tood there, holding the slip of paper awkwardly pinched between thumb
and forefinger. The Duke waited.

"I want to say this," stammered the spokesman. "You get fooled
sometimes. Most often in politics. But no one can fool us again--not
about the Thornton family."

"Pass that word around the district, boys," advised the Duke,
complacently. "There's an election coming, you know."

They departed, three new and promising evangelists.

"Campaign expenses, bub," broke in the old man, when Harlan began;
"campaign expenses! It's a soggy lump of dough out back there. That kind
of yeast will lighten it."

He looked across at the hills, squinting reflectively again, and at last
glanced up at his grandson, who stood regarding him with thoughtful
hesitation.

"Say it, boy!" he counselled. "A little more bile left over from
yesterday?"

"No, sir! Not that. But I think I'll send Ben Kyle in with the crews and
let him locate the new camps."

"I didn't intend to have you go back--not if you'd listen to me. We've
got men enough to attend to that sort of work, Harlan. I want you with
me for a while. I've got some plans for you."

"And I've got a few plans for myself. Now that I'm in this, I propose to
be in it in earnest."

"You wouldn't be a Thornton if you didn't get at it all over," commended
the Duke. "You see, I understood you, boy!"

"I'm going to call on every man in this district and tell him where I
stand. I'm going to tell him that if there are honest men in that
legislature I propose to be counted in with them. I may be a very humble
helper, but I'm going to lift with all my strength, grandfather, on the
square-deal end of every proposition that I find to lay hold of."

"Good politics, boy, all good politics!" declared the old man. With
humor that had a little malicious fun in it he avoided endorsing this
impulsive zeal as anything except shrewd playing of his own game. But
his eyes told the young man what his lips did not utter. There was pride
in them, encouragement, joy that would not be hidden--and something
else: wistful regret, perhaps; it seemed to be that--the regret that age
feels when it has lost its illusions and beholds them springing again in
the heart of fervent youth; regret conscious that in its turn this new
faith in things present and things to come will be dead and cold, too.

"I don't think we have to worry much about the election, Harlan. Go out
and tackle the boys. You'll make good. Take tw