it would ruin him, to suggest men who were as
good party men as the Goodrich crowd and would be a credit to him and a
help. And he listened with his old-time expression, looking up at his
dead wife's picture all the while. "You must be _popular_, at any cost,"
I ended. "The industrial crowd will stay with the party, no matter what
we do. As long as Scarborough is in control on the other side, we are
their only hope. And so, we are free to seek popularity--and we must
regain it or we're done for. Money won't save us when we've lost our
grip on the rank and file. The presidency can't be bought again for
_you_. If it must be bought next time, another figure-head will have to
be used."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am," was his conclusion after I had put
my whole mind before him and he and I had discussed it. "But there are
certain pledges to Goodrich--"

"Break them," said I. "To keep them is catastrophe."

I knew the pledges he had in the foreground of his thoughts--a St. Louis
understrapper of the New York financial crowd for Secretary of the
Treasury; for Attorney General a lawyer who knew nothing of politics or
public sentiment or indeed of anything but how to instruct corporations
in law-breaking and law-dodging.

He thought a long time. When he answered it was with a shake of the
head. "Too late, I'm afraid, Harvey. I've asked the men and they've
accepted. That was a most untimely illness of yours. I'll see what can
be done. It's a grave step to offend several of the most conspicuous men
in the party."

"Not so serious as to offend the party itself," I replied. "Money is a
great power in politics, but partizanship is a greater."

"I'll think it over," was the most he had the courage to concede. "I
must look at all sides, you know. But, whatever I decide, I thank you
for your candor."

We separated, the best friends in the world, I trying to recover some
few of the high hopes of him that had filled me on election night. "He's
weak and timid," I said to myself, "but at bottom he must have a longing
to be President in fact as well as in name. Even the meanest slave longs
to be a man."

I should have excepted the self-enslaved slaves of ambition. Of all
bondmen, they alone, I believe, not only do not wish freedom, but also
are ever plotting how they may add to their chains.

XXIX

A LETTER FROM THE DEAD

I was living alone at the Willard.

Soon after the death of Burbank's wife, his sister an