st get to be elected won't go to
him, but will be at the disposal of your national committee. My friends,
naturally, won't support their enemies."

De Milt, watching Scarborough, saw him lower his head, his face flushing
deeply.

"Believe me, Hampden," continued Thwing, "without our support Burbank is
beaten, and you are triumphantly elected--not otherwise. But you know
politics; I needn't tell you. You know that the presidency depends upon
getting the doubtful element in the doubtful states."

Scarborough stood, and, without lifting his eyes, said in a voice very
different from his strong, clear tones of a few minutes before: "I
suppose in this day no one is beyond the reach of insult. I have
thought I was. I see I have been mistaken. And it is a man who has known
me twenty years and has called me friend, who has taught me the deep
meaning of the word shame. The servant will show you the door." And he
left Thwing alone in the room.

I had made De Milt give me the point of his story as soon as I saw its
drift. While he was going over it in detail, I was thinking out all the
bearings of Scarborough's refusal upon my plans.

"Has Senator Goodrich seen Governor Burbank yet?" I asked De Milt in a
casual tone, when he had told how he escaped unobserved in Thwing's wake
and delivered Burbank's message the next morning.

"I believe he's to see him by appointment to-morrow," replied De Milt.

So my suspicion was well-founded. Goodrich, informed of his
brother-in-law's failure, was posting to make peace on whatever terms he
could honeyfugle out of my conciliation-mad candidate.

A few minutes later I shut myself in with the long-distance telephone
and roused Burbank from bed and from sleep. "I am coming by the first
train to-morrow," I said. "I thought you'd be glad to know that I've
made satisfactory arrangements in New York--unexpectedly satisfactory."

"That's good--excellent," came the reply. I noted an instant change of
tone which told me that Burbank had got, by some underground route, news
of my failure in New York and had been preparing to give Goodrich a
cordial reception.

"If Goodrich comes, James," I went on, "don't see him till I've seen
you."

A pause, then in a strained voice: "But I've given him an appointment at
nine to-morrow."

"Put him off till noon. I'll be there at eleven. It's--imperative." That
last word with an accent I did not like to use, but knew how to use--and
when.

Another pause,