men who were streaming past him in both directions, going
and coming from the rooms of the candidates. Everett and Spinney were in
their suites, extending hospitality with questionable cigars and
ice-water.

Delegates were flocking up from the hotel bar in squads. They were
meeting other delegates, forming new combinations which offered fresh
opportunities for "setting 'em up," and after paying their respects were
hustling back downstairs again to interview the gentlemen in white
jackets.

Out from open transoms over the doors of sleeping-rooms floated cigar
smoke and voices. There were boys running with ice-water and glasses to
the noisiest rooms. From some of these rooms the familiar bacchanalian
songs were resounding even at that early hour of the evening. The chorus
of "We're here because we're here" mingled with the words of that
reminiscent old carol, "When we fit with Gineral Grant, by gosh."

The Duke, towering, abstracted, swaying along ponderously, close to the
wall of the corridor, eyes on the head of the stairway, was as
indifferent to the uproar as he was to those who passed.

A man who was somewhat flushed and a bit uncertain in his gait came out
of the State Committee headquarters. He planted himself in front of
Thornton.

"Thelismer," he said, familiarly, "I've been trying to get something out
of Luke. He won't say. Now what do you know about it? Is the party going
to be honest? Are we going to get that resubmission plank in the
platform this year?"

"They haven't asked me to write the platform, Phon."

"I tell you, the people want a chance to vote on this prohibitory
question. It's been stuck into our constitution where the people can't
get at it. I ain't arguing high license, but I tell you the people want
a chance to vote on the question, and the Democrats are going to offer
'em a chance."

"That's a Democratic privilege," said the Duke, calmly, preparing to
push past his interlocutor. "The Republican party stands for
prohibition, and hasn't had any trouble in rounding up the votes for the
last twenty-five years."

But the disputant caught hold of him when he started away.

"Look here, Thelismer, you ain't so much of a hypocrite as the most of
'em. Why don't you help us make a break in this thing? Damn it, let's be
decent about it! Rum enough running in that bar-room downstairs to drive
the turbine-wheel in my woollen-mill! Half the delegates to this
convention with a drink aboard, and a