cions suggested. "Now, look here! You remember Pod McClintock and
his epileptic fits? You know he fell into a barbed-wire fence in a fit,
and told around afterward how he had been to heaven, and the devil met
him on his way back and clawed him for spite? Well, now don't you go to
imitating Pod. There's more or less barbed wire in politics--any man
gets afoul of it. But don't lay it to the devil. That will be elevating
accidents onto too high a plane. If Vard Waymouth is the next Governor
of this State there'll be some wire fences that he won't be able to sit
on. There'll be too many barbs. We'll put top rails onto all the fences
we can. But you can't make any fence safe for those that are bound to
butt head-first into barbed wire. Waymouth isn't the kind to do any
butting. I'll tell you this, Harlan, and it's straight: if I help to
make Waymouth our next Governor, I'll help to make him a good
one--provided he needs any of my help in that line. Now go and attend
to your business."

There were few at the railroad station, and those few paid little heed
to General Waymouth when he stepped down from the train. The young man
greeted him with eager respect, and explained why he was there.

The General took his arm and walked to the carriage. "This is restful.
I'm glad to see you here," he said. "But to-morrow," he added, bitterly,
"if I am fool enough to be dragged back into politics, I'll be met
wherever I go by men that fawn and men that seek--by that crowd I
thought and hoped I had escaped forever. I was very hasty, Mr. Thornton,
when I gave my word to your grandfather. I fear I must hold you
responsible just because you were present." He smiled as the young man
took his seat opposite. "But you constituted a new element in politics.
I had been having my dreams in the peace of my home--and one of those
dreams was to see the young men of this State breaking away from the
political bondage of the fathers. But I'm afraid I am older than I
thought. I have an old man's fears. I have had enough--too much--of the
contact of men. Now this next idea is fanciful--another proof that I'm
old--in my dotage, perhaps." His tone was gently playful. "I told you
the other day that you seemed to typify the young strength of the State.
So I'm going to appeal to you, young man--I cannot very well appeal to
the rest, for they are not in the secret--I'm going to beg of you, Mr.
Second Generation, to release me from my promise. What say you?--and