husiasm until
it had blown itself out.

It was a breathless hush in which he spoke.

"Our party, in State Convention assembled, has to-day declared for
honesty." They did not exactly understand, but they gave voice like
hounds unleashed. That sentiment complimented them. "I pledge the last
strength of my old age to the task you have imposed upon me. Give me
your pledge, man to man, in return. Shall it be for all of us: honesty
in principle and unswerving obedience to every party profession we make?
I await your 'Yes'!"

It came like a thunderclap--two thousand voices shouting it.

He stood there, his hand upraised, waiting again until the hush was upon
them once more. They were ready for the usual speech of acceptance. But
he said simply this:

"I accept the trust!"

He put his hand behind Harlan's guarding elbow and retired.

"A carriage at once, Mr. Thornton," he directed. "I must save myself for
performance, not parade."

They were away before even the eager platform notables could intercept
them. The cheering was still going on when the carriage started. From
the open windows of the hall the riot of the convention--voices and
music--pursued them until the racket of the busy street drowned it out.

"At the present moment, Mr. Thornton, it is not likely that the
Republican State Committee is in a mood for poetry," remarked General
Waymouth. Gayety that was a bit wistful had succeeded his sombre
earnestness.

"But something in the sentiment of this old song might appeal to them
while they are thinking of me just now:

"'The mother may forget the child
That smiles so sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And all that thou hast done to me.'"

Harlan did not reply. At that moment, strangely enough, something
besides the fury and the results of that tremendous convention occupied
his thoughts. While he had stood beside General Waymouth he had not
looked down into the pit of roaring humanity. He had looked straight up
into the eyes of Madeleine Presson, whose gaze, by some chance, caught
his the moment he stepped upon the platform. She had leaned on the
gallery-rail and studied him intently. In spite of all else that had
happened and was happening, he could not help wondering why.

CHAPTER XIX

THE RAMRODDERS RAMPANT

Though Mrs. Luke Presson was not especially interested in the practical
side of plain politics, yet it was a part of her social methods to make
tame cats