head again, and he knew I could. 'Almost overborne in the
fulfilment of that threat!' _Almost_! It's a black scheme, and I see it
now. This man came to Plattville and went