iana
school of politics, and that's the best. It's almost all craft
there--they hate to give up money and don't use it except as a last
resort."

He brought in his man--Merriweather by name. I liked the first look at
him--keen, cynical, indifferent. He had evidently sat in so many games
of chance of all kinds that play roused in him only the ice-cold passion
of the purely professional.

"There's been nothing doing in our state for the last two or three
years--at least nothing in my line," said he. "A rank outsider,
Scarborough--"

I nodded. "Yes, I know him. He came into the Senate from your state two
years ago."

"Well, he's built up a machine of his own and runs things to suit
himself."

"I thought he wasn't a politician," said I.

Merriweather's bony face showed a faint grin. "The best ever," said he.
"He's put the professionals out of business, without its costing him a
cent. I've got tired of waiting for him to blow over."

Tired--and hungry, I thought. After half an hour of pumping I sent him
away, detaining Woodruff. "What does he really think about Rundle?" I
asked.

"Says he hasn't the ghost of a chance--that Scarborough'll control the
Indiana delegation and that Scarborough has no more use for lunatics
than for grafters."

This was not encouraging. I called Merriweather back. "Why don't you
people nominate Scarborough at St. Louis?" said I.

Behind his surface of attention, I saw his mind traveling at lightning
speed in search of my hidden purpose along every avenue that my
suggestion opened.

"Scarborough'd be a dangerous man for you," he replied. "He's got a
nasty way of reaching across party lines for votes."

I kept my face a blank.

"You've played politics only in your own state or against the Eastern
crowd, these last few years," he went on, as if in answer to my
thoughts. "You don't realize what a hold Scarborough's got through the
entire West. He has split your party and the machine of his own in our
state, and they know all about him and his doings in the states to the
west. The people like a fellow that knocks out the regulars."

"A good many call him a demagogue, don't they?" said I.

"Yes--and he is, in sort of a way," replied Merriweather. "But--well,
he's got a knack of telling the truth so that it doesn't scare folks.
And he's managed to convince them that he isn't looking out for number
one. It can't be denied that he made a good governor. For instance, he
got after the mo